#What I’m saying is its really easy for young kids to fall into bad stuff

[baconcolacan]

Okay but how would small RTord react if he woke up in older RTords body. How would he react, to his army, to his soldiers, to his friends (that he doesnt see no longer) Tom imprisoned, strapped down and all that. He seemed a bit more..decent back then

Aaaahhh, you want to know how he was like before he escalated.

Mmm, well, since we’re talking about a kid who thinks what he’s doing is all harmless fun, and hasnt been desensitized to more harmful things yet (that he actively justified as he pushed the boundaries even more), I would say….horrified, maybe.

This kind of thing doesn’t seem all that fun, and Tom is clearly really hurt, sure he used to get into little scraps with him, but it was nothing a quick bandage couldn’t fix.

This….isnt fun anymore.

[stutterfly]

Tricks of the Trade | MYG (M)

Shared as part of the Similarly Sequestered game with @kpopfanfictrash​, @underthejoon​, @fortunexkookie​, @gukslut​ and me!

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 24.1K Prompt: “The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.” {Body Swap AU, Soulmates AU}

Genre: Fluff, humor, smut, oneshot

Summary: The convenience store across the street from your apartment carries your favorite energy drink. That's why you frequent it. It's definitely not because you have a big fat crush on the owner you've been flirting with for the better part of a year. Of course your brand of flirting can also be misconstrued as bickering. When a strange man wanders into the store, he thinks you need a little nudge to embrace the strings connecting you. Next thing you know you're waking up in a body that definitely doesn't belong to you. You can't decide if it's the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you.

CW & Other Tags: Anxiety attacks, language, oral sex, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, Agent of Chaos Jin, shopkeeper Yoongi, idiots to lovers, frenemies to lovers, bodyswap shenanigans

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Posted on June 23, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to this or any other platform, including YouTube.

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The bell at the top of the door jingles as another customer walks into the store, but you pay them no mind. You’re already scanning the refrigerated drinks section for the third time, scouring the rows of cans and bottles for your beverage of choice. There’s only one kind of energy drink you want but its usual location is barren. Desperate to find what you’re searching for, you squat down to look behind the other drinks in the fridge.

“You’re not going to find any.”

The familiar, disinterested drawl of the shopkeeper has you popping up from the floor to look over at him. He wears a green apron over a black tee and a pair of faded jeans. His back is to you so he doesn’t have to see your face when you complain. He reaches up to take off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through thick locks of ebony hair before returning the cap to his head. He spares a glance over his shoulder at you, knowing you’re watching him. He sighs loudly as he continues to stock nearby shelves with boxes of cereal.

When he opened this tiny shop across from your apartment about a year ago, you thought he was cute, but he’s always seemed cold to you. The gossips around town say he’s a bit scrawny, monotone and boorish, but you like his voice and you like his style. He must be intelligent if he started this business from nothing, especially at his age. Not many people in their late twenties can say they are as independent as Yoongi.

He has confidence and pride in his values. You’ve seen him tell rude people off without a second thought and kick people out for being racist towards other customers. He puts on a front to seem unapproachable but you’ve seen him give a carton of milk to a mother who didn’t have money to pay for it, and free candy to a group of kids on a rainy day. While he pretends to be an old grump who shuffles around his shop all day, you’ve seen him get the energy to sprint around the block after a shift and then collapse at the cafe tables next door. He’s weird. He’s honest. He’s kind-hearted. It’s easy to admire him.

He bends down to pick up more boxes, and you cock your head to the side to stare at the way his ass looks in those jeans. He’s also insanely attractive. It’s no wonder you still come in here every day.

The more you see of him, the more you feel you know him, and the more you’ve grown to like him. The problem is that your relationship with the shopkeeper has shifted into a weird territory you’re not sure how to escape from. It’s not that you hate each other, but it seems you can’t hold a conversation without getting on each other’s nerves. Either you’re always saying the wrong thing or he’s pressing all the wrong buttons when he teases you.

At first you read his teasing as awkward flirting but for someone so blunt, you’ve convinced yourself he would have been straightforward and said the words out loud. I like you. Let’s get a drink. It would be easy for him to say, wouldn’t it? Despite trying to convince yourself he’s not interested, you can’t help but flirt with him at any opportunity to do so. However, you seem to forget how the moment he looks at you. It’s like your flirting skills took an exit down a shitty highway and now you’ve lost the GPS signal to navigate back to civilization.

Talking with Yoongi has become an ache you can’t seem to give up so you’ll take whatever excuse you can to keep doing so. That usually takes the form of you poking fun at one another until you hurt your own feelings. Sometimes you spend the remainder of a day thinking about the ways you can fix tomorrow’s fictitious conversation. You forgot how being infatuated with someone can make you feel so stupid. He’s not your life, just a part that you wish could be more prominent. It’s fine.

All you have to do is get your morning beverage and pastry before working your shift. Then you can focus on how nice it will feel to do nothing all weekend and catch up on TV shows.

“So…. What did you do with it? Are you hiding them from me today?” You quickly snap your eyes to his face as he twists his body to look up at you.

He scoffs. “Not me. College kids came through last night and cleared them out.”

“But you know I always get one,” you pout, crossing your arms like it’s going to make a difference.

He turns his attention back to his task, slowly stacking the boxes in silence before he clicks his tongue. “So? I can’t just hide stuff for you, you know.”

“Don’t you have more in the back? You’ve never run out of Hot6 before.”

He laughs to himself. “This isn’t a warehouse. I have to wait for product to arrive before I can restock. Just get a Red Bull. It tastes the same.”

You crinkle your nose at him. “It does not.”

He crosses the store with a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. Before long he’s back at the register and sipping on his iced americano. “Whatever. Why do you care? It’s easier if you develop a taste for espresso. Then you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. Besides, energy drinks aren’t that great for you, you know.”

You make a sound of disgust as you sulk your way over to the pastry cabinet. “Jeez. Do you always have to have such a stick in your ass? You act like coffee is so much better for you.”

“More caffeine, less sugar. I guarantee you it’s better,” he says with a smack of his lips against his straw.

“Whatever, Grandpa. Hmm... Muffin, muffin, muffin…” you quietly chant to yourself as your eyes rake over the racks in search of your daily pastry fix. Today seems to be against you: no muffins.

“We’re out of those too,” he says. “You know you could stand to change up your routine. Don’t you get sick of getting the same things every day?”

You bite your lip and look over the case of pastries, grabbing a simple croissant. “I like my routine, but I guess I could always stop coming here.”

“If that’s what you want.” He sighs dramatically as he leans over the counter, resting on his elbows as he surveys the store. “Well, I could enjoy a quiet morning for once.”

You roll your eyes.“Pfft. You like to argue, so I know you’d miss me.”

There’s a squeaky laugh from behind one of the shelves and as your attention shifts to the sound, a young man with dusty pink hair pokes his head up. He must be rather tall if he’s able to look over the aisles. You quirk an eyebrow at his strange laughter and wonder what kind of stranger could be so entertained by the pair of you.

“Sorry. It’s just…” He holds up a card that neither of you can really make out at this distance. “On the front it says ‘It’s Your Birthday?’ and inside it says ‘Alpaca my party hat!’. Ha! And there’s this pop-up of the alpaca with a bandana and party hat.” He giggles again as he opens and closes the card a few times and waves his hand. “Sorry. Sorry. You can continue flirting now.”

“This is not—” Your breath catches in your throat and you have to take a moment to swallow down your embarrassment before turning back towards Yoongi. “Can you believe this guy?”

He’s in the middle of taking a bite from a half-eaten muffin when your eyes meet his guilty ones. Your jaw falls open as he slowly chews and rings you up, placing the remainder of the pastry back down on the counter.

“You took the last one?”

“I had a craving.” He shrugs.

“You knew I would want it and you took it so I couldn’t have it,” you guess in a playful tone. “Was your aim to make me suffer double today? You’re so cruel, Yoongi.”

He pauses to poke his tongue against his cheek as he handles your change. “It’s not like I planned it. Don’t make me out to be some bad guy.”

“Bad guy. Tch. No, I wouldn’t go that far.” You lean forward, planting your hands on the counter and ensuring a clear sightline into your shirt. “I think you just like getting under my skin.”

He bristles at your words, taking the bait and dropping his gaze to the lace exposed for his eyes. He licks his lips and lazily lets his eyes drift back to your face, his expression unreadable. “Maybe that’s true.”

You cock your head and smirk as you stand up straight, your ego slightly inflated. “Is it really so hard to be nice to me? I’m nice to you.”

“Hah!” He breaks into an amused grin. “When?”

You’re taken aback by his response. Surely you’ve been obvious with your infatuation up to this point. You scoff. “Wha- All the time!”

His brows furrow and he crosses his arms with the change still trapped in his palm. “So complaining is a form of politeness now? Then I should be grateful for how often you shower me with kindness.”

“You know I do more than complain! I complain because you complain to me!” you pout, pointing your finger at him. “Maybe we could talk about something meaningful if you ever cared enough to ask.”

His eyebrows raise with the pitch of your voice. It’s not a big deal. This is stupid. You’re overreacting because you like him. You know he’s fucking with you so why is your face still getting hot? Even if he’s joking, he’s planted the seed in your mind that he sees you as a grumpy customer. He’s clearly never thought of you as anything but a negative start to his day. You’ve seen him be sweet but right now he feels as bitter and cold as the coffee he drinks.

“What do you think of this?” the pink-haired stranger asks, donning a pair of thick black frames with orange-tinted lenses.

The man cuts the tension from the room for a brief moment. Yoongi stares at him, his lip curled up in disgust as he slowly shakes his head. When his eyes travel back to yours they seem full of apprehension. Your name rolls off his tongue as though it’s an apology.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. Just give me my change,” you grumble, reaching up for his palm.

His grip is impossible to penetrate. He smiles as you struggle to work your fingers beneath his, shaking his head like you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret. Heat builds in your face the longer you stand there fidgeting with his hand. You feel like a fool.

“You’re obnoxious. Let me count it out first,” Yoongi sneers while trying to pull his hand back.

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes and yank his hand towards you. “I don’t need you to count it.”

“You know what I think you need?”

The other customer leans beside the counter, a new pair of glasses on his face that are twice as hideous as the first pair. As you turn to look at the stranger you can see the pair of you reflected in hues of red and yellow in those disturbingly 90s opaque lenses. It almost looks like you’re holding hands. You stiffen at the sight but keep your fingers locked against Yoongi’s calloused ones as you focus on the pricetag dangling across the man’s nose.

The stranger slowly moves a closed fist above the place where your hand and Yoongi’s meet. He waits a few seconds until you’re both focused on his hand before a flash of silver falls from his palm. You almost mistake the shapes for identical necklaces until they untangle and rotate to reveal two halves that form a heart.

The fluorescent lights of the store highlight the engraved text on each. One says ‘BEST’ while the other half reads ‘FRIENDS’. The faux-metal irritates your neck the moment you think about it touching your skin. The chains appear fragile and cheap, like they might break at the slightest amount of tension. If this guy thinks you’re going to take these he must be delusional.

You exchange a quizzical look with Yoongi as the necklaces dangle between you. He’s distracted enough that you’re able to pry your change from his sweaty palm.

“Uh. No thanks,” you say, shoving the coins in your pocket before grabbing your croissant. You take a moment to regard Yoongi with a scowl, cocking your head to the side. “See you, Grandpa.”

The stone in his gut sinks as he watches you leave but he forces his attention to the pink haired stranger in the obscenely reflective glasses.

“You know, I think she likes you,” he whispers with a wink.

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It’s been a long day but at least you don’t have to go out tomorrow. You’ve already changed into your favorite pair of comfy shorts but as you move to unbutton your work shirt something smacks against your chest. Did something get trapped in your cleavage?

“What the fuck?”

As you look down your stomach does a somersault. There’s a necklace draped around your neck with a half-broken heart pendant, etched with the word ‘BEST’. How did that guy sneak this ugly thing onto you? How did you not feel it until now? Maybe he’s some sort of street magician. Your shock is accompanied by a chuckle as you reach behind your neck to fidget with the clasp. Spinning the chain between your fingertips, you soon realize there isn’t one. This thing feels like a dollar store trinket, so you curl your fingers around the charm and pull down with all of your might. It remains secure around your neck no matter how hard you tug.

Your mind begins to break into a panic. What the fuck? What the fuck. What. The actual. Fuck.

You quickly throw on a pair of sneakers and nab the keys hanging near the door on your way out of the apartment. It's hard to believe the speed at which your feet carry you down the several flights of stairs. A couple scrambles out of the way as they watch your frenzied descent. Before long you're pressing the entirety of your body against the familiar door of the convenience store across the street.

The clerk looks up from his phone, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise as you stumble past the threshold. Your body nearly folds in half as you plant your hands on your knees and struggle to catch your breath.

"Are you alright?"

You force yourself to stand up straight to address the man standing behind the counter. The word is devoid of conviction as it leaves your mouth. "Yeah."

You know him as Tae, one of Yoongi's part-time employees. Yoongi offered him a job when he heard him say he was looking for work to supplement his endeavors to put himself through art school. You’ve seen him a lot, spoken a little here and there, and he even knows you by name now. If he's here, it's probable that his boss is not. You sigh loudly in an attempt to relieve some of the panic and frustration built up in your brain. It's not like you can just ask Tae to give you Yoongi’s number.

Tae’s wide-eyed stare indicates his concern for your well being but it’s not until he drags his gaze across your body and purses his lips that you feel something is amiss. It's at this point that you realize how much the air conditioner billows the fabric of your work shirt. Goosebumps form along your calves as all of the blood in your body rushes to your face. You quickly cross your arms over your chest to conceal the half-unbuttoned shirt and the bra that pokes out from beneath it. There’s little you can do to cover the expanse of your legs while wearing such form-fitting shorts.

“I was just… checking to see if you have any Hot6,” you say with barely a glance in the direction of the refrigerator section. “But it’s clear you’re still out.”

Tae raises his eyebrows and grants you a subtle, uncertain nod as your eyes settle on the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’

“Is your boss here?” you blurt, reaching for the chain around your neck. “I’ve got a—”

Your stomach drops. It’s gone. Both of your hands instinctively smack at your collarbones, like frantically patting against your flesh will cause the necklace to reappear. You hold your shirt open wide enough to peer down at the skin of your chest with a concentrated gaze, eyes begging for any trace of the tacky piece of jewelry to resurface. Was it really just a figment of your imagination? You swear it was there. You felt it. You pulled on it. It had to be real.

You swallow hard and quickly bounce your eyes to the uncomfortable-looking cashier. All you can offer is a weak chuckle as you try to play it off by shaking out your shirt. “Sorry… I thought there was a bug."

There's an awkward, heavy silence between you as he nods with pursed lips. There's no way this poor guy believes your delusional ass. "Bossman's gone for tonight. Seemed kinda beat."

"Oh."

Your eyes settle on the countertop as your brain tries to rationalize what kind of unresolved issues at work are causing your mental breakdown. You stand there while spacing out, barely blinking. You can't believe you imagined that. Not knowing what to do, Tae walks his fingers towards the miniature cans of Red Bull stacked on the counter. He gracefully sweeps his hand around a can and offers it to you. That breaks you from your daze.

"It kinda tastes the same." He attempts to cut the tension with an endearingly awkward, close-mouthed smile. "My treat?"

If it were Yoongi saying such a thing you might scowl and tell him that he must be delusional if he thinks they're the same. Tae is a much kinder soul. You find yourself softening at his suggestion and shake your head.

"You know I should probably lay off the energy drinks now that I think about it," you say. "Have a good night, Tae."

"Goodnight, Y/N!" he calls after you as you wander back through the door. He leans over the counter. "Oh, hey wait! Do you want me to let bossman know you were looking for him?"

"It's fine!" you shout back on autopilot. You're already sinking into a pool of your own thoughts as the door closes behind you.

It was not fine.

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Sleep does not come easy despite your exhaustion. You find yourself tossing and turning all night. When the light begins to stream through your blinds it seems to strike at the perfect angle to blind your fluttering eyes. You pull the blankets up over your head even though you know it’s of no use; you’re already awake and there’s no going back to sleep now.

You stretch out with a yawn as you sleepily shuffle from the bed to the tiny bathroom around the corner of your room. It’s easy to apply toothpaste to your toothbrush on autopilot, taking a moment to rub your knuckles against an eye before glancing up towards the mirror. How bad is the bedhead today?

The sight that greets you causes you to drop your toothbrush in the sink and stumble back out of the doorway. Your fingers grip the frame to keep you on your feet, your attention quickly drawn to the thick digits situated there. As you force yourself forward, you support yourself with one hand on the counter and bring the other up for inspection. The foreign hand trembles as you turn it back and forth while trying to catch the breath that keeps running away from you. Anxiety sinks its teeth deeper into your lungs, causing a puncture that has you gasping for air.

Calluses adorn your fingertips, accompanied by scratches and scars from moments you've never experienced. Your nails are jagged and short, devoid of the pleasing pink color you applied to them two days ago. You dread the journey your eyes threaten to make towards the mirror once again but you find that you are unable to stop them. The face staring back at you with saucer-wide eyes is none other than Min Yoongi.

Your head feels light. This face is fake. You gasp for the air you can't seem to get enough of and stumble out of the bathroom. The walls seem to wobble in place as you race towards the living room where you can feel the breeze flowing through the window you left open last night. This world is fake. Nothing is real. Air will fix this. If you could just breathe like a normal person everything would be okay.

You fall to your knees within spitting distance of the window. For all the air your body greedily sucks inward, your mind feels bereft of any. Your vision goes dark.

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Yoongi does his best to make his way up the stairs with poise, but he's almost sure it looks like a waddle more than anything. His thighs --your thighs-- are chafing from the run here and each step is a painful reminder of the irritated flesh still rubbing together beneath these sweatpants. At least one of your neighbors was kind enough to let him into the main entrance. They must have recognized the face he mysteriously woke up with. Luckily your mailbox has your last name on it and as much as you might disagree he does pay attention when you talk.

He tries to wipe the sweat from his brow as he bends down to plant his hands on his knees. Even as his breath recovers, he grows increasingly frustrated with how heavy his chest feels. He repeatedly pushes the hair from his face with a groan, wishing he had taken the scissors to it when he had the opportunity earlier. He takes off the cap atop his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and places it back on his head. Everything is too much. You need to fix this. Take it back.

The faster he tries to ascend the stairs, the more he aches. He finally gives up on looking civil when he decides there's no one else in the stairwell to judge him. After all they'll only remember you anyway so what does it matter? He rolls the sweatpants up above his knees and cups the breasts hidden beneath the oversized sweater for support as he scrambles up the last few floors.

He grimaces at the dainty pink fingernails before curling his hand into a fist and rapping his knuckles against your door. He puffs his cheeks out and expels a long breath. What could you possibly be doing? You have to be in there. He tries the handle to no avail. Are you still asleep? He quickly abandons the need for subtlety and places both palms on the door and drums loudly against it. The sound of the deadbolt unlocking tells him he shouldn't hesitate. He's through the door before you can even properly get off your knees.

Somehow you knew what would be waiting for you on the other side. The sight before you has your mind reeling. That's your body, but it's not you. Could it really be Yoongi? You did not get Freaky-Friday'd with him. There's no fucking way this is reality. You can feel yourself panicking again as you back away from the figure, falling back on your ass. You watch yourself look down at you with a look of disgust.

"What are you doing?" That's definitely your voice.

Your body takes slow steps towards you as it crosses one arm over the other. You lean back on your elbows and groan. It's a deep sound, deeper than anything that's come from your throat even on your sickest day. This isn’t happening.

"Oh my god. I'm fucking dying," you murmur while tilting your head towards the ceiling. "Everything is fake. Nothing is real. I’m going crazy. Please let me rot."

The figure bends down and leans over into your field of vision. The image of your face frowns back at you and pokes you in the chest with a pointed fingernail.

“Stop that.”

“I can’t,” you whine between heavy breaths. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out again.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Those perfectly manicured hands reach out for your shoulders in comfort but you fall flat on your back and your arm flies up to cover your eyes.Tears sting at them as reality warbles around you again. Seeing your own face hovering above you definitely isn’t helping you feel more sane.

"I don't know what's happening," you sob.

With each breath you suck between your quivering lips, your chest aches. Suddenly that pair of hands is cupping your jaw and pushing your arm aside. You look into the eyes you are already so familiar with, but they seem far more caring than you’ve ever managed to display.

"We need to undo whatever is happening right now," he says calmly. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to tell me you're okay. But I need you to sit up and pull yourself together long enough to help me figure this out. Can you do that?"

You swallow hard and nod slowly as you take the hand offered to you. A half-smirk appears on his lips; it's strange to see yourself reflected with such warmth, especially knowing it's coming from Yoongi.

"Good. Now please go change. I can't look at those shorts anymore.”

You look down at your attire for the first time and realize how absurd Yoongi’s body looks in the clothing you wore to bed. The skimpy tank top clings to the muscular, flat chest you now possess. Worse still, you can see bits of flesh poking out against that hairy inner thigh below. You squeeze your eyes shut and pretend like you can forget what you just saw sticking out of your shorts.

You take a deep breath as your face burns with embarrassment. “Okay. Give me your pants.”

He stiffens at your demand and scoffs. “What?”

“I don’t have anything that will fit you— er, I mean, me. Us?” You gesture at your body and stare at the floor, trying to will yourself to not dissociate. “This. You can’t be comfortable either.”

There’s a sigh before he plops down on your couch with legs spread wide open. “My back hurts and my thighs rubbed together so much I don’t want to move anymore.”

You can’t help but laugh at the admission. At least he feels your pain. He looks up at you while reclining his head on the cushion behind him. You’re not hyperventilating anymore so distraction seems to be the key to keeping you relatively calm.

“Why you, of all people?” he wonders.

You roll your eyes and stomp across the room and disappear into your bedroom. “Hmph. I was about to ask you the same thing. This is bullshit.”

You come back with a handful of carefully selected clothes and strappy undergarments that you know for a fact flatter your shape. If he has to walk around in your skin the least he can do is make it look good. You pause halfway down the hall and swallow hard as it dawns on you that he’s going to have to get naked in order to change, which means he’s unavoidably going to be looking at your body without any barriers. You decide you’re going to be strong and you simply won’t think about it or acknowledge it as a possibility.

He’s busy chewing one of your nails when you reach the living room again. You hug the clothes close to your chest and storm across the room.

“Do you bite your nails?! Ew! God, no wonder yours are so jagged and gross,” you complain, thrusting the clothes into his lap.

He offers an apologetic look before glancing down at the attire you’ve supplied with raised eyebrows. He picks up the bra with one finger and grimaces at the way it dangles off his digit. He’s looking up at you with pleading eyes shortly after it falls back in his lap. It’s hard to avoid his gaze. You feel those pupils boring into your skull as you dart your eyes away to focus on the floor.

You clear your throat and muster every last bit of courage you possess. “Um… Your clothes, please?”

He inhales loudly through his nose and you watch the grey sweatpants pool around the toenails you just painted last night. You swallow hard and scramble to pick them up when they slide across the wooden floor to you. You clutch them to your chest, quickly catching the scent of your sweat and arousal on them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed? Trying to suppress the mortification growing in your chest, you purse your lips and trail your gaze back up to his face--your face. Thankfully the hoodie covers your sex and you’re hoping he hasn’t bothered taking a peek before coming here.

“Don’t… Don’t look,” you plead. So much for not acknowledging it.

He’s feeding his arm through one of the sleeves when he freezes in place and locks eyes with you. “I should tell you I woke up shirtless,” he mumbles. As if to lessen the blow of his admission, he continues with a pout, “But you can’t blame me for looking. It’s hard not to look at a pair of perfect tits that mysteriously appear in the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do?”

Perfect tits? You’d almost be flattered if it wasn’t so fucking morifying to know he’s already seen you. Your eyes screw shut and you nod. “Right.”

This is fine. This is absolutely fine.

“Hey,” he calls softly, prodding you to open your eyes. “Here.”

He keeps eye contact with you while feeding his other arm through the sleeve. Watching yourself strip without performing the act is bizarre. He holds the sweater out for you to slowly take. It eases your mind to see his gaze never wavered. Yours drops to the nude form before you and suddenly you’re criticizing every curve and flaw you can find. It’s as though you’re simply standing before a mirror and feeding your insecurity with needless scrutiny. Despite this, Yoongi remains focused on your face and the discomfort you display so openly at seeing your own form stripped bare. Almost bare. That beat-up baseball cap he wears every day now adorns your head like a crown for your mediocrity.

You spin on your heels and speedwalk down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s hard to ignore the new appendage you’ve acquired but you make sure to shut your eyes while peeling the shorts from your thighs and sliding the sweatpants up in their stead. While you rushed through the bottom half of your attire, you stop for a minute to inspect Yoongi’s bare pectorals. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sight of his body in the mirror. You subconsciously lick your lips and run your fingers across your flat, hard chest.

Your thumb circles a brown nipple and you watch with satisfaction as it grows hard at your touch. Your palms press down over your stomach, feeling the muscles hidden just below the surface of soft flesh. You grab at your hips, fingers threatening to dart below the band of your pants. Instead you suck air in through your nose and scold yourself for such weakness. You’re about to tug the sweater over your head when Yoongi silently enters and flops down on the bed face-first.

“Yoongi? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!” you shriek in your haste to cover up your own moment of weakness.

There’s a muffled response spoken into the mattress that you can’t quite understand.

"What?" Annoyance is a front for your embarrassment.

He turns his head to one side and sighs. "There are too many straps. Why did you pick such a difficult one?"

You definitely selected something with a lot of extra straps for a reason but you bite your lip and try to come up with an excuse that seems plausible. The truth is that you wanted to pick something sexy because you wanted him to see you as such. Does he care though? It's hard to tell. You decide the best excuse is to dismiss the question altogether.

"Stop being such a baby. I'll help you."

As he lifts his head to cringe in your direction, you're already out the door. He pounds his forehead against the mattress again and squeezes his eyes shut. There's clearly no logical explanation for this, so what is the next step to take? What should the pair of you do? Is this permanent? There has to be a way to undo whatever has happened. In order to figure that out he's trying to piece together the source of this predicament. No matter how hard he wracks his brain for answers to the puzzle, there still seems to be pieces missing.

"Get up. Come on," you huff, tugging at his arm.

The sound he makes is pitiful and whiny as he rises. It's easy enough to see where his arms are supposed to go when you've already bunched all of the material together. You step behind him and fiddle with the fit around the familiar mounds of flesh at his front. He instinctively looks down to watch how his own familiar fingers slide beneath the bra. He pries his eyes away just as quickly to find he has a much better view of the pair of you in the mirror.

There's a sight he'd never thought he'd see: both of you shirtless with his hands in your bra. It's not that he's never wanted it. It's just that he always seems to fuck it up when it comes to being social, with you in particular. Maybe it's because he likes you too much. There's never been a proper opportunity to make a move outside of work and he knows his flirting skills are abysmal. But looking at the reflection of the pair of you now fills him with equal amounts of desire and confidence.

Just as you’re about to clasp the first strap behind his neck you glance up and find yourself lost in the same reflection. An electric blush creeps up your spine and causes a tingle in your cheeks that makes you freeze like a deer caught in headlights. He hums a soft sound and makes the decision to reach back for your wrist. For a moment you’re not sure if you’re moving or if he is but you find yourself enjoying the sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers dipping below the fabric of your bra.

“Yoongi?” you ask, jaw hanging slack as the bra slips a bit further down.

“Do you feel that?” The voice is quiet as he lets you trace fingers along the soft skin. “It pinches there.”

That pinch is a familiar one but you always tell yourself that’s the price of beauty. The straps chafe. The underwire digs into your ribs. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s the sexiest-looking thing you own so comfort be damned. You watch it slide further down to reveal one of your nipples in the reflection of the mirror; it’s impossible to look away. So much for him not looking anymore. You can’t blame him because it’s impossible for you to take your eyes off it too. The sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers trailing along the side of your breast sends a surge of excitement through your veins.

Goosebumps form a path where your fingers have traced and Yoongi exhales a shaky breath. The sound makes you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. Is he feeling just as turned on right now? You try to remind yourself that the mirror is a lie. He’s not touching you. You’re touching him, regardless of how it looks. You can’t let your feelings cloud your judgement. It’s so fucking hard to think straight now that you’re together like this, not just because he’s here in your room but because he’s experiencing the unique arousal of his body while trapped in yours.

“Being a girl sucks. What am I supposed to do about it?” Your fingers tremble as you force your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

The action does not go unnoticed. He smirks and quirks a brow but chooses to let it slide without commenting. “Give me something easy and comfy.”

“But—” You hesitate. Do you really need to argue about this? You can’t explain it without admitting your feelings towards him. It seems like an inopportune time, more so than usual. It’s better if you can just shut the fuck up for two seconds and work on the important task at hand: figuring out how to get back to normal.

He immediately fills the gap with an objection of his own. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” you say in the flattest tone you can muster.

He turns around to get a better read on your body language but you’re already rummaging through your drawers. You toss a sports bra with a front-facing zipper at him while you don the sweater and slip into the bathroom to relieve yourself. It’s best to avoid situations like that again if you can.

Yoongi takes this moment to inspect the room, crinkling his nose at the several empty cans of Hot6 stacked on top of your dresser. He brings a long manicured nail to his teeth and begins working it back and forth as he slides the folding closet door open with a finger. Much to his surprise your wardrobe is filled with t-shirts that look much more comfortable than the piece you previously selected. He’s quick to trade shirts and carefully replaces the clothing on the hanger before sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his elbows. Comfy. Finally. His attention is drawn to the closed bathroom door. It’s been a while. Are you okay?

“You better not be passed out in there,” he whines, making sure to sound extra annoying for you.

The attempt to conceal the concern in his tone is successful but he’s happy you’re not able to see his worried expression. If you knew how badly he wants to freak out, you might actually start hyperventilating again. He’d like to avoid that. The door swings open and you exhale deeply. You’re not about to tell him you had to wait out the boner because then he’d probably make fun of you. He watches you take a few steps forward while wedging a nail between his teeth.

“Are you biting my fucking nails again?”

“Yup.”

You’re already scrambling across the bed and by the time he moves to shuffle backwards you have his wrists pinned against your soft comforter and you’re straddling his waist. Oh god. This is too fucking hot to be doing with him while he’s in your body. Abort. Abort!

It’s now that you note he’s wearing a soft cotton t-shirt you definitely did not pick out. “Yoongi, did you—”

“These clothes are better. Did you give me the most uncomfortable things you own just to make me suffer for stealing your muffin?”

Between the sports bra and the t-shirt he’s selected the curves of your body are lost to your eyes and your heart sinks. There goes any chance you had of him thinking your body is sexy. He’s expecting a tongue lashing but you sigh instead and release your hold on him, quickly climbing off his form before you can let your body get you into trouble. You search for the laptop that you know is hidden just beneath the covers near your pillows.

“Pfft. Look, maybe we can google what happened to us and not get Freaky Friday movie reviews. You wanna see if it works?”

He offers a half smirk in response and he’s quiet only for a second before he hums a sound of distaste. It’s an accusation and you know it. He quickly scoots back towards the pillows so he can sit beside you.

You scowl as you mistype your own password. “Ugh. What?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re so mad.”

“I’m not.”

You make sure to broadcast the fact that you’re definitely not mad by repeatedly tapping the delete key in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Why does your face look like that then?” he prods while folding his hands across his lap.

“Like what? You of all people should know that your face always looks this grumpy.”

As he rests his head against the fluffy material behind him, he lazily rolls his head towards you. “Y/N.”

You dramatically throw your head back against the pillows and mirror his stare. “Yoongi.”

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.

“It clearly does,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We have to work together to figure this out, so some honesty might be nice.”

You open the laptop and stare at the password screen for a moment with a longing sigh. “Fine. I look gross in those,” you admit with a brief glance at his attire. “You’re making me look like an unsexy blob.”

He scoffs. “What? Is that all? You’re being ridiculous. These clothes don’t matter at all. We both know what you look like underneath them. Honestly, you could be wearing a trashbag and still be sexy.”

“To whom?” You want to laugh at how absurd his explanation sounds. “What kind of lunatic would think that?”

He blinks slowly and raises his eyebrows with a calculated clench of his jaw. “Me. For starters.”

He’s stiff as he purses his lips and crosses his arms. He stares at the login screen, waiting for you to type your password. “And any sane man or woman with a pair of eyes and a brain.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief mid-stroke. Was that a confession? Your head might as well be full of helium with how high you’re feeling. This has to be a dream. If the insane concept of switching bodies with Yoongi isn’t enough to solidify it, those words sure are. You have to be dreaming.

Your eyes remain locked onto the fingers now resting against the keys. “Do you really think that?”

“Yes.” The response comes quicker than expected but instead of giving you time to ruminate on it, he nudges you with his elbow. “Password.”

Your shoulders lift with a deep inhale through your nose and drop back down with the subsequent forceful exhale through your lips. What are you supposed to do with that information? You feel your consciousness try to lift into the aether. If you could only make it float back into your own body, you might have the courage to say something, anything. With your mind drifting away, your fingers move of their own accord as they type in the password to your laptop.

"Whoa, what the fuck is that?"

The video you'd left open last night starts up with a preview that brings you back to reality, but not fast enough.

"D-Don't look! It's private!" you screech.

Heat pulses through the veins along the sides of your forehead. Precious seconds have already been wasted by the time you frantically scramble to close the tab. He's seen the keywords in the search bar and the nastiest bits of that particular video. You're fucking mortified.

“I mean that’s definitely a couple privates," he jokes with a laugh. "You seriously just leave your porn out like that?"

”Incognito mode, Yoongi," you sneer while pulling up a new tab. "I don’t need you or my FBI guy judging me.”

He snorts. “Oh come on, Y/N. The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences. And neither do I. Besides, you technically looked at it with my eyes already.”

He taps the side of your forehead gently as if you needed the reminder that you're not in your own skin and you swat him away. You quickly type the phrase “body swap” into the search bar and try to focus on the resulting web pages even though you’re distracted by the blood leaving your brain in favor of other body parts.

"Can you just… Shut up for one second?"

"Hey, I'm just saying..." He clicks his tongue thoughtfully as he scooches closer to you. "You’re into some good stuff. We might have more in common than I thought."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the physical contact and send a tingling electricity down your abdomen. You clear your throat and reposition the computer over your lap as you feel yourself growing harder. You stare down at the two fingers settled on the trackpad rather than the information on screen. Try as you might to remain inconspicuous, suddenly all you can think about are those thick fingers rubbing hard circles against your clit while the two of you watch porn together. Bad thought. Baaaaaad. You attempt to pass the laptop over to him as discreetly as possible while shifting your pelvis away towards the edge of the bed.

“I’m…” You flounder for an excuse to leave the room and get these racing hormones under control. “...pee.”

“What?” There's a quizzical expression branded upon his features that toes the line of disgust.

“I have to pee,” you quickly correct while tactically holding your forearm over your lap. If there is such a thing as fate, why is it torturing you like this?

“Again?”

You push the laptop towards him once more and pray that he’ll just let you go be embarrassed alone in the bathroom for five minutes. Instead he looks down at the way your forearms cross your pelvis and exudes a deep, throaty laugh that sounds foreign in the tenor of your voice. That laughter travels through your head like it’s made of hot coals.

“Wow. Got a boner, huh?”

Your cheeks are made of fire. Literal fire. They feel like they should melt straight through your skin and torch your brain yet here you are: still alive and wishing you would burn to death. God is dead. There is no mercy in this universe.

"Don't fucking laugh at me! I can't control it!"

When he laughs harder, the urge to silence him overtakes all rational thought. You reach for a lock of hair sticking out from beneath his cap and pull hard. He hisses through his teeth and you smirk, knowing what kind of response this would normally elicit from your body. Will it affect him the same, or is the sexual response guided by mental preference rather than physical? Maybe it’s both. It seems to have some effect because he’s stopped laughing.

Yoongi shivers as goosebumps riddle his arms and prickle along his chest until his nipples are threatening to poke holes through the thin fabric of the bra and t-shirt. His jaw tightens and on instinct his hand shoots up to grasp at the short black hair adorning your head in retaliation. He catches himself before he pursues the motion of yanking down. What is he doing? Can he really be so bold with you? He knows you, but not like this. Things are strange right now but if he keeps going they're bound to get stranger. If the butterflies in his stomach weren't enough to tip him off to his attraction to you, even like this, the wetness between these thighs solidifies the magnetism you hold over him.

A pitiful sound escapes your lips that hints at your disappointment. “Mmm?"

He pauses there to inspect your expression, tilting his head as though it will give him a better read. He should be able to interpret his own expression but looking at his face through your eyes doesn't seem to help at all. Because he's studied your features for so long it's hard to see what you're feeling now that he can't see them at work. His palm flattens against your scalp and he allows his fingers to wander through the thick black hair he's combed out a million times. Somehow it feels softer in your hands. Soon he finds his hand cupping the back of your neck. Labored breaths swim in the space between the pair of you, but it's hard to tell who they belong to.

"What are you doing?" you whisper as your fingers reach for the brim of his cap.

"What are you doing?" he echoes back.

Have your eyes always looked so fierce, or is it his persona breathing a dark fire into them now? You flick the cap off his head, which releases all the hair he had trapped underneath it. You push it back from his face and tangle your fingers within it.

"Pretending like this isn't just you wanting to make out with yourself to see what it's like," you answer, staring at the reflection in his eyes. "You?"

There's a smirk that grows into a full blown grin within seconds. "Trying to convince myself that it isn't insane to want to make out with myself just to see what it's like."

You scoff and drop your hands to his shoulders to give him a firm push back. "Dick."

He giggles at the way you pout and halfheartedly pushes the laptop towards the other side of the bed. The hand still on the back of your neck travels up to massage your scalp and suddenly you're putty in his palm. His other hand trails along your stubbly jaw until his fingers are nestled behind your ear. As he glances down at the tent in your pants he laughs.

"Still hard?"

"Like your nipples," you grumble.

You reach out and twist the peaks barely hidden beneath his shirt; it's an impulse you don't refuse. This time he moans.

"Oh, you liked that, hmm? I bet you're so fucking wet right now," you whisper, embracing your boldness.

You watch his eyes roll with the flutter of his lashes at your words. Both of his hands glide through your hair and he begins to flex his fingers around some strands. He alternates between releasing his gentle grip on your locks and twisting his fingers back into them. You’re making him crazy. Should he even bother trying to compose himself at this point?

“What?” you prod, pushing the limits of his endurance for such brattiness. “Aren’t you going to pull my hair, Yoongi?”

The way he glares at you causes your skin to break out in a series of goosebumps. How can you be shivering when your body was just doing its best impression of molten rock? Yoongi. That’s the answer. You whimper a pathetic sound as his knuckles curl towards your scalp. The motion brings your forehead down to meet his and your eyelids flutter closed. He focuses heavy breaths out through his nose and stares at the lips he knows are his own. They may be part of his usual physical appearance but right now they’re a part of yours.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious.”

He sucks his bottom lip through his teeth and moves towards you before he can second guess what he's about to do. His lips seem to meld with yours and your eyes pop open to be sure this is really happening. Is this really happening? You see your own nose and heavy lidded eyes peeking open just enough to roll back in pleasure.

The hands buried in your hair drop to cradle your jaw and you can feel the stubble scraping against the delicate skin of his fingers as he drags his hands slowly towards your chin. You melt into his touch and hold your breath like you'll never inhale another again. Suddenly you're kissing him back and no amount of lightheadedness can stop you.

Oh shit. This is happening. It’s not anything like your daydreams but it’s real and it feels so fucking good. It feels surreal. It feels too surreal. Maybe the lightheadedness can stop you. It's you, but it's not. Your eyes open again and you find a battle of anxiety raging in your brain. He pauses to peck the edge of your mouth when he realizes you're no longer kissing him back.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Did I… read that wrong?”

“No! No, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It’s just…” A laugh bubbles from your throat and you shake your head before bursting into a fit of giggles. “This is weird.”

Relief washes over his features and he smiles as he leans back to look at you. “It’s definitely unique. But I can’t say I want to stop.”

His admission fills you with a fresh wave of tingles up your spine. “Me neither. I… still want you.”

You sheepishly turn your head to the side and find the mirror lining the closet wall, looking at the image of the pair of you as if it will save you from the embarrassment of your own words.

"What? Now you're getting shy?" he teases while following you gaze to the reflection. It dawns on him that he can enjoy the view. "Or do you just want to watch?"

He moves towards your lips slowly while keeping focused on the mirror, watching your eyes lazily roll back behind your lids and revelling in the whine this pulls from you.

“Look,” he pleads in low whisper, angling your body so you can get a better view. “Look how good you look with your tongue on my neck.”

Your head lolls around just in time to see exactly that before the sensation snaps across your nerve endings. He latches on, sucking light bruises into the tender flesh. He knows where to put his tongue to have you gripping the back of his neck and arching your back up towards him. He smirks as he glances at the mirror, licking a hot stripe up to your ear where he teasingly nibbles on the lobe.

"Does it look as hot when I--when you...?" You flounder on your words in between soft pants, your eyes trained on the reflection.

He counters with a whisper, “Do you want to find out?”

“I’m… curious,” you admit, leaning your head back to give him access to more of your neck.

“You want to know how it feels,” he lazily mumbles against your neck. “Hmm. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.”

“It’s a unique opportunity,” you say, trying to convince yourself that proposing the idea isn’t weird at all. “Maybe we just… See?”

“Right. This is a unique opportunity,” he echoes in agreement, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is muffled as he sighs a heated breath against your skin. “We should take advantage of it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t tell anyone.”

He pops his head up to look at you, his brows knotted in confusion. “Who would believe me?”

You shake your head and smirk. “I guess you’re right.”

There’s a moment where the concept of time seems to evaporate. You both stare at each other like you’re seeing your own faces for the first time, like it’s the first time you both can actually love and accept yourselves as you are. It’s easier to be gentle with someone else, but now that someone else is technically also a part of you it brings a level of clemency to your feelings regarding your appearance. You like yourself better now that you can see a part of him there.

“Will you show me how you like it?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

“If you show me, too,” you say with a gentle rock of your hips towards him.

“You first.”

Your mouth is already covering the soft expanse of his neck, dragging your teeth with just enough pressure to tease the skin. He watches you work up and down through the mirror, feeling the arousal between his legs building. As you're kissing a path back towards his mouth he takes a chance and swings his leg over your midriff so he's kneeling just above the throbbing cock hidden beneath the thin layer of gray fabric. The jeans dig a hard line into his stomach and limit the range of his spread.

"These pants are horrible," he complains.

"Take them off if you hate them so much," you agree between hungry kisses. It's impossible to keep your eyes from the mirror. He hooks his fingers beneath your sweater and begins working it upwards, stopping only to rest a palm on your chest.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He trails his fingers down the flat expanse until he gets to your navel, passing over the dark hair leading down into your pants. He tugs at the place where the hair begins to grow thicker and laughs when you hiss an expletive.

He quickly pulls the oversized sweater upwards. Instead of helping you out of it, he clutches the fabric with both hands as you bring your arms above your head and presses you back into the mattress. You find your bent elbows trapped in the sleeves.

“How about this?” he whispers. “Do you like this?”

“Yes.” You look down at the delicious pectorals he’s exposed, practically salivating at the sight of those pert nipples. “Yoongi, please.”

He smirks as he runs his fingers down your chest, ignoring the nipples you wish he would do something about. Lower. Lower. His hand travels behind him until suddenly your body spasms with pleasure from the practiced grip he’s placed on the cock standing at attention behind him.

“This? Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”

“Fuck! Yes. Please. Yes!”

Just as quickly as his hand pressed against your clothed erection, it’s gone, leaving you a whimpering mess. He plants a kiss beside one of your nipples, but denies it any direct contact.

"Stop teasing me," you whine. The pressure in your chest builds with every second that passes and you feel like your heart is going to burst.

He lets out a lofty sigh as he sits back on his thighs, promptly removing his t-shirt. "But you make it so easy..."

You wiggle out of the arms of the sweater and sit up to unsnap the button to his jeans. You kiss up his stomach until he’s unzipping the bra and letting you nip at the supple flesh for a moment. He discards the bra like it’s nothing before rolling over to unzip his pants. He peels them from his legs along with the soaked panties. It’s hard to not look at the mirror as he climbs over your waist. If he holds any shame for being nude in front of you, it’s not apparent in his current form. Your face, however, feels hot. Your body is exposed and he keeps looking at it, groping those breasts with his hands.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, admiring the reflection as he plays with his nipples between his fingers.

You want to bury your face in something to hide your embarrassment so you plant your face between his tits and begin to suck bruises into the soft flesh beside his fingers.

“Oh fuck.” The sight of his own face diving between those squishy tits is enough to make his body involuntarily flex in ways he’s never experienced before.

“How does it feel?” you murmur, slowly licking a path to one of his nipples and lightly dragging your teeth along it.

The sound he makes when he moans has you shivering all over again. He lets his head fall back for a second and then he looks at you. “Like I want you to touch me.”

Now you’re the one who smirks with confidence. “Lay back.”

He snaps the band at your waist as he rolls off of you. “These. Off.”

Manicured fingers slip down to rub some of the tension from the swollen bud between his legs as he watches you awkwardly push the pants down past the cock begging to be touched. You try to avoid looking at it. It’s hard not to feel exposed even though it’s not your body. You scramble back into the bed as quickly as you can. His laughter catches you off guard.

“You’re so shy now. Look at it. Feel it,” he urges. “Grab my cock.”

You try to be casual about your downward glance but the way you lick your lips is anything but casual. You press your thumb into the base of the cock to admire its shape from a 90 degree angle. It’s average in terms of length but your mouth waters at the sight of the bulging veins and increased girth just below the swollen tip. You don’t bother to resist the urge to grip the shaft. You drag your hand up and trace your thumb around the fleshy mauve tip. The sensation causes you to shiver. It’s so sensitive.

As you’re admiring the way it tapers towards the base, soft, thinner fingers curl around yours and begin to guide them into a slow, controlled pumping motion that sets your nerves alight.

He quirks a brow at you. “What do you think?”

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you choke out with a held breath. Greedy gasps break the small silence that follows. Has it always been so hard to speak while masturbating? It’s not like you’re terrible at dirty talk so why are you hesitating?

“Do you need me to stop?”

You fervently shake your head and follow it with a needy groan. “No. Please… Keep going.” You hope he never stops.

“Then use your words” he urges, placing his hand over yours to slow your pace to a crawl.

You whimper. It’s a pathetic sound created with his voice in his throat, yet it still somehow sounds so deliciously like you. While he finds himself attracted to your usual body, it doesn’t bother him that you’re currently assuming a different form. Looks are fleeting anyway. It’s the person inside he’s grown attached to, the caring soul he feels connected to.

He’s seen you stare at the bulletin board near the restroom and tear off the tabs of creative community activities to benefit those in need. If he wasn’t so busy managing the store all the time he would have been able to sign up for those events too. He’s seen you volunteer at the homeless shelter just around the corner. He’s seen you cradling posters for your neighbor’s missing cat— he’d even let you keep one on the door to his store until you told him they found it.

The truth is that your soul is so beautiful and full that he’d want you no matter what you looked like. If only he had the courage to say that. But it's easier to hide behind snark.

“It feels so good,” you whine. “I wish I could put my mouth all over it. Bet you’d fill me so good.”

A growl escapes with his exhale and he guides your fist up and down the girth between your legs with increased vigor. He gently leads you by the dick, pulling you closer to the bed until your knees hit the side.

“Look in the mirror, Y/N. Watch,” he whispers in a low tone, almost begging you to keep your eyes on the reflection.

You do as he says and watch in awe as a set of manicured fingers tap against your chest and trail down to the cock still nestled in your fist. They work their way beneath your palm and shoo your hand away. Even knowing that Yoongi is behind the action, the sight of your hands stroking that perfect cock sets a fire of desire coursing through your veins.

You watch in the mirror as your lips plant kisses on the dark hair beneath Yoongi’s navel. You watch as your head sinks lower and lower until soft, plush lips are skimming the tip of his dick. You watch his length slide into your mouth and immediately your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands are already reaching up to stabilize your stance even as he glides his tongue against you. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve felt before, but having your clit sucked and teased comes close. It’s heaven. You whimper a tortured sound sitting somewhere between the boundaries of pleasure and anguish. He plays your role so well, maybe even better than you could play it. You attempt to distract yourself from the nervous tremble of your thighs by gathering bits of his hair in your hands and balling it in your fists. He gargles out a muffled moan against you.

“I look so good sucking your pretty cock,” you whisper in awe.

He leans back to swipe his tongue over the slit and then sinks back down, nose hitting the tuft of dark hair at your pelvis as you bottom out in his throat. Your grip around his hair tightens with the slight rock of your hips. You press his face against your crotch like you never want him to leave. The pair of you look so fucking hot. You’re revelling in slow, shallow thrusts deep in his throat when he makes a gagging noise you know all too well. He grips your thighs and you immediately release your hold while pulling your hips back.

“Fuck I’m so sorry!” Heat rises in your face and you want to run and hide.

He rests his palm on your waist and catches his breath, a trail of sticky precum and thick spit connecting his mouth to your cock. It involuntarily flexes and bobs up towards your stomach and then back down, which severs the path of saliva.

“Don’t be. That was hot.” He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

“Yoongi, you didn’t have to! I mean I was curious but I—”

You’re cut off by his harsh tug on your hands. You stumble forward and meet his dark gaze. How can he make your eyes look so hungry?

“I’m a firm believer in never asking someone to do what I wouldn’t. I like to know what I’m giving, don’t you?”

“God, I wish that were me. I want to taste you so bad,” you whine, licking your lips as you spare a glance down at the glistening appendage standing at attention between your legs. “Wanna taste you dripping off my tongue.”

“You can,” he assures you in a soft voice, cupping your face with his hands.

His lips are on yours in an instant and you’re moaning against them like you’ll never get enough. The salty tang on his tongue transfers to yours as it dips into your mouth. You wish you could take him into your mouth yourself, but this is a good substitute for now.

"You taste good," you pant between kisses. "Why haven't we done this sooner?"

He pulls away to shrug, cocking his head to the side and focusing on your neck. "If you want something you have to speak up. No one can read minds and even if they could, often times people are so wrapped up in their own heads they'd never see what you think.”

"Wow, getting philosophical on me, huh? So… What? I'm just supposed to say, ‘Hey yoongi you're hot. Wanna fuck’?"

"That's a little blunt don't you think?" He laughs, allowing you to push him back onto the mattress. "Been holding that back long?"

Your heart skips a beat, heat flushing your ears. "Maybe. Would it have made a difference?”

He ponders this for a moment as he squints at the ceiling in concentration. "Mmm. I'd say you should at least buy me dinner first… "

You scoff. It’s not a no but it’s not an enthusiastic yes either. You climb onto the mattress, trying to ignore how casually he lays in your bed, completely barren before you.

He rolls onto his side and props his head up to survey your approach. You seem a little nervous so it’s easier for him to fake confidence for both your sakes. "I guess we're both guilty of not saying what we mean."

"What is it you really mean to say then?" If he’s got a juicy secret he’s been holding in, then you want to know to salvage what’s left of your pride.

"I give you shit but I like that you come into the store every day to get your muffin and your gross energy drink. I like when you come back in after just to bitch about your day and pretend like you need a snack that I never see you eat. I like when you ask me about my day, even though you know I’m shit at conversation. It makes me happy because I care about…" he hesitates when he sees your smug grin. "...”

“Yes?” you prod.

He draws a deep breath from his belly. “You. I care about you. I’ve never found an opportunity to tell you that I like you. I’m always working, keeping my store afloat, focused on the numbers and the success of my business. But I see you coming out of that building every day. I watch for you to make sure even after a year of this that you’re still coming here first. It’s crazy but you put me at ease and make me anxious at the same time. I feel like I know you, like I’ve known you all my life.”

He pauses to allow you to interject. When you don’t, he continues, “I feel it in my bones when you smile at me, when you roll your eyes at me, when you try to make me laugh... You’re so easy to fall for. I know that I’m not, but sometimes you look at me and I feel like you want to. I want you to. I wish you would come back when I’m locking up for the night so that I could see you outside of work, so I could take you out, so I could take you home. A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say.”

“Yoongi…” you finally whisper.

Your face scrunches up like you’re about to cry and he grimaces at you, knowing you’re definitely about to do just that.

“Don’t do that. My cheeks look so fat when you do that. Hey, are you listening? Don’t make my face look so ugly!”

His attempts to make you smile simply causes the tears to fall from your eyes. You melt into his embrace, burying your face against his neck as you sob. He places a tentative palm on the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, planting a kiss against your hair, “if it’s just me.”

“No, I feel the same way,” you admit, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You say you’re hard to love but how can that be true when I feel what I feel so easily? I will wait for you to close your shop and walk you home every day if you let me. I will be yours, if you let me.”

He turns your head so that he can bring his lips to yours. They taste salty again for entirely different reasons. Can you feel the way he’s trembling right now? All the relief in the world can’t assuage the ache of carrying such a burden in his chest for so long. The adrenaline is coursing through him like a wildfire, spreading until his lungs are burning with a heat he can’t quell.

“Mine, then,” he whispers, allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks freely. “Mine.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a passionate kiss that threatens to steal every last bit of oxygen from your lungs. He growls into your mouth, claiming every inch inside with his tongue. He grinds his hips upwards and it’s then you remember that you’re naked and you have a dick that’s still half-hard and growing harder by the second.

You groan loudly. “Fuuuuuck. I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

He pulls back to bite his lip, the intrigue in his features apparent. “You want to try it?”

“I mean… you sucked your own dick for me. You don’t owe me anything—”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I want to try it,” he says, wriggling his hips beneath you. “Fuck. Me.”

“This is still so weird,” you say with a giggle, your eyes rolling back into your skull when the tip of your cock glides against his clit. “Ah…”

The pair of you pause and slowly repeat the motion. You can feel how wet he is and instead of being embarrassed like you would be in his place, you find it incredibly hot.

“Do it again,” he pleads, spreading his legs further apart to allow you better access.

You look down, pressing your thumb into the base of your cock and carefully glide the tip across the folds between his legs. He hisses an expletive between his teeth when you drag it past his clit and begin rocking your hips back and forth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he whispers through frantic panting and sloppy kisses.

You feel a cramp in your thigh and pull back to nurse the ache. He whines when you slink away from his body, missing the friction on his clit already, although he’s satisfied enough when you circle one of his breasts with your tongue and take a nipple into your mouth. You press light circles into his clit with the pad of your middle finger until you can feel his legs flexing around your body like you’re not giving him enough. His fingers dive beneath yours to tease the swollen bud.

“Let me feel,” he pants. “Let me learn where to touch.”

You carefully guide his movements for a minute while treating his other nipple to the pleasures of your tongue. He seems to get the hang of stimulating himself pretty quickly so you turn your attention towards his thighs. You sink between them and begin kissing the sensitive skin beside his folds. His thighs twitch when you trace circles around his entrance with your tongue. You briefly pause to inspect your fingernails, making sure none of them are a jagged mess from the way he’s bitten them. When you’re satisfied with your inspection you peek up at him.

“You want to try my fingers first?” you ask, feeling envious that you can’t be riding three of them to the knuckle right now. “I can show you how my mouth feels too, though I doubt I’m an expert on that.”

“I don’t care about that.” He lifts his hand so he can peer down at you from between his tits. “I’ll take your mouth anywhere you want to give it.”

He watches as you flick your tongue across the sensitive, slick bundle of nerves. He bucks his hips as you clamp down and roll your tongue back and forth over it. His pretty painted nails look so good digging into your ebony hair. It’s not long until you dip a finger inside his cunt, teasing until you’re bobbing it in and out at a decent pace.

“Oh…” he says, as if he’s surprised that the experience is so pleasurable. “Shit, that’s good. Fuck. I’m gonna....”

You push another finger into him, curling the longest digit as far as you can to try and reach the g-spot you know is hiding nearby. When you finally get it he grips your shoulders and arches his pelvis off the ground like he’s committing to a new yoga routine. You recognize the stiffness in his limbs, the involuntary tremble of his thighs beside your head, the heaving of his chest and the frantic nonsense spilling out from his lips. You focus your energy on his clit, replacing your mouth with your hand since you have more confidence bringing about his climax this way.

His hips stutter and you know he’s riding the line. It’s a little bit more difficult to find that perfect rhythm when your hand isn’t in it’s normal position. The way he sucks in a breath to release his needy whines almost makes you feel guilty. It’s not like you’re trying to edge him but you’re not able to keep that pressure as consistent as you’d like.

“I’m so close,” he pants. “But I keep losing it. I’m sorry.”

You’ve been there plenty of times but you’re desperate to make him cum.

“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Rub it, baby. You know what feels good,” you whisper, shifting your attention to fingering his cunt. You don’t call attention to the pet name, but it feels so natural falling from your lips in this moment. You hope he doesn’t mind.

In an instant his fingers replace yours on his clit and he’s building back up. His thighs quake and his back arches off the mattress one more time and you know it’s coming. He’s about to reach his peak.

He takes a sharp inhale and where you expect the loud wails you would normally make while riding out your high, there’s quiet shuddering and softy breathy moans that linger in the air around you. He grabs your wrist with an ironclad grip as soon as he rides the last wave and his sweaty thighs fall limp around your face. You’re grinning like an idiot as he pulls you by the hair towards his lips, desperate to feel you, to taste you. His tongue is exploring every bit it can, trying to steal the essence from your mouth.

“Mmm. I want to taste that sweet pussy every day.“

“Do you… Still want me to fuck you?” You’re really trying not to sound hopeful but you can’t stop thinking about it.

He smirks and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let me feel how well my cock fills you.”

“Do I need a condom?” you ask. “Are you clean?”

He laughs like it’s an absurd question. “That’s up to you. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m clean. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”

“Four years is a long time,” you mumble, suddenly feeling pressure perform well. “I have an IUD so if you’re okay with it…”

“I wanna know how it feels.”

As soon as you line yourself up with his entrance you’re sweating like you’ve never sweated in your entire life. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re hoping it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t take a genius to sense your nerves. He reaches out to cup your stubbly jaw.

“We don’t have to.”

“I want to. Just… tell me if I’m hurting you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his.

You let the tip dip inside and descend into his cunt slowly, knowing the thickest part of your dick follows the tip immediately. The stretch must be delicious. You’re distracted by how tightly his walls are clamping down on you. It’s tempting to bury yourself in his warmth as quickly as possible but you show restraint. His breath hitches as he adjusts to your girth and you freeze. Has your body ever taken someone as thick as him? You can’t recall. Probably not.

“Keep going,” he coaches, grabbing at your ass to press you further inside until you’ve bottomed out.

Your head hangs down as you try not to let the sensation overwhelm you. His lips find yours, helping you climb back down from the high. You slowly move your hips back, already missing the tight warmth hugging you. It takes a few more slow thrusts until you’re pumping into him at a relatively steady pace.

“Sorry if my rhythm isn’t good. I’ve never done this,” you manage to say between heavy breaths.

“You’re doing fine. This feels amazing. What are you talking about?”

He could be lying to make you feel better but it’s working. He puts his hands by his head to indicate he wants you to hold them. You immediately twine your fingers in his and press the back of his hands into the mattress.

“Yeah? It feels so fucking good, Yoongi.”

“It does... But I know you can fuck me harder than that, Y/N.”

You can already feel the tightness you’re holding back, a pleasurable pressure building in your pelvis that warns you of the imminent orgasm you can only stave off for so long. You can’t help but slam your hips in harder and faster at his request. The sound of balls slapping against skin fills the room and he moves his hips to meet yours. His breathing grows labored but you know he’s not about to cum again. You’ve never gotten off from penetration alone and there’s no way your sloppy performance will cause that miracle to happen now.

“There you go… Fuck. That’s it.”

“I’m gonna pull out,” you warn, feeling like you’re testing your own limits with every thrust.

“Already?” he teases, digging his pretty fingernails into your back.

“It feels… too fucking good, Yoon…” You wish you had more stamina. “Gonna cum on those pretty tits.”

“Yoon?” He chuckles, now distracted by the way his tits are bouncing with each slap of your hips.

“Just wait until I’m back in that body riding your cock. See how long you last then.”

“Is that a promise?” he questions, cupping your jaw to kiss you.

“...Yeah...”

He can feel the difference in your pace, in the shivers of your body. You’re about to cum. He turns your face towards the mirror so you can see how fucked out your reflection looks. It’s intoxicating seeing Yoongi’s body so needy and desperate.

“Look at you. You’re not gonna make it to these tits.”

“Fuck…” you bite your lip and try to slow your pace but it’s too late. The tension and pressure bursts from the head of your cock like a confetti popper on New Years. With a few, strong pumps you spill your seed into his warm cunt. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cummmph--”

Yoongi brings your lips back to meet his to muffle the unexpected sounds of your orgasm.

“Oh my goooood. You’re so loud,” he teases when you finally come down, but you’re too spent to refute him.

There’s another twitch in your dick and you lay there with your mouth open, trying to regain sense of your faculties. He intentionally clenches around your softening length and every muscle in your abdomen flexes.

“Too much!” you shriek, pulling out and rolling off of him in one swift motion.

You let your sweaty back hit the soft duvet, trying to recover from the sensation. He laughs, angling his legs towards the mirror. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he spreads his legs and swipes at the cum dripping from his cunt, pushing it back inside with his fingers and releasing a soft sigh. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen yourself do, and you’re not even doing it.

When he’s satisfied that he’s pushed it all in, he lays down next to you. The two of you stare at the ceiling in silence for at least a minute. Is it awkward or was it just that good? You can’t tell the difference right now and it’s making you anxious. He covers your hand with his and looks over at you with a warm smile.

The anxiety-driven words come out before you can stop them. “You should pee. You don’t want a UTI and neither do I.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

About an hour has passed in awkward silence as the two of you conduct research on what the fuck happened to you. You haven’t talked about what you both did in this bed, but the smell of sex still hangs in the air. As soon as you both put your clothes back on it was like a switch of modesty came back into play, and you feel too shy to point it out. You don’t know what to say, so you’ve just been clicking on every link you possibly can to fill the silence as he scrolls through articles on his phone nearby. It’s uncomfortable and you hate it.

“I think I have something, maybe,” you say, scrolling through the 90s looking website you’ve been exploring for the last few minutes.

Yoongi scoots closer to you and furrows his brow as he squints to read the sloppy banner at the top of the page. “The Unsolved?”

“I know what you’re thinking. Conspiracy theorists are insane, I know, but—”

You reach for the trackpad at the same time and your fingers brush, causing you to freeze mid-sentence. You stare at the keyboard for a second and chew on your lip, allowing your eyes to dart towards your periphery without moving your head. When he doesn’t say anything you clear your throat and scroll with the trackpad.

“But, look.” You point to the two embedded images triumphantly.

“Necklaces.” He cocks his head to the side and reads the text underneath aloud. “‘An Amulet of Discord is used by an Agent of Chaos to spread mischief and debauchery in the universe. It can be split into two halves to displace unsuspecting victims from their bodies. A glamour will protect the Amulet once the ritual is complete, making it impossible to see or touch. In order to reunite the victim with their body, the Agent responsible must be compelled to remove the glamour and mend the fragmented pieces into one.’”

“Last night I had one of those chincy friendship necklaces on and I definitely did not put it on. It looked a lot like the ones that weird guy tried to give us at your shop yesterday. I tried to get it off but it wouldn’t budge. Then it disappeared.”

“This sounds insane,” he muses, mulling over the information.

“Did it happen to you too?”

“I thought I saw one briefly, but… It was gone when I looked again. I thought I must be seeing things.”

“It’s gotta be it!”

Yoongi furrows his brows as you scroll back up to the navigation, not sure if he fully believes in this explanation. “What’s an Agent of Chaos anyway?”

“I guess they like… cause mayhem for fun? I don’t know, the description said something about pleasing a patron that they get their powers from.”

“Like a god?”

The thought makes him uneasy. If a god of chaos exists then surely there are more out there. If gods exist but they do nothing to balance out the cosmic injustices of the universe, are they really gods or more like demons? He feels like he’s about to have a full meltdown over something he can’t understand or control.

“Maybe. It doesn’t describe them at all. But…” You give him a reassuring smirk. “It does give instructions on how to trap an Agent. We just need a little more space and some chalk. We’ll draw him out, trap him, then make him undo his magic. What do we have to lose?”

His heart feels lighter when you look at him so softly. “Makes it sound simple when you say it like that. Also, slightly insane.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

The website was very lax on defining the ‘discordant energy’ needed to summon the agent, so the pair of you have been improvising. Yoongi suggested moving into the store for the space you needed, but you have a feeling he’s just anxious about it being closed for the day. It’s fine. You don’t want to constantly be thinking about the sex neither of you are acknowledging right now. Yoongi is brushing his teeth after drinking a bottle of orange juice.

You grimace at him. “You really think that’s gonna do it?”

He stops mid-brush, his mouth full of foam and garbling his words. “It’s better than doing nothing. How are you helping?”

You give the sunglasses rack a slow spin. “I drew the sigil on the floor. If we’re gonna trap him we need to be ready. Were you able to find anything else?”

He clicks on your laptop a few times before hurrying into the back room. He reappears a moment later, wiping at his mouth. “That was gross.”

You watch him concentrate on the screen, trying to forget the way it felt to kiss him everywhere he would let you. It’s hard to focus on the task at hand when there’s this feeling lingering in your uneasy stomach. Are you doomed to never speak of the things that made your heart flutter?

“ A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say .”

You tell yourself you imagined those words, that you wished them into existence. You turn the rack of cheap sunglasses again. Even if you knew what you were looking for, you wouldn’t find it with the way your mind is wandering. You look back at Yoongi, debating whether or not you should speak up about the uncertainty in your gut.

“Keepsake!” he says excitedly, running out from behind the counter. “It says they often leave something behind so they can return to observe their work.”

His sudden movement makes you jump and loudly smack your hand against the stand in a panicked attempt to look inconspicuous. He pauses to look at you and raises an eyebrow but you’re already laser-focused on the rack again. Desperate to hide your growing embarrassment you pluck a pair of sunglasses that is strikingly similar to the ones you’d seen the man wearing that day.

As soon as you put them on you inhale sharply. “What the fuck?”

“Hmm?” Yoongi wonders. “What is it?”

“There’s something written… on the fridge.”

“What? Where?”

You lift the glasses up to be sure you can’t see the letters scrawled on the glass without them. The message disappears. Once you place them back on the bridge of your nose they practically glow, beckoning you towards them. You push past him on your way to the drinks section. “Here. It says… Now you have… specs appeal?”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It was a solid pun.”

The pair of you look towards the sound of the stranger’s voice. Instead of forming words you exclaim a sound of surprise. He looks confused.

“You’re going to need to speak clearly. I’m not sure I understand your language.”

“You! You did this!” you shriek, taking a step forward.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” the man says with a puff of his cheeks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s not nice to accuse people of things. Have I done anything? Are you sure you’re not dreaming?”

A haze of golden dust spreads across the room like twinkling stars. As you blink and rub at your eyes you yawn and feel a sudden urge to lay down.

“Mmm. I am sleepy…” you admit as you sink to your knees.

Yoongi looks down at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

You laugh and lazily grapple with his leg. “Come lay down. Please? It’s made out of feathers.”

Yoongi watches you close your eyes. Suddenly your body falls limp at his feet. He crouches down to cradle your face in his hands, your name an urgent plea on his lips. “Y/N. Y/N wake up.” He pinches your cheek but you don’t respond.

“She wants this to be a dream. Don’t you?” The man takes a few casual steps forward.

“No, I don’t,” Yoongi growls. The threat sounds odd coming from this body, tone too meek to pass for intimidating. He glares at the man after reluctantly tearing his eyes from your sleeping form. It may be his body on the floor there, but you’re trapped inside it. “Wake her up.”

“She’s tired!”

Yoongi rises to his feet and shields your unconscious form as the man creeps closer. “Don’t take another step. You’re going to regret it.”

“Threatening me? Hah… You’re pretty bold, considering you’re not really in a bargaining position. Spunky! I’ll give you that. Say, I’m curious. What do you think I am anyway? I’ve got a bet going and I know I’m gonna win because I’m right, but I need proof. So if you wouldn’t mind speaking into this...”

Out of his pocket comes a microphone. He holds it out like he’s giving the most intense interview of his life as he awaits Yoongi’s response.

“You’re… Some kind of trickster.”

The man sucks his teeth and shoves the microphone back in his pocket. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. So much for my bet… Come on. Don’t you think I look more like a god?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you work for one,” Yoongi muses, “but you sure aren’t one.”

“Wooooow….” The man sighs in disbelief. “The disrespect! At least you’re honest. I can appreciate that. I— ”

The stranger’s body seizes up as he takes another step forward. ”Ow!” His body convulses for a second before he regains his faculties. He looks down to find the sigil scrawled in chalk around his feet. Try as he might to scrape the markings off with his heel, his shoes are unable to scuff the powder. He furrows his brows and throws his hands in the air.

“Really? Are you kidding me? An integrity prison? Where did you learn this?”

Holy fucking shit. It worked, Yoongi thinks. He’s never been more relieved in his life.

“Wake her up,” he repeats calmly.

“I was gonna,” the man pouts, slumping into a cross-legged sit. “But now I really don’t want to. Would it kill you to have manners? Look at this. You’ve put me in a difficult little pickle here.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a jar full of dill pickles. He fishes one out and takes a loud, crunchy bite. “I was just having a little fun and now I’m stuck here, doomed to this ugly little space.”

Yoongi crosses his arms, quickly losing patience. “Stop being dramatic.”

The man glowers at him and crunches on the last bit of the pickle with slow, loud chewing.

Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, stop being dramatic.”

With a surprised nod, the man gulps down the pickle and hops to his feet. “Well, you said please, at least. Was that really such a big... dill?”

Right as Yoongi groans, the man snaps his fingers and flexes his pointers into finger-guns. You immediately yawn and sit up.

“What happened?” you mumble.

Yoongi offers you a hand and you take it, rising to unsteady feet. He wraps a hand around your waist to support your weight. “You took a nap but you didn’t miss much. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, the haze lifting from your sleepy eyelids. You gasp as your eyes focus on the man trapped between the center aisles. “Huh! We got him!”

“Yeah, yeah. Time to celebrate. You trapped me. Good job.” The sarcasm in his tone is evident, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Confetti falls from above your heads, showering the pair of you in glitter and shiny streamers with the flick of his wrist. “Now let me out.”

You’re blown away by the bizarre moment, springing forward and out of Yoongi’s grasp. “Magic? Then, are you really… a god?”

The man pats his pockets frantically. “Finally! Someone with a sense for my greatness! Ugh! I should have been recording. Damn! Where’s my microphone?”

“Gods don’t get trapped with chalk,” Yoongi says, folding his arms and tapping his toe impatiently. “This guy is an underling. Hey! Don’t get too close!”

Your mouth hangs agape in awe as you approach the man. Scrutiny must be new for him because he seems stunned. That wide-eyed expression is erased quickly enough when he strikes a heroic pose, planting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. His pecs and shoulders seem to inflate when he inhales, causing them to swell into well-defined muscles.

“Oh.” You blink a few times, entranced by the sudden transformation. You reach your hand out as if to touch the meaty bicep practically bulging from his sleeve. “Who… What... are you, really?”

“Y/N!” Yoongi’s hands enclose around your waist, pulling you back into him just as your hand is about to break the barrier.

The man’s muscles deflate with his held breath as he bursts into a fit of squeaky laughter. “Oh! I almost had you!” He wheezes a squeaky sound through his inhale that you can only guess is laughter. He clears his throat. “My name is Jin. Matchmaker…” He holds up two matches in his hands and sets them alight with a flick of his wrist.

“Lover...” He winks and the matches disappear. In their stead are two roses. He tosses them at the two of you but when you go to catch yours it disintegrates.

Yoongi catches the disappointment on your face and thrusts the flower towards you, hoping it will restore the shine to your eyes. You give him a big, cheesy smile as you dust glitter from his hair.

“Ah… And! Balancing agent…” He stands on one foot as a seesaw appears to lift him into the air. He jumps down triumphantly with a bow. “At your service.”

You clap enthusiastically until you look over at Yoongi, who looks less than amused. You then nudge him with your elbow until he gives a solitary clap.

“What’s a balancing agent?” Yoongi asks dryly.

“We restore balance to the world. Things that are too uniform need a little chaos. Things that are too chaotic need to be put back into line. In our down time we like to have fun in our own ways. Me? I like to set people up.”

“So you’re not an Agent of Chaos?” you ask, disappointed that the conspiracy theorist page that led you to this point isn’t exactly the fountain of knowledge you had hoped for. There’s so much you don’t know.

Jin looks at you, clearly confused. “I mean some people call me Cupid, but I guess you can call me that. Has a nice ring to it. My powers are more inclined for chaos.”

“Cupid?”

“What? I’m a romantic. I can see the strings of fate! Also I may have a penchant for mischief, but that’s neither here—” He points at his feet. “Nor there!” He points at the shelf beside you which causes a bag of chips to burst, sending its contents everywhere.

“Hey!” Yoongi yells. “Are you going to pay for those?”

“Yoongi…”

“What?”

You can tell he’s irritated but clearly this guy can do a lot more than pop a bag of chips from across the room. You don’t want to fall on the bad side of his magic but you don’t exactly trust Yoongi’s mouth to keep you in Jin’s good graces.

“Stop being rude,” you whisper through clenched teeth.

He scoffs and answers you in a hushed tone. “How am I rude? He’s making a mess!”

“Then we’ll ask him to unmake it.” Your irritation heightens the volume of your voice to the point where it’s barely a whisper anymore.

“He’s playing with us. I’m through asking.”

“Yoongi.”

“Y/N.”

Jin laughs. “See, this is what I mean. Fate is practically screaming for me to help you. Chaos is just an added bonus for this boring town.”

You both look at him and ask in unison, “What?”

He points to the both of you. “Look.”

As you turn back to face Yoongi you’re shocked to see a pale blue orb glowing above his head. “Huh? What’s that?” You reach out to touch it but your hand passes through it without any change.

“You have one too,” he mumbles, squinting at the way a thin line seems to stem from it. Then he sees another. And another. It looks like a shiny, glittering web that splinters into a thousand different directions. His brows furrow as he inspects the tiny threads. “Do you see them?”

Your gaze follows his pointer and suddenly you can see the branching strands too, not just yours, but his as well. It’s beautiful. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. Seeing the trepidation written on your face he silently beckons your attention to his finger, which is pointing to a thread that is golden instead of a pale blue hue. It’s the only one of its kind in the intricate glittering lattice between the two of you. You follow his pointer as it traces the path that stems from your orb until it gets closer to his and then you take over, finishing the path with your finger to the point where his orb engulfs the line.

“What is it?” you wonder aloud.

“A string of fate,” Jin answers with a wistful sigh. “It’s always exciting to see one, isn’t it? It means you’re soulmates.”

“Hah. Bullshit,” Yoongi responds, waving the air with his hands as if to disrupt the strings. They remain intact. “You just like causing mischief.”

Jin puffs his cheeks and scowls. “I can lie about a lot of things, but the strings aren’t one of them,” he huffs. “Why would I need to do that? What’s more unpredictable than true love slapping you in the face?”

He makes a motion with his fingers and sweeps them towards Yoongi.The compulsion rises and you’re powerless to stop it. Your hand moves of its own accord and lightly slaps Yoongi across the face. He looks betrayed as he rubs his cheek.

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t me!”

The tingle in your arm causes it to move back towards him in a gentle swoop. Your wrist is limp as it smacks into his chin and rubs back and forth as if to comfort him. Jin bursts into a fit of laughter as he breaks the compulsion.

Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping up towards the circle around the stranger. “Just change us back and you can go on causing problems elsewhere.”

“I can’t,” Jin answers simply, crossing his arms. “The charm will break only under specific conditions.”

“And those are?”

Jin shrugs with his bottom lip protruding as he frowns. “It’s different for everyone.”

“Of course it is.” Yoongi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, pacing back towards you.

“There are some things you can try. Staples of the trade.” Jin notes some dirt beneath his fingernails and begins cleaning them. “Number one. Have you tried talking about your feelings?”

Yoongi’s gaze settles on yours and it’s like you can feel your heart stop. Say something. You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t come so you snap your jaw shut and stare at the glitter on the floor.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yoongi says as he folds his arms across his chest, trying to not get distracted by the breasts he inadvertently touches. He decides to drop his hands to his hips instead.

Jin rolls his eyes. “Okaaaay... Number two is filling the chaos meter. Go crazy. Do the unexpected.”

“I don’t know what we’d do,” Yoongi admits, pacing around the circle.

“What if we kissed?” The voice is soft and sweet.

He turns to face you, a combination platter of surprise and confusion. “But we did.”

“Reeeeally?”

Jin’s laughter makes him feel like a fool. He was convinced you said it, despite knowing your voice is not your own right now. How stupid could he be, walking right into that? He squeezes his eyes shut a moment and then focuses his attention on the captive.

While Yoongi is distracted you’re working a pack of mentos out of their packaging. You kneel down and twist the cap off one of the liters of cola placed on the endcap you. The hiss of the carbonation makes Yoongi shift attention.

Your name on his lips is half a warning, half a question loaded with uncertainty. You open another bottle beside it before he can get close enough and drop mentos into each. The liquid erupts into two fizzy fountains that reach the ceiling and spill back down to the floor. Yoongi takes off his hat and grips his hair like he wants to tear it out.

“What are you doing?”

“Filling the meter?” you answer meekly with a shug, stepping back from the puddle on the floor.

Jin roars with laughter. “Oh man. There is no meter, but that was delightful.”

Yoongi grumbles and goes back to the counter, grabbing the laptop and sinking down behind it to hide from the pandemonium of this situation.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter as you pass Jin. You quickly sit next to Yoongi on the floor.

“It was a joke!” Jin calls. “Come on, don’t leave me alone here.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as his fingers rapidly tap the keys. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know.”

“What are you looking for?” you whisper.

Yoongi listens for a minute to the grumbling of the man trapped in the circle nearby. “How to trick a trickster. I have a feeling we need him to undo it but he won’t come out and say it.”

You sigh and press your chin against his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

He looks over and tips his head down to nuzzle his cheek against you. “I know.”

“Huh?” Your vision diverts to a shiny blue can beside him. “Are you serious?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah.” He picks it up and quickly downs the last sip, the Hot6 Logo shining back at you in mockery. “I found it earlier and needed a pick-me-up.”

“Did you find more?”

“Nope. Just the one.”

“But…” you pout. “I wanted it.”

He holds the empty can out to you. “It’s grown on me.”

“I’m about to die without the sweet taste,” you whine, shaking the can to make sure there’s nothing left.

“You’re so obnoxious.”

He rolls his eyes and cups your jaw, leaning in to press his lips against yours. You don’t protest when he dips his tongue past your lips to rub against yours. You can taste remnants of the drink on his tongue. If Hot6 wasn’t your favorite drink before this, it is now.

“Better?”

“Maybe. Still not sweet enough.” You giggle.

He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, crushing your mouth against his in a deeper kiss. You’re practically melting into him as his tongue glides against yours, moving in a rhythm that you now crave. It’s so easy to forget everything else, where you are, what’s happened to you. He moves to straddle your lap, grinding down intentionally as he grips the back of your neck. He knows you’re half-hard already and fuck if he doesn’t just want to have you again. You’re the only thing that feels real right now.

He pulls down the zipper of the hoodie you’ve given him to allow access to his neck. It’s not until he allows you to latch onto the sensitive flesh there, with his hands buried in your hair, that he notices the security mirror. You’re so hot. He wants to be in you so badly but he’ll settle for you being in him right now.

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Suddenly he notices the other person in the mirror. Jin is sitting cross-legged on the floor in his invisible prison, resting his chin on a hand as he stares back through the reflection with eyebrows raised. Yoongi quickly clears his throat and climbs off of you. You blink in confusion at the disruption until he points at the mirror and then you cast your gaze at the floor.

“We should take care of this.” He runs his fingers through his hair to compose himself before placing the cap back on his head and focusing his attention back on the computer.

“Wow, you almost went there with me watching. That would have done it for sure,” Jin says, breaking into a grin.

“Come on!” you shriek, popping up from behind the counter. “Please, just change us back.”

“I told you. I can’t,” he repeats firmly. “I actually don’t lie as often as you seem to think I do. Maybe you should try having sex. They say the soul leaves your body for an instant when you reach the finish line, you know. It can’t hurt. Ohhhh wait a minute...”

He jumps to his feet after watching the guilt flash across your face. Your eyes seem to dart around him, but never land close enough to his. Blood rushes through your ears, drowning out all the sounds that aren’t your heartbeat.

He smiles wickedly. “Oh my god, you already did. I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t be curious? It’s only human to wonder. Oh, to be human… Seriously, have you tried talking about your feelings?”

You turn towards Yoongi and crouch back on the floor, disappearing from Jin’s view. He steps on his tiptoes to try and see around the counter before settling back on the security mirror. You can’t help but focus on his nosiness.

“Yoongi. I... Look. Can we go in the back? I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Jin clicks his tongue and sighs as the pair of you cross the store and slip into the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’ You breathe a sigh of relief when Yoongi locks the heavy door behind you. He bites at his nails--your nails as he waits for you to say whatever you need to. You take his hands into yours.

“Things are weird right now and not just because of this,” you hold up his hands in yours. “Are you regretting everything now?”

He smirks and gives you a small laugh. He slinks away to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t regret anything. I mean what I said. I care about you. I just… I get embarrassed, I guess.”

He’s embarrassed? You didn’t think he was capable with how blunt he normally is. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m insecure. Sexy, right?”

Time seems to slow as he draws near. There’s a lighthearted laugh on his lips before they meet yours. It feels like the first time all over again. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you throw your arms around his neck, desperate to get closer even though you’re already pressed up against each other. You lean into him as you gasp in his hot breaths between kisses. To counteract the weight you’ve pressed against him, he pushes you backwards. Your arms fly back to catch yourself as you stumble but you knock into a freestanding shelving unit. Cans of soup clatter to the floor and roll off in various directions as Yoongi steadies the rack to keep it from falling.

He sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. “We should focus.”

You whimper and will yourself to move the pair of you away from the wire rack. You run your fingers through your hair and attempt to compose yourself. Everything feels like a dream. It’s hard to think with him consuming the majority of your thoughts. You clear your throat, hoping your mind will also clear with the action.

“Hey,” he says, fingers on the latch. He pauses to lock eyes with you. “It might have seemed like the heat of the moment, but I really mean what I said. So tell me you’ll stick around after this is done?”

You run up and lace your fingers in his free hand before giving it a firm squeeze. “Promise.”

As he opens the door Jin jumps like you’ve startled him with your presence. “Whoa, I thought maybe you’d murdered one another. I heard a loud bang.” His gaze drops to your entwined hands. “What? Did you finally embrace destiny?”

“Destiny. No destiny. It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says calmly as he squeezes your hand. “This could all be a dream. But we’re here now. We care about each other in this moment. That’s real. That matters.”

Jin does a slow clap while grinning from ear-to-ear. “Wow! It usually takes people a few days, maybe a week!” He looks at his wrist as though he’s wearing an invisible watch. “It’s been, what, a day? You did good.”

“Does that mean you’re going to help us now?” You perk up immediately.

“I mean I think you’ve helped yourselves. You look happy. You’re comfortable, right? Can’t you just let me go and keep existing like this?”

When he’s met with silence he sighs. “Ahh, well there is one more thing you can do, I guess. Have you tried checking your pockets?”

His suggestion is met with eyerolls from the both of you. While nonsensical, the unexpected has become a staple of your current state of existence and you feel you owe it to yourself to at least entertain the possibility. Your fingers slip into your pocket and explore the ridges of the hard object nestled against the fabric. Excitement courses through you as you pull your half of the locket from the confines of your sweatpants. Dumbfounded, Yoongi sticks a finger into his tight jeans and fishes the other half of the necklace out of his pocket.

“Hah, I can’t believe you didn’t even look,” Jin says with a laugh. “Now put them on, place the pieces together and say ‘Me Hoy Nimoy.’”

You exchange a skeptical look with Yoongi but you both comply and blurt the phrase soon after linking the pieces of the necklace together. You hold your breath, waiting for something spectacular to happen but disappointment soon floods your lungs. Just as you’re about to speak up, Jin clicks his tongue.

“Ah, close your eyes. It won’t work if you’re watching.”

Yoongi grumbles. “You’re fucking with us.”

“Hey, some magic is shy. Follow the rules. Do you think I’m just making this all up?” he pouts.

Your answer comes in unison with Yoongi’s: “Yes.”

Jin looks hurt as he clutches a hand over his heart and staggers backwards. “Woooooow. Well, just do one more thing then. ”

A devilish grin soon replaces the expression and his squeaky laughter fills up the store. He points at the pair of you with both fingers and wags his fingers in circles. You feel compelled to turn in place. Yoongi matches the uneasiness in your gut with the panic in his eyes. You both spin in circles away from one another. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as you’re about to complain about the nausea churning fresh waves in your belly, Jin waves his hands inwards.

You’re lifted into the air. The toes of your sneakers leave behind squeaky skidmarks of rubber on the tile as the pair of you are dragged forward. Jin cocks his head to one side and examines you with an expression of stone. For a split second you’re terrified but then he breaks into a grin and snaps his fingers. His thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart as he holds them out and you drop to the floor.

Yoongi reaches out for your shoulder. There’s a soft tremble to his fingers as he pulls you close to him. When you look upon his visage you can already see his jaw transforming, a thin stubble growing in along its perimeter. Every time you close your eyes to blink more of his face has morphed back into his own. You look down at your own fingers and watch as the nails narrow and elongate. A glossy pink hue returns to them but the polish looks slightly less finished with the way Yoongi has gnawed on the edges all day.

Suddenly Yoongi is frantically scrambling to his feet, kicking off his shoes and working the zipper down on his jeans. Everything is quickly growing far too tight. The hoodie you’d given him just barely covers his crotch as he stands up straight. He looks over at you with a relieved sigh and cups your jaw.

“You good?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your chin. It takes all of your self-control to keep from licking it as it grazes your lip.

You nod, eyes falling to the necklace dangling over his sweatshirt. As soon as you reach out to yank it off, the trinket disappears in a puff of purple smoke with a clap of Jin’s hands. He holds them in place like a silent prayer just below his chin, a strained smile staining his face just above his fingers.

“So, here’s the thing. I’m gonna need you to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Fix my store first. Clean up this mess you’ve caused,” Yoongi says while taking a step in front of you.

Jin’s bottom lip protrudes into a pout as he eyes the puddle of cola on the floor. “I didn’t do that,” he complains under his breath.

It’s incredible how close he came to freedom, incredible and frustrating. His magic may not be able to touch or alter the circle, but you almost freed him with your ignorance. If the liquid had run close enough to seep into the chalk, he would be somewhere far more sunny and beachy right now. He’s earned a vacation for this milestone of success.

“Fiiiine,” he concedes.

With a snap of his fingers the store is spotless once more. While Yoongi inspects the area of the tile floor previously coated in cola and glitter, you glide your foot over the circle of chalk and break the seal that binds Jin to his current location.

“Finally…” he sighs, side-stepping out from the invisible barrier. “You’re welcome, by the way. Invite me to the wedding, okay? Don’t forget the little people who helped you on the way. As for me... I’ve got a date with the pearly beaches of Accord.”

He swirls his wrist in the air and the pair of ugly red mirrored sunglasses appear on his nose just in time for him to adjust them. He lowers the specs to give you a wink before snapping his fingers. Before you can even call out for him to wait, he’s gone in a puff of purple smoke that quickly dissipates. You’re left in stunned silence to contemplate your existence.

What are you supposed to make of everything?

As you stand there on the cusp of a mental breakdown, soft, velvety petals brush against your cheek to steal your attention. The scent of the flower overtakes your senses as Yoongi uses it to tickle your nose. You find him smiling back at you, almost like he’s too shy to speak, but then he does.

“Weird day huh? Can I have my pants back?”

You hum thoughtfully, making sure the shutters of the shop are still shielding you both from the outside world. “Would you mind if I wanted to get back in them later?”

He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Been waiting to use that all day?”

“No, I just thought of it right now. Aren’t I impressive?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. You shimmy out of the sweatpants and leave them pooled on the floor, doing your best to walk past him with grace and seduction.

“So impressive.”

He offers an amused laugh when you bend over to pick up the garments he was so quick to discard when his transformation reverted. You spare a glance behind you to see if he’s looking at the way you so blatantly flaunt your ass. He’s in the middle of dragging his bottom lip through his teeth when your eyes steal his attention.

“Something wrong?” A wicked grin belies your innocent tone.

He exhales a long breath and shakes his head, turning his attention to pulling his pants up. “Impressive isn’t the word. You’re obnoxious.”

“Isn’t that your way of saying you wanna make out?”

He’s quiet as he takes off the remainder of your clothes to reveal a muscular chest riddled with goosebumps. It’s hard to hide how your grin spreads wider as he approaches with them in hand. You’ve had dreams like this: he’s shirtless, asking you to take off your clothes so he can fuck you in his store. Right here with your tits against the cold glass of the fridge. It would be a dirty secret only the two of you would know and you’d think about it every time you’d come in for your energy drink.

You slowly lift the hoodie from your own body, trying to appear as alluring as possible. You make sure to arch your back as your breasts briefly catch in the fabric and then drop against your ribs, completely exposed to the chilly air. Much to your dismay he’s quick to spin away from you and mutters a “thanks” instead of naughtier offers.

He’s aware you might mistake it for rejection, but he’s hoping you don’t see the way his fingers tremble. It’s incredible how scared he feels being back in his own skin. The intimacy of your connection left a void behind that’s quickly filling with disquiet. He feels incomplete without a piece of you with him, lost in the vast emptiness of himself. How can he feel such need for you? His chest aches with the possibility that he won’t ever feel whole again. The bravery that possessed him while piloting your body has waned. Now that normalcy is somewhat restored, he has the chance to start processing the events of the day. A part of him begins to embrace the panic he’d previously pushed down and his confession replays in his mind as though he’s just spoken it.

It was a bold move, especially given the situation. It could have ended horribly. He puffs out his cheeks and holds his breath, trying to remind himself that it didn’t. It’s okay to let go of the anxiety over it, but he still feels so uncertain. Even turned away from you and fully clothed, he’s never felt more exposed and vulnerable. He tries to hide the burning of his ears by running his fingers through his hair and shielding them with his arms. He has to bring himself back or else you’ll be talking him down from a panic attack and he doesn’t want you to see him like that.

Stupid. Stop throwing yourself at him. You struggle to put on the tight clothing as quickly as possible. Tears threaten to fall as you awkwardly wiggle your jeans back and forth up your thighs and over the swell of your ass. You make sure to swipe at the corners of your eyes before clearing your throat to signify you’re fully changed. He spins to face you but everything he means to say gets lost on the way to his mouth. He freezes, overwhelmed by how beautiful you are even in this shitty lighting, and how thankful he is to be able to see you through his own eyes.

His heart pounds at the confines of his chest like it needs to burst from within. There’s a small burst of adrenaline that plumes from the explosion of butterflies in his stomach. It fills him with the courage he needs to close the distance between you with a kiss, the kind of kiss he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. Right here in this store.

He loves how eager you are to reciprocate when he tangles his fingers in your hair. He holds you there like you’re about to melt away in a puff of smoke. Your lips are so soft, so sweet, so warm pressing against his. His tongue rolls over yours, desperate to keep tasting and feeling more. You grasp behind his neck and dig your fingernails into his shoulder as he deepens the kiss. When you roll your hips towards him as a subtle test for determining his hardness, you can feel him smile against your lips.

“Not in the store.” He gives you one more chaste kiss and pulls back just enough to allow you both to breathe. He adjusts one of the boxes on the nearby shelves. “You already drive me crazy. If we do it here I’m going to be thinking about it every time I’m stocking shelves.”

“Yoongi…” you whine. “Please tell me you’re keeping it closed for the day.”

He sighs as he plucks his phone from the counter to check the time. “Might as well.”

“Can I walk you home?” You chew on your lip as you wait for his response. What you wouldn’t give to spend the night with him.

Unable to hide the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he nods his head towards the exit. “Why would we waste our time?”

Your heart sinks into your butt, thinking this must be it. He changed his mind after all. He hates you. There’s no doubt about it now. All you can manage is a squeaky, “Hmm?”

He rests his palm on the handle of the door and he presses his lips into a thin line, looking wide eyed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so adorably hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. “You live closer.”

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The comforter at your back is soft and cool to the touch as you scramble to settle yourself against the pillows. Yoongi wastes no time wiggling off his sweatpants and climbing over you. The sound of your panting mingles with his as he hovers above you with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath. If the hurried ascent up the stairs wasn’t enough to have him gasping for air, the makeout session just inside your front door definitely has him devoid of oxygen. This still feels like a dream, but it’s one he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.

"How do you want it?" he whispers. He glides a finger up your thigh and lightly traces circles around your labia.

Your mind travels back to your earlier experience of coming undone and suddenly your stomach is doing flips.

"Just like this," you answer. "I want to feel you just like this. Do you remember where to touch?"

He nods, skimming his parted lips over yours while he places his finger over the hood of your clit. "Like this, right?"

"More pressure," you plead, working your hips in circles to coach his movements.

He does as you instruct and clamps his mouth over yours in a futile attempt to find relief for the aching need to be inside of you. He grinds himself against your side, his cock rubbing against your soft, heated skin as he tries to remember the exact motions needed to elicit enough pleasure to make you cum. He doesn't have to wait long until frenzied, weak moans are vibrating against his mouth so he turns his attention to your neck. He wants to hear how fucked out you are. He wants to hear how badly you want to cum. He wants to feel you pulse around his fingers.

As he plunges a thick finger deep into your cunt, a pathetic, desperate sound escapes you. "Oh, fuck."

"Feel good?" he mumbles into the hollow space between your neck and shoulder.

"Please. Please. Please. Please," you whimper incoherently, bucking your hips to meet each thrust of his finger. You can feel his cock rutting against your side and all you can do is imagine that he's pumping it into you instead of his fingers. "Oh fuck, Yoongi."

His lips twitch into a smile as he feels you tighten around his finger. He kisses your neck and sinks a second finger carefully inside you. You allow your head to fall against the pillow and bite your lip to try to contain the drawn out needy groan already helplessly spilling out of you. So close. Your back arches off the mattress and he wishes he wasn't so concentrated on the motions of his hands right now because he would absolutely love to be tonguing your perfect tits.

He pants against your skin and looks at them longingly. Maybe he can manage it? He's determined to use what he's learned about your body to help you cum, but not yet. You can't help but whine at the loss as he repositions himself, which breaks the sightline you had on your orgasm.

"Yoooongi... I was close..." You whimper when he abandons your cunt entirely to press your tits together. His mouth is hot as it clamps down on your nipple, giving the peak a hard suck before dragging it through his teeth.

"I know. Wanna make you cum with my tongue," he murmurs into the supple flesh.

He swipes his fingers along your cunt and swirls the wetness over your clit before bringing it to his mouth. You can already see how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. The low moan that rumbles its way from his throat has you rocking your hips up against his pelvis as he settles between your legs. Your silent grinding isn't enough of a confirmation. He wants to hear you say it.

"Can I go down on you?" He blurts the shameless question while alternating between kissing both of your breasts and only pauses to meet your eyes.

You want to feel him everywhere but mostly you want his mouth on yours while he’s balls deep inside you. You don’t even care if you cum because being with him like this feels good. Being with him fills your heart with giddy hope and your stomach with butterflies. Being with him is enough. You want to tell him that but instead you nod and whimper out a pathetic “please.”

He wastes no time dipping his head down between your thighs to press the flat of his tongue against your clit. A low growl escapes with his exhale before he puckers his lips to kiss the soft skin and breathe in the heavy scent of your arousal. You’d be embarrassed if his tongue didn’t feel so magical. It glides against you so effortlessly, bringing pleasure with every quick flick against you.

Your hands dive into his hair and you start rolling your hips to grind his face harder against you. He doesn't seem to mind though. In fact he seems to embrace the motion, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you in as closely as possible. If you weren't so preoccupied with the orgasm building just below the surface of the place where his tongue keeps hitting then you might worry that he's suffocating himself. Right now all you can focus on is the pleasure threatening to break you open and leave you spilling a million curses into the air around you.

"Yoongi. Fuck. I'm close," you warn, as if the frantic way you've twirled his hair around each of your fingers isn't enough to tip him off. Do you really think he can't feel the shaking of your thighs in this moment?

He hums a sound like he doesn't hear you, but he doesn't let up at all. He keeps his pace steady for you as you approach your end once again. Your nails scratch against his scalp but he doesn't mind. He actually really likes the way you're losing your mind over the simple things he's doing with his tongue right now. He can't even begin to imagine the pretty sounds that might spew from your lips with practiced effort but he knows he can't wait to hear them.

Suddenly your hand flies up to pound the wall behind you and you announce the wave of pleasure coursing through your clit through the use of a loud string of expletives. He can feel the way your flesh pulses beneath his tongue and he revels in it. You ride his face so well. You can ride it for as long as you want as often as you want. He wants to tell you that but he also wants you to ride out your high for as long as it lasts, so he lets you buck your hips and raise your cunt off the bed. He lets you thrash around through the sensitivity until you're finally pushing his face off with both hands.

"Good? Do you need more?" he verifies, rising from between your legs to deliver a messy, wet kiss to your lips. He smirks through it, knowing he really doesn't need to ask at all to know the answer.

"Cheeky fuck," you murmur, not bothering to even attempt to hide your matching grin against him. "I need it."

"What do you need?" His fingers trail a soft line down your side, reminding you that his teasing nature is simply a front for his caring heart.

"I need you inside me." Your breathing is spotty as you pepper kisses along his jaw. "Like this. I want you to feel me the way I felt you."

It doesn't take long until you're tasting yourself on his lips again. He shifts slightly and you know he's lining himself up with your entrance when you feel the swollen tip of his fat cock nudging at your hole. He's slow to thrust into you. In fact he stills, only giving you shallow, teasing thrusts. He favors letting you wiggle down just a little bit to coax him in. He smiles against your lips and pushes in further, giving you that stretch you were hoping for.

When you suck in a sharp breath he pulls out, but as soon as you whine in protest, he's already carefully moving to slide it back in. The slow stretch has your jaw dropping open and he takes the opportunity to bite on your lower lip. You take the bait and feed him hungry kisses until he’s completely buried inside of your tight cunt. He takes a moment to growl a low sound that has you clenching around him.

“So tight,” he whispers, pausing to curl an arm beneath your head.

He presses the back of your hand against the mattress as he twines his fingers with yours. He drives himself deeper into you with each slow thrust and it feels like he still can’t get close enough. So you raise your other arm above you and angle it until you’re linking your fingers with the ones beneath your head. You kiss his cheek and savor the intimate moment.

When he lazily sinks into your cunt again you crack a smile. “Can't you fuck me harder than that?"

"Mmm." He lifts his head and seems to accept your challenge. His hips pull out slowly and suddenly slam back into you. This sets a new fervent pace that has you squeezing both of his hands. "What do you think? Is this better?"

You do little to actually answer his question and instead offer a slew of swears and moans each time his balls slap against your ass. "Shit. Fuck, fuck fuck. Yoongi..."

"What kind of answer is that?" he asks innocently.

"God, your cock..."

"Mhm," he prods.

"Feels so good, Yoon."

He chuckles. "Yoon... Cute."

"I'll show you cute," you huff.

"Oh?"

You release his hands in favor of pressing your palms against his chest. He pulls out and before you can miss the way he fills you, you're flipping him down on the mattress. You swing a leg over his pelvis and straddle him. It takes you a moment to properly position yourself. You give his length a few pumps in your hand before lining it up with your entrance.

"Careful," he warns, planting his hands on your thighs. "Don't wear yourself out."

You sink down quicker than you probably should. You're eager to make him cum faster than he did for you. The wetness in your core seeps down in translucent trails down your inner thighs. Your own brand of lubricant seems to be enough to keep the stretch pleasurable. Yoongi bites his lip as he gazes down at the way you're bouncing on his cock. You know how good it feels for him, especially with how hard your pussy is squeezing him.

"Don't worry about me."

The sensory overload building in your gut coated with the memory of the unique experience. It mixes with the high threatening to burn its way from your core. You take a deep breath and exhale loudly before you continue. You revel in a slow descent, memorizing every kind of way the stroke makes you feel. Then you begin to quickly draw him in and out of your cunt. The obscene sounds of wet, rapid slapping fill the room.

After a few minutes you've finally got a good rhythm down. Despite the cramp throbbing down your obliques, he's hitting that sweet spot inside you at just the right angle. If you didn't know any better you'd think you're about to cum again. You steady yourself on his chest and trail your hand to his stomach to maintain your balance. Trying to keep the unrealistic pace you'd previously set for yourself is proving difficult, but you swear you're feeling like maybe you're about to crest into the biggest climax of your life. Then again, it could certainly be the biggest letdown now that you're aware of it. Your orgasms have left you for less.

Yoongi knots his eyebrows together in concentration and he reaches down to rub circles against your clit. His fingers are clumsy and new to this angle but they're feather light. He can see in your face that you're chasing some great new high and he just wants to help you achieve it without overdoing it. He knows how shy your cunt is about giving you orgasms so he really wants to do it right. Is this right? He figures you'll tell him if it isn't.

You moan weakly in response. Suddenly, you know it's coming. You can feel it building every time his hips slap up to meet yours. "Oh my fuck."

His abdominal muscles flex beneath your palm and he forces his breaths through his nose as he struggles to keep himself composed. Your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that he knows he's on the brink of his own release but he's determined to help you feel as good as you make him feel.

"That's it. Cum for me again." He tries to coax it with those strong pleas, but his voice is broken with an inhale sharp enough to cut his words.

Both of your thighs are coated in slick sweat. You don't think you've ever felt so fucking wet in your life. He glistens just as much in the dim light so you know between the two of you there's a puddle of sweat soaking your sheets. It's easy to forget how gross or embarrassing it is when the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so well. Right now the only thing that matters is getting relief for this pressure building behind your clit.

Despite the shakiness of his fingers, he's able to coax it out of you. Your trembling thighs feel like an earthquake that's finally reached its peak tremor and you find yourself crying out and bouncing to the rhythm of your spasming cunt. You chant your praises and curses in the same breath. His name is a drawn out breathy expression of gratitude and bliss. As soon as you slump forward to kiss him he takes your hands in his own and frantically pumps himself up into you. He can still feel the involuntary flex of your cunt even after you've clearly expended every ounce of your energy reaching and literally riding out your second orgasm.

"Can I cum inside?" he asks between frantic breaths.

"Well, you're not gonna make it to these tits," you tease with a smirk. You may be spent but you'll always have the energy to give him shit. "Do it."

"So fuckin hot," he mumbles against your lips.

The muffled grunts expelled against your mouth and the slow, deliberate snap of his hips leave you in a state of surreal euphoria. He squeezes your hands in his along with his release to let you know this is real. You're here with him. When he comes down from his high he kisses you gently one more time and pulls back to look at you. You take the break in physical connection to roll off of him and stretch out your aching calves and let the air from the fan cool your skin. The tingling in your legs tells you not to get up right now, as much as the fear of a UTI screams at you to do the contrary. Instead you turn your head towards Yoongi and he smiles at you. Sleep threatens to take you when he begins to stroke your hair.

"If you'd have told me last week I'd feel this close to someone, I'd have laughed at you," he starts in a quiet voice, "but I feel really close to you. I'm glad this insanity happened to us."

"Me too." You can't help but smile back. "I don't want to go to sleep because I'm afraid you'll be gone when I wake up. What if this is a dream?"

"Then I'll find you when I wake up. You'd better find me too."

"What if we forget?"

He grabs your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I won't forget."

"Promise?"

"Mhm." He closes his eyes, clearly every bit as exhausted as you are. He's quiet for a minute and you think maybe he's already fallen asleep until he peeks out from under his eyelids. "... I think you need glasses."

"What?"

"I was just thinking. I felt like I was squinting all the time when I was you. Maybe that's why it took you so long to see how I felt." He shows off a big, toothy grin.

"Wow that guy really rubbed off on you, huh?"

You smack him in the face with a pillow when you get up.

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

The muffin and can of Hot6 sit on the counter, guarded by Yoongi's forearm.

"Wow, you already have my stuff ready? Is this the kind of perk I get for dating the owner?" you wonder.

He rolls his eyes. "Not yours until you pay for it."

"You're so sweet, not eating my muffin this time."

He drags his lip through his teeth and tries to hold back a devilish smirk. "I've found better things to eat, don't you think?"

Your heart thumps against your chest and you do your best to remind yourself that offering to suck his dick behind the counter is not what you should be doing in this situation. But you want it so bad. He watches your internal struggle with raised eyebrows and a smug smile. He slides the energy drink towards you.

"Here. This is on me today. You look a little thirsty."

Your shoulders raise and then deflate with your sigh. "Do you even want me to come back later?"

"What? It's free for you. You should be happy."

"And the muffin? What do I owe for that?"

He mimics your dramatic sigh and places it before you. "It's crazy. Your boyfriend offered to pay for that too."

"He's so generous." You shake your head but it can't keep the grin from your face. "Lots of free stuff today."

"It's a... special for today only. So don't get used to it or anything. But there is one more thing we're having a sale on, if you're interested."

"Hmm?"

"Free of charge, for you only." He taps his lips with both pointers, looking impossibly cute. His charm is devastating, really.

He cracks a smile and you feel yours grow impossibly wider. You lean over the counter and give him a sweet kiss.

"How long does this offer last?"

"As long as you want."

"Forever."

"Forever, it is." He gives you one more quick peck. "I've gotta mop the floor and you're gonna be late for work."

"Ugh. Wanna trade?"

He purses his lips and gives your hand a little squeeze. "Not a chance."

[seyenna]

Philza and/or Techno and/or Ranboo fic recs

just some of my fav dsmp fics, mainly phil, techno or ranboo bc i’m biased but also a bunch of sbi and others

this one goes out mainly to zablr discord my beloved

pls tell me if the links don’t work

all of these are on ao3

rating\status(complete/ongoing)\warnings\word count\misc tags

ichor flows free amongst the iron by summer_rising

T\o\violence\13k\series\gods AU

Summary:

A gods and goddesses AU of the Dream SMP, dramatized for all our benefits.

First work:

  "Two gods meeting on a mountaintop overlooking the stormy sea? Very classy, Dream, I appreciate your taste."

  Dream didn't turn to look at him, but the faint shake of his shoulders let Techno know he had heard.

  "Scar's healing up nicely, I see," Techno mumbled with a light nod of his head.

  "Mhm. Cut nice and clean. Not that I expected any less from you, of course."

   ~~

   The god of power and the god of luck meet on a mountaintop to discuss Luck's standing in the ongoing political disaster.

We're Only Young by ImperialKatwala

G\o\-\66k\series\Dream & Technoblade

It's easy to forget amid the chaos and bloodshed how similar - and how young - Dream and Technoblade really are.

And when the sun comes up, you'll find a brand new god. by SkyboxZoo

M\o\violence\19k\gods AU

Summary:

The wounds from the fight had healed nigh instantly, but the golden blood still soaked Techno’s shirt. His cloak had gotten torn off and his hair had fallen out of its pony-tail. Ichor pooled in his boots. The man left a trail of golden, bloody footprints in his wake.

old gods (new gods) by WriterWinged

T\o\-\9k\series\gods AU

Summary of first work:

Survival, Blood, Madness. Philza, Technoblade, Wilbur Soot. Three gods who have never cared for mortal life, who play with them when they want to, who kill their toys just as easily. How, then, did a mortal end up in their hands?

This House Is A Fucking Nightmare by SilverWing15

T\c\-\17k\series\sbi

Summary:

AU Where Phil isn't quite as willing to stand by while his sons drop like flies

Summary of third part (my fav):

Does lingering too long in the shadow of a god make you a god? The voices in his head seem to think so.

His brothers know he's older than them but they don't know how much

OR: Technoblade doesn't think his brothers realize how different they are from ordinary men. After all, ordinary men may fight the gods, but they don't win.

It's been a long day. by BecausePlot

G\c\-\3k\Philza & Ranboo

Summary:

Sides are bad: he knows that much. He’s seen it tear people apart time and time again, so when he decided to separate himself from Tubbo and keep his distance, he knew he was in the right.

Well. He thought he was in the right, at the time. Sitting all by himself on the steps to the Prime Path, he’s not so sure anymore.

Yes, the sides might have torn the others apart, might have made them so weak that they have no choice but to fold under Dream’s hand, but at least they aren’t lonely.

So are sides bad?

‘I don’t know.’

~*~

Or, Ranboo looks out at the ruins of L'Manburg, feeling more lost and lonely than he ever has.

But, as he soon finds, he's not as alone as he thinks.

the voices in my head, they say a lot of things by rosyasteria

-\c\violence\1k\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

Some days the voices didn’t listen. They didn’t let up. They screamed instead of whispered, relentless, assaulting his ears until they bled.

tell them i was the warmest place you knew and you turned me cold by rosyasteria

-\c\-\2k\Techonblade-centric

Summary:        

Technoblade cared. But in the end it just fucked him over.

For the majority of his life, Techno felt like less of a companion, less of a family member, and more like a weapon to be wielded. 'The Blade' they called him; never 'friend'.

It Leaves Little Time for Anything Else by mirandible

M\c\-\1k\part of series\Dream & Technoblade

Summary:

   A young man aims for the top, but fate has other plans for him. So does Technoblade, apparently.

   (Or: answering the question of “Why does Techno hide his scars if they’re supposed to be some sort of trophy? Why keep your point of pride a secret?”)

the best requiem is a bar of silence (and I'll sing it, even if I must hold back my tears) by jello12451

T\o\-\10k\Philza & Technoblade

Summary:

   He can’t help the noise of celebration that escapes him. Techno- this means that Techno’s free, and he got his horse back, and everything is alright-

  Tubbo, filled with rage at Phil’s cheers, turns and impulsively shoots an arrow.

   He doesn’t expect to hit his target.

---

  Alternatively: What if Phil didn't have a bucket of water when Tubbo shot him?

Change fate by being aggressively kind by sircantus

T\o\-\13k\sbi, Philza-centric

Summary:

   “You do understand that you’re caring for the thing meant to bring destruction and chaos to our world, right?” The woman asks, Phil looking behind him fondly as Techno grabs at the ends of his wings.

   “He’s just a child.” Phil answers distractedly, humming as his wings get gently yanked at.

   “He’s the first of three to destroy life as we know it! Shouldn’t we, well, get rid of him?!”

   “Oh, no.” Phil raises his eyes with a sharp glare. “Believe me, I have my own way of preventing the apocalypse.”

   ---

   Or, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy are basically chaotic forces of nature, destined from birth to end the world and bring destruction. Most who hear of the tale of them are trying their best to track them down, and to end the monsters while they’re still young, still just children.

   Phil has a different plan.

   (In which Phil raises the minecraft equivalents of the anti-christ with love and support, so much so to the point where the world ending is really just a funny thought, and Phil has three kids who casually have powers that are bit more extreme than anything else in the world)

I promised you that everything would be fine by findingkairos

G\c\-\6k\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

   manifestation: (n.)

1.     an event, action, or object that clearly shows or embodies something abstract or theoretical;

2.     a version or incarnation of something or someone;

3.     an appearance of a ghost or spirit;

4.     the Blood God.

When he's young and still alone, still establishing his reputation as the immortal warrior, Technoblade makes up an imaginary friend.

Years later, the blood god is very real and very much a god: one that is prepared to do anything for their first and only friend.

the inner mechanism of a black box by Bee_4

T\c\violence, self-harm\Technoblade-centric

Summary:

   Technoblade lets himself get imprisoned for Philza’s sake. He doesn’t plan on being there long. Unfortunately, he’s underestimated Pandora’s Vault.

   There are things that will make even the Blade fall apart in due time, as it turns out.

carry all my sins by BananasofThorns

T\c\-\4k\Ranboo-centric

Summary:

Ranboo swallows. “All my armor and weapons and stuff are missing. Fundy and I were gonna go looking for them after the festival, I think.”

“I see.” Tubbo smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s just a festival. We could probably find someone to lend you a sword or an axe or something.”

He starts towards the stage, waving at people when they call his name, and Ranboo follows. The original panic has dulled to a cold buzz in his chest, but apprehension still wraps itself around his body like chains. He doesn’t like being without his armor and tools; he feels too exposed, and if something happens, he’ll be helpless.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls, glancing back.

Ranboo shakes his head and hurries to catch up. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he repeats. “Everything’s gonna be fine."

Tubbo grins. “That’s the spirit.”

Rule 5: be loyal. L'manberg doesn't do well with supposed traitors. Ranboo deals with the consequences.

Sojourn by Lacy_Star

T\o\-\13k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

“Well…” Ranboo started slowly, “You see, uh… I kinda… don’t have a house anymore, obviously. Um… Phil found me in—“ He paused, cutting himself off and squinting at the floorboards— very discreet, “Phil… found me. And… um… He said I could stay by you guys. Like, um, by the dog house he wants to build?” He paused, then began to ramble, “But, uh, if you don’t want me here, I understand— and I’m sorry for coming in your house when you weren’t here, I swear I didn’t touch anything— it was just cold outside and—“

Techno just stared at him. And how, how was this the second time this had happened to him? How was this the second time he returned home after battle to discover an injured teenage boy waiting for him, seeking assistance with nowhere to go? And how badly had that ended last time, in nothing but betrayal and insults?

---

AKA: Phil drags a half-enderman home after Doomsday, and Techno decides that they can keep it. For now.

can an axe count as rent? by aboutfivebees

T\c\-\4k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

Ranboo’s struggling to settle into his new life on the Arctic Anarchist Commune, but at least he’s got bread.

or the struggles of an enderman hybrid to come up with a housewarming gift to give to his friends, who are just trying to adopt him

The Caged Bird Sings of Freedom by StarPrince_Punk

T\o\-\25k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

The Blade's stance was still tense, his body prepared to fight at a moment’s notice if need be. “What’s your name?” Phil asked “My… name?” The Blade asked. “Yeah. Your name isn’t actually The Blade, right? That’s like a stage name?” Phil tried to keep his tone light. “What’s your real name?” The Blade hesitated. “No one… No one’s called me by my name in a long time.” ------- When Phil comes across Ranboo in his panic room after L'Manberg's destruction, it reminds him of when he first met Technoblade. And just like when he met Techno, Phil's first instinct is that he has to help this kid. While living together, Techno and Ranboo learn that they're much more similar than they had previously thought, and Phil learns that it's not too late for him to be a better dad.

This already feels like more of a home by H3118ENDER

T\o\violence, death\18k\Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

As the ashes of L'Manberg settle the conflict continues to come to life setting the stage for a new wave of blood shed. Stuck slam in the middle of past and present friends Ranboo is coming to learn that even without nations to their names feelings and feuds don't die but people, people do.

A Shadow of a Shadow by unappetizingegg

T\c\-\4k\ Ranboo & Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

There were a few beats of silence, and then- “What are your plans, now? Do you need a place to stay?”

That caught him off guard. Surely he’d heard incorrectly. Phil was offering him a home, right after he’d orchestrated the destruction of his past one? It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. Why would Phil say that?

Then he remembered, he remembered Techno stopping him in the fight. He remembered being handed his book, the question in Techno’s gaze. He swore, in that moment, Technoblade, the Technoblade, had been worried about him. He remembered that he had been told to leave, to run, to get away and preserve himself. He had spared him, he remembered that Techno had spared him.

Techno had helped him. Phil had tried to protect him, to get him away from the danger.

They were there for him.

 ---

alternatively:

Ranboo is alone. But he really isn't.

Meritocracy by oddsbodkins

G\o\-\18k\Dream & Technoblade, sbi, medieval AU

Summary:

Dream is more successful than he'd ever imagined - but there's one thing that's been bothering him. Technoblade, his biggest rival, the Acolyte of the Blood God and King of the Arena, went missing last spring, just before Dream got the chance to duel him. Without that one achievement to pave his way, all the following victories have felt cheap.

So, Dream hired some goons to dig Technoblade up and pester him into coming back to the Capitol, for one last showdown. Easy enough, right?

Interlude I: "Promises to Keep" by Ozzyyy

T\c\-\1k\part of a series\Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

These woods are lovely, dark, and deep But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep.

--

Techno has a plan. It's crazy. It's insane, it's actually just batshit bonkers. But if chaos cannot be enjoyed together, then what's it worth, yeah? There's a certain beauty in watching the world burn from the center of the flames. Phil intends to be there.

I Don't Want To Start A Fight (wouldn't you rather start a riot?) by KryOnBlock

T\c\violence, death\15k\Technoblade & Philza & Ranboo

Summary:

An universal ping rang out from behind him, the third and final he knew, and Phil sobbed, clutching the body tighter.

Techno didn’t move.

It always has been Technoblade and Philza, Philza and Technoblade. Take on half, and you shall never go back.

Sheltered by Lulatic

G\c\-\6k\Ranboo & Technoblade

Summary:

It was cold outside. But Techno never heard Ranboo complain.

That was the best excuse he could muster to keep him out.

Antarctic Princes 'verse by BirchWrites

T\o\-\15k\series\sbi

Summary:

Loosely-connected one shots set in an AU where the Antarctic Empire and the Dream SMP are in the same world. Ordered chronologically, but each fic can be read as a standalone thing

Summary of first part:

Oh shit. Forget arrested; Dream’s going to have to tell Wilbur that he watched Tommy get stabbed for being terminally stupid.

May we cross paths again by QueenLunaFreed

G\c\-\1k\Dream & Technoblade

Summary:

“Even if tomorrow it’s just us versus the entire server, Dream, I’m telling you right now - I have confidence.”

---

Dream couldn’t comprehend the pacing contradiction in front of him, the weakness he could clearly see, but would never comment on. Because this man has been defying Dream's expectations since they first met, because despite them not being friends and having no reason to trust each other, Dream knew that Technoblade is the only person who he’d trust to do this right. To destroy L'Manberg alongside him yet again, this time for real.

leave me your starlight by findingkairos

T\o\-\18k\Technoblade & Philza

Summary:

For you the world, Phil.

Once upon a time, Philza Minecraft is the only person who does not shy away from the bloody teen that regularly turns the tide of war.

This cements a friendship that will last wars, empires, worlds, and lifetimes.

 ---

(Featuring: Back to Back Badasses, healthy relationships, accidental deification, intentional world domination, and Phil's past coming back to haunt his best friend.)

[carriagelamp]

Art of Aardman

I found myself a cheap copy of the Shaun the Sheep movie, so I was rewatching a bunch of Aardman films earlier this month and decided to hunt down some books too. For anyone that doesn’t know, Aardman is a British stop-motion studio that does fantastic work like Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, Chicken Run, Early Man… tons of cool stuff. They’re always quirky and funny and warm-hearted. This was just a very nice art book for anyone that’s a fan of Aardman stop motion and wants to see a bit extra; it shows some cool concept art and blows up the neat details in Aardman work, especially in their intricate stuff like The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

Asterix and the Picts (Asterix and the Chariot Race, and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion)

I decided to try a couple of the new Asterix comics that were done by the new team, just to see if they stand up to the old ones (that and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion cause I’d never read that one before). They were pretty decent! Asterix and the Picts was my favourite of the two though I wouldn’t say either are going to contest for my favourite Asterix comic... but still! The art looks good and the stories felt like what I would expect, they made for a pleasant couple evenings of reading especially since it’s been so long since I’ve read a new Asterix comic. If you’ve never read Asterix it’s one of the biggest name French comic series in North America, as far as I know and very worth the read. It’s about a single Gaulish village that’s holding out against the invading Romans through sheer force of will, slapstick hijinks, and a magical super-strength potion brewed by their druid. Lots of fantastic visuals and cute wordplay, even in the English translations.

Bear

I found out about this bastion of Canadian literature via tumblr post that was losing its collective mind over the fact that some bizarre bear-based erotica novella somehow won the most prestigious literary prize available in Canada. Since I too found this hilarious and unspeakably bizarre I had to give it a read, obviously. And yes, the flat surface level summary is... a librarian moves out into rural Ontario and falls in love with a literal for-real not-supernatural-not-a-joke bear. And I have to say… it is actually worthy of an award, which I was not expecting given that I was there for a laugh. It has beautiful writing, and the subtextual story is pretty interesting… it kind of makes me think of The Haunting of Hill House actually in terms of themes. (Womanhood, personhood, independence, autonomy partially achieved through escaping the male gaze by claiming non-human lovers... listen if I were still in university I would right a paper comparing the two novels).

I dunno man, it’s fucking weird. Actually a well-written book, but sure is about a woman falling in love with a literal bear. Give it a read if you want something bonkers but like… high-brow bonkers.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

Best book I have read in like… a while. A long while. I am not a fast reader, and I consumed 90% of this book over a weekend. It’s not at all like Terry Pratchett, but at the same time it scratched an itch for me that I haven’t had satisfied since Pratchett’s death. A very clever, hilariously funny poly romance between a disabled werewolf, an anxious vampire lord, and an incredibly powerful woman, with heaps of social satire, political commentary, and sinister undertones. The whole thing reads a bit like fanfiction and I say that in the most flattering way possible -- it is so easy to jump right in and be immediately taken over by the characters and the world and the plot, you never feel like you’re fighting to engage even though the world-building is fascinating and expansive. It welcomes you in right away, it was the book equivalent of a quilt and a hug which is something I sorely needed with all this pandemic bullshit. If you read any of the books on this list, go read that one while I sit here in pain waiting for the sequel.

Kid Paddle

I watched the cartoon of Kid Paddle as a kid and was thinking about it recently, so I decided to hunt down some of the original comics online. They’re fun and weird, with a cute art style and fantastic monsters designs. (My favourites are always about Kid either daydreaming or playing games that involve Midam’s weird warty troll creatures. It’s like a cross between Calvin and Hobbes and Foxtrot with the fun sort of quirks that I love in Belgian comics. Unfortunately, unlike Asterix, I’ve only come across these ones in French, but if you can read French it’s totally worth popping over to The Internet Archive and reading the ones they have available.

The Last Firehawk: The Golden Temple

The lastest Firehawk book. Despite being written for quite young readers, I did enjoy the early books in this series quite a bit. They’re about a young owl and squirrel who found an egg for a magical species that was believed to be extinct. With the newly hatched firehawk, the three of them head off on a mission to find an ancient firehawk magic that could save the entire forest. Very basic adventure story but a good intro to the tropes for children. Unfortunately the quality really feels like it drops with each subsequent book; this will probably be the last one I bother reading.

Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up

I honestly think I enjoy these Lumberjanes novels even more than the comics just because it really gives time to delve into each story and examine how the camper are really thinking and feeling about everything. (Also I’m always weak for novelizations of anything.) The Moon Is Up is a book that focuses more on Jo, and takes place during the camp’s much anticipated Galaxy Wars, a competition between cabins that goes over several days. While the campers prepare for these challenges though, they also run into a strange little creature with a penchant for cheese and theft. Roanoke cabin needs to keep ahead in Galaxy Wars and somehow deal with the fearsome Moon Pirates that a closing in...

Lumberjanes v4 (Out Of Time)

One of the Lumberjanes comics, a cool, girl-focused, queer comic series. Honestly, this is just a fun series that I never got as into as I should have. My advice is honestly to skip book one because it gets better as it continues, and I’ve really been enjoying the later books now that I’ve given it another go. It follows five campers at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady Types (Jo, April, Molly, Mal, and Ripley) as they handle all sorts of challenges, from friendship to crushes, camp activities to supernatural horrors, getting badges to not being brutally killed. Great if you liked the vibe of Gravity Falls but want it to be queer-er.

Mooncakes

Another queer graphic novel, but unfortunately not a very good one. It really looked appealing and I had high hopes, but the book itself really didn’t hold up… I actually couldn’t even finish it, the plot was just too… non-existent. The art is fairly mediocre once you actually look at it, especially backgrounds, and it feels very… placid. Not much conflict or excitement or even a very compelling reason to keep reading. If you just want a soft queer supernatural you may get more mileage out of it than me, but it didn’t really do it for me. There’s better queer graphic novels out there.

New Boy In Town

One of the worst books I have ever read. My girlfriend had ordered a very different book online but through a frankly stupendous error was sent this 1980s pulp romance instead. Absolutely nauseating on levels I couldn’t even begin to enumerate here. Naturally we read the whole thing out loud. Probably took us 10 times longer to finish than it warranted because I had to stop every two sentences to lose my mind. If you like bad decisions, baffling hetero courting rituals, built-in cultural Christianity without actually calling it that, and gold panning then boy howdy is this the book for you.

(seriously, you better have patience for gold-panning if you attempt this one, because I sure learn that I don’t)

Piggies

This was a picture book I enjoyed as a kid and had a reason to reread recently. Honestly it’s just very cute and simple, and the art is completely mesmerizing. Wonderful if you know a young child that would enjoy a simple goofy boardbook.

Shaun the Sheep: Tales From Mossy Bottom

Related to my Aardman fascination earlier this month. I tried reading a varieties of Shaun the Sheep books — most of which are mediocre at best — but the Tales From Mossy Bottom Farm series is genuinely good. Just chapter books, of course, but the illustrations match the series’ concept art and each story feels like it could have jumped directly out of an episode. They’re just cute and feel-good! Kinda like Footrot Flats but more for kids, and from the sheep’s perspective moreso than the dog’s.

[itsonlystrange]

Okay I’m just saying..do you guys realize what a cultural reset canon byler would be?

Like it would trend on Twitter, 100%. People who have never seen the show before would become interested in it, ESPECIALLY people who are looking for queer representation in shows.

Byler is a good slow burn that’s INTERESTING. It’s not your stereotypical gay guys who obviously like eachother and are only there for comic relief and pushed to the back so that the het ships can get the spotlight. It has DEVELOPMENT. And it’s rare you come across stuff like that.

Neither mike nor will are stereotypically “gay”. They are just regular teenage boys who happen to not be straight. Usually gay ships portrayed in TV and Film are used as comedic relief. Or the overly flamboyant gay guy and the super macho gay guy getting together in the last 10 seconds the show.

Yes, there are a TON of good shows out there that have queer representation however a LOT of them get thrown under the radar or are overshadowed by the more heterosexual ships or shows.

So imagine, a show as big as stranger things, having its two boys be in a canon relationship. Like the internet would BLOW UP. It’d be the topic of every interview. Finn and Noah would be the topic of every interview. Stranger Things would have relevancy again.

Obviously, ST is still relevant however with this whole hiatus it’s falling off the radar easily and people are becoming bored. But this...this would blow it up again.

Obviously queer ships are NOT there to make a show relevant again, at all. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, imagine all the lgbtq+ kids that watch ST. The lgbtq+ BOYS that watch ST.

Often, when queer relationships are portrayed in film or television, it isn’t portrayed accurately. And it’s often shown as “if you don’t come out this way then you’re invalid.” Or “if you have internalized homophobia you’re invalid” and a thousand other things. Hell, I remember being much younger absolutely hating myself or not “picking a side” and being so confused with my self and wondering why I was even bisexual in the first place.

But then you have byler, which portrays a much more accurate relationship between two closer than normal boys. It portrays the internalized homophobia, the abuse and bullying people back in the 80’s (and still now) would endure. And yeah, it’s not the most accurate depiction but it’s FAR better than some other popular show’s queer relationships.

Millions of people watch this show, an abundance of them being lgbtq+. And imagine them having a ship to look up to. A ship that doesn’t portray gay relationships as a “joke”. And even better, Mike and Will are teenagers!!

Often, in film and television, queer ships are usually based around two adults. In fact, a lot of times they portray young teenagers being in a gay relationship as “gross.” They say that it’s too “mature”. That having a partner that’s the same gender as you is wrong, and that you need to be a little bit “older” because apparently being in a queer relationship is only for adults because queer relationships are just too “inappropriate.”

But then you have Mike and Will who are two 14 year old boys. Who aren’t stereotypically “gay” as the movies portray. They’re just normal teenage boys. And that’s how it SHOULD be portrayed. We need to stop portraying Lgbtq+ ships as “inappropriate” or “weird”. They’re just two teenage boys in love.

Remember when everyone found out Robin was lesbian after being straight baited? Yeah. The internet blew up. So take that and times it by ten thousand. That would be canon byler.

It’d be a huge step for the media. Unfortunately, we haven’t come that far with queer ships. It’s gotten better but there’s still a lot of steps to take. But having a huge show like stranger things have their two man boys be in a canon relationship and have it portrayed regularly, guys!! That would be huge!!

Imagine all the little kids getting to grow up with that. Or all the teenagers that are Mike and Will’s age struggling with their sexuality seeing these two boys who aren’t stereotypically anything be canonically in love. Like, that would be huge.

I know that if I grew up with a canon byler I would definitely have felt a lot more sure of my sexuality earlier on. So many kids would have a wonderful ship to look up to that isn’t fetishized or treated like it’s “weird.”

And the fact that it’d be the topic of every interview. Noah and Finn wouldn’t see the end of it. People would talk about it non stop. It’d be advertised on social media accounts, the duffers would talk about it, the stranger writers would talk about it. I mean, it’d be big!!

And yeah, it’s sad that a gay ship becoming canon would be revolutionary, but that’s just how the world is. We still haven’t progressed past that yet. And it’ll take awhile before having a gay shop isn’t a big thing.

I often see people say “if byler became canon then everybody would stop watching” which just ISN’T true.

They’d gain so many viewers. It’d be more popular than Mileven ever had been. Yes, Mileven has their cute moments, however at the end of the day, Milevens dynamic has been done before. Thats not to say bylers hasn’t, obviously a canon byler wouldn’t be the first. But it’d be the first big canon queer ship in awhile. Straight ships with mileven’s dynamic happen all the time.

And at the end of the day, ST isn’t a romance show. If Mileven didn’t end up being end game I don’t think many people would care. It wouldn’t be as big as people say it is. I feel like the fandom likes to think that Mileven rakes in all the money but that simply isn’t true. It’s a science fiction show at its core and the core viewers don’t watch for romance. If Mileven is what raked in all their viewers then season 2 wouldn’t have been as successful as it was, considering mike and el don’t even interact until the last episode of season 2. So I really think the fandom is just overreacting on that part. Yeah, people are gonna leave the fandom. Just how people left when stancy wasn’t endgame or when their favorite chatacter died or when something happened that they didn’t like. That’s just how life works. They’re gonna lose viewers regardless of what happens because not everyone will be happy with how season four plays out. But at the end of the day, it’s hot like ST is going to lose 25 million viewers because two 14 year olds weren’t endgame. It’s often easy to forget that the fandom doesn’t reflect ST’s viewership. The fandom takes up only a small percentage OF their viewership. So yeah, some fan accounts may deactivate, just like how a lot of bylers left the fandom after season 3. But it’s not like nobody’s going to watch the show, that’s absurd. Mileven isn’t their main cash cow. It isn’t even on the leader board of st’s main cash cows. If anything, Steve dying would make st lose more viewers than Mileven not being end game. And it’s been made more clear recently that a lot of people prefer Jopper over Mileven, especially with the ending of season 3. We gotta remember that, the FANDOM is mainly teenagers however stranger things main demographic and viewership is ADULTS. And I don’t see many 21+ year olds not watching the show because a ship almost 10 years younger than them wasnt end game. Most of st’s viewers don’t care about the romance

TLDR: canon byler would be huge for stranger things and would probably blow up the internet. It’d also be good commercially and financially for stranger things. Also having byler he canon would be so helpful to all the kids and teens and even adults out their struggling with their sexuality and would make so many lgbtq+ kids, teens, and adults feel seen and feel loved and feel validated. Over all, canon byler would do more GOOD then bad.

[bentforkent]

CAMP FIREFLY - chapter one

word count: 4,210

content warnings: brief joking mention of child death

read on ao3 / read on wattpad (coming soon too lazy to upload there rn lol) / previous part / next part

Emily wakes up on the first day of camp feeling like someone is sitting on her chest. It’s the same atmosphere as usual; her head rises from the same old flat pillow to the same old bunk above her. It’s the same atmosphere, sure, but today feels fundamentally different, for it’s the first time she’ll be interacting with real campers. Children. A gaggle of young folk coming to her every day for instruction or nurturing or a hand with the hot-glue stick. She’s been trained for this, of course, but what if she messes up a craft? What if she accidentally says “fuck”?

Wide awake, JJ and Penelope are up and bouncing around the cabin cheerily by the time Emily wiggles her toes and comes to from Dreamland. Emily had only awoken in the first place because the early-rising pair tuned the radio to something upbeat and relatively staticless, cranking up the volume. Emily would’ve considered that very rude had she not already slept in for an extra hour, and had she not been greeted with incredible excitement once her eyes popped open.

“She’s awake!” JJ cheered, Penelope replying with a soft good morning!. Emily took her time pulling her body from the mattress, and now sits still-groggy on the floor by her bunk, trying to do her makeup in a tiny, fogged compact mirror. Penelope is standing behind JJ, braiding bright purple ribbons into her hair.

It’s so early it’s still dark outside, so the three of them are illuminated by a sorta-eerie yellow light, an old light bulb wired smack in the center of the cabin. Penelope’s bags are packed by the door, and when Emily notices them, she feels a pang of sadness upon remembering that Penelope will be moving out to her own cabin with her own group of campers today. Emily will get to stay with JJ, which she thinks is quite nice, because the only other option was a single room all the way over by Rossi’s office all by herself. And she’s finding that she quite likes spending time with JJ and Penelope, so newfound solitude would be a drag.

The bunch have spent their past week in training--learning the lay of the land through semi-degraded VHS tapes of Rossi when he was young and sprightly still, walking through the camp and delivering very specific instructions on how to deal with very specific situations. Penelope was in charge of teaching the fun stuff---chants and traditions and how to make friendship bracelets.

On a particularly sweaty, boring training day, Emily pulled Aaron aside--away from the group who was watching an old-Rossi-video about the lake just behind the camp--and asked him if everything was always like this. Emily wasn’t entirely sure what the “this” was, whether she meant peppy or hot or musty or involved, but Aaron had nodded his head sympathetically and walked Emily back to her seat with a whispered, “You’ll get used to it.” Emily was only a tiny bit aware of Penelope’s eyes fixated on her as she slumped back down in the sticky plastic seat and focused back on Rossi-with-hair explaining the stupid history of the stupid lake.

And used to it she got. Spencer, too.

Turns out he shared the same sentiment as Emily--the, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but I don’t hate it,” sentiment, as they’d so concisely dubbed it, when they sat together in the back of the big room training was taking place in, gossiping and giggling as Rossi, real Rossi --- old Rossi --- stood in front of the small group and explained yet another probably-self-explanatory camp rule.

For as much training as it feels like they participate in --- or sit through, rather --- Spencer still wakes up on the first day of Real Camp so stressed out he checks for gray hairs in the mirror.

It turns out that you can sit through a series of convoluted VHS tapes and Penelope-lessons and still not know a thing about what you’re supposed to be doing. It also turns out that while Camp Firefly is clearly very loved, it’s not the most...efficient summer camp of the area. Or the most safe. Or staffed. Or large. In fact, Spencer marvels at the fact people even send their kids here to stay. It’s not that the camp is poorly run or anything (to imply that would be to question the abilities of him and his friends, Spencer acknowledges), but there’s got to be better options, is the point.

Besides the small handful of counselors Spencer had become close with, the staff only consists of a trio of kitchen staff, one (one!) lifeguard, and a male nurse that Spencer had spoken to once and left the conversation supremely uneasy at the poor guy giving any medical advice. Spencer made a mental note to try his hardest to not have any health issues during his time here.

The kitchen staff are older---like, appear-in-the-old-training-videos older, but they entertain the rest of the newer, younger staff with stories of their youth. The nature of Camp Firefly means that they have stories about Spencer’s friends, too, as the majority of them have been going to the camp every summer since they were children, aging up into their jobs as counselors.

Spencer hears about the time an elementary-aged Derek begged to help serve food to the other campers just because, and about the time Penelope and JJ (when the story is told, they call her Jennifer) passed a petition calling for Rossi’s retirement around the whole camp, just because he cancelled the Talent Show. (The petition turned up only 4 signatures, and the Talent Show is no longer a Camp Firefly tradition).

It’s awe-inducing to Spencer that these people around him have lived whole lives in these dingy cabins. They’ve known each other for ages, built relationships and traditions and memories and stories, all because their parents chose the cheapest sleepaway camp option.

Spencer wonders how different his life would have turned out if he’d been indoctrinated into Summer Camp Culture in his youth, whether he’d even be at Camp Firefly now. Probably not. Definitely not.

Everyone is hanging out around Rossi’s office when the first bus arrives, lounging against the walls and picking at their cuticles. The sun is meandering its way over the horizon finally, but it still feels impossibly early. The group wears bright orange Camp Firefly t-shirts that are meant to be matching, but budget things mean that some of the shirts are more worn---Aaron’s has the sleeves cut off, and the logo is largely rubbed off of JJ’s---and some are brand new.

The crackling of the bus’ tires signals it’s presence before the vehicle peeks over the hill, and when it’s finally in everyone’s line of vision, it’s like a switch flips. They’re hooting and hollering, jumping and dancing in the name of welcoming this bus. Spencer has a wild grin on his face, and when he meets Emily’s eyes, they share a look of fondness and excitement.

After the first bus arrives, the day goes by as quickly as a montage--a cluster of quickly moving vignettes.

Spencer watches as a young girl stares up at Derek, eyes wide and full of wonder. He’s lifting her--and three other girls’--duffle bags with ease, muscles flexing and shiny with sweat. Same, Spencer thinks, realizing his expression is most likely the same as the girl’s. Derek flashes him a quick, hot smile, and Spencer grins in return.

Emily executes her first craft--a cluster of glitter and string and construction paper--flawlessly. Each group introduces themselves to her with a chorus of “hi Emily,” and it warms her heart more than she expected. One girl missing her front tooth hangs back as her group is leaving--Penelope’s group is leaving--just to tell Emily that she likes her “funny makeup.” It’s just eyeliner, really, it’s not that funny, but the sentiment makes Emily smile nonetheless.

Aaron has some trouble with children in his group picking beds, a small verbal scuffle breaking out between two campers vying for the last top bunk. Aaron, ever a mediator, solves it with a stern glance at the pair and a reminder that the other option out of the two is a bed near a window, another highly-sought-after spot. They fight for the window bed next, and Aaron feels a gray hair sprout on the spot.

Once all of Penelope’s campers have unpacked, she takes them on a top-secret trip down to the lake. It’s definitely not top-secret, it’s a staple of every group’s first-day tour, but Penelope has a knack for making her campers feel special, so they creep around the sandy shore on their tiptoes, whispering, while Andrea the Lifeguard looks on.

Despite the speed and relative easiness of the day, everyone finds themselves exhausted, greeting each other with pantomimes of falling asleep and loud sighs. It’s not been a bad day at all, but a long one, and in an attempt to remedy the feeling Derek graciously offers to run to the supermarket and pick up some fun snacks---a counselors only affair.

Spencer volunteers to accompany him on account of him wanting to spend obscene amounts of time with Derek, and also on the account of Rossi offering his expensive car for Derek to drive. Oh, to feel buttery leather seats and hear music and smell anything but dry leaves and B.O.

As soon as their campers are pawned off to other people and sufficiently supervised, Rossi tosses his keys to Derek, who catches them with a jingle.

“Be back soon,” Derek promises, and Spencer punctuates with a wave and a smile.

The fluorescent lights buzz in Spencer’s ear, comforting him. Bzz, bzz. Hope you like the air conditioning, they call out to him. He sure does.

Normally the energy of these 24/7 high-budget chain grocery stores freak Spencer out. It’s always too bright, too loud, too full-of-people. But tonight, there’s not a soul around except him and Derek and the high-school-aged cashier, so Spencer’s actually feeling particularly soothed. The sounds of Derek’s feet dragging on the shiny floor and the squeaky wheel are good sounds, he decides. He could still do without the candy-coated pop music wafting through the speakers.

The shopping cart remains empty for about fifteen minutes before either of them address it. Derek and Spencer spend those 15 minutes wandering aisles, relatively silent save for short, casual remarks like, “Oh, maybe we should get barbecue chips,” or, “JJ loves these Fruit by The Foot.”

Derek pauses from where he’s pushing the cart and turns to Spencer. “We should probably start shopping for real now, huh?”

Honestly, half of Spencer thought they had been shopping for real already. But apparently, if you’re not putting things in the cart, it doesn’t count, he learns. (Derek might be a misguided teacher in that lesson, though.)

“I like to take my time here, because it’s about the only time during camp I get to be alone,” Derek explains, tossing a loaf of bread into the cart absentmindedly. Bread is not on the list.

Spencer tugs at his fraying string bracelet. “Oh. Sorry, then,” he says. Three boxes of graham crackers are set delicately next to the bread.

“For what?”

“Well, you’re not really alone right now,” Spencer observes.

Derek shrugs casually. “Sure, I guess. But you don’t really count, Spence,” he says.

He means it kindly, Spencer knows. But it’s an odd thing to hear--what does that mean? Is he implying Spencer is too boring, or too quiet? Before Spencer can spiral too much, Derek notices his uncomfortable silence and continues, “Hey, no, I mean because I like spending time with you. Like, it’s easy. I don’t have to think about it.”

Spencer has a flash of a vision of Derek dipping him right there in aisle 6 and planting a nice firm kiss onto his lips. In that vision, there’s a fog machine whirring and some Chopin playing. Vision-Spencer nips at vision-Derek’s lower lip.

Instead of all that, present-moment-Spencer nudges Derek’s shoulder with his own, murmuring a happy little “likewise,” and clinging onto the sound of Derek’s chuckle.

Derek kept his hand on the center console the whole drive home, and Spencer desperately wanted to reach out and grab it, to open his palm and lay in it, letting him be engulfed like a weighted blanket. But he kept his hands to himself, squarely on his thighs.

It’s dark when they return, and the bright LED headlights of Rossi’s fancy car seem out of place when they pull back into the camp. Everything seems out of place. Spencer can’t put his finger on it --- the buildings haven’t shifted, and the camp is exactly the same as it was before he left, and yet he’s got this strange premonition that something is just...off.

Spencer’s shoe is untied, and he can feel the laces whipping his ankle as he and Derek trek to Rossi’s office to return his keys to him. He’d reach down and tie them if not for the plastic bags of groceries in his hand---god forbid he let food sit on the dirty, unpaved path, no matter how many layers of plastic packaging protect it. Besides, the air feels thicker than usual, and each time the knit of his shoelace brushes his skin, Spencer is reminded just how uncomfortable everything feels and how desperate he is to be inside.

Everyone is packed into Rossi’s office when the pair gets there, and Spencer’s stomach sinks the tiniest bit.

Penelope and Emily are lounging in those sticky plastic chairs, showered and smelling like a cocktail of cheap, fruity shampoo. Behind them are Aaron and JJ --- JJ’s standing to braid French braids into Penelope’s wet hair, and Aaron just appears to be shaking out pent-up energy. How he isn’t tired, Spencer doesn’t know. Confused, and with hesitant movements, Derek pushes away a stack of bright-white papers on Rossi’s desk to make space for the grocery bags. “What’s everyone doing in here?” he asks. “I thought we were doing Shifts tonight.”

Now that campers have arrived at the camp, it’s become a little more complicated to hang out as a group in the evenings, as they’ve all got an obligation to be in their cabins just in case. Liabilities, and all that.

The first year Aaron was old enough to become a counselor---he was the first of the bunch to age up into the job---he devised an elaborate, elaborate system that allowed the group to socialize without any sleeping campers being left alone.

It’s complete with maps and rules and a very strict set of time shifts, so in addition to Spencer and Emily’s official training, they’d been trained on the side by a very drill-sergeant-y JJ in what Aaron all those years ago so aptly dubbed “Shifts.”

Neither Spencer nor Emily have got it down yet.

“Rossi has an announcement,” Aaron says, pulling his ankle up behind him into a simple hamstring stretch.

“Yeah, I heard he’s gonna promote you to Head of Grocery Shopping, Der,” Penelope teases, peering jovially at Derek through the corner of her eye.

“Haha,” Derek deadpans, and tosses her a pack of fruit snacks that he’d picked out specifically for her. They're the good brand, the blue bag, and she accepts graciously with a kiss blown in his direction. Derek catches it, and presses it to his cheek.

Emily has noticed that Rossi always slinks into his office after his guests have arrived. He’s never there waiting, never anticipating. She has no clue where he’s coming from, although she assumes it’s from his cabin. He always makes an entrance, always sits with a weird old-guy sigh, and then launches into whatever reason he’d called the meeting in the first place.

On cue, Rossi swings the door open and lowers himself into his chair slowly. Emily anticipates it and then there it is---Rossi sighs that damn sigh, and leans forward onto his desk. Although no one else moves, the air shifts towards him as well, and it feels like the seven of them are all standing nose-to-nose.

Penelope slips Rossi a fruit snack discreetly, sliding it across the table to rest by his elbow.

“You know I love you all very much,” Rossi starts, and Emily feels like she might puke. That’s the thing about her Rossi prediction --- the important part, the part where he speaks, is the part she’ll never be able to guess.

So, she feels like she might puke. Not because she feels ill, of course, but in her experience all of that cheesy, “I love you” bullshit always prefaces the worst news, and she has absolutely no clue what is about to come out of Rossi’s mouth. Her mind leaps to the worst possible conclusion---”You’re firing all of us,” she blurts out, relieving the tension just a tad as JJ bursts into snickers behind her.

Another sigh. “No, I’m not firing you.”

“A kid died?”

“Jesus, Emily, would you let me finish?” Rossi says.

Then, after a deep breath, “Developers are coming tomorrow to look at the land. I’m planning on selling Camp as soon as this summer is finished.”

Oh, Emily thinks.

It hits them like a punch to the gut.

There’s hardly room to breathe in the cabin, let alone fall to the floor, but somehow JJ makes it work. The sound of her knees hitting the wooden floor reverberates and warps through the space.

Emily and Spencer exchange a watery glance and mirror each other, biting the inside of their cheeks at the same time. They share a small, spiritless smile at the misfortune.

Penelope is gasping short and shallow breaths as she staves off cries, reaching down and behind her for JJ, who has tucked her head into her knees, pulling off an emotional Child’s Pose on the filthy floor.

Penelope crying is awkward because Emily is sitting right there, upset as well but characteristically less overt about it. Their knees are touching --- Emily’s right to Penelope’s left --- and yet, there’s no tissue for Emily to give Penelope, no way to console her without feeling irreparably out of place. Emily sinks lower into her seat, wishing she had the confidence to place her hand on Penelope’s leg as a tender signal that she’s there and she understands.

Derek is shoved into Spencer as Aaron pushes past him and out of Rossi’s office. It’s not a malicious push, and the sad look Derek gives Spencer is one of pity both for Aaron and for himself, too. An anguished cry comes from outside, from Aaron, and everyone’s eyes widen a little at the sound.

It’s impressive to Emily just how immediately everyone started crying. Before Rossi had even finished his sentence, there were tears welling up in Penelope’s big hazel eyes. Emily almost feels jealous at the brazen displays of emotion. She wants to love something so hard that she could cry at the drop of a hat over it. Nothing has ever touched her as Camp Firefly has touched Penelope, touched JJ, touched Aaron, touched Derek.

“I feel like my world is crashing around me,” Derek admits shyly. “As stupid as that sounds.”

Spencer nods. He knows the feeling. They sit on the porch of their cabin in creaky rocking chairs, a cloud of bug spray encompassing them.

“It’s like, I grew up at this camp. This camp saved me as a kid.” Derek shakes his head.

This camp is saving me now, Spencer thinks wryly before tucking that thought away in a deep corner of his brain. “I’m really sorry, Derek,” he says sincerely.

The door to the cabin creaks open, and a teary-eyed child steps out onto the porch. His feet are light, and he closes the door behind him slowly, clearly not trying to wake any of his fellow campers. “Derek?” he asks quietly. “I can’t sleep...and I kinda miss my mom.”

“C’mere, then,” Derek says tenderly, and gestures for the boy to sit in one of the unoccupied rocking chairs. “Spencer and I were just talking about how much we miss our moms, right Spence?”

Spencer agrees with a nod and a kind smile directed at the boy, then he takes a backseat to the conversation unfolding in front of him. He watches as Derek effortlessly consoles the weeping child before him by sharing his own stories of similar plights in homesickness and offering jokingly to sing the cabin to sleep next time.

After a few minutes Spencer’s mind starts to wander, curious on how the rest of his friends are sleeping tonight after the news of Camp Firefly’s imminent closure. He hopes Emily is chatting with JJ just as he’s chatting with Derek, comforting her and providing the very few words of solace that would help in this situation. He thinks of Penelope and Aaron, all alone, and he half-considers walking over to each of their cabins just to check on them. He doesn’t, though, because it’s technically against the rules, and because Derek is standing, wrapping up his conversation and holding his hand out to help Spencer up out of his seat. The camper, who Spencer has learned is named Alex, scampers inside, tears dried.

Derek holds intense locked eye-contact with Spencer for a second. His eyes are soul-searching, making it clear that he has something he would like to say to Spencer. Maybe he wants to thank Spencer for listening to him talk, or accompanying him to the grocery store. Spencer quickly flips through a plethora of ideas of what Derek could say next like he’s flipping through a book, but he comes up short.

Derek’s mouth is open slightly, like he’d taken in a breath to speak and then lost his train of thought. The sight of him makes Spencer sweat a little, and just for a moment he feels like maybe he should break the short distance between them and kiss him.

Then Derek is tearing his eyes away, dropping Spencer’s hand, murmuring a gentle, “Sleep well, Spencer,” and retreating inside and to his bunk.

“Goodnight,” Spencer replies, but Derek’s already tucked himself in and turned his back to where Spencer stands by the open door.

Emily is always the last one to fall asleep. She knows this based solely on a feeling, an energy that settles over the camp when everyone else’s eyelashes are finally closed and their breathing patterns slowed. It takes a little longer on this night, considering the 40 new bodies in the vicinity--Welcome, Campers!--and the obviously upsetting news that’d been delivered to her and her friends, but finally Emily feels it. She’s the only one awake.

As much as Emily doesn’t like to spend time to herself, as she often finds herself in rabbit holes of self-loathing thoughts, this nightly hour-or-so of atmospheric solitude is comforting. Usually.

Tonight, she’s reeling with visions of land developers coming to the camp in fancy suits, and clipboards, and leather loafers that are far unsuited to trek through Camp Firefly’s unpaved land. And it sucks to imagine.

Emily has only spent a week or so here at the camp, so she doesn't feel like this loss hits her particularly hard. The only reason she’s even at this tiny camp in the first place is the fact that it’s on the exact opposite end of the country from where she’d spent her spring.

When summer ends, and this camp is gone, all she’ll need to do to heal is move to a new city, and make new friends. Then she’ll repeat the process once she gets hurt or bored. The collection of people who have known and loved Emily Prentiss is so impossibly large, and as a result, large is the collection of people who have lost her and haven’t thought about her since.

With regret, Emily recognizes that the group she’s met and befriended this past week will eventually forget about her, remembering her only as the charismatic figure who took over the Craft Cabin the year the camp closed.

And yet, she feels differently than usual. She thinks of pretty Penelope, who is so sweet and sheepish and shy around her, but blooms into wide smiles and rosy cheeks around others. Of JJ, who eagerly taught her how to braid and make friendship bracelets on only their second day of meeting. Derek and Aaron, the rare macho men who haven’t made her want to gouge her eyes out but instead make her laugh constantly. She thinks of Spencer, the quiet intellectual who she feels such a warmth toward, considering him her baby sibling or her protegé.

She’s not entirely sure of what this emotion is, what it means or what it will mean in the future. What she does know, though, is that she’ll take up as much space as possible until her quiet disband from the mismatched group of friends. It’s how she always goes.

It’s then that she decides fuck the developers and fuck Rossi’s plans. If she’s going down and away with this camp, she might as well make it count. As she closes her eyes, finally ready to sleep, a plan begins to formulate in her mind.

- - - - - - -

next part

[poptod]

hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

+

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

[redxblueihateloveyou]

I'm surprised people see Tadashi as the victim in his relationship with Ainosuke, when it's Tadashi the one who time and time again takes away Ainosuke's agency, without being able to see that he is throwing him unto unhappiness. I can't help but think that if Tadashi was not working at Shindo's house, Ainosuke would have maybe left or broke with the family. But he can't do that if he wants the relationship with Tadashi going on, seing how Tadashi is set on enforcing the family rules...

Hmm.. I def agree with the fact that Tadashi is not what most fandom makes out of him, my man (I mean, Adam’s man) is a 100% Slytherin. But I disagree with blaming him for this, after all the revealed info. The environment they were both raised in made their situation complicated.

I like Tadashi a lot, he’s probably my fav thing about this anime, bc he’s a dark horse, and I’m once again surprised, that so little ppl see him for who he really is, portraying him as an innocent puppy, which he is definitely not.

Now to why I think both Tadashi and Adam are victims of the dad and aunties in this situation. 

We can of course say “if only they told each other how they really feel...”, but like we can say it about any love story really. Every author knows it’s no fun. The truth is that yes, they both hurt each other, and yes, if they were honest about their feelings things would’ve been different, but as I’ve already wrote under that “toxic” commentary on YT, lets look at the whole situation from both of their point of views:

We know that Adam when he was little always treated Tadashi as an equal, he never ever thought of him as someone lower than him and after their fall out, the only reason for this “harsh” treatment (well, besides their confirmed kink) was that Adam tried to get a reaction out of him, so Tadashi would stand up for himself, bc Ainosuke got mad about Tadashi caving to his dad’s wishes and abandoning him, when he needed him the most. 

But now, knowing the fact that Tadashi was his dad’s secretary and was under his control, let’s see it from his perspective: Tadashi wanted to stay by Adam’s side, Adam’s dad implied that if Tadashi did say smth, he’s gonna be.. well, dismissed and they won’t see each other ever again. That’s what caused Tadashi to stay silent in that moment. Ainosuke instead saw this as a “he’s not on my side” thing, well, because. Tadashi won’t tell him his problem, bc dad and aunties control everything, so even if he does tell him, what a teen would do really? He didn’t have any powers back then to make his dad do anything. 

And that’s when it all gone to shit, since they both were hurt for their own reasons. It’s easy to say leave the family, but 1stly nobody explained to Adam still that he’s physically and psychologically abused by his family, he sees it as them “loving him” and sadly also loves them, bc nobody told him, that love wasn’t supposed to be like that really. He definitely feels that smth is not right and feels emotionally exhausted there bc of this treatment, but did he ever consider leaving? I really don’t think so. He feels obligated to be worthy of a family, who “loves” him.

Do you think, for example, that Akashi Seijuro hates his dad for what he did to him? No. Does he understand that he wasn’t at fault for what happened to him and that his dad instead of comforting his child after his mother’s death, who was his only safe haven, made everything worse? I don’t think he does. Like his mom gave him basketball, an escape from all that family’s obligations and strictness. After her death, it was the only thing left that brought him joy, but his dad ruined even that, saying that if he’s gonna be bad at it/lose, he’d take it away from him too. Does Akashi see this as emotional abuse? No, he sees it like “well, I have to be the best bc I was born in such powerful family, so if my dad says that I must be best at everything, then I must.”

I personally hate such parents a lot. To me it doesn’t matter if Adam’s dad didn’t know about aunties hitting his child. Like if he was too busy to notice this and have no time for his kid and made his childhood miserable, it doesn’t make it any better really. 

Same as with Akashi’s dad. Some are like “he was probably also grieving about his wife”. Emm? He was like this from the beginning, bc he treated Akashi not as his son, but as his heir. And yes, that’s different things. Same with Endeavor and Todoroki. Your child is not your post production thing.

2ndly they were too young, even if they knew about each others feelings and he didn’t feel obligated and told everyone to fuck off, they’d be on the streets now, but also Adam’s dad doesn’t seem like a guy who’d leave them alone really. Also eloping seems very romantic, but I don’t think it is, esp when you’re teens. Did you want him to sell some expensive watch and go live on Hawaii or smth? Bc finding a decent job there would be difficult at this age, esp with everyone knowing who your dad is. Chen Ke from “Antidote” survived bc he was 27 and had connections and some great friends. Adam was in high school, where would he go exactly?

Now let’s go back to now. Obviously all this time it didn’t even cross Tadashi’s mind that for Ainosuke he comes first and that he would throw everyone under the bus to make Tadashi stay with him. As we see at the end, he legit believed that Adam was planning to send him to jail and didn’t get that he said it just to shaken he up and that he knew who he’d set up for this from the beginning. 

To Adam obviously it doesn’t matter whether they’re in a quarrel or not, he would never him go. Yes, he’s mad at him, he’s angry and hurt, but Tadashi’s still the person he needs the most, he’s still the person who brightens his days, even tho he deliberately behaves like he annoys him. He always looks at him and looks at him and looks at him, but then hisses smth to hurt him. Bc he knows that he needs him, but he also hates that he needs him, bc he thinks it’s unrequited.

And that’s how their classic romance goes in hellish circles. No one wants to talk as usual. Adam is mad Tadashi is like that bc his dad turned him into a slave with no opinion, while Tadashi is scared that Adam would be taken away from him bc of his ugly family. 

Now I still think that no one and I mean no one can take Tadashi from Adam now, he is his precious. So my plan is... if Tadashi made aunties do smth against him or to get rid of him, aunties will go for sure. The problem is Tadashi still doesn’t get that he comes first, so we’re stuck in this hell still.

So anyways, my point is Adam’s heart basically sings “you got a hold of me, don’t even know your power” to Tadashi, but he doesn’t hear it, bc of his insecurities, the way he was raised and his status. But yes, he holds all the power. He’s both Adam’s sanity and insanity. No matter how cheesy it sounds he was basically his only ray of sunshine in the darkness, if you take it away, that’s what it leads to, that’s why Ainosuke-sama needs more ppl who care for him. I don’t want anyone to die next time, just cause Tadashi and Adam fought about where to put their new couch lmao. I’m kidding, but you know what I mean. And kill the aunties, pls seriously, we need to be free.

Also ppl need to remember that like lots of animes/characters are parcially inspired by some other animes/characters, also the chosen seiyuus are also very important, there are lots of stuff like jokes and references, that creators use, from characters being fully inspired by smth like “Assassination classroom” characters based on KNB, to little stuff like Levi dressed in Akashi’s uniform in chibi AOT bc Hiroshi Kamiya. Utsumi already said before stuff like she sometimes think of a perfect voice for the character and then fully forms him, we also know her clear love for sports animes. So yes, I doubt Tadashi/Kuroko thing is a coincidence and even tho someone was like “zone? is this knb or smth?” I was like no, zone is actually a common thing in sports, even tho most associate it with KNB including me, it’s not like its their invention, but there were things inspired by this for sure, and from other sports animes too and no, I don’t mean the basic sports anime tropes, I mean, like way too specific things, some character designes, too. And yes, Langa appearence and personality wise is a rinharu child for real, I can literally split his scenes in “that’s Haru”, “that’s Rin”.

That’s why I’ve said that this situation in fandom reminds me of Kuroko/Akashi situation a lot, bc same as here in KNB ppl for some reason automatically thought that Kuroko is this innocent sheep and Akashi is the wolf (but also like it was Akashi who chose to dress as red riding hood, while Kuroko was a wolf lmao), not even seeing who is in reality more dangerous and who can easily control who. It just buffles me bc it’s not some deep analisys really. I mean once again there’s a reason for the saying that the sub holds all the power over the dom. 

And like just bc someone yells or threatens ppl constantly doesn’t necessarily mean he is a psycopatic killer, and just bc someone is quiet and doe-eyed, doesn’t mean he isn’t. I didn’t think we needed to explain this to someone, but aparently we do?

And it honestly kills me just how superficially ppl are watching things these days. It really gives me war flashbacks to stuff like the last mdzs s1 episode, where ppl started to comment things like “how LZ can be so heartless” lmao. Or that anonymous ask “do you think haru misses rin?”. Like you don’t see thing at all? Grey substance no needed, while watching things?

P.S. I also would die to see Adam vs Tadashi race just bc I for some reason can bet all my money, that it’s the same situation as with Akashi refusing to ankle break Kuroko, no matter how mad he is. I just can’t imagine Ainosuke hitting Tadashi in the face with a board. Like 100% sure he wouldn’t even try tbh.

[kaz11283]

I really like the prompt list you reblogged it’s got some good stuff. What about 37. “Because I love you god damn it!” with Loki if you are still needing inspiration.

37) Because I Love You God Damn It!

~~~~

The Secret Is Out

Characters: the Avengers Bunch, Loki, Thor, Clint

Warnings: Dirty words, slight angst

Summary: after putting your life in the line for a teammate you accidentally let a big secret slip.

Announcements: I will always need insperation and requests! They feed my soul! Haha. I'm not gonna lie. Im skipping back and forth on my requests though. I have a really good story line for one but its just so emotional(thats were Im hoping it goes at least) that I didnt want to write it tonight and put my self in a mood. So instead I guess im goimg with a form of anger? Meh. Anyways... I absolutly love love love everything from you guys! The reblogs, likes, and comments are amazing and I am very greatful for all the love I am getting!!!! 💚💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~

The fight had been rough but not as rough as you were feeling in the moment. You had gotten serverly hurt and had been in the medbay for about a week now and you had a longer road ahead. There had been an explosion and instead of turning to run away you had ran toward one of your team members that had been to distracted to realize what was going on, you had successfully gotten him shoved out of the way but you had taken the brunt of the blast.

Now you were laying here staring at the celing trying to stay distracted as Bruce and Tony looked at your completely shaddered knee and the burns up your leg. Fingers crossed that they would have good news soon.

"Well as of right now kid your out of commission." Tony said helping you sit back up.

"Meaning?" You pulled one of the pillows down so that you could sit up without being uncomfortable.

"Meaning right now, the way it all looks, your gonna be stuck in the bed until it fully heals and after wards theres really no way to tell if your going to be able to work in the field again." Burce said looking at the xrays again. "And your gonna have to have surgery in order to put all the right pieces back in the right places, but we cant really do that until some of the burns heal or at least start to heal. Its gonna be a long drawn out process unfortunately." He sighed setting the charts back down and walking over to you.

"Fucking hell! You mean I'm gonna be pushing paper work? I might as well go work in a damn office with four white walls and a poster that says 'hang in there, its almost Friday'." You placed your head in your hands.

"Hey! At least our paper work is more exciting than just running numbers." Tony said placing a hand on your back. He had been like a fsther to you, taking you in when you didnt have anywhere else to turn except the streets. Your own family had abandoned you at a young age and you had been leaning toward a dark path until Tony. "Besides with your expertise you dont have to sit behind a desk, your fingers arent blown off, you can still hack into stuff I'm sure."

"Tony we had a deal when I moved in. No hacking but you would train me and I could actually do good. Now look at me."

"I said no hacking the good guys, and if I remember correctly you were the one jumping close to the bomb not away from. I hate to be this way y/n but the only one to blame is yourself on this one."

"He would have been worst off than I am if not killed. I think I did the right thing. Besides you would have done the same thing if you had been closer." You sighed.

"Honey the diffrence with that is I have a supersuit, you wear a skin tight, spandex one peice, that I'm not a fan of." He laughted. Bruce had went to go get you some more pain killers to shoot into your IV.

"Tony if I were you I would shut up. Your starting to sound like you might actually love me, might even say your starting to act like a dad." You laughed pulling him into a hug.

"Shut it kid, cant let the others know I have a soft spot for the hacker orphan kid i took in all those years ago now can I." He said kissing the top of your head. "Do you need anything else before the drugs kick in and you pass out again?"

"Yes, can you please bring me my phone charger, laptop, and that really fluffy blanket that you and Pep got for me for Christmas."

"Dont ask to much of me now."

"I wouldnt be asking if you would just let me stay in my room. I hate it down here. I wanna be were the people are." You were starting to get loopy from whatever Bruce had given you.

"Ok little mermaid, get some rest I'll get your stuff." He laughed walking out the door letting you fall into a restless sleep.

You didnt know how long you hade been asleep but you woke up with a groan trying to sit up so you could atleast stretch your back from laying in one spot for to long. You flopped back down dramatically with a sigh. You could sense someine else in the room with you, you always knew when he was around.

"You dont have to hide in the shadows Loki. Your more than welcome to keep me company, you should know that by now." You smiled as the prince walked over and sat in the chair beside you. You could tell he hadnt been sleeping, his hair was fixed as always but his clothes looked worst for wear. He had on a plain black shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants, both of with had wrinkles in them either from tossing and turning or from not being changed in a few days.

"Whats wrong? And dont pull that 'nothing is wrong dear. I'm absolutly fine.' Bullshit. You look horrible." You reatched out to grab his hand. What you and Loki had was diffrent. You didnt just see his as a friend, he didnt just see you as that either though. You had spent many nights sitting up with the silver tounge man many nights laying on the couch watching movies, reading, talking about each of your pasts. He knew more about you than even Tony did.

"I'm still currently trying to wrap my head around why you pushed me out of the way and took the blow when you had a chance of dying from it. You shouldnt have been so thick headed my dear." He took your hand and raised it to his lips kissing the top of your hand.

"Loki." You sighed rolling your head to look back up at the celing. "You would have been hurt alot wordt than I am now, that blast could have killed you."

"I am a god y/n, that blast wouldnt have caused me nearly as much damage as it did you." His voice raised slightly.

"Thats what you think. You think that because you are "immortal" that you can take anything thats thrown at you. That no one really cares about you, that you wouldnt be missed? So why not try to take a blow from a bomb? My god your so stupid sometimes."

"I know I can. Norns y/n I've jumped into space, been brain washed, tried to take over New York, gotten smashed around by the Hulk. I was raised with Thor, he doesnt really go easy on a person. What I'm saying is I dont understand why you, a mear midguardian, would sacrifice themselves for me. If anything would have happened-"

"Nothing did happen though. I'm fine-"

"You have steel sticking from your leg, theres no telling when or even if you'll be able to walk again, and there are highly server burns that will leave scares. You cannot sit there and tell me that you are fine."

"Your right it does suck that I'm jot gonna be able to pull off shorts or a bikini anymore."

"This isnt a joke y/n. You almost died!" He finally yelled.

"And i would do it a thousand times over if that ment saving your damn ass again!" You shouted back.

"Why though?! Why me y/n? I've done horrible things, killed people! My life is meaningless." Tears had sprang to his eyes as he looked away.

"Because I love you God damn it!" You stopped suddenly your jaw dropping at the admission that you hadnt ment for him to hear. His head jerked back to you.

"What?" Shock was all over his face as he stood to walk closer to you. "What did you just say?"

"Because I love you Loki Odinson. Because if you were to die I dont think I would be able to go on living. Because even if you see all the bad things that you've done I can look pass that amd see all the good that you are doing." You reached up placing a hand on his cheek and wiping away a tear.

"I love you too y/n. I have since the day I met you. The girl that didnt care what anyone said when she spent time with me. The girl that can see through every face i put on. I love you so much darling." He placed his hand on your face and leaning down gently kissing your lips.

It felt like you thought it always should you felt electricity run through your body and the two of you connected. It was like getting a breath after not being able to for so long. He pulled away smiling at you.

"What do we tell the others?" He asked laying on with bed with you being easy with your leg. He placed his arm around your middle and pulled you as close as he could.

"I honestly dont care what we tell them. They can figure it out themseves for all I care." You smiled lacing your fingers with his, you yawned placing your head on his shoulder closing your eyes.

"Sleep now my Dove, I will be here when you wake." He felt your gentle breath slow as you fell asleep, the rhythm you of your breath lulling him into his own sleep.

Tony and Bruce walked in the next morning stopping dead at the sight in front of them. You and Loki were still cuddled on the small bed sleeping peacefully.

"Should we wake them up?" Bruce asked looking at Tony.

"Na, let them sleep. Dont want to let them know that we know." Tony saod grabbing Bruce's arm and turning to walk back out of the door.

~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

[tundrainafrica]

So I see your a LeviHan shipper!! I enjoy the ship a lot too!! But are there any specific reason that their your favorite?? Maybe you could explain that a little through a list? But anyways I hope your week has been good so far, Sav. Have a good day/night!!!! - Signed by Your Secret Santa 🎄

Hello! Thank you for asking about my week (and my ship). 

I enjoy the ship a lot too!! But are there any specific reason that their your favorite? 

To answer that first question...

You’re in for a long rollercoaster ride of a rant because I don’t think I’m the type of person to ship anything to the point of writing domestic fluff fics unless the I felt really really drawn to the ship. 

Anyway, (slight) spoilers abound! Will keep manga spoilers subtle, mostly Levihan scenes.

Disclaimer: I do not want to start shipping wars. I specifically avoided the words like should or best because I recognize that shipping is generally based on preferences. I respect everyone’s preferences on what they want out of a ship or even a relationship and through this, I just hope to express my own preferences and maybe even gush with people who agree.

1. The ship did not move the plot. The plot moved the ship.

Attack on Titan is not a romance or a shojo, if it’s not fairly obvious from any chapter you would randomly read. As a reader, I would have expected it to fall short with pairings. Most shows which are not romance based tend to have a few pairings which just suddenly end up together towards the end of the manga because “What’s a happy ending without marriage and kids?” There is usually a trend of just pairing of the extras and sometimes, or maybe even more often than not, it just seems to come out of nowhere (ehem... Naruto.). Maybe the relationship worked off screen but I dunno. Like no shipping war here but the only pairing I had full support for was Shikatema. 

In stories classified as romances, there is enough of a spotlight on the sexual tension and mutual pining of specific characters for the romance to be considered reasonable. In my opinion, some authors tend to sacrifice really good world building for a good romance. Objectively twilight for example had some crazy good world building but it just kinda focused a little too much on emo Bella and emo Edward for the world building to actually be appreciated by the casual reader. Tbh though, this is not necessarily bad because people get into stuff for reasons, sometimes, I just wanna read a good fantasy, sometimes I just wanna read a good romance.

Romances though as a main driving point for narratives, require some convenient serendipity moments and sexual tension which can be written well but as a reader, I prefer to see more natural relationships born out of necessity (Wall of Winnipeg and Me by Mariana Zapata is a good example of what I’m talking about in a romance novel.)

Attack on Titan through its narrative actually made Levihan seem VERY VERY possible. If I had to compare the presentation of this ship in canon to at least one relationship in other anime, I would compare it to Royai from FMA. 

Like, if Attack on Titan didn’t give us random subtle hints about romantic or just platonic relationships between the two or even about anyone, even if Levi and Hange did get together in the end, it would have been one of the pairings, I probably wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow at. 

But they could be just friends? Which brings me to my next point.

2. Their current situation makes it so it’s only natural that at the least, they considered it. 

Yes. Friends is a valid interpretation for anything. I mean, given our hook up culture, people can fuck as friends too. People probably have made out drunk as friends too. Like I have seen my fair share of this type of bullshit in high school and college and I would say, we do not need a kiss or a fucking session to recognize that something can be a good relationship or to recognize that they have probably thought about it. 

A relationship requires a commitment (conscious or unconscious) to caring for the other, keeping the other safe, recognizing their flaws and thinking about them regularly (Call me scott peck or marriage counselor but like I honestly think the world would be a better place once people recognize that quality romantic relationships are worked for).

Mind you, Levi and Hange lost everything.They literally lost everything from their old life, all their friends, all their loved ones and all they have is each other and they’re forced to take care of a bunch of kids.

There are people who have said before, no one gets very close with someone without ever considering a romantic relationship with them. Or even if they never considered it romantic, they could consider at least “living with them their whole life,” or “supporting them through thick and thin.” The things is, towards the end, they were constantly together and what drove them to that situation is that both of them are aware of what the other had lost. They understood each other more than anyone else and they recognized that they were the only ones left in their own circle and I personally think that is more than enough for a relationship to naturally bloom between them.

3. The relationship and the signs are subtle and it works.

I personally probably would not have enjoyed it if canon showed a romantic relationship of the two after Erwin died. It’s a valid interpretation to consider that it could have happened, based on my explanation for number 2 but Hange is commander, Levi is captain. They have a professional relationship and they have goals and obligations which take precedence over personal desires. They are in the middle of a war and the most which probably could have happened was a secret mutual pining between the two and I think Isayama has injected the most subtle hints which are the most that could have been appropriately put into canon without seeming too OOC. Hange and Levi are not selfish people. They have promises, dreams and obligations which they respect and have committed themselves to already. It has also been shown at earlier points of the manga that they do put their survey corps duties on top of everything so acting on a romantic attraction at that point in time would have definitely been inappropriate. 

I personally think, the scenes of Hange going out of her way to save Levi as commander, killing her other soldiers to save both their asses, suggesting in the forest that they live together instead of go back to the war and not leaving an injured Levi until she had no choice were more powerful than a lot of romantic scenes where people actually fuck and kiss. Kissing and fucking are easy. Leaving the duties and responsibilities they have worked for for five years to keep the person they love alive hits way harder. 

Call it platonic. Call it romantic. But no one like Hange would have deserted her post as commander for a few chapters to take care of a sick comrade and kill her subordinates to save their asses if there wasn’t anything between them. 

4. It gives a great example what healthy relationships can come from. 

I grew up reading sweet valley and chick lits cause I was a basic bitch and I kinda grew up with a somehow unrealistic idea of where relationships come from. Call me a late bloomer but I only actually figured out where the romance and the happiness of a relationship was when I got into one with my best friend for five years. 

It’s the sexual tension and the “will they wont they?” push and pull which can lead to satisfying sex or a happy ending in romance novels. I think in a way, media kinda overglorifies it which kinda gives a lot of young people the wrong idea about why they getting into a relationship is fun in the first place.  Because after the satisfying sex and the kids, what’s next for the relationship?

Years of utility bills, diapers, chores, schedules, parent teacher conferences and compromises until someone gives up or dies. And what kind of relationships can actually thrive through all these? 

Those that have mastered the underrated parts of relationships. These include conflict resolutions, compromises and open communication. I think we have seen enough of those two, even before season 3 that have shown that they know each other very well and they have shown to at least have a relatively equal power dynamic which is a foundation for open communication and mutual trust in relationships even beyond the fucking and marriage stage 

5. They have a great foundation of character development for both parties.

As I mentioned above, they have a relatively equal power dynamic. I love Royai from FMA and I have compared Royai to this multiple times. I would say though I prefer Levihan over Royai because I felt that Royai had more unequal power dynamics? (Though I still think Royai is a top tier ship ). Also, they have shown to tell off the other when they don’t like what the other is doing. They are complete opposites but here is the magical thing. They talk everything out. They’re generally open people to each other and they know each other way too well as hinted in scenes before and opposites work as long as the others are willing to compromise. I think (especially in season 3 and season 4) that they have done enough for each other and have compromised enough for each other in the survey corps that these skills could easily be brought with them even after the war.

That open communication is just what makes them maintaining a relationship while being complete opposites very OC and realistic. Eventually, they did probably did make compromises, which most likely softened or moderated the crazy parts of their personalities which is just a really fun part of their relationship to explore. 

6. It could realistically last so maybe ...

7. A good foundation for happy children?

Maybe it’s how it is written because of the actual story and why would Yams write a romantic drama in a story about genocide and war. Tbh, I would attribute it more to Levi and Hange’s personalities though because Mikasa and Eren have their fair share of drama, mostly one sided though coz Mikasa. This relationship has no drama, no misunderstandings which just further supports my point that they have a relationship that thrives on open communication and mutual trust. Drama is fun like when we’re the ones on the sidelines eating the popcorn but I have third wheeled enough people in my life to realize that I will not support a relationship where both parties are just not ready to be mature about it, in real life and in fiction. 

My favorite couples, in real life and in fiction, are definitely those who keep conflict among themselves and maybe among trusted people. I think one sign of a healthy relationship is one where problems don’t become public through social media or through like 20 people. One important yet underrated part of relationships is the atmosphere of comfort and freedom which encourages both parties to be able to directly approach one another before tensions and uncertainties get out of hand.  

And a life free of dramas at least in the early stages of life just kinda shows at least that both parties are ready to bring a new life to the world? Because like immature parents with shitty conflict resolution skills really fuck kids up man and I passionately believe the world would really be a better place if babies were born out of trust, mutual understanding and open communication instead of sex but yeah, make sex fun to keep our race alive.

So anyway, I guess, I just finished explaining why I love this ship so much while also disclosing my preferences for relationships. 

As mentioned above...

Disclaimer: I do not want to start shipping wars. I specifically avoided the words like should or best because I recognize that shipping is generally based on preferences. I respect everyone’s preferences on what they want out of a ship or even a relationship and through this, I just hope to express my own preferences and maybe even gush with people who agree.

Other pairings which I support for those curious: Shikatema, Royai, Victuuri, Percabeth etc.

Also... To answer your second question... 

My week has been great, some pretty solid life developments but US elections wise, not so great... (WHY IS THE ELECTION RACE SO CLOSE?)

[kpopmalereader]

prepare ; won kunhang

• summary: you and hendery take your first vacation together, a trip to meet your family and visit your hometown • pairing: won kunhang x male!reader • word count: 2117 • to do

You walk into your apartment, expecting to be greeted by your golden retriever of a boyfriend. Seeing the kitchen and living room unoccupied would make you think he left already, but his shoes strewn across the entranceway and the covers you folded this morning spread over Hendery’s spot on the couch makes you believe he’s still here.

You venture further into the apartment, hearing a groan come from your room. You stop for a second before hearing mumbling and another cry. The second is louder than the first, and you start to grow worried.

“Okay, okay, okay.” 

You hear him repeat the word more times than you can count and slowly open the door. He’s standing in front of the full-body mirror in button-up shirt and slacks. You watch as he straightens his back and smiles. It’s a much smaller smile than you usually would see from him, and it does nothing to help your understanding of the situation. “Hello, it is very nice to meet you. I’ve heard,” He stops and shakes his head. “It is- It’s very nice- It is-”

He groans again and ruffles his hair. He leans down and fixes what he just messed up, straightening his shirt.

You step into the room softly. You don’t want to disturb what he’s doing but also want to make sure it isn’t undue stress doing him in.“Whatcha doin’?”

He sighs and turns, shoulders slumping. He seems almost sad, and you walk forward, picking his chin up. “I’m trying to practice for when I meet your parents,” He mumbles. “We leave today, and I don’t want to get there and say something that makes them think negatively of me.”

You turn him around and stand behind him, pointing at his face in the mirror. “That is Won Kunhang. He is one of the best people I have ever met. I am very in love with him. I have told my parents and my entire family as much.”

“I want to make a good impression.” He states, criticizing himself in the mirror. 

“You will.” You ruffle his hair, giving it it’s natural fall instead of the gelled-back style he had it in. “By being yourself. You can wear this shirt because you look good in it, but why don’t we untuck it, and you can stop worrying about using the exact right words when meeting my parents.”

He turns and leans against the mirror. His eyes are downcast, and your heart aches for him. He whispers when he speaks. “I want them to like me.”

“Love,” You sigh and wrap your arms around him. “They will because you are the sweetest, funniest, and most caring person I know. No one can resist loving you, Hendery. I couldn’t.”

He reaches up and picks at his bottom lip. You take his hand and hold it against your chest. The concerned expression doesn’t wipe from his face, and you hold his cheeks.

“Hello, it is very nice to meet you. I’ve heard great things about you, and I’m glad you invited me.” You smile at him and nod your head. “That’s all you have to say.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It’s what I did when I met your parents,” You kiss his nose lightly. “If you want, you can even add a few things about me that you like. Say they raised me well.”

“If I wasn’t your boyfriend- if I was your sister’s boyfriend or your cousin’s... Would you like me?”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “If you weren’t my boyfriend and someone else in my family got to you first, I would be devastated I couldn’t date you.”

He looks down at you. “But would you like me?”

“Yes! Yes, I would like you. And I would be willing to bet my parents would have looked at me and said they wanted me to find someone like you.”

“Really?” His voice is small and hopeful, and you nod your head, trying to convey everything to him.

“Really. I promise. My parents will love you. My cousins will love you. My aunt will say she wishes everyone in our family could find someone like you. My nieces and nephews and little cousins will love to play with you and want to spend the whole trip with you. Now, put this shirt back in your suitcase so we can go.”

*

Hendery rubs his hands together. He breathes in and out deeply, preparing himself to knock on the door. You hold his hand lightly, swinging them slowly. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

He smiles, and his face falls again. He scrunches his face and smiles again, making small changes to his facial expression. He rolls his shoulders and squeezes your hand. He nods.

You bump your shoulder into his and reach over, knocking on your parent’s front door. It takes a second for your mom to get to the door, but when she does, Hendery’s grip on your hand grows even tighter. You smile at your mom, and she envelopes you in a hug. She pulls back and holds your face. “It’s been too long!”

She lets you go and turns to Hendery. “Hello!”

“Hel-” He’s cut off as your mom wraps him in a hug, patting him on the back. “Oh.”

“Come in, come in! Find a seat.”

You smile at him and pull him inside. He follows right behind you, bumping into your back when you stop sooner than he expected. You smile, introducing him into countless family and family-friends and people you’re not sure are related to but have come to every event since you were born.  Hendery sits next to you as you eat, asking hushed questions about people he’s met.

You hook your foot around his ankle and smile at him. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Get their honest opinions of me when I’m not around.” He mutters before stuffing his face with your mom’s home-cooking.

*

Music plays throughout your house, bouncing off the walls and entering through crevices and cracks in the building. Hendery wakes up in your childhood room alone. He sits up and sees the door cracked. He can hear your voice singing and laughing along with the song. He walks through the house quietly, not wanting to disturb the normality. He rounds on the kitchen, seeing you, your mom, and a young child dancing around the kitchen with wooden spatulas in hand.

You turn around as you dance, spotting Hendery standing a few feet away. You point to him and call him in, throwing your arms in the air. “Join us.”

“I like the view.”

You shake your head and dance over to him. You stick the spoon in front of his mouth, smiling wide. You stop singing, looking at him with hopeful eyes.

He sighs and grabs the spoon. You giggle at continue to dance along, singing the song as loud as you can without it being categorized as yelling. He starts singing along quietly, swaying back and forth with the music. Your mom looks over and smiles, picking up the young family member. They dance together, and she not-so-subtly hip-bumps you closer to Hendery. You grab his hand and start dancing with him, forcing him to loosen up. He watches you for a while before really joining in, hopping and moving with you.

Your laughs ring through the kitchen and up the stairs. You pull him closer and kiss his cheek. “Still nervous?”

*

You walk hand-in-hand with Hendery. You seem calm. Content. He’s enthralled with your face, your smile, how the feeling of belonging flows from you without stop. You point at a storefront not far in front of you, waiting for him to look up. He pulls himself from watching your face and looks over.

“That is a restaurant. It’s only been there for about a year. Before it was a restaurant, which no one really likes, by the way, it was an antique store. And it was run by this man, he was great, he was one of the nicest people ever, but he retired a few years back and closed it down. He searched for someone to take it over, but he didn’t have any kids, and no one around here knew how to run a business.” You shake your head. “He and his wife moved a little while after the shop turned into a restaurant.”

You smile softly. “My mom worked next door, it used to be a little boutique, and sometimes her shifts would last longer than school, so I would come here instead of going home. Sometimes I would sit behind the counter next to the piles of hangers, but I would visit Mr. Claude some days. He would show me around the different finds, telling me that there was always something great about everything.”

Hendery watches you as you look at the not great restaurant. The wind blows your hair to the side, and your eyes sparkle. “He would point to an old, stained china set that nobody would buy and tell me all about how if someone could clean it up, they would see that it was an amazing set that was passed down from generations, but something happened where it was accidentally given away, and the original owner’s great-great-great-great granddaughter had spent her entire young adult life looking for it but could never find it.”

“Or! I would beg my mom to buy this ancient stuffed bear, but she thought its eyes were creepy, so she never got it for me. He would keep it by the register and tell me that I should look for someone I thought was worthy enough to have it. And an older woman walked in one day, and I told Mr. Claude she seemed nice enough to take care of him. And, by some miracle for my 7-year-old self, she got some stuff and walked up to the register and started talking about how the bear looked exactly like one she had when she was a kid and how she would love to buy it, but she only brought enough money for the other things. I just lit up and looked at Mr. Claude like it was the best thing ever, and he told her if she could promise to take the best care of it, he would give it to her for a discount. I was amazed. I didn’t stop talking about it for weeks.”

Hendery smiles along with your story, your excitement at remembering your story exuding off of you. It makes him excited, and he never wants you to stop talking.

You point at a big, white marble building up the street. “That is the library. It is the oldest building in town, even the Court House is younger, and I spent most of my high-school years there.”

You gesture across the street. “The building there is the old school-house. There’s a park behind that everyone chips in to fix up and replace every few years for the new kids in town. The school-house is mostly used as a museum now, but sometimes Town Meetings are held inside. I don’t know why we have Town Meetings.”

He watches you, not worrying about running into the street-lights, too focused on listening to your recounts of stories. You continue to speak. You tell stories he can’t wholly follow sometimes, not knowing most of the people you refer to or the place names. He watches your hands fly up when you repeat something exasperating someone once said about your small town and giggle to yourself as you remember old inside jokes he doesn’t want to ruin with asking questions about it. After a few stories, you realize you’ve been talking for a while and look a bit flustered, ears turning red.

“Sorry, I know you’re probably not that interested.”

“No. No. Tell me everything,” He nods and holds your hands tighter. “I don’t want to miss any details.”

You sigh happily, bumping your shoulder into him. “When I lived here, I didn’t like it much, but after I moved, I realized I really did. Everybody knows everybody, and it’s nice being able to walk everywhere. I don’t know…”

Hendery kisses your temple. “It’s sweet. I like seeing how happy it makes you. Maybe we can get a house somewhere like this in the future.”

“Seriously?” You look up at him with a bright smile, eyes shining endlessly.

He laughs and nods his head. “Yeah, of course. We can buy a vacation house and visit on breaks. We’ll get to know everyone, and you’ll get new small-town stories to share.”

You bite your lip and nod slowly. “I would like that.”

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2663 Warnings: fluff, light angst, brief mention of smut

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: I’m still sorry... or am I? 😂

PART 12 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Sunlight filters in through the part of the window not blocked by opaque curtains, the golden glow reaches Billy’s eyes making him throw an arm up to block out the brightness. He’s careful of his movements, not to disturb you as you sleep against him.

He had a good time last night bowling and meeting all your friends but when you accepted his offer to come back to his place that was when the real fun began. In the comfort of his apartment you sat curled against him on his couch, feeling warmth spread through your body from the amber colored drink in your hand, though Billy was more intoxicating.

You quickly found your way into his bed, tangled together as your hands and lips explored every part of each other until you reached soaring heights of passion and pleasure. Billy was an incredible lover and you hadn’t thought that simply because he had broken your dry spell. He knew how to please and did so generously. You didn’t intend on staying over but truthfully your legs felt like jelly afterwards you couldn’t do anything but stay beside him, falling asleep in his arms.

Billy puts his arm down, shifting just a little so he could face away from the sunlight, the slight movement unintentionally waking you. He felt bad, watching as your heavy lids blinked themselves open a few times before they focused on his beautiful smile.

“Sorry, go back to sleep babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A smile pulled at your lips as you felt the soft lingering touch of his lips. “S’okay, I want to stay awake.”

Billy smiled at the soft noises you made as you took in a stiff inhale of breath, your body tensing up as you turned away from him, bringing your hand to cover your mouth as you yawned. The feel of morning breath was heavy on your tongue so you decided to go to the bathroom, hoping there would be mouthwash you could freshen up with.

Goosebumps prickled at your skin when you pulled off the sheets, sitting up as you scanned the floor for your clothes that had been scattered around the room amidst the throes of passion. Billy’s eyes roamed your bare skin, memories of last night bring warmth to his body, feeling himself ache for you again the longer he stared.

You spotted your sweater, pushing yourself up from the low platform bed to grab the crumbled fabric from the floor, stretching it over your skin. Beside it was your pants though you picked up your lacy bottoms and stepped into them before leaving his room to find the bathroom.

Billy leaned back against the arm he folded under his head, not feeling like getting up to find his phone wherever he last left it. He didn’t need to distract himself anyway since you walked back in, slightly shivering as your bare feet walked along the cold floors.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling back the blanket.

As you began to get back in bed your movements were halted by “nuh uh” as Billy shook his head. “No clothes in bed, it’s the rules.” He smirked, sitting up towards the edge of the bed.

A giggle escaped your lips as you moved towards Billy’s side of the bed, standing in front of him. His hands went under your sweater, holding you firmly by your waist.

“Those are the rules, huh?” You repeated, grinning coyly as you let your hands glide up his arms, caressing his smooth skin until your fingers met a raised ridge along his left shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you stared at another scar on his chest, having missed both in the dimmed lighting last night. They were clearly old but by the way Billy’s jaw tensed you suspected they weren’t fully healed.

His dark gaze wandered as he focused on something behind you, his trance dissolving from the sound of your sweet voice saying his name.

“There was… this guy, Arthur. He volunteered at the Ray of Hope group home I was in. We all thought he was so cool, playin’ stickball and hoops with us. I was ten or eleven at the time.” Billy clenched his jaw, clearing his throat of the lump that formed there.

His hands dropped into his lap and he began wringing them. “When a grown man tells you that you’re pretty you know nothing good is coming. Let’s just say I wasn’t interested in the kind of games that he had in mind. I went after him with the stickball bat, caught him a few times before he broke my arm… ripped my rotator cuff in three places.”

You had been listening quietly as Billy spoke, not realizing you were holding your breath until his hand cupped your cheek and you let it out shakily. His story wasn’t new– no, unfortunately you had heard about this situation too many times but despite being familiar with this in your line of work Billy’s story really affected you.

No matter who the person or what their story is, you care deeply about all the cases you have from Metro-General but Billy was different. You really liked him and hearing him talk about the terrible memories from his past reminded you about Pietro and what could have happened if someone had been there to help. Growing up in the system is hard enough as it is, but if the caretakers aren’t doing their job to protect these children…

Sighing, your lips flattened into a line of frustration. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Billy.”

“Hey… don’t, okay?” His hands wrapped around your waist as he looked up to meet your sympathetic eyes. “Everyone’s got a story, this one’s mine.”

His lips stretched across his face into something that wasn’t quite a smile but not a frown either. You knew it wasn’t easy to share, something he clearly can’t forget though you appreciated his openness, feeling closer because of it.

Leaning down you cupped Billy’s cheeks, feeling his scruff scratch at your palms as you placed a gentle kiss to his lips. You felt him smile against you as he kissed back, his hands grabbing the hem of your sweater and breaking the kiss for him to pull it over your head.

Billy kissed your exposed skin, softly, slowly as he laid you down on the bed. His touch was like heaven, setting fire to your soul, and together you climbed higher and higher until you reached the apex of pleasure a few more times over.

You got home late in the afternoon knowing you had a novel’s worth of texts to return from your friends, mainly the girls wanting to know all the details. Bucky’s was the only text that you replied to right away. He hoped you would get home safe, and behind your shared wall he let out a sigh of relief, reading your message that you did, even if it meant you were only getting home now.

Bucky shuffled reluctantly to his door, wondering why there’s a knock. Looking through the peephole, he can’t help but let a smile stretch over his face.

“Hey neighbor!” you said, with a beaming smile.

He hadn’t seen you in a few days, throwing himself deep into his work, thankful for the distraction. “Hey Y/N.” Bucky takes note of what you’re wearing, a comfy hoodie and oversized polar bear pajama pants. You always had the cutest pajamas.

“You busy? I was gonna watch a movie and order a bunch of food since my period came and all I want to do is eat. Sorry was that TMI?” you asked, seeing his expression change in a multitude of ways.

He let out a slightly uncomfortable laugh. “Where’s Billy?”

“Working.”

Bucky wasn’t happy with that answer, making him feel like you were settling for plans with him since Billy was busy. He was about to decline, making up a lie about anything just so he didn’t have to feel bad about himself before you continued.

“But I’d rather hang with you anyway. Not that Billy would care about my period like that but, I don’t know, we’re not at that point yet, you know? Like I feel like I can always be myself around you.”

His blank expression turned into a smile as Bucky nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah I get that. I feel the same about you.”

Bucky felt a weird sensation in his stomach as he stood there smiling at you, breaking out of his trance as you spoke again.

“Okay so hurry up and come over. I don’t know what I want to eat. I kinda want tacos, but also pizza. And if you have cookies bring them over because I already ate the ones I had.”

It felt right, sitting beside you on the couch, stuffing your faces and laughing as you watched a movie. Bucky took it upon himself to grab the bottle of Advil from your bathroom, bringing over a full glass of water for you to take for your cramps.

“Thanks. You know, I know you hate relationships and stuff but you’d make a really good boyfriend.”

Bucky was frozen, the only sound he could hear was that of his heart drumming rapidly in his ear. “Y-you think so?” he croaked out, swallowing down the thick knot in his throat with a gulp of his drink.

You nodded, leaning forward to set the glass down on your table. “Why, you don’t?”

“No, that’s… That’s not it.” He turned away from you, silent and contemplative.

It wasn’t always like this. Bucky was a young boy that grew out of the idea that girls had cooties long before his friends did. It started with Olivia. They met in sixth grade, two nervous kids in a brand new school that happened to sit next to each other in homeroom.

Her eyes were like honey and Bucky was stuck, letting himself get lost in her beauty. He memorized the freckles speckled across the nose and cheeks of her sandy brown skin like a galaxy of stars, each one more dazzling than the last. Her hair was polished bronze packed in tight corkscrews that Bucky loved brushing aside so he could kiss her; every morning before they got to class, during lunch where he neglected his food in favor of her lips, and after school when they parted.

Bucky loved her as much as a young man could love a young woman, his first love, the girl he thought he would have everything with. He was a fool to think he could have it all, blinded by his utter devotion to Olivia before he realized his relationship was more one-sided than he realized.

They spent seven years together and not once did Olivia tell him she wasn’t planning their future the same way Bucky was. Olivia meant everything to him and when she was accepted to college on the West Coast Bucky immediately started looking into transferring to a school out there. It didn’t matter that their music program wasn’t as accredited, he was willing to do anything to make what he and Olivia had last.

What Bucky didn’t know was that Olivia didn’t feel the same. Not anymore. She fell out of love with him and was hoping to use graduation as a clean break. She broke his heart and Bucky was devastated.

He didn’t understand how she could stop loving him just like that. How it was so easy for her to let go of all their history; wondering what the turning point was in their relationship and why she didn’t tell him. His trust was broken. She strung him along for months, years maybe? It wasn’t just the fact that they broke up, she had moved on. Olivia was with someone new and every day Bucky asked himself why he wasn’t worthy of love.

He shut down, losing himself in composition, letting the melody of strife carry him through the sea of heartache. It was decided then, by a boy who was barely a man, to take what he needs and never be vulnerable again. It was easy.

It was easy.

Over the past few months everything has changed. There was a moment Bucky was ready to abandon his beliefs. He had grown up, matured; he knows his boundaries and knows there is so much more of himself to give to someone.

Bucky thought that someone could be you. It was a silly idea. You were just friends. But he was friends with Olivia first too. He felt the same ease as you did with him, enjoying spending time with you even if you did nothing. He thought there might have been a chance, somehow for him to break free of the mold he set upon his life and ask you out but someone beat him to it.

You and Billy had been seeing more and more of each other. He remembers that feeling from so long ago, desperate to spend every waking moment with the person that sent your heart a-flutter. Bucky understood when you cancelled plans with him, for the times Billy was able to make a last minute date after work arrangements changed. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He couldn’t object even though he wanted to. You were happy and Bucky felt worse the more he thought about even thinking of taking that away from you.

He changed the subject, letting the movie resume but the thoughts never left his mind.

For the first time in a very long time Bucky is lonely. While the world is out overspending on chocolates and roses, fancy dinners and champagne Bucky lays in bed, trying to distract himself with a movie. He’s usually alone on Valentine’s Day, by choice. It’s too complicated to sleep with one of his regulars, not wanting to get their hopes up by any means on the day that celebrates love.

Bucky exhaled a heavy breath, upset with himself for being unable to keep his mind off everything. His heart is a dilapidated shack lost in a desolate wasteland. Abandoned after so many years, it’s dust covered, with a haze of cobwebs clouding over the part of himself that used to thrum with life.

And suddenly the walls become unsteady. His heart begins to crumble at the sound coming from the other side of the wall. It’s you, with unmistakable cries of pleasure, in a duet of passion with Billy.

Bucky shudders, feeling uncomfortable for being able to hear something that should be so intimate. It’s payback perhaps, a taste of his own medicine for all the times he’s disturbed you in the same way.

His mind runs wild against his will, imagining you in bed as the soundtrack of your lovemaking permeates the thin walls. It’s bittersweet poison to his ears.

Bucky throws the blankets off him, nearly tripping over the boots he haphazardly toed off earlier as he rushes towards his desk. He grabs his headphones to block out the sounds, a painful reminder of what could never be.

He grabs his phone, scrolling through his contact list. So many names and yet he feels nothing for them. He stops at your name, his chest hitching with agony. He wants what you have. To love fully, and give himself completely to someone. To renovate all the broken pieces inside of himself.

His fingers tap away and Bucky refuses to stop himself of their doing. He’s scared but excited, knowing the threat of getting hurt again is very real but he’s had enough of telling himself that the way he’s been living is what he’s really wanted.

With his own melodies playing in his ear Bucky is ignorant of the way you cry out Billy’s name. He is blissfully ignorant, opening the Tinder app he’s just downloaded, creating a profile because he’s finally ready to give dating a real shot.

PART 14

[docholligay]

Please rant/rave (well, we already know which one it will be here) about Harry Potter!

GEE I HOPE THIS WAS WORTH WAITING FOR

OH MY GOD. The level of hatred I have for Harry Fucking Goddamn Potter, the culture around Harry Fucking Potter, extending its poisonous tentacles even to the concept of young adult fiction, fantasy, and the United Kingdom as a country and people. 

When you being on this, you may think, “Oh, Doc will explain that Harry Potter sucks because JKR hates trans women” and I will say, oh no, dear reader, that is a fantastic reason to hate the author, and I really suggest we all continue to hate her, and perhaps not purchase the QUEEN’S TONNES of officially licensed merchandise and movies and theme parks that give her stupid little fucking hands all that cash, but no, that is not why I hate the work. There are a number of great works done by terrible people, and the further out the lens of history gets the truer this is. 

I hate Harry Potter because it fucking sucks, and mentally stifled an entire fucking generation. 

“Well, Doc, Harry Potter was really there for me when--” Oh my god I could not fucking care LESS about your personal emotion connection to “orphan wizard boy turns out to be a rich aristocrat yet somehow less woke than Cinderella though” I have personally emotional connections to hot fucking garbage pails of media properties, and if someone came barreling through talking about the myriad ways in which they were horrible, I would be like, “Oh, you aren’t fucking wrong, pal” 

Harry Potter gained wild ass popularity in part due to its magnificent sorting system of Smart, Brave, Evil, and Other, because there’s nothing liberals like more than being able to put everyone’s personality into an easily labeled box, which is why astrology is so popular, or for the intellectuals, Myers-Briggs, which is just as fake but with the veneer of science. This allowed people to give into the tribalism they so desperately liked to pretend they did not possess, and also allow them to write thinkpieces about “The misunderstood Hufflepuff” or “Slytherins aren’t all bad!” or really anything that allows them to write a very real piece about their very imagined oppression for being a part of a totally fake house in a children’s book. Excellent use of your sociology degree, Kai, I thought the addition of phrases like, ‘Content of socialization” and “axes of oppression” really spoke to the struggles you face when wearing a green and silver scarf. 

The other reason it became popular is that it’s essentially wallpaper paste formed into characters. I have read all of the books, and I could not tell you even remotely what Harry’s defining personality traits are other than “protagonist”. In American, at least, a large part of it was the fascination with all things British, with the idea of boarding school and prefects and uniforms that aren’t inexplicably chinos and polo shirts for nine year olds. It allowed children to project onto something so bland that it could be anything. And for children, THAT’S FINE. There is a great deal of bland media made for children, but what I’m speaking to is the fandom, which is largely well over the age of 18. 

Because if we look at the books, are they...actually good? Was it good, or did I experience it as a child? I mean, honestly, on a literary level, are they, or was it just like we all watched Friends, we did it because everyone else was doing it, because I have a distinct memory of a series that involves such greats as “magical geegaws with poorly defined rules that are quickly forgotten despite being able to solve later problems quickly” or “Everyone loves Harry or is a bad guy, or secretly loved Harry all along” 

Oh, speaking of, man, if this was an actual well-written book, wouldn’t it have been wild to have Snape’s whole thing be to teach us that sometimes people do good things for the wrong reasons? Instead of naming your fucking child after the guy who ‘protected you’ because he still wanted to bone your mom? “After all this time” “Always.” 

While all this could have been explained, we have Quidditch added into the mix instead because 20 pages of the goddamn Puppy Bowl is exactly what I was looking for while I was waiting for JK to move the goddamn ball on literally any of these actual magical concepts. 

Harry Potter is a fucking trust fund baby, star quarterback, who grows up to be a cop and marries his high school sweetheart. (Speaking of, why were we shocked that JKR turned out to be a piece of shit when this was and always has been the conclusion of Harry Potter? Why are liberals so fucking into this series that upholds structures like it ain’t no one’s business? It’s a series that opines that those beneath us “Muggles” should be kept in the dark from us) Literally, he finds out he is a wizard and has a dragon-guarded fucking VAULT OF CASH. At 11. It’s such a series for little tyrants, you are special from birth and need do nothing to prove it, here is a letter certifying as such. Oh, not only are you rich and the greatest seeker and have excellent quips, but also your parents were not only rebels, but the best of rebels, and so deeply involved that your parents were killed by the big bad personally, again, because you are so special. His mother’s love literally saves his ass over and over again, because he was SO SPECIAL. He fought Voldemort FROM THE BEGINNING, and WON.  It’s literally the most privilege baby fantasy in the world. 

“But Doooooooooooc, it’s for chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiildren” 

A) Yeah, and you’re 32, you’re making my fucking point about Harry Potter setting an entire generation up for intellectual failure to launch. 

B) Okay, and? I can think of a bunch of kids’ books off the top of my head that in no way require specialness to be given by birth so as to roll out the red carpet for master protagonist. The Hunger Games. Watership Down. A Series of Unfortunate Events. The Chronicles of FUCKING NARNIA, about which I have only a small handful of particularly kind things to say. I’ve never read Percy Jackson, but it’s my understanding that despite his being a literal demigod, the attitudes of the supporting cast are allowed to fall between the extremes of “Appreciates Percy” and “naughty or will learn” Harry does nothing to improve himself even after knowing that he is HUNTED BY THE BIG BAD! “I won’t do this because I don’t like Snape”. So There” which, again, if this series were written with the slightest bit of care or know-how, could be a humbling fucking plot point! BUT NO THAT WOULD BE NAUGHTY. 

But the real reason I hate Harry Potter so much has everything to do with the fandom surrounding it, and how it intellectually stunted a generation of adults. The promise of Harry Potter was that it was supposed to make a new generation of readers, and so the popularity of them was pushed, and so there was discussion of teaching them in schools, but I tell you fucking what, I know a whole lot more folks who grew up reading Harry Potter that never advanced beyond reading YA, or even just rereading the entire series every year and that’s pretty much them done and dusted. 

In the attempt to recapture whatever it was about Harry Potter that attracted children (A lot of it was your peers doing it. I read them all as they came out, and it was literally the equivalent of watching the game so you could talk at the water cooler. That was never going to be recaptured) people, who by this time were likely in their teens, kept getting recommended stuff at the same and same level. No one ever felt pushed to read things that are challenging, to read things that have some of the concepts or themes of Harry Potter but maybe complicate. I know FAR more adults who read adult books that aren’t into Harry Potter, even if they were as children, than the reverse. 

But Doc, why is reading only books meant for 14 year olds a problem??? I mean I suppose I can’t convince you that comfort is not the job of literature or of life, it is the job of an easy chair, because Americans especially are decadent as fuck about being comfy cozy all the time and if anything causes them distress or pain it should be immediately avoided. But Maybe I can convince you that you’re fucking up these books for actual ass children who deserve to have their own writing section without adults bringing their fucking asses into it. They deserve their own spaces. There’s a number of YA editors who have talked about the difficult space YA now occupies because since Potter’s blowup, it’s no longer a niche category, but basically “adult easy reads” and so they have been buying books that are more about the tastes of adult buyers than of literal 14 year olds. 

Is that not...sad? To anyone else? Honestly, and this is not part of the essay because it’s a broader reaching problem, but CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS NOT FOR US. CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS NOT FOR US. CHILDREN’S MEDIA IS FOR FUCKING CHILDREN. The fucking 40-23 set really needs to get their shit together and grow up a little bit and engage in some fucking adult media, and maybe, if we support what we’re actually looking for FOR ADULTS, it will come to us. No one is saying you can’t read Harry Potter or watch some Cartoon Network show, but like, search your heart and come the fuck on. Engage in something more complex. If not for yourselves, for the kids getting shoved into simplified adult stories. It should not be about us. 

ANYWAY, my larger point is that it was Harry Potter, a badly written series about a magical boy who was chosen and magic and also rich and also a favorite of the headmaster and also more clever than most adults and also spoke the same magical snake language as the big bad and was also star quarterback, but at least there was a system in which you could buy a scarf in block colors and feel like you belonged to a team. 

(But not a sports team! lol handegg! I’m cool I don’t get into sports! Except Quidditch.) 

[ladyloveandjustice]

Fall 2020 Anime Overview

I started out watching the a ton of anime for the Fall 2020 season, but then ended up not being caught up with most of them by the the time the end rolled around. I still pretty much intend to catch up with Yashahime Princess Half Demon someday (I do like the three leads, it just the plot’s been dull as dirt and the fights aren’t very inspired either) and though I dropped Wandering Witch after bad press started rolling in (I CANNOT deal with pointless tragedy in my current state of mind) I might check out a few more episodes someday just to from my own opinion. For now, let’s just quickly review the anime I DID manage to finish on time this season.

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle is exactly what it says on the tin: Princess Syalis isn’t too bothered about being captured by demons and locked in their castle, but she does value a good night’s sleep, and she is absolutely ruthless when it comes to getting it- so ruthless, in fact, that the demons realized it might not be that she’s trapped in here with them, but that they’re trapped in here with her.

Sleepy Princess is top tier comedy comfort food. It rarely got a huge belly laugh, but it always but a smile on my face and was a great thing to watch before going to bed. Syalis’s single-minded search for some shut eye is a joke that could have gotten old very quickly, but the show consistently found creative ways to expand on the gags and build it’s world and a fun cast of characters along the way. 

Though Syalis is downright brutal to the demons when it comes to getting what she wants (and has a knack for getting herself killed at well), thanks to a demon cleric that offers easy resurrections, you never feel too bad for anyone involved. In fact, the demons and Syalis form a strangely heartwarming bond over the course of the show , and it’s clear by the end that Syalis definitely has the ability to come and go if she damn well pleases and just finds this castle a fun place where she can find respite from her princessly responsibilities. 

A nice bonus for those of us who like a little subversion is that the show has a lot of fun playing with standard adventure tropes- the demons often lament that Syalis is not at all what they expected from a captive princess, for one, but my favorite fun little twist is how Syalis feels about the hero currently on a (seemingly endless) quest to rescue her- she manages to both hold him in contempt AND consistently fail to remember his name. That level of disregard takes some impressive effort.

The show has the same director as the Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun anime and as such has a similarly nice comic and visual flourishes throughout. It definitely gets two sleepy thumbs up for me.

Jujutsu Kaisen

Jujutsu Kaisen follows a young man named Yuuji Itadori who, after tangling with a demon, ends up with one inside him. With a death sentence hanging over his head, he’s inducted into a school for “jujutsu sorcerers”, and begins training to use his newfound powers to defeat demons and curses.

Jujutsu Kaisen quickly tells you on no uncertain terms it is Action Shonen, introducing a huge cast of a characters and powers and super high stakes and hey there’s even gonna be a tournament arc soon. It is really, really pretty to look at, with a killer opening and ending, some seriously great animation and cool visuals for the fights especially. But is it particularly memorable otherwise? Noooooot really, so far. The sea of technobabble it tends to descend into when trying to explain how the various powers work often has me zoning out and wishing they’d just let me watch the pretty punches. The villains and the general plot isn’t particularly compelling. The characters are nice enough, but haven’t given me much to be attached to so far. Though I do appreciate this one dude who is the embodiment of millennial ennui:

I’ll keep watching though, because it is a visually stunning, action-y thing to my turn your brain off to and god knows I want to turn my brain off all the time lately. 

And the characters do have potential- the One Girl of the main group, Nobara, has a really fun personality in that she’s a total shitlord doofus brawler who can thus doof around with our equally dumbass protagonist, which is an pretty fun, unusual personality for the One Girl to have! Her interactions with Maki, the weapons expert senpai girl, are promising too. I’m just waiting for her to actually, you know, DO something that really shows off her skills- I’m told she DOES eventually get to (gasp) win fights on her own and do cool stuff, but so far show has kind at that of failed miserably and underused her like most action shonen underuse their girls. Plus, taking Yuuji out of the group for such a long stretch seems like a weird choice, we’ve been deprived really seeing him for relationships with his peers. The pacing seems off. But maybe the upcoming tournament arc will make up for that and actually be worthwhile!

Talentless Nana

In a world where kids with superpowers are sent to island schools to fight mysterious “enemies of humanity”, one class of such kids is thrown into chaos when they find themselves targeted by a deadly force.

It’s pretty much impossible to talk about Talentless Nana without discussing how it deviates dramatically from what its premise appears to be in episode one, so I’ll just say if you like stories with superpowers and intrigue, you should definitely sit through that first episode and see if the plot that’s eventually revealed is something that you’re here for. But if you want to avoid spoilers, DON’T GO BELOW THE CUT, because I’m about to get very spoilery.

Basically, Talentless Nana pulls a bait and switch, starting it’s first episode posing as generic superhero anime where the protagonist appears to be your standard meek-but-powerful anime boy (Nanao) who just needs some support and encouragement from a pink haired mind reading manic pixie dream girl (Nana) to unlock his self-confidence and ~true power~ (ugh)...only to take SHARP swerve when  Nana ruthlessly murders Nanao and reveals she’s been sent by the government to take out the superpowered kids one by one because THEY are the considered the true enemies of humanity. Oh, and she doesn’t have any superpowers, or “talents”- she was just able to sus out everything Nanao was thinking through basic deductive reasoning because he was so flippin’ obvious and basic.

As my love for a certain character in a certain game may have clued people into, I am ALWAYS delighted when what appears to be a generic, underwritten girlfriend character is then revealed to be an interesting, ruthless mastermind. And having an anime appear to be about a bland boy with a Dream Girlfriend but then actually turn into a show about a deeply cynical, morally dubious girl who’s clearly holding down a lot of messy feelings as she considers everyone her enemy...well, it may be a cheap trick to some, but it also feels a little bit like justice for all the underwritten female characters sacrificed to bland male leads. It’s still rare enough that I dig it when it happens. And the metatext of Nana zeroing in on this kid as the most standard of main character boys, assessing him as the biggest threat because of it and knowing the perfect way to take him out, is pretty inherently funny to me.

But if the show JUST banked on that twist and was about Nana brutally and cynically slaughtering these kids, it would get boring quickly and Nana would be a bland character herself. Fortunately, it doesn’t go that route. Nana struggles and grows a lot over the course of the show. She finds opposition in transfer student Kyoya, a stoic (and socially awkward) young man who pretty quickly becomes suspicious of her. A lot of the tension from the early episodes comes from her sweating as she tries to outmaneuver him and she makes plenty of mistakes along the way. She also slowly but surely starts to question her mission, and we get an idea of her backstory and how the government specifically has groomed her into believing people with powers to be evil. That belief is one that’s challenged by her friendship with another girl, and it’s pretty rewarding to watch Nana’s feelings and world expand little by little.

The show is definitely a little schlocky-some of the plots (as well as the general premise of the government thinking this is the optimal way to get rid of their superpowered kids problem) fall apart if you think too much about them, and some of the kids Nana goes up against are sleazy and unlikeable in over the top ways (which makes it easy for her to stick to her convictions all these kids deserve to die at first). In particular, I have to give a heads up for some sleazy guys doing and saying sleazy things, though the show never gets too overbearing or graphic with it (and the gore is generally PG-13 level as well). 

Basically. There are some truly ridiculous happenings in this show. But how ridiculous and pulpy and over the top it is can be part of the appeal, and it’s fun to just sit back and watch the spectacle of Nana and her peers head-scratching machinations. 

So, while certainly not an anime with airtight construction or flawless quality and depth, I found Nana an overall entertaining watch, especially as a fan of cat-and-mouse murder-y shenanigans, and thought it has a very compelling main character and managed to end on a heartwrenching (but earned) note. I definitely wouldn’t say no to a second season and would be interested to see where things go from here.

[kirishibi]

Kindred Spirits | Bubaigawara Jin (Twice)

My contribution to the BNHArem flowers collab!

Flower: White Chrysanthemum, meaning loyalty and devoted love 

Summary: you were born with a quirk that allows you to temporarily take other peoples’ emotions, though it makes it nearly impossible to create your own. every day, you sit out on city sidewalks hoping for people to let you borrow their unwanted emotions. Used to only feeling things like guilt, shame, and disappointment, you find yourself pleasantly surprised when a kind stranger comes along and donates happiness

Pairing: Bubaigawara Jin (Twice)  x Reader

Warnings: No manga spoilers! jin smoking a cigarette, light cursing, pining, brief angst (hurt/comfort), sickeningly sweet fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: this is officially the longest single piece i’ve ever written and my back is feeling it. i’m so excited to have been able to participate in this collab, especially since I got to write one of my all time favorite characters! thank you so much @jojosmilktea​ for making the masterlist - you did a great job!

You sat against the brick wall of a quaint boutique in one of the busiest areas of the city, a frayed cardboard sign in your hands and rusted tin can beside your feet. The neat, permanent marker words on your sign read, ‘will take unwanted emotions for $’. 

Your practice wasn’t entirely legal since you didn’t have a license, but with villain activity rising rapidly in the area, you were the least of the local authorities’ worries. Your tin only held enough change for a protein bar from the corner store and your muscles ached, stiff from sitting in the same spot all day, yet you told yourself to wait a little longer. Maybe you’d get lucky. 

A bus rolled by, on its side an advertisement for some hero school at the edge of town, the tagline: ‘You, too, are destined for greatness!’ plastered in bold letters beside a photo of comically fake, smiling heroes. You couldn’t help but scoff as you watched the bus round a corner and disappear from sight, remembering the vain hope you held as a child seeing similar advertisements on T.V. Back then, you truly believed you would become a hero once you got your quirk - in fact, most kids your age did, excitedly awaiting the day they’d discover their unique “super power”. 

On your fourth birthday, your quirk came in and tore away any hope you had for the life of a hero. That day, you discovered that you could steal whatever emotion someone was feeling with the touch of your fingertips, taking it for yourself and leaving them without until your quirk wore off. The catch, however, was that it became incredibly difficult for you to feel any emotion without stealing it from someone else. 

Your quirk had a habit of activating involuntarily, so at a young age you began to wear gloves. It wasn’t long before rumors spread around your school that you were secretly a witch, or cursed, and you were bullied relentlessly from afar for the majority of your early life. 

The treatment only worsened as you grew to adulthood. 

In your world where heroes and super powers were commonplace, if your quirk was problematic or - god forbid - nonexistent, you were nothing but a stain on society, a weed in need of pulling. As a kid, you were reluctant to learn this fact, so life beat it into you. You learned a harsh reality very quickly - emotions became addicting once you were unable to feel them by yourself, and in desperate times, even the bad ones were better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing. Hardships hit you in waves until you had nowhere else to go, finding solace in a ramshackle apartment in the middle of the city, begging for unwanted feelings with a side of cash during the day, spending all night searching for a job on the web. 

Without a useful quirk, wealthy upbringing, or a desire to turn to villainy, this was your place in society. 

After around half an hour, you stood from your spot on the pavement with a disappointed huff, stretching your aching muscles for a moment before crouching to collect your things. “Excuse me!” A gruff voice called out from behind you, the words “Hey, bitch!” following closely after, without pause for you to respond. You thought you heard the person whisper a quiet ‘sorry’ before you whipped around, startled. 

You found a tall, blonde man standing at the edge of the sidewalk, his hands shoved in patched jean pockets and his broad shoulders hunched sheepishly, as if he wanted to occupy as little space as possible. The man shifted nervously while you looked him up and down. A large, vertical scar ran up the center of his forehead to just shy of his hairline, and dark blond stubble dotted his sharp jaw. The faint frown lines bordering his lips and creasing the space between his brows told you he’d likely endured a life similar to yours. Most people who spent their time on these streets had, and after a while the signs became easy to spot.

You cocked your head slightly to the side, raising a brow. “Can I help you?” You responded curtly. Living in such an unpredictable area had certainly not made you any kinder. 

“You have an emotion quirk, right?  I, uh, saw the sign. ‘was wondering if I could donate.” His gaze evaded yours even as he spoke, the man instead opting to watch as his frayed sneakers anxiously toed the ground.

You bent down, grabbing your change-filled tin from the sidewalk and jangling the coins within, wordlessly telling him your service wasn’t free. He stepped closer, huddling at the inner edge of the sidewalk with you, hugging the wall so as not to block the path of those trying to pass by. He pulled a crumpled two thousand yen bill from his pocket and handed it over with a timid smile. To any of the businessmen who walked by, the cash would have been no more than pocket change, but to you, it was a fortune. 

Your expression must have shown just how much his payment meant to you, as the man's smile grew wider, stretching to crease the corners of his eyes. He didn’t say anything, only watched as you stuffed the bill into your pocket for safekeeping, slipped off one of your tattered, cotton gloves and held out a bare palm. “Can I see your hand? It only works through touch.” As he slid a hand out of his pocket, you recited the same speech you gave to all of your customers: “Bring forth whichever emotion you’d like me to take from you - really make yourself feel it. I don’t get to choose what I take, so whatever’s at the forefront of your mind is what will be transferred. Effects can last anywhere between three to four hours. Oh, and no refunds. Any questions?”

He reached for your hand, but hesitated, his fingers hovering just shy of yours as he timidly asked. “Is any emotion okay, good or bad?”

You sighed, “Yeah, I don’t judge. Whatever it is, it’s better than nothing.” 

He nodded and laid a heavy, calloused palm atop your own. You braced yourself for what you had grown used to - feelings of disappointment, shame, anger, hopelessness; the most common feelings of the dejected businessmen who worked in the area and passed your spot regularly. 

As your quirk took effect, however, you didn’t experience any of those things. You felt the corners of your lips pulling into a grin entirely on their own, a joyous giggle bubbling in your throat and spilling from you before you could halt it. Your hands flew to your face, feeling your cheeks as they flushed pink from excitement. “Wh-what?” Was all you could manage in your surprised, giddy state. It had been months- no- years since you’d felt this way.

The man’s kind smile remained, though it no longer spread to his eyes. Like you, he seemed used to faking it. “I knew a kid with an emotion quirk growin’ up. He was a total loser. Uh- it made it harder for him to feel stuff on his own, so I wanted to...” He paused for a moment before timidly continuing, his next word hanging in his mouth as if unfamiliar to his lips “help. Just in case it was the same for you, ya ugly hoe.” With his joy depleted, embarrassment quickly took its place. The man’s teeth found his bottom lip as if to keep himself from saying more, and you thought you could see a faint blush spread along his cheekbones as he turned to leave. 

You were startled by the way his tone shifted so quickly, yet his actions had been kind. You couldn’t help but think, maybe his quirk knocked a few screws loose in his head, too. Much to your surprise, you found yourself wanting to talk to him more, or at least pay him back in some way, but the man had donated joy, not courage. 

“Thank you, sir!” was all you could manage as he made his way deeper into the city, the distance between you growing with each step. 

He waved in acknowledgement before pocketing his hand once again and turning off into a darkened alley.

---

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you awoke the next day feeling refreshed. You felt a slight bounce in your step as you made your way to your typical spot, treating yourself to a cold drink from the cafe along the way. Thanks to the kind stranger from the night before, you could finally afford a refreshing beverage to fend off the ever intensifying heat outside.

You didn’t quite know why, but the sun seemed to shine a little brighter as it rose along the horizon, the colors that sunrise painted across the skyline more vibrant than previous mornings. 

Your day went by fast, and soon enough dusk began to fall. The street lights surrounding you kicked on, signaling that it was once again time for you to pack up and return home. You stood, gathered your things, and turned to begin your journey back to your apartment when a vaguely familiar voice caught your attention, “Hey, wait up- get outta here!” 

It was him. 

You turned on your heel toward the sound of his voice, almost as surprised as when he showed up the night before. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, is that okay? Got a problem with me or somethin’?!” You watched him wince as the second set of words passed his lips. He gritted his teeth, shoulders tensing. Like before, he preferred to watch the ground between you rather than meet your gaze.

“It’s fine.” He glanced back up at the sound of your voice, and you flashed him a reassuring smile. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fade if only for a moment. “My regulars just tend to be angry white-collar businessmen, not, ya know...” You let your words trail off, unsure how to finish.

“Not people like you?” He filled in the blanks with ease, and you nodded in agreement. 

A comfortable silence spread between you for a moment before he cleared his throat, pulling another creased bill from his pocket. You realized your hands were too full to take the cash and moved to set your things down on the pavement, but the man reached out a tentative palm, “I can hold your sign for ya. I don’t wanna. I won’t take it. I will. I- I just don't want it gettin’ all dirtied up if it’s your only one.”

You hesitated, “You don’t have to be so nice. I’ve lived here long enough to handle myself.” 

“I believe you. Doubt it! But what kinda guy would I be if I didn’t try ta help out a sweet lady like you?”

His genuine kindness was entirely unexpected, but you saw no reason to be distrustful. After all, what use could he have for old, water damaged cardboard. You looked him over once more before handing him the already filthy sign and taking his payment with a newly emptied hand. You stuffed it in your pocket, slid off your glove, and held out an open palm like before. “Need me to debrief you again?”

“Yes, please!” His words betrayed him as he shook his head ‘no’. “I got it, thanks.”

Suddenly, you were grateful that you had figured out which of his voices to listen to, and which to ignore. He rested a large palm against your own. A second later, you felt sparks of joy ignite a fire within your chest. The blond’s touch suddenly felt pleasantly electric on your skin, and you allowed your hand to linger in his, reluctant to pull away. 

Glancing back up, you realized that he had been watching you. The tender warmth in his gaze never left as he slowly, hesitantly slipped his fingers from yours. He reached into his jeans’ back pocket, revealed a half empty pack of cigarettes, “Got time for a smoke?”

You began to refuse on instinct, but the words caught at the tip of your tongue. Again, you found that you didn’t want to part with him quite yet. Something about him caught your interest, generous donations aside. A finger tapped your chin as you pretended to ponder your decision, then shrugged, “Yeah, I think I’ve got some time.”

Shoulder to shoulder, you propped yourselves against the boutique’s wall. He offered a cigarette, to which you declined with a slight shake of your head. When you reached to take your sign back so that he could focus on lighting up, he simply swatted your hand away and tucked it under his arm. “Aye, let me be a gentleman. It’s mine!” 

Your chest felt fuzzy, heart fluttering. There was something beneath your good mood, something heavy and intoxicating that you’d never felt before, but you didn’t dislike it. Quite the opposite, in fact.  “You’re weird” you teased. 

“You’re weird” he responded without skipping a beat. There was another brief pause as he lit his cigarette, then spoke again “So, what’s your name, weirdo?”

You giggled, playfully jabbing an elbow to his side at the title, and he laughed with you. It had a deep, melodic timbre to it, hearty, disarming, and beautiful. You wondered how sweet the sound would be under normal circumstances, without your quirk draining him. “(Y/n). What’s yours?”

“None o’ ya business!” He rolled his eyes at himself, frustrated, then took a long drag from his cigarette. “Bubaigawara. You can call me Jin, though.”

“Jin Bubaigawara” You repeated his full name slowly, savoring the way it felt on your tongue, and grateful to finally be able to call him something other than ‘sir’.

“Sounds prettier coming from you, but yeah that’s it.”

At his words, warmth crept up your neck, dusting your cheeks a rosy pink, and tugging the edges of your lips into a shy smile. 

Jin felt different from the people you grew up with. He looked at you with eyes entirely void of judgement or distrust, and even if only for a moment, he made you feel like someone understood -- like someone cared.

Hours passed as you talked about everything, yet nothing in particular. The two of you took turns just chatting, occasionally asking questions back and forth. You told one another of how you discovered your quirks, shared stories from school, spoke of your families, or lack thereof. He didn’t explain the scar on his forehead, nor his split speech, but you didn’t think to ask, either. They were a part of him, made him who he was, and you realized that night that you really liked who he was.

---

For the most part, your days passed as they always did, with little business in the mornings and a few agitated corporate underlings stopping by around lunchtime to rid themselves of the bitter frustration their coworkers gave rise to. However, during your long periods of downtime, your thoughts began to wander. 

Typically, they wandered to Jin. 

Often, as you got bored, you found yourself scanning passing crowds for a tall blond with tired yet kind eyes, sighing disappointedly when you couldn’t find him. As much as your quirk numbed you to most things, you weren’t entirely immune to simpler feelings, like the soft pang of missing someone or the nervous quickening of your heartbeat when you finally spotted him at the end of the day. You couldn’t deny that your draw to him only grew with each nightly rendezvous and slowly, butterflies began to appear in your chest even long after the effects of your quirk had worn off. You found yourself counting the minutes until he came to see you at the end of the day, and feeling melancholy when you parted ways late in the evening.

You had never been able to feel something without taking it from someone else first, but bit by bit that began to change.

---

One night a little over a week after you first met, Jin was ten minutes late to meet you - concerning, considering how punctual he’d always been until then. 

When he did show up, he seemed agitated as he tried to make conversation, and the moment his eyes met yours, you knew something was wrong. “Jin?” You questioned. Though he’d been slowly breaking the habit as you got to know one another, his gaze once again glued itself to the ground. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to avoid eye contact. You moved closer and bent down slightly, forcing yourself into his line of sight though he tried to evade. Only then did you notice he’d been biting his lip so hard it had swelled, threatening to bleed. “Jin, are you okay?” 

For the first time in your life, you felt genuine concern.

“Back off, bitch!” He clasped a hand over his mouth the moment the words flew past his lips, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I-” His voice broke as he repeated the words over and over again. “I can't help it. Yes I can. I don’t mean it. I’ll hurt you. Gah- damn it, shut the hell up, wontcha?!” He yelled at no one in particular. 

You took a cautious step back to give him space, though you had no intention of running. You knew how it felt to find yourself stuck in a losing battle against your own mind. No matter what he said, you weren’t about to leave. Not like everyone else had left both of you.

Without a second thought, you reached out, entwining gloved fingers with his and tugging him down the sidewalk. He followed without hesitation, clutching your hand so tightly you thought it may break. You pulled him into a narrow alleyway for privacy, and the moment no one else was around, he hurriedly reached into his pocket, fishing out a two-toned mask. “Shit, I- I’m splitting up! I’m fine! I’m splitting all up- I love it!” Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as his bloodshot eyes finally found yours. “I’m splitting, (Y/n), you don’t understand I’m sp-!”

You put two and two together fairly quickly and swiped the mask from his trembling grasp, roughly tugging the skin-tight material over his head and down onto most of his face. You rattled off a stream of apologies as you helped him unceremoniously slide it the rest of the way on, certain you were pulling tufts of hair along with the fabric.

The moment his mask was fully in place, Jin exhaled a sigh of relief and dropped to the ground. You pushed away the countless questions racking your brain, instead forcing yourself to focus on the man before you. You lowered to sit beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back. Your thumb lightly rubbed the space between his shoulder blades as you sat together on the damp asphalt, barely noticing as small droplets of old rain periodically dribbled onto your shoulders from an overhead windowsill. 

You didn’t have to wait long before he turned his attention back to you, shifting so you were face to face and cupping your cheeks with calloused palms. “You’re an angel! Marry me!” he excitedly exclaimed. You leaned into his touch despite the confusion clouding your thoughts, and suddenly you found yourself grateful your quirk only transmitted through your fingertips. 

You didn’t know exactly what you were feeling in that moment - worry, adoration, compassion, panic - the lines between them all blurred together in your head, but it didn’t matter. The feelings were there, and they were yours. 

Without a second thought, you threw your arms around Jin. He gladly reciprocated, nearly knocking you off balance as he wrapped you in a tight hug. “Sorry, that musta’ been real scary for ya, huh?”

You shook your head ‘no’ against his strong shoulder, “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than that to scare me.” He chuckled weakly at your words, and you reluctantly pulled away to meet his gaze once more. “Are you okay? I mean-” you sighed, “that was a dumb question, but you know what I mean, right? Do you need anything? Water, juice?” 

“Juice! Stop stressin’! I’m fine now - when the mask is on, I become whole again! Good as new, see?” He flexed a bicep theatrically. The mask obscured his smile, but the slight squint at the bottoms of his eyes told you he was grinning from ear to ear. You nodded, letting out a breath that you didn’t know you had been holding in.

Hesitantly, you asked the next question on your mind: “Does that happen often?”

The man in front of you shrugged much too nonchalantly for the situation. “Most of the time I’m wearin’ the mask, so I don’t really gotta worry.”

Your brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen you in it before.”

“Duh, I always take it off to visit ya!” You cocked a brow questioningly, and he took the hint to elaborate further. “First time was an accident. You just caught my eye when I was on a walk without it, and I wanted to help ya out a bit ‘cause of that one guy from school.” He shook his head slightly, still smiling. “You’re so pretty, though - especially when you’re happy - I just had to come back. But you’d already seen me without the mask, so I jus’ took it off when I went to see ya.”

Whether his intention or not, Jin’s words forced a smile onto your face. The butterflies in your chest buzzed to life as he locked his fingers with yours, squeezing happily when he saw the blush on your cheeks. “The mask wouldn’t have changed a thing about how you make me feel, dummy!” you confessed before you could talk yourself out of it. “You’re still you-.” 

Not willing to let go of your hand, Jin dragged it along with his as he raised an index finger to halt your statement. “Did ya just say ‘feel’? You’re feeling things now? An’ you didn’t tell me?!” 

“I didn’t want to interrupt what was going on with you!” You argued, giggles dampening your fake-serious tone.

“Silence, woman! That’s amazing!” He leapt to his feet, pulling you up with him and twirling you around in a circle. The happy tune of your combined laughter bounced off the brick alley walls, only serving to make you laugh harder before he halted you with an embrace. “Good job, you!”

“Good job, you!” You chimed back.

---

Your routine continued normally the next day. The street lamps flicked on at dark and, like clockwork, you spotted Jin in the distance. Unlike previous nights, though, this time he seemed to be carrying something. As he neared, crossing under the bright spotlight of a streetlight, you realized it was a flower - a white chrysanthemum, to be exact. You bounded toward him, meeting halfway down the sidewalk and practically tackling him in a delighted hug.

Jin’s free hand found yours as you separated, so that he could keep holding onto some part of you as you spoke. His other hand slipped the stem of the flower behind your ear, making sure it was secure before pulling away and taking in the view. “Ug-lee! You’re so pretty!”

You blew a playful kiss, “Thanks, to both. How did you know I love chrysanthemums?”

“I just hoped, ‘cause I love ‘em too. Do you know the meanin’ behind ‘em?”

You shook  your head ‘no’.

“Devoted love, apparently. I’m pretty damn devoted to lovin’ you!”

You knew Jin was about to nervously ramble, apologizing after his second statement, so you halted him with a finger to his lips. When he fell silent, you detangled your hand from his, much to his displeasure. Working slowly so that he could stop you at any point, you hooked your thumbs under the hem of his mask. His breath caught in his throat as you carefully tugged it up, just enough to expose his mouth. 

You found yourself grateful for the desolate streets that late evening provided as you stretched onto your toes and pressed your lips to his. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him as you deepened the kiss. After a few sweet moments, you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “Good, because I’m pretty damn devoted to loving you, too.”

[peachyproserpina]

Oops Pt. 2

Jason Roberts (SVU) x Fem!Reader

Part one here!

Here it is! It's kinda jumpy but I hope yall enjoy it! Tagging my love @glassbxttless for all your help with this and the fact it's dedicated to you!

TW: Smut, Alcohol, Drugs, Food, lots of Crying, mentions of abuse, mentions of Death, pregnancy, babies, swearing

As always! If I have missed a tag let me know and I will tag it!

You hiss when the cold jelly gets smeared on your stomach, you’re fucking pregnant, test after test after fucking test and you’re pregnant. You booked an appointment with Planned Parenthood as soon as they would let you and made Jason come with. They confirmed with a blood test that yes indeed you we’re pregnant and about 5ish weeks along at that point. You both looked at each other and the nurse could see the panic between you too. She sent you home with a stack of pamphlets as thick as your arm and assured you that you have options, even if you needed to make them quick.

That was 3 weeks ago when your bras still fit you, this isn’t your first ultrasound but the jelly never gets any better no matter how much you prepare. Jason is here, he’s insisted on coming to every appointment. He was clingy before but ever since you found out he’s been even worse. Watching the cameras and your location more so then before and having you facetime him whenever you’re out of the apartment. Clingy.

-

You’re at 12 weeks now and your monkey is about as big as a lime and really fucking with everything they can. You’re showing now, now matter how many layers or flowy dresses you put on, and between the cravings and the aversions (Chocolate is a go but for some reason tacos make you gag) you’ve put on a few pounds. Jason loves it, after the shock wore off and you both decided to keep it, always wanting kids but never knowing when. It just. Felt right. He picked up on your moods and cravings just as well as he did before and the fact your chest is so big now you cant even wear a bra is a plus. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve been woken up with Jason between your thighs as soon as he’s home from work, or when he gently fucks you awake, big hand covering your whole bump and cooing praise in your ear before filling you with cum and letting you get the sleep you need. You’re both adjusting and determined to ‘keep you safe babygirl’ Jason got a promotion with a healthy wage and he’s kept you cooped up at home where he can watch you and his monkey.

-

“I’m so sorry you have to grow up without a Daddy monkey.” You’re gently rubbing your bump as you walk down the street, en route to your old apartment. The one right across the hall from Jason used to live, where his mom still lives.

“He’s just so dumb for telling grandma I’m going to kill him before you’re born I’m sure of it.” You don’t notice the looks from the people milling on the stairway of the building, too bust fuming at the fact Jason managed to do the one thing you asked him not to do.

Tell anyone.

You wanted to keep it until you knew the gender, maybe post something on your socials, call your family about it. Invite Estelle over for a dinner and let her know then. But nope, Jason as much as a mommas boy he is, spilled the beans a day after you asked him not to. Causing you to make your way to the old building for a ‘baby-baby shower’ with his mom, with a strict “No boys allowed!’ leaving Jason a mess as you walked around New York, knowing he was never far, always watching you helped calm him down. You don’t even have to kock before Estelle is rushing you in the door, and you can’t tell if it’s the spread she has thoughtfully laid out or the hormones but you’re already crying.

There’s cute little cakes, caffeine free tea, candies, chocolate, pickles, and everything else you have possibly been craving spread all over her kitchen table, you hug her close and try to stop your tears.

“Let's get you sat down before you hurt yourself honey.” She sits you in one of her kitchen chairs and brings you a tissue, you thank her as she hands you a cup of tea and you both settle in for the afternoon celebration. She’s dipped into the brandy and brought out all of Jason’s old baby stuff she’ll be sending you home with, you’re flipping through and laughing when you stop on a picture of newborn Jason being held in a man's arms. You furrow your brow and she picks up on that. “He was an awful man you know. Beat me black and blue and Jason too.” Her words take you by surprise, Jason never talked about his dad, just that he was a deadbeat and glad he was dead.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Jason never.” She cuts you off with a soft hand on your thigh before she gently rubs the top of your belly.

“He died young you know, I-” she takes a swig of brandy before she continues. “He beat Jason so bad he broke his arm. Can you believe that? Jason wasn’t much older then 7, still a baby and that bastard broke his arm.” You’re speechless as you flick your eyes between Estelle and the photo of Jason’s father. “He was sleeping around too. Thought I didn’t know, it was the 90’s of course I fucking knew when his pager was going off at all hours. He didn’t even have a pager for work.” You sniffle and nod your head, you really had no idea, Jason never talked about his father and you let it be.

“He shoulda known better, sleeping pills and coke are a dangerous mix you know. Add in some tramp and all the clubs he was going to it was bound to happen sooner or later.” She smiles at you then and you’ve seen that same smile on Jason, recognize that smile. That’s the one he gave you after he came over and installed the first camera. Your blood runs cold for a second before you’re pulled out of your head by Estelle flipping the page and cooing at how cute Jason was taking apart his first Nintendo console.

-

20 weeks, 5 months and you’re suffering. Your hips are aching and popping, there’s this nerve in your back that keeps pinching and sometimes it’s so bad you can’t even move. You can’t even sleep a full night before the little one is moving around or you’re dying from how hot it is. You whine as Jason gets up, jostling you awake.

“Jas no, come back to bed I finally got some sleep.” You’re making grabby hands at him and he walks around to your side of the bed and pressing kisses against your hair.

“I cant baby, we’re gonna have people over for your shower and I should clean up a little.” Jason is rubbing his hand up and down your belly as he talks, settling the little one and you can feel angry tears well up in your eyes.

“Do we have to? I don’t want to Jason, please?” You can feel the tears leak out now and you’re mad, mad at him, mad at your monkey for keeping you up, mad at yourself for getting pregnant. He kisses your tears before giving you a filthy kiss and teasing his fingers over your clit that makes you gasp and forget all about how mad you just were.

“You have friends come over and we get to know whether it’s a boy or a girl. Then we get to think about names. So no. I’ll get the bath ready for ya momma.” Jason's walking away before you can pull him back and demand he makes you cum. You shut your eyes and try to get ready for this day.

The party is easy breezy, gifts were exchanged, weird games were played, and your friends organized a cute revel, filling a box with so many pink balloons and streamers, and ribbon you’re sure you’re going to find them even after your baby is born. Jason’s getting nervous again, you’ve kicked everyone out saying you’re tired and they left without complaint.

“Whats wrong Jas? I can feel you worrying from over here.” You scoot over on the couch and make room for him, he moves from where he was cleaning stuff up and drops into the seat. He’s running his hands through his hair before you pull one to your lips and kiss it. He’s lets out the breath he was holding, letting the tension drop from his shoulders as he rests his head back on the couch. Spreading his long long legs out wide, you feel the pang of arousal as you eye up his thighs, his crotch the way his adam’s apple bobs when he smiles before he letting everything out.

“What if I’m not right for you? What if I’m just like my dad? I don’t think I’m good enough to raise your ba-” you cut off his tirade by straddling his thigh and rubbing your cunt against it. You whipped off your bottoms as soon as everyone left, just in your panties and a tank as you lounged and watched Jason. His head snaps up and he whimpers when he can feel you soak through his denim already. You pull his hands up to cup your chest, sighing as you catch your clit as just the right angle and he lifts up your heavy tits, giving your back a little bit of a break.

“You’re gonna be fucking perfect Jason.” You’re getting desperate and the way Jason is looking at you like you single-handedly hung the stars in the sky is feeding your ego and your arousal. His chest is rising and falling just as fast as yours is and his cock has filled out so fast he’s light headed. You keep going, so desperate after that little tease this morning you’re already close to coming and its not fair. Jason tenses his thigh under you and you gasp. “Do that fucking again Jas. Right now.” He whines and does as he is told, as the little change helps push you over the edge and you’re cumming, soaking his jeans and hungrier than before for his cock. You weave your fingers through his hair and yank, hard.

“Take your cock out right fucking now.” He’s nodding eyes glazed over as he rushes to do what you’ve asked. You don’t let up on the death grip on his hair, covering his neck with dark hickies and bites that he’ll have to cover up when he leaves for work. You feel the trail of precum as he frees his cock from his pants and it slides up your thigh, you pull back and when you see it, so angry red and big for you you grind down onto his thigh again and moan. You’re maneuvering yourself so you can sit on Jason's cock and ever the worrier he is, he's helping. Spreading his legs wider, his hands holding your hips so you and your belly can fit against him tight on the couch that is probably too small to be doing this on.

You let go of his hair, pull his lips to yours as you finally sit down on his cock, the moan you rip from your chest is almost as pretty as Jason’s sigh.

“You’re so fucking tight for me baby girl. So fucking hot.” Jason's mouth is running and you huff, not happy he’s coherent enough to do so. You kiss him again, nipping on his bottom lip hard as you start to move. His hands are everywhere, your tits, your thighs, your back pulling you close so he can shove his tongue down your throat. You haven’t been at this long but you can feel the orgasm building right at the base of your spine, where lately it’s only hurt. It’s not long before Jason has a thumb on your clit and a nipple in his mouth. You hold him close to your chest as you bounce bounce bounce on his big dick.

“Fuck I'm gonna cum Jason. Please keep doing that.” You tilt your head back and grind yourself onto him, you’re so fucking close and you can feel from the way Jason’s pulsing inside of you he’s not too far off either. He pinches the nipple he doesn’t have in his mouth hard and that's enough to tip you over the edge, soaking his lap yet again as you cum. Thighs shaking tense as you clamp down on Jason’s length and he is right behind you. Filling you up to overflowing with his cum, messy as you both come down.

-

“JASON!” You’re frantic as you call for him,m knowing damn well he is not there. You can feel your water pool where you're standing in the kitchen. Of course the ONE DAY Jason has to go into work your water breaks. You reach for your phone that's ringing as you shift worriedly in your spot in the kitchen.

“What's wrong babygirl?” Jason’s on the other line, frantic, you can hear shouting in the back. It might be his boss but you’re starting to freak out and the first contraction hits and you wail. “Baby, talk to me, I can see you but the cameras don’t have microphones yet.”

“I- my water just broke Jas, I just had a contraction I need you here.” You’re crying, panicking and you can hear Jason huff and puffin your ear. He’s surprisingly calm on the other end as you sniffle into the phone, trying to remember those stupid breathing exercises you learned about in that Virtual birthing class you both took.

“I’m almost home love, can you get to the bag near the door?” You move, stiff and awkward but you’re moving. “Good job baby girl. Get to the bag by the door and I’m almost home. We'll get you to the hospital soon, promise.” You’re taking those deep breaths as you waddle to the door.

“Jas, how are you almost home? It takes 20 fucking-” you gasp as you feel another twinge and take big gulps of air. “You’re 20 minutes away if you take the train.” You’re puzzled as you hear him breathing heavy through the line.

“I just ran. It’s faster.” You nearly drop the phone at that.

“You did not! Jason! You are going to die!” You’re laughing and you can hear his footsteps pounding, you’re at the go bag by the door and you try to bend over to pick it up and nearly fall over. You’re still not fucking used to being this big. The door slams open as you’re resting against the wall bag as your feet and ruined clothes. Jason's there, your man, your creepy fucking neighbor who spied on you and now got your pregnant. He’s sweaty, he really did run all the way from work for you and the thought makes you want to laugh and cry at how much you fucking love him. But then another contraction hits and you're crying out in pain again. He’s picking up the bag at your feet before he’s helping you step into some slides and gently ushering you down the stairs to Estelle's car that is waiting to take you to the hospital.

One Epidural and 14 hours of labor later you have your baby girl, Delilah Stella Roberts, sleeping against your chest and Jason is trying not to cry as she has him already wrapped around her finger.