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myouicieloz · 5 months

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Softcore

Kim Dahyun x member!reader

Synopsis: dahyun wanted you to reminisce the old times, so you snuck out to one of her friend’s gathering, but things get messy.

Warnings: drinking. angst. reader is recovering from an od episode. mentions of drugs. vomit. mentions of vomit. sensitive content. guilt, pain. tw: overd0se, recovery. everyone’s hurting. they’re trying to help and they’re stressed too.

Word count: 2.4k

Notes: only slightly proofread

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” You told Dahyun, adjusting your jacket to suppress a shiver as you waited for the elevator. Your hands were clasped together, since she was too easy to lose in a crowd, and you clung onto the small girl tightly.

“Come on, y/n! You’ve been locked up in your room like some brunette Rapunzel for over a month now. It’s time you start living again, don’t you think?” She left the elevator without looking back, breathing in the penthouse’s atmosphere.

Dayhun had stormed into your room a few hours before, telling you to dress up for a reserved party the two of you were, apparently, attending. Naturally, you tried to argue your way out of it, but she had soon looked at you with those puppy eyes of hers, and you lost it, not having any other option other than doing as told. She meant no harm, you knew it was much; it was simply her way of trying to help you out. You just weren’t sure you were ready — yet.

Sensing your discomfort, Dahyun dropped her fast pace, making a turn to pay you full attention.

“I thought you liked parties. We enjoyed going together before… you know, the thing happened.” Her voice was full of hesitation, one you felt guilty of.

“It’s not that. It’s just…” You sighed, looking around. “Nevermind. Let’s go.”

Your sister shot you a bright smile as the two of you entered the lavish penthouse. The moment you were in, all the eyes were on you, watching your every move. You knew most of them meant no harm: they were all just colleagues, curious and worried to know how you were doing after such a messy incident. However, you’ve never been one to enjoy being the center of attention, much content with staying in the sides of the spotlight. This way, you could have the idol life you knew you were made for, but still maintain your privacy and reserved nature.

Of course, said privacy and respect—the ones you’ve worked so hard to earn— were worth nothing — now. You were back to being the prey, the media’s target and scared little lamb, deprived of confidence and courage to speak up about the things that made you uncomfortable.

Aware of that, you clung onto Dahyun even further, wishing you could simply hide behind her and disappear. It would all be so much easier for everybody, then. If you weren’t currently attending that stupid party, if you hadn’t fucked up your group’s reputation, if you hadn—

“Hello, unnie! How have you been?” Dahyun’s livid tone was quick to snap you out of your thoughts. She gave one of your arms, the one you were holding onto hers for dear life, a gentle squeeze, too, with her fingers tracing patters on your skin with such gentleness only herself could provide.

You don’t need to be wary, her touch said. I’m here with you.

Being the little sunshine she was, Dahyun was unable to go anywhere without greeting someone, chatting her thoughts away whilst you limited yourself to distributing a few small smiles and formal bows.

Suddenly, you found yourself caught in a bubble of people you knew too well. They all shared the same burdens and struggles as you did, trying to navigate the idol industry as best as they could. All the people in this big fucking penthouse were familiar to you and with you, somehow.

It left you with the urge to throw up.

“I will go find something to drink.” You told Dahyun, storming off to find the kitchen before her big, dark eyes were able to process your words properly. She intended to follow you, and she really meant it, but someone had just caught her arm and she got herself into such an interesting conversation—

She decided to check in on you immediately after the conversation is over, then. It’s settled.

Meanwhile, you opened the kitchen’s door abruptly, not opting to attend the bar because there were too many people there. Too many familiar people.

You still couldn’t deal with crowds. It was the reason you've been calling in sick in every fansign, airport dropout and outdoor dates ever since you’ve gotten off the hospital.

Not bothering to care about the staff who looked at you petrified, you merely bowed and hummed something incoherent as you made your way towards the balcony, filled with drinks. Thankfully, they got your favorite. Rum was nice, and the Coca-Cola would assure your body had the glucose it needed for you to not pass out, allowing you to not be sober and make this whole experience bearable without further issues.

The liquid tasted like heaven as it made its way down your throat. You hummed in pleasure— it had been months since you’ve been allowed anything besides juice and water. It tasted like secrecy, like sin. It was punishment.

For the first time in so long, you felt something apart from sorrow and guilt. As your nerves were gradually subsided, you poured yourself another cup.

You threw up on the bushes for the 4th time. It was your fault, you knew it as much. You were nervous, so you drank too much. It would’ve been too much even if you weren’t on your recovering program’s strict diet, anyway.

You cursed yourself, trying to get the long, vomited strands of hair out of your face with shaky fingers. You knew you weren’t done; you could feel the effect of the drinks on your fragile stomach, which still couldn’t quite hold anything long enough to provide the rest of your body the nutrients it needed to ensure you a healthy state.

Once again, you were dealing with the consequences of your impulsive choices.

Leaning the upper half of your torso once again, you discharged the bile onto the green leafs until nothing but your reflex’s sounds came out, followed up with salty tears.

You weren’t sure you could still this for much longer.

“Y/n?” You heard Nayeon’s faint voice from behind you, “Hey, girls. Found her!”

Soon, two pairs of small, strong hands were lifting you up and holding you against them. Their touch was so strong you could barely breathe— but, surprisingly, it didn’t feel suffocating.

If anything, it was comforting, nurturing. This touch felt safe, like love.

Your sobs were slowly subsiding, and you confirmed your hypothesis as soon as fresh mint invaded your nostrils. Jihyo’s shampoo was one of your favorite smells in the world.

“Shh, we found you, it’s ok.” She hummed, still not resuming her grip. “We’re here, darling. You’re all ok.”

You buried your head against the crook of her neck, sensing how the shadows of the others came into your peripheral vision through Jihyo’s dark hair. They circled you, providing a warm bubble as they waited for you to calm down.

Which, after numerous deep breaths, you did, unclasping yourself from Jihyo’s touch. You hated to feel the lack of her warmth, yet you knew you couldn’t hide yourself forever.

At least, not at the moment. You were exposed, raw and so deep in the imperfections you’ve worked so hard to hide from your bandmates and best friends. Your efforts were all in vain, once again shining through the cracks of your skin.

You tried speaking many times, always faltering when not a sound was heard. You desperately wanted to explain, to tell them how it felt to be exhausted, drained and confused about the mess that was going on inside of you.

Instead, you just threw up on the bushes once again.

“Come on, let’s go home.” Nayeon stated, handling you around like a doll as soon as you stopped throwing up.

“She’s clearly not good to go yet, Nayeon. Don’t push it.” Sana’s tone was sharp, and you looked up to find her staring angrily at the oldest member.

“Well, excuse me if I don’t want dispatch to show up and see Y/n like that. It’s like you don’t fucking think, Sana.” The member snapped back, crossing her arms at her friend.

As much as you wished, you couldn’t muster the energy to ask them to stop. After all, the last thing you wanted was for your sisters to argue because of you, or your stupidity. Before you even realize it, your teeth were knitted, and you were shivering, unable to keep your shoulders from shaking or your body to stay still. You felt a big, warm leather jacket rest on your shoulders, as another pair of hands held a firm grip on the side of your body, then.

“Let’s go to the van, ok?” Momo smiled, blocking your vision from the scene unraveling in front of the apartment complex’s garden. “We can wait for the others there. Jihyo just went to get dahyun before we leave. She was looking for you in the north area. She was the one who called Jihyo, actually.”

You nodded, not paying much attention to the dancer’s words. Still, you allowed her to guide you to the vehicle until you were sitting by the door. Momo showed you two small water bottles, handing out one of them.

“Here, take little sips, just so you won’t be too dehydrated.” Momo waited for you to acknowledge her command, smiling with reassurance as you drank, glossy eyes losing a bit of its previous dullness. “Perfect, baby. Now, I’ll use this one to clean your hair, ok? Her hands went to your chin, to hold your head into place, and you winced once you felt a few droplets of cold water reach your skin. “I’m sorry, I know you’re shivering, but we have to get your hair clean. Just stay still for me, please? It won’t take long, promise.”

You did as told, sighing in relief once Momo’s fingers untangled the front strands of your humid hair. She murmured praises after she got her task done with, helping you to get properly seated. You waited for the others in silence, and only thing grounding you was Momo’s warm touch around your shoulders. She caressed your hair, too, and soon you could feel sleep overcome the nausea, making it difficult for your eyes to stay open. You didn’t give in, though. You were terrified of waking up alone, without them by your side.

Fortunately, the rest of the girls got inside soon, too. You felt relieved to see Sana and Nayeon standing next to each other, whispering in hushed tones as they sent you worried, reassuring smiles every once in a while. Jihyo kissed your cheek, exchanging a silent conversation with Momo before going to the passenger’s seat, which left Dahyun, who hesitantly made her way to you.

She looked like a mess: her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks were red, clearly from crying. Her hair, always neatly in place, was pretty much disheveled, as if she’d messed it up in hopes of easing her nervousness.

You knew that as a fact; you knew Dahyun as much as she knew you. You were sisters, after all.

“I-I'm sorry.” You managed to say, in a weakened tone. Dahyun’s mouth dropped into an “o”, clearly stunned, and she chocked on her saliva. You didn’t let her say anything, though, gaining confidence from Momo’s reassuring grip on your skin. “I fucked it up. I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. It’s my fault, only.”

Dahyun looked up, unable to keep the tears from streaming down her face. She was relieved to know you weren’t mad at her, but also completely enraged at herself for being the reason you were in such a state. So small and frail, like a porcelain doll.

That was what you were: their little doll, for the girls to take care of, dote and love. Once again, Dahyun had failed that. She despised herself for it.

“It’s my fault, little angel. My fault.” Dahyun gave you a sad smile, caressing your face. “I… I thought it would give you good memories, to sneak out and party a little, like we used to. I’m to blame: I brought you here, and I left you by yourself, too. I’m so, so sorry.”

You shook your head, hugging her as hard as you could in your weakened state. The van was moving too much, and you were starting to feel nauseous again, yet you didn’t say a word. You simply held Dahyun close to you, reminiscing the fun times you had: when you’d party, laugh, and be extremely hangover, coming home by sunrise while the others pretended not to hear your drunken clumsiness whenever you tried to get into your rooms. Those were great memories, filled with laughter and the opportunity of being normal for a few hours. Just a girl attending a party, for once.

You understood why Dahyun had wanted you to come, then.

“I know, Dahyunie. I know.” You murmured, caressing her hair, just as Momo had done to you. It was a cycle of pain and guilt, one you desperately wanted to end. And the only thing you did was fuck things up further and further. “Thank you for remembering that. We had lots of fun, back then. Right?”

Momo, noticing your breathing becoming quicker, and erratic, drew your head onto her chest. “Close your eyes, my sweet. It’s been a long night. You can talk later.”

You tried to argue, but it seemed as if your body had recognized the command instantly. Your eyelids grew heavy, and the last thing you spotted was Dahyun’s relieved, small smile at you, before you gave into darkness.

Your weariness grew heavy on the girl’s bones, too. They all left the van with exhaustion in their eyes, not a single word exchanged on the way to their apartment. Momo went first, carrying the asleep girl in her arms with ease. You didn’t even move when she placed you in bed with uttermost care, letting the others change you into comfortable pajamas as she went to her bedroom.

Nayeon left once she was done discharging your dirty clothes, too, followed by Sana, after the latter left you water and fruits on your nightstand.

That left Jihyo, who stared into your moving chest with her arms crossed, much like a statue, and Dahyun, small and quiet besides the leader.

“I really didn’t mean it, unnie.” Dahyun murmured, desperate for Jihyo to understand. She was having a hard time figuring out how to help you-- they all were, and feeling the older girl’s disapproval only made her feel worse. “I shouldn’t have snuck her out, and I’m deeply sorry. Please. I only wanted to make things go back to how they were.”

With a sigh, Jihyo finally looked at Dahyun, who eagerly returned the stare. Whatever the leader intended to say, though, was suppressed quickly. Maintaining her blank face, Jihyo excited the room, no words exchanged.

#sol writes #twice angst #dahyun x reader #jihyo x reader #jihyo angst #dahyun angst #momo angst #minatozaki sana x yn #nayeon x reader #kpop angst

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thefiresofpompeii · 6 months

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now that i’ve deferred because a uni degree is nothing but an entrance ticket into moderate financial security and not worth utterly obliterating my mental health over i am compiling my own curriculum. all the posts i’ve ever tagged with #ref because they contain essays articles and other texts that i want to read but have never gotten around to, all that goes on the list. around fifty academic articles and book chapters downloaded onto my laptop from jstor while i still have access to it, tailored to fit my personal interests.

rearranging my self-education. little mx autodidact. carving out a passage through the brambles with a freshly sharpened machete. make no mistake, the thorns are piercing and will continue to tear at my exposed limbs, but the pain is worth the fruits of knowledge at the end, real knowledge and not something superimposed from above. i know, i know, undergrads aren’t afforded that freedom of narrowing our study, it’s something earned with time and effort and only fully permitted at a “higher” level of education, but who determines these levels?

it sounds silly and rash, but it’s a long-deliberated decision. the university environment is not right for my weird brain despite my literary inclinations, and i prefer to select my own path towards learning while working a low paying job on the side. perhaps i’ll return in a year’s time after all, matured and mellowed, hardened or roughened with real-life experience and online self-teaching, to pursue liberal arts as the most, well, liberated pathway. maybe not.

maybe if i had gone to one of those colleges where they allow you to pick and choose your own modules for your degree entirely (like one of the people that i most admire on this website did in its time) things would have gone down differently, but alas. let the world keep turning and let everything that serves no purpose any longer decompose and compost into something new .

“what has this got to do with autism?” you may ask, “i’m autistic and i completed a normal bachelors’ degree just fine.” your answer: having been in a place of moderate autistic burnout for years that abruptly turned severe in the past few months, my bodymind has shifted into what is known rather disparagingly under the medical model as “autistic regression” or “regressive autism”: a gradual distancing further and further away from accepted neurotypical standards of moving through and navigating the world around me.

one of the ways in which this unmasking presents itself, apart from the more noticeable characteristics such as outwardly visible stimming and a complete absence of eye contact, is a total inability to focus on, be motivated by and/or engage in any (textual, literary, cinematic etc etc) materials that do not connect at least tangentially or superficially with my special interests (that being ghosts/hauntings, hauntology, folk horror, lovecraftiana/cosmic horror, horror in general, the gothic, neurodiversity, alternative music; narratives/storytelling, folklore/fairytales; queer theory; carceral abolition and liberation; and a few other subjects here unlisted). according to normative capitalist logic of usefulness and productivity, that makes me “severely disabled” by virtue of “restricted interests”. i would say it makes me a interesting person with tall twisted tales to tell, but nevermind that silly nonsense, it’s a mad person speaking.

at this present moment i have no motivation, wish nor desire to continue wasting time and energy attempting to study and remember things that do not connect with the key concepts that my mind is constantly orbiting around. if that makes me incurious or annoying or limited, so be it — this neurological difference affects every aspect of my personality and i do not wish to change it. if the world around us refuses to change, we must either alter it ourselves or construct our own pathways out of the shadows and into the moonlit garden.

#thank you cavar sarah for directly/indirectly inspiring me to make this (highly personal yet hopefully informative to some?) post!!#@librarycards on here #aer writing on transMadness and adjacent topics gives me life and constant material for thought and consideration #jamie.txt #uniposting #autism #actually autistic #neurodiversity #neuroqueer #autpunk #disability #autistic #autism acceptance #college dropout #autistic burnout

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sketchfanda · 2 months

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Kirishima’s Mystique:Price to Pay

Being a pro hero was never an easy line of work certainly and that wasn’t just taking into account the risks involved dealing with super crooks, nevermind homicidal villains and freakish genetic abominations. One of the biggest non-hazard issues had to the matter regarding collateral damage, many didn’t want to risk a repeat of the near fiasco that occurred for American pro hero Mr.Incredible after all. In his defence that guy he saved from committing suicide was being a petty ingrate but at least it was avoided, but all the same, it was an unspoken rule that you cause the wrong kind of damage! You’d better be ready to set it right.

For our resident hard headed redhead of course, he was seriously wishing he could turn back time and get out of such a situation he found himself in. Really who could blame the poor guy as he was currently bowing and kneeling low as one could before one very pissed off, swimsuit clad orange haired bombshell, apologising best he could but knowing it’d be in vain. After all you don’t go and trash an entire yacht belong to the one and only Ms.Nami, former international pirate and cat burglar, renowned cartographer and navigator and glamour model. No sir, Kirishima knew his goose was cooked and she was going to get her compensation one way or another.

it’d been a routine enough type of mission, pursuing a crook who was using their quirk for unlawful purposes with the chase having been taken right into a harbour. It’d been expected that there would be collateral, so of course a few old rusty tubs or a warehouse getting wrecked was fine but then the guy brought them right to where a high class quality luxury yacht had been docked. That was when it all went to hell when the owner herself returned to find her little ocean based home away from home severely damaged and messed up after he’d finished securing the renegade for capture. The moment Eijiro recognised her on sight and the livid beyond belief expression on her face, he knew he was fucked.

Kirishima:”Please miss, I know I said I’m sorry enough and I definitely can’t afford the repairs, but I promise you on my honour as a hero and a man to make it up to you!!”*The chivalrous himbo declared, swearing he’d do whatever it took to set things right with Nami, least enough she wouldn’t sue for everything he, UA and HPSCA was worth. She was a very influential woman with some potent connections snd economic influence that matched her quite boner inducing. Seriously she was sexy as hell even when angry, not that he’d say that out loud to her. He wasn’t Mineta after all and he was in deep hot water enough as is.*

Nami:*Her chestnut coloured eyes glaring at Kirishima with enough intensity to match a laser, she processed his words and thought them over. As pissed off as she was, she still had enough sense to see a good opportunity presenting itself when she saw it.*”So you’d be willing to do anything then? Alright musclehead, I think I have a way you can work off your debt…follow me…”*Snapping her fingers as she had the sturdy hero trailer after her inside to the inner decks of her yacht that hadn’t been wrecked. A mischievous twinkle in her eyes and a sly grin as she could feel the himbo try not to stare at her glorious backside and fail.*

Nami was sexy and she knew it, so nothing she enjoyed as much as money was having the attention of a man on her she had to say Kirishima was more than easy on the eyes. Feeling his own crimson red peepers glued to her swimsuit clad rear as she added a little sway and sashay, tempted to twerk and make those thing devouring booty cheeks clap. A bounce in her playful rep as her boobs jiggled before they soon came to the servants quarters, entering inside as she opened a closet and fished out a butler’s outfit and handed it to him. Making it clear she wanted him to strip and change into it as she decided he would work off his debt by catering to her on hand and foot for as long as need be until they were square and even.

When Eijiro began to do just that of course, Nami couldn’t help but feel herself getting tingly in all the right places as inches and acres of sculpted, training honed and carved muscle was revealed to her. Sensually licking her lips as he carefully laid out the uniform and stood clad in a pair of tight spat boxers which highlighted quite a well toned ass and felt her thighs become warm and sticky from the flow of arousal pouring forth from her snatch. He was certainly dashing in his hero outfit but seeing him near naked like this was reminding Nami how bad a dry spell she had been having recently, now she was staring to have a different idea in mind for how he could work off his debt to her. One that would scratch her itch and prove to be much more fun for the both of them as she walked up behind him, hugging his waist as her arms wrapped around it and she pressed her here,r against his back in a way she knew he would feel the weight of her soft, plump titties.

Nami:*Purring as she whispered into his ear sensually and seductively, her hot breath on his skin making him tingly as she caressed the crotch of his boxer shorts. Erotically biting her lip as she felt the raw size contained within.*”Mmm, you know on second thoughts, I think I have a better idea for how you can work and lay off your debts to me. One that I think is going to be much more fun for the both of us…..”*Emphasising her point as she slid her hand down the waistband of his spats, her palm and fingers now directly groping snd grasping his length and girth. Panting and gasping as she felt her arousal skyrocket at the idea of tastin snd feeling this slab of meat.*

Kirishima:”W-well, when you put it that way, can’t see a reason to say no….”*Hell given the choice between go knows how many days and weeks being a butler to cover the yacht’s repair costs vs indulging in Nami’s sudden sexual thirst? It was clear which was the better option as he turned his head to allow Nami to press her lips to his, their tongues dancing together with sloppy desire as the glamour model moaned wantonly. The sturdy stud moving to sit on the edge of the bed, their liplock breaking with a strand of saliva between them as Nami knelt on the floor and pulled down his boxers. Gasping with delight as his cock sprang forth, smacking and resting on her face as she breathed in his manly scent.*

Nami couldn’t help but drool as lust flowed within her eyes, an erotic blush in her smiling face as she relished the sight and feel of such a slab of meat before her. Grasping it in her hands as she began to stroke and jerk him off, feeling it’s pulse as it grew erect with desire and proceeded to plant licks and kisses from top to base. Sucking, kissing and licking his balls before commencing with fellatio as she outright suffocated herself on his shaft as her chestnut eyes looked up at her newfound sex friend with devotion and delight. His groans and gasps of pleasure music to her ears before she popped her mouth off of his length and girth, giggling at the adorable pout he made finding his drool soaked cock deprived of her oral pleasure.

Only for her to proceed to ambush him with her personal patented “Happiness Punch” as she unclamped her swimsuit top snd undid the binding strings of her thong, letting them fall off as she took delight in his reaction. A gobsmacked reaction that contrasted with his twitching, pulsing lubed up cock as the tangerine haired hottie gave a sultry moan and licked her lips while cupping snd jiggling her magnificent titties in her hands. Which she followed through with sandwiching his shaft between those twin mounds as she began to trope and jerk him off with a marshmallow massage as she gave him a titfuck. Licking, kissing and sucking what was exposed from the valley of her glorious cleavage as he pumped and thrusted his hips out of instinct and reflect as her tongue’s tastebuds were dazzled by the taste of his flowing pre.

Nami had thought things were going well so far but the next thing she knew, it was getting even better as she suddenly found herself on the bed, head and shoulders on the mattress as she clutched the bedsheets for dear life. Her deepthroated moans echoing through the room as Kirishima her torso at a 90 degree angle, her legs spread as Kirishima had returned the favour for her blowjob titfuck combo by eating her out as his tongue plunged snd probed the moist folds of her snatch. Drinking up the flow of her nectar as he showed he was as good at giving back what he got, setting Nami’s nerves ablaze with spine tingling, mind numbing pleasure and ecstasy before he suddenly ambushed by penetrating her with his length and girth. Her vision flashing white as she was hit with an intense orgasm from the sudden invasion, inches of womb hammering, pussy stretching meat sinking in until he has bottomed out balls deep.

It was then and then Nami found her world being rocked as Kirishima proceeded to fuck her in a piledriver position, working her like some erotic butter churn as he aimed to work off his debts to her. Howling and crying with sexual abandon and delight at how good this this modern day caveman was fucking her as he soon shifted her body into a mating press, pushing her legs until her ankles were in either side of her head while her arms draping around his powerful shoulders as her tits pressed snd rubbed against his firm pecs as their tongues dancing together in a sloppy open air dance. Hearts flowing in her eyes as orgasms rocked her body one after another, her stomach bulging from his length and girth as her womb pulsed with the growing need to receive his seed and have him knock her up with his babies. Her brain’s inner voice chanting to get pregnant, toes curling at the idea of this himbo making her go on maternity leave as those heavy balls smacked and slapped her jiggling asscheeks like thunder.

How she loved every second of it, the raw, primal mind numbing spine tingling pleasure as this absolute unit of an alpha male lived out the sexual fantasies and wet dreams of most when it came to Nami. Pink glowing hearts in her her eyes as she currently found herself pinned up against the wall, arms and kegs draped around Kirishima’s muscular tank of a body. His cock jackhammering away into her snatch’s inviting warmth as a growing puddle of juices rained down on the floor, deepthroated moans pouring forth from her luscious dicksucking lips as she felt him blow his load finally. Hot, white baby batter flowing into her womb as her brain registered with delight at the fact that Kirishima hasn’t started going soft and limp, his cock as stiff and erect as it was when they started meaning their fun wasn’t anywhere close to finishing.

Nami:”Aaahn! So good, harder!! Don’t stop fucking me you sexy himbo!”*The tangerine haired hottie hollered and cheered on as she currently rode Kirishima cowgirl style, her face wearing an expression of what could only be called a bitch in heat as she relished his gaze in her bouncing tits. His hands shifting between groping them, squeezing her juicy ass or just showering her body with sensual affection.*”Aaahn, you’ve cum 3 times already and haven’t pulled out once!! Keep it up!! Make me have to go on maternity leave with your hero baby!!”*Such lewd remarks came forth from her mouth as the sturdy stud not only worked off his debts but wound up winning Nami’s heart and body. Which only made her want him to fuck her all the more.*

The bombshell and her newfound sex friend couldn’t help but lose track of time, minutes passing into hours as Nami experienced first had the depth and level of Kirishima’s sexual skills and experience. Every variety of position snd relentless orgasm strengthening the growing bind of intimacy between them as the tangerine maned minx found herself developing a few favourite positions. From the raw primal bliss of getting plowed doggy style to the closeness of a seated lotus as their bodies glistened with the sheen perspiration. The sheets stained with their juices, the bed trashed which Nami just added to her sex machine’s tab as they kept fucking until the need to rest and sleep finally took them.

There Nami laid atop Kirishima’s sculpted form, purring as she nuzzled him while feeling safe in his strong arms. Basking in the afterglow as his semi-sated cock rested between her thighs, his excess seed flowing from her creampied pussy, dreaming sweet, erotic dreams of further rutting with this man. After such a bout of passion like that, Kirishima hadn’t just made strides in working off his debts. Oh no, Nami felt this fine fellow had earned himself a very special reward, one she was going to offer soon as the chance presented itself…..after another couple of rounds of course.

A few days to weeks after this newfound snd forged erotic friendship, Nami surprised a few select premium fans of hers with a sudden stream. Showing off her newly repaired, renovated and refurbished yacht as a chink of its price ahd come out of the pockets of the crook Kirishima had caught, all the while she performed this tour in another sexy swimsuit. A mischievous catlike grin on her face as she came to her hot tub, showing that she wasn’t alone as the camera showed Kirishima in the hot, steamy bubbling water with none other than Mina and Maya, the bubblegum coloured duo rocking sexy swimwear of their own as they were making out with their boyfriend. Yes indeed, Nami had come to learn about Kirishima’s unique little relationship with the acid maker and the shapeshifter, who were more than eager and happy to bring her into their personal circle of intimacy.

Just when Nami thought her newly made bond with Kirishima couldn’t get any better, the fact that he was such a beast in bed that he couldn’t be just a one woman man sweetened the pot. So of course where she was celebrating her one month anniversary in her new relationship by showing off her shared stud to her fans as she shot a wink and blew a kiss at the camera. Placing her phone close by so it could get a good view of the show as she graced the hot tub with her thicc, sexy self, straddling Kirishima’s lap as she added her own lips and tongue to mark the three way kiss a foursome. Upping the intimacy as the 3 bombshells removed their bikini tops, flashing their big juicy tits to their alpha male as Nami’s stream began making record number views and donation tips, especially from her simps…including s certain grape-head who yet again cursed the chivalrous himbo for his luck with women, the lucky bastard!!

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covetedbrother · 1 month

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most days i’m like “yeah i’m pretty over my ‘sam is me i’m him we are the same and he’s also my bbg my son and my dad’ phase” and then i see one (1) bad take about him and i genuinely get murderous and i’m like “ah. nevermind”

what the fuck has he ever done????

(insane samgirl ramblings under the cut bc i’m losing my fucking mind)

if you’re mad at sam for starting the apocalypse: you’re telling me that if you were dealing with the effects of dying, watching your brother die, addiction, and actively being manipulated by your DEALER and also genuinely operating under the belief that that killing a demon would be a good thing, that you wouldn’t have killed that demon?

this bothers me especially bc sam broke seal 66. because he thought it would prevent the apocalypse. dean broke the first seal. because he tortured ppl in hell!!!!!

leaving for college: imagine getting mad at an 18 year old for leaving to go to stanford on a full ride scholarship. he did that in a “household” where he never lived in the same place for more than 6 months. ever. and his only family members thought it was emasculating to do well in school.

“choosing ruby over dean”: hey. hey. look at me. imagine the person you love most in the world. that you have a toxic codependent relationship with to the point of literally getting murderous if you are separated by more than a room without your choice. you’ve known each other for forever. you’ve killed for him. he’s your brother. you have spent a full year trying to figure out how to save his life. now imagine watching him die knowing he did it to save you. and you can’t get him back. now you are actively suicidal and someone comes along and acts almost just like him and offers you this thing that gives you the power to kill the things that killed him. this person says that you have the power to stop a horrible thing from happening. you believe her. and then your brother comes back from the dead and he’s. different. he doesn’t trust you anymore. and the person who gave you power tells you that it’s because he’s being lied to and manipulated to start the tragedy you are bent on preventing. so you’re hurt and scared and trying to save the world so, just this once, you choose to work with someone other than him.

the shit that happened in s8: again. same scenario as above but now you’ve both killed and died for each other multiple times. you’ve endured over centuries of torture by the devil himself and have just started recovering from the hallucinations that you had of the literal devil torturing you and telling you that you can never feel happy bc this is just another way of torturing you. making you feel happy for a moment only to bring you back and hurt you. then your brother disappears into a pile of black goo in front of you. you have no idea how or why. you do months of research and come up with exactly nothing. life without him isn’t worth living. you’re about to drive your car off a bridge. the car you grew up with him in, the one you both engraved your initials into when you were 8 and 10. with the legos shoved into the vents that you’ve never been able to take out. you’re not paying attention so you hit a dog. shit. he doesn’t deserve to die. not like you. you take him to the vet. his medical bills need to be covered by someone. it can only be you. the vet there treats you like you deserve to live, to be loved. you fall for her. you move in together and adopt the dog you hit. maybe,,,, just maybe,,, you can be happy.

and then your brother comes back. and he’s best friends with a vampire… the vampire’s name sounds like yours.

and your brother is mad at you. then your girlfriend discovers the husband she thought was dead is alive. your brother wanted you to break up with her anyways. you’d do anything for him. always. he doesn’t forgive you. it’s what you deserve.

you take on the trials of hell to try and do something right. it’s actively killing you. every day you wake up and cough lungfuls of blood into the sink. it’s fine. these trials will probably kill you, but it’ll be ok. you’re finally doing something right. the final trial requires you to confess your greatest sins in a church. you spend hours there, and the biggest sin you confess is disobeying your brother. you confess the times you’ve let him down. you’re clean now. you’re ready to die, ready to stop any demon from ever coming to earth again. and your brother calls you an idiot and stops you because he doesn’t want to watch you die. but by now, your body is going to die with or without completing the trials. your brother coerces you into being possessed without your knowledge for a year in order to keep you alive. the thing possessing you kills your friend. your brother blames you for it. it’s fine. he cares. you know he does. he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t care.

it never. ends. THERE ARE FIFTEEN FUCKING SEASONS OF THIS SHIT

ARE YOU MAD AT HIM FOR TRYING TO GET DEAN TO NOT BE AN ALCOHOLIC? TO EAT BETTER?

MAYBE YOU’RE MAD AT HIM FOR THINKING THAT THE PERSON WHO MADE FUN OF YOU FOR DOING WELL IN SCHOOL WOULDNT KNOW WHO VONNEGUT IS?

FOR NOT FALLING TO HIS KNEES AND WORSHIPPING DEAN EVERY TIME HE ENTERS THE ROOM?

are you mad at him for forgiving his father?

maybe you’re mad because dean had bad things happen to him that didn’t happen to sam.

are you mad at the man who got into stanford on a full ride scholarship and was about to get into law school before he dropped out for thinking of himself as smart?

i think they’re mad at him bc he’s not a perfect brother who gives into dean’s codependent tendencies 100% of the time. dean has a codependent personality, and sam has a rebellious streak of independence a mile wide. his rebellion just looked like choosing school over hunting, or studying over weapon training, or reading over sparring. not that he didn’t also do those things, he just also did other things.

#meta #gencest #sam girl #sam winchester #dean crit

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seraphtrevs · 1 year

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Did Gus actually order the hit on Tomas?

This is a question that I feel is basically impossible to answer definitively (I mean, unless there's an interview somewhere I missed). Either option is consistent with his character and makes sense with the plot, so it's really up to how you feel about it.

But if you twisted my arm....I think he did it, and here's why.

On the one hand, there's the idea that Gus is a more moral person than the other cartel bosses - something that Gus certainly believes about himself. Yes, he's brutal towards other people in the game, but he wouldn't harm an innocent child. That's the sort of thing the Salamancas would do, and he is not like them.

And there's plenty of evidence that Gus has a heart. He's a good boss to his restaurant employees. Yes, it's part of his disguise as a compassionate capitalist who is active in his local community, but I don't think that's entirely fair to Gus to say it's his only motive. I do think he wants the people who work for him to be treated fairly.

Then there's the people in Mexico he provides for, which is purely altruistic. He doesn't even want their admiration. He tells Mike that it's not to assuage his guilt, and I tend to believe him. "I am what I am," he says. He accepts his monstrous nature but is unwilling to spread indiscriminate violence the way that the truly evil Salamancas do. He emphatically tells Mike that he is NOT like them. This is something he truly believes - that while he may be a monster, he's still morally superior to the other cartel bosses.

But is that actually true? And does he really think he's a monster?

I always go back to the story of the coati. Gus was a starving child at the time so I don't judge him too harshly for it, but the fact that he remembers this story as a triumph over a foe really says a lot about his view of the world. An animal is not a moral agent who should be held responsible for stealing, but as an adult, Gus still thinks that the coati needed to pay for its crimes. It's easy to feel morally superior if you define anyone who is against you as evil and therefore deserving of retaliation, even a hungry animal.

I think it's also worth being skeptical about Gus's "I am what I am" sentiment, too. Gus accepts that he deals drug and commits violence, but I don't get a sense from him that he's excessively self-loathing, which is how he would feel if he truly believed he was a monster. Again, his opponents are the evil ones, but he has a soul, and his quest for revenge is righteous, unlike their motives, which are only based in greed - nevermind all of the money Gus rakes in and the fact that it was his original motive for going into the drug business in the first place. He's a really hard worker who looks after his employees (except when they get spotted at a murder scene and he's forced to cut their throats), unlike the Salamancas, who are just violent takers! He's better than them!

But of course, he isn't better, which was the entire point of the Nacho plot. He defined Nacho, without knowing him, as nothing more than an evil Salamanca goon. Abusing Nacho was not only justifiable, but also righteous in a way. But in fact, his treatment of Nacho was in no way justified. Neither was his execution of Werner. Gus, like every single other character in the brbabcs verse, is a hypocrite.

So back to Tomas - Gus really, really, REALLY hates loose ends. And although Tomas was a child, he was a child who agreed to shoot someone, so he's not really an innocent child. At least, that's how I can see Gus justifying it to himself. I also think that it's unlikely the dealers would act without Gus's approval, seeing as they were on thin ice with him. It's hard for me to believe that they would interrupt Gus's command of "no more kids" as "so kill the one you already have" unless Gus made that explicit.

But again, this one is completely up to interpretation. On the other hand, killing a child is not exactly discreet, so it's definitely possible that the dealers acted of their own volition.

#gustavo fring #breaking bad #asks

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flowergrownbeyondthestone · 2 months

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It turns out that with enough caffeine in my system I can make it through most of the day without absolutely dying, so that’s something. I’m realizing this blog or whatever it is, is becoming more and more like a diary, but hey, why not I guess! I’ve slept not great once again, including very creepy dreams about chasing huge spiders across the room and a hot actress who turned out to be a serial killer. What the hell is going on with my brain? I really miss being able to sleep normally and even medicine doesn’t fully solve that issue. I also miss being able to fall asleep cuddled up to you (yes, you, reading it, if you still do, hah). It was like the ultimate level of safety and comfort. Meep. Oh well, I have to settle for the plushies, better than nothing. Either way, random stuff aside, yesterday I didn’t even have enough energy to include all the details of my wonderful day, such as trying to call the psychiatrists with a referral for the adhd assessment. Had a lovely experience being told that currently the waiting time is several YEARS. UH. Nevermind then I guess. I’ll have to think about whether I feel like it’s worth it to pay for a private assessment with polish doctors, but due to my current general lack of options I’ve had to consider where to go from here. Now I have a talk with a psychologist scheduled for next week, since their whole clinic focuses on working with neurodivergent people and she’s audhd I’m hoping that it will at least be a better experience than everything I’ve gone through so far. It is just a consultation since I feel like I’ve hit a point where I don’t quite know how to address any of the practical issues in my life and hope that there is something that can be done to contribute to a better standard of living. Of course nobody can just hand me a solution, but again, I don’t exactly feel like I’m ready to make any major life changes in regards to work or other related things, so I need to start somewhere. My wallet will cry but hopefully I won’t. I could have just gone the other route and tried to find someone here with the referral I got, but I genuinely don’t have the courage or trust in just choosing a random person and hoping that somehow they will be the right one, at least not with my already limited trust towards therapists due to my past experiences. There are absolutely good ones out there, but I really want to increase my chances of finding the right one, even if that means becoming a bit more poor. All in all despite still being very tired it’s been a better day, I only need to get through work tomorrow and then I can recharge in any way I need, so that definitely makes me happy. Things might not be perfect, but it’s also a relief to know and see that now even if I have a worse moment it’s very much temporary and in many cases just letting myself cry makes everything feel so much lighter. I don’t get stuck in a slump of depression, I don’t go down a self hate spiral. Of course I’d want many things to be better and easier, I do hope they eventually will, but it’s still a big improvement from… well, majority of my life in past

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hellbentrapture · 2 years

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How Truly Unkind

CW/TW: depression, anxiety, mental illness, disability, cultural ableism, antagonism, hate, cruelty, hellworld, capitalist hellscape.

You know, I thought I wasn’t bothered by that one reblog on my “if my existence is an example of anything” post, but it turns out I was wrong.

“Go fuck yourself. Stay miserable if you want, but don't drag others down with you, asshole.”

I wrote a post, begging and pleading to anyone who would listen to please, pleasepleaseplease, not sell yourself to and for capitalism. I wrote it because I am a disabled queer whose government is killing me and my friends, and I am watching other governments do it too.

I am trying to access any and every resource I can, but because I am a student and have student loans (that do not pay my bills), I am almost wholly denied these resources. Because I received CRB/CERB until the beginning of 2021, I am almost wholly denied these resources. I am expected to be pretty much homeless or overtly dying before I am allowed to be helped.

My disabilities are partially caused by me selling myself to and for capitalism. My message was to tell anyone who would listen that it is not worth it.

And if you don’t believe for a single second that eugenics of disabled folks is still an active ongoing thing as a part of capitalism, then I prey for such ignorant bliss. To not know how ugly and cruel these systems and structures are. How you are useful until you are not.

Of course I am fucking miserable. If you met me, however, you would not know. I laugh, I sing, I share things, and socialize with the small parts I can. But I am in agony. And I don’t show it to anyone. Because I can’t. One, my C-PTSD causes me some serious lack of affect. But two: because I am ashamed, embarrassed, and ultimately told to “go fuck myself” when I do share my agony.

How ugly of you, to tell someone who is vulnerable, and is finally being so openly, to go fuck themselves. How truly unkind.

And now, with each hit I take, I hear these words. I try to make a request for mutual aide on Facebook and instead get Facebook jail for a month. “Go fuck yourself.” I dropped down from full time classes to part time classes this term because of my health, and student loans transforms any and all grants to immediate debt. “Go fuck yourself.” I got student loans this term because it is the only way to pay my rent (which, as it turns out, does not actually), so now I don’t qualify for any other income supports. “Go fuck yourself.” My government has lifted all COVID precautions - people who test positive don’t need to isolate, and there are zero mask mandates. “Go fuck yourself.”

And that was the point of my message: that where I should receive care and compassion, instead I am told to go fuck myself. Whether this is my government, big corporations, academia, or support spaces on social media, the disabled are being told to go fuck ourselves.

But yes, sure, I am choosing to stay miserable. These kinds of things don’t happen anywhere except Alberta (you know, the leader in Canada for eugenics) - nevermind literally the whole of Canada, the US, or Europe. Oh no. Nono. Cultural, systemic, systematic, structural ableism is something that only happens sometimes AND I am choosing to be miserable about it.

Go fuck yourself.

-- Sincerely: a disabled trans masculine non-binary person who has and is honors roll and is a 3.5-4.0 gpa student; never got benefits in my life but worked full time hours; and whose body and mind is literally debilitated by the time I sold to capitalism (ie. “pulling myself up by my bootstraps”). All literally for nothing.

#vent post #vent #personal #depression #anxiety #mental illness #disability #disabled #queer #fuck capitalism #capitalist hellscape #hellworld #covid #pandemic

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edenmemes · 3 years

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resident evil village starters

❝ oh, keep growing! one day your head might actually fit your ego. ❞ ❝ running will get you nowhere. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to trust my words, but do you have any better options? ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t be out here. it’s not safe. ❞ ❝ i know you don’t like to talk about it, but can we really just forget everything and pretend it didn’t happen? ❞ ❝ well, what do you think? it’s hopeless, right? ❞ ❝ i wish it could stay like this forever. ❞ ❝ oh, such a disappointment. i thought we could join forces. ❞ ❝ i don’t have time for this bullshit. out of my way. ❞ ❝ i don’t give a damn about your personal issues. ❞ ❝ it’s a pleasure to see you safe. ❞ ❝ just give up. flesh and blood will never win against me. ❞ ❝ quit acting so full of yourself. ❞ ❝ the clock is ticking. playtime’s over! ❞ ❝ ohhh, don’t give up! ❞ ❝ you think you can take me on? ❞ ❝ you should have never refused me. ❞ ❝ these are the fruits of my power. ❞ ❝ leave it alone. you are out of your depth. ❞ ❝ i’ve learned all i can from you. your worth as a lab rat has run out. ❞ ❝ no, no, this can’t be the end for me! ❞ ❝ i can’t escape from here... i can’t do anything! ❞ ❝ what are you talking about? you think this is a game? ❞ ❝ don’t get cocky. i’d kill you if you weren’t the trouble. ❞ ❝ hey, do you know anything about what’s going on around here? ❞ ❝ i’m not used to relying on other people. ❞ ❝ you’re the real deal. well done. ❞ ❝ i gotta...keep going. ❞ ❝ i think it’s time you left things in my hands. ❞ ❝ my power is leaving me! ❞ ❝ do me a favor... try to stay under the radar. ❞ ❝ you don’t get it. you don’t stand a chance by yourself. ❞ ❝ alright, alright. i guess i owe you an explanation. ❞ ❝ you must be pretty tough, huh? ❞ ❝ all your power’s done is drive you nuts. ❞ ❝ i gotta say, i’m surprised you made it this far. it’d be a shame if something happened to you now. ❞ ❝ so you finally came to see me! everyone falls for me in time. ❞ ❝ it’s all i can spare. take it, take it! ❞ ❝ you’ve got fight, i’ll give you that. ❞ ❝ i didn’t want to keep it from you. i didn’t want to lose you again. ❞ ❝ i’d kill you if you weren’t worth the trouble. ❞ ❝ is there something you’re not telling me? come on, talk to me. ❞ ❝ you can hear it, can’t you? someone’s waiting for you. ❞ ❝ oh, careful what you wish for. ❞ ❝ i don’t want to die. oh, it hurts so much. ❞ ❝ don’t look at me that way. ❞ ❝ i told you to sit down. ❞ ❝ you’re the reason ___ doesn’t love me. ❞ ❝ hey, kiss me? ❞ ❝ if it’s for you, i would do anything. ❞ ❝ come on, it’s not that much further! ❞ ❝ you’re the only one to see me in this form. ❞ ❝ ugh, my temper got away from me. ❞ ❝ play with me some more. ❞ ❝ trying to get on my good side? ❞ ❝ i don’t know if it’s the scent of the flowers, but i feel light headed. ❞ ❝ in all my years, i’ve never been this overjoyed. ❞ ❝ look forward to what i have in store for you. ❞ ❝ mmm, that smells good. what’s that? ❞ ❝ you really should have taken my deal. ❞ ❝ truth hurts, don’t it? ❞ ❝ i’ve waited so long. but dreams really can come true. ❞ ❝ you coward! come out and face me. ❞ ❝ quit hiding, asshole. i’m not letting you get out of this. ❞ ❝ i won’t let you have it. even if you beg. ❞ ❝ this is my territory, and i won’t let you leave. ❞ ❝ damn, i’m so cold. my legs won’t work. ❞ ❝ local wine, too. but if you’re going to keep sulking all evening, maybe you shouldn’t have any. ❞ ❝ it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. ❞ ❝ you’re the last asshole in my way, aren’t you? ❞ ❝ well, at least we’re together. ❞ ❝ hey, now. think positively, all right? we talked about this. ❞ ❝ come now, don’t be shy. show me your terror. ❞ ❝ i would’ve sliced you to ribbons if they hadn’t stopped me. ❞ ❝ it’s only a riddle if you don’t know the answer. ❞ ❝ shouldn’t we face what happened there so we can live our lives without it hanging over our heads? ❞ ❝ rest while you can, because i will hunt you, and i will break you. ❞ ❝ this village is full of monsters. we can’t fight them! there’s too many. ❞ ❝ a dead body? wait...there’s more... ❞ ❝ you’re a lot like your father, you know. ❞ ❝ it barely flinched when i shot it. i feel like it’s toying with me. ❞ ❝ it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. ❞ ❝ listen. you’re being played. ❞ ❝ too bad you’ll pay for it...with your life. ❞ ❝ please won’t you stay with me? forever? ❞ ❝ you are lucky to die before your child. ❞ ❝ quiet now, child! adults are talking. ❞ ❝ there’s nothing wrong with my memory. you’re just being paranoid. ❞ ❝ this is...this is just too much. ❞ ❝ awww, you’re blushing. ❞ ❝ how can a man be ‘almost’ dead? that’s a question for the wise. ❞ ❝ what kind of sick medieval shit is this? ❞ ❝ i’ve spent a lifetime creating this moment...and you try to take it away from me? ❞ ❝ i’m sick of fighting you! ❞ ❝ why didn’t you fucking tell me right away? ❞ ❝ shut your damn hole and don’t be a sore loser! ❞ ❝ but i’m not paranoid, i’m just cautious. ❞ ❝ don’t get close to me when i’m cooking, babe. ❞ ❝ anyone who is anyone has heard of the likes of you. ❞ ❝ i haven’t cut open a man in a while. ❞ ❝ we moved here so that you wouldn’t have to deal with any of that, remember? ❞ ❝ why? why would you do this? ❞ ❝ i knew you would want to be involved. and this job is hard enough without civilians getting in the way. ❞ ❝ oh? you have something to say? ❞ ❝ tell me what’s out there! ❞ ❝ you’re still alive...? impressive. ❞ ❝ hey, are you listening? hey! ❞ ❝ exactly how much do you plan on annoying me? ❞ ❝ oh, no. they’re coming! ❞ ❝ do you have a gun? please tell me you have a gun. ❞ ❝ it’s not---nevermind. i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ drunk or not, you are welcome---and safe---in here. ❞ ❝ you know how to push my buttons. ❞ ❝ hey, don’t i get a say in this? ❞ ❝ you wouldn’t know proper manners if it slapped you in the face. ❞ ❝ i won’t forgive you, you bastard! ❞ ❝ why...why do you treat me the same as them? am i not your favourite? am i not special? ❞ ❝ at night, i hear wailing, as if ghosts roam the halls. ❞ ❝ quit your whining; we’re almost there! ❞ ❝ i’m afraid you can’t return to your old world any longer. ❞ ❝ how dare you bare your teeth at me. ❞ ❝ you couldn’t save them. they were already gone. ❞ ❝ in life and death, we give glory. ❞ ❝ can you even understand that humiliation? ❞ ❝ even i can get angry. ❞ ❝ what the hell is that thing? ❞ ❝ we will meet again soon. ❞ ❝ let’s just say parts of the human imagination are better left alone. ❞ ❝ some treasures still lurk in this village. ❞ ❝ my decision is final. there will be no argument. ❞ ❝ everyone leaves me. even you. ❞ ❝ there is no safe! every sorry bastard out there has been ripped in half! ❞ ❝ come inside. the others are waiting. ❞ ❝ come with me. there’s something i have to tell you. ❞ ❝ what the hell is wrong with this place? ❞ ❝ the strong will destroy the weak. that’s the way of the world. ❞ ❝ no, we’re getting out of here --- together. ❞ ❝ but what i saw was...frightful. ❞ ❝ i suppose it’s what they call ‘the beauty of the grotesque’. ❞ ❝ you taught me so much and for that i will be forever in your debt. ❞ ❝ it is my curiosity that ties me to this place. ❞ ❝ please let me know if you’d like to strengthen your weapons. ❞ ❝ you’ll pay if i find out this is a lie. ❞ ❝ speaking of foolish questions, who --- what are you? ❞ ❝ if i don’t kill them then my life will never be my own. ❞ ❝ you are abominable. your deceit knows no bound. ❞ ❝ quit holding out, and get to the damn point! ❞ ❝ you’re the one who’s cursed. ❞ ❝ i hope you will be able to achieve your goal someday, too. ❞ ❝ that is why i had to leave you. i will regret never telling you goodbye. ❞ ❝ if i had but a little more time, i know i might be able to turn the tides of this battle. ❞ ❝ i can hear it shuffling about outside. ❞ ❝ and now you even try to steal my property? how dare you? ❞ ❝ ugh, just another simple little manthing. ❞ ❝ oh, good. i was just thinking of ways to pass the time. ❞ ❝ nowhere to go but up. ❞ ❝ where are you? show yourself! ❞ ❝ not without me, it’s too dangerous. ❞ ❝ shit, that was close. ❞ ❝ i heard explosions. what happened? ❞ ❝ you’ve dirtied my dress! ❞ ❝ you’re my daughter...now act like it! ❞ ❝ i don’t think we will make it through winter at this rate. ❞ ❝ the wounds are severe. i won’t last much longer. ❞ ❝ will you please stop talking in riddles? ❞ ❝ goddamn. it really is you. ❞ ❝ you sure of this? your body is, well, falling apart. ❞ ❝ how long have i been out? ❞ ❝ keep your distance. do not move until i give the order. ❞ ❝ i’ve got a tough guy here, i need some back-up! ❞ ❝ if my mom saw this shit, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell. ❞ ❝ shut your fucking hole! ...sorry about that. ❞ ❝ who are you? who sent you? ❞ ❝ please, be well. ❞ ❝ there’s more than we thought. watch out. ❞ ❝ to hunger...is to be alive. ❞ ❝ goddammit! why is everyone dying on me? ❞ ❝ hey! hey. don’t talk like that. ❞ ❝ my word, you truly are as strong as they say! ❞ ❝ don’t you love me? ❞ ❝ oh, you didn’t think i’d let you get away, did you? ❞ ❝ taken alive? dead? which would you prefer? ❞

#roleplay meme #roleplay starters #rp meme #re8 spoilers #resident evil spoilers #i'll most likely add more !! i havent seen everythng from this game yet

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lazyliars · 3 years

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So c!Slimecicle and c!Quackity's relationship is specifically engineered to kill me, specifically.

How DARE they give Quackity a morality pet. This is unacceptable and it will unarguably break my heart into little itty bitty pieces.

It's almost comical how hamfisted their dynamic is to lend a softer, sweeter facet to Q when all of his other relationships are darkening so severely, but it works.

cc!Charlie is playing the childish newcomer SO WELL and c!Quackity doesn't feel out of character when he's so proud and excited to show him capitalism and gambling, and how genuinely scared he seems when Charlie was on the ledge.

Seriously, he was offering to lessen Charlie's debts and PAY HIM not to endanger himself.

His promise to protect Charlie? Reads wholly sincere. And Charlie responding that he would protect Q too, like everything else he says, is also devastatingly honest.

"I take care of the people who take care of me."

Yeah. Yeah.

But on the other hand, this is also kind of horrible.

It's unclear how much of an "adult" c!Charlie is - it's implied that he's hundreds of years old(?) and the form he's taken isn't childish. But his understanding of human beings, and humanity in general, is so limited and not fully formed yet.

While I don't want to infantalize him, I think it's also worth keeping in mind that his agency in this situation is... tenuous. He has his own logic and understanding of the world, but it's not one shared by others.

Further more, Quackity directly refers to him as "not old enough" and Connor seems to view him as younger when he humors him - not in an insulting way, but in the way you might if a child was helping their parent at work and trying to be independent.

All of this means that the power imbalance present in their dynamic is dangerous, for both of them.

Quackity is spiraling hard right now, and it bodes very badly for him that the person he vocally describes as his "best friend" is a slimeguy he met a week ago at most, who is, among other things, deeply impressionable.

Now, we've only had two proper lore interactions, so I ask this next theory be taken with a grain of salt...

But in thinking on it, the relationship between c!Quackity and c!Slimecicle could be leading into a parallel to c!Tommy and c!Dream in exile.

Now, I know that seems waaaaaaay off, I really do. And Quackity hasn't done anything to hurt Charlie, and nothing that he has done to him reads to me like abuse. I am not saying that I think anything in the situations are morally or even physically equivalent, because they aren't.

The worst Quackity does is put Charlie into debt, which we'll get to-- But it doesn't have the same tone as any of exile - it's not treated in the text as "bad" in the same way.

But when I say "parallel" I mean that it echoes certain qualities. Quackity is already having an arc that parallels Dream's in some ways - cutting out/losing attachments, doing darker and darker things for reasons that are esoteric to the viewers, and manipulating multiple people who are in dark places.

And in that vein, one thing that Dream was always adamant about was that he and Tommy were friends. He went so far as to say that Tommy was his only attachment.

In watching Quackity and Slimecicle have this funny, sweet friendship, it's easy to forget that Charlie isn't just his best friend, he's his only friend. Quackity has lost or privatized all of his meaningful connections to other people.

And that's hardly fair to Charlie, who is brand new to humanity and doesn't have the tools to recognize the drastic power imbalance between them, or the support network necessary to help him if he loses Quackity. Quackity is also the only thing that Charlie has.

And Quackity happily putting Charlie into debt so that he can make him work for him, I'm sure was originally a purely practical idea to net him a useful pawn, now reads as more desperate; the actions of a man who was painfully reminded of what friendship feels like and wants to keep this one little connection he's made.

If Charlie is in debt, he has to work for Quackity, which means he has to stay. He can't leave him, like everyone else. (Nevermind the fact that Charlie would have definitely said "yes" to helping Quackity without any debts or payment involved.)

Through this lens (and again, we only have two interactions, so grain of salt--) it does mirror Dream viewing Tommy as his "friend" to the point that he wanted them to become "immortal" together.

While Quackity has sunk pretty low, I don't think he'd ever sink that low, and even if this parallel IS the direction they're going, I don't think they'll take it there entirely - I feel like it would be more likely that Charlie might be the thing that pulls Quackity back from the edge, if he does indeed hurt him and realizes it soon enough.

All of that is just my personal impressions as to where the story might be going. It could be completely different from what I'm expecting, I really don't know.

And none of this is to say that the relationship developing isn't genuine - I think it really, really is, and that's what is so heartbreaking about this; Quackity is still on his villain arc, he's still spiraling, but now we have this stark reminder of the caring person he used to be-- and still is, deep down.

This is going to hurt so fucking bad. I'm hype.

#Quackity #Slimecicle #Charlie Slimecicle #Dream SMP #Dream SMP analysis #las nevadas #abuse mention

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #money talk #hurt/ comfort #angst #argument #sheets

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eirikaanemo · 3 years

Note

"Still, the winds change direction. Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future... Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward"

– Vayuda Turquoise Gemstone

Venti granting his crush a vision. In canon, anemo users are hardworking people with strong beliefs, but also those who need a break.

bonus: morax gives a geo vision to venti's s/o, making venti kinda jealous. 'hello, celestia tech support? i need to grant this one person a second vision, yeah its vital, wait don't hang up"

Good Enough

Venti x Visionless!GN!Reader

1.3k Words

Warning: gossiping (about you), self-worth insecurities

You've never had a vision, and that's never bothered you before. A vision isn't necessary to kick butt. You’re of two minds about the situation. Part of you is proud to have come so far without needing to rely on a vision. Another part of you, shoved to the back of your mind, feels very insecure about it all. Why don’t you have a vision?

As a knight of favonius you’ve spent a lot of time honing your combat skills. Hours and hours of your time are invested in improving your accuracy, strength, reaction time, and improvisation ability. You have to be the best of the best to keep up with everyone else. The fact that you rarely see those with visions training is shoved into the back of your mind. Surely they just train elsewhere.

However, the back of your mind is also where your insecurities lie. So shoving the thought back there only compounded the problem. They’re just better than you, your mind whispers. They don’t need to practice to be powerful. They don’t have to put in effort to be good enough.

All your hard work pays off. You’re the highest ranked knight that doesn’t have a vision. And you’re still climbing up the ranks. However, it’s been made very clear that the next promotion opportunity will likely not be available to you.

“Captain deputies are assigned to their departments based on vision type.” The knight had claimed, carefully avoiding eye contact with you. “Make sure that you hone your elemental abilities as best you can. Only the best are chosen for this position.”

While they had tried to be tactful, you could feel the eyes of your colleagues on you. You could hear their whispers behind your back for the rest of the day. “Do they really think they have a chance?” They whisper. “It’s a miracle they made it this far. I wonder how they even managed to make it this far.”

You try not to let it bother you. You can’t show weakness, so you go about the rest of your day with your usual expression pasted on your face. Everything is normal, you say silently. Nothing is wrong. It’s not like you wanted that promotion anyway.

Most people buy your soundless lies or simply allow you the dignity of not confronting you about it. Everything goes okay. Until you run into Venti, that is.

The two of you have been together for a while now. He’s always been a big supporter of your passion to do your best and climb through the ranks. Even times where he doesn’t see you for a week straight don’t budge his support a bit. You make as much time for him as you can, but he understands the kind of time commitment you’ve made and is willing to wait as long as you need.

And being someone who often puts up a facade himself, he notices something is wrong immediately. “Is everything okay?” He asks you gently as the two of you sit in a corner at Angel’s Share. “You seem pretty down tonight. Did something happen?”

You sit quietly for a moment, pondering how to respond. Chancing a look at him, he sends you a serene and patient smile. Venti is willing to wait as long as you need. The thought helps your nervousness a lot.

After another couple moments of thought you respond. “No, I’m not really okay,” you admit. “It was heavily implied today that in order for me to move further up the ranks I need a vision.”

He tries to keep his face neutral, the last thing you need right now is pity; but a small frown still slips onto his face. “That’s rather discriminatory,” he notes. “If you want I could bring it up with Jean. The knights aren’t supposed to discriminate like that.”

You shake your head. How Venti, a seemingly normal bard, has influence with Acting Grandmaster Jean is beyond you; but you would never want to take advantage of it.

“No, I’ll be okay,” you reply. “I’m sure they will eventually see the error of their ways. But- well, nevermind.” Your face falls as your insecurities creep forward as you remember the whispers.

“But…” he prompts you to continue.

“But it just seems like everything would be a lot easier if I had a vision.” You confide. “The extra firepower really helps on missions. There’s a kind of respect you gain when you have one. And, to be honest, people with visions are a lot more efficient.”

“You sound like you wish you had a vision,” he notes.

“That’s because I do,” you admit. A feeling of shame washes over you. How could you say that? So many people look up to you as an example of what a regular person can do. How could you just throw that all away?

“I thought you didn’t want a vision,” Venti pointed out, confused.

“I can see why you’d think that. Part of me is proud of how far I’ve come as I am and getting a vision sometimes feels like I’d be taking the easy way out. But that’s not to say I don’t want one. I’ve wanted a vision for the longest time,” you admit. “It just feels like I’m not allowed to want it.”

He hums in understanding. “I think,” he starts thoughtfully. “I think it’s okay to want what you want. Getting a vision isn’t easy, you really have to prove yourself. But you also have to be open to receiving one. Who knows? Maybe you will get one and can use the extra opportunities it grants you to open more opportunities for others who don’t have visions.”

You nod. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. A way to stay true to my roots while still being able to grow in a way I’m not able to right now. But you’d think I’d already have a vision by now if I was going to get one, you know? I hear what people say about me. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Venti carefully sets his drink down on the table and turns to face you. He seems sad and almost guilty. “Do you really think you’re not good enough because you don’t have a vision?” He inquires softly. You blink, surprised at the question.

“Sometimes,” you confess.

He pulls you into a hug and moves to whisper in your ear. “You are good enough, vision or not. Whether some archon has acknowledged you or not doesn’t matter. A vision isn’t necessary to prove self-worth. You are good enough just as you are, please never doubt that. You are precious and loved and special because you are you. Vision or no vision, that will never change.”

You melt into his hug and bury your face into his shoulder. “Thanks, Venti,” you whisper. “I really needed to hear that.”

Your partner proceeded to spend the rest of the night cheering you up. He told stupid jokes and sang stupid love songs. All of his attention was on you. He didn’t even finish his drink. It was a special night that you know you will never forget.

And if you woke up the next morning to an anemo vision on your bedside table and beamed your way through the rest of the morning. If you proudly displayed in on your belt like your partner does, and held your head a little taller than usual; well, that’s your business.

And if Captain Kaeya took one look at you with your new vision, laughed, and said, “Well, it’s about time! I was starting to wonder if the archons had gone blind!” Well, your smile might have been just that much brighter.

You followed through with the idea Venti suggested, making it easier for those without visions to rise in ranks as long as they put in the work. And it felt good. But you knew deep inside, that the vision didn’t define you.

Your life continued as before, with the only change being how you trained- not how often you trained. People still looked up to you. You were still an inspiration to them. Life was good.

And yes, you got the promotion.

#eirika writes #venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years

Text

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 1 of 2

SPOILER ALERT.

It's probably just the alcohol, but the beats of the music are starting to sound a little bit like a marching drum that's announcing war. She can feel herself dancing along to it, but her whole body is on alert, ready to switch to fight and flight any second.

"So, cool place huh?" The bloke in the leather jacket asks.

She tries to remember his name. Jeff something. Or maybe Jed. No, not Jed, she's thinking of Star Wars again. That's what happens when you binge watch a multiverse of movies in a single day.

Oh, yeah, that's right. She broke the multiverse.

Another shot of tequila, and she takes not-Jed's hand in hers. It doesn't feel right, at least not the way-

No.

She realises he asked her a question, but she can't remember what, and she just laughs, because that always works.

Encouraged, he leans in close and whispers into her ears. "How about we get out of here?"

"And go where, exactly?" She asks, but she's not sure he understands, not with how slurred the words come out.

She laughs again, and this time, it's bitter. This time, she's laughing at how this is so him, this getting drunk in the face of imminent danger and making a mess of things.

(But I'm not you.)

---

She's frozen in her place the second the glowing yellow door appears. But it's not for her, at least not this time.

She hasn't been on the run for a while. Doesn't need to be. Because even though she is the one who unleashed the chaos, it's the chaos that needs to be contained immediately. She's low on the list of priorities.

The TVA will come for her. But not right now.

---

It's extremely easy pretending to be a psychic. All she has to do is take her client's hands and enchant him, find a memory, describe it back to him.

Sometimes she does it just for fun, just to see the look of amazement on their faces.

Other times, she does it for the money she needs to survive.

"And I see a blonde woman. Very beautiful."

"That's my wife."

The way he smiles, loving and proud, makes her heart drop.

"What do you see in her future? Is she happy? Does she get the job at the magazine?"

There is definitely at least one timeline where she does get the job, but The Enchantress cannot exactly tell if it's this one. She can't actually see the future, after all.

She sees the colors drain from his face as her silence swallows the room. "She's going to be okay, right? I just want her to be okay."

(I just want you to be okay.)

There's that bitter laugh again, because-

No. She can't do this right now.

"She loves you very much", she whispers, to the man in front of her, and to the man who is not there to hear those words.

---

Mobius finds her in the middle of a concert by a Nirvana where Kurt Cobain never died. She can easily slip away, disappear into the screaming, writhing crowd if she wants.

Or she can just take him some place quiet and hear him out.

"Help us", Mobius pleads. He sounds exhausted, and not just physically. "We're outnumbered and outwitted. Our world is in danger."

"This isn't my world", she reminds him.

"Yet, you're here", he retorts.

Her smile is pained. "Where else will I go?"

He is sympathetic, like he always has been. And he offers her a new glorious purpose. "Come with me. We need you. He needs you."

She feels the air find its way out of her lungs the same way she pushed him out of her life- painfully, forcefully. "H-how is he?"

"He's okay... all things considered."

Now there's a cocktail of relief and disappointment that will give her months of sleepless nights.

"Tell him I'm-" she starts, but she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. What can she tell him? That she's sorry for not trusting him when she should have? That she's sorry for making the universes collide?

That she's sorry for betraying him and breaking his heart?

(How will I know you won't betray me at the end?)

"Nevermind."

---

It's been really hard facing the consequences of her actions, watching the timelines bleed into each other and destroy people's lives- families torn, achievements gone, every little anomaly delving into death and destruction. Every headline on the newspaper is her fault, and she has to live with that.

But that seems so easy compared to this moment where she has to face him.

The plan was to send him away, kill He Who Remains, give people their free will back, save the world, then come back to him. Yeah, he'd be mad at her at first, sure, but he'd forgive her eventually, she was confident.

Then the timelines started to branch the minute she stuck the dagger in that terrifying man's chest, and she knew she had screwed up.

She had sunk to the ground in defeat as the realisation of the repercussions hit her, and she did what she has always done- run.

She didn't even realise she had sent him to the wrong universe until she teleported herself into another universe as well. The journey back was long and lonely, but she dreamt of him in colors while the world was bleeding red, and that was enough to keep her going.

She doesn't really know what she'll do when she sees him again. Neither does she know what reaction she expects from him. Nothing he can say to her can be worse than what she thinks of herself.

A part of her hopes he would be overwhelmingly happy, he would come running to her, just like he did at The Void, greet her with the smile that has won a hundred hearts- including hers, and tell her everything will be alright. Another part of her fears that he would be furious, and he would confront her with accusations of unleashing havoc on all worlds- especially his.

What she never expected is this eerie calm that makes her feel like she is standing in the storm center.

His walls are up.

And it causes her to redirect the anger she feels at herself towards him. There's venom in her voice. "So you do get to rule, after all."

"I don't feel much like a king." He shrugs. "I'm more of a multiversal janitor. Mopping up multiversal messes."

"My messes."

"Our messes." He corrects, his features softening around the edges. "We made a mistake." He has been saying that ever since he found himself in the alternate TVA, and that hasn't changed even after getting back to his own version of the bureau. Always "we", never "she". He simply cannot bring himself to blame her without taking accountability for his part in the mess.

"Don't patronize me." Her hands are shaking, just like her voice, a sharp contrast to his steady silhouette, and can he just hold her, please? "I don't need you to take the fall for me."

His eyes go cold, like they were forged in the heart of Jotunheim. "Of course not", he says, fully composed. "You don't need me for anything. It's not like we're in this together."

(Maybe we can figure it out-together.)

---

She now knows her walls don't- can't- keep the hurt out- it just keeps her locked inside this cage of distrust and insecurities. And the price she has to pay for it is too high.

They could have been lying on a beach somewhere, sipping mimosas right now. Instead, they're here, in the vast, silent library of the TVA, sitting on separate tables, reading files on variants.

The only thing worse than bearing the weight of his gaze is having him stare at his files without looking in her direction even once. She can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry." She suddenly blurts out.

He looks up, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry for what I did." She repeats. It's difficult to start an apology, but once she finds the strength to begin, the rest of it flows automatically. "I'm sorry I messed up everything. I'm sorry I broke the timelines. I'm sorry the world is in danger." She takes in a deep breath. "And I'm sorry I betrayed you."

His smile is the saddest kind. "A Loki betraying a Loki. That's the least surprising thing in the world. What's shocking is how I didn't see it coming. You really had me going with that kiss. Very nice distraction. Very Loki."

Free will comes with the fine-print of living with the consequences of your choices. And she has to live with hers every day. The tears finally spill out of her eyes. She hasn't let herself cry for a long, long time. But now she's breaking down worse than the multiverse. "I didn't do it to distract you. I did it to say goodbye."

He gets up, and she panics that he's leaving. Instead, he sits down in front of her, reaches for her hand, but changes his mind mid-way and lets them fall to his side. "You didn't have to say goodbye."

"It's all I've ever known." She feels like that scared little girl, far from home, running from minute men, with nobody to turn to but herself. "I told you, I don't have anyone."

"You had me."

That's the saddest part of it all, isn't it? Everything else in her life is the TVA's fault. She's torn from Asgard? Hasn't seen her parents in years? Can't remember her brother Thor? Spent her whole childhood running and hiding? All TVA.

But this? This is all her own doing. This is the one time she had something real, something worth holding onto, someone worth fighting against the world for. Instead, she questioned his intentions, didn't hold on, fought him and ruined everything.

"I didn't want to rule, Sylvie", he finally tells her. "I wanted you."

She has dreamed of this moment when he tells her how he feels. They have come so close to it so many times, the words dangling off the edge of his tongue but never quite finding their way out. She has always known- every word, every action pointed to it. But it was so hard to imagine someone could love her.

It's so hard to imagine someone can love her again. The past tense in his wording terrifies her worse than any danger ever could. "Is it too late to fix things?"

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We are fixing things. That's why we are here. Saving the universe."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know how to trust you again, Sylvie." He tells her point blank- no deception, no lies, no Loki-ism. "And you never trusted me to begin with."

That's not entirely true. She trusts him more than she has trusted anyone. "I really thought I was doing the right thing."

"I know."

(Not to be dramatic, but yeah, we're saving the universe.)

---

The Avengers are much nicer than Loki described them, considering they don't kill her for what she has done, instead tell her about their own journeys towards redemption. Wanda tells her about the man she has loved and lost, and the pain she has caused to an entire town. Barnes talks about his past as a brainwashed assassin. Clint tells her the story of Natasha and how she took charge and changed her life.

Thor is the kindest of them all. He talks about how far Loki himself has come. He tells her stories of his version of Asgard, the nine realms, the glorious battles, the beauty of earth.

She still dreams of death, but sometimes she doesn't.

Sometimes, she hopes.

---

(To be continued)

#loki x sylvie #fanfiction #sylvie x loki #loki fanfic #loki #sylvie laufeydottir #sylki fanfic #sylki

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rayadraws · 3 years

Note

“Somehow you must not have heard all the bad things said about me.”“I’ve heard them all twice. But I’ll make my own judgments.” For Zombiemask plz and thank you : )

Ohoo! A first for me to write...

G-rated but canon typical level gore, pre-relationship, maybe mild WC spoilers?

Like herding cats. Uncooperative, mad, possibly-no-likely rabid cats, the lot of them. It seemed a requirement for the S-class heroes to be as awful as humanely possible. Beauto sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. At least the meeting was finally over and he was all alone; a rare if temporary blessing.

That didn’t mean his work of the day was done. He had to write and submit the report, he had an´telephone interview in three hours and he’d fallen behind on his fan letters again, he should really spend at least an hour tonight to try to catch up. But at least he could allow himself a few minutes to himself right now. To breathe, to compose himself before reality came crashing back down. To enjoy the semi-darkness in the room. The more he changed, the more he seemed to enjoy the comfort of darkness.

He stood up, eyes closed, taking another deep breath, only to jump at an unexpected rattling cough in the room.

Beauto startled and looked around for the source. There, in the far, darkest corner sat Zombieman, frowning, one of his trademark cigarettes sticking out of his mouth, looking straight at him with those dead eyes. Beauto should reprimand him for smoking inside the Hero Association’s pristine meeting room, but he’d had enough tonight trying to keep Metal Bat and Flashy Flash from ripping into each other over who had the best hair, as if it had anything to do with their job! He just couldn’t muster up the energy to start another argument. Not now.

”Why are you still here?” he just asked, instead.

Zombieman chewed on his cigarette, looking unblinking at him with an unreadable expression.

”You look tired,” was all he said in return.

”So do you, with those dark circles and pallid skin,” Beauto automatically countered.

Zombieman’s expression didn’t waver. ”Yeah, but I always look like this. You don’t.”

He straightened his jacket. ”I’ll be fine.” ’Thanks for worrying’, he didn’t add. He’d accepted his lot in life, even if it meant being disliked by everyone in this place. It was worth it, if it meant they could do what they needed to do.

”Hey,” Zombieman suddenly said. ”Wanna go get a beer?”

Beauto stared at him.

”I feel like shit and you look like shit, we’ll be a perfect pair,” Zombieman continued. He coughed twice, a deep, concerning cough, but at least he had the courtesy to cough into his elbow rather than across the table.

In a moment of weakness? Madness? Beauto agreed to the offer. He must be going insane, to agree to willingly hang out with one of them. But Zombieman waited patiently as he retrieved his coat - the inconspicuous one he used for undercover missions - as he put on his scarf and hat and sunglasses that he always kept in his desk.

”You allergic to sunlight or something?” he said, still chewing on the damn cigarette.

”I can’t be seen drinking in public.”

”Ah, yeah, the idol thing.”

As they started to walk down the lobby and his trenchcoat fell to the side, Beauto realized the probable reason Zombieman had stayed so still for so long, past the meeting even; he was missing a good portion of his torso. It looked almost like something very big had simply taken a large bite out of him.

In their profession, that was actually not unlikely. How he was still standing, nevermind walking, was beyond him.

Noting Beauto’s eyes on him, Zombieman pulled his coat tighter, hiding his horrifying injuries from view.

”I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

”How can you even walk like that? Don’t you feel pain?”

”I feel pain. Don’t worry. It’ll heal.”

Beauto knew it would, but it was still disturbing. He tore his eyes away. ”Lead the way.”

”Aye, cap'n.”

The walk was slow. Zombieman limped with every step, until Beauto had had enough and put his arm around him, helping him walk more steadily. At least this way if someone recognized him, he could use Zombieman as a way to avoid them. Out of the way, this man needs immediate hospital care!

”Such a gentleman,” Zombieman purred.

”You’re too slow, that's all.”

He was taken to a bar not far from the HA, only a couple of blocks away. The way no one paid them any attention, he suspected Zombieman must be a regular here. The suspicion was made even stronger when they were immediately led to a booth in the far back, the darkest corner without as much as a word.

Beauto approved and apparently Zombieman did too, still with the damned cigarette.

”They let you smoke in here?” he asked as they sat down. Zombieman just grinned at him.

”They’re bad for you, you know,” Beauto continued.

Zombieman removed the cigarette from his mouth. Only it… wasn’t. It was a god damn lollipop.

”That’s what the kid tells me too, you know.”

Gingerly he put the lollipop down on the table and flagged the server down for two beers.

It was, despite everything, not that bad. Beauto was trained in pleasant small talk. Almost on auto pilot, he asked Zombieman all the silly little questions. The man was… strange. His hero name was well earned, at least as far as looks went. But Beauto found that beneath it, Zombieman was pleasant enough to talk to. He didn’t seem to have any grand ambitions or plans, beyond being a good role model to Child Emperor, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was doing. As for why he took Beauto to this place? ’You looked like you needed it’, apparently.

”But why would you care?” he asked, too tired to keep up any charades.

”Isn’t that part of being a hero? Caring about everyone. ’Sides, you seem pretty cool.”

”Cool?” Beauto snorted. That didn’t fit with what he usually heard from his colleagues. Arrogant, stuck up, nothing but a pretty boy, jealous, evil…

“Somehow you must not have heard all the bad things said about me,” he replied.

Once again, he felt those red eyes squarely on himself. Unblinking and unwavering.

”I’ve heard them all twice. But I’ll make my own judgments.”

Beauto tried to meet his gaze, failed and looked down. Watched his perfectly manicured fingers resting on the worn wooden table, full of dents and scrapes.

”Thank you,” he muttered.

A small eternity passed.

”Hey,” Zombieman suddenly said. He took a deep swig of his beer and lifted the edge of his coat. Beauto glanced up, not sure he wanted to see that gross injury a second time. But instead his eyes fell on soft skin. It was pale and somewhat sickly-looking, like all of Zombieman’s skin (what he'd seen, anyway), but it was perfectly smooth, not even a visible scar.

Seeing him gawk, Zombieman pulled his coat even more aside, revealing that there was still some healing to happen near the bottom. But it was a flesh wound now, opposed to a large chunk of him just… gone. It was a marvel, quite frankly.

Beauto made an effort to close his open mouth.

”That’s… fascinating, I suppose.”

”It does come in handy. Most people do heal, though. Just slower than this.”

”’Most people’ can’t re-grow missing tissue.”

”True.” Zombieman looked thoughtful as he put the lollipop back into his mouth.

”What about you?”

For a brief moment, Beauto went cold.

”What about me?” Had he let his facade slip? Was Zombieman on to him?

”You done here?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. ”Yes. Sure.”

He offered to pay, but Zombieman insisted on paying for them both.

”Almost sounds like you took me out on a date,” Beauto joked as they left. Zombieman was walking normally again, now. It was good to see.

He chuckled. ”Me, ask Sweet Mask out on a date? As if I’d dare.”

”Well. It wasn’t… it wasn’t terrible.”

”Really? In that case, it was a carefully planned date, carried out to perfection.”

Despite himself, Beauto laughed. Somehow, he felt lighter than before. ”Fine. It’s a date. Under one condition.”

”What’s that?”

”Next time, you let me pay.”

The red eyes sparkled, looking more alive than he’d ever seen them.

”Deal.”

#zombiemask #amazomb #amai mask x zombieman #zombieman x amai mask #ficlet

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Text

i picture it, soft, and i ache

He cannot love Patton.

But god, does he want to.

It doesn't take Janus very long to fall in love with Patton, when it comes down to it. It takes him far longer to accept it, and to allow it to grow.

Content Warning: brief, non-graphic depiction of a panic attack

(ao3 link)

(podfic by @titheinironside)

It’s unbelievable, how fast he falls.

He prides himself on his rationality, his pragmatism. He’s no Logan, of course, but it has been a very long time since he allowed his emotions to get in his way. Over the years, that has cost him so much-- his relationship with Virgil, his ability to trust and be trusted, any moral compass that he may once have possessed, among other things. But he has never regretted it, not once, because his primary directive is to help Thomas, and if he has to play the villain to do so, so be it. Lord knows none of the others see the world for what it is, are willing to do what it takes to ensure Thomas’ success.

But the scene is like this: time passes, Thomas begins to listen to him, and one day, Patton smiles. He doesn’t know at what, doesn’t know why, because he wasn’t paying attention until now, but Patton smiles, wide and bright, and in that moment, Janus would do anything for that smile to be directed at him.

In the next moment comes realization: oh.

In the next few days comes denial: no.

Because above all else, he knows himself, knows what he is built for and what he is not. He is not built for this love, all-encompassing and brilliant, not built for this depth of devotion. His very being is defined by his loyalty to Thomas and Thomas alone, his ability to use and discard the others at will as long as Thomas will benefit. He is a snake and a liar, cunning, selfish, cowardly, and he has spent his entire existence pushing away the possibility of anything else.

He cannot love Patton.

But god, does he want to. Patton burns like the brightest star in the sky, moves like the gentlest breeze on the warmest summer day, laughs like the freest dancer on the greenest field, and Janus is caught in his orbit, hopelessly entranced, hanging off his every word. The first time Patton touches him skin to skin, a graze against his forearm, causally, in passing, he has to excuse himself and stand in the center of his room for hours to catch his breath. His heart races too fast, and his entire arm feels as though it has been set alight, and all he wants is for it to happen again.

He is in too deep, sinking too quickly. He is at the bottom of the ocean, and even as the pressure of the water overhead crushes him, even as the darkness swallows him whole, he cannot bring himself to fight for the surface. If this is drowning, then he will drown and be grateful.

He cannot love Patton. But it is far, far too late for that.

“Wow,” Remus says, impressed against all odds. “You are a gay disaster.”

He groans. “I don’t know why I expected you to help me,” he mutters, and Remus shrugs, entirely unapologetic.

“You know I don’t do the whole romance thing,” he says. “Not my department. Have you tried, uh--” He scrunches his nose, and Janus knows that whatever comes out of his mouth next will be truly ridiculous-- “telling him, maybe? With, um, roses? That’s romantic shit, right? But you gotta take all the thorns off so that he doesn’t prick his thumb and blood doesn’t go spurting everywhere--”

“Please stop,” he groans, and that is the end of that.

Tell Patton. Absurd.

And he cannot tell anyone else. Cannot ask for help. He can tell Remus because he trusts Remus, to the extent that he trusts him to be exactly what he is, no more and no less, and Remus trusts him in the same way. But in general, trust is a foreign concept to him, once known but long lost, like returning to an old favorite book and realizing that the words have faded beyond all recognition.

But that’s alright. He is used to being alone. He has been alone for so long that he barely remembers what honest companionship feels like, and that is part of the problem, isn’t it? He has built so many walls around himself, walls that only he is ever allowed to breach, but here is Patton, waiting outside the gates and asking to be let in. Not demanding, not threatening; he brings no battering ram, no armies. Just himself, and his smile, and flowers in his hair, and that has more effect than twenty armies could.

He wants to open the gates. But the chains are rusted, the keys long lost, and that does not even take into account the danger of it, the danger of allowing himself to love another. Thomas is his priority, but what happens to him when that changes? What does he become? And what does that say about the worth of every action he has taken to lead him to this point?

Can he love? Is he capable of that unique vulnerability? He doesn’t think so. Love and trust go hand in hand, and if he cannot manage one, the other will evade him. He’s dancing a waltz meant for two on an empty stage, stumbling over his own feet because he has no one to catch him.

“You need to stay away from Patton,” Virgil tells him, eyes dark and clouded over with years of betrayal.

“Oh?” he asks. “Why is that?”

Virgil snorts, kicking away from the wall he’s leaning on. He approaches him slowly, deliberately, and the threads that hold Janus in place are invisible, intangible, but there all the same. A spiderweb capable of holding a serpent fast.

“Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at him,” Virgil says, and fear lands heavily in his chest. “I know everyone’s all eager to accept you and have you around these days, but I know what you are. Whatever you’re planning, leave him out of it.”

“Ah, yes,” he replies. “You know what I am, just as I know what you are, Virgil. I wouldn’t throw stones.” He pauses. The words fall from his lips bitter-sharp, and he doesn’t want to be saying them, not like this, but it’s a habit formed from years. There was a time when they were happy, once, but they spoiled each other, and nothing is left of that shared past but a handful of wilted promises and bridges burned beyond repair.

Virgil snorts and shoves past him.

“Out of curiosity,” he says, and Virgil stops, “how do I look at him?”

Virgil turns and stares. “What?” he demands, and Janus knows that it was a mistake.

“Nevermind,” he says, and moves to walk away, but Virgil grabs his arm, hard enough to bruise, and holds him in place. For a minute, he says nothing at all, and Janus is left to search his face, the anger in the tightness of his lips and bewilderment in the tilt of his head.

Then, realization dawns, and Janus wants to be anywhere but here.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Virgil says. “You… I can’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, tightly, coolly.

Virgil laughs, and it’s the sound of a predator pouncing. “Yeah?” he challenges. “I don’t give a damn what you feel, or what you think you feel. You’re a fucking liar, and a fucking liar is all you’ll ever be. You’re not capable of giving him what he deserves.”

They are standing so close to each other, a distance of inches, but he has never felt farther away from him. What they once had is lost, but in the space between breaths, he allows himself to mourn its death, hating himself for the weakness all the while.

“I know,” he says.

Virgil scowls, dire warning in the shadows on his face, and releases him, stomping away. Janus watches him go, and he aches.

A moment later, Patton pokes his head around the corner.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, eyes pinched with concern. “I thought I heard arguing.”

I want to kiss you, he doesn’t say. I want you to hold me and never let go, he doesn’t say. I want to love you, and I want you to love me, please, would you love me? he doesn’t say.

“It was nothing,” he says. “We’ve sorted it.”

Patton doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets it be. Janus watches him go, and he aches.

No one ever told him that love would hurt. He supposes he should have guessed it. Nothing that is worth having ever comes easily, and even though his breath catches every time Patton walks into a room, even though his heart tries to burst from his chest every time Patton deigns to glance his way, he doesn’t think he would trade this for anything. He can barely remember a time before this, before this love crawled into his chest and took up residence.

He takes whatever Patton will give him, laps up the crumbs like a starving dog. He accepts every offer of dinner, every invitation to watch a movie or play a game, even though all the rest of them barely tolerate him at best and openly hate him at worst. He’ll endure Virgil’s scorn, Roman’s enmity, Logan’s dismissal, as long as it means he can stay by Patton’s side. And Patton, at least, seems to like that he’s there, and most of him screams that it can’t be trusted, that there must be an ulterior motive, because that is the way he has thought about other people for nearly three decades and it’s so hard to try to change that. But he also knows that Patton doesn’t work that way. No matter how foolish it may be, he is genuine and true. Everything that Janus is not.

He entices smiles from him, teases laughter, and rejoices in the fact that it is him that draws these responses. It is all he will ever have, all he will ever be brave enough to take, and it is more than enough, more than he ever expected he could receive.

He cannot love Patton. But he does.

Roman corners him one day, and he lets him, because he has no idea why Roman of all people would seek him out. Things are better between them, but not by much, and Roman himself is still fragile in an odd way, as if saying the wrong thing one more time will prompt a total collapse. Janus has wanted many things from Remus’ twin, but never that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Roman says, through gritted teeth. “But, you and Patton.”

He blinks, taken aback. He told Remus, but Remus wouldn’t tell Roman. Virgil figured him out, but even after everything, Virgil still knows him well enough to read him, so that is no shock. Roman, though, barely manages to make eye contact with him on a good day, so he couldn’t, shouldn’t know, unless he is being far more obvious than he thought he was. That thought alone is enough to send an icy tendril of fear down his spine.

“What about me and Patton?” he asks, and hopes that his voice doesn’t shake.

Roman sighs, and his next sentence comes out as if it takes him a great effort to say. “Look, you make him happy, alright?” he states. “I don’t get it, and mostly, I’m scared that you’re just manipulating him, but for some ungodly reason, he actually likes having you around. So what I’m here to say is that if you hurt him, if this all turns out to be for some kind of scheme of yours, I will stab you through the heart and leave you pinned to the ground for the crows to eat. Do you understand me?”

His mouth goes dry. “Perfectly,” he rasps.

Roman looks at him, and then nods. He walks away without a sound, and Janus tries in vain to steady his nerves.

What was that?

You make him happy.

You. Make him. Happy.

Happy happy happy.

His face feels odd. He brings a gloved hand up to feel his cheek, and he realizes he’s smiling, wide and unrestrained like he hasn’t in years.

He makes Patton happy. He makes Patton happy.

He makes Patton happy.

He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what he does. He can coax out smiles with a bit of smooth talk, bring out laughter with a well-placed pun, but those are both momentary, fleeting things. The idea that he makes Patton happy implies something that goes far beyond moments, implies a lasting fondness and a desire for his company, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why, and that is a problem, because if he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know to keep doing it.

Eventually, he works up the courage to ask, and Patton stops in the middle of rolling out his cookie dough.

“Why do I like to hang out with you?” he repeats. His eyes are very blue behind his glasses, like the vastest sky. “It’s because you’re you, silly.” He grins, bubbly and vivacious, and dabs a bit of flour on Janus’ nose. He sticks out his tongue instinctively, and Patton coos at what he calls a ‘blep’ and what Janus calls ‘something that he will deny ever happening so please stop bringing it up.’

“Besides,” Patton adds, more thoughtfully, “we’ve spent so long not being friends, and that was mostly on me. Now that I know how great you are, I don’t want to waste any more time. You’ve been trying so hard all along, and I couldn’t see that.” He grabs Janus’ hand, and he has to stifle a gasp. He can feel the human side of his face heating up, and hopes against all hope that Patton will not notice what must be an obvious blush. “I want to know you better now.”

“Oh,” is all he can say, all he can squeak out between teeth that are too tightly clenched. Even through his glove, Patton’s hand is so very warm, and his hand is tingling at his touch. “Um, I suppose I want to know you better, too,” he adds, stumbling his way through sincerity, and it must be the right answer, because Patton beams.

It’s like standing in sunlight, squinting up at a cloudless sky, in a instant of warmth and light that will last forever. Night will never fall and rain will never come down, and the sun will burn bright until the end of time, and so will he.

That evening, he has a panic attack in Logan’s room.

It starts in the hallway and comes out of nowhere; one moment he is walking to his room, and the next, he is leaning on the wall for support, doubled over and gasping for breath for no reason that he can see. But he happens to be standing near Logan’s door, and he must be loud enough for him to take notice, to come out and lead him somewhere safer, less exposed. He would be more grateful, if his lungs would cooperate.

Logan counts and measures his own breaths, and eventually, he finds himself able to follow the rhythm. He is shaking and sweating and crying just a bit, but the panic eases little by little, leaving him pressed up against the wall, Logan sitting nearby but not touching. He is familiar with the motions; he walked through them for Virgil, once upon a time. He has never been on the receiving end.

“Would you like to discuss it?” Logan asks, when he no longer feels as though his lungs are being constricted by iron bands.

He contemplates what triggered it. He thinks it was nothing in particular, really, nothing but a sudden sensation of being overwhelmed by everything all at once, his feelings and the endless possibilities open before him, a looming, uncertain future. It is as though he is walking a tightrope over a precipice, and the slightest mistake will send him tumbling into darkness. The thought makes his chest clench up again, and he breathes out slowly and deliberately.

“Not particularly,” he manages, and Logan accepts the answer with a nod.

“Very well,” he says, standing and walking to his desk, where he sits down and opens his laptop. “You are welcome to remain here for as long as you would like.”

He considers the offer. It’s far more generous than he expected. He didn’t think that Logan liked him very much. And it’s a nice room. Calming. There are stars painted on the ceiling, an accurate representation of the night sky bathing the room in a soft white glow.

“Thank you,” he says, and for a long while, the two of them sit in silence, Logan typing at his laptop and Janus just breathing, existing. He appreciates it, this comfortable silence, carrying no demands or expectations.

Could Logan help him, he wonders? Perhaps not; Logan barely ever bothers to recognize his own emotions, much less those of someone else. But then, Logan is calm and rational and most importantly, capable of respecting privacy, and perhaps that is just what he needs.

He needs something, of that, he is certain. Panic attacks are a new development, and not one that he wants to continue.

“Logan,” he says, “may I ask you a question?”

Logan swivels in his chair to face him. “You just did,” he points out, “but yes, go ahead.”

He takes a deep breath.

“What is love? If you had to define it, that is.”

He tries to keep his voice level, to reveal none of the importance that the question holds. It is the most open he has been about the subject, besides ranting to Remus, and he trusts Remus in a way that he has not learned to apply to anyone else. But he needs to know, needs to understand, and Logan is his best option for a definition. He will answer, and he will not push. Emotions are not his department.

Logan frowns at him, eyes oddly piercing. “I may not be the best side to go to if you are experiencing difficulties with this matter,” he says. “However, scientifically speaking, love is the emotion produced when certain neurochemicals, such as oxytocin, are released in the brain. I do not generally concern myself with the intricacies of the topic. Emotions are hardly my area of expertise.”

Janus sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. It is just about the answer he was expecting. He’s not sure that it helps. He doesn’t think he can reduce his feelings to chemicals. Not when he thinks he would do anything to keep Patton happy, save putting Thomas at risk.

“Is… there anything else I can answer for you?” Logan asks, and Janus meets his gaze. He seems oddly hesitant, and Janus is certain that he has overplayed his hand, but he is too exhausted to regret the decision. Something needs to give, something needs to change.

“No, that’s all,” he says. He makes no move to leave, though, content enough to linger in a place that sets order amongst his disordered thoughts, realigns the nonsense into reason.

“I am no expert,” Logan says, “so you are certainly free to disregard this advice, but I have been informed that… discussing one’s emotions with their object tends to be helpful in alleviating stress, if nothing else.” He is floundering, grasping at straws, but the clumsy attempt at help is genuine, and rather than annoyed, Janus finds himself endeared.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And he does. Oh, how he does. Once considered, the possibility won’t leave him alone. He watches Patton, spends time with Patton, and wonders what would change if he let the words slip past his lips.

The trust that Patton has extended him is extraordinary. No one has ever looked at him like Patton does, like he cares about him because he is himself and not because of the function he provides. Patton uses his name so easily, like it means nothing, and he knows that names do not have the same significance to those in the light as they do to those in the dark, but he still feels a thrill every time he hears it, because Patton was the first to use it. Was the first to accept the hand that Janus offered, in desperation and the burning need to be heard for Thomas’ sake.

He threw himself off a cliff with only the impossible hope that someone would catch him. And Patton did. Janus can’t go back to the way things were before. He won’t risk losing all that he has gained. And if that is selfish, well. That much is expected of him.

“Do you wanna help me cook dinner tonight?” Patton asks.

He’s in the common room. It’s still a novelty, the ability to be here. Depending on who sees him, he garners the odd distrustful glance, but no one ever demands he leave. It’s refreshing, and more than a little delightful, not that he would ever admit it.

He shrugs. “Absolutely not,” he says, rising. “I despise cooking. Why would you even ask that?”

Weeks and months ago, that would cause Patton to withdraw, would send hurt flashing across his face.

Weeks and months ago, Patton wouldn’t have asked at all.

But now, Patton giggles. “Great,” he says, and from anyone else, Janus would take that to be sarcasm, but as always, Patton means it. He always means it, when he says these things.

Janus follows him into the kitchen, staring at his back and thinking about how different they are. How Patton is good and he… is not. It’s an oversimplification, of course; he knows that very well, better than anyone else, knows that morality is relative and painted in swatches of grey, but still. It never used to bother him.

Patton is making a stir fry, evidently, a new recipe, and sets Janus to preparing the rice as he chops vegetables. He chatters on about everything and nothing, about a dog that Thomas saw yesterday, about the cute barista that Thomas managed to hold a coherent conversation with, about how he managed to beat Logan in Scrabble the other day to everybody’s shock, how he thinks he’s almost got Roman convinced to take him on a quest in the Imagination. A lot of it, Janus already knows, but he is happy to listen to Patton talk, interjecting with dry comments at appropriate times to draw out a laugh or teasing scolding or an exaggerated gasp and a swat at his arm.

And all the time, Patton smiles. Brightly and genuinely.

He’s so caught up in it that he almost doesn’t catch the slip in time, almost doesn’t see Patton’s knife waver too close to his finger as he relates his adventures with a puppy that Roman conjured for him (“--and it almost peed on Logan but I stopped it before it could. Logan still wasn’t happy, though--”). But he does, and his hand darts out to grip Patton’s wrist, halting the knife’s motion before he can give himself a nasty cut.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“Oh!” Patton says. “Thanks, Janus.” He laughs. “Guess I wasn’t being sharp enough.”

He smiles at the pun, and for a second, he lingers, feeling Patton’s wrist under his fingers. He’s wearing his gloves, but the warmth shoots up his arm regardless.

Then, he realizes that Patton’s face is red.

Ah. He’s made him uncomfortable.

“Apologies,” he says, and pulls back. He expects the incident to fade into the background, forgotten, expects them both to move on without comment.

He doesn’t expect Patton to drop the knife on the cutting board and take his hand in his.

Janus stares. Patton’s face is still red, red like a tomato, and he refuses to make eye contact. Janus feels like he’s frozen, feels like his heartbeat must be audible to the entire Mindscape and probably Thomas too, feels like he wants to run and feels like he never wants to let go.

What is happening?

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Patton says. He looks at him, finally, and his blue eyes are shining with an emotion that Janus dares not name.

He opens his mouth to reply, but his throat is dry. He clears it, several times, and he wants the ground to swallow him a bit, because surely his infatuation is obvious, is written all across his face. Surely, Patton will see it now, will release his hand and let him down gently, kindly, because that is the type of person that Patton is. Gentle, kind, someone that he loves helplessly and hopelessly and will continue to love until the stars go dark.

“I’ve been thinking,” Patton says softly. “Could I hug you?”

He is wordless, powerless, breathless. He nods. Patton releases his hand, but he only has a moment to mourn the loss of contact before Patton’s arms are wrapped around him, before he is tugged against Patton’s chest, held tight and safe and close, and it is as though every nerve has been lit on fire. He gasps, and his own arms latch onto Patton’s back and do not let go. It is an effort to keep it down to only one pair.

He is so warm. He doesn’t think he has ever been this warm. Even half a dozen heat lamps couldn’t compare to this, this heat and this pressure and this security.

He is trembling, too, and hopes that Patton doesn’t notice.

“I realized that I hadn’t ever done it,” Patton says. “I didn’t know if you would want me to, or if you would like it? But I wanted to see. Are you… you’re shaking, are you okay?”

He moves as if to pull away. Janus doesn’t let him.

“Please don’t let me go,” he rasps. It is too raw, too vulnerable, too honest, and it gives far too much away. And it’s selfish, too, wanting to take so much of his attention, his affections, when he cannot possibly feel the same way that Janus does.

But he doesn’t care.

“Oh,” Patton says, something new in his voice, something like surprise but not quite, and Janus can’t place it but he doesn’t care as long as Patton will keep holding him, because this is all he’s ever wanted, even if it can’t last. “Oh. Oh, honey, I won’t. I won’t, I promise. I won’t let you go.”

Janus buries his face in Patton’s shoulder. Patton rubs soothing circles into his back, and he thinks he could melt.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart?” Patton murmurs.

He was never built for this love, never built to hold it. Against all odds, he has, though, has held it and nurtured it and allowed it to grow. And perhaps that means that he is not what he has spent so long thinking that he is, that perhaps he can be more. He has held this love and now it is spilling over, seeing the light for the first time, and perhaps the light will reveal it to be ugly and twisted and dark, but he will take the risk if it means he can touch the sun.

“I’m not meant for this,” he says softly, and Patton hums.

“Not meant for what?”

“Caring.”

His voice breaks. Patton makes a small, choked sound and steps back. Janus is forced to let him go, and already, his body is yearning for the contact again. There is only a foot or so between them, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon.

Is this where it ends? Has he broken their friendship?

God, he’s become so melodramatic.

But no, Patton reaches out, caresses his face, caresses the left side of his face, his hand cupping his scaled cheek as if it’s no different from human skin, and Janus feels as though the ground has dropped out from under him because no one, no one has ever touched him there, like this.

“You deserve all the care in the world,” Patton tells him fiercely, passionately, and… he meant it the other way around, meant that he’s not built for caring about others, but to see Patton like this, so determined to defend him even from himself…

Janus kisses him. His lips are as soft as he always imagined they would be.

He only gives himself a moment before drawing away. Patton is staring at him, face slack with shock.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His lips are tingling, his body on fire, his emotions bared, and he can’t stand it.

He isn’t built for this, and surely, Patton can see that.

But then, Patton steps closer.

“You don’t need,” Patton says, “to apologize to me.”

And Patton kisses him. Gently, but insistently, asking for an answer but not demanding. And it takes a few seconds, a few long seconds in which he comprehends nothing and too much all at once, can barely wrap his head around the concept of Patton kissing him, but he answers. Answers, and answers, and answers. Answers, and pours everything he has, everything he is into the answering.

They pull back, eventually, and Janus opens his eyes. Patton’s lips are red and swollen, his eyes bright.

“Not unless you didn’t mean it,” Patton says, and it takes him a moment to figure out what he’s talking about.

“I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more in my life,” he replies, and swallows. “It terrifies me.”

The honesty is excruciating. Is this what love does?

He already knows the answer to that.

“Then let’s be scared together,” Patton says. He reaches out and takes Janus’ hands in his, intertwining their fingers. His yellow gloves stand out against Patton’s skin, and for the first time in a long time, he wants to remove them, to take them off and have skin to skin contact, regardless of the vulnerability that will bring. Not tonight, maybe, but soon?

Patton kissed him.

“That is,” Patton says, “if you want to.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is even lower, even softer than before. “I really, really like you, Janus.”

He looks at him. Really looks. Patton is nervous, fidgeting, unsure of his answer despite the fact that Janus kissed him first, despite the fact that Janus has been pining, has been burning so long that he has forgotten how not to. But his words ring clear with honesty, and Janus doesn’t think he has ever been this happy, nor this scared.

He can love Patton. All he has to do is say yes.

“Not at all,” he lies. “Why would I?”

And he tugs Patton back in. The kiss is tender, sweet, and Janus doesn’t know how to do this, doesn’t know how to allow another in, doesn’t know how to open up, to trust, to let himself love unabashedly and without restraint. For Patton, though, he is willing to do anything, anything at all. It’s a waltz meant for two, and perhaps the stage isn’t so empty after all.

Against his lips, Patton is smiling at him. So, he smiles back.

He can love Patton, and Patton can love him, and maybe, just maybe, he can believe that everything is going to be alright.

1K notes · View notes

arieswonjin · 3 years

Text

open seams; full

pairings: ham wonjin x femme!reader

genre: fluff, angst, friends to lovers au

word count: 8.6k

navigation: teaser

warnings: alcohol and intoxication, use of sharp objects, minor injury

song inspo: all my love | playlist

a/n: this is for a fic exchange with @cravitywriters' first batch of members :> apologies this came a bit late >

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

it took close to forever to find the perfect spot for the shop of your dreams. in this city and in these times, it took a lot of guts to even decide to run one.

the rent uptown was crazy expensive and the high-fashion atmosphere dimmed the charm of your minimalist garments. the spots downtown were cheap, yes, but you had to deal with creaky and moldy floors, noisy air conditioning, and rude neighbors. it was a definite no-go. but after months and months, with pages of crossed-out vacancy lists and even deeper sighs, you found just the perfect home for your handmade pieces.

the small studio was a few minutes away from the main street and the subway station. the road it was on was lined with street art on both sides, there was decent foot-traffic, and a good number of cars passing by—a haven for independent brands. plus, the landlady who lived upstairs was a middle-aged woman who, as it seemed, made it a habit to bring you her homemade rice cakes almost daily. you liked to think that this, along with the reasonable rent, was a bonus from fate.

you found the place on a random walk with a close friend. it was his idea—wonjin said you needed some fresh air after only having fruitless searches for weeks. at least that’s what you thought he meant by “go home and shower, at least,” and “c’mon, let’s go on a walk before you start to have nightmares about landlords.” who would’ve thought you’d find this place when you weren’t even looking?

the meager amount you saved up from commissions and tips while you took up different part-time jobs and sold custom pieces was enough to pay for a few months as you got your new brand established. the place wasn’t much—just enough to hold five racks of clothes, a tiny storage room, a display area, a bit of walking space—and you had to rely on your old equipment for now, but you already loved the shop dearly because it was your own.

it took a lot of heart, a lot of meals consisting of just ramyeon, a lot of needle pricks…

and a very willing model.

“ow!” a cry of pain followed by a trail of childish laughter from the same person echoed off of the walls of your empty shop. it was almost evening and the clear glass door let in a ray of orange sunlight, shining over rolls of fabric, spools of thread, and several sketches that littered your shop’s floor. it was the typical scene: you with your eyebrows furrowed in focus and your noisy yet undoubtedly helpful friend wonjin with unsewn fabric and pins over his own clothes as he stood on a small platform. even your bickering was part of the routine you’ve established the past few weeks as you prepared for opening day. seven days left!

“i’m sorry!” you withdrew the hand holding the tiny culprit, looking closely at the spot on wonjin’s shoulder which you pricked. “i promise i’ll be done in a quick minute. maybe if you put your phone down for a while…” you muttered the last part, meaning for him to hear it anyway. inside, you were thankful that he has been patient with you as you did your thing, but you just couldn’t resist an opportunity to jab at ham wonjin with your remarks. after such, he was nearly impossible to shut up.

but that’s just wonjin being wonjin and that’s what always made you want him around.

“y/n, i came to be your volunteer model, not a pin cushion.” he jabbed back and teased you, waiting for the reaction he now memorized and repeatedly coaxed out of you just for kicks: a roll of the eyes followed by a swing of the hand aimed at him which you never followed through with. nonetheless, he fake-dodged on instinct and laughed, as you knew he would.

“stay still or i’ll prick you intentionally, wonjin.”

“‘young male found pricked to death by owner of up-and-coming clothing brand…’ imagine that headline.” he trailed off and now stayed still as he chatted you up. you appreciated this, the light and familiar company as you worked to enter the unfamiliar territory that is your new business. you shook your head at his nonsense and smiled to yourself.

it was only when you locked the final stitch that evening that you leaned back and realized just how long your day has been—your eyes and back were sore, your hands were all tight and in need of a break, and your head refused to recall your designs anymore. your body was telling you to wrap the day up.

“what do you want?” you sighed and opened one of your eyes after a satisfying stretch. wonjin was standing in front of you with his palms extended and an unreadable expression on his face. what did he want?

“your hands. hurry.” a momentary pause with your mind almost going blank. my hands? “i want to try that thing you do with your knuckles when you’re done with work.” he finally stepped forward and grabbed both of your hands, making you take a few seconds to comprehend what he meant. it must be the exhaustion that’s making your brain function slower than it usually does. or maybe it’s this proximity.

“you mean cracking them?” you asked as you looked up at him from your seat.

“mhmm.” wonjin started to crack your knuckles one by one, commenting on how loud the sound from each finger was. this was an absurd scene, really, but you couldn’t deny how amusing it was to watch him and how such a simple gesture relieved a good amount of your tiredness.

“tsk.” it was all you could say after he cracked the last pinky, his hands lingering on yours a few seconds after. “okay, that’s enough, you’re going to injure me,” you grunted as you stood up and walked past him towards the storage room, hiding a now pink face.

“opening day is in exactly a week.” wonjin thought aloud as he started to pick up the clutter on the floor. “that’s still a lot of time, you know. why don’t you take tomorrow off? go to a sauna or something.” he offered the idea even though he knew so, so well that you were going to be fast to turn it down. it was too bad that you had no plans of pausing until opening day. maybe then he would’ve found the time to show you a little something he was working on. it was worth a shot, he thought. i’ll give it a few more days.

“no can do. i still have to work on jungmo’s piece. you’re bringing him over tomorrow, right?”

“if the free barbecue for us is still up… then, yes.” wonjin beamed, proud that he landed a good deal after convincing one of your friends to model for you. honestly, you believed the effort he’s been exerting for you and your shop was worth far more than a barbecue treat, but he insisted that he would accept nothing more than that.

ham wonjin always had a knack for being thoughtful without being obvious about it and it has indeed grown on you although you were quite slow to admit it to yourself.

“i’ll tell him to brace for the pin pricks.”

“pft.” you rolled your eyes at him and started to help clear out the shop before both of you got ready to leave. “let’s get coffee before walking home? it’s on me.” with a casual ruffle of wonjin’s hair, a silent thanks from you to him, met with a subsequent shake of his head to rearrange it, you closed the shop up with an unexpectedly light heart.

it was just another one out of many nights you spent walking home to the same neighborhood and it went by as it always did—seeing the bold words and symbols spray-painted on the walls of the street you were in, hearing him tell you about how cool they looked at night to which you responded as enthusiastically, pointing out newer and smaller details every time you walked past them—yet it never got old or boring.

silently, you wished the next seven days would unfold perfectly, just like how things were then and there in that small city street.

help, he’s been talking about you since we sat down. come quickly.

a text message from jungmo pulled you out of your sleepy train of thought as you stood on the crowded subway, three stops away from your destination: to a breakfast cafe where you planned to meet with wonjin and jungmo before working on the piece for your new model.

from a face that was barely awake came a blush that’s been finding its way there quite often recently. you’ve been trying to send away your suspicions that you were growing fonder and fonder of wonjin and your attempts would usually be successful if not for text messages like this. a fraction of the blame for your confusion goes to your friends for their persistent hints and teases. they may as well be just that: meaningless hints and empty teases stemming from the constant bickering that your friends found cute and endearing. the fact that you and wonjin were almost joined at the hip for the past few months didn’t help. neither did his clinginess which you suddenly start to look for on days he was too busy with his own matters to drop by.

the casual offers to walk you home, the few seconds he spends wordless and silent when you get too close as you worked on his pieces, or the smallest gestures to help you out with the shop were all subjected to your overthinking. but nevermind all that. you didn’t have plans of telling anyone about this anyway. a short reply would suffice for now.

bleh. i’m almost there.

your face glowed as you got closer and closer to the cafe. no one would have been able to tell that you were stressing over a million little things about the imminent opening day. for reasons you couldn’t put a finger on, you wanted to at least overhear a hint of what wonjin was saying about you before you sat down and kept a straight face in front of him again. anything; the smallest compliment, the most mundane story about how you spent time together, anything that could fuel you up for the next few days knowing that thoughts of you lived in his head too. all that after denying to acknowledge any feelings. way to be fickle, y/n, you thought to yourself.

entering the packed and brightly-decorated cafe, you approached the two friends who’ve already ordered their meals. huh, thanks a lot. from behind the booth table they picked out, you slowed down, planning on intentionally not making your presence known until you were almost seated.

your face dropped the very second their conversation reached earshot.

“it’s beginning to become burdensome. i don’t think we even match. it’s never going to happen. just a few more days and i swear—i’m done,” you heard this in wonjin’s unmistakable voice, with a tone of annoyance that went straight through your chest.

“i see.” jungmo nodded and the two continued digging into their breakfast, still unaware of your arrival.

you took this as an opportunity to turn your heels and retrace your steps to the subway station, sending jungmo a quick text before you wallowed in your scattered thoughts. you felt the heat radiating from your face but now for a much different reason.

if there were two things you hated the most in the world, it was being lied to and unnecessarily troubling the people you cared about. it felt worse hearing both from wonjin’s mouth. this was the same person who’s been there for you for months while you built the shop from the ground up, the same person who’s seemingly been helping you unconditionally. you were at a loss about who to blame: yourself for not noticing how much your shop was demanding from him or wonjin for keeping all this pent-up annoyance behind your back.

last night, when you imagined how the rest of your week would pan out, you didn’t expect to see yourself inside a packed subway train, desperately keeping your tears from pouring.

“that’s weird. y/n just said she went directly to the shop instead. urgent.” jungmo perked up at your sudden message, eyes on his phone as he ate the last slice of his pancake.

“what? y/n didn’t text me anything after she said she was a station away. she would’ve told me.” wonjin looked around the cafe, sure that jungmo was mistaken and half-expecting to see you meters away from their table. “i already ordered for her though…”

“she’s asking me to come by quickly so she can finish fitting the pieces. it won’t take until lunch, right?” jungmo’s question went unnoticed as a now preoccupied wonjin kept his eyes on the untouched plate in front of him.

“so stubborn, tsk. really can’t get her hands off her work. one of these days she’s going to get sick. and you know she lives alone so—”

“dude. now that we’re back to y/n, you’re chattering again. just finish your food so i can go get fitted.”

wonjin sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, inwardly worried about your sudden change of plans and ready to nag at you for not giving yourself even the slightest break. what is she doing not giving herself even half an hour for breakfast? this fool.

there was barely any room for the sound of the shop’s door chimes, which signaled the two’s arrival, with wonjin’s trail of nags starting before he was even entirely inside. hearing all this from the storage room where you were distracting yourself by reorganizing your fabrics, you let out a deep sigh and hoped your eyes did not look too red and swollen before you stepped out. this is stupid, you thought. you had no time for delays but your emotions were getting the best of you. if you were going to finish your work, it had to be without him.

“y/n, at this rate you’re going to tire yourself out and get sick on opening day. we agreed last night you’d be at the cafe to at least stuff yourself with this before the long day,” wonjin took no breaths in between, placing the paper bag containing your forgotten breakfast on top of your work counter. “then suddenly you say you aren’t going anymore. did the racks arrive early? why did you suddenly—“

“thanks for coming, jungmo.” you greeted the older male, cutting off wonjin's monologue without even looking at him. jungmo just nodded and shrugged, obviously used to the dynamic between his two friends who were in front of him. he simply sat down on one of the wooden stools and started keeping himself busy with his phone. you felt bad that he had to be caught in the middle of this, but between confronting your feelings and doing what had to be done for the shop, you were sure you were much more ready to do the latter. “this won’t take that long, don’t worry.”

“did you hear me just now…? sit down and eat first, y/n.” wonjin started to sense that something was up with the way you paced around busily as you got your materials ready and purposely avoided his eyes.

“i thought i texted you not to come,” a muttered statement was finally sent his way—a weak acknowledgment of his presence—but you were still looking at anything but him. from your peripheral vision, you saw wonjin getting his phone out to check what you meant.

“huh… i didn’t see that…” his usual speaking volume started to drop, a sign that you knew meant he was genuinely puzzled.

“now that you have…” you kept a straight face and mustered the heart to look at him, trying to act as nonchalant as you could even though you knew that the next words out of your mouth were not you. “go home. or somewhere else, at least… spare yourself the burden of being stuck here again.”

“what are you talking about?” he started to laugh to try and lighten up the rising tension, a habit of his. is this some kind of prank? he thought to himself and searched your expression for some giveaways. “is jungmo replacing me?” when he saw that you weren’t laughing along, he paused.

“no time for questions, okay, wonjin? it’s time to go, i need to get to work and this isn’t helping. please go.” it took everything in you to keep yourself calm and collected and you didn’t know how many more questions you could dodge. why am i being so emotional, damn it.

“what do you mean ‘go?’” wonjin tried to laugh again, albeit a softer, less confident one. “this shop’s practically home... did something happen on the way here?”

“go as in...you don’t need to drop by anymore. i’m almost done with everything.” a total lie.

“i know you’ll do well by yourself, y/n, but you know i don’t mind helping. it’s not a big deal.” wonjin reassured, stepping forward as if this would prove his point. to your annoyance, he went on to bring your takeout breakfast out of its bag and proceeded to prepare the food on your work counter, all the while nagging at you for being the stubborn person you were. “it must be the hunger, y/n. come here and eat.”

you, on the other hand, kept your distance and contained a painful laugh. it was almost funny comparing what you heard earlier to the words he was saying right now. what was he playing at? “it must be tiring, huh? just go, okay? you don’t need to do all this. no one’s forcing you. i’ll be fine here.”

he sighed. “just tell me what’s going on. pushing me away like this when i don’t know what i’ve done? you’re being a bit hurtful right now,” wonjin’s last strands of patience were barely keeping him together, matching your slowly rising temper.

“trust me, i’ve heard worse. go.” your gaze pierced through him for a good few seconds until jungmo, who’s been slowly realizing that things were getting serious, pulled wonjin away before he blurted things out in frustration. the way wonjin looked right now was as if his questions were visibly jumping out of him. there’s never been an exchange this intense between the two of you no matter how much you bickered and everyone in the room knew it.

reaching his limit, wonjin shook free from jungmo and briskly walked out of the shop, leaving a strange silence after the chimes died down.

the next couple of days consisted of wonjin keeping himself from going back to the shop and you trying to dodge jungmo’s probing questions as you worked. even after countless attempts to rethink what he did that day, he was still clueless about what prompted you to deny any help or to avoid him entirely. the years of friendship you had meant that he knew you were not the type of person to dismiss others without any good reason.

but his pride went head to head with his worry and this led him to spend consecutive late nights with unsent messages, apologies written and deleted, calls not made, and questions not asked. after all, what was he going to apologize for? if anything, he believed he deserved an apology for being sent away without explanations. with this thought, wonjin would pull on his hair in frustration because of how childish he sounded in his head.

just when i thought things were going well between us. just when he was ready to tell you how, with your passion and perseverance and, he admitted, maybe a bit of your friends’ little remarks on how you two looked good together, you’ve slowly made a friend fall for you in the span of the past few months.

“okay, get this. there’ll be new collections every month and they’ll all be themed after the zodiacs. but i wonder if i can come up with pieces that fast? or how about i do quarterly collections? maybe that’ll be better, releasing three designs altogether…i just wonder if i can keep that up for the whole year. would anyone even show up to buy my stuff? what do you think? god, i don’t even have a name for my shop yet.”

several months ago, when the shop still seemed out of reach and it felt impossible to settle on a place to start your business, you would cheer yourself up by picturing the ideal: your shop all decked and ready, packed with people shopping for your new collections, appreciating the hours of hard work that went into each handmade piece. with every spurt of excitement, wonjin would just be the constant cheerleader and voice of reason, both supporting you and bringing you back down to reality.

“why are you looking at me like that, ham wonjin?” you turned to get a view of the boy seated beside you on the bus stop, an uncharacteristically wordless wonjin, his head slightly tilted away with a downward gaze at you, an amused look on his face. the day was almost coming to an end, a full day spent walking around town, lists of units for rent on hand.

“nothing. i think that’s a good idea.” he smiled and looked up to think. “but it sounds like you’ll be wearing yourself out. what about doing monthly collections when you find more help?”

“you’ve got a point.” you considered this but you were nonetheless excited about the potential this little shop holds. “anyway, let’s go. i still have a lot of open seams to sew.”

“open seams.” wonjin repeated.

“yeah, the unfinished pieces. remember? the shop? me? sewing? clothes?” you teased, acting out every word like a mime.

“no, dummy. open seams. the name of your shop. it sounds catchy doesn’t it?” it was wonjin’s turn to get excited and your turn to find amusement in his enthusiasm. “didn’t you say open seams look unfinished but that’s what gives them the edge?”

“wow, i can’t believe you actually listen to me blabber about seams.”

wonjin whined at this, defending himself and saying that he always listened. you said the new name, again and again, testing out how it felt to say and how it sounded. “open seams. it does sound great...”

that hug out of nowhere and the strong tug at his hand pulling him towards the bus that just stopped in front of the both of you was all he could remember as he walked home that night. the very next morning after that encounter, he set off to a certain street art-lined street with your shop in mind after finding an online listing for a vacancy that was just the perfect price, the perfect size, and on the perfect street that would soon be housing your pieces of art.

pulling his mind back to the present and attempting to keep it from wandering to you again, he made himself busy with the only other thing he had going on: the last few days of a low-paying multimedia job he impulsively committed to and is now regretting. he stretched in his chair, his phone kept in place with his cheek and shoulder.

“how’s that media job you were talking about the other day? still a burden?” jungmo’s calls have been the only thing keeping wonjin in touch with what’s going on in the shop. even if he didn’t ask, the reliable hyung kept him up to date with the last set of preps and your occasional breakdowns.

“it’s a definite no-match. i’ve got three days left and i just want to make a run for it.” wonjin looked at all the uninteresting piles of manuals haphazardly stacked on his home desk, a reflection of how much he despised working this job from home. truth be told, he would much rather be working with you downtown. “how are things?”

“you mean, how’s y/n?”

“you know what i mean.”

“she’s out to eat with yuna right now after refusing a hundred times. we’re staying with her until tonight, though, so don’t worry.”

“alright.” wonjin sighed, feeling powerless that he was of no help to ease your load yet still refusing to do anything about it.

“just talk to each other, for god’s sake! you both sound terrible-” jungmo shouted through the phone, pleading to his younger friend. “do you even know how many times i tried to ask y/n about what happened between you two? seventy-seven times, wonjin. seventy-seven times. yes, i counted-”

“i’m hanging up.” wonjin tossed the phone away making it land somewhere among the stack of items on his messy desk. a few seconds after he rudely ended the call, a text message from a persistent jungmo. dinner still on tonight. you have to come with us, dude.

you didn’t know what came over you. there were only three days left until your shop’s opening day. there were still several patterns to cut up, clothing pieces that needed to be sewn together, and more people to invite for your brand to gain traction, yet you were here at a nearby barbecue place, giving in to your friends’ requests for you to let loose for a few hours with a couple of shots of alcohol, good food, and conversations that held until several hours after midnight.

anyone would’ve noticed how tense you’ve become in a span of a few days—from the tired yet happy y/n who’s excited to get to work every morning despite the imminent deadline to an irritable, downcast y/n who wouldn’t keep their eyes and ears off of their work and nothing else.

and yes, everyone knew the reason behind this sudden change in work attitude. it was an open secret: the sudden and unexplainable drift between you and wonjin, previously an inseparable pair of friends, and both of your unwillingness to patch it up. your friends decided that mentioning it to either of you was just like nudging a rock on the side of a cliff, especially with an important occasion happening soon.

for wonjin, there was a mix of pride and confusion. why were you suddenly pushing him away when he was closer to you than he ever was? he never left your side as you built your shop from the ground up only for you to passive-aggressively refuse any further help a week before opening day. he deserved a proper explanation, but he would almost worry himself into sleep deprivation thinking about how important opening day was to you. it was either he asked you directly and tip the delicate mind balance you had as you got things in order or he could wait it out and almost go crazy at the mere thought of not hearing a peep from you.

for you, it was pure disappointment. in yourself or him, you were not sure. all you wanted was to stay sane for the time being and you told yourself that this was only possible if you didn’t see or hear him anywhere near you. you’ve heard how he truly felt, you heard it crystal clear, so there was nothing else to talk about. after all, if he saw you as a burden, why push any further?

so alas, there you were, with a small group of friends and a whole night to spend without any of your handmade pieces or clothed mannequins.

slow down? you repeated in your head once you heard jungmo and yuna’s invitation to tonight’s mini get-together. slowing down just made you remember how dull the days have been ever since you sent wonjin away that morning. stupid, talkative, playful wonjin who gave you the best, most comforting company. slowing down made you miss him, but you weren’t going to say that out loud.

this was probably what the sober you would have thought, but your slurred speech and buffering mind, now clouded with the two bottles of alcohol you’ve consumed that night, begged to differ. you were now in a state of zero filter and total unawareness of the faces swimming around you.

“burdensome? tsk. so i was burdensome to him, huh?” you laughed bitterly and roughly downed another shot of soju, using the back of your hand to trap any spills from your lips. “idiot. wonjin is an idiot. if you didn’t want to stay close to me, just tell me, damn it!” you shouted, repeatedly stomping your feet on the floor like a child.

your incoherent sentences, flushed cheeks, and unfocused eyes were what welcomed wonjin when he arrived at your table, half-jogging. jungmo, who has been carefully watching you since you asked for your second bottle, gave him an apologetic look and shrugged, gesturing to the empty bottles in front of you. “look, i know you refused to come and eat dinner with us but i had to call you. you live the closest to y/n.”

wonjin shook his head and laughed, half in disbelief and half in amusement. and here he thought he was going to spend his night cooped up with work to get you out of his head. “has she been calling me names all night?”

“you have no idea. good luck.” he patted wonjin’s back and watched as he pulled you up from your seat,

“let’s go, y/n. you can continue talking shit about me on the way home, okay?” wonjin’s tone was gentle as if he was testing the waters. the last thing he wanted was for you to lash out at him then and there. first, he needed to get you home. you two can talk some other time. hopefully.

“who’s this purple-haired clown? why is your hair purple like wonjin’s? are you his twin? is that idiot your twin?” it was a surprise you even managed to get those words out in between hiccups.

“idiot? you’re the idiot, getting drunk like this.” wonjin muttered under his breath. he still struggled to pull you up and support your body weight but what he found was that the best way to keep you conscious was to indulge you in conversation.

and that he did as he walked you to the usual bus stop where you two always sat and waited for the last trip.

“…if you see him around, tell him this for me.” you started, unknowingly leaning your head on his shoulder, giving into the heaviness you felt around your temples. in your drunken state, you genuinely thought you were talking to a pure stranger.

“hmm?” wonjin looked down at you, softening as he saw you with your eyes tightly shut as you repressed nausea. “what should i tell him?

“tell him—tell him i need to know how to forget him… he needs to tell me— how to do that…even for just a few days… okay? you’ll tell him?” there was no way you could have stopped your subconscious from pouring out. it was the truth told as it was: all you wanted was to get through the next few days without the hassle of whatever emptiness it was that you felt.

“why don’t you tell him yourself?” wonjin let his head lean against yours, sighing the millionth sigh between the both of you since a few days ago. “and what if he doesn’t know how to do that either, with you?”

“why do you have so many questions?!” you grabbed his arm and shook it non-stop, making him laugh at how ridiculous you looked and sounded with your unfocused eyes and the non-sense you were spouting. “don’t ask me questions because i don’t know, okay?! i just miss ham wonjin!”

wonjin froze for a few seconds, simply blinking at you and at the words you were saying over and over again. when he finally recovered, he calmed you down and leaned your head on his shoulder again. “he says he feels the same way.”

a head-splitting ache woke you up at ten in the morning the next day, only two days before the most awaited opening day. the last thing you remembered from last night was being halfway through your second bottle of soju and your friends jungmo, yuna, and serim telling you to slow down. it didn’t really take a lot to guess that you didn’t listen to them.

after a few slow minutes of debating whether or not you can get up and get on with your day in one piece, you eventually pulled your blankets off of you and figured that you'd live with the consequences of last night’s choices. besides, you couldn’t skip a crucial preparation day. after sending your three friends a quick thank-you message for getting you home safely, your phone lit up again with a message. you did a double-take at the new notification that just arrived; it was a text message from wonjin. are you up?

three days of silence and all he asks me is if i’m up? you grunted, refused to open the message in question, and, seeing no point in dwelling, went on with the rest of your routine. you didn’t know what else you wanted to read from that text, but you sure weren’t expecting to see such a casual question after literally not having heard a peep from each other for days. if you were being honest, you half-expected him to arrive at dinner last night.

but whatever that text meant, you didn’t want to use your head, which at the moment felt like it weighs a ton, to think about it.

your forehead in your hands as you navigate around your now-sunlit studio apartment, you hoped that the last-minute invitations, quality checks, and tidying up would keep you busy enough to forget the fact that, last night, you could’ve sworn you dreamt of wonjin and how he sat beside you on a bus ride home.

“and there she is, fighting through the aftermath of alcohol.” yuna greeted loudly and met you halfway as you approached your shop on foot. last night, the three offered to be your manpower for the next few days which is why she, jungmo, and serim were all waiting for you out on the sidewalk, eyes squinted because of the sunlight and their mild hangovers.

“do we get some kind of prize that we arrived earlier than you?” serim asked as the four of you entered.

“coffee, as always.” this was met by a cheer from jungmo who wasted no time in attending to the shop decor which was still packed in boxes. “don’t worry, guys. if my shop does well, it’s meat for everyone.”

“it’s settled then.” yuna clapped and got everyone’s attention. “okay, team. to your usual tasks. serim, light fixtures. jungmo, decor. me, storage. y/n, create.”

“jungmo’s taller, why do i get the light fixtures?”

you smiled sincerely for the first time in a few days, touched that they’re taking time off from their days to get the shop together, to get you together. “oh, and guys, sorry about last night. feel free to curse at me. i must’ve been so heavy.” you sat down in front of your work counter, fighting back a cringe. after numerous nights out, you just knew they had a treasure chest full of embarrassing stories to haunt you with. you were thankful no one else was there to see you wiped out.

“hmm, you must’ve.” a knowing smile from a mischievous serim to jungmo and yuna. “but we wouldn’t know. right, guys?”

“yeah, y/n. i don’t know, i brought serim to his home.” yuna shared, trying to sound innocent but failing as she shouted from the storage room.

“and i went home alone because i wasn’t drunk.” jungmo followed without missing a single beat. now you were utterly confused. did these three just call a cab on you or did you walk yourself home? you looked at the three of them one by one, their questionable smiling faces met with the most puzzled look on your face.

“all i know is…” jungmo started, keeping himself from breaking out in laughter before he could get his words out. “you called him a purple-haired idiot. that’s it.”

“what?!” you stood up abruptly, making your chair tumble back with a thud.

and just then, you started to recall bits and pieces of last night, starting from the vague bus ride that, until a few moments ago, you thought was just a dream. what in the world did i do now?

“y/n, i’ll help you up, okay? we’re almost at our stop.” wonjin pulled you up from your bus seat where you’ve been half-asleep on his shoulder. putting his arms around you as he guided you down the vehicle and onto the sidewalk, he repeatedly apologized to the bus driver for the delay. wonjin could only nod and laugh at the friendly reply from the middle-aged man who shouted ‘take your girlfriend home safely!’ he silently wondered how sober y/n would have reacted to such a remark.

just as the two of you stepped down, a splattering against the ground made both of you stop in your tracks.

“good heavens,” wonjin muttered as he rubbed your back and looked at the part of his shoes that was now covered in whatever it was you had for dinner a while ago. “you know, y/n, i wonder if you’d remember this once you pass by this mess tomorrow morning. looks like you enjoyed your barbecue too much.” wonjin joked, still not halting the backrubs as you were doubled over with your hands on your knees.

when you looked up at him after that spiel, all you could do was smile apologetically and giggle, eyes half-open. “let’s go home. i’m tired.”

“are you all done? you’re not going to throw up on my shirt or anything?” wonjin pulled you away from the side of the road, leading you to the direction of your apartment. “you have to tell me your apartment password so you can go in, okay?”

“you have to guess it. you’re never going to guess it!” you pulled away from his hold and ran around him in circles, getting a thrill from how light you started to feel after letting some of the alcohol out.

jogging to catch up with you, wonjin shouted, “y/n, slow down you’re gonna hurt yourself! aish. this child.”

“i threw up on him.” you said out loud to no one in particular. the text from this morning, your friend’s teasing smiles, and the blurry, dream-like memories on the bus meant that wonjin did make it to dinner last night just when you were in no state of mind to remember when exactly he arrived. “i threw up on him outside my home... jungmo, it was you who called him, wasn’t it?! guys?!”

the laughter that filled the room after that and the whines of a terrified jungmo who wanted none of your punches were muffled by the sound of the door chimes tingling, signaling someone’s arrival. you almost snapped your neck as you hurried to see who it was.

“hi, dear.” instead of a particular young male, you were met with the sight of the friendly landlady from upstairs, a plate of her usual handmade treats on hand, and a welcoming smile on her face. you mentally flicked yourself for involuntarily expecting someone else. “rice cakes?”

“oh, auntie. it’s you.” the relief in your tone made your friends snicker. “thank you, you didn’t have to...”

“why so surprised, dear? were you expecting someone?” she asked, waving at the set of friends bustling away inside the shop with the same annoying smiles on their faces. “oh that’s right. where’s that lovely boy, wonjin?”

“lovely boy,” serim whispered and bit back a laugh, earning him a glare from you.

“he can’t make it today, auntie,” you explained shortly, politely getting the plate of rice cakes from her hands.

“that’s too bad. it’s almost opening day.” she looked around the shop, satisfied by how it’s starting to look compared to the bare and boring unit she used to clean every day. “you worked your magic in this place. it feels just like yesterday when he was begging me to keep this small spot reserved for a day.”

“what do you mean?”

“wonjin, that boy! remember? he was here the day before both of you passed by to finally rent it? ”

“i- i didn’t know that, auntie.”

all this time, you thought you both found the place by chance and now here you were finding out that he was the one who made sure open seams happened. the walk you took that day wasn’t such a random one after all. what was up with the universe today and its not-so-subtle way of telling you to let wonjin back into your mind and your life? him taking you home last night and now this; whatever happened to the burdensome y/n he was talking about?

“aaaand, another secret’s out.” yuna walked out of the storage room, a box of spools in hand. she beamed at the landlady who took a few seconds to figure out what she just revealed.

“oh. oops.” the landlady sheepishly turned back and started to push the door open, ready to take her leave. “i think that’s my cue. see you around, dear.”

“see you around, auntie!” your three friends greeted her when she was out of the shop. they turned their heads back to you who had nothing but a blank stare and mouth agape, the gears almost visibly turning inside your head.

“so now will you tell us what’s been going on between you two? it’s just weird knowing about all that and seeing you guys refuse to make up. both of you aren’t looking so good either, you know?” serim asked after giving you a few seconds to think.

you sighed, leaning on the side of the table for support. “that day at the breakfast cafe, he said all this was getting kind of heavy and burdensome. that he couldn’t wait for it to end.” you decided to tell them once and for all about how you felt. “and that we were never going to happen.”

“y/n. you’re so stupid. ow!” jungmo concluded, earning him a smack to both shoulders by serim and yuna. “he was talking about that job he had! if you stayed longer and ate with us, you would’ve heard how smitten he was even if he wouldn’t admit it. i can see right through him.” jungmo explained in a high-pitched tone that reflected how frustrated he has been with the two of you. “now that i think about it, you’re both stupid.”

smitten? you took in everything jungmo just said and remembered every word you blurted out when you sent wonjin away that morning. finding out that he had another job all while helping you out with the shop for the past few months made you regret how you acted even more. it frustrated you that you’ve been too preoccupied to even ask about him. this is all on me. why did i act so rashly? “i’m so stupid.”

“are we just now finally finding out that this was all a big misunderstanding?” yuna piped up, breaking the silence.

“and are you telling me that it almost took a fallout for you to finally see the feelings you had for each other? these kids,” serim added, raising both hands in defeat.

different variations of ‘i knew it’ and ‘it’s about time’ as well as ‘idiots’ filled the shop as you were still frozen in place. you knew you had to apologize to wonjin, but where were you even going to start? with that encounter at the cafe? with how bad you felt for invalidating his heart to help you and rudely pushing him away? with everything you think you blurted out on that drunk night? or maybe how you actually felt for him?

can you meet me here in 30 minutes?

it took wonjin less than a heartbeat to reply to your message asking about where he was. even though you were the one who was out of it last night, he couldn’t help but worry over his own impulses. if you remembered everything he told you while he thought you were drunk and asleep, he had no choice but to explain it to you while you were fully-sober. and the thought of finally confronting you about everything made the usually-confident and talkative wonjin tongue-tied.

“hey.” you turned the corner of the small side-street where wonjin asked to meet and found him leaning against one of the street art-ridden walls, waiting for you. it was a spot near your shop but one that you didn’t pass by as frequently. an odd choice of a meeting place, but you figured he wanted to talk to you without your friends overhearing.

“here of all places?” you struck up a conversation albeit awkwardly, buying yourself time before the long apology.

he pointed to the wall behind him, looking at it up and down. “i was supposed to show you this sooner since they finished it early but…”

behind him was a small piece of street art. open seams, it said in the colors you usually used for your handmade pieces and in the style you designed for your simple logo. you softened not only at the thought that this shop was becoming a reality but also at how wonjin did this despite your missteps the past few days. at this point, you no longer knew if you were even worthy of him and his thoughtfulness.

“...you were supposed to show me this sooner but i was terrible to you, and i’m sorry. you didn’t deserve that. after everything... i don’t know if saying thank you would even be enough. that morning-”

“you look like you just lost a million won, y/n.” his reply cut you off, earning him a roll of your eyes to which he merely responded with a playful laugh. “auntie told you, huh? i knew i couldn’t trust her and her rice cakes.” wonjin joked again, now more relaxed than he was moments ago now that things are starting to look up between the both of you. if there was anything that he needed for comfort the past few days, it was the presence that he’s gotten so used to.

“i’ve had quite the morning, you know.” you told him as you eased into the conversation. “finding out you were the one who brought me home last night, finding out i wouldn’t have gotten the unit if not for you, and finding out i was mad at you over something i misunderstood. all this time.”

what proceeded was a detailed apology you practiced in your head beforehand. wonjin just laughed at how fast you were talking and he didn’t forget to give the occasional side comments to reassure you that he was still the old, talkative, and witty ham wonjin that you didn’t have to act differently around. you knew in yourself that this was one of the things you missed badly.

the weight you felt in your chest turned lighter as every bit of misunderstanding cleared out. “...all that because i didn’t even stop to think that one morning. i’m sorry…”

he delayed his response for a while, suddenly making you worry that he had more to be upset about. but he eventually nodded and waved away any remaining tension. “apology accepted.” wonjin ruffled your hair just like you always did with his. “we’re good. but do you remember anything else?”

“except for the fact that i threw up on your shoes, no, i don’t remember doing anything else.”

“the shoes were one thing.” he scratched his head and talked in such a low volume and such high speed you couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying just to tease you. “but not even me telling you i liked you while you were all leaning on my shoulder at the bus and that whole speech i said about falling for you after i tucked you in?”

“what? you said what when i was tucked in?!” you leaned in to hear him, only catching remnants of what you suspected was a confession.

“ah, too bad. it was a one-time subscription, so you’d have to pay to hear it again.” he shrugged.

“you little- just tell me! it’s not like it’ll be any more embarrassing than me pouring out my stomach contents on the sidewalk for everyone to see.” you stepped forward wanting to hear more from him but he shook his head and refused to tell you anything further. the mischievous smile on his face as he paced around to avoid your probing weirdly made your heart beat faster. “fine. i was planning to tell you about something important but i guess you don’t want to hear it-”

“i don’t need to. i already know your apartment password is my birthday.” he stopped pacing and expectantly searched your face for confirmation despite not needing it. “right, y/n? 032201?” he repeated the numbers again and again just to coax a reaction out of you, his favorite thing to do.

“wh- what are you talking about?” holy-. if there were any more of this kind of surprises today, you didn’t know how much more of the shock you could take, but it seems like wonjin was enjoying just watching you all flustered. “i opened it myself-”

“y/n, you were too drunk to even see the keypad last night. when i tried my luck, we got in. 032201? who else could that be?”

you were about to protest but as you were stuttering your poorly-made excuses, wonjin took your hand and slowly pulled you into a tight hug, all the while laughing at how ridiculous each of your statements was starting to sound. after the initial embarrassment passed, you realized there really was really nothing to hide anymore.

“are you done?” wonjin asked, still not letting go of his hold on you which you returned willingly, hugging him tightly and hiding your face in his chest. “because to put it simply, i like you.”

you sighed in content, feeling all the exhaustion from the past few days seep out of you with just those three words. “i like you, too, ham wonjin.”

“and one more thing…” you added. “jungmo told me you were smitten.”

it was wonjin’s turn to get flustered and defensive, you pulled your face away and leaned back to watch as he cursed at jungmo for describing him in such a way. wonjin trailed off in his usual rants while you looked up at him with no plans of stopping his lovable nonsense.

opening day

it was noontime on opening day: the ribbons have been cut, your mini-opening show went smoothly, friends have visited and selected their favorite pieces, and most of all, you have led the toast that officially marked the start of this journey. it felt utterly surreal.

“all i can say is…” wonjin put his arm around you as you stood beside the racks of clothing you spent months perfecting. “it was certainly worth the hundreds of pinpricks.”

“well, then. if you want more…” you pinched his side and laughed as he dodged you and made his way to your three other friends who were also admiring the work they did for the shop.

a few nights ago, on a nighttime walk home in this same neighborhood, you wished for a perfect week to unfold in front of you. and maybe it did; just not in the way you anticipated, but exactly the way you wished it would end.

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