#OF COURSE he will always have a degree of arrogance that's just who he is but he's grown so much as a person and father like ???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wttcsms · 9 months

Text

balancing act ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader word count 3.9k synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!

Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course).

But he’s not quite used to being laughed at.

He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with.

Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him.

And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him.

Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work.

“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about.

“So was I.” You tell him.

Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru.

“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard.

“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”

The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.

Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.”

Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.

“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.”

Ouch.

Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less.

“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.

“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.

“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.”

Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”

“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with in Tokyo suck.”

On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him.

“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.

“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes.

“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.

His grin only grows wider.

“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.”

“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects.

“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.

“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.”

“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself.

Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.

“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional.

“I would, but I have standards.”

Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum.

Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him.

“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?”

“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is.

“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge.

“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.”

Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating.

He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.

“I could commit if it’s you.”

The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”

You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came.

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.”

“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.”

“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage.

“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.”

“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”

“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides.

“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?”

He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously.

“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”

There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him.

For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships.

He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.

“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.”

You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.”

Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh.

“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.”

Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.

“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are.

“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”

“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family��s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle.

“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug.

“Done.”

He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second.

“Really?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.”

The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.

Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick.

If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.

Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier.

Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.

“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.

“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort.

“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”

“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.

“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.”

“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.”

“Maybe I’m her blessing.”

No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.

“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”

A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it.

Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted.

“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?

Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.

Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it.

You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job.

“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.”

“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?”

“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.”

Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko.

He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.

The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out.

The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing.

Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has.

(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)

Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best.

He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day.

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—

—he kinda likes it.

#satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #fluff #one shot #jjk x reader #smut #fic series: balancing act

1K notes · View notes

clairedaring · 19 days

Text

if you're hoping for joe 2.0 to get his 'revenge' in the second half of the series...

warning: mild novel spoilers (but also not really because i'm just discussing things that have been shown in the trailer)

i really think you should either drop the series or give up the hopes of a satisfying makjang revenge storyline in my stand-in instead of setting yourself up for disappointment. because that simply isn't the story that my stand-in is trying to tell.

so what is my stand-in about really?

well, for me i think its a romance tragicomedy drama about an idiotic scum male lead losing the person he loves most because of his own arrogance and refusal to listen to his heart and the series of unfortunate events that happened consequently for our protagonist who was living a peaceful and quiet life as a stunt actor before the scum male lead entered his life.

joe 2.0 and his approach to life

i've mentioned it twice now that one of my favorite traits of joe/zhou xiang is that kindness in his strength where even if he can be choose to be mean or cruel, he simply doesn't because he has such a soft heart and he's weak to see others in pain (joe is my fellow enfp people pleaser okay) (⁠っ⁠˘̩⁠╭⁠╮⁠˘̩⁠)⁠っ which is why even in his 2.0 life, you won't get to see joe turning 180 degree and going around to hurt everyone who's ever hurt him like it's some makjang kdrama.

and while that seems like it could be fun, i think the reason why i loved professional body double (my stand-in novel) so much in the first place is because that very distinction between joe and other rebirth/second chance at life protagonists that you often see in revenge kdramas/cdramas/thai lakorns.

logically, if my stand-in was a 24-episode one31 lakorn/thai soap opera, joe would be full of hatred and burning rage after his rebirth and started his intricated revenge plot while still falling in love with ming whom he should hate the most.

and yet he isn't (or at least it seems to me so far).

if you read the lyrics 'Die For You' - the opening ost of my stand-in, i think you can have a good guess of what the second half of the story will be like.

Even running away to death can't help. If my heart had chosen to stop at you I'll have to surrender with the confusion I feel. To come back to the same old place. Even if I have to die, disappear and then be reborn But the love is still buried deep inside, even if it's been shattered into pieces Even if my life ends, I can't stop my heart from calling out to you Because this whole body, life, spirit It is yours only, for all eternity.

and even from the trailer of my stand-in, you can tell that joe 2.0 has a lot of internal conflicting feelings about whether he could trust ming again after the betrayal he faced in his 1.0 life. and i feel like essentially the journey of ming proving to joe 2.0 that he really does love joe is very much the central plot in the second half part of the story.

so i'd like to take this part to note how well the series has done to adapt the novel so far. i think a good adapted change they've made is this early realization of feelings for ming in the joe 1.0 timeline. i do think the novel made him realized his feelings a little bit later but my stand-in did well to show within ep.3 what happiness could have looked like for joe 1.0 and ming and i think it rationalizes a bit more more for why joe 2.0 would still have feelings for ming 'buried deep inside' even when he's been badly hurt the first time around. and reading the story i've always found it interesting that they took this route to focus on the re-entangled complex relationship between mingjoe rather than going for a joe-centric revenge makjang plot (i swear if this was your typical thai lakorn, joe would seduce ming while planning to take down his whole family or something).

of course, that's not to dismiss that there's a lot of character growth for joe in the second half of the story, especially in his building of self-confidence, self-worth, the ability to put himself first and the fight for his own happiness above all. but like i've mentioned above, his growth journey is not at the expense of a drastic personality change in regards to the kind hearted joe we saw in his 1.0 life. instead, we get kind hearted joe 2.0 who quickly adapts to his new life and attempts to start anew while conflicted feelings resurface for him as he is pulled back into the relationships he once had.

all in all, my stand-in is still at the heart of it, a love story. perhaps, a dark romance as my friend @dragonsandphoenix would call it, but a romance nonetheless. i think that is what also makes professional body double such a compelling read too, because the progression in the feelings and complex emotions of these characters are so tightly written that it's convincing enough for me (maybe not for others though) to believe that yan ming xiu has/will always love zhou xiang (to the point ymx would probably eliminate anyone else who dared to steal zx from him). obsessive love? yes. do they both need therapy? probably. yet i still believe in their happy ending? of course.

final note/disclaimer: then again, this is just my PERSONAL opinions based on the novel and up til 3 episodes of my stand-in (which seems to be very faithful to the novel so far), who knows maybe they can anger novel fans and adapt it completely differently later on (something i sure hope they don't but we'll seeeee) ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

#my stand in #my stand in the series #my stand-in #professional body double #my stand in novel spoilers #msi thoughts #poom phuripan #up poompat #claire opens up her goddamn mouth

233 notes · View notes

see-arcane · 1 month

Note

I am almost fine with people saying he has one brain cell, because I have seen dozens of people make the worse claim that he is "an arrogant, smug, proud of his rationality Victorian who laughs at the locals for their superstitions."

It is such a prevalent assesment that it's now considered a core character trait of his. When today's entry indicates nothing of the sort.

UH OH, YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TANGENT CARD

(Text Brick Incoming)

Jonathan’s fundamental flaw at this stage does involve looking down on or viewing the locals and their traditions as quaint/idolatrous/ridiculous et al. He uses poor terminology too, owing to the Doylist reason of his author’s knowledge and biases, while the Watsonian reason is easy enough to read as Jonathan 1) Having to rely solely on biased/incomplete knowledge from his homeland’s writings on the place and 2) What I think is him trying to overcompensate as a trained reflex

I’ve always pictured Jonathan and Mina as having not only a lower social and monetary standing, but possibly a hindrance of race. (Case in point, I suspect a certain unique prop Jonathan brandishes later on is something he inherited, not something picked up by happenstance.)

That said—they are poor, they are not the idealized picture of the fair English Citizen…but they are both polite, charming, hardworking, and masters of ~making friends~ as a defense mechanism. And I’d bet money that included relying on what few positive nods their peers allowed.

“You’re so nice! So industrious! Your physiognomy really counters your origins! And you are wise enough to look down on those silly foreigners, aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re one of the good ones.”

Now, regardless of what headcanon is landed on as far as race/ethnicity/other backgrounds go, those last points are key. Because they go towards Being a Good Englishman/woman. Being wiser than to buy into fretting non-English superstitions. Knowing to ogle the people of other lands like curiosities in a zoo. Judging people by their face or the shape of their skull. This is the Norm. This is Good of the Victorian Englishman Abroad.

And we see Jonathan hold to all these stereotypes…to a degree. But we see within these same early entries that his instincts and general good nature chafe against that social training. He’s too much himself to do entirely as a Proper Englishman should.

He went out of his way to study all the limited info he had access to, incomplete or half-informed as it was. He delighted in learning everything he could of the places and people as he traveled, wanting to embrace and be educated on the land. And even when a lifetime of advising against it, of insistence upon derision, tried to take over when the crucifix was offered? He still accepted it. He still wears it even when the old woman departs, whether or not he believes in its importance.

And, vitally, his instincts are very Very awake to the fact that Something is Off. A Proper Englishman (and many an oblivious or stubborn dad in a ghostly horror movie) would shrug this unease off at once. But Jonathan doesn’t. He remains on Dracula’s route only because he has no other choice. All he does is mention quietly that he hopes Mina gets his diary if he happens to die on this journey.

Imagine that. Bracing for and acknowledging the sense that You Might Die on This Little Business Trip and just…having to go along with it. Because what will you tell your boss otherwise? What will you tell your fiancée?

These aren’t the concerns of a well-off stuffy snob of a man. It’s the resignation of someone who understands they live on the lowest rung of the ladder and that they will risk losing what little progress they’ve made if they dare to turn back.

As for sneering at the locals’ superstitions, period, consider: How likely would anyone really be to suddenly believe in monsters after coming out of the background Jonathan has? What could possibly have convinced him of the reality of the situation OTHER THAN SEEING IT IN PERSON? (Note, a key plot point for certain other characters later!)

The point of his being unable to take the supernatural aspect at face value is that, well, Why Would Anyone Immediately Jump to a Supernatural Conclusion in His Place?

What possible context does he have here!? Maybe he should have read Dracula first, ha ha—

Oh wait. He can’t do that. Why?

Because this man has never read Dracula BECAUSE HE IS LIVING AND WRITING THE BOOK DRACULA!!

Anyway.

tl;dr: I am very tired of both the Stuffy Victorian Snobprick and Oblivious Idiotbaby takes on my good friend Jonathan Harker

#dude isn’t perfect #but he’s genuinely one of the most progressive male protagonists in all of that period’s literature #likely in ways Stoker didn’t even realize #he and Mina deserve worlds more credit than they’re given #jonathan harker #dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula

173 notes · View notes

chvoswxtch · 1 year

Note

hello! I hope ur having a good day! I have a request if you’re up to it! we’ve always had Professor matt so to spice things up can we have a college!matt x professor!reader? he’s actively trying to gain the pretty professor’s attention and she’s slowly falling for it. you can make it fluffy or spicy or smutty. its all up to you!

hi nonnie!

I hope you're having a good day as well! I genuinely loved this idea bc we all know matty is a flirt but I feel like college!matty is a HUGE flirt and would totally go after the pretty professor. and honestly, she would eat that shit up, let's be real. but who wouldn't???

thank you so much for the request! ❤️

warning: contains mentions of sexual content (minors please dni), swearing word count: 3k

office hours.

When Matt was reminded by his advisor that he needed to take a literature course to satisfy his degree plan, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. He had been continuously putting it off, but with one final semester left of undergrad, he couldn’t graduate without it. It wasn’t that Matt didn’t enjoy reading, he simply just wasn’t interested in taking anything that didn’t have to do with his program. He’d read enough “classic literature” and written enough analysis essays in high school, and he wasn’t looking forward to going through that agonizing process again. Reluctantly, he signed up for the last course available.

Taking a seat in the very back of the small classroom, Matt set up his laptop and plugged an earbud into his ear, prepared to appear engaged while he got started on a project for another class. All around him seats filled up with other students, but it wasn’t until he caught the sweet scent of pink grapefruit and blue wisteria that his fingers stilled over his keyboard. He turned his head slightly to the side towards the wall as the scent rushed down the hall, accompanied by a racing heartbeat. Matt’s head snapped towards the front when you walked through the classroom door slightly out of breath, heat in your cheeks from the run, and also a twinge of embarrassment.

“Probably not the best first impression to be late on the first day of class, but in my defense, I’m still learning how to navigate New York. I can’t promise I won’t be late again, so we won’t be counting tardies in this class, to a reasonable limit.”

An anxious giggle left your lips, and luckily everyone seemed to find the humor in your admission. Matt’s lips parted slightly at the sound, and he quickly ripped the earbud out of his ear as you introduced yourself.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please call me Y/N. This is my first year teaching, and you guys are my second class, so we’re figuring this all out together.”

Another timid giggle left your lips, and Matt clenched his fist tightly as the sound settled in his ears.

“I don’t expect perfection, I just want you guys to do your best. We aren’t reading things some arrogant ‘expert’ decided was a classic, or writing mind numbing papers identifying every literary device to prove you know what they are. I want to show you works that move you and make you think…make you feel. And I want to know what they make you think, and how they make you feel. The only way to fail this class is to not try.”

God your voice. It was as sweet as your perfume and had a velvet cadence that stuck to Matt’s ears like honey. He wanted to listen to you talk for hours, about anything. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest throughout the duration of class, and you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you paced slowly around. You were incredibly nervous. Matt could feel it in the tremble of your fingers, hear it in the slight shake of your voice, and feel it in the rush of blood that never left your cheeks. He found it endearing that you were so anxious, and could hear how passionate you were in the way you spoke. Everything about you drew him in, and before he could stop himself, he was marching up to your desk once everyone filed out of the room to introduce himself.

“Excuse me? Hi, my name is-”

“Matthew Murdock, right?”

Matt abruptly paused, and he swallowed the sound that threatened to come out of his mouth at the way you said his name.

“J-just Matt, uh…yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Y/N.”

Your hand was so soft and small clasped in his own, and he could faintly smell the scent of blackberry from a lotion you’d smoothed over your body the previous evening.

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“You have perfect timing, I was actually just about to come to you.”

Matt’s ears perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter, already missing your touch as you slowly let go of his hand.

“You were?”

“Yeah, this is for you.”

You lightly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, carefully guiding his hand to a folder that you had outstretched in your hand. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly as he let his fingers glide over the folder, pausing as they ran over a braille label that had his name on it. Taking the folder into his hands, he opened it to find stacks of paper in braille on the inside.

“It’s the syllabus, a list of the works we’re studying, and the first section of notes we’re going to go over. I wasn’t sure if you were able to access the digital copies. I’m still trying to figure out how the portal works, honestly.”

There was a timid smile that stretched across your mouth, and Matt could hear a slight bit of nerves in your confession. For a moment he was stunned silent by the kind gesture, swallowing thickly as he closed the folder and offered you a small smile in return.

“I-uh…yeah, I was able to. But um…I-thank you. For this, I uh…I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I like to have tangible copies of things, myself. Helps keep me organized. Or, at least I think it does. Maybe it’s a sensory thing and I’m just tricking myself into thinking it’s making me more productive.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle as you giggled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

“I can understand that.”

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, any help or accommodations at all, please don’t hesitate to tell me. All my information is on the syllabus, and I practically live here since I never go home, so my office is always open.”

“Good to know.”

From that day forward, Matt sat in the front row for every single class. He blitzed through every single text on the syllabus, always prepared to participate in the discussions, and approached every assignment early. He wanted so badly to impress you, and his chest swelled with pride every time you complimented one of his thoughts or ideas, or stayed behind after class to offer your positive verbal feedback on one of his assignments.

Matt knew he wasn’t the only one that wanted the pretty, young professor’s attention. He could hear the way the other students in class talked about you, which caused a tide of possessiveness to rise in his chest. Matt could also feel your affect on them as you smiled in their direction, or offered a compliment to one of their remarks, and it made jealousy simmer in his bloodstream. He was determined to be your favorite.

He found himself constantly stopping by your office hours to feign needing help or a second opinion on his approach to a paper, mainly as an excuse to talk to you alone, but also to scratch that itch of praise when you confirmed he was on the right track. Matt knew he was smart, and he knew he wrote incredible papers, but he liked hearing that come from you.

He loved when you complimented his intelligence. Was it wrong to fake being unsure just to hear you say, “That’s exactly right, Matt” or “I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but I love that idea”? Probably. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt good.

Matt had to be careful playing dumb. You both knew he was smart, so he had to switch his tactics up. He found himself asking for other recommendations for reading material from you, wanting to know what your favorite works were, going out to buy them and consume them just to get a glimpse into your head, and then listen to the passion in your voice as you explained why they meant so much to you. He liked that you asked him questions too, questions he didn’t hear you ask any of the others when they stopped by. You asked him about how his other classes were going, how his day had been, about himself and his friends, and he could tell you genuinely cared about the answers. Every second he spent with you, he felt the crush he had on you getting stronger and stronger. He knew the way he felt about you was wrong. You were his professor, and he shouldn’t be having the thoughts about you that he did.

He shouldn’t feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest every time you smiled in his direction and showered his mind in praise. He shouldn’t feel the spark of something more when you let him hold your arm as you guided him towards your office, reveling in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. He shouldn’t stroke his cock to the sound of your voice from a recorded lecture, waiting to let himself come until it got to the part of the recording where you said his name so sweetly. He shouldn’t be waking up with a wet patch on his sweats after yet another wet dream about fucking you over your desk. All of this was wrong, and the good Catholic boy in him knew that.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Because every time he started to feel guilty about what he was doing, he reminded himself of the way your body reacted to him.

Matt was careful with his flirting, crafting his sentences in a way that could be played off as casual conversation or banter, but riddled with undertones that could only be understood by the person given the cipher. The blood that rushed into your cheeks when Matt complimented you back or said something teasing that made you giggle only fueled his confidence to get bolder and bolder as the weeks went by.

He heard the uptick in your heart rate when he mentioned how soothing he found your voice, and the way it pounded beneath your ribs when he “accidentally” brushed his hand over your exposed thigh to reach for his backpack. He felt the warmth that pooled in your cheeks when he stopped by with your favorite coffee, and when he confessed that you were one of the best professor’s he’d ever had; definitely “his favorite”, he had said. He should’ve felt bad that he could possibly ruin a career that you were clearly very passionate about, but the selfish part of his brain was screaming that you felt it too.

With spring break approaching soon, and the thought of going a whole week without being around you, Matt devised a plan to finally make you his.

The building was empty considering most professors and students had left the previous day to get a head start on vacation plans, but Matt smiled to himself hearing your familiar heartbeat coming from your office. You had made class today optional, in case anyone was traveling or needed the break, and Matt had hoped that he would’ve been the only one to show up. To his disappointment, about half the class was there, but he knew he would get you alone soon enough. Matt waited until your office hours were just about to end, in case any other student had some last minute question, and when he was certain that it was just the two of you alone, he raised his knuckles to knock softly on the worn wood of your open door.

A quiet gasp left your lips, clearly surprised by the company, and Matt had to stop the cocky smirk that threatened to take over his mouth at the way your heart started to beat faster noticing his presence.

“Matt, hey.”

“Hey. I didn’t miss your office hours, did I?”

“Uh…nope. You have exactly a minute.”

Matt’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin at the playful tone in your voice, chuckling as he followed the familiar path from the door to the chair that was directly in front of your desk.

“Well, I’ll make this quick then. I know you have very important spring break plans to get to.”

“Oh yeah. Super important. I mean, my takeout isn’t gonna order itself.”

Matt dropped his backpack on the right side of the chair, folding up his cane as he sank back into the plush cushion and tossed it down by his feet. He pulled off his glasses and set them on your desk, a habit he had gotten into since you’d let it slip that you preferred it when he didn’t wear them.

I feel like you hide behind those, sometimes. It’s nice to get to see all of you, Matt.

His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips as he fixed his gaze in your direction, a timid smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I actually need to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Matt. Whatever you need. What can I do?”

Matt gripped onto his own thigh to steady himself, your immediate response and sweet voice hitting his cock before they even reached his ears. His lips parted slightly when you sat up a little straighter in your chair, leaning in closer over your desk with a warm smile on your lips.

“I need a letter of recommendation for the law program.”

“And you’re asking me?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised tone of your voice, shaking his head slowly as he leaned in closer to your desk and rested his elbows on the surface.

“I already have a few from my other professors, but my advisor mentioned having one from a professor outside of my main area of study would make me seem more…well rounded.”

Matt should’ve felt horrible about lying. He didn’t actually need a letter of recommendation from you. He’d applied to the law program months ago, and had already gotten in, but he would confess that later.

“Mm, so I’m next in line to make you look good?”

“Well, you are my favorite, and you have a way of making everything sound beautiful. If I’d taken your class a long time ago like I was supposed to, I probably would’ve asked you first before anyone else.”

Matt didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath you took, or the way your face instantly became a few degrees warmer.

“You wouldn’t have been able to take my class earlier, Matt. This is my first year, remember? You would’ve been stuck with someone else.”

“I guess I forget sometimes because you’re so good at this. But, that’s true. I don’t think I would’ve liked who I got stuck with as much as I like you. I’m glad I waited for you.”

Matt did his best to stay calm as he heard you swallow thickly, your breathing becoming a little more shallow as your heart rate drummed loudly in his ears.

“That’s…really nice of you to say, Matt-”

“I mean it.”

A blanket of tension suddenly surrounded the two of you, and his lips parted slightly as he caught a faint shudder course through you. Your fingers clutched the hem of your dress where it settled high on your thighs, digging your nails lightly into your palms through the fabric. Matt was waiting for your body to give him a signal, indisputable proof that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, before he crossed that line the two of you had been dancing around.

“Um…when do you need it by?”

“The earlier the better, I’m a little behind. But, take your time. I’d like this to be as…real and honest as possible.”

“I…um…I can have it ready for you by the time we come back from spring break.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I appreciate everything that you do for me, truly.”

“O-of course. It’s my job, Matt.”

Matt’s voice dropped an octave lower as he cocked his head to the side slightly, running his tongue along his bottom lip before the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a devilish smirk.

“No. I think it’s more than that.”

Bingo.

The second he felt you press your thighs together under the desk and the enticing scent of your arousal hit his nose, Matt knew he had you. He rose from the chair steadily, gliding around the side of your desk slowly like a predator circling in on its prey, grabbing onto the sides of your chair as he bent over so that your faces were merely an inch apart.

“I think you know that too, sweetheart.”

“Matt-”

“I think if I put my hand between these pretty thighs, you’d be just as wet for me as I am hard for you.”

A shocked gasp flew past your lips as you sank back further into your chair, fighting the urge to spread your thighs to let Matt test his own theory, and averting your gaze from the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“We can’t-”

Matt lightly grasped your chin in his hand as he forced you to look at him. He delicately traced his thumb along your bottom lip, leaning in ever so slightly to bump his nose against yours as he inhaled your scent deeply.

“You’ve done so much for me. Been so good to me, sweetheart. Shown me so much kindness. I’d like to repay that kindness, and show you how much I appreciate you. You gonna let me do that?”

A soft whine of desperation sounded in your throat, and a huge grin split across Matt’s mouth as you leaned further into his touch. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Yes you are. Because you’re my girl. My good girl.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #college!matt murdock #college!matt x professor!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock request #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil request #daredevil smut

471 notes · View notes

seresinhangmanjake · 2 years

Text

Wants and Needs

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Y/N

Summary: Jake “Hangman” Seresin sets his sights on you, Rooster’s best friend, but it doesn’t take long for you to understand what type of man the cocky, blond pilot is. Unfortunately for Hangman, you have no interest in a womanizer.

Wanrings/Notes: eventual smut (so 18+) This is very similar to my other fic because that one was basically a wip of what this turned out to be. Also: Hangman’s ego, fluff, flirting, protective angry Rooster.

Words: 7020

-----

Jake Seresin had never been nervous a day in his life. Everything he did, he did with the utmost confidence; Each new challenge he set for himself he attacked head-on, but with a level of arrogance that he managed to feel put him above his peers. He was stronger than his teammates, infinitely more good-looking, and he owned the sky. But somehow, all of that dissipated the moment you stepped into Penny’s bar and into his life.

Normally, he wouldn’t care about a random beautiful woman. He’s had plenty, and plenty of women have been intimidated by his presence; so much so that a word from his lips sent them into a fit of fumbling sentences accompanied by flushed cheeks that looked more like the consequence of a day laying under the sun in 90 degree heat. His ended his time with them, somewhat respectfully of course, after a single night to try and find a woman in the bar that could be herself around him, but that was a rare woman at best. A rare woman that he found in you.

When you walked into the bar and he saw you for the first time, he lost his breath and immediately choked on the sip of beer he had just taken, coughing in such a way that the other pilots looked at him as if he was dying. Payback had smacked him on the back a few times until Jake spit out a couple ‘I’m fine’s’ and shooed his hand away.

You hadn’t even noticed him, and he feared what might happen to his reputation if he lost his composure when you undoubtedly, eventually would. Surely though, you wouldn’t do much better once your eyes landed on him. Surely you would have instant daydreams of his mouth on yours as he took you in the supply closet of the bar, just as he did. All women had a weakness for him, and the likelihood of you being the exception was as rare as a woman who could keep her confidence in his presence.

He would be fine. You would look at him and get a flush on your cheeks that he wouldn’t be able to help but picture as absolutely gorgeous, and he would once again gain the upper hand. He would just have to talk to you first; take control of the situation; make the first move. So he did.

He stood straighter from his leaned position against the wall—as if his Captain had just walked in the room—and set his pool cue aside, much to the dismay of the other pilots playing. Making his way over to you was easier than he thought. He didn’t stumble or bump into furniture, instead walking with sure steps.

With each step closer, he found it harder and harder to deny the beauty that a part of him hoped he had simply imagined. You’d been a good thirty feet away seconds ago, and maybe that distance had blurred some of your features. Maybe his mind had seen what he wanted to rather than the reality of it. But then he was next to you, taking deep breaths, and breaking the silence with an easygoing ‘Hey.’

You turned then looked him up and down once before meeting his eyes. And it was confirmed. You were as stunning as that part of him hoped you wouldn’t be, and you had an immediate hold on him.

“You’re a pilot,” you said, nothing detectable in your tone—no awe or amazement—and you turned again to accept the drink that Penny handed you with a smile. “Thanks, Pen.”

“Anything for you, hon. On the house. And welcome back,” the older woman replied, then shot a raised eyebrow at Jake.

She knew. She always knew. The bar owner was tricky that way; could read her patrons like a book and Jake was no exception. She’d warned more than one woman of his nature and he just prayed she could manage to hold off until he charmed you enough to form your own impression of him.

“Anyway,” he said, frowning at Penny before returning his full attention to you, “I’m Hangman,” and he reached his hand out to shake yours.

Staring up at him, you took a sip of your drink, lips wrapping so perfectly around the straw that he felt his pants uncontrollably tighten. He shook it off and gifted you one of his best dimpled smiles.

Tentatively, you placed your hand in his and gave him a single shake before retreating. “Hangman,” you questioned around your straw. “What kind of a callsign is that?”

“Well, they thought Hungman would bring about more questions.”

“Because of its inaccuracy?”

“Hardly, sweetheart.”

You looked down the narrow space separating your bodies to the slight bulge in his pants which thankfully wasn’t so noticeable as to be considered offensive, if you could even really tell the state he was in at all. Humming, you met his eyes again. “As much fun as I’m sure confirming that for myself would be, I have some people to meet, and you’ve now made me three minutes late.”

He leaned against the bar, arm bracing him for support. “I can’t imagine a night with them would end better than a night spent with me. I can guarantee I’d be more satisfying company.”

You squinted with sarcastic suspicion. “Is that so?”

“I’m more than happy to prove it to you if you’d like,” he said with a smirk.

“You could definitely try, Mr. Hangman, but I actually want to spend time with my friends tonight.” Then you passed him.

His eyes followed you making your way in the exact direction he had come from when he approached you, greeted by the wide smiles and hugs of his teammates. Phoenix gave you a big squeeze, Payback, a side hug, and lastly, worst of all, Rooster bent down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

So many women in the world, plenty in this town, and the only one to have made him choke on a liquid was comfortable enough with his sort-of-rival to have his lips on your skin. Now Jake figured he could either leave, like a sane man, or go get his balls busted by Rooster since you clearly will have told the group about his failed attempt to charm you by the time he returned. But Jake Seresin was not a weak man. He didn’t get embarrassed. You hadn’t rejected him, at least not entirely, so what reason did he have for not going back over and being the flirt his coworkers already knew him to be?

So he did exactly that; walked back over, grabbed his cue and sat on one of the stools within the circle of the group, cocky grin back on his face as if your last interaction never happened.

“Y/N,” Phoenix began as she sassily rolled her eyes,” this is Hangman.”

His smile almost dropped from surprise. They didn’t know. If they did they would be mocking him by now for striking out for the first time in his life.

“Hangman, huh?” You smirked.

“Jake,” he said and stuck his hand out to shake yours, holding his breath for the moment your soft skin touched his again. “Seresin.”

“Jake,” you repeated, and he felt a tingle make its way through his veins. “I like that better than Hangman.”

Phoenix snorted as she lined up her cue for a shot. “Just about anyone would.”

That dig he didn’t mind. But when Rooster draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you close to playfully say, “Keep away from this one though, Y/N. His arrogance is mind-numbing and his conversation leaves plenty to be desired,” Jake felt the heavy urge to tackle him from his seat.

“Well, I’ll have to decide that for myself, won’t I.”

Rooster shrugged. “If you enjoy torturing yourself,” he said, then he removed himself from you to gulp his beer dry and take his shot at the pool table.

Jake swallowed as you stared at one another, waiting for everyone else to direct their attention elsewhere before he asked, “So you know Rooster.”

“I do. Childhood friends. Our fathers flew together some before Goose met Maverick.”

“Oh, that is incredibly inconvenient,” he said, turning his head to confirm no one was paying attention before stepping into your space, making you walk backwards until you were both out of view. “He’s sure to poison you against me.”

“If you don’t do that yourself, you mean,” you chuckled, and Jake fought the urge to laugh with you. But he did smile. You were just a touch too sassy, and he loved it. “You know once they bother to look around, they will see that we are both missing.”

“Let them think what they want.”

“Oh no, Hangman—”

“Jake.”

“—I just arrived in town and I don’t need my best friend giving me a lecture about men already. He’s very good at them,” you snorted and took a sip of your drink. “It’s incredibly irritating.”

He nodded and placed his hand flat on the wall beside your head. “So what you’re saying is once we start something we will have to keep it quiet for a bit.” Then he leaned in closer, wrecking the carefully crafted distance between your lips. “I’m fine with that, as long as it’s not quiet forever.”

You put your own palm on his chest before he could get any closer, but still, it was only a few inches that kept you apart. He couldn’t keep his eyes from darting to your lips as you spoke. “There will be nothing for us to start, Jake Seresin. Based on the majority of what you have said to me in the very limited time I have known you, I’m not convinced you have good intentions.”

Your breath fanned his lips. So close. They were so close to his, and he needed to feel them.

“And I don’t have an interest in spending much time with a man who wants one thing and one thing only.” You shoved him gently and giggled at how he stumbled.

“Who said I only want one thing,” he asked as he rubbed his chest in the spot where your hand had been.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “I’ve known men like you my whole life. Somehow, I doubt you will be able to convince me otherwise.”

“I’m always up for a challenge.”

You grinned in a way that squeezed his heart and said, “Well now you have one,” before walking back into the sight of your friends and his teammates.

You thought Rooster had the strongest hugs, which could crush your lungs and snap your rib like a giant snapping a toothpick, but it was nothing compared to those of your shared honorary uncle.

“I’m so glad you came. I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in a year,” Maverick said as he finally released you. His smile rivaled the brightness of the sun as he looked between you and Rooster. “Brad’s going to show you around?”

“That’s the plan. Just two wildlings on the loose around millions of dollars of vehicles and equipment,” Rooster replied as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. As kids you were destructive, and that was putting it nicely. Neither of your families could have expensive things in the home, and when the two of you were put together, it was like the apocalypse had come to town in the form of two tiny monsters. “We should get a move on,” he continued. “Lots to do. Lots to see. Lots to destroy.”

“Alright, alright,” Mav laughed, lightly patting Rooster on the bicep. “But I want the both of you to come to dinner tonight at Pen’s.”

“I think that’s doable,” you said.

Maverick clapped once. “Great! That’s great! You guys go, and come over around seven, yea?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, Brad, give her full tour. Don’t skip a thing.”

“Will do, Mav.”

You both watched as Maverick slipped his arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket and threw a leg over the seat of his bike. The engine echoed in the space and when he rounded the corner, he tossed you a wave which you happily returned.

“He seems to be doing well.”

Rooster laughed, “He’s just excited for you to be here. Wants to move up the wedding I think, as well,” he said, then started towards the door that led back into the main building, which he held open for you. “Ok, so what do you want to see first?”

“So, what do you think?”

Rooster had his eyebrows raised and arms out as he motioned to the rows of planes, one of which he usually flew during missions. “Brad, it’s all amazing. Seriously, I love it. I haven’t seen this stuff up close since dad brought me when I was five.”

With a snort, he said, “Anything you would’ve seen then is now ancient,” but then his smile fell and he cleared his throat. “How are you doing with all of that?”

“Fine.”

Rooster sighed your name.

“Really, Bradley, I’m fine,” you said as casually as you could. “I wasn’t, so I ended up spending a year alone, and now I am, so I moved here to be as close as possible to the people I have left.” It was a smart choice, you knew. Perhaps, the best choice you could have made. When your father died you weren’t sure how to cope but being around Rooster and Mav now gave you the comfort you hadn’t even realized you had been craving for a year. “I’m happy here. I know I’ve only been back a week, but,” you took a breath, “I don’t know, it’s something in the air. I feel like this is where I am supposed to be.”

Rooster beamed as he linked your arm with his and started to stroll along one of the concrete pathways. “Something in the air, huh? I think—”

“Hold on,” you paused, jerking him backwards. “Where is that coming from?”

He waited a second in silence with you, but the moment he heard the harsh bark of the number one-sixty-two, he knew exactly from where it was originating. He snorted. “This way.”

“What?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.” He pulled you along, around the corner to a long stretch of black pavement. “Drills,” Rooster said, bringing you closer to the two men ahead of you, one barking out numbers, the other doing push-ups in time with the barks. “When uncle Mav started training us, he made up this game where one plane tries to ‘shoot down’ the other and whoever loses has to do two-hundred push-ups when they get back to base. It keeps us on our toes.”

“Damn, that’s—”

“A beating,” Rooster chuckled. “Looks like it’s Hangman today. He’ll be a peach but try to ignore him. I’ll introduce you to Cyclone.”

“O-Ok.”

The cold look of the older handsome man before you morphed into a smile the moment he took his eyes off Jake and put them on you. “You must be Y/N,” he said.

“Yep,” Rooster replied, popping the P, then turned to you while motioning to the man. “Y/N, this is Cyclone.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Oh, don’t bother with the formalities,” Cyclone waved a hand. “Right now, the only one who needs to worry about that is Hangman here,” he said, slapping the now-standing blond on his naked back.

You had tried your best, truly, not to look at him—though you could feel the heat of his stare on you—because you knew for a fact that if you looked at him your knees would wobble. And so you steeled yourself the best you could before you let your gaze wander from one man to the other.

A whimper nearly escaped past your lips that you struggled to tamp down. The sight of him, shirtless and practically glistening from the sunsets light shining on his sweaty torso, was almost enough to make you surrender yourself to him right then and there. His chest was still heaving from the intensity of the workout as droplets of perspiration forged rivers over and around the muscles of his abdomen. When your eyes traveled up to his face, his own were glued to your mouth; and it was only then that you realized you had one half of your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

When you released it and darted your tongue out to wet the dryness of that lip, his eyes finally met yours. He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bombing harshly, and you thanked God that Rooster found whatever Cyclone was saying to be so interesting, because if he saw the way you were looking at the blond pilot, he would surely lock you up and throw away the key.

“Are you going to the bar tonight,” Cyclone asked, “to help set up for the new class?”

“Can’t,” Rooster said. “We’ve got dinner with Mav and Pen. But we’ll be there for the Fresh Meat Party tomorrow.”

Jake looked away from you then, but you didn’t miss the tiny quirk of his lips. Regardless of what might happen at the recruits’ party tomorrow night, for the sake of your sanity you just hoped he would have the common decency to wear a shirt.

You were forced to hold you drink close to your chest to avoid knocking it into the loads of pilots packed into the medium-sized bar. Everyone, pilots and some of their significant others, had about two inches of breathing room, but you seemed to be the only one struggling with it. Maybe because pilots were used to being in somewhat tight quarters. And maybe because those pilots’ girlfriends were more than happy to have their bodies smashed up against their man, if not only for the sake of making sure every single woman knew he’d be taken.

But you were both single and unaccustomed to cramped spaces. And for the first time, you were beginning to worder if you had claustrophobia that had just laid dormant for your entire life. You couldn’t even manage to squeeze your way through the bodies to get back to Rooster and your friends. And calling for them was out of the question. Your voice would undoubtedly be drowned out by the roar of combined laughter, shouting, and clinking glasses.

Leaving your drink on the bar, you used both free hands to part the bodies and shimmy yourself through until you could reach one side of the building. The wall felt cool to your skin as you propped yourself against it and got a decent breath for the first time in the night. A fresh breeze from the closest open window penetrated the cloud of heat surrounding you.

“You did pretty well escaping that,” you heard from your left. You whipped your head to the side to find one of the pilots—without question, a new recruit—standing awfully close, one shoulder against the wall as he took sips from his beer.

His smile put all of his shining, white teeth on display, but there was a cocky edge to it. You knew most of the pilots were like this. The danger of their job and their near physical perfection gave them a certain level of confidence few others possessed, but you were getting a little sick of the panty-dropping grin—well, unless it was coming from one particular pilot. Though you couldn’t deny that the one before you, with his dark hair and blue eyes, was as annoyingly handsome as the rest.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your escape; it was narrow. Like a F-18 slipping through a hundred-foot gap between two mountains,” he said, using one of his hands to mimic a plane turning on its side and weaving through imaginary terrain. “Nothing short of impressive.”

“Thanks,” you let out an awkward chuckle. “I think.”

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he said as his eyes drank in the shape of your body. “Eurus.”

Your eyebrows rose. “That’s your call sign?”

“That’s right,” he smirked and winked, but something about it felt slimy,” Greek God of the Eastern Winds and bringer of storms.”

Had the guy dropped his drink in favor of flexing like Hercules, it wouldn’t have surprised you. He certainly had the build to do the hero justice, and the ego to make you nauseous. “Wow. That’s—intense.”

“I’m an intense guy, baby. But I have a feeling you’ll like it.”

Your jaw almost dropped. Why these men felt the need to set their sights on you was beyond you. “Excuse m—”

“Alright, Icarus, that’s enough,” Jake said from behind you. His voice both overworked your heart and provided you a certain level of comfort, like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders in a snowstorm. You turned but he kept his eyes on the younger pilot, clearly amused by the irritation on his face. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“It’s Eurus,” he spat.

“I really don’t care,” Jake chuckled and crossed his arms. “Just move along.”

When the new pilot cursed and left, you copied Jake’s stance, crossed arms and all, and tilted your head to examine him. He was quite proud of himself, you could see. An exercise in stretching his masculine need to protect you for whatever reason. Or if not for that, then solely to put a claim on you.

“Sorry, I was a little late on the rescue, sweetheart,” he said with that damn grin; the grin that, coming from him and him alone, could probably get you to fall on your knees. “It’s hard to get from one side of the bar to the other tonight.”

Scoffing, you sputter out, “The rescue?”

“No need to thank me; your presence is reward enough,” he said, moving closer to you, irises flashing with an intensity that made your lips subconsciously part; enough space between them that his tongue could easily slip inside. “—And I know you’d rather talk to me than him.”

You blinked and regained some shred of your composure. “Don’t be too sure. He said nearly the same thing to me that you did when we first met, just in his own special words.”

“Well I’m at least better looking than he is.”

With a hum, you said, “See, I’m not so sure about that either. Being insanely attractive seems to be a requirement for those in your profession.”

The corners of his lips quirked up, right before he wrapped his fingers around one of your wrists and led you out the back door onto the quieter part of the porch. The waves crashed against the shore; the soft sound more commanding than the chorus of voices back inside. He pulled your body close to his, his thumb rubbing back and forth along the underside of your wrist.

“Hangma—”

“I saw the way you looked at me yesterday. Just admit you want me so we can finally do something about it.”

“As if you didn’t look at me as well.”

“I have no problem admitting to that. You know I want you,” he said, raising a hand to cup your cheek which you gently swatted away.

“You want something from me,” you corrected with a soft laugh, “That’s different.”

“It is different,” he nodded. “It’s also not what I said.”

“I told you I know men like you, and men like you are—”

“Y/N!”

You hopped away from Jake, three solid feet finding their way between your body and his at the sound of Rooster’s tipsy voice. “Brad?”

“Hey,” he called as he peeked his head through the doorway. “I’ve been looking for you. We need you to settle a debate.” He eyed Hangman briefly with pinched brows of a skeptic before looking back at you. “Come on; before we get so drunk we forget what we’re talking about.”

“Be right there.” Rooster returned to the mass of pilots, and you turned back to Hangman. “Rescued twice in one night,” you said, “I’m such a lucky girl,” then you headed back into the bar to find your friends and leave Jake Seresin to himself.

It was weeks. Weeks of him wanting you. Weeks of him flirting, only for you to come back with some witty quip that equally entertained him and put him in his place. Weeks of visiting the bar or waiting for you to visit base, hoping just to steal a glance or two, and hoping you might try to do the same. Thankfully, you never let him down. You wanted him too; he knew it. He just had to figure out a way to get you to give in.

“Y/N, you want in,” Rooster asked from your right, but you barely heard him. Your mind was focused elsewhere, and your gaze unable to be swayed. Instead, it remained tacked to the one man who had been putting in an exorbitant amount of work to frustrate you over the last few weeks.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin rested back in the barstool, his legs spread just enough that if you walked to him you could fit perfectly between them. It would be so easy for him to wrap his arms around you…pull you closer…kiss you. But you remained a good twenty feet away, and all he did was watch you. Even when another pilot spoke to him, his eyes remained on your face as he responded.

“Y/N,” Rooster said a little louder and lightly tapped your arm with the cue. You turned to him and he rose an eyebrow at your cluelessness. “Pool? You in?”

“Oh, uh—right,” you winced. “That’s probably not a good idea. I’m sure I’ve lost any skill I had from when we were teenagers, Brad.”

Rooster laughed and shook his head. “You are the one who taught me,” he said, “And I win half the games we play here.”

“Who wins the other half?”

“That would be me,” the irritating, blond pilot interjected as he stood from his stool and approached the table. Fanboy held his cue out, immediately surrendering it to Hangman. “And ‘half’ is generous. It’s more like 60/40,” he said with that cocky smirk. “Rooster here is alright, but I’m better.”

Your friend crossed his arms then nudged your shoulder with his. “You could still beat him, Y/N.”

“How about it, sweetheart,” Jake asked, grabbing the other cue and offering it to you. Playing games with Jake Seresin seemed to be the only thing you knew what to do with each other. But there was something in you, when challenged by him, that struggled to back down.

You stood a little taller and reached out to take the cue, but he pulled it back just before you could wrap your fingers around it.

“Want to make it more exciting?”

You weren’t sure you could take anything more exciting when it came to him. Just being around him for an hour was enough to fulfill a week’s worth of any excitement you might crave. Rolling your eyes, you exhaled heavily. “How?”

He grinned. “If you win, you can request anything of me, and I will do it.”

Your eyebrows rose and your friends around you snickered when you said, “Even if I want you to strip and run around on the beach at 5 a.m.?” Your finger pointed towards the door that led to the short stairs into the sand. His eyes followed that line, and then he looked back at you.

“Even then.”

Chuckles echoed in the room, Payback slapping Jake on the back in hysterics over the mental image you provided.

“But if I win,” he continued, and you could see by the sparkle in the green of his irises that whatever he had planned was likely to piss you off. “—you let me kiss you.”

The laughter around you died. Mouths snapped shut and eyes widened as your group of pilots looked back and forth between you and Jake, and then at each other in complete shock. The air was tense and thick enough to be cut by a knife; a knife in the form of Rooster’s inflamed tone.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Keep out of it, Rooster,” Jake said, still watching you, “This has nothing to do with you.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” Rooster stood, but the back of your hand landed in the center of his chest to stop him from taking a single step in Jake’s direction.

“It’s fine. Brad. Just because he has an overinflated ego doesn’t mean he will win.”

Jake tilted his head. “You’ll have to play to find out, won’t you.”

The group had watched the game with bated breath as you and Jake each took your shots, and it wasn’t until you sunk the eight ball that they all exhaled heavily enough to draw your attention to each one.

“Thank God.” Rooster let out a relieved sigh, put his hand over his heart, and said “I’ve avoided the heart attack.” He gave you a crushing hug, but then left the bar with the other pilots; all leaving in groups of two. Rooster and Coyote first, then Bob and Phoenix before Payback and Fanboy, until only you and Jake remained.

He gathered up all the balls and put them back in the center of the table, avoiding the way your eyes followed the movements of his muscled arms.

“You let me win,” you said.

He quietly snorted as he grabbed the cues and placed them back on the wall. “You think I wanted to lose,” he asked, “when all I’ve thought about from the moment we met is kissing you? Well—among other things.”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” He turned and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the wall. He gestured a hand your way. “Explain.”

“You were never going to force me, Jake,” you said, starting to walk over to him. “Because, at the end of the day, what would that prove—“ you stalled when a couple feet was all that kept your body from his— “You want me to want you by deciding that all on my own. If we kissed only because you won, then did you really win?”

Seconds of silence passed. He briefly broke eye contact as he rubbed at his chin. “Yea, well, that wasn’t the initial plan. But it may have occurred to me towards the end there.”

Your lips quirked at his honesty. Never would you have imagined Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin admitting to a miscalculated plan. That was akin to admitting defeat for him, and defeat was not something he swallowed any better than a spoiled child. “Do I get to make my request now?”

“You won, didn’t you,” he said. “Do I need to mentally prepare myself for arrest after I strip on a public beach?”

“No.”

“What should I prepare for then? Some creative rejection? Maybe a little maiming?”

“Jake—”

“Death?”

You shook your head. “I want you to kiss me.”

Any glint to his eyes or humor in his tone eased as the corners of his lips slowly settled back to their natural placement. “Y/N—"

“I’m serious.”

He waited a moment, eyes prodding yours for any hesitation, but when he found none, he was on you before you could take another breath, one hand wrapping around your waist, the other tangling in your hair so he could hold you to him. His warm mouth covered yours, taking your bottom lip between his two and lightly sucking. Your lips parted and he slipped his tongue inside to meet yours, and when you moaned into the kiss, the arm around your waist tightened.

When you pulled away for air, he nudged his nose against yours and bowed until your foreheads could gently meet. “Come back to base with me,” he said and gave you another peck.

You hummed sweetly at the idea but whispered, “No.”

“Why not?”

Your eyes were closed but you could sense the smile on his face. Then, reaching up, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lifted your chin until your lips could connect again, and said, “Because I live closer.”

He couldn’t let you go. He wouldn’t stop touching you. His hands clutched so tightly to your t-shirt he was sure the fabric would be stretched when it came time to examine it in the morning. But he didn’t care. He just wanted it off, that barrier gone between you, so he took it by the hem and pulled it over your shoulders.

Looking at you in your lacy garment, an involuntary groan escaped his throat; and when he yanked the cups of your bra down until your breasts spilled free, completely exposing you before him, he could have whimpered. Pupils swelled, overtaking the green, at the sight of your nipples already hardened and the gooseflesh that began to spread over them from the chill.

“God,” he whispered, still trying to hold back that whimper at the feeling of your tightened, pink buds under the pads of his thumbs. “I better not be dreaming.”

You inched up on your toes, licked your lips, and said, “You’re not,” before softly placing them on his.

His head instantly fuzzed, senses overwhelmed, all thoughts shoved out of his brain but those of you. You. His lips parted so he could draw your bottom one between them to suck and nibble. The touch of your tongues made his knees betray him. The feel of your fingers grazing the lines of his jaw sent shivers down his spine. And he needed to control this before he collapsed on the floor.

He tucked his fingers under the bands of your leggings and underwear and pulled down, then painfully slowly trailed those fingers over the plumpness of your thighs until he reached between your legs and buried them within the warmth of your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he moaned, eyes squeezing shut as his forehead dipped down to meet yours. He barely registered your palms moving down his chest, undoing the button and zipper of his pants, and shoving your hand inside to wrap around his cock.

Reluctantly, he removed his hand from your heat to brace on your hips so he didn’t drop to his knees. It was nothing like he imagined as you pumped him. He didn’t think this would kill him, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. He gripped handfuls of your ass and yanked you close until you were chest to chest, and he suddenly, desperately, he needed your breasts against his skin. Then, as if you had linked minds, you switched to unbuttoning his shirt. Button by button swelled anticipation until you shoved the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms leaving him free to wrap them around your waist again and reconnect your lips.

He kicked his pants off and walked you backwards until your legs hit the arm of your couch, then spun you and eased you over so your stomach rested against the leather with your ass on display for him. He locked the next breath in his lungs until it burned before releasing it shakily. Everything he had dreamed about for weeks was right there before him, willing to be taken, wanting and wet for what he had to give.

Another groan escaped when he rubbed the tip of his cock through your folds before shoving himself entirely inside you.

“Jake,” you softly cried, and his pinched eyebrows softened.

His hands clung to your hips, holding you still to keep himself fully sheathed in your warmth as he let himself adjust to the feel of your walls squeezing him. He bent over and placed sweet, simple kisses down your spine before returning to full height.

“Y/N, I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he whispered, and he wasn’t sure you heard him, but then you straightened up, your back to his chest, and turned your head to kiss him.

“It won’t be,” you whispered back, and gave him another peck. Then you leaned down again so he could drag his cock out before slamming back into you.

Your cries of pleasure were a drug. Ecstasy. Heaven. A golden coating to his veins that carried pure bliss throughout his body. He prayed you were his now; that you wanted him to claim you as his. Because he was yours. He had been yours from the moment he saw you walk into that bar.

The kiss on your forehead was what stirred you, and the mumble you made in response melded with the chuckle of a deeper voice.

“Morning,” he said, pressing more kisses to your skin; your cheek, your exposed shoulder, and then your lips. A warm touch brushed stray hairs out of your face. “Coffee?”

You lazily gestured in the general direction of the kitchen before your arm flopped back to your side. “Far left cabinet, above the maker.”

He kissed you again, then tossed the covers off his body and slipped his boxers on. “Be right back,” he said, his heavy footsteps making their way to the door that he softly opened and closed. But the kind care he put into trying not to disturb you further was immediately overpowered by a jarring “What the fuck!”

You shot up, grogginess sprouting concern, and you rushed to wrap the bedsheet around your body and hurry into the kitchen. The sight before you stopped you in your tracks and seized all blood flow. “Shit.”

Rooster sat in one of the stools at your kitchen island, newspaper spread out on the marble countertop and your ‘my best friend is a pilot’ mug in his hand, filed to the brim with the black liquid. His jaw was slack, but brows could not possibly have been more turned down in the center. The glare he gave Hangman would have been enough to shatter you, but Jake stood still, a strong wall of a man who had no issue maintaining eye contact with your best friend.

“What the actual fuck is this,” Rooster growled, finally directing his stare at you, forcing the sudden urge to clutch the sheet and wrap it tighter around your body.

“Rooster—,” Jake began, but was instantly interrupted by your friend jumping out of his chair.

“You shut your fucking mouth!” Rooster pointed a finger at Jake as he stomped towards him, but you snuck your body between them before Rooster could get too close, placing the hand not holding up the sheet on his chest to try and stop him.

“Bradley,” you pleaded. “Breathe.”

And breathe he did, just not the way you wanted. His chest expanded greatly with every heavy, heated inhale. His eyes flared from the streaming sunlight through your window reflecting off of them. A raging bull was a before you, waiting to be taunted further. “Bastard.”

“Stop it,” you snapped, shoving him until he fell back a step. “What are you even doing here?”

“That’s what you think is most important right now!”

“This is my house!”

The dip of his eyebrows eased when he recognized the anger in your eyes. He never liked to make you mad; it rarely did him any good when you had no problem putting him in his place. “You have the good coffee,” he said. “And I wanted to talk to you, so I used the spare key and thought I would wait until you got up.”

Jake crossed his arms from behind you, and it was only that simple movement that had Brad’s death glare back on him. It shocked you that Hangman managed to keep his mouth shut. The cocky arrogance you knew he possessed could have reared its ugly head in a half-second in response to Brad’s outburst, but he was holding himself back.

“Did you get drunk after we left,” Rooster asked you. “Did he take advantage of y—”

“Jesus, no!” you shouted, slapping at the side of his arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? Am I not old enough, mature enough, to decide to be with him on my own?”

He scoffed. “Be with him? That sounds like whatever this—” he motioned between you and Jake “—is, will be more than a one-time thing?”

“That’s because it isn’t a one-time thing, jackass,” Jake said, and you shot him a look of warning.

Rooster’s eyes narrowed. “That better be a lie.”

“Bradley—”

“That better be a goddamn lie, Y/N!”

You recoiled at his shout, but regaining your backbone, said, “It’s not a lie!”

Seconds passed, achingly quiet, then Rooster shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I do not approve of this,” he spit out through gritted teeth.

“Brad—”

“And neither will Uncle Mav.”

His words stunned you into silence and wasn’t until the front door to your house slammed closed that you snapped out of it. Muscled arms wrapped around your body from behind as a kiss fell onto the crook where your neck met your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jake whispered against your skin.

“Don’t be,” you sighed, and twisted in his arms until you could lay your head against his bare chest. “He’s out of line. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not going to dump me because of this?”

You looked up at him and ran a finger softly along the line of his jaw, and when that fingertip reached the middle of his chin, you gently pulled his face forward and kissed him.

“No,” you said. “So don’t worry.”

Tag: @marvel-ousnesss

#jake seresin x reader #jack hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin x y/n #hangman x y/n #hangman top gun #jake seresin top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake seresin maverick #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin #top gun hangman #hangman x reader

2K notes · View notes

seravphs · 11 months

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GETOU SUGURU x FEM READER

“Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined.” - On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong

wc — 5.3k

tags — cult leader Getou, follower/non sorcerer reader, religion, the intimate relationship between a god and a devotee, thus inherent power imbalance, occasional plot relevant use of honorifics, love as worship, don’t question why Getou like that, he just is, he’s so delusional, Getou pierces your ears and it feels like something more

His body is unnaturally cold to an unbearable degree, as it always is. He’s not quite human after all, though you don’t have a name for what he is. He calls himself a sorcerer, but you don’t trust everything that comes out of his mouth.

You shouldn’t. He likes to lie, especially to you.

Geto traces the curve of your ear with his chilly fingers, forcing you to repress your full body shudder. You’d never admit that you like it. You’ve grown used to the frost on your face when he kisses you, the ice seeping all the way down through your bones until you’re wracked with shivers, relishing in the physical reminder of your god.

Do normal worshippers kiss their gods?

Probably not the way you do, but their gods aren’t quite so close. They’re rarely so willing to touch, or so quick to initiate. Like most divine beings, Geto likes to watch over. He likes to hold his fragile little possessions in the palm of his hand. He likes to own.

Your ear is numb. He’s preparing you for what comes next, shockingly gentle. There’s trepidation in you, still, though to be hurt at his hands means something. It’s an offering. You’re willing to accept the cost of that when you have nothing else to give.

“Will it hurt?” Your voice is all but a whisper.

“Come now,” he says, vaguely amused. “I’m pushing a needle through your ear. Of course it’ll hurt, my little lamb, don’t be silly.”

“Don’t say it like that, please,” you whine piteously, curling your fingers into the sleeves of his yukata. He indulges you like a particularly beloved pet who’s done a cute trick for him. There’s adoration in his eyes, though you’re sure he sees you as not a partner but a plaything.

“Be brave,” he says, turning to the table he’s set up to his right. “You asked for this.”

Like with most things, you had just wanted his attention. Even now, your fear is mostly exaggerated. It’s all for the sake of seeing him, letting him fawn over you.

You wish he’d keep speaking. He has a nice voice. It’s probably easier to concentrate when he’s not talking, but you wouldn’t mind if he screwed this up. It would just be another excuse to see him again.

The crunch of your cartilage startles you so badly you almost jump, ruining the entire thing. Getou presses you back into your seat with a hand on your shoulder. The pressure just borders on painful. His hand is heavy.

You love being under your God’s thumb.

“Shh-shh,” he murmurs mindlessly as he works, pushing the needle all the way through. Your ear lobe feels just slightly heavier as the metal locks into place.

“There,” he says, satisfied. He steps back to survey his work. You can’t see it, but he looks pleased with himself, so that’s enough for you. “How pretty.”

He laughs when you turn your head to the side, gracing you with more love, more touches. He could give you his affection until it drained him dry and it wouldn’t be enough. You want all of him.

“So eager,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Slow it down. I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you’d take anything he gave you.

The second ear is noticeably easier than the first. He’s surer of himself, and you’re less trembly.

When he’s finished, your ears flash two new sparks, piercings to match your beloved divinity. He doesn’t mind if you’re arrogant, so you take your time to preen over yourself in the mirror. He stands behind you, a shadow to your flame.

“We’ll stretch it slowly,” he promises. “I won’t let it hurt.”

“We’ll match,” you say wonderingly, touching your ears even though he told you not to. The image of yourself with earlobes stretched with gauges like his is strangely appealing.

This is love, to be made into the image of your god. To become something worth protecting.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Your mother thinks you’re being possessed by the devil.

It started a year ago. In the beginning, it was a creeping sensation down your back, like fingers walking down your spine. Over time, it grew more malicious. You shook with chills in the stifling heat of summer, teeth chattering with an unseen force. Something else lives within you, sucking on your breath.

Malaise chokes the air around you. It chases you, illness and black smog. Life through a chilly, viscous haze is no life at all. You’re the epicenter of a misery so strong the physical world would bend to it.

In some ways, it felt deserved.

You’d been raised to believe that things happen for a reason. A careful balance had been set on your life at birth that you had unknowingly tipped.

If you suffer, it must be karmic.

It feels right. You’ve always felt a desire to atone for your life, though atone for what you can’t specify. The weight of whatever curse you’re carrying around feels like divine justice.

(Later, you learn that curse is indeed the correct description.)

But if your punishment is divine, so is the source of your redemption.

You meet Getou on an auspicious day.

A total of seven wedding processions are spotted on your way to the temple where the man who will save you resides. Everyone is trying to take advantage of the lucky day, including you.

The brides you pass look so different from you it’s as if they’re in a world entirely apart. You feel no connection between yourself and the beautiful women in their bright white shiromukus, an undefinable distance too wide to explain.

Like the moon, their faces glow with the promise of new happiness. They will enter their new lives with joy and humility, as befitting a married woman. Although you are the same species, when you look in the car’s vanity mirror, the resemblance falls short. Eyes, a nose, lips - you all share these traits of humanity, and yet something about you feels fundamentally different.

Your mother has noticed your gaze. She reaches over the center console to grasp your hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Everything will be alright,” she says reassuringly. “Getou-sama was highly recommended.”

You smile at her but say nothing. A million exorcists have tried and failed to cure you. You no longer have any faith in this industry, if it truly is one and not just a series of one con-artist after another trying to take advantage of vulnerable people like your mother.

If this Getou is a scam artist, he’s a successful one. Even if you try to fight it, a sense of awe overcomes you at the grandness of his temple. A staircase has been carved into the side of a steep cliff. The white stone gleams, polished everyday by the natural elements. Salt spray and wind take precedence here, reminding humans that their reign over Earth is only a blink in the eye of a long history.

Here, the world feels old.

Even from below, the temple is large enough to be seen. The red of its wood burns in the sun, making it appear as if the grand building is ablaze. As you get closer, you can see the hanging shimenawa ropes and the shide. You feel small beneath such grandeur.

Even by the millionth step, when pain overtakes your legs, the awe doesn’t leave you.

Can you call it a trap if you walk into it with your eyes open? Though you know all of this wonderment is intentional, you still feel it tearing at your heart. Your condition makes it hard to leave your home. The bright blue of the sky burns your eyes after days spent trapped within your room, walking only as far as you’re able to pace. Standing on the solid stone, feeling the wind tear at your hair, you feel half wild yourself.

There must be a reason the temples are always located in nature. There’s a howling in your heart.

Witnessing Getou Suguru inspires a feeling in you similar to that of the temple. Wearing his monk robes and a small smile, something about him feels otherworldly. There’s a depth to his eyes, a predator hiding beneath the waves. It’s a curious blend of comfort and fear. Even when the idea of approaching him seems as appealing as placing your hand beneath a knife, you feel a call to him.

Your mother says he’s a saint.

That doesn’t feel right.

His hands are gentle when he guides you to sit before him, but you feel the strength in them. The grip he has on you is intentional, like he’s holding something infinitely precious - or infinitely fragile. You fold your legs underneath you, adopting the traditional position for prayer. When he brings your hands together, you clasp them faithfully, and it feels like worship.

It doesn’t matter what else it could’ve been when it feels right. You don’t need to think of anything else.

He guides your head. With your chin tilted down, you can no longer see his eyes. There’s something unsettling about them, like looking into the cold killer pupils of a shark. Without them, you feel slightly more at ease, and paradoxically, more unsafe.

A hum builds in the room as he works. Your ears pop as he traces a slow circle around you, watching, waiting.

“Eyes closed,” he reminds you as you start to fidget.

Your spine jerks under a sudden pressure. You double forward onto your hands and knees, gasping for breath as it pushes down harder. There’s a growing ache in your straining ribs, but you keep your eyes shut as you were told. Your mother makes a muffled noise of distress.

“Patience,” Getou says. “All will be revealed in time.”

He stops in front of you. You can hear the rustling of his robes as he moves. Desperately, you want to open your eyes. The longer you wait in the darkness, the more terrified you feel. In the absence of sight, you feel the intensity of every other sense that much more, trying to make up for this new vulnerability.

In your hindbrain, you register how submissive your position is. You’re prostrate in front of him, begging to be saved. And as if that was all he needed, an acknowledgement of your own deference to a greater power, his hand slides under your chin. You raise your head with him, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes as you feel yourself beginning to be crushed under him.

When he kisses your forehead, there’s nothing but relief.

The pressure you’d grown used to lifts off your spine. Your body shudders and throbs with bright flashes of not pain, but something adjacent. Only the wetness on your cheeks reminds you that you’re still crying without noise.

You feel full.

There’s something inside of you, something greater. Proximity to Getou feels like holiness, burning up that dark smog you’ve been carrying around your whole life. It feels like you’ve swallowed a star that’s been searing you the entire way down, but the pain is bright and beautiful.

You’re too sensitive to be touched, but someone’s holding you. Your mother is rocking you like you’re a baby again, whimpering into your hair like she’s a child herself. You weep together, one silent and one deafening. All of your anguish pours its way out through her, like she’s a conduit for the things you cannot open your mouth to say yourself. Her noise is yours.

Getou stands over the two of you, waiting.

Something about the way he’s looking at your mother makes you want to divert his attention from her. He’s a god, but a dark one. Every movement is painful at the moment, but you manage to bring your hand to clutch at his robes.

“Thank you,” you whisper through a cracked throat.

He brings something to his mouth and swallows. Revulsion works its way over his face and disappears instantly. He’s like still water - nothing moves him. It all passes through him, diffused into nothing. He’s simply too great to be colored by things as simple as human feelings.

“It was nothing,” he says, and you get the feeling that for him, it was.

Your mother kisses the hem of his robes, thanking him and Buddha. To her, he’s the miracle worker who saved her child. She didn’t see his expression.

“How?” You ask.

“The details would bore you,” he replies. It’s a non-answer and you know it. “It’s all thanks to the merciful heavens.”

But your mother accepts this without complaint, pushing even more money at Getou than she paid for this initial service. Her hands are shaking as she counts the bills, then gives up entirely, pushing it all at him. You’re just as grateful to Getou as she is, but you’re worried about her. Gently, you take her by the shoulders and try to lead her out of the temple as fast as possible after giving him your own thanks.

“Wait,” Getou says. “Leave your daughter here.”

Your mother freezes. Her mouth forms a thin, wavering line of upset, but you can see it in her eyes. She suspected something like this might happen.

“Please, Getou-sama,” she says. “She’s my only child. If something were to happen to her-”

Getou takes her hands in his. “Rest assured, she will be treated with the same care as if she were myself. Nothing will happen to her while I live, I promise you.”

“I can’t-”

“With the curse that I just exorcized from her, I fear she might be weak and vulnerable to attack from other spirits. She may be repossessed as soon as she leaves this building, but she’ll be safe with me. This is the best course of action.”

“Getou-sama, I understand but-”

“Mama,” you interject. “It’s alright.”

You feel a faint sting of regret at the look of open betrayal on her face. Your mother has done so much for you, putting up with a cursed daughter without complaint. You want to spare her that life.

“I’ll get well soon and return to you.”

“I don’t know…”

You put your arms around her, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. She’s carried the burden of your existence for so many years. You want her to let it go, just this once.

So you stay, and she goes.

Getou gives you a room in the temple and promptly washes his hands of you, as you suspected he might. If he’s keeping you around, it’s for his own purposes, though you may not know them. Instead, his servants remain at your beck and call.

You never want for anything, but your days are lonely. Anything is better than how you were living before, however. After that, you can endure anything.

Despite the wishes of his secretary, who’s the most common face you see these days, you’ve taken to having night walks outside. The temple is still as painfully beautiful to you as it was the first time you saw it.

Sitting outside, with your feet dangling over the ledge and the chilly wind against your face, you feel like you’ve been born again. The air is quiet here. You let your cheek rest against the rough stone of the handrail, your arms pillowing your head. There are a million stars in the sky tonight.

A million stars, and you count each one, placing them on one side of the balance.

A point towards goodness.

One for bad.

Another bad one.

The game gets boring after a while. You have no way of determining where your scale falls. Only someone like Getou could do that. Someone blessed.

Your breath is coming in short puffs again. Even pressing your head to the cool stone doesn’t help you swallow down your nausea. Maybe you aren’t cured, after all.

Maybe whatever’s in you is incurable.

Something brushes over your shoulder and is gone in an instant.

When you turn, Getou is standing behind you. His throat works, in the last actions of swallowing. The breeze ruffles his hair as it did yours. Silhouetted against the darkness, he looks even closer to divinity than he did in the temple. It’s like he was made for this - to stand here in nature and command it.

A god.

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” He says, and his voice is pleasant but the undertones aren’t. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“A little bit of night air isn’t going to kill me, Getou-sama.”

“I told you spirits were going to come for you.”

“Is that what that was?”

He looks at you, amused despite himself. It all seems despite himself, as if whatever Getou presents himself to you as is nothing but a skin the real creature inside wears. It peeks out at you from time to time. You’d like to get to know it. Though scary, it seems more appealing than this facade.

“Suit yourself,” he says. He turns to walk away, but you’ve been lonely. Even a monster is a welcome sight when your only companion is silence.

“Where have you been?”

His back still to you, he pauses. “Is that any business of yours, little lamb?”

“You promised my mother,” you remind him. “You said you’d take care of me.”

When he said it, you knew full well he had every intention of breaking that promise as soon as she left. True to form, he continues walking.

Desperately, you throw out, “I want cake! The next time you’re in town, you better bring me some. All you eat here are fruits and vegetables.”

Getou doesn’t stumble, but his step stutters. There’s a jump to his shoulders like a hiccup - or a stilted laugh.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says.

Then, rare honesty.

“For a second,” he says, his smile bitter, “you just reminded me of someone.”

There’s cake at your next meal, and two children. One you were expecting, and the other two you weren’t. They’re hovering in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes.

Or rather, they’re watching the cake. They’re practically salivating as you lift the fork to your mouth. Feeling a little mean, but not mean enough to stop, you jerk your fork left. Their eyes follow it, entranced. Right. Again, their eyes trace your movement. You wave it in the air. Like bobble heads, their chins bounce with their movements as they watch your fork like a hawk.

When you break out in laughter, they realize they’ve been caught.

“Don’t run,” you cajole as they turn, stumbling over themselves. They’re the only other people you see besides the servants. Getou doesn’t visit, and why would he? The divine have no need for the mortal realm. “Come here. I can share.”

They dart out like little fish in a school, never straying too far from each other. Rather than separate beings, they seem like a two headed creature as they snatch the plate you offer them and scurry back towards the door. It’s alright if they’re shy.

They’re children. You understand, even if you’re lonely. No one will talk to you in this vast, empty cathedral. None of the servants will answer you with more than clipped responses, single words to everything.

You miss Getou, his holiness and inscrutability. Miss the way he felt larger than life.

You ask after him, but you never see him. Instead of Getou, his secretary arrives to ask you to not be a nuisance. She’s polite about it, of course, but the message is clear regardless. Someone like Getou is too important to be bothered by the likes of you.

Sometimes, they let you watch him from a distance. It’s not special to you. He has public exorcisms, shows he puts on for his devoted bass of followers. None of them live in the temple like you. His secretary keeps a careful eye on you, never letting you get too close.

It’s enough just to watch at first, studying him, but soon it falls flat as well. It’s no replacement for the actual man. The distance between you feels like miles.

For the most part, they leave you to wander.

The temple is even larger than you thought it was from the outside. You lose yourself in the winding hallways. Every red paneled door and gold lacquered intersection looks the same.

Inevitably, you get lost. Your feet have carried you far from your room, and now there’s nothing to do but keep moving.

Hall after hall blurs together until you hear the sound of voices. You follow the low timbre of Getou’s voice until you come into a screened room. There’s a hole in the patterned cloth, and when you put your eye to it, you see Getou and a young man.

Dim candles burn in the room. The fire leaps in tune with Getou’s breath. As the boy lies on the floor, Getou murmurs over him. Sweat beads on the boy’s forehead as he lets out little shuddering breaths. His muscles move in violent spasms. Your own joints ache in sympathetic pain.

Finally, Getou holds his hand out, though you can’t see what it contains, and swallows once more. He grimaces, as if the taste is revolting. His lips form around the word ‘weak’, then he’s helping the boy up and escorting him to the door. The air becomes suffocating without a third force to stand between the two of you, as if the boy had been a buffer. Still, you watch him.

“Come out,” Getou calls. “It’s not polite to spy on people. Should I tell your mother?”

“Then you’d also have to tell her you’re neglecting me.”

“I’m not neglecting you,” he says, moving the screen aside.

“You said I’d be treated like your own blood.”

“Haven’t I given you whatever you asked for? Even cake?”

You suppose he has.

He gives you a funny look.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He says, his voice warm and light.

It feels fake, but it still soothes you. A god is a god even if the altar is plastic. All it takes is one worshiper.

“You saved me.”

“Hmm,” he says in response. “You haven’t attracted any menacing spirits lately, little lamb. I suppose I won’t have much more saving left to do.”

Cold fear strikes you with your epiphany. You pick up the subtext behind what he’s saying, even if he’s not aware of it, ever casual in his delivery. The minute you’re free of your demons, you won’t matter to him anymore. You’ll return home and never see him again.

Somehow the idea breaks your heart, when once all you wanted was to be free.

Devotion makes you do stupid things. Underneath the catacombs of the temple, you sit on the cold stone floor, only a single flickering candle to illuminate your path. You don’t know how this works, or even if it’ll work.

You’ve never tried to be possessed purposefully, after all, but where the idea of demons once scared you, now the idea of leaving Getou’s side is more terrifying. You can’t bear the idea of losing your god, not when you just found him.

The candle jumps.

You try to steady your breathing, reminding yourself that this is what you want. Slow, syrupy, your thoughts begin to tumble towards nothingness. You open yourself up to pollution, purposefully making yourself vulnerable. Whatever was preying on you when Getou first found you that night is invited in.

Your breathing starts to come harder. Stars pulse behind your eyes, and a sickly sensation comes over you. You find you can’t stand, feeling a overwhelming pressure physically holding you in place.

Please, you think through bleary thoughts. This has to work.

The pressure is so great you fear your spine will snap. Your world tilts sideways as you slump down to the ground. All of a sudden, you feel so, so tired. As if you could go to sleep right now.

Right before your eyes close, someone gathers you up into his arms.

“You’ve attracted another strong one,” Getou says. “Do you enjoy getting into trouble?”

It’s unseemly for you to disrespect your god so, yet you’re so delirious from your experience that you can’t seem to remember propriety as you curl closer to him.

“I wanted to see you,” you murmur, your eyes filling with tears unwillingly. You wipe them away, feeling childishly embarrassed. How much less he must think of you, to see you reduced to tears by nothing. “You never come visit.”

“I was busy. Why would you even try something like this?” He’s walking now, the rocking motion of his steps making it hard to stay awake. “How did you even know if I would come?”

“I know you.”

A little, anyway. You’ve been watching him, trying to piece together the little moments he slips.

“What would you understand about me?” Getou says. “You’re so weak. All of you are.”

For a moment, something ugly hangs over the expression of your savior, your god. You only catch it because you’re always watching him. His teeth pull back into a cringing smile, as if he’s repulsed by you. As if there’s some kind of inherent taint to your existence. But all of these things pass over his face and are gone in an instant.

You don’t mind your weakness. Otherwise, you might not have met him.

He stops in front of your room. For a second, you think he’ll let you down, and he seems about to, but instead, he pushes through the door. He carries you right over to your bed and pulls the sheets back to lay you down.

“Thank you for saving me, Getou-sama. Again.” You smile up at him.

He laughs, then looks startled by his own reaction. “That’s all you have to say in response?”

“You’re a god, Getou-sama. Of course you think I’m weak. It’s why I need you.”

“You know,” he says. “I can’t tell if I love you or hate you.”

It’s the most honesty he’s ever showed you. Warmth swells in you. You feel obligated to return the favor.

“But you’re being so kind to me right now, Getou-sama. I couldn’t imagine you hating me.”

“You’re right,” he says, caressing your cheek. “I can’t.”

It’s a lie, but that’s alright. If it’s from him, you’ll take even hard love. It doesn’t have to be good. He doesn’t enjoy it. But he does like you, a little, even against his will. Whatever force pushes him away from you, there’s a force of at least equal strength pulling him in.

Something changes between the two of you that day. Getou’s still cold, still keeps you at a distance, but he lets you hang around him. They way you’re treated makes you feel almost like a pet, but it’s alright.

He tells his secretary off for you. She tries to intervene, to pull you away as she often did in the past, but this time Getou stops her with an easy command on his lips. His arm shoots between the two of you, warning her away.

Ever the consummate professional, the shock melts from her face almost instantly as she respectfully nods and fades into the background. You don’t know what this means for your relationship, but now he lets you tag along with him whenever he’s in the temple.

You try not to read too much into things you can’t be certain of, but sometimes the way he smiles at you makes you think he might find it cute, the way you trot on his heels. If he finds you particularly good that day, he might even reward you with a little spoiling, granting you little touches like tucking your hair behind your air or stroking your cheek.

He takes some meals with you now. If it’s breakfast, he’ll make small talk with you, asking you about your never changing days. Even though nothing ever happens here, he stills shows interest in everything you have to say. You preen under his attention, blossoming like a morning glory.

During dinner, he prefers the quiet. The days exhaust him now. You know he’s preparing for something, though you’re not sure what. He’s a little stranger these days, a little more on edge. Sometimes his eyes dart behind your chair, following things you can’t see, though he never lets them touch you.

If you catch him asleep, it’s never peaceful. He dreams restlessly, calling out in his sleep for a man you don’t know.

All you know is that whatever he’s planning is taking it’s toll on him. It’s hard to guess what he wants when he would never show weakness to you. Gods don’t allow their devotees privileges like that.

But you’re determined.

You know he likes you sweet and warm. He calls you his little lamb, his darling thing. You’re the peace he finds when he comes home from hunting spirits or gathering followers. You like to be that for him.

The next dinner you have with him, you pull your chair closer. Normally, you sit at opposite ends of the table. Today, your chair is right next to his.

“What is it?”

Instead of responding, you gather a little bite of every plate on the table and place it in his mouth. He blinks hard, momentarily surprised, and then his mouth curves into a smile. He swallows willingly.

Spoon by spoon, you pick apart each plate to reveal the best, most tender bite. When you’re done, Getou takes your hands and folds them in his. He dips his head and kisses your palms, then each finger, one by one. Slow heat spreads across them as you feel something like divinity move from him into you.

The next dinner, your chair is next to his already, and he’s waiting.

“Hello, my little lamb,” he says. There’s a spoon of food already in his hand. When you sit, he brings it to your lips instead.

One night, he brings you cake and two little shadows.

“Come here, children,” he calls when they hesitate, staying in the dark corridor instead of the warm candlelight of the dining room.

Turning to you, he says, “I hope you don’t mind. Mimiko and Nanako like sweets.”

The shadow creeps into the light, and reveals the face of the two-headed creature who you had tried to coax with came weeks earlier. You smile at them. Only one smiles back, the other looks away, shyer.

Like Getou, they seem to see something you can’t, only they’re much more obvious about it. When Getou catches you tracking their gaze, his hand falters. He nearly drops the cake before Mimiko catches it.

He seizes your shoulder. “Do you see it?” His voice is a hushed whisper, but intense.

It scares you a little. “See it?”

“I knew you were special,” he breathes. “I knew you were different. You’re not like the rest of those filthy mortals.”

“I don’t understand,” you stammer.

“You must have some cursed energy, maybe just a drop, but it’s better than nothing.“

Mimiko and Nanako are smart children. They’ve already crept out of the room, leaving you just with him.

“I don’t think - Getou-sama,” you say, trying to catch up with his thoughts. “I’m possessed, I’m not like you. It’s the devil in me, not a god.”

“The devil can’t have you,” Getou says. “You’re mine.”

The working title for this in my docs was: Getou not like other girls you except replace girls with humans

#sera writes #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

385 notes · View notes

xiaojunsmintchoco · 1 year

Text

Taste of love - Kim Mingyu

Pairing: food science student!yn x food science student!mingyu

Genre: fluff, angst; enemies to lovers, polytechnic au

Synopsis: You and Mingyu have always been in competition for the top spot at everything since secondary school and the cycle doesn't end even after graduation, because you both end up in the same polytechnic AND the same food science course. Until one day, the professor puts both of you together for a year end project, and you both have to knock your heads together if you want to maintain your top GPAs.

CW: mentions of food (a lot because they’re studying food science)

wc: about 6.9k

a/n: this fic is dedicated to @bangchan-fairy! bee, I hope you like your (belated) christmas gift, and thank you so much for being one of the first moots to see me through my days as a beginning writer starting out on shaky steps — I truly appreciate the support 🧡 I hope you had a great christmas, and i wish you an amazing 2023 ahead!

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“Finally, we’re back in the kitchen!” You exclaim to your best friend, Minho as you follow your polytechnic class to the food laboratory. “God, when I left the house this morning, I swore that if we had to attend another lecture today, I’m officially dropping out of this course,” you add, with a dramatic sigh and a hand on your forehead, as if you were about to faint.

Minho gasps in mock horror, and puts a hand to his chest. “So you were planning to leave me to take this course alone? Just because of the lectures?” he asks incredulously.

You flick his forehead jokingly. “Of course not,” you laugh. “We promised we’d graduate from this polytechnic and obtain our diploma together, didn’t we?”

“Glad you didn’t forget, else into the air fryer you go,” he replies. "180 degrees for 20 minutes," he adds with a smirk as you both put on your aprons and caps before turning back to the front to wait for the teacher’s instructions.

The sound of a chair being dragged out from the work desk beside you startles you, and you wish you didn't turn your head to find out who it was. You exchange dirty looks with said person – Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu had been your sworn rival ever since you both started secondary school. From grades to leadership positions to competition results, you were always nearly neck and neck with each other at everything – except that one of you would end up on top in the end. The arrogant glances and smug smirks Mingyu would send you whenever he beat you to the first place in anything never failed to make you bristle with anger. You thought the competition would end when you finished your final exam and graduated from secondary school, but to your dismay, he picked the same polytechnic course as you. So, here you both are, continuing your long-term rivalry in Nanyang Polytechnic's Food and Nutrition course.

"Alright, class," your professor announces as she makes her way into the classroom. "Listen up! As you know, we've been studying Asian food this week, so today we're going to try our hand at making popiah. On your work benches you should see the recipe as well as the ingredients you'll need. Feel free to add anything else you'd like to the fillings. Work on it with your partner, and by the end of the lesson we'll give them a try. If you need any help, I'll be around".

You and Minho quickly skim over the recipe for the Teochew-style spring rolls. "I'll make the filling, while you can make the wrappers?" Minho suggests.

And just like that, both of you are ready to start work. Throwing open the cupboard doors, both of you successfully locate the grater, mixing bowl, frying pans and other utensils. You begin by combining flour, salt and water in the bowl, then straining the batter to remove the extra lumps. After that, you set the stove to low heat and place the pan on it. "Good thing I brought my pastry brush today," you offhandedly remark to Minho as you pull the brush out of your apron pocket. Dipping the brush into the batter, you proceed to brush the batter onto the pan, brushing several times to ensure the wrapper would not have holes in it. When the first wrapper is done, you peel it off and set it aside on a clean plate, and repeat the process again until you have five wrappers complete. "I'm done with the wrappers, are you almost done with the fillings?" you ask Minho as he's busy frying an omelette.

"Yes, I just need to cut this into long strips after and then we can wrap the popiah," Minho replies, removing the omelette from the pan and placing it on a plate to cool. "In the meantime, what about you grind some peanuts? There should be a mortar and pestle in the cupboard and some peanuts in the drawer," he suggests.

"Sure! That's a great idea," you compliment your friend and get the peanuts, as well as the mortar and pestle. Pouring the peanuts into the mortar, you pound them with the pestle until they're finely ground up. At the same time, Minho is done with the omelette strips, so you both get round to wrapping the popiahs. It doesn't take that long, and soon both of you have three plates of popiah, all cut into pieces that are one inch in breadth.

"Cheers," Minho declares as you each pick up a piece of popiah with chopsticks, gently bringing his piece to yours before you both pop them in your mouth. The flavours in the popiah explode in your mouth, the savoury flavours of the omelette strips and dried shrimps and sweet flavours of grated vegetables and jicama blending together perfectly like a match made in heaven, enhanced further by the sweet-spicy notes of the chili sauce.

“I think we did a great job!” You remark to your partner, eyes wide in amazement. Minho simply nods, too enraptured by the tasty creation both of you had made together.

Turns out, the teacher agrees with both of you. “The skin is not too thick or thin, and overall, your popiah is very flavourful. I also really like the addition of omelette strips and ground peanuts for extra protein,” the teacher comments after sampling a piece of the popiah you and Minho had made. “Well done, y/n and Minho! Also, the use of the pastry brush for the popiah skin was smart”.

You both give the teacher a small bow and thank her as she moves to the next table, giving Minho a discreet high-five. “Hmm, it’s not bad, but the popiah skin is a bit lumpy and a bit too thick. How did you prepare it?” The teacher asks Mingyu and his partner, Junhui.

“I just spooned the batter onto the pan and spread it out,” Mingyu answers.

“Did you strain the batter before doing so?” The teacher fires another question at them. You watch on, mildly amused, as both of them exchange glances and shake their heads.

“Ah, so that is why the batter did not turn out that well. In the future, strain the batter before cooking it, and try to use a pastry brush like y/n and Minho have done,” the teacher remarks to both boys before moving on to the next table, and you don’t miss the glance of disdain Mingyu sends in your direction, which for some reason causes the sweet feelings of a small victory to bloom in your heart. Hey, it was only the first practical cooking session your class had had in a long time, but you felt good that you were able to cook up a better dish than him this time. You can’t resist the urge to send him a smirk and mouth “watch and learn” to him, and that gleeful feeling only grows as his scowl intensifies as well.

“Okay class, as you all know, we’ll be starting our year-end projects soon, so I’ll be giving out some details today,” your teacher declares, bringing your attention back to the front of the kitchen. “I’ve paired all of you up, and in your pairs you will pick a dish to do a macronutrient and micronutrient analysis of. After which, both of you will need to recreate the dish, but make it healthier by changing up the cooking methods or ingredients. Your choice of dish is up to you, you can even create your own fusion dishes. Just make sure to do a macronutrient and micronutrient comparison of the original and the one you both recreated, and write a report on how you made it healthier,” she instructs. “I’ve emailed the instructions to all of you, and right now I’ll be flashing the pairings on the screen”.

You fix your eyes on the screen, hoping that you would be paired with Minho. Unfortunately, your anticipation soon fades to dismay as you see the name next to yours: Kim Mingyu. Oh God, why?

“These pairings are final, so I expect all of you to cooperate with your partners to obtain optimum results, and I will not be entertaining any requests to switch partners. I wish all of you all the best!” Your teacher finishes, dashing the last of your hopes to request to be paired up with another person. “You may go look for your partners now, and discuss arrangements to work on the project”.

Begrudgingly, you push in your chair and drag your feet to where Mingyu is. “So, we’re gonna have to work together for our final project, huh,” you huff, making no attempt to hide your displeasure.

“Obviously so. Now, I don’t like this any better than you do, so we’ll just make this as quick and painless as possible, then we can get this over and done with and hopefully never have to work together again. Okay?” Mingyu asserts, looking down at you with the same haughty glare you hated so much.

You narrow your eyes into slits, glaring daggers at him. “Deal”.

“Okay then. Meet me at the subway station after school, we can go to my house to do our research first,” Mingyu instructs, before hurrying off to catch up with Junhui.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

As agreed, you meet him at the subway station to go to his house. "It's only 2 stops away and then a five minute walk, so it won't take long," Mingyu informs you as you both board the train. Not willing to engage in a proper conversation with your enemy just yet, you simply acknowledge with a grunt.

Before you know it, you've reached his apartment block and are already in the lift to his fifth floor flat. Upon entering, the first thing that greets you is the row of medals hanging on the walls, right above the glass cupboard which houses all of his trophies and certificates. Immediately you feel slight bitter feelings rise in you, but you push them down, reminding yourself that you were here to focus on your year end project, and you'd also had your fair share of times when you'd successfully beat Mingyu to attain first place or top scores.

"You can put your bag down, and I’ll get you some water," Mingyu states. Though his tone was flat, you were mildly surprised that your enemy still treated you with basic hospitality. “Sit down at the table and we can start”.

Now, you weren’t expecting working on a project with your nemesis to be a walk in the park, but you weren’t expecting it to be this difficult and unpleasant either. It’s been more than one hour, and both of you are still arguing about which dish to pick.

“Goddammit, just pick something already!” Mingyu finally explodes, sick of the endless back-and-forth that both of you had been engaging in.

“Oh if it’s that easy, why don’t you pick then?” you snap, the last wisp of your patience vanishing as well.

“I don’t know, you keep refuting every one of my suggestions. You got a better idea then?” Mingyu shoots back, eyeing you with a challenging glint in his eye.

“No I don’t, your ideas were simply trash, and you weren’t listening to any of my suggestions either,” you state flatly. “You’re in the debate club, I thought you’d be more logical than this. Don’t waste my time. You’re my fucking rival but I still have to cooperate with you”.

Though you’re enemies with him, you regret your earlier words as a look of clear hurt crosses his features for a split second. Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut, draws in a deep breath, and then slowly lets it out again. “You know what, we’ve spent more than an hour here, but all we’ve done is bicker. Since today’s so unproductive and I don’t think we’ll accomplish anything, you can just pack and leave. We’ll continue another day”.

With that, you pick up your bag and brush past him in a huff.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“He’s so freaking insufferable! He didn’t agree to anything I suggested and still complained I was the one being picky, ugh. I can’t believe I’m doing my year-end project with him”.

You’re ranting to Minho over breakfast the next day before school starts, the unpleasant project work session with Mingyu still fresh in your mind. “Gosh dammit, I bet I could finish this project alone and get a much better GPA than this guy can. Lucky you, you got paired with Jaehyun”.

Minho patiently listens to your every word as you vent your frustrations to him, before finally offering his advice. “You know, y/n, both of you are in the wrong here”.

Your head snaps towards Minho. “What? You’re my friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Y/n, I’m just being real here. Did you both tell each other what you found lacking in the other’s suggestions, or did you guys just shoot down each others’ suggestions?” Minho asks.

You go quiet for a minute, sipping on your coffee as you reflect on yesterday’s events. “I think the latter”.

“There you have it. It’s understandable if you guys didn’t like each others’ suggestions, but at the very least you guys should say why, and do it in a civilized manner. From what I’m hearing, you said some pretty harsh stuff to Mingyu,” Minho continues, explaining his thoughts on the situation.

“You’re not wrong”.

“And besides,” Minho continues, chewing on his food, “you’ve got to cooperate with him, no matter what. I know he was your rival and you both were competing throughout the year for a better GPA, but here your GPA is at stake. If you don’t cooperate with him, I don’t wanna imagine the drop in your own GPA. You’ve gotta accept that this time you can’t be fighting him. After this project, compete with him all you want, that’s no one’s business. But for now, you’ve gotta put aside your differences and work together, unless you wanna risk repeating year one again”.

You sip on your coffee, quietly reflecting on Minho’s words. “You’re right. I should have chosen my words more carefully before speaking to Mingyu,” you admit, a twinge of embarrassment pricking in your chest as you remember the harsh words both of you exchanged yesterday. “Maybe I do owe him an apology. Thanks, Min”.

Minho nods, happy that he was able to help you know how to move forward from the argument and figure out your next steps. “No problem. You can always catch him after class later to say what you need to. If you’re done, shall we go? I don’t wanna be late”.

“Of course”. With that, both of you clear your table and head off to polytechnic again.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“Mingyu! Mingyu!”

You call for Mingyu as he’s leaving the lecture hall, a puzzled look on his face when he sees you hurtling towards him at the speed of light calling his name. You’d just fought yesterday, so why were you looking for him now?

“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have thought before I spoke and gave your suggestions more consideration before shutting them down”. You pant out your apology, out of breath from running after him. “Sorry for wasting our time yesterday and speaking thoughtlessly to you”.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have snapped at you first, I’m in the wrong too,” Mingyu says, reciprocating your apology.

“Apology accepted. Can we get along properly and cooperate with each other from now on, at least until our project is over? I know both of us have been in competition for top grades ever since sec 1, but both our GPAs are on the line here. If we want to do well, we must work together,” you request, reaching out your hand to offer him a true truce this time.

Mingyu’s eyes glaze over with a thoughtful expression as he processes your words. For a moment you worried that he would let his ego get in the way and reject your proposition. “I agree with you. I don’t think any of us want to be retained, so let’s call a truce, at least until this project is over,” he answers, shaking your hand firmly.

“Good. Well then, I guess we can get to work on this project again. Since you offered your house last time round, shall we go to mine today?” you suggest. "It's not that far from here, just a few bus stops away".

"That'd be great. The last time you were over, we squabbled so much, my mum was worried we'd get a noise complaint from the neighbours," he chuckles, and to your surprise you find it in yourself to get out a small laugh in response.

"No more of that this time," you laugh. "Okay, after school today let's meet at the coffee shop nearby, I'd like to get coffee first".

"Okay. See you then!" Mingyu shoots you a small smile and a wave, and walks away.

He’s actually pretty nice when he’s not in his competitive mode, you think to yourself, happy that for once, you were able to talk to Mingyu in a much friendlier manner than usual, with no hateful or malicious undertones.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

Mingyu: y/n

Mingyu: I'll be a bit late, Ms Lim wants to speak to me

Mingyu: sorry about it! you can buy your coffee first

Upon reaching the coffee shop, you open your phone to receive these three notifications from Mingyu, informing you that he wouldn't be able to make it on time.

You: no problem! would you like something too?

You figured you'd try to do something nice for him this time to make up for the last argument you'd both had. Besides, he did offer you a drink when you went to his house the other day, so one good turn deserves another.

Mingyu: yes please, I'll pay you later

You: alright, what would you like?

Five minutes goes by with no reply from Mingyu. Oh well, you'd take your chances with his order. He probably was already speaking to Ms Lim and wouldn't be able to reply to you for a while.

Making your way to the counter, you prepare to place your order. "Hi, can I have…" you tell the barista your order, before hesitating over Mingyu's order. What does he like?

You end up ordering him an iced Americano. Just as you collect your orders, Mingyu comes running in, panting heavily. "Y/n! I'm sorry I'm late".

"No problem. In fact, you seem a bit too excited to work on a project with your rival," you joke, completely missing the way his cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink.

"I mean, it wouldn't be nice to keep you waiting," he reasons.

"By the way, you didn't tell me what you wanted, so I got you an iced Americano," you inform, passing him the drink.

Mingyu takes the drink from you gratefully and sips on it. "Thanks y/n! How did you know I like this?" he asks, surprise crossing his features.

"I've seen you bring this into the lecture hall so many times, and I may have overheard Junhui joking about your Americano addiction yesterday," you explain, motioning to him to follow you. "Anyway, let's get going".

You both board the bus to your house and settle in the living room to do research. "I think that instead of trying to settle on one dish at once, we can just do our research today and make a list of possible dishes. After we come to a decision, we can get round to thinking of ways to make it healthier and drafting our report. Next we'll make a list of ingredients and possible equipment we'll need, edit our report, and try to find ways to make our practical session as efficient as possible. Sound good to you?” Mingyu fleshes out his plan to you.

You’ve got to give credit where credit is due, it was impressive that Mingyu was able to think up a sensible plan so quickly. “I guess we can do that. I’ll make a google document for us to list down our ideas, and then we can start doing our research”.

With that, both of you get down to doing the research again, listing out possible dishes as you go. “Jeez, there’s so many options. Now I understand why we had such a hard time picking the last time,” Mingyu mutters, scrolling through the document for what seems to be the millionth time.

You’re not having an easier time as well, simply staring blankly at the document on your computer while struggling to come to a conclusion. “Me too. I don’t know how we’re going to pick,” you grumble. At that moment, an idea hits you. “Why don’t we pick a dish that’s seemingly innocent and healthy, but is actually the opposite?”

“I was thinking of that too,” Mingyu agrees, considering all the options again. “In that case, it would probably be chicken rice? I mean, it’s rice, chicken, and cucumbers, which would be healthy in most cases, but in this dish the rice is swimming in chicken fat”.

“You’re right!” you exclaim, smacking your hand on the table in excitement as you swivel your head towards him. “Okay, let’s do chicken rice then. When shall we meet next to do our nutrient analyses?”

Mingyu swipes through his phone, looking at his schedule. “My next available day would be Friday after school, right after our practical session. Would that be okay? We can go to my house this time”.

You nod, approving the suggested date and noting it down in your own phone. “That’s fine by me. Okay, I guess that’s settled. See you on Friday”.

“We’ll be seeing each other tomorrow for class. Did you forget?” Mingyu points out, bursting into laughter at your expression of sudden realisation. “So I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mingyu chuckles, picking up his bag and preparing to leave.

“You’re right. Bye then, see you tomorrow,” you chuckle as Mingyu exits your house, pleasantly surprised at how well both of you were able to get along once you both put all forms of competition aside, and simply treated each other with respect and kindness. You hoped above all else, your future interactions with him would be more like today’s meeting, rather than all the other times that both of you ended up fighting like cat and dog.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“So…what I’m gathering here is, chicken rice is a great source of protein, but too high in fat, especially saturated fat, and lacking in fiber,” you mumble, looking through the information you and Mingyu had compiled in the google document. “So we should find ways to reduce the fat content and boost the fiber content of this dish”.

“In terms of micronutrients, it’s sorely lacking in vitamins A, C, D, E and K, and has sky-high sodium levels, which we should work to bring down,” Mingyu concludes, looking through the nutrient analysis you’d both done together. “I’m thinking of adding more cucumber slices, which are rich in vitamin B, C and K, as well as some tomato because they’re an excellent source of vitamins A, C, E and K. In addition, we could add in mushroom slices to boost the vitamin D content,” he adds, getting the ball rolling on your discussion by throwing in the first few ideas.

“Those are great ideas!” You give Mingyu a genuine compliment, and add your own ideas as well. “Boosting the fiber content won’t be much of a problem — switching the white rice for brown rice and adding more vegetables as you’ve suggested should do the trick. It will be tricky to get the brown rice to have that nice, fluffy texture, but it should be doable. As for the fat content, most of it comes from the chicken fat that’s used to cook the rice, which is what gives the rice its delicious flavour. So the challenge here is to find a way to find a substitute for the chicken fat so the rice retains its signature flavour,” you muse, hard at work thinking of ways to do as you just said. “What if we steam the rice with chicken stock?”

“The sodium content is a concern, though,” Mingyu points out.

“Many supermarkets offer low-sodium varieties now,” you remind him. “We can always just look for one”.

“Mm, that’s true,” Mingyu grunts, signalling his approval. “Should we just take these ideas for now and begin working on our report? If we have any other ideas we can always add them in later,” he suggests.

With that, both of you get busy, drafting out your report and working on the nutrient analysis for the improved version of the dish together. Though it takes about two hours, both of you eventually get it done as you put your heads together. After that comes the task of compiling a shopping list, which you’d have to send to the professor so that the school could help you buy the ingredients you’d need.

“Brown rice, chicken, chicken stock, cucumber…” you read off the list you’ve both compiled so far. “Anything we missed out?”

“Wait! We forgot to specify that we need a low-sodium type of stock,” Mingyu exclaims, jumping in to correct the minor mistake on the list and scanning through it again. “Okay, this should be it. We can send it to professor Lim now,” he decides, and presses “send” on the email. “Now we can split the work for the actual practical session. It’s actually not that hard to cook — what if we just chop up the vegetables and prepare the seasoning together?”

“Sounds good to me,” you utter. It’s in times like these you’re grateful for Mingyu’s natural leadership skills, it definitely helped both of you get things done in a more organised way.

“Okay then, we’re done for today”.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

“Alright class, as all of you know, today we’re here to create the dishes you've picked for your year end project in your pairs. You have two and a half hours to complete your dishes. After the time's up, I'll sample your dishes and evaluate them accordingly. Don't forget to submit the final draft of your reports by the end of today".

You're back in the polytechnic kitchen with Mingyu, listening to Ms Lim prattle on about instructions which the whole class already knew about. Nevertheless, you and Mingyu still give her your full attention, worried that you'll miss out on some important instructions. After all, this project would contribute to your final grade for the year – none of you wanted to mess it up.

"Your time starts now, you may begin". Upon hearing that sentence, you and Mingyu spring into action, with you preparing the chicken while Mingyu slices up ginger and grates garlic and shallot. Once the chicken is safely in the pot of boiling water with the seasonings, it's your turn to chop up the vegetables while Mingyu cooks the rice. As you're chopping up the vegetables, the tantalizing aroma of stir-fried ginger wafts into your nose, signalling to you that all was going well.

Or so you think.

Out of the blue, a sharp pain stings your finger, making you cry out in pain. Holding up your finger, you're greeted by the sight of a red patch that's about the size of a five-cent coin. In your carelessness, you'd cut your finger rather badly.

In a flash, you hear the stove go silent, and Mingyu's hands are no longer holding the spatula, but rather cupping your hands gently and examining the cut, expression of fierce concentration having softened into one of concern. "Quick, wash it," he instructs, guiding you to the sink and turning on the tap, letting you wash the cut under the running water. "Ms Lim! May I bring y/n to the nurse? She's cut herself!" he calls out, raising his hand to get the teacher's attention.

"Go ahead, I'll give you both extra time. Y/n, be careful next time". Ms Lim gives you both the green light, and Mingyu hurriedly brings you out of the kitchen and to the general office.

"Oh snap, the nurse isn't in," Mingyu groans under his breath as he passes by the empty sick bay. "Nevermind".

He sits you down on a chair, before rummaging through the cupboard where the nurse kept her supplies and pulling out some cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic. Pouring out some antiseptic onto a cotton ball, he gently dabs at your wound. "It may sting," he warns.

But you barely feel it. You're more distracted by your surprise at the genuine worry he showed when you'd cut yourself, as well as the sensation of electric sparks coursing through your whole being with every swipe of the cotton ball he made on your finger.

Electric waves continue to flow through you, and your pulse rate quickens the slightest bit as Mingyu maintains his firm grip on your finger while looking through a drawer for a plaster. Unwrapping it, he quickly wraps it around your wound. "All done. Jeez, be careful y/n! That was a nasty cut!" He exclaims, gently running his thumb over the wound, which was now nicely bandaged up.

"I will. T-thanks, Gyu". You mentally slap yourself as you catch the tiny stutter that slipped out of your mouth.

Mingyu raises his eyebrow at you, and his lips curve into a smirk. "Gyu? A week ago we were at each other's throats like there was no tomorrow, and now you're calling me by a nickname that only my close friends use on me?"

Shit.

You definitely did not intend for that to happen.

"What? You got a problem with that?" You reply with the boldest tone you can muster to cover up your flustered state.

Mingyu shrugs as if nothing happened earlier. "Nope. Just surprised. Continue calling me that if you want. Anyway, we should really get going – we've still got a dish to cook," he decides, switching the light off and making his way back to the kitchen with you.

Luckily the rest of the cooking session goes on without a hitch, and you both successfully complete preparing the chicken rice, all within the original amount of time the teacher had given the class. When she began inspecting each pair's work, thick tension was palpable in the air. "I feel like we're on an episode of Hell's Kitchen, with Ms Lim as Gordon Ramsay," you mutter to Mingyu.

Mingyu chortles in response. "That's actually a great comparison".

Both of you are stiff as boards when Ms Lim's shadow falls on your workbench, thanks to the apprehension that is plaguing you both. She scruntinises the food in front of both of you, then picks up the utensils you put beside the plate and proceeds to sample each component of the dish, starting with the rice, the chicken, and finally the vegetables.

With bated breath, you watch as her expression softens into one of approval and begins making notes on her clipboard, and mutters a "good" before heading to the next table. Palpable relief washes over you, and you know Mingyu felt the same way as he lets out the breath he's been holding for God-knows-how-long, and the subtle frown on his face disappears from sight.

Little did you both know, a week later both your relief would become joy as Ms Lim announces that you and Mingyu's project had scored the highest in the class with a distinction, allowing him to maintain his solid 4.0 GPA and raising yours to a 3.9. A few weeks ago you would have given him a glare laced with venomous jealousy, but this time, for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, you're satisfied with your own GPA and finishing second in class – happy for Mingyu even.

"You're not mad or jealous?" Mingyu questions, audible suspicion in his tone after you congratulate him.

"Nope," you answer, popping the "p" as you firmly shake your head. "I mean, now that I think about it, second place isn't that bad. Hey, I still got a decent GPA and can move on to year 2".

"Funny you say this, because I know for a fact that if this happened a week ago you wouldn't have taken this so well". Mingyu points out as you're both leaving the school compounds. "Anyway, congratulations to you too! 3.9 is an amazing GPA as well". He finishes his sentence by offering you a handshake, which you gladly accept while trying to ignore the mild frenzy of butterflies in your stomach.

Outside the school gate, the sight of a shimmering pastel rainbow greets both of you, as if to signal that the animosity and hostility between you and Mingyu had been dissolved and replaced with genuine friendliness and harmony, just like how storm clouds clear to make way for rainbows. Looking up at the rainbow, a happy, warm feeling filled your heart, so much so that you felt like it would spill out of you.

⋆*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

After the project, though you and Mingyu remained friendly with each other, you both didn’t interact much, aside from a few comments on each others’ instagram posts.

Hence why it came as a surprise when Mingyu slid into your instagram DMs with this message one day:

Gyu: hey y/n! would you like to come to my house on the 24th for a Christmas potluck dinner party? it’s for all the fn course students!

y/n: sure! I think i can make it

Gyu: alright that’s great, thank you!

You chuckle as you shut off your phone, thinking back to last year when Mingyu hosted a post-exams party for your whole class. You had also gotten the invite, but because you and Mingyu had such bad blood between both of you, he had refused to personally invite you, opting instead to relay the message to Minho who sent you the details of the party. This was really the first time he’d personally invited you to any class gatherings, a sign that your relationship had improved significantly.

A potluck dinner filled with food and nutrition course students can only mean one thing — every single course will be mouth-wateringly delicious, while not compromising on nutrition. From the air-fryer chicken you’d prepared, to Minho’s greek pasta salad, to Kun’s steamed fish, everything was tasty and healthy — truly a gastronomical heaven.

But the most unique dish of all would’ve been Mingyu’s fortune cookies. They would have been rather ordinary, if not for the fact that he’d infused them with peppermint flavour and stuffed each cookie with Christmas messages he’d handwritten. If there was one thing the whole class was in agreement on, it was that Mingyu’s fortune cookies were the sweetest thing at the party, both taste-wise and thought-wise. You'd already eaten a couple of them and uncovered messages wishing you a Christmas filled with light and love.

"Ha! Slowpoke!" you announce gleefully, gathering up the remaining Halli-Galli cards as Kevin groans.

“Damn, I was hoping to beat her winning streak,” he huffs, though a smile still remains on his face to indicate he wasn’t being a sore loser. “Let’s rematch!” he declares, shuffling the cards again.

“Um actually, I wanted to steal y/n aside for a moment, if that’s alright”. Mingyu’s voice sounds from behind, startling you slightly.

“No problem! You guys go ahead without me,” you answer, excusing yourself from the group and following Mingyu into his kitchen, with their arguments about who will win the next round fading into the background along with the Christmas music.

“I wanted to tell you something, but before I do, please have this,” Mingyu whispers, handing you a fortune cookie. Thanks to the dim light entering from the living hall, you’re able to pick up on the slight tint of pink on his cheeks.

Biting into the cookie, you remove the piece of paper from the inside and unfurl it, squinting as you try to make out the words. y/n, I really like you a lot. This Christmas, would you be mine? ♡

As you read the note, you feel as if the butterflies in your stomach are having their own Christmas party in full swing as well. You look up at Mingyu, mouth slightly agape as you’re still processing the words that he’d written.

“Actually y/n…I’ve liked you since secondary one, when we were in the same class. You were constantly topping the cohort in so many subjects, and you were acing all of the cello competitions you represented the school in. I was in awe of how smart you were, not just academically but musically as well, and I found that so attractive — though I admit I was always slightly envious of you. I thought that I should learn from you if I wanted to pull up my own grades. But when I came to ask you for help with Mathematics homework, I think you were having a bad day, which caused you to lose your cool with me and tell me to figure out the question myself, and I snapped back at you in response. It fuelled my jealousy even further, and I began competing with you all the time, which pretty much kickstarted our long-lasting feud,” Mingyu explains while shifting his weight from foot to foot, the words tumbling out of his mouth so quickly that you could barely make sense of what he was saying. “Even though you’ve been my supposed rival since secondary school, I’ve had a crush on you throughout. But I suppose I felt that there wasn’t any way to fix things between us, since we were constantly at war with each other over grades and shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have flung those harsh words at you that day”.

The memory of that first interaction you ever had with Mingyu replays in your head as you try to put yourself in his shoes. If someone you asked for help had lashed out at you for not understanding a question in front of the whole class, you’d be wishing the ground could swallow you. Yes, maybe he shouldn’t have retaliated so fiercely, but you shouldn’t have let your negative feelings take control of you that day as well and just offered him the assistance he needed — maybe then you’d both have had a much more pleasant relationship for the past four years you’d known each other.

“Oh, Gyu, I’m so sorry. I really was having a bad day then, but it wasn’t an excuse to lash out at you when you simply asked me for help with a question. I’m sorry for causing you so much embarrassment back then,” you offer Mingyu a sincere apology. “And I have to admit, I looked up to you a lot as well. You did a great job as the class chairperson, through the ways you maintained order in class, settled class disputes and also brought everyone together. I was also amazed at how you never forgot to check in on everyone from time to time, and how you showed such genuine care for any struggling classmate in any way you could, even if you were bogged down by your own school work. I was slightly jealous of your leadership capabilities and how the teachers found you so trustworthy, but I thought that those qualities made you very attractive”. Taking one of his hands in yours, you continue to speak. “Don’t worry. It’s not too late. I think I’ve always harboured feelings for you, even throughout our time as academic rivals, and those feelings haven’t faded after we began getting along — if anything, they’ve only grown”. You catch the way his eyes crinkle into an adorable eye smile, and you feel your heart rate begin accelerating.

“Really? So…I take that as a yes?” Mingyu asks, gesturing to the slightly crumpled note that’s still in your hand.

“I mean…since we’ve both had feelings for each other for so long, why not?” you reason, a shy giggle escaping your lips. “Of course, we shouldn’t rush into things given the previous tension between us, but we could always see where things go. If we’re both happy, I would really love to be with you”.

Mingyu immediately pulls you into a bear hug, pressing a quick peck to your cheek. “Of course, y/n. I’m so glad you’re willing to give us a chance”.

Both of you remain like this for a few moments, soaking up the warmth of each others’ embrace. You marvel about how one single polytechnic year-end project had not only dissolved the tension between you and your previous rival, but also given you your first taste of love, one so sweet that even Jaehyun’s air fryer peach pies could never come close.

“Noooo! I was hoping they’d kiss!” A whine from Jeonghan suddenly punctuates the air, and you turn your head around in surprise.

“Gosh dammit, you idiot! You ruined their moment!” Minghao scolds, smacking Jeonghan on the head gently.

“Hey hey, be nice now,” Kun chides them both gently, but you see that he’s giving the both of you a happy smile. “Congratulations, y/n and Mingyu”.

“Thank you, Kun,” Mingyu replies, returning the smile. “Wait- why’s the whole class here?”

“Um so…I may or may not have been a bit of a big mouth and told all of them about your plan to confess to y/n”. Junhui blurts out in a tiny voice, but Mingyu picks up on it, and before you know it he’s torn himself out of your hold and is dashing out of the kitchen, to the amusement of all of you.

“WEN JUNHUI I’M GONNA FREAKING DEEP FRY YOU!”

515 notes · View notes

hakairou · 8 months

Text

Various Yugi, Yami, and puzzleship headcanons because one I'm too busy to draw much, and two I wanted to write a little something for myself, just for fun. And you get to see them too (• 3 •) :

Yami’s transition from vengeful vigilante to kind-hearted yet prideful pharaoh was rocky to say the least. Not understanding and not quite willing to accept Yuugi’s kindness, most of his attempts to understand his newfound life was filled with stone-cold faces, confused stares, and offended petulance. But Yuugi is equally stubborn in helping his new friend acclimatize to being human again, so he does his best to teach him, even if not everything he does is successful.

Yami, despite loving Yuugi, doesn’t worship the ground his partner walks on. Instead he sees a person who’s gone through hardship, being lonely and bullied, and still somehow smiling at the end of it, and it amazes him as much as it confuses him. He’s unsure how to proceed with a person who seems so contradictory. Though with time, he recognizes Yuugi's inner strength and resolves to help Yuugi see what he himself saw in his partner.

Yuugi will never admit it, but whenever he gets the chance to become “the strong one” and help Yami out for a change, it gives him a heady feeling that rivals anything he’s felt before. For once, he gets to protect others, something he never gets to do, and plus, he’s protecting the one person who protects everyone else. He, the tiny and small Yuugi Mutou, protecting Yami no Yuugi, the hero! He finally gets the chance to be “the lead” almost, and it brings him greater joy than any other. Ofc he doesn't flaunt it, but it's definitely something he feels and to a degree feels ashamed about. Though he lets himself be arrogant, just a teeny tiny bit.

To Yami though, Yuugi becomes very vigilant and constant in looking out for him, something he does appreciate exclusively from Yuugi when he can no longer stand on his own.

In terms of love, the spirit only knows it in theory. He loves his partner, he cares for his friends, he loves his home of Egypt, and he loves his priests and his people. But the kind of love where two people love each other, is less foreign and more of unsure territory for him. He recognizes it’s a love that goes beyond what he’s felt for anyone else, but doesn’t know how to approach it. Much less appreciate it.

Yuugi meanwhile, understands love very well. He’s yearned for it for years, and finally feels it for Yami, his partner and dear spirit. He hides it of course, the world is more important than his feelings, but when it’s all over and he gets the chance to act on them, his desperate heart won’t let him be so selfless. He enjoys and revels in teaching Yami the many ways one could love, as to him, it shows just how much he loves Yami in turn. But he’s equally patient about it, taking it step by step. Sometimes, he’s so gentle that Yami gets impatient, but Yami’s equally weak to his partner’s tenderness, especially when it’s geared towards him.

Their relationship isn’t fueled by something as small as one’s appearance, nor did it ever start from it. But when those moments come, Yuugi can feel his breath be stolen by Yami’s visage, or Yami blinking when he sees how the light refracts in Yuugi’s eyes. Still, they appreciate each other’s appearance and take full advantage to do so, especially when having separate bodies. They appreciate them as they entirely are, and not for singular details.

Yuugi likes squeezing Yami’s butt. There isn’t much there, but whatever he gets, he gropes. Yami’s since then no longer bothered to scold him, only giving him a mild glare and blush whenever he does it. Though he always somehow knows when to smack Yuugi’s hand away when they’re out in public events.

Neither are comfortable to sleep on because they’re quite lanky, even if Yami came back in Atem’s body (trust me, if he really is all muscle then those are rocks dude, not pillows) So instead Yugi and Yami both like taking a pillow and just putting it on themselves so the other can sleep on them.

Atem, when alive, was a well-meaning king. A little spoiled, since he was such a golden boy, but overall, a good-natured king. He often listens out to his people, gets into quarrels with Seth because of his seemingly soft nature, and tries to be equal in his sense of judgement. But it never changes the fact that he was a young king, and there was much he had left to learn by the time Kul Elna’s history was revealed. These lessons unfortunately, he would never know, not until 3000 years later.

When Yami/Atem comes back, he doesn’t come back fully human. Being locked in an ancient artifact with the remnants of darkness incarnate changes you. So while he looks human, he still holds control over the shadows and is as much of their slave as he was their master. The only difference is that the shadows don’t scream anymore, and are more or less docile unless Yami riles them up. And they don’t hurt him anymore, so that’s pretty good too.

#I dunno if these count as headcanons??#tho I guess headcanons ARE just ideas you think up of characters lmao #so I guess they are #also horray for main posting lmao guess you're getting more than art XD #yugioh season 0 #yugioh #ygo #yami yuugi #mutou yuugi #yami yugi #yugi moto #pharaoh atem #puzzleshipping

100 notes · View notes

xinamie · 3 months

Text

— kung lao thoughts !

just saw someone on another platform say that kung lao is not complex and lemme just. ok hold on. he's more than a cocky, food loving man.

i'm gonna focus on mk1 for now, but hear me outtttt !!! mk1 story spoilers ahead, you've been warned!

kung lao, a humble farmer, who is the descendant of the Great kung lao (lord liu kang's champion in the past iirc and like they were CLOSE bcs remember the scene with the jade statue? anyway off topic).

of course with family honor like that, lao would have this confidence, this arrogance, this ego that everyone groans about. he has this reputation to uphold - this legacy. he wants to be as great as his ancestor!

in the beginning, you find out that he isn't satisfied with the farm life like raiden is. he's the first to jump and react when liu kang tells them all about earthrealm after the test with the lin kuei. he craves adventure, glory, and a sense of just ... achievement.

he loses the title of champion to raiden, but sucks it up and congratulates him. he supports him along the way - bragging about raiden to general shao and cheering for raiden through the outworld matches. even if he was upset that he wasn't the chosen one (re: liu kang hitting him with that one line 'if you trained harder, you would have been champion' LIKE OW DAMN ok) - he still honors raiden and accepts the outcome.

let's talk about his story ending, kung lao messed up with shujinko! shujinko went haywire and it was because he didn't learn humility because kung lao couldn't teach it to him!! lao had always been so confident that he didn't put that into lessons for his student which led to liu kang and raiden stepping in. in this moment, i like to believe that lao learns how important humility is. not through himself directly, but seeing what had happened to shujinko.

omg what about the funny little lines about acting? how johnny offered them movie roles in the end and when raiden politely declined, lao whined. maybe he's intrigued about being able to work on a movie, to get out there and experience the world than just that farm life he knew.

kung lao didn't get to be champion, but he was able to go on missions in outworld and i like to think that he thrived. he got a taste of that adventure, that journey, you know?

kung lao is playful - those lines about wanting to spook raiden's sister with syzoth or how he whined to kuai liang(? i think or tomas?) about how he wanted to test raiden's sister too. how he flashed johnny with the flashlight LMAO. how he gets scolded by madam bo for making excuses sometimes.

LASTLY and also something i think people forget here and there, kung lao is ALSO respectful to some degrees omg. remember when johnny pulled that ripley line and kung lao was like bro??? that plus how he stood up for raiden as mentioned before, he literally becomes a shaolin master ... he may not be a saint, but i don't think he'd be treating people horribly or the type to be flirty every single time.

all in all, there are many sides to kung lao and i think there's a lot to be explored here. i'm down for the silly fandom lao moments, but also serious lao, conflicted lao, focused lao, etc etc. he's a champion to me.

#mk1 headcanons #mk1 kung lao headcanons #mk1 kung lao #mortal kombat 1 headcanons #mortal kombat 1 kung lao #im probably forgetting a lot tbh bcs i typed this up when i havent slept #but gosh kung lao is so complex #maybe not as complex as others but he still has layers #i admire him so very much #srry for the messy format besties

45 notes · View notes

trillscienceofficer · 1 year

Text

Imagine if Voyager truly cared about what B'Elanna and Seven wanted, like. once in seven years? For all the screentime Seven gets, it's never about what she wants, just what she has to do in order to fit in better, and B'Elanna... well. She truly gets shit from everyone for no reason whatsoever.

One of the main reasons why I would've love for them to interact more is that, for all their mutual annoyance, somehow they aren't as dismissive with each other as others are with them. Seven is a an arrogant little shit but she apologizes to B'Elanna very frequently when B'Elanna expresses her annoyance, more than most other characters generally do with B'Elanna honestly! And Seven seems to notice pretty quickly when B'Elanna is upset too, which always makes me raise my eyebrows because we're constantly told Seven is not very socially smart... she is though, once she starts learning. B'Elanna in turn only tells Seven to cut it out when she crosses a line and is not at all about giving her a lesson in 'humanity' or whatever.

@nebulouscoffee left some tags that made me think last night:

#on rewatch especially!! I noticed how much the script kept telling me these two hated each other #but they so rarely ever really came off that way? #and even when they did it always felt so... idk Scripted

And I totally agree with this. Voyager to me is a fundamentally unselfaware show, especially when it comes to B'Elanna: we're told things about her by other characters, but those never, ever gel very well with how she acts, how she expresses her feelings, how justified she she is in being irritated when others treat her like anything she says or does is unreasonable. On a lesser degree Seven is also treated that way; constantly, constantly told 'this is how you need to act', 'this is what you need to learn', 'this what it means to be human' and punished every time she's not good at it which is inevitable because literally no one else (except B'Elanna! or maybe Harry, although he is exempt from sexist tropes) is held to the same impossible standards. And Seven tries very hard every time! But of course the show is convinced that she needs to be taken down a peg in order to become 'a real woman' (yikes).

The way the show wants to present B'Elanna and Seven together is always 'look how catty they are with each other (wink wink)', and imho it isn't different from what's going on with them taken singularly. We're told they don't like each other, but what is shown to me is... way more nuanced, especially taking into consideration how they both fit (and not fit) within the ship. In a way, the way they relate to one another is the most honest rapport either of them have on Voyager. They don't really want anything from one another, they aren't thinking about fundamentally changing the other so their lives can be easier (again, when B'Elanna gets annoyed with Seven she only reiterates her own boundaries). Granted the show makes awful jokes at their expense sometimes (“Infinite Regress” and the cold open of “Someone to Watch Over Me” come to mind) but show me a character or a relationship on Voyager who is exempt from this kind of deeply uncomfortable and not actually very funny situation.

I truly believe that exploring this relationship more could have given them some much needed space. Space is a concept I always come back to when I think of B'Elanna and Seven, because I think both of them (especially B'Elanna) needed more of it to be themselves on their own terms for once. And I'm not talking necessarily about minutes of screentime—I'm talking about the writing being less sexist and racist, being less enamored with the idea of conformity, caring about them as characters and not as props in the absurd sexist, idiosyncratic fantasies of a 90s production: even beside Seven's horrible biosuit, B'Elanna is so often 'the girlfriend who doesn't understand what the protagonist is going through and will be insulted onscreen', it makes me genuinely mad!

Obviously I'm not exactly wishing Voyager had actually done it, because again, totally unselfaware writing all the time, but thinking about B'Elanna and Seven interacting always leads me to think about how they could both let each other simply be, even if they would still likely annoy the shit out of each other. And I wouldn't ever want to change that, honestly: willful women deserve to be themselves, that's all.

#b7 #anyway. justice for 'difficult' women #possibly to be found with each other #this is my ethos #voy #'difficult' is in quotes because neither b'elanna nor seven are actually difficult to me!#i'm waaay more difficult than either of them honestly

209 notes · View notes

ask--eggman · 4 months

Text

📩 Dr. Eggman Ask blog 🥚

Attention all!

It is I, Dr. Eggman, the greatest scientific genius and the brilliant, smart and handsome soon to be ruler of this world!

I know you all must be trembling with either excitement or fear, as you should be! An expected and understandable reaction to being undeservingly graced by my glorious presence. Especially because with this blog, you can finally be lucky enough to interact with me and ask me questions!

Ignore any rumors of this all being "propaganda" for the Eggman Empire. You don't need to be convinced to join. It's a no brainer, it doesn't take a genius mind like mine to know that you and the world will be much better under my rule! I simply state facts here. I promise.

Important things to know:

Blog is for adults 18+ only!

I'll treat you like the underlings you are, to teach you of your place beneath me in the future of my empire early. Some say that's rude. The nerve! They're simply the traits a real powerful and confident ruler should have! But of course I'm the only one cut out for it, so I shouldn't expect anyone to understand.

I'll be open about the glorious evil I get up to with my immaculate calculated schemes! Unless you ask for top secret information to use against me and try to stop me... You can't outsmart me, I can tell! And you will fail miserably!

Anyone with a distaste for my methods and hobbies - ignore anything evil you might've seen here. Pay no attention to any mentions of schemes and violence, only believe the posts about how totally brilliant, helpful and beneficial my rule and empire are.

You can expect violence of varying degrees. I'm sure you all know by now that I'm not above crushing my enemies and reveling in their defeat! What? They totally deserve it!

NSFT allowed. I know everyone wishes they could have a chance with me and must be very eager to hear all about it. ;)

All this to say that this blog is not suitable for small children - or big babies.

Feel free to fill out a brief survey after your visit. Your opinions matter to us! Unless you didn't have fun, then we don't care.

More extra notes from a silly little lackey of mine who serves as this blog's moderator below:

---------------------

Games canon source Eggman, every game mainline to spin off, no exclusions. There's a possibility for occasional divergence due to slight inspiration from other official media but with a clear heavy game focus.

He will be canon accurate and nasty, rude, arrogant, condescending, a big jerk and unpleasant reactions and behaviors will be portrayed in an often comedic way. Keep in mind, it doesn't reflect the feelings or beliefs of the author - no hard feelings!

There's a chance not all questions will be answered. It's okay to resend once or twice just in case it wasn't sent. But just because it might take a while to get a response, doesn't always mean we didn't get it or you're not getting one.

I'm an adult and open to NSFT and fet!sh asks, very lax and don't judge. Will be tagged to the best of my ability. Eggman may do a combination of teasing and entertaining, or just be oblivious towards why you're asking, depends. Just be 18+. No minors at all!

Feel free to ask to tag.

#intro and rules #eggman #sonic the hedgehog #dr eggman #sonic #rp #roleplay ask blog #dr robotnik #doctor robotnik #doctor eggman #ask blog #sth #ask #Dr Eggman #Dr robotnik #roleplay #doctor Eggman

30 notes · View notes

wondrouswendy · 5 months

Text

On Writing and Alan Wake

Talking about my writing is hard. I’m someone who wants to talk about it, but if you asked me to describe my feelings out loud, finding the right words would be difficult.

My current ongoing story, Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart, is finished, and has been for the past few weeks aside from some polishing. I started working on it back in late November. I wrote over half of my 2023 writing goal in one month alone last December. I think a large part of why this happened is because Alan Wake 2 reconfigured my brain and spoke to me on such a deep level as a writer.

With 7 chapters out now, I want to talk about the writing process and what I’m enjoying with my fic so far and why Alan Wake (as a character and as a game) is so meaningful to me.

It’s interesting to write about a writer. Obviously that’s the whole gist of Alan Wake, but I’m writing about a writer discussing the problems of writing and projecting onto his character. The meta layers appeal to me greatly.

First person POV helps me get into Alan’s head so much more (though this is in part due to how often we hear him monologuing in all 3 games). I know for a lot of people first person POV is an immediate turn off when it comes to fic, but more and more I think it deserves a chance with certain characters. To me, it just comes naturally for Alan (and on the flipside, Casey). First person POV is just another tool in the writer's kit.

I knew coming into this idea back in late November I wanted to provide my take on the story prior to the first Alan Wake game and Bright Falls. For Alan to be the man he is, kind of an arrogant asshole who doesn’t treat his wife and others well, I wanted to imagine what could have shaped him. Of course I wanted to have a shipping bent to my story with him and Fictional Alex Casey, so I started crafting my own interpretation of Alan’s narrative arc through the chapters of his life as told through his book publishing. There was one central question on my mind: What led to him wanting to kill off Casey?

...Which meant telling a well-rounded story rooted in canon to a degree. How does his relationship with Alice and Barry evolve over his writing? What highs and lows does Alan experience? How does he go from being a successful author to a shell of himself by the time the writer’s block hits?

So if the spiral is the metaphor for the creative journey of ups and downs, I decided to orient it as the story’s “villain” much earlier in the Alan Wake canon. The enemy in this story is Alan himself.

So I knew going into this Alan would do incredibly selfish and hurtful things—some of which could upset others, such as when Alan goes out on his own and is drugged by a group of so-called fans. No one likes to see their favorite characters doing horribly self-destructive things, but this is the nature of Alan's character and a large part of why I like him. He feels very human and vulnerable.

Amidst all this, the story posed a challenge because I needed to shift between the real and dream worlds so Casey and Alan could interact. The pivotal moment in book four when Casey confronts Alan always served as the signature moment of a character objecting to the whims of their author. On the one hand, I worried about not having Casey appear directly in the story sooner, but on the other hand, I thought it was important to treat the first chapters as a prologue building up to the real action and dynamics of the story: Casey and Alan’s (future romantic) relationship.

Which leads us to what I hope comes across as meaningful, if sad chapter seven. The kiss scene and its followup in Alan’s real world was important to the story, and it was a moment I was looking forward to sharing. Alan’s been carrying feelings for his character since his youth, but after his traumatic experience, he pushes it aside and tries to abide by heternormative ideals.

I chose to go this route based on how Alan behaves in the first Alan Wake game. Some of Alan’s behavior came across as over-inflated machismo, like he’s trying to prove he’s more than just a scrawny, out of shape writer. He gets into fights, he’s aggressive, defensive. I feel like it comes from a very vulnerable place of prior hurt. Alan could have easily been an easy target in his youth for being “too sensitive”, “too emotional”.

Further, Alan’s expectations of the kind of man Casey “should be” and the way Casey has become over the course of being “dimensional” in the context of years of storytelling reflect how sometimes characters take on lives of their own. You subconsciously push a character in one direction without even realizing it. Alan is so close with Casey without realizing the bond goes in the other direction too. A type of codependency where we rely on our fictional fantasies for comfort and support.

For now, that’s all I’ll say about the story. Though there’s only two more published books left, the story is far from over.

If you read this far, thanks for reading this post. I’m really proud of my story and enjoyed writing it. I’m grateful to be able to post something with consistency and reliability for once. I think this story reflects significant growth for me as a writer, breaking new ground with what I’m capable of doing when I’m inspired.

Thanks again to those of you who have read my story, kudos’d, bookmarked, subscribed, commented, reblogged/retweeted my posts. It’s very touching and I appreciate the support! Like Alan, it keeps me out of the Dark Place.

#alan wake #caseywake #writing #wondrouswendy's writing #out of my hands and into your heart fic

14 notes · View notes

aqqleshiqqing-archive · 9 months

Note

Hi, Jil!! Just popping in because of your tags on my fic asdfghjkl

I did write "this one is for my Pokémon mutuals" with the thought "specifically Jil" in parentheses in my head--you're like ... my main Pokémon mutual. Gotta share some breadcrumbs of Aria/Eusine with THE Pokémon mutual, of course.

Also Eusine is a fairly arrogant character--he's very proud of his knowledge of myths (oh no ... a man who likes history ... and me having a history degree ... how could I resist ... /lh) and does tend to dismiss others when they try to correct him. He's not as dismissive of Aria or Morty, though, because ... *childhood friends beam.* Also maybe he likes Aria that way, so he's a bit easier on her, who knows--

Anyway, I had the misfortune of seeing the only (?) Johto anime episode with him as a kid, and little 9-year-old Sarah really though, "Man. This guy's a jerk." Little did she know she'd fall for that jerk years later. We don't talk about that--

The loss of the shiny Pidgey exists because I was training Ollie (my Chikorita/Bayleef/Meganium) in HG the other day, encountered a shiny Pidgey, and realized I didn't have any more Poké Balls--massive loss. But also a win because ship lore. And also the second time I've run into a shiny Pidgey while playing a Johto game ... maybe someday I'll actually catch the thing.

ANYWAY. I always felt Suicune would prefer Aria over Eusine (similar to the way the plot unfolds in the games, with Eusine eventually ceding the right to catch Suicune to the player), and while she would like to catch it, she's not as ... let's say ... passionate about it as Eusine is. Hence why Suicune tends to respond to her.

... she does think him chasing after Suicune all the time cute, though. It's very subtle, but she would've been mega embarrassed to fail that Pidgey in front of him--because, while it's not stated directly, she's imagining a scene where she failed at her life goal in front of her crush. It's not like Eusine doesn't do that on a regular basis, but that only makes it worse for Aria asdfghjkl

I also liked writing the subtle “… you were talking to Suicune about me?” followed by Aria immediately changing the subject--and then her adjusting his bow tie later. Subtle things get me all the time--

Anyway, uh--Morty, huh? 👀 /lh

(And sorry for the essay--I just. Have a lot to say and like to respond to tags through asks, sometimes asdfghjkl)

~ heart-of-aspiration 📖

HI SARAHH!! - oh man the fact you had me in particular to share the aria/eusine ship makes me SO honored ("THE pokemon mutual", that made me audibly giggle) and i'm honestly here for it, and you can tell i can definitely like - have the capacity to take batch after batch of hardcore pokemon ship/self insert lore (and be equally as talkative and lengthy about it...) so naturally i'd immediately gravitate here, and it's characters belonging to gen 2 which i'm incredibly biased to.... AHFJSHFGAS

i should've expected this from eusine - it would seem that he doesn't seem too dissimilar to his manga counterpart (which is radiating the same vibes as how you written him, he's definitely arrogant but kind enough to help) i actually should share some panels of him maybe! i'll admit that he was really hilarious for being lowkey petty due to a certain circumstance in the manga, but moving on!

i respect that his attitude is toned down towards aria and morty, they're totally good friends and morty doesn't seem like someone who'd engage in fights quickly - he's super relaxed and wise...

the whole pidgey story got me WAHUSHASHDAF THAT'S SUCH A MISSED OPPORTUNITYYY but that moment was enough to be a realistic incident for aria and i LOVE it. i hope you can actually catch that shiny birdie!!

i can totally imagine a scenario where she notices eusine on his failed attempts to catch suicune and he probably curses to himself (assuming he's alone) and aria would just quietly laugh, reminding herself how much she adores him and how cute he is for that - i swear i know a dynamic where they had a similar vibe to this but i can't seem to point out who or what -- but my point is, i love that dynamic so much. it doesn't feel TOO much like a rivalry but it's enough to at least poke fun at each other's professions + their little romance heheh ITS JUSTTT. YEAHHH!!!

let's not talk about morty /lh /pos the headband makes him look so cute combined with his relaxed personality and i'm on a hunt for a misdreavus and to name it after him as we speak WAHUSDHAUFS (IT'S NOT SUCCESSFUL HOWEVER BUT I'M GETTING THERE) let's just say he's one of the early crushes i have - not too active but i... would like to hold his hand HWAJHSDJAHJFDSAF. if he ever resurfaces im running to you immediately /pos /lh

#AND AGAIN - I PROMISE YOU - i genuinely love to respond to lengthy asks - it feels like having a nice conversation.#and you don't have to feel awkward when trying to carry on with the convo #so if you have something big to say to me - hit me in the tags or ask box :3 #~ mail #sarah tag

8 notes · View notes

gkt-tummyaches · 8 months

Text

brutuchercup; what a fucking mouthful

greens3 is probably one of my favorite ships. it's super versatile, with lots of angst or 🪦🕊️ potential if i really wanted it, but the best flavor of their dynamic to me is always '2 tough girls and their sleepy dog'.

the [brutercup] part of it stays the same: it's just butch that brings them together in the first place.

he's somebody whose laid-back demeanor belies how much he cherishes the relationships he has with people, somebody who mediates + descalates situations without much thought or effort. i've always enjoyed butch as a character who is only an agent of chaos when stressed or forced out of shape - at his most comfortable/relaxed, he is supportive and easy-going. the glue that brings people together.

the dynamic in greens3 is dependent on butch being there at all; his subtle meddling + redirection of aggression has brute and buttercup's relationship taking a more mellowed edge to it as they go forward. maybe it's still not the healthiest (they enjoy fighting too much to give it up, and brute gets off on kicking buttercup down a peg,) but the smaller bumps in the road are byspassed much easier than they would've been if the girls were left to deal with it alone.

he doesn't even realize he's part of their relationship to begin with. buttercup's his best friend; brute and he have always had something unique going on. they get together and he just thinks, "it's so cool that they still include me in things."

one part of it is this: buttercup views herself and butch as a package deal. he's her best friend. there's some kind of untouched romantic feelings in the mix, a boundary neither have ever crossed for the sake of reassurance in the stability their friendship brings each other; bittersweet, but fulfilling. she wouldn't just let butch drift away if she got involved with somebody else - life without him is like life without a limb, and far be it for buttercup to allow some 'lover' to get in the way of her connection with her best friend.

she just. also thinks brute is super arrogant, and super hot. and maybe there's something that could come of it if they got together.

the other part is this: what brute wants, she gets. she would've had buttercup tentatively eating out of her palm one way or another, but it's always easier to earn a pet's trust when there's already an example for them to look to: thankfully, brute was also friends with butch before she and buttercup got together.

he's already eating out of her hand quite comfortably. buttercup follows his lead. all brute's ducks are in a row.

it is manipulative? yes. does it work? yes. maybe a little too well given the fact butch doesn't seem to know he belongs to brute just as much as buttercup does.

the best part is that not much changes when they 'break the news' to him that he is, in fact, their boyfriend. they still take him out all the time. they still let him sleep on the couch, it's just that there are other options too now, like sleeping in the same bed as them on the nights all three of them are in the same place. it's the chance to give affection and know he'll receive it (,,, to some degree) in turn.

it's a much slower pace than what might be expected of the three of them being together. on the outside, at least; their relationship is something that happens more behind closed doors - perhaps a little surprising that they're so private about their love lives considering how much of their day-to-day is caught up in it. though when you've all been friends for so long, even the mundane things can be 'romantic' enough to cherish.

and also, of course, that brute is selfish and likes to keep her playthings to herself.

i don't think greens3 is always a cut-and-fair dynamic either, just because of a lot of personal problems i think each character has + how that comes into play in their relationship, but this is one of the fluffiest versions i can imagine. it can get way worse. it could probably be better, if i let brute, butch, and buttercup be people without struggles that impact every aspect of their lives. there's not a lot of breathing room for the heartfelt, emotional investment that is typically expected of a relationship. from the outside, they just appear like a group of friends, fwb arrangement, or usually mistaken for butch not being part of brute and buttercup's relationship. it offends buttercup the most. butch is just happy to be there. brute makes plans to show more obvious 'claim' on the two of them in future, though once again avoiding grand romantic gestures or swooping kisses or rose petal trails. they're just a really fun ship to get more introspective with than anything. idrk how to describe it but i spend a lot of time experimenting with greens3 in different environments/aus, i think there's a lot of different directions that are interesting to push them towards - both individually, and in how that drip-feeds into their dynamics with each other. buttercup especially is very malleable, ranging from protective to overly trusting depending on the situation. brute is the most stagnant; no matter the setting, she's the kind of character to immediately seek power + the highest position in the pecking order - regardless of the cost it takes to get there. not to mention, it's refreshing to give butch a role that brings people together rather than tear them apart, as so many versions of him i've seen tend to do. he's just a little guy 💚

//💔 it's frustrating to try and talk about them in such a condensed manner !! hopefully that all makes sense

#brututchercup #? i guess #greens3 #ppg #ppnkg #rrb #powerpuff buttercup #powerpunk brute #rowdyruff butch #poly ship #god i fucking hate them #(i love them)#💚💚💚

7 notes · View notes

seresinhangmanjake · 2 years

Text

Wants and Needs: Part 1

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Y/N

Warnings/Notes: This is very similar to my other fic because that one was basically a wip of what this turned out to be.

Also: Hangman’s ego, fluff, flirting, eventual smut, protective angry Rooster.

Words: 1775

All parts in Masterlist

Part 1: The Meeting

You turned then looked him up and down once before meeting his eyes. And it was confirmed. You were as stunning as that part of him hoped you wouldn’t be, and you had an immediate hold on him.

“You’re a pilot,” you said, nothing detectable in your tone—no awe or amazement—and you turned again to accept the drink that Penny handed you with a smile. “Thanks, Pen.”

“Anything for you, hon. On the house. And welcome back,” the older woman replied, then shot a raised eyebrow at Jake.

“Anyway,” he said, frowning at Penny before returning his full attention to you, “I’m Hangman,” and he reached his hand out to shake yours.

Tentatively, you placed your hand in his and gave him a single shake before retreating. “Hangman,” you questioned around your straw. “What kind of a callsign is that?”

“Well, they thought Hungman would bring about more questions.”

“Because of its inaccuracy?”

“Hardly, sweetheart.”

He leaned against the bar, arm bracing him for support. “I can’t imagine a night with them would end better than a night spent with me. I can guarantee I’d be more satisfying company.”

You squinted with sarcastic suspicion. “Is that so?”

“I’m more than happy to prove it to you if you’d like,” he said with a smirk.

“You could definitely try, Mr. Hangman, but I actually want to spend time with my friends tonight.” Then you passed him.

So he did exactly that; walked back over, grabbed his cue and sat on one of the stools within the circle of the group, cocky grin back on his face as if your last interaction never happened.

“Y/N,” Phoenix began as she sassily rolled her eyes,” this is Hangman.”

His smile almost dropped from surprise. They didn’t know. If they did they would be mocking him by now for striking out for the first time in his life.

“Hangman, huh?” You smirked.

“Jake,” he said and stuck his hand out to shake yours, holding his breath for the moment your soft skin touched his again. “Seresin.”

“Jake,” you repeated, and he felt a tingle make its way through his veins. “I like that better than Hangman.”

Phoenix snorted as she lined up her cue for a shot. “Just about anyone would.”

“Well, I’ll have to decide that for myself, won’t I.”

Rooster shrugged. “If you enjoy torturing yourself,” he said, then he removed himself from you to gulp his beer dry and take his shot at the pool table.

Jake swallowed as you stared at one another, waiting for everyone else to direct their attention elsewhere before he asked, “So you know Rooster.”

“I do. Childhood friends. Our fathers flew together some before Goose met Maverick.”

“Let them think what they want.”

“Oh no, Hangman—”

“Jake.”

Your breath fanned his lips. So close. They were so close to his, and he needed to feel them.

“And I don’t have an interest in spending much time with a man who wants one thing and one thing only.” You shoved him gently and giggled at how he stumbled.

“Who said I only want one thing,” he asked as he rubbed his chest in the spot where your hand had been.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “I’ve known men like you my whole life. Somehow, I doubt you will be able to convince me otherwise.”

“I’m always up for a challenge.”

You grinned in a way that squeezed his heart and said, “Well now you have one,” before walking back into the sight of your friends and his teammates.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fic #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin x y/n

441 notes · View notes