#i got some shit to figure out bc WOW people are complex
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Communicating on this blog exclusively through my queue feels like I'm in the witness protection program and I'm just leaving behind little notes and things for yall to find lmao
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soulmate trope | aizawa, part one.
Aizawa's route of soulmate trope.
Part one bc tumblr formatting weird. Part two here.
Warnings: BTS mention. Reader is explicitly a kissless virgin to make Aizawa feel Worse. Part one: reader gets a mild hand injury. Threat of dub-con. Claustrophobia. Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Part two: alcohol consumption (not by reader). Sexual content, with virgin-y themes. Fem reader.
Remember that U.A., for the purposes of this fic, is a university. Lore dropped carries over to previous and subsequent chapters.
~38k overall. ~20k for part one.
You didn’t have a soulmate, and that was just how you liked it.
Because instead of being hooked to one of your weird-ass classmates, you were free to continue to harbour your crush for your weird-ass homeroom teacher, and you nurtured your crush like a stray kitten brought out of the rain. A creature comfort, really, this affection for Aizawa Shouta—a creature no one knew you kept hidden in the back laundry room and sneaked scraps.
You’re not stupid. The man has to stay your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year, until graduation. Besides, you did have a sneaky little goal with your crush, though it will probably never come to fruition. It’s not an immediate plan in which you corner him after class to beg for sexual extra credit, no, but it’s a long, onerous, masochistic plot of delayed gratification: sometime down the road after graduation, you’ll casually run into him on a patrol, casually suggest you two share a drink to catch up, and then casually I-miss-you-terribly-sensei-you-deserve-to-sleep-more-oh-wow-your-hands-are-really-big-what-if-I-place-them-right-between-my-legs your way into his heart.
For now, the most you can do is be the best student you can. Yes, Yaoyorozu is most likely always going to beat you in chemistry and some maths, since her quirk relies on her knowledge of those subjects, but you’re positively gruntled and satisfied with your place at the top for humanities, along with trading top spots in other subjects with the same three or four people.
But mostly, you tried to be 1) resourceful and 2) not annoying, because Aizawa dealt with a lot of teacher bullshit, probably.
So, while you knew about stories in which students would seduce their teachers by favours (sexual or not), lingering innuendo, or flashing lacy underwear from their seats, you weren’t going to do that shit. 1) How dumb, 2) how embarrassing, and 3) you didn’t want your (hopefully future!) relationship founded on cliches for student/teacher relationships. How a relationship starts shouldn’t have to be a secret, either, or be something to be ashamed of.
(Because you could just picture your family’s faces at Christmas if you said something like, “Hey, this is my boyfriend, Aizawa; he used to be my teacher, and we started dating after I sucked him off under his desk while he was giving a lesson.”
Although, admittedly, there’s probably no good way to introduce a former teacher as your boyfriend.)
You figured, for now, it was enough to stand out in a quiet way, never outright begging for his attention, yet somehow landing in situations in which you got it. You liked to think that Aizawa appreciated that you read when you finished your classwork early instead of talking to your friends (guiltily activating your cringey not-like-other-girls complex that you tried to suppress), along with being attentive in class in general, and you landed an unexpected advantage in Midnight.
Since your first year’s sports festival, you’ve been her sidekick. Well, first you were her intern, and then you signed on the next school year. It was mostly academic work instead of hero work at this point in her career, but you found you liked it and her. You tagged along to record events and complete evals and rubrics, and running her errands allowed you into the staff room, where Aizawa was often curled up in his office chair or on the couch. And hopefully, Aizawa heard good things about you from Midnight.
Midnight’s current project when not teaching or on active missions was rehabbing female villains. She was easy to trust. They tended to let down their guards around her, eventually, and it fascinated you the way the system treated male and female villains differently—
“Hey,” whispered Mina, hunching forward in her desk to tap you on the shoulder, “You got back from Sakura Grove Rehab with Midnight really late last night. Did something happen with Tainted Love?”
You shot a look towards the front of the classroom, where Aizawa was gripping the podium intensely in an effort to stay standing, and once you garnered he wasn’t paying attention to you (big sigh), you turned slightly in your seat to whisper back. “False alarm,” you said, shaking your head, “She used her emergency buzzer because she heard that BTS released a music video, and she wanted to see it.”
Grinning, Mina nodded. “Normal BTS fan stuff. Is a member her soulmate, or something?”
“Don’t you think she’d be dead by now if she were? Ito said—sorry, Tainted Love said that they’re all simply very easy on the eyes and that she’s a connoisseur of human beauty. But her ass is in trouble right now, because the staff’s pissed they had to break out the emergency procedures for that.”
“I don’t know,” said Mina, fiddling with her earring, “I think that’s completely fair. It’s, uh—girlboss, gaslight, get-to-see-BTS.”
You snorted, covering your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s the wrong order, and you know it—”
“Since you have the energy to talk during a lesson—” Aizawa called towards you, his voice sharp, and your head snapped towards the front of the classroom. “—then I expect you’ll be capable of a higher calibre of effort and example for the class in your stealth presentation today.”
“Absolutely,” you said, recovering and folding your hands on your desk, “I’m ready when everyone else is.”
Aizawa gave a dismissive wave and allowed the class to leave the four minutes early to change and head towards ground beta. You’d already triple-checked that all of your support gear was ready, because it was your day in the rotation to serve as a combat example to the rest of your peers. Your focus for the past month had been on stealth, so you were presenting on your findings—presenting through whatever challenge was posed to you at the hands of one of the faculty.
Giddy, you headed towards ground beta much more quickly than your friends, who were still getting dressed. Since you’d be presenting on stealth, you had a good idea of which teacher you’d be facing.
Aizawa was waiting at the entrance, himself clad in full gear. You shot him a cheerful wave, which he lazily returned, and you retreated to one of the benches nearby and opened the book you’d brought along.
(You don’t want to aggravate him, and what’s more, if you talk to him before your challenge, you’re going to be thinking about your conversation during it. Aizawa will be more impressed with your performance if you don’t fuck it up due to daydreaming about his cock.)
Making yourself comfortable, you lay down on the bench, holding the book above you to block out the sun.
Aizawa pushed his goggles back into his hair. “You have a book,” he said (asked?) flatly as he trailed towards you.
“You have a sleeping bag,” you said, jerking your head towards the yellow bundle wadded up by the door, “We must both be relaxed about this presentation.”
Crossing his arms, Aizawa carefully leant against the door and squinted down at you. “Do you not see me as a threat?”
You tore your gaze away from your book to look up at him, tilting your head backwards to smile into his scowl. “Should I?”
Kirishima and Tokoyami burst in and broke up the conversation before it turned into something that got you off for weeks.
Once the rest of the class clambered towards ground beta, Aizawa cleared his throat and addressed the class about the challenge; he spoke with his back to you (and a couple of others), since most of the class clumped in one spot.
“Sero’s melee close-combat presentation yesterday will be a tough act to follow, but today is our first presentation on stealth. Bakugou, Aoyama—your stealth presentations won’t be following the same format, but take inspiration from it.” Aizawa stowed his hands in the deep pockets of his jumpsuit and shifted his weight forward slightly, his broad shoulders lost under his capture weapon. “Hagakure and Tokoyami, I specifically want your critique of your peer’s performance today. Be ready to give her advice. I will be the faculty member she is up against, and—” Frowning, Aizawa cut himself off, did a quick head count, and spun in your direction, his hair whipping at the movement.
Seeing you reading over on the bench (which you were still doing in what was hopefully a sexy devil-may-care, fuck-the-police way), Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose before spreading his palm over both of his eyes, heaving a sigh, and dragging his hand down his face. He then held it out in from of him and curled his fingers to beckon you closer. “C’mon; I know you said you weren’t threatened, but now you’re pushing it.”
You were sunshine; you were ease, and you were pushing it, for some reason. But you were feeling it, so you cheerfully trotted up to Aizawa, in front of whom you halted expectantly and bounced on the balls of your feet, hands holding your book behind your back as you waited for further instruction.
He cleared his throat and snapped, holding out his hand farther to confiscate your book. You shunted it towards him, and when Aizawa took it, your fingers grazed his—your pinkie and ring fingers just barely brushing against his thumb.
And.
And it’s a rickety, staticky, lightning-type thing, this wave of thunder that rushes through you, branching from where you touched him—a two-second, core-shaking rumble that only you can feel.And there’s an electric jolt.
Vibrant pink blossomed from the points of contact, staining the skin like watery ink.
Two seconds. Two seconds compressing what must be years and years of salient moments yet to come, and they—they all had him, Aizawa, in flashes of memories (?) integrating him more and more into your life. And you knew, in that shock and subsequent ooze, how it felt to be pulled into his arms and held like you’re something precious—wrapping around you while he’s half-asleep and acting on instinct, hunching and curling over your back to shield you from a backdrop of a battlefield—the feeling of you two lying together bare. You heard the crack of his voice in the morning as he nuzzled closer to you in bed, the rumbling vibration when he growled against your skin. Felt a ghost of his fingers digging into your hips as you arched beneath him (rocking, writhing), sucking a small spot on your neck, kissing down your shoulders, your back. A shiver as he trailed his hand down the inside of your thigh. A prolonged kiss to your collarbone. The passage of thunder left your body sore, like live-or-death level adrenaline had just faded. For a moment, your knees were in danger of buckling.
Aizawa must have seen—felt—the same phantom sensations, because once a noise from the class snapped him out of it, he grimaced, tucking your book and the pink-marked hand under his opposite arm.
Ducking your head to stare at your shoes, you took a step back, overheated and too aware that the class was watching.
“Recovery Girl’s office,” Aizawa said, his voice rasping, “Now.”
You bolted.
***
You slumped in the sky-blue plastic chair in the patient area of Recovery Girl’s office, unable to shake the sensation of his arms around you. You shuddered and hunkered over, a wave of misery washing over you as the last vestiges of his warmth (?) faded. Fucking figures that the only time in your life you’ve ever been in someone’s arms is in a goddamn vision and not reality.
On the other hand.
The pads of the two fingers that touched Aizawa were blemished with the same bright pink as that dust you’d inhaled the day Tainted Love’s team had invaded, and the colour wouldn’t rub off on your hero costume when you tried. An evil sort of smile spread across your face.
You jolted in your seat when the door slammed open, the knob banging into the wall, and Aizawa stormed in, shoving one of two clipboards into your lap.
“Quirk incident form,” he spat, a plastic chair scraping against the tile as he yanked it next to (but not too closely to) yours.
You slid the pen out from underneath the clip. “This says it’s a soulmate registry form.”
Aizawa glanced up at you, already a few strokes into writing his name in the first blank. “Tainted Love’s team had utilised her quirk enough before attacking U.A. that a specific form had to be made. Nevertheless,” he said, finishing the kanji for sho with so much pressure that the paper ripped slightly, “it’s a subset of the Quirk Incident Registrar.”
Huh. You supposed you should’ve known about the paperwork, since you’re working with her, but then, you’re dealing with personal rehabilitation, not the bureaucratical aftermath.
Following his lead, you quietly began to fill out your form. Basic stuff, really: name, home address, current address (dorms), quirk, soulmate’s name and quirk…
“How would you describe our inciting soulmate incident? Are you only putting first physical contact, or are you mentioning something about the, uh,” you said, leaning over to see his paper, but he flipped his clipboard up against his chest to hide it from view.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Aizawa, finally looking you in the eye. His tight grip on his pen didn’t dilute the saturation of the pink on his thumb. “And we’re not going to talk about it. You’re not going to tell anyone about this, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Oh, he’s repressed repressed. “Not even my mother?”
He shook his head. “Nothing important happened today, and nothing’s going to happen.”
“That’s a shame,” you said, moving onto the next section of the form, “I was already picking out China patterns.”
He flipped his clipboard out enough to continue writing. “Don’t even joke.”
“Hey, it says I need your phone number.”
“Leave that part blank. I’ll fill it out once before turning both of them in.”
That little sneak. “Wow. You really are intent on having nothing to do with me,” you said, sighing, which he echoed.
“Listen,” said Aizawa, running his hand back through his hair to sweep it out of his face, “if you genuinely require an explanation, you don’t deserve to be in school at U.A.”
You crossed your arms. “Try me, sensei.”
Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut. “Don’t call me that. Listen. What I’m about to say does not apply only to me but to teachers in general. No one wants to fu—pursue a romantic relationship with a student because we are tired. Teaching is our job. No one wants to take work home when you don’t have to. You want to have a life outside teaching, and in addition to that, I have hero work.”
“There are lots of books and stuff about teacher-student relationships,” you said.
“Written by deranged maniacs who haven’t been teachers. Sometimes, it’s difficult to see your students as people, let alone the horrific romantic par—God.” Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose again, his fingers moving the press into his eyes, almost like he wanted to gouge them out. “The only reason a student may be brought up in conversation in a non-school setting would be if that student did something particularly moronic that day. At the end of the individual day, teachers are tired of their students and want to slip back into being an individual instead of an educator.”
You pursed your lips. “I have yet to hear that you personally are tired of specifically me.”
“Let me attempt another approach,” said Aizawa, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together, “As your teacher, I would have an unfair power over you in a relationship.”
“Hell, yeah, you would,” you said, grinning.
Aizawa turned his head away, pressing his mouth into his shoulder. “I’m not going to engage with you if you keep making comments like that.”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, aware you were getting yourself in deeper shit the more you opened your mouth. “I wouldn’t want you to propose in Recovery Girl’s office, anyway.”
It took him a moment, while you waited by scribbling a doodle of your cat onto the bottom margin of your form, but Aizawa genuinely let out a hiss as he snapped towards you, his teeth gritted as his eyes flashed scarlet, hair flying upwards in an instant.
“You can’t make those sorts of quips around anyone else—at all. Nothing is going to—” He seemed to notice that you’d shrunken in your seat, away from him, your hands held up while you let the clipboard fall to the ground, and he released his quirk, mildly startled that he’d activated it on impulse. He settled back into his own cold, plastic chair and sank his chin into his capture weapon.
“I’m sorry,” you said, quiet and subdued, “Joking about stuff is how I handle it.”
“No,” he said evenly, stooping to pick up your clipboard and pen, “I knew that already. That’s how you show you understand the material in class discussions. I should’ve taken that into account.”
He held out the clipboard, pinching it by the edge. You won’t touch each other, this way.
You took it and clicked your pen, scanning down the document to where you left off. “There’s this checkbox I wanted to ask you about.”
“What checkbox—oh,” Aizawa said, his voice faltering.
Near the bottom. A single, small line and box, for the weight it held: do you want this form to double as your marriage registration?
You crossed your legs to prop one ankle over your knee and tilted your clipboard away from his line of vision. You checked it before he even answered.
“Yeah,” you said, proceeding to shade in the entire box, “Do you—”
His scowl cut you off. “Leave that blank, too.”
“Of course,” you said, drawing a couple of hearts around the inked-in box before moving on.
You finished filling it out before he did, and when he set his pen aside, he pushed on his knees to stand with a soft grunt, taking your clipboard underneath his without caring to glance over it.
“All right. The rest of class has been joined the training session that All Might was monitoring for Class B, and given the circumstances—” His eyes fell to your stained fingers. “—you’ll have to make up your stealth presentation at a later date with a different faculty member. I’ll have someone else grade your work from now on, so you won’t have to worry about my grading you more harshly because of this.”
Aizawa waited for you to nod, and after, he took a step towards the door. He ducked his head for a moment before turning back to you, saying your name under his breath. “I’m serious when I say that you can neither tell anyone about our soulmate bond nor do anything about it.”
Swallowing, you slowly stood up from your seat. “I don’t know how well I can do that, Aizawa-sensei, but I can promise that I’ll do my best not to trouble you. I haven’t been troubling you for the past three years, have I?”
“Not exactly.” Aizawa narrowed his eyes, his shoulders tensing enough that his mouth disappeared underneath his capture weapon. “Why do you ask?”
Okay. You can do this. You’re fine. You’re normal about it. You held up your hands, as if gesturing that he should brace himself. “Because that’s, uh, how long I’ve—” Been in love with you—no! Stop that. “—had feelings for you.”
Grimacing, Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. He’s done that more in the past hour than you’ve seen in the past semester. “Holy shit.”
“Please don’t—please don’t feel any fucking pressure whatsoever,” you said quickly, trying to backtrack, “I’ve been dealing with this by myself for so long that I’m good at it, so please don’t, uh. I mean, I—I live in my head; I live in my books and stories, so it’s fine and good and tolerable that I’ve never been in a relationship or kissed or anything; I’m used to it, so you don’t have to worry; I’ve been handling this by—”
Aizawa exhaled very carefully, his chest heaving in a controlled way as he dug his fist into his eye, rubbing it. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”
“Ah, ha. Ha,” you said, scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry if that’s too much information; that wasn’t the point—”
“You’re transferring to Class B,” said Aizawa, and he spun on his heel and sped out of Recovery Girl’s office.
Huffing, you seized the clipboards and ran after him. “Wait up,” you said, shoving the door to the stairs open after he nearly closed it on your face, “I was just trying to let you know I am open to a relationship if you want it, but I’m more than fine—” Liar, spat the voice in your head as you scrambled down the staircase after him, your footsteps reverberating against the grey-cinderblocked walls. “—if you don’t want anything to happen, but if you—”
Aizawa turned sharply to glare in your direction as you caught up to him, and when you skibbled to a stop on the same stair, he said under his breath, “Quiet.” His gaze followed how your hair fluttered with each of his harsh syllables, so he took another stair down to distance you. “Anyone on the stairs could hear you,” he said, resigned.
He crossed his arms, and you slanted the clipboards away from your chest for him to take them.
“You really didn’t know I’ve liked you?” you asked as he took them, “All this time?”
“It’s never crossed my mind,” he said, and he continued down the stairs at fast pace but one you could keep up with, “Like I said, students are a different category of person once you’re a teacher.”
Biting your lip, you followed closely enough to keep your voice down. “You never knew. That’s comforting,” you said, and after a few more stairs, you grinned. “Could that count as my stealth presentation?”
***
You would think that more was supposed to happen, now that you’re soulmates. More conversation, at least. Perhaps a conversation.
Instead, a lingering, bruising feeling branded your chest, as if you’d been kicked the night before, and often a stifling, smothering pressure weighed down on your shoulders until you could be in the same room as Aizawa again. Sometimes, it felt like steel marbles were playing pinball in your chest, the aches where they hit gnawing and settling into your bones.
(Your cat, your chocolate-point baby Dango, has been upset with the hours you’ve been sleeping away the pain instead of playing with her. Luckily, Kouda has been borrowing her some afternoons. You don’t know what he does with her, but you do appreciate very much being able to tell Dango, via Kouda, that you love her very much.
Kouda also has the advantage of being subtle when you lend him your cat, because cats aren’t allowed in the dorms. You’ve been secretly caring for Dango for over a year now, so it’s as if you, Kouda, and Shinsou, who brought Dango catnip treats, were partners in crime.)
In class, Aizawa interacted with you as little as possible, usually asking Present Mic to grade your assignments in his stead. He didn’t act any different towards you from the perspective of the rest of the class, you supposed, except you made fewer jokes and he fewer retorts. Instead, you kept your head down, reading or working on your Sakura Grove data for Midnight, and you were skimming by.
But sometimes you’d be doing Midnight’s paperwork after finishing an assignment early, hunched over your desk, when your skin prickles and the emptiness in your chest wavers for a moment, and you’d look towards Aizawa—either slumping over his desk with his chin on his palm or almost concealed inside his sleeping bag behind the podium—eyes half-lidded and boring into you.
When you look away, it’s as if he’s the one kicking you in the chest.
***
The Saturday after a particularly painful school day for you (aside from your fucking up in a combat exercise, Aizawa had been going down the line of those who’d participated to give individual feedback, and he skipped over you without hesitation), you’d planned to spend all day huddled underneath layers and layers of covers and throw blankets in bed as yet another snowstorm swept across Mustafu, but you jerked awake, completely fucking frigid, before the sun had truly risen. You blindly fumbled over the edge of the bed for any or all of your six billion blankets and felt none of them, and, making a miserable whimper as you cracked open an eye, you peered over the side of the bed.
No blankets on floor.
No…no little bedside rug.
Jesus, did you somehow kick your bed away from the wall during the night? Wait, where’s all the shit you have all over your walls this isn’t your room.
Something was pressed against your back.
Your life was over. You’re totally getting expelled from U.A. for sneaking into your teacher’s room. It’s got to be his—holding your breath, you slowly peeked over your shoulder before snapping back towards the bare wall. A flash of that yellow sleeping bag, even in bed—it’s Aizawa’s room, all right, and his back was pressed against yours, with only your sleepshirt and his sleeping bag keeping your skin from touching (unless he’s wearing a shirt, which, in that case, get sluttier, Aizawa).
In the case that somehow appearing in his bed overnight made him detest you, you elected to slither out of his living space without his ever knowing. You wouldn’t have any answers for him, even if he caught you, really, at least not this early in the morning.
In the vexingly slow process of getting out of bed without waking him up, you had the time to look around, not that there was that much to see; it was all greyish and sparse and didn’t really feel like a home at all or that he spent much time here, with the most significant pieces in his bedroom being the shoddily painted radiator (in heaven, everything is fine) and a desk with both a PC and a propped-up tablet on it, with some papers spread in front of them. But the layout of his flat appeared to mirror another part of the dormitory, so you bet the door to leave his area entirely was through the next room, and you’d be home-free.
What caught your attention, though, was a well-loved cat tower, with one of the dangling mice for the cat to bat at torn off the string and resting on the middle level. Aizawa must have a cat. Funny, since that’s illegal in the dorms. As you finally slinked off the bed entirely, you resolved to locate the cat to kiss its little forehead before slipping out of his room entirely. Cat detours are allowed.
Walking out of his bedroom, you first were hit by the pungent scent of brewing coffee and then by a cold wave of defeat. Across the kitchen counter, Aizawa’s back was towards you while he fossicked through different brands of sugar packets.
You could’ve punted that empty sleeping bag out the window.
You took one step towards the exit before he spoke, his voice gravelly from sleep: “Do you want to offer me an explanation before I write you up?”
Fucking stealth heroes. “I don’t have one,” you said, shoulders falling slack while trudging into his kitchenette—with an ulterior motive of seeing more of his place before being removed permanently. “I’m—I don’t know how I got here. You didn’t—?”
“Of course not,” said Aizawa, ripping open two differently branded packets and upturning them into his coffee. He turned to face you as he took the first sip, and you wished you could say that his eyes drank you in hungrily, or whatever, but you supposed that you have to get sluttier, too: you were just as completely and unalluringly covered as he was in his Purple Revolution sweatshirt and pants. “You don’t have any ideas from working at Sakura Grove?”
“Uh, no,” you said, “I’m not encouraged to talk to I—Tainted Love. It’s more like bringing her food and filling out paperwork for her craft requests. I am very much the middleman. I can—”
“Don’t.” Aizawa held out his free hand. “I’ll ask Nemuri.”
Nemuri. You’ve known, you supposed, that he was on a given-name basis with Midnight. You resolved to get him to call you by your first name, too. And then the thought came that you might be ruining something romantic between them? Based on every interaction you’ve had with either of them, you had no indication of romance, but Aizawa had said that teachers aim to have very private lives. Yikes. You elected to slough it off for now, because introducing feeling jealous of your mentor whom you admired very much would only complicate the situation more. You could linger on jealousy once you figured out what the hell was happening.
“Right,” you said, pulling at a hangnail, “What if this happens again?”
“We’ll put a stop to it. Simple as that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’ll be able to prevent this once we have more information. Until then, just handle it maturely and without fuss.”
“And here I was hoping we could cuddle,” you said, heaving a huge, fake sigh as Aizawa narrowed his eyes, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter, swinging your legs. “This is the part where you offer me coffee.”
“Get out of my apartment.”
“C’mon, Aizawa. Or I’ll spread that you have an illegal cat in the dorms.”
Aizawa hesitated just as he brought the lip of his mug to his mouth. “I don’t have a cat,” he said before taking another drink.
“Come off of it; I saw the cat tower.”
“I don’t have—”
You nearly jumped out of your skin when something prodded your thigh; a lanky, tuxedo-patterned cat had sneaked up to headbutt you before you could notice, and it climbed onto your lap to loaf. It’d be nice if your own cat were this friendly.
“You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” grumbled Aizawa as he poured your coffee.
You flipped over the cat’s tag, the light catching on the rose-gold heart. “You named your cat Konpeito?”
“Eri named it.” Aizawa set the mug next to you instead of giving it to you directly—stubborn bastard, not wanting to touch you again. “Don’t make a scene when you return the mug.”
“You’re kicking me out before I even start drinking?” You tentatively gripped the handle and maneuvered the cat off your lap.
“You keep asking these questions that have obvious answers.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t make too much noise on the way out; Eri’s in the next dorm over, and I don’t want you to wake her.”
***
You woke up in Aizawa’s bed again less than a week later. You’d had a dream that you’d been freezing, and the reason had been, once again, you were, since apparently Aizawa depended on his sleeping bag instead of blankets. You allowed yourself a moment of savouring the sensation of his back against yours (for real, this time, since the sleeping bag was snoring) before slipping out.
The third time, you left him a note to tell him to get a damn blanket, or else you’ll bring one of your own to keep there.
You idly took notes in Present Mic’s class, words coming slowly on paper while he prattled on. How come it was always you who was showing up in his bed? How come you always went to Aizawa, and he never came to you?
Your eyes flicked up to what Present Mic was writing on the board in skewed, thin handwriting. Had Aizawa told him the specifics? Present Mic had to know something, since he was grading your work, but Mic was also Aizawa’s friend—a luxury you didn’t have in this soulmate situation. Midnight would also be a strategic person to tell, from Aizawa’s perspective, but she hadn’t given any hint she was aware.
You drew a heart in the margins, and then you gave it legs. You made it walk off the page and onto the desk, colouring it in by crosshatching. If only you could get up and leave. Class without Aizawa dragged nowadays; where did he spend his time during school on break? Probably huddled in his sleeping bag in a slant of sunlight like a damn cat, maybe out on the grounds where he couldn’t be found. Or maybe he fucked off to a gym closet where the mats were; they’d be cosier than sleeping directly on the floor. And you could cosy up next to him, pressed up against each other in that snug—
You slammed into a wall of solid muscle, papers flying and tea spilling over the tile to seep into the rug in the teachers’ lounge, and you sprawled on your knees in the midst of it in your haste to get the fuck off of Aizawa before he could say anything, hissing as you tentatively raised your hand from the wet, broken cup. Despite the slivers of pottery in your palm, you one-handedly fumbled for the papers that had been dropped—third year evals, now crimped and tinted a yellow-green.
Aizawa took the papers, tapped the bottom to align them, and gave them a firm shake to flick off excess tea, and when you started to sweep the broken cup into your hands, he stopped you.
“Go to the faculty bathroom,” he said, pointing to the connecting lavatory, “I’ll be there in a minute with a first-aid kit.”
You had a moment to yourself in the clean, warmly-lit bathroom, so you pushed yourself up on the green marble by the farthest sink and crossed your legs, ensuring your shoes didn’t dirty anything. The pain’s setting in, but you won’t cry, not in front of him, and you’re crying, but just a bit, right? Fuck.
At the sound of the door, you hastily wiped your nose with your sleeve and did your best to look stoic, like pottery in your hand happened every day. But your eyes were too watery to even see the tweezers as he dug them out of the kit.
Standing in front of the sink, Aizawa clicked the tweezers twice (carcinisation, baby!) and held out his other hand.
You looked at it. “What do you want me to do with that?”
He said your name through a sort of scoff, which would’ve been way hotter if it had been your given name and also in bed. “Just give me your hand.”
Tears ran down your face in an overflow. “You wanna touch me?” you asked, sniffing.
“Fucking hell,” Aizawa said under his breath, “At least I know you’re all right if you’re still joking.” He shifted his jaw, scanning your palm. “If you’d rather have it at an uncomfortable angle over the sink—”
“No! No, I wanna—I wanna touch you,” you said, and you lifted your shaky, injured hand for Aizawa to hold steady. The instant his fingers cradled the back of your hand, everything fell into place: touching him was like breathing in cool, crisp air on a clear night or the smoky kindling of a fire that never goes out, like feeling sunshine on bare shoulders on a spring day with freshly cut grass, like walking into your childhood home’s kitchen when someone’s baked chocolate-chip cookies, like breathing in, like breathing, and—
You lifted your hand just a hair from his hand.
You have a stopped-up nose.
You glanced at Aizawa, whose lips were parted, his chest visibly heaving underneath his baggy jumpsuit. “Did you…?”
He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “I need to get the pottery out of your hand as soon as possible.”
Bracing yourself, you rested your hand in his again, and that irresistible warmth swept over you again. He’s got to be feeling it, too, so why isn’t he reacting? You’re embarrassing yourself, so why can’t he?
“Were you trying to teleport to me earlier?” he asked (distracting you from the sensation of each shard being plucked from your skin), head bent over the sink and your hand.
“No, I never—I don’t intend anything. But now that we’ve seen it, we at least know it’s not a gradual thing. Instantaneous and painless. Well,” you said, nodding towards your hand.
“Nor, I see, is it limited to my bed,” he said, shifting over when you uncrossed your legs, “What were you doing before the jump?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I was in class.” You dangled your legs off the side to get closer to him (for medical purposes of course), and wow, Aizawa smelled incredible—probably; your stuffy nose wasn’t doing you any favours—what the hell kind of soap did he use?
“Were you thinking of anything in particular? The bond?”
That’s got to be pine, and there’s something earthy mixed in. You really needed to blow your nose (Can you even name earthy scents? [Dirt?] You’re not up-to-date with masculine scents; you’ll have to find his deodorant next time you wake up in his room). “I was—” You cut yourself off with a hiss as he pulled the largest shard out. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad, really. Keep going. I don’t really remember the specifics of what I was thinking about, but I—” You cut yourself off again, this time with heavy realisation. “Goddammit. I was feeling the acute loneliness hollow out my chest again, and I was wanting to—be near you. Which explains why I’ve been teleporting to you instead of you coming to me.”
“It explains nothing,” said Aizawa, and he set the tweezers next to the shards on the edge of the sink and flipped on the faucet, guiding your hand under the water and reaching for the gauze.
“Yes, it does,” you said, openly wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, because fuck it, this man didn’t care about you, so be gross around him. “If the teleporting is triggered by intense longing to be close to the other person, then it makes total sense that I’d be the only one teleporting, since I’m the only one who has feelings.”
“It explains nothing,” he said again, drying off your hand, “It’s only a possible contributing factor to the teleportation. Maybe it has to do with location, or timing, or action. It’s highly improbable that this physical action was caused by thought alone.” Aizawa ripped off a long strip of gauze and began to wrap it around your palm. “Don’t feel like this is a weakness on your part. I’ll probably teleport to you before the month is out.”
You let your fingers relax, your pinkie falling enough to graze his own hands as he bandaged yours. The more skin-to-skin contact you had, the more serene you felt—or maybe it was the injury adrenaline wearing off. Either way, you might fall asleep on the bathroom counter. “My bed isn’t big enough for two people.”
“That’s okay,” said Aizawa, and he slowed at the final wrap-around, holding it in place until he found the metal clips in the first aid box. “I’ve gotten very used to sleeping in odd places.”
When he stepped away to pack up the kit, you fucking whimpered on impulse at the loss of physical contact, and he froze, stuck in the motion of clicking the box shut.
“Sorry,” you said, sniffing.
His jaw tensing, Aizawa shook his head. “You should go to bed early tonight. Don’t overexert yourself.”
***
Yeah, except it’s Friday, and Jirou has been arranging this girls’ night for two weeks now.
Apparently, the karaoke bar you’re going to overheats really easily, since it’s in a refurbished building that used to be something-or-other; you’re not really listening to the explanation but were more concerned with having to wear summer clothes while it’s snowing out. The past two weeks have been strategic outfit layering plans from the lot of you, most of which have devolved into being silly and impractical (ranging from “I’ll just take off my skin and hang around in my bones when we get there” to “I will walk out of this dorm in a sleeping bag over my underwear” [the latter reminding you of Aizawa, in a pleasing, warm thought that you had to keep to yourself]).
Either way. Twisting over your shoulder, you strained to tuck in your bra so that it wouldn’t show from a mostly backless spaghetti-strap that you ended up borrowing from Uraraka, and once it was kind of hidden, you stuck your tongue into your cheek. It didn’t really sit right with you to be going out in this shit in this icy weather. You’d be a lot warmer and probably a lot more content if you peeled off these Best Jeanist jean shorts (from the Moulded to Your Ass line, unofficially titled) and crawled into your pyjamas and bed.
In the corner of your eye, your bed beckoned, with all of its blankets and stuffed animals (for when you just need to hold a little guy). What if you ditched the outing and—no. Stop that. You’ll be warm soon enough.
But with an abrupt lurch towards your bed, you found yourself spluttering into the scalding spray of a showerhead, water dribbling into your mouth between gasps and sloshing down your body. Blindly, you took a step backwards out of the cascade, but a flattened palm on the bare skin of your back stopped you before you could move farther.
“Don’t.”
The water still gushed and flowed over you, eyes scrunched tight and heart pounding. The hand on your back maximised the space between the two of you, but with the pathetic size of the shower stall, his body heat still seeped into your skin, complemented by rising steam. There’s a quiet grunt when he knocked against the frosted glass door; his shoulders must be wide enough for that to happen frequently (you swallow against a dry throat, because the man could hold all of you). If he wanted to, Aizawa, the way he has you now, could press his lips to the crown of your head, keeping his mouth there as his eyes flutter shut.
Instead, Aizawa was reaching up to tilt the showerhead away, giving you a good face-full of his bicep, and your eyes followed its movement (his jumpsuit did an excellent job of concealing a fucking powerfully built form), straining as he twisted the showerhead and relaxing as it fell back into place at his side—
“Eyes up,” said Aizawa, using his first two fingers to guide your chin back to face your front, where they lingered for a moment to tap against your jaw to ensure you’d stay there.
(With the shock of getting wet and the heat of his hand flat against your back [still there, still flooding you with an intoxicating headiness], you’d been entirely too overwhelmed to even consider catching a glimpse of his dick.)
“Aizawa-sensei—”
“Cut that out,” he said, huffing, “You’re doing this on purpose.”
For once, you’re out of the loop. But since you’re in his shower, you could take a moment to locate his soap to put a name to what he smells like and perhaps get a look at his cock along the way. Only his washcloth hung over the faucet in front of you, so you moved to turn slightly as you spoke, ducking your head to scan for shampoo bottles: “Earlier today you were saying it wasn’t my—”
Hissing, Aizawa slid two fingers through one of your belt loops and yanked, jerking you backwards into his hips for an instant before establishing that space between you again—pulling you by the belt loop blocked your view of his cock, and his hand on your back kept you from touching him in any meaningful way. But he was still as close as he could be without touching you otherwise, his breath as searing as the steam as he grumbled into your ear: “Bad girl.”
The water splashing at your feet wasn’t so hot anymore.
Aizawa tugged at your belt loop again (for a moment, when a swish of cool air washed down your ass, you worried that he’d look) and kept you in front of himself as he turned sideways to face the shower door, which he (fuck!) lifted his hand from your back to prod open.
Light flushed into the stall, and he scoffed. “I knew it,” Aizawa said, bitterness creeping into his voice, and he unlooped his finger from your belt loop to tap the fabric firmly, nudging you forward.
“Knew what?” you asked, spinning on your heel the moment you were out of the shower, water flying, and Aizawa ducked behind the frosted glass with a defeated expression. “Right,” you said, grabbing the thick towel on the toilet and tossing it to him.
“Check your fingertips.”
Tearing your gaze from his frosted-glass impression of wrapping the towel around his waist, you held up your hands. “They look fine. My bandages are soaked, though, so I’ll have to redo—oh, okay, fuck. My soulmark is gone.” You’re not going to cry in front of him, and definitely not twice in one day, because that’d be—
“Sensei,” you said, choking up and curling your shaky fingers into an even shakier fist, “Sensei, my soulmark is—I don’t want my soulmark to be gone, fucking, I—” On accident, you slammed your elbow into the glass door when you were trying to—please get closer (so goddammit, if your eyes water, it’s from hitting your funny bone). “I don’t want my soulmark to disappear; I adore you and want—”
“It hasn’t disappeared,” Aizawa said softly as he stepped out of the shower, gripping his towel in addition to the firm knot, and he pointed behind you towards the mirror.
While Aizawa eased down onto the closed toilet to towel-dry his hair, you took the four, wet steps to the sink and wiped off the clouded steam. No difference in your reflection.
When you shot a baffled look towards Aizawa, he gently raised his eyebrows and his finger to twirl it once. So, you turned around to look over your shoulder at your back, where his pink handprint put all body glitter to shame in how well it reflected the overhead light and in how quickly it was spreading (ink leaking outside of the handprint in watery bursts before slowing, never detracting from the shape of his hand, though the ink seemed to rise more than fall, especially near his middle and ring fingers between your shoulder blades).
He was holding up his newly pink palm, wiggling his fingers in your direction.
You returned to him (really to stand on the bathmat, since you’re drenching his floor) and raised your hand to touch him, first glancing at him for his approval. Aizawa looked at your hand and back at you, and after he wetted his lips, he nodded and got back to towel-drying his hair.
You hesitated. Is this really so nonchalant, so trivial to him? It’s everything to you.
You dropped your hand to your side, mouth twitching. “What shampoo do you fucking use.”
“Hm?” He didn’t even look at you.
“You smell fucking good all the time. What’s. What scent is your soap,” you were saying, in the same, flat tone you’d use to argue with your landlord about finally fixing your leaky roof after two years.
Aizawa squeezed water out of the last of his hair and spoke in that infuriatingly gravelly, just-woke-up voice of his. “It’s sandalwood.”
Sandalwood. That’s earthy, you guessed. “Then where’s the pine come from?”
“That would be the aftershave,” he said, folding the hair towel in half twice and setting it aside, “You were going to touch me, but now you’re upset. Care to explain?”
You plucked at your wet shirt before crossing your arms over it. “Does this matter to you? The soulmate thing.”
“You matter to me,” he said, standing with a quiet grunt, “Let’s get you reasonably dry before going back to your dorm.”
“Oh, shut up with that teacher bullshit,” you said, following him to a cabinet, “You care about me through the lens of a student, because everyone in this fucking dorm is your—fuck, I’m. You’re insufferable.”
“I can’t lend you clothes, but I should have enough large towels to keep you warm.” Aizawa reached for the top shelf, with beach towels. “However, I recommend against going out tonight with the rest of your friends.” He handed you a new-looking, blue-pineappled towel.
You angrily wrapped it around you, pissed that you instantly felt better. “Oh, is it because you’ve gotten me wet—” Aizawa draped another towel around your shoulders, tucking it in a little to secure it. “—and going out into this fucking ass iceberg weather would get me sick—” Another towel, this one with Present Mic’s radio show logo on it. “—and then I’d have to miss one of your precious days of class—”
“Is that what you want me to say?” He arranged two more towels around you at once, tying the outermost one in a knot. “Or are you waiting to hear that I want you to hide away while you bear my mark?” He tugged your drapery down a smidge so that you could use your arms a bit—at the least, use your key to your room. “When in reality,” he said, taking a step backward and appraising his handiwork, “I want you to be comfortable and content. And I don’t think you’d be either if you went out after this, even if you got ready again.”
Goddammit.
“And you’ve had a long day with strange revelations. You have a new injury. Going to bed for the night will facilitate healing. Your body will have more time to process the day.”
Groaning, you said, “Fuck you for being right.”
“Thanks.”
Since you hadn’t touched him earlier, you took the opportunity to clonk your forehead against his chest (dense muscle was evidently comfy). The soulmark warmth blossomed throughout your body from the spot, and you took your time to appreciate it, taking a couple of unhurried breaths against his skin, dry save for some stray running droplets.
Aizawa sighed, the planes of his chest rising and falling under your close and thirsty scrutiny. “This counts, y’know. As staying up late.” If you hadn’t seen him put his hand on your arm, you wouldn’t’ve known, due to the thickness of the towels. “I told you to go to bed.”
You blearily looked up at him. “Take me there, then.”
After a moment, Aizawa said, “I have to feed my cat,” and he opened the bathroom door to escape. Before he left, he spun back around, and you would’ve sworn he was fighting a smile, if you hadn’t known how he felt about you.
“But first,” he said, “let me fix that forehead situation of yours.”
***
Picking up the folders from the office mailbox, you flipped out the flag for read/empty and trailed back to the office space that you and Midnight shared at Sakura Grove, idly waving to some co-workers as you flipped through the files. Pushing the door open with your foot, you dropped the folders onto Midnight’s desk and hurried over to lift the shaking electric kettle from the heat, since Midnight was too absorbed into her patient evaluation at which she was typing away.
You poured the boiling water the round teabag, watched it rise to the top of Midnight’s teacup, and bit back a cry—you clutched the chilled windowsill to stay standing, struck by an overwhelming dizziness that blacked out the edges of your vision and crept to darken it entirely; a bowling ball has just hit your chest and dropped to your toes, the ache reverberating through your veins as you caved and doubled over, nausea settling into your gut.
Through the dots clouding your vision, you barely make out Midnight stretching her arms over her head.
These attacks have been happening more and more. If Aizawa can have a friend in the know, so can you.
“Kayama-sensei,” you managed to croak, but she didn’t hear you.
You tried again, and she turned, her expression drooping when she saw you. “Is the tea that bad?”
Eventually, Midnight helped you into your seat across from hers with your own cup of tea, the pain draining away in the process of vague explanation.
“So, you genuinely think you’re starting to die because your soulmate won’t acknowledge you romantically. Easy solution in sight,” she said, picking her teacup up by her fingertips to breathe in the steam, “Just pick out some nice lingerie—you can use my sponsor discount for Wacoal—and arch your back when you lie in his bed for him to find. I can give you some tips on how to suck—”
“Kayama-sensei,” you said, your vision finally back to normal, “You do not understand how much I can’t do that.”
Her tongue flicked into her cup, testing the heat. “I’ll bite. Why not?”
“My soulmate is, um.” You frowned into your tea. “I’ve liked my soulmate for a long, long time. Before the soulmate stuff existed.”
Midnight ran her tongue over her lips, the corners quirking upwards. “So? All the more reason to make your feelings known and emphasised, now that you have an excuse for a legitimate relationship. Since he already knows about how you feel, you should keep trying to seduce him. All men crack eventually.”
“He won’t accept a lousy attempt at seduction, because—aside from I have no clue how to do that, I don’t—he’s, uh…” You trailed off, took a swig of tea instead of finishing, and ended up choking a bit at the heat.
“Yes? What’s the juicy detail you’re reluctant to share? Is he married? Is he a public figure? Is he too much older or younger than you?”
Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Do you already know? Are you just making me say it?”
Tight-lipped, Midnight made a loose, dismissive gesture and moved to get back to her patient file.
“Fine. Fine! If anyone can help me with this, it’s you, because it’s—goddamn,” you said, deflating and sinking down into your seat, “It’s fucking Aizawa-sensei, okay? My soulmate is my stupid homeroom teacher.”
“Congratulations,” said Midnight, saving the document and shutting down the computer, “You have earned the right to call me by my given name for being so honest.” She spun in her chair to give you her full attention. “So. Shouta.”
“Did you know already? Were you just—”
“I had my suspicions but no concrete evidence,” she said, holding up her hand, “Just some observations from watching you for the past three years.” Tilting her head, she adjusted her glasses before lifting her cup to her mouth again. “Now, the reason why you can’t just seduce him is crystal clear now. I submit that you could start going to bed in skimpier clothes in the event you teleport to his apartment again, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Shouta’s got a steel will. He’s not going to violate that student-teacher professional relationship.”
“I know,” you said, slumping so far down in your seat that your ass was falling off of it, your chin touching your chest, “but if I’m in pain from not being with him, he probably is, too. And if he won’t acknowledge me romantically, I wanna know if there’s something I can do to alleviate the pain that we’re both feeling. He shouldn’t be distracted from his work because of it.”
“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Midnight jabbed a finger in your direction. “Starting today, you’re promoted. You’re going to be Tainted Love’s primary monitor.”
“What?” You shot up in your seat. “But I haven’t—I haven’t even had a proper conversation with her before—”
“But she’s used to having you around,” Midnight said evenly, opening her top desk drawer, “To her, you’re in a position of authority but not a threat. You’ve seen how she likes to talk, anyway, and you’re in a perfect position to find out more schematics of how her quirk works on the individual level.” Midnight smiled and handed you Ito’s folder. “Plus, she can’t do anything more to you, right? You’ve already got a hell of a soulmate.”
“Okay,” you said, hesitantly taking her file to clutch it to your chest, “So, you just want me to talk to her? Try to solve my problems?”
“Yeah. And anything you find out about her quirk that she hasn’t shared so far—because she hasn’t exactly shared much past the first interrogation—is welcome intelligence. Record anything new. Keep Ito happy. You’ll be golden. I know you’re more than capable.”
“Funny,” you said, flipping through the file and joining Midnight as she stood, “This feels planned. Got anything else motivating you?”
“Besides a perverse desire to see my friend and my sidekick get together?” Midnight grabbed her whip from the hook on the side of her desk. “I was going to assign you this, anyway. Ito isn’t a threat anymore, and I need to focus on preparing for Serendipity’s arrival next week from St. Philomena’s. Even the airline we finally convinced to transport her has backed out, so I’m scrambling to bribe another.”
That had slipped your mind—Serendipity was being transferred to Sakura Grove for rehabilitation, mostly because no one else wanted to house the most potently dangerous female villain in the Americas. “Understandable,” you said, holding open the door for Midnight to follow closely behind, “When do I start?”
***
Fifteen minutes later, you were setting a tray with tea and powdered thumbprint-cookies in front of Ito at her desk in her room. She raised a sharp, white eyebrow at how the dishes clattered at your shaky handling, but she nodded in thanks and turned back to her book. You guessed you were lingering awkwardly by the door a bit too obviously, so she rolled her eyes and set her book upside-down on the desk.
“You’re my new handler, right?” she asked, scratching under her eye.
“That’s me,” you said, hands folded tightly in front of you, “Midnight says you cleared stage five, so you’re safe to be delegated off to me. I have your stage six schedule printed out—”
“But why are you still here? Everyone usually leaves as soon as possible.”
“I’m the only staff member immune to your quirk,” you said, sliding her schedule out of her file.
“Immune.” Ito grinned and crossed her legs. “That’s interesting. How do you know that?”
Well, Midnight said to be honest in order to get honesty from Ito. You sucked in through your teeth. “I’m only immune because you’ve already given me a soulmate. I was the, uh, student you landed on when you attacked U.A.”
Scrunching up her face, Ito scanned you from head to foot, and when she finally stopped at your chest, she nodded. “Ah. I remember you. You’ve got good tits, kiddo,” she said, reaching for her tea, “Be proud of ‘em. You allowed to tell me how it’s going?”
You glanced behind you at the door, pretending to be considering the trouble of talking to her, and when you prodded it shut with your foot, Ito’s grin stretched all the way across her face, her teeth cutting into her lower lip.
“I’ve been desperate to talk to you,” you said, dragging the extra chair closer to hers, “My soulmate is being a little bitch.”
“I like you better than Doc Kim already,” said Ito, and she took a noisy slurp of her tea. “Spill it.”
“I need your advice on what to do about the pain.”
“You found your soulmate already? Then you shouldn’t be feeling any,” she said, shrugging.
“No, I need you to tell me about what to do about the pain. I don’t know if he’s feeling it, but it’s fucking killing me, and he won’t do anything about the soulmate stuff because he doesn’t like me—”
“Back up.” Ito slammed her cup on the tray, spilling tea. “You’re not making any sense. Start over. Tell me about your soulmate.”
Groaning, you buried your face in your hands, leaning back in your chair until your back popped. “He’s my professor, and I’ve liked him for years. Since I met him, pretty much.”
“Hot. He got a sensei kink?” She shoved two thumbprint cookies in her mouth at once, and she nudged the plate in your direction.
“Eh,” you said, weighing your options, “It’s possible. But he doesn’t—”
“Nice. So, he says he’s not gonna do anything while you’re his student, which means he’s burning with shame and sexy, sexy doubts about how good of a man he is. Always sexy to bring a man to his moral and literal knees. Are you wearing fun things to class?”
“We have a uniform.”
“Shame,” she said, gulping down more tea, and then she cocked her head. “Unless.”
“No.”
“Spoilsport,” said Ito, gesturing towards the cookies again. This time you took one, pinching it absentmindedly in your lap. “I think I want to go on my daily walk around the courtyard. Is there room for that in my new schedule?”
You checked it. “I’ll make it work.”
Minutes later, you and Ito were bundled up and strolling the perimeter of Sakura Grove’s courtyard, full of other in-patients in team recreation in the middle and in private conversation on some of the benches.
“I’m still not with you,” Ito was saying as she stared up into the bare limbs of a sakura tree, “I don’t understand why you’re feeling the soulmate pain. It shouldn’t be affecting you, since you know and have met your soulmate.”
You huffed, breath visible. “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m lost. But if he’s not going to complain about the pain, then I suppose I’ll just have to deal with it. I like him too much to bitch about it to him, I guess.”
Ito shoved more of her long, white hair underneath her pom-pom hat. “Then it’s probably the same for him, with him liking you too much to bother you about it.”
“Nah.” You stepped into one of her footprints, the snow crunching under your weight. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t think he ever will, since once a student, always a stu—”
Ito’s head snapped towards you, cheeks rosy from the cold. “What did you say?”
“My soulmate doesn’t like me, because—”
“You said that earlier, too,” said Ito, and she looked around for other monitors before jerking her head for you to follow her. She guided you in a casual-but-not trail away from any doors or eavesdroppers, and she said in a hushed voice, “You do know that my quirk doesn’t assign soulmates randomly, right?”
“What the hell? Say more right now,” you said, taking smaller steps to stay closer to her.
“Oh, well, that’s news for me. I figured they’d captured my team’s notes on my quirk by now. Okay, well, report this, or not,” said Ito, jabbing a finger towards you, “How much do you know about probability? Yeah, yeah, more math—yes, soulmates usually to inhale the same cloud of my quirk to be considered soulmates, but there are other factors, too. See, you were making sense until you said your soulmate doesn’t like you back.”
“Okay, I’m not following—hey, let’s walk more towards the centre; I think those two by the door are watching us.” You steered the two of you back onto the typical path but stayed close to speak quietly.
“In addition to breathing from the same cloud, two people have to have had a moment of genuine, mutual attraction between each other. Not, like, you pass someone hot on the street and think you’d suck the soul out of their dick before dissuading yourself from the impulse, because they’d clearly ruin your life, but a moment of true, lingering affection for someone that you don’t talk yourself out of. A moment worth thinking about later. Hey, Rika,” Ito said loudly as you passed another patient on the path, “Good to see you today. How’s your cult? You don’t know? Great! Healthy! See you later!” Ito and you sped-walked past her, and once Rika was out of earshot, Ito lowered her voice again. “You don’t have to know the person, but maybe a stranger shared a moment of kindness with you. Maybe an old friend laughed in a new way. It’s a moment where you’re attracted to something past the surface level in a person, even for a brief second. I don’t give out soulmates with absolutely no attraction, even if it may seem that way.”
You, fuming, kicked snow out of your path. “That bitch likes me!”
Ito nodded. “And not just for your tits.”
“Shit,” you said, pushing hair out of your face and pulling your scarf to be snugger, “Nothing I do is gonna—”
“I can help,” said Ito, glancing over her shoulders again for eavesdroppers.
You stopped in your tracks. “But why would you do that? I’m just some weirdo.”
“Because when I have employed the help I’m about to offer you, it has been very, very funny to me,” she said, “and I don’t get outside news except through fucking letters.”
You joined her on the path again. “How many times have you done this?”
Ito looked up as she bit the pad of her thumb, trudging through the snow. “You’ll be the twelfth time. It’s like a part two to my quirk, but I usually don’t come across victims again to offer this sort of thing—and people usually don’t need it. Step one: we’ll need an airtight container.”
***
Cut to that evening in your dorm room, with you hunched over a ziploc bag sealed to the brim with her quirk’s pink dust.
Door locked. Lights down. Cosy pyjamas. Already under the covers in bed.
An increased probability of cliches, Ito had said.
You flipped on the flashlight on your phone to shine through the dust, pink light scattering on the ceiling like a home-planetarium.
Inhaling her quirk for the second time would still affect you, but it wouldn’t assign you another soulmate. Rather, it would dramatically increase your chances for romance tropes to occur in your real life. Stuff that only happens in rom-coms and fanfic could start to happen to you and your soulmate.
(“Like sharing a bed when there’s only one of them,” Ito had said, swirling her finger through the leftover powdered sugar and licking it.
“We’ve already got that covered with the teleporting,” you’d said.
“Shifting is what I’ve been calling the teleports, babe.” Ito had smacked her lips. “And maybe you’ll wake up grinding on his hard-on, now. Do you know how big his dick is?” she’d asked, and then she’d clicked her tongue. “Never mind; I wanna know about his thighs.”
“I can—”
“Or maybe he’ll spill coffee on your shirt and have to pat you dry, accidentally making your shirt see-through and getting flustered at your tits. Or maybe he’ll have to pick you up in the rain, and oh, no, the weather’s too bad for you to go home, and you have to wear his clothes, and—”
You’d snorted at the thought of wearing one of his jumpsuits. He didn’t seem to have much else.)
Either way, you had your ziploc bag of soulmate trope dust, and you had a soulmate reluctant to acknowledge you—even though you knew now that he liked you, that bitch. You’d prepared accordingly, already in bed, since Ito had said you’d likely pass out again. It sat a bit unpleasantly in your stomach that you were going to rely on cliches to jumpstart your relationship with Aizawa, since you hadn’t wanted to do that in the first place with teacher-student relationship cliches. But you could avoid that the best you could, you supposed.
You lay down in bed, adjusting your hair on your pillow, and with the bag on your chest, you popped it like bubble wrap, the dust surging into your face in a rosy burst.
***
Popping it Tuesday night led to a cruelly dull Wednesday, since, as seniors, Wednesdays were off-days for the hero course to spend more time in the field. You weren’t needed at Sakura Grove, as you remotely typed up your reports and sent them their way, and since all your friends were with their mentors, the hours crawled. You puttered around online for a while, before cracking open a book whose plot couldn’t hold you. Since no one was around to witness, you plodded downstairs to the kitchen in your pyjamas, stole one of Aoyama’s green tea popsicles for an early start to lunch, and booted up the console Kaminari kept in the commons.
While the screen loaded, you plopped onto the couch, licking the last of the tea off the wooden stick. What does Aizawa do on Wednesdays now that his class is loose? He frequents a cat café; the punch-card was poking out of his wallet on his bedside table last time you shifted to his room. But there are the mundanities—grocery shopping, catching up on sleep, grading, caring for Eri. And hell, how you’d like to share those moments with him—perhaps scrunching his nose at a change of ingredients of his favourite chip, stroking the neck of his cat in a beam of sunlight, braiding Eri’s hair with ribbon at the start of a school day.
Fuuuuuck, when will Aizawa let you in?
The next moment, you’re suffocating. Pitch black softness, swaddling and falling around you, sweltering within seconds, sweat beading at your hairline. You took a desperate, gasping breath—relieved in the slim moment a slant of light puckered in front you, until the hand shoved onto your face, palm feeling for your mouth and shutting your jaw for you. Within the cocoon, the frame on either side of you tensed, and—the hand fumbled, once you’d quieted, in the crack of light to clumsily cup your cheek, patting it abruptly before rubbing the thumb over your cheekbone.
From that touch and the peace it swept over you, you knew where you’d shifted: kneeling right between Aizawa’s legs in his sleeping bag. But he’s sitting upright in a chair and needed to silence you, so where was he right now?
You settled, leaning against the hard muscle of his calf and into his palm, nosing at it to signal you knew it’s him.
“You have twenty-seven minutes to finish your tests,” called Aizawa, and for the first time, you picked up on pens clicking, paper shuffling, and chairs scuffing against polished tile. “Don’t ask me when they’ll be graded; Kuranosuke-sensei isn’t set to return until Saturday.”
Bless him.
But okay. You’ve got about half an hour stuck between his legs under this desk in front of what’s likely a bunch of younger business students.
Huh, if you only inched your chin forward on his chair, you’d be perfectly positioned to nuzzle against his cock, maybe suck it if you maneuvered your arms out of the sleeping bag’s constrictions. But, you supposed, it would be very mean to tease him in that way in front of students who haven’t built that respect for him, and you’d prefer your first blowjob to be where Aizawa could throw his head back, face flushed, groaning loudly with a gentle, guiding hand on the back of your head—hey, now’s not the time.
You didn’t want him to feel the shame of having an erection in front of who were essentially strangers. It’d…you don’t want to humiliate your soulmate. You love that idiot.
But Aizawa was shifting his hips, to your horror, the thick fabric of his jumpsuit brushing your face in the moment his hand retracted, and the sleeping bag was shuffled down past the top of your head, which grazed the underside of a desk drawer.
You rested your chin towards the edge of his chair—yes, mere inches between your face and his clothed cock, but your breath probably wasn’t even hitting it. From this angle, you and Aizawa could share that suspicious glare he shot you, so you backed up the half-inch for your chin to rest of the very brink of the chair—he closed his eyes, his shoulders losing their stiffness—and you leant your head against his thigh, just on the inside of his knee. He heaved a silent sigh, giving a subtle roll of his eyes, and minutely nodded—an act so slight that if you hadn’t been looking for it, you would’ve missed it.
Aizawa’s hand came to rest atop your head, scratching his fingers gently against your scalp. Part of it’s the soulmate bond; part of it’s being touch-starved, but his gentle scratch was so fucking soothing that a hazy, relaxed sleepiness came over you. Your head sagged, nose pressing towards the underside of his thigh, while your eyes crossed. Maybe it’s the magic of his sleeping bag, but you’re so drowsy that the scratch of his short nails almost drowned out clicking footsteps approach the desk.
Aizawa froze, his hand stilling in your hair.
“What are we supposed to do with our tests?” came the whisper of a business student.
Aizawa made a grunt and moved as if he were stretching and reaching for something on the desk. “Whatever you normally do. Is there not a routine?”
“The basket we turn papers in to is missing.” The shadow of the student’s feet grew closer to the desk.
“Not my problem. Just leave them on the corner of the desk—” A tinny clink echoed through the teacher desk when Aizawa tapped it—his thumb swiping over your forehead to calm you.
“Gotcha,” said the business student, and you thought you were in the clear before she asked, “What—what are you doing under…?”
“Oh?” Aizawa jolted the chair forward to hide you, but with the jolt came his clothed cock pressed against your face; even through the thick fabric you could tell it’s his shaft pressed against the length of your nose and corner of mouth and balls nestled against your chin and cheek. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to text under my desk, the same as all of you do when you think I can’t see.” A metallic-sounding object scraped across the desktop, followed by an impulsively-large-sounding gulp.
“Your phone’s on your desk, sir,” said the business student.
His fingers now curled into your hair in a vain attempt to pull you away from his cock, but he couldn’t, with the scant room under the desk and bulk of his sleeping bag. Trying to be polite, you opted to avert your gaze from his crotch (even though it was right there), which shuddered so hard that you saw and felt it.
“It’s a common practise for pro-heroes to have secondary phones purely for work,” said Aizawa, taking another loud swallow of his drink. “You may want to invest in one.”
“Gotcha,” said the business student again, just as another shadow joined her at the desk and whispered for her to hurry up.
When they both retreated, Aizawa stealthily scooted back to gain some space in a move that looked like he was simply leaning back in his chair to drain the tea out of his cup—and you savoured the unshielded view of the tender skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—and hey, that’s—Aizawa relaxed enough to glance down at you, elbow on the arm of the chair, holding in the air the teacup you gifted him to replace the one you broke (nowhere nearly as nice as the pottery one you smashed presumably was, but its deep crimson glaze had reminded you of his quirk-activated eyes).
You were strangely moved that he was using your gift so quickly after he received it, in public, and not where you were supposed to see it being used.
Your eyes darted between the cup and his eyes until he noticed, and he raised the teacup just a hair in a toast. Nodding with a tired smile, you wormed your arm around to unwind his hand from its grip in your hair, unintentionally still tight, and held his gaze as you kissed the pad of each finger, starting with his little finger, the pink flashing from each tip until you pressed your lips against his thumb.
Aizawa never looked away, but he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. You wondered for a moment if he liked the thumbprint bisecting the centre of your lips, the rounded edge aligning with the dip in your cupid’s bow. But his expression betrayed nothing, and instead, he raised the teacup to his own mouth, his hand returning to your hair for the rest of the period.
After the last student had petered out of the classroom and Aizawa had given an uncharacteristic little wave as the last one close the door behind her, Aizawa held out a groan as he kicked away from the desk, his hands flying to adjust his lower jumpsuit and then raking his fingers back through his own hair.
“How are you holding up?”
You balked. “How am I?” You shoved at his knees so that you had room to stand, and you sat on the desk.
Aizawa pointedly nudged your legs together (you hadn’t even thought of it that way). “Nice pyjamas.”
“You’re lucky I don’t sleep naked,” you said, plucking at your shirt.
“Am I?”
Was that…was he flirting?
Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he continued. “You shouldn’t walk back to the dorms like that. I don’t have anything at the school besides a spare jumpsuit, but Hizashi should have his jacket draped on his chair in the faculty lounge.”
“How romantic,” you said, flicking the side of his teacup for the hell of it.
“I don’t have another class to sub until the period after this one,” he said, pocketing his phone and other personals on the desk before handing the teacup to you, “Let’s go.”
Present Mic was gloriously absent from the faculty lounge, so there was no one to stop Aizawa from laying his stuff on his desk and swiping the jacket off the back of Mic’s chair. You set the teacup on the cat coaster and had just barely turned his way before he was sweeping the open jacket around your shoulders. Aizawa lifted the leather while you slipped your arms inside, and he zipped you up, stopping the zipper just above the curve of your boobs. You looked down, and he flicked the zipper up at you with a smirk.
“Are we married yet?”
His hand dropped from your zipper. “I saw what you did with the registration form. You’re not funny.”
“I happen to be hilarious,” you said, “I assume to want to adjust the mark?”
Nodding, Aizawa waited for you to tilt your head up and to the side. “I am not marrying you. You’re my student.” He grazed the usual spot behind your ear with his ring finger.
“And someday I won’t be.” You shivered as the frisson of his touch rolled through you. “You’d rather have even more paperwork, bureaucratical hoops, and possibly a ceremony at a later, inevitable date than one simple checkmark on a sheet? Not very logical, sensei.”
He frowned. “Stop that.”
A beat. “No otherwise rebuttal?” you asked, grinning, “You agree, then, that we’re going to end up together? That we’ll be—”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Funny,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, eyeing Snipe in the far corner of the room, “Then, hey. Compromise. What if we just hang out with no romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever? I wanna get to know you better. You’re cool.”
Aizawa crossed his arms and followed your gaze to Snipe, who was bent over in his seat, cleaning one of his guns. “Think about it. Would you trust a teacher who spends time outside of school with a student?”
“How’s the training with Shinsou going?”
“You are not funny.”
“And everybody knows you’re training Shinsou, and they’re fine with it. You could say you’re training me,” you said, stepping closer to him, looking him in the eyes despise his hunkering down into his scarf, “Please say you’re training me. I want to spend time with you. Hell, actually train me. You could make me strong enough that you don’t have to worry about me, or any bullshit. C’mon, Aizawa. Please.”
“That,” he said, “I can easily deny you. Now, get back to the dorms. I’d like to—”
“What? Why,” you said with a whine, “How can you say that so quickly? You didn’t even think about it.”
“Yeah?” Aizawa turned to his desk to boot up the computer. “It’s because you’re already strong enough to take care of yourself. I don’t have to worry about you in a fight,” he said, just barely crinkling his eyes, so you figured that he’s smiling beneath his capture weapon, “Keeping you from being a fool—now, that’s something I’ll have to watch for.”
You groaned. Loudly. And for way too long. “Whatever. May I sit on your lap while you grade?”
“No,” said Aizawa, not missing a beat, “Go back to the dorm.”
“You want me to check on Eri?”
“Sure. That’d be—really nice. Let me know—”
“Yeah?” Grinning, you bounced on the balls of your feet. “How am I supposed to do that? Sounds like I might need a certain phone number.”
Aizawa collapsed in his cracked, leather lounge chair and spun it towards his cubicle desk. “No need. If you don’t shift to me in the next half hour, I’ll assume everything’s fine.”
“Oh, come on. I feel like I deserve some sort of treat for not mentioning your half-chub while it was in my face earlier.”
Aizawa rubbed at his temple, his eyes strained. “I’m busy grading and don’t have time to talk.”
He was staring into a blank screen.
“Fine, you big baby. I’ll concede to you this time,” you said, and before you could lose your nerve, you leant over to kiss the top of his head.
You’d bolted for the door before he could even turn around.
***
It was supposed to be a routine field exercise.
The hero course had been split into teams, each under the leadership of a faculty member, for a field assessment as twenty percent of your grade for your final semester. As an extension of the personal study starting with the student presentations from earlier, you were in the group focusing on stealth headed by Aizawa, along with Bakugou, Aoyama, and Todoroki (who swopped into your group last minute, since Midnight declared that he needed to get away from her group working on public relations). Bummed that no other girls were in the group, you resolved to make it work by being better than the boys. Not to mention that the three included would, hopefully, be dense enough to miss the subtler interactions between Aizawa and you that betrayed something else going on.
The four of you were to know as little as possible about the assignment as possible before going in, so you all spent the week leading up to it making contingency plans (you’d been told not to go out otherwise that week, so Midnight had to do her own work, for once, at Sakura Grove), with maps of the city and subway splayed out on the floor in the common room, along with bowls of trail mix Bakugou had thrown together, claiming that Aoyama’s stuff was bullshit (though you had enjoyed it very much when you ate it in secret that morning). All you’d been told was that you’d be making an escort in secret, without the target even knowing you were there.
No contingency plan could account for this.
A thunderstorm popped up on the radar out of nowhere, delaying the plane’s arrival, and the airport radio signal had been scrambled, fed into a different language, and back again. If you’d been allowed more details during preparation, you’d have more of the story, but all you could piece together now was excruciatingly obvious: the airport’s east wing exploded and caved before the plane even hit it, and now you were trapped underground under wet, crumbly tonnes of rubble, confined to a pocket of space barely tall enough to stand in, with the only structure keeping half of an airport bathroom’s mirrored wall from collapsing and crushing you being the charred, lower third of a column from the airport courtyard.
“You can’t blow our way out,” you hissed at Bakugou, who was climbing his way up the column to prod at the ceiling, “The column’s load-bearing.”
“I know that,” Bakugou said, contorting his upper body and neck as he gawped with his mouth open at the debris above him, “I’m just seein’ if there’s any light from the surface comin’ through, or if there’s anywhere rainwater’s drippin’ in.”
Hunching with his upper back grazing the rubble ceiling at the tallest point in the collapsed space, Aizawa frantically fussed with his work phone (which he genuinely had, after all) and his radio, unable to get a signal. “Be careful with your movements,” he said, mind barely in the conversation, “You could make the debris slip, or it could get weighed down with rain and further collapse. At worst, you want it to settle. Aoyama, are you getting anything?”
Tapping the AI filter on his sparkle shades away, Aoyama tore his gaze away from his handheld device’s screen. “Alas,” he said with a quivering frown. His ankle was being wrapped by Todoroki, who had been careful to refill the place in the concrete where Aoyama’s foot had been with ice, keeping the space intact.
“It’s fine; you’re doing well. Keep an eye on the signal. We want to know if we get one.” Aizawa handed his phone to you, giving you a short nod and the same job. “Todoroki, keep that cavity frozen. Keep an eye out for similar spot about to collapse and do the same.”
“I’m assuming this isn’t part of the assignment, since you’re taking charge,” you said under your breath to Aizawa, your back to the others as you stooped to stand yourself, arms crossed, “What relevant information can you share about the assignment that might get us out of here? Who were we escorting? If we know who they have for allies, then we can start to understand how the signals are scrambled and how to walk out of this situation.”
Aizawa stuck his tongue in his cheek. “None of it’s relevant. Our target has been isolated for well over four years and was being processed by professionals. She wouldn’t have had any opportunity to sabotage this procedure; St. Philomena’s has kept our target from having untracked outside communication.”
An uneasy stone dropped into the pit of your stomach. “St. Philomena’s,” you said slowly, biting your lip, “That’s a women’s penitentiary.”
Aizawa opened his mouth to answer but instead inhaled a mouthful of dust as the earth shook and clattered around you. Bakugou braced the column while you and Aizawa kept the bathroom wall steady, but the mirror shattered and fell with the wall, with Todoroki grabbing you out of the way of the sink from crushing your legs, icing the concrete shards into a makeshift support for the column, enough for Bakugou to twist out from underneath it. You gasped in deep breaths of powdery concrete yet dug into wet clods of silt and grime with the heels of your boots.
The ceiling had caved in by about two feet in height, and if Aoyama hadn’t skibbled away from his spot in the corner, he’d be buried under glass and tile. You experimentally knelt and stretched towards the ceiling—good for you, for having some room to move upwards, but Aizawa could only sit, now. Every heaving breath from your friends was too close for your liking, and the stone fell from your stomach right into your gut when you noticed the steady trickle of water between the rocks and down the column, cutting a clear, ivory path through the grey dust coating it. Bakugou scooted out of the ways of its dripping, letting it instead drain in a puddle next to him.
You and Bakugou nearly jumped out of your skins at the skrrrt of Aizawa’s radio, but nothing came through except static.
“We’re okay,” said Aizawa, once Aoyama started to show signs of hyperventilation, “The static is a good sign. Even if we can’t communicate specifics, they have a location on us. They know we’re down here, and if it seems like they’re taking too long, remember that civilians are the priority. We’ll be all right.”
Claustrophobia.
Not your favourite.
But Aoyama was clearly having a worse time handling it, so it’s better to set an example for him—see how calm you are? See how much you’re not being selfish, curling into Aizawa’s arms for him to pet your hair until it’s over, keeping him all to yourself, even though it’d be really easy to pretend like it’s the size of the cavern instead of your own selfish desires that’s making you touch him. See how mature you’re being, not even touching Aizawa, even though he’s right next to you. You’re being rational about the whole thing.
Todoroki stared off, his bright eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, and he parted his lips, wetting them slightly before speaking. “You should move closer to Aoyama,” he said to Bakugou, “Someone’s hurt.”
“The hell d’you mean?” When Todoroki gestured, Bakugou followed his gaze.
The water’s white path through the dust congealed and blushed deep vermillion as it coursed down the column, falling in thick, steady plops next to Bakugou, the upsplash ticking his exposed skin with red.
“Holy shit.” Bakugou scrambled away the best he could, kicking away from the water and practically into your lap, but he shot you a sort-of apologetic look and shuffled into more of Todoroki’s personal space. “Do you think—it’s not blood,” he said, smearing it on his arm, still running a dark red even spread thinly.
Aoyama cringed. “It’s not going to—it won’t fill up the—”
“No,” Bakugou said quickly, “It’s drainin’ through the cracks. We’re fine, Aoyama.” Bakugou made a point of dragging his hard glare from Todoroki to you, as if to say that keeping Aoyama calm was essential to getting out.
You checked Aizawa’s phone again for any signal, and, sighing, you stowed it to keep from scratching the screen.
“Nothing?”
Shaking your head at Aizawa, you resisted the heavy urge to rest your forehead on his shoulder. You know what? Maybe you could. He’s right there, and if you did it in this situation, it could be read as a simply act of comfort that you could have easily shared with anyone, perhaps. The two of you could stare romantically into the dripping, red goop, talk about your lives together, about teaching your psychotic friends, about sidekicking at Sakura Grove—
“Hey, don’t touch that,” you said, jolting in your seat, to Todoroki, who stopped, wide-eyed, in his odd stretch over Bakugou’s lap before he could prod with his outstretched finger the congealed mass accumulating in the puddle, “I think I know what that is.”
Beside you, Aizawa sucked in through his teeth. “Just once, I wish your deduction skills weren’t so good.”
Without averting your gaze, you moved to elbow him in the chest, hard, but he caught your arm and held it deathly still: he only touched you by your sleeve, though, so no soulmark would bleed through. Odds were that the mark was still furtively hidden behind your ear. Frowning, you tried to wrest your arm away from him, eyes on the falling droplet heavy enough to break the surface tension of the gathered, congealed mass, making the whole thing burst upwards in a dense, ruby smoke.
“Get down, as close to the ground as you can,” you said in a rush, cut off when Aizawa shoved your head to the ground with his hand on the back of your neck, his face inches from yours and only moving closer as he made room for the others to join you, cheek smushed against a patch of intact bathroom tile.
“It’s aerosolising,” said Aizawa, eyes darting over the ceiling, where the mist was rising through cracks in the rubble, “Follow where it’s escaping; we might be able to use—”
“No, you fucker,” you hissed (Aizawa squeezed the back of your neck), “Not all of it’s going to escape. It’s going to condense into liquid again on any surface that blocks it and then drop back on us.”
“Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” spat Bakugou, voice muffled from behind you but strangely reverberating back through the curved metal of Aoyama’s armour.
“We’re only going to be safe on the ground if it doesn’t condense, which is un-fucking-likely the way the thunderstorm’s moistened and lowered atmospheric pressure,” you said, the sound of water rinsing through crannies in the rocks growing from the far side of the cavern, “Aoyama, try to breath evenly but shallowly; you don’t wanna inhale this.”
The knuckles of Bakugou’s heavy glove struck the centre of your upper back. “Dumbass. Just tell him to hyperventilate, why don’t you?”
A drop of red water fell onto Todoroki’s pale cheek, sizzling with the impact as it was absorbed into his skin, a miniature puff of smoke emitting from the spot.
After a moment of heavy silence, Aizawa shifted his jaw, his eyes dark as they focused on you. “Academic protocols are over. Time to share what you know about Serendipity’s quirk.”
You dropped your jaw, even with the grit digging into your skin and jaw. “Who’s the insane person who assigned a bunch of students to escort fucking Serendipity—”
“I am,” said Aizawa, grip on your neck tightening and eyes flaring scarlet so briefly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been inches away, “Considering your high level of academic success, I thought you capable enough to complete a more difficult mission than your—”
“Someone just fuckin’ say what her quirk does!” Bakugou’s hand curled into a fist with the fabric of your hero costume taut between its fingers, his fist lay, overheated, between your shoulder blades.
You jerked your shoulder away from him, but there wasn’t any room to go, so his hand stayed on your back, putting distance between the two of you, though his knees and hips still touched the back of yours. “Okay,” you said after settling, glaring directly into Aizawa’s eyes, “Serendipity is the third most dangerous villain in the western hemisphere, evidently being transferred today to the place Midnight and I work, because fucking no one else wants to handle her. C’mon, Aizawa, is that why I wasn’t allowed at work for the past week? So I wouldn’t know? Fucking—” You tried to give a half-hearted kick to Aizawa, but his thumb curled enough around your neck to locate your pulse point, which he pressed down on in warning. “But yeah, her quirk is so volatile and dangerous because—because yes, it’s a sex pollen quirk, but it’s fast, and you can’t solve it by touching yourself, like other sex quirks we’ve seen used for villainy; you have to orgasm at someone else’s hands. And no one can figure out why your internal organs shrivel and die within four hours—”
You inhaled sharply through your teeth as two droplets sizzled into your skin in quick succession, but the squeeze on your neck told you to continue. “Or the brain damage, or—because her quirk’s been studied, but no one can tell if it requires the feed of dopamine to the body, or not getting enough oxygenated blood cells, or capillary damage, or—” Bakugou thumped your back again. “—but no one is immune to it, and it’s fucking terrifying,” you finished, scrunching your eyes shut at the sensation of more droplets searing into your skin and into those around you, each person inhaling more with each individual puff of smoke from the viscous drops.
Tongue too big for your mouth, you trailed off, eyesight blurring as you zoned out for a just a bit, but you lurched back into reality when a hot ache stung the back of your neck and swept through your body. Aizawa retracted his hand faster than a viper striking, his eyes briefly holding the same dread yours did.
Shaken, you pushed yourself up to sit, and to your horror, an enormous gush of arousal pooled between your legs—you snapped your legs shut at the sight of the wet spot on your hero costume (and worse, the dribbling into the gravel), and Aizawa saw, holding a steady, neutral expression despite your visible panic.
“Fuck, baby—”
It hadn’t come from Aizawa but Bakugou, whose hips you’d inadvertently ground against when you sat up. His large hand came to grip your waist, fingers digging in and pulling your ass back against him, and his other hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he pushed himself up. “I’ve always known you smelled good, but this is somethin’ else—”
“Absolutely not.” Aizawa yoinked you away from Bakugou and put himself between the you and the rest, cramping you into the corner with pointed rocks digging into your back, and he held up his hand, Bakugou glaring a hole into his palm, vermillion streaking down his face. “You’re drugged. She’s drugged. Even if you both say you want it, it’s not a reflection of reality.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue, but Todoroki tilted to the side to keep his tense gaze on you.
“No,” said Aizawa, using the scant room and the end of his capture weapon to snap in Todoroki’s face, “You’d be ruining the professional relationship you have. You’d be violating her. There’s no way she’d actually want you.”
Bakugou scoffed over Todoroki’s quiet how do you know that, already palming himself through his costume. “I’d rather risk it all blasting out of here than suck Icy-Hot’s dick.” His other hand crackled with the beginnings of an explosion.
“You can’t,” you said with effort, mouth and throat coated with dust as heat rose to your skin, sweat breaking out at your hairline, “If you’re not a heteromorph, Serendipity’s quirk suppresses yours. It—it overwhelms your entire system—”
“You couldn’t mention that before I got hard?” Bakugou scowled, thumb playing with his belt buckle in consideration. “I would’ve blasted us out of here earlier.”
Aizawa shook his head. “It wouldn’t’ve worked—”
Todoroki made a sort of horting noise in the back of his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, before hacking a thick glob of red mucus right onto a spot of white bathroom tile, large trails of saliva trailing from his mouth.
“Holy shit,” you said softly, your eyebrows shooting up, and Aizawa held you back before you could even move.
“Mon Dieu,” said Aoyama, and he removed his sparkle shades to see it without a red filter.
Aizawa’s radio crackled static again, but nobody moved a muscle.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Aizawa, his hand still up but hardly deterring an increasingly twitchy Bakugou, who kept staring at you over Aizawa’s shoulder, “Aoyama, you’re probably going to hurt yourself and others if you stay in your armour. If you think you can handle being more vulnerable, take it off. Prop it up between the three of you and us.” The radio hissed again. “We’re going to camp out here until help arrives. Waiting is the heroic path to take sometimes,” he said in Bakugou’s direction, “If you find yourself succumbing to the quirk, that’s okay. It’s not shameful. No one is immune to it. If you can work it out among yourselves, that’s fine. No one here is going to share any details you don’t want out.” But here his voice darkened, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew Aizawa was shooting a hard, unmerciful look towards them. “But you’re not going to hurt anyone here, and you’re especially not going to take advantage of her because she’s the only woman. To get her, you’ll have to go through me, and I do not intend to be kind.”
“Fucking hell,” said Bakugou, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off.
You were feeling a similar way, but Aizawa had you so backed into the corner that there wasn’t room to take anything off. So, instead of tearing off the increasingly abrasive and scratchy fabric of your hero uniform, you hugged your knees to your chest, thighs clenching, and bit down on your arm to keep from crying out. A choked sound still escaped you as a leather strap on your upper thigh rubbed closer to a more sensitive spot.
You couldn’t even lift a hand to fan your face—but with how heavy your limbs felt, even the promise of cool air couldn’t bring you to attempt it, and instead, you tried to find relief in the cold press of busted bathroom tile at the back of your neck—and you turned your head to feel it against your cheek, too.
Your hips rocked, knocking your legs against Aizawa’s back, and when he turned over his shoulder to spare you a glance, you jolted as far back as you could away from him. Not that you could go anyway but barely half an inch backwards. “Sorry,” you said quickly, shaking your head, “Didn’t mean to. Really. I—” Your heart flipped at his concerned face (himself looking a little red), and a sharp cramp curdled into your lower stomach. “Oh, fuck,” you said, a hand shooting to your stomach and doubling over—but your forehead grazed him before you could, and you let out a quiet yelp before jerking back into place, tears welling at the pain. “Sorry about that.”
Aizawa grimaced at your weak smile and turned back towards the others. You hadn’t even heard what they’re doing, since the blood pumping in your ears apparently deafened you to anything besides your own half-smothered sobs into your arm.
They were growing louder at their frustration, but they were, for the most part, not directing any of it at you. Hey, is—? Over Aoyama’s armour-wall, it looked like Bakugou might have gotten his cock out to start stroking it; maybe you could get a better look—
“Hey,” said Aizawa, blocking your view when he turned over his shoulder, “Stop all that squirming.” Were you? You hadn’t even noticed. “Remember what I’ve taught you. I know you can do better.”
“Oh, don’t say professor-y things like that,” you said with a whine while, yes, squirming in place, “It goes straight to my cunt.”
Aizawa closed his eyes for a moment, but he soon opened them and continued, unaffected. “Focus. I’m holding you to a higher calibre than your peers, because I know you can do it. What have you been taught about remaining calm in crisis? Ground yourself.”
“But I—”
“Do it.”
You huffed and tried to settle down into your body, counted, and exhaled slowly as you shut your eyes, waiting for your other sense to sharpen. Body scan—focusing on flowing energy, starting at your head, down to your toes, and back up again. But you had trouble on the return to the top of your head, since every cell in your body screamed to zoom in on the throbbing in your lower half—hard to say what’s tremoring more: you, or the walls of the cavern.
But there’s an infinitesimal sound that drowns every other maddening, oversensitive sensation: from the back of Aizawa’s throat comes a quiet, breathy whimper.
And—
“Oh, my fucking God,” you said, noticing all of the surreptitious ways Aizawa was trying to hide how affected he was: his hand clasped in a knuckle-whitening fist covering his lap, eyes watering with frustration, jaw tensed, neck and hand veins pulsating, sweating through his undershirt, and you?
Wetting your lips, you strained forward to brush his hair aside to kiss the back of his neck, and Aizawa fucking shuddered, the thing passing through his whole body. Though it hadn’t been your intention, your legs spread as you did so, parting on either side of him, and his hair flew into your face as he took in your legs surrounding him.
“Hey, no,” he said, and he pushed back on your legs, willing you to scrunch up to hug them to your chest again.
“I’m not doing anything—”
“You fucking are,” Aizawa hissed over his shoulder, “You’re being a goddamn brat.”
That shut you up immediately. Feeling slick drip out of you, you curled in on yourself, tucking your legs up to your chest like he wanted.
“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to keep guard.
His shoulders seemed wider than before.
Maybe it’s the heady, prickling excitement swarming in your chest at the unspoken threat of a punishment turned sexual, or maybe it’s the incoming brain damage, but you rounded up every nerve not currently on fire to keep pushing your luck. “Aizawa,” you said, soft enough for only him to hear over the squelching from the far side of the cavern, “If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?”
He didn’t respond.
An easy grin stretched across your face.
“Because I know there’s got to be stuff you wanna do to me, not with me, for how I behave sometimes. But I only want your attention,” you said, feeling a bit dizzy as heat flushed all over your feverish skin, “I know you can’t give it to me, because you wanna be all noble and stuff, but—”
Another cramp had you gasping and hacking up red-tinged spit. Aizawa started to turn his head, but you told him, totally deflated, “Don’t bother. I’m sorry—” You coughed up more red mucus. “I know I’m gross; I know you can’t look at me that way; I’m sorry I’ve been—I’m sorry.”
How can he be so calm? It’s not fucking fair that he can just sit there, cross-legged and sweating, with the scent of sex permeating the smoke-hazy air, and yes, he’s hard, but that’s just the stupid fucking quirk.
You’re dripping and clenching but still so, so empty, and the tears finally overflowed as Aizawa looked over his shoulder at you again. “I’m sorry,” you said again, eyes glazing over and breathing irregularly (for all the talk about Aoyama hyperventilating, you might be the one to actually do it). “I’ll—I’ll stop bothering you; I can handle this. I’ll, uh—” You cut yourself off at another cramp, seizing up at a stray spasm, releasing your hold on your legs and yanking at the roots of your hair. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll get—get Shinsou to make me come—sorry I tried to—I’m sorry; I should’ve left you alone—”
“Stop apologising.” Aizawa twisted to brush away your tears with his thumb, the skin that vibrant pink when he pulled away. “Christ, you’re burning up.” He hand returned to your face, this time against your forehead, and he frowned—yeah, he was frowning before you were pathetically raising yourself off the ground to nuzzle into his hand, to mouth voraciously at his palm, which flushed pink with every pass of your lips, and—
“Fuck,” said Aizawa, withdrawing his hand to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. You made a questioning noise, and to answer, he let his gaze drop to where the soaked patch between your legs dribbled into the rubble. He dragged his hands down the rest of his face. “You’re drenched,” he said, rasping.
A vehement moan from the other side of the space made both of you flinch, with Aizawa making a quick check to ensure their attention wasn’t on you.
You grabbed his capture weapon, pulling him close. “Please,” you said, panting, “Please, ‘Zawa, I’m not as capable as you think I am; I’m not good; I can’t take it. Please—”
His teeth dug into his lower lip as a grumbled scoff came from the back of this throat, and he shook his head. “God, not like this. It’s not supposed to be like this.”
Another loud moan and the sounds of skin on skin from the others brought another wince from the two of you, and Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he’d steeled himself, determined and set. “I can’t have you corrupting my protégé,” he said (it was a joke, right? Why isn’t he smiling?), “but I can’t offer you anything more.”
“Wha—?”
Aizawa was nudging your knees open, his eyebrows raised, and when he turned to face the others, he scooted backwards to sit between your spread legs, pinning you between the rock and his back, crowding you in, and oh, oh, my God, you should’ve been embarrassed at how wet the back of his jumpsuit got as he pushed himself back to sit right in front of your crotch, but the first, pulsing wave of relief as your clit rubbed against him washed everything else away.
Did this count? Did this count as coming at someone else’s hands? You found the problem less compelling the more you thrashed against him, grinding your clit against his back so hard that your vision blacked out at the edges, breathing in that terribly awful frustrating sexy combination of pine and sandalwood, desperately huffing it in in gasping breaths and curling your fingers into the back of his jumpsuit to bring him closer: you needed to kiss the back of his neck again, to see that pink mark on his skin.
But it’s as if he knew what you were going to do, because instead of letting you pull his hair aside, he reached back to grab your hand, and he (mercifully) allowed the grab to relax into a hold, letting you lace your fingers through his as he guided your arm around his waist (an evil part of you was disappointed that he didn’t place your hand over his cock, instead of resting your entwined hands on his leg [cute]).
And you were quiet: you didn’t moan, so the others wouldn’t know, unless they could somehow make out your laboured breathing behind the hand you cupped over your mouth. You’re grappling for pressure against your clit, but it’s your shiver when he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb that triggered your orgasm—pounding, rushing, and all at once, the throbbing of your clit taking you somewhere distant and piney, with you slowly coming back to reality by an abrupt pulsing, for some reason, in the roof of your mouth.
And the quirk had passed through you.
It counted.
But it kept you bound in a tired haze, sultry and lethargic and red, and lost in the lingering high of both the scarlet saliva you kept hacking up and that Aizawa let you grind against him until you came, you closed in on yourself and did your best to stay awake. Your brain tried to worry about Aizawa, but the quirk shushed you and forced you into a cloudy exhaustion.
You were out of it when Aizawa’s radio crackled to life, when the rescue unit exhumed your team, when the EMT on duty looked you over. You were still foggy when you were put in a passenger seat of a government vehicle, but the fog dissipated when Aizawa climbed in the driver’s seat and told you to call Midnight.
“I don’t know the number for Sakura Grove,” he said, turning on the windshield wipers, “and I need to warn Midnight that I’m asking her to help me with this quirk.”
Thunder rumbled through the sky and into your bones as he turned into downtown traffic, headlights blurring in the rain. Blankly, you wrestled his phone out of your pocket and began to dial her work number. “Okay, traitor.”
Aizawa’s expression darkened, his face glistening with sweat. “You know that I can’t—”
“So I can’t do the same for you?” you asked, putting his phone on speaker and letting it ring (cranking up the volume to hear it over the rain pelting the windows), “I can’t just, like, hold out my hand for you to grind against, or, God forbid, give you an actual fucking handjob—”
“Stop it,” he said, and he snatched his phone from you, switching off speaker, and you crossed your arms to fume, staring out into the miserably grey morning.
You smushed your forehead against the cool of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other down the glass, and you tried to focus on car horns blaring instead of the conversation regarding Aizawa’s sexual release that he and Midnight were currently having.
When he hung up, you sat up from your slouch against the window. “Is that all you need me for, then? You’ve got the number. You might as well drop me off at the next light.”
Aizawa swore under his breath. “Stop being such a—” He cut himself off, his leg not working the pedals bouncing profusely. “I still need you to enter Sakura Grove.”
That was true. You had three number-codes to punch in for clearance, and there was a thumbprint scan at the building in which you and Midnight worked. Still, you scoffed. “Just get Nemuri to let you in. You evidently don’t need me.”
The hand on the steering wheel tensed, veins pulsing. “First name basis?”
“Some professors like me.”
“Forget I said anything,” he grumbled, and when you turned to the window again, he mashed on the car radio, volume loud over the rain.
After a babble of a drum solo and what sounded like shouting in English, you were able to translate the song in your head by the time it hit the chorus:
“Got it bad, so bad, I’m hot for teacher.”
Aizawa stared, baffled, at the radio instead of the road as the guitar picked up, and he changed stations.
Again, in English, but with a hypnotically alt-relaxed beat: “Can’t tell my friends, ‘cause they will laugh; I love a member of the staff.”
You sneaked a glance at the driver’s seat, where Aizawa was fighting traffic, his erection, and his incredulity at what he was hearing.
“I fight my way to the front of class to get the best view of her—”
Aizawa changed stations before the singer could finish the couplet, and he sank into his seat at the safe sounds of synth and guitar, but you sat up straight, eyes wide and biting back a laugh, because you knew what the fuck was coming:
“Don’t stand—don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me—”
Aizawa smashed the radio’s off button, seething. He ran his fingers back through his hair, and after a deep breath, he opened his mouth. “What’d you do,” he asked flatly.
“Me?” you said, pointing at yourself, doing your fucking best not to smile, “What makes you think I’ve done something?”
Aizawa was panting. Chest heaving. Sweat visibly dripping down his face. Free hand darting between a superfluous position on the wheel, resting on the car door, and bunching up his jumpsuit to hide his erection, which only drew attention to it. “You didn’t—you and Nemuri didn’t orchestrate all this, did you?” he asked, teeming with nervous energy, “It’s a little—it’s a little too perfect for you, to get to see me dishevelled and desperate, to nearly get me to cave into what you want.”
Several feelings flooded you at once: revulsion at the suggestion you made a criminal use her quirk on you, anger that he’d even consider it to be in your character when he’s known you for years (and more anger that he thought you would want to lose your virginity with three other guys in the room), a wretched, clawing desperation to prove him wrong and beg for forgiveness—and a creeping disgust and shame towards yourself, for having been so vulnerable in his presence when he didn’t want it or you.
Time to shut down. “C’mon, Aizawa. That’s not very logical in the grand scheme of things,” you said, scathingly using his favourite word, propping your chin on your fist, and leaning against the window again, “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t let it end with my fucking soulmate going to someone else to make him come, especially when I was similarly helpless.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you—”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” you said bitterly, “but I wouldn’t do that. To you or to me. I don’t do things that would humiliate or hurt you.” You scooted closer towards the car window, away from him and his stupid pine aftershave. “I guess I’m a brat, yeah, but I’m not mean.”
To have something to do instead of talk to him, you exhumed the car manual from the glove compartment and started to read it, and you read that dull fucking piece of crap until you were forced to punch in your clearance codes for Sakura Grove.
As soon as he was inside the main building and out of sight, you slammed the manual and the glove compartment shut, and you screamed. No one would’ve heard you over the thunderstorm, anyway. Comforting that the weather was as angry as you.
You unbuckled and cosied up in your seat, glaring at the curtain of mist blowing rain horizontal outside. Lightning illuminated a worker rushing from one building to another, and she had to double back to get her ballet flat, hopping slightly to put it back on.
You don’t have another work shift until Monday, but you kind of wanted to clock in, anyway. It’d be satisfying to bitch about the whole thing with Ito. She’d tear into Aizawa. He deserves it.
Slunking down into your seat, you were struck with new terror: what if Aizawa were right? What if you did, inadvertently, plan this out, by inhaling Ito’s quirk dust a second time? Sex pollen was…sex pollen was a trope. A pretty fucking common one.
Oh, my God.
You clamped a hand over your mouth and tried to work out the logistics. Serendipity was already scheduled to arrive in Japan regardless of you inhaling the dust again, and—fuck fuck fuck. You didn’t like this.
You swallowed thickly, turning it all over in your head, and as the variables overlapped and blurred in your mind, you started to cry.
“Goddammit,” you said aloud, sitting up and dabbing at your face with your sleeve. You’ve already cried a lot today, and it’s not even noon. You’re taking a nap when you get back to campus.
You know who else likes naps?
You fucking sobbed harder, even though you were laughing a bit, too. You decided that you were too worn out to make any sound judgments. Go to sleep once you get back, and think about it when you wake up.
You sniffed and looked towards the door to the main building. God, he’s taking a long time. You’d figure that he’d edged himself to oblivion and back during the car ride, but no—
The next instant, you tensed up, frazzled, because a half-dressed Aizawa’s straddling you, hips jerking, driving into your own and biting into his fist as he came on your shirt, cum spurting all the way up to your boobs.
The groan he released once the spill of his cum slowed to a slight dribble nearly wrecked your ears and stopped your breath. You’re hastily, desperately drinking up details, eyes flicking over them rapidly in case they’re snatched away before you could notice: the weeping, pink tip of his cock, the only part of his dick peeking out of his jumpsuit’s lower half—the trail of dark hair leading up to it from his naval, framed by an infuriating v on his lithely muscled abdomen—all of his exposed, corded muscles of his chest, tendons visibly stretching and contracting in his forearms—and when he wiped that final drop of cum off his cock, it was with the thumb stained with soulmark pink.
Of course, for how much relaxation coursed through his body, it all fled him the second he finally opened his eyes.
You expected that he’d scramble to cover himself up and off of you, but once that initial panic faded, all he was left with was resignation. He yanked up the elastic of his boxer-briefs to hide his cock, and, sighing, he said, “Please. Please don’t say anything. I can’t handle it right now.”
You nodded. His eyes travelled over your face, his expression cracking. “You’re crying,” he said, voice breaking.
“Not because of you,” you said, wiping at your tears, “It’s something I did.”
He wiped away the tear stains on your other cheek. “Let’s find something to clean you up.”
While he twisted to fossick through the console for tissues, you swiped two fingers through the stuff on your shirt. So, this was a man’s cum. Weird. Thick. (You’ve seen some before; you’re not an idiot, but this was your first time, uh, experiencing it. Honestly, it reminded you a bit of the congealed quirk stuff earlier.) You rubbed it between your fingers.
“Oh, what are you doing—no, stop that,” said Aizawa softly, swatting your hand away from your cum-stained shirt. When you eyed the bit on your fingers, Aizawa sighed again. “Don’t taste it.”
He took your hand and wiped it clean, pink ink seeping across skin with every brief touch. He gave you a tissue from the pack he found for your tears, and he used the rest to wipe off your shirt.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anything else for you to wear,” he said, checking the backseat.
“It’s okay,” you said, balling up the tissues and putting them in the centre console, “We’re going straight back to campus. I’ll just shower and go to bed.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Aizawa, and he lifted himself from your lap and moved to cross to the driver’s seat.
You grabbed his arm to stop him. “You should, too. Don’t run yourself dry.”
Aizawa froze, considering, and then he nodded, slowly sinking back onto your lap.
He braced his hands on his thighs. “I’ve been cruel to you.”
Too exhausted to argue, you shrugged. “You have your reasons.”
“I shouldn’t be so cold to you, though. It’s been wearing away at my conscience,” he said, patting his pockets on his thighs and moving down to his calves. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he said, “Give me your phone. You deserve my number, at least.”
You pulled yours out and opened a new contact before handing it over. “You’re sure you’re comfortable with that?”
“Yeah,” said Aizawa, tapping the screen, “So long as it doesn’t…lead to anything out of bounds. And…maybe you can stick around for a while next time you shift in your sleep.” He shot you a smirk as he returned your phone.
The contact name simply read Shouta. No surname or honorifics. Just Shouta.
Heat rose to your face, but it was much pleasanter than when it had earlier that day.
“Are you good to drive back to campus?”
Tilting your head, you pocketed your phone again. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”
“Good,” he said, climbing off of your lap and into the backseat, “I’m going the fuck to sleep.”
soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair
#bnha#aizawa shouta#aizawa x reader#aizawa/reader#aizawa imagine#aizawa fic#mha#aizawa headcanons#aizawa fanfiction#aizawa fanfic#aizawa shouta x reader#soulmates#soulmate#soulmate au#dash it all
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looong post about missing using backpacks and high-school experiences and personal feelings on the general 'busy/executive' look from carrying luggage and stuff. idk lots of thoughts here to summarize
theres this one hole that being done with high-school left me that's just. having a place to go. being busy, sort of..
having a backpack full of trinkets and your pencil case filled with clips and highlighters. or the rare bunches of printing and colored paper for the art projects or those mathematical rulers you used 3 times the whole year
and most importantly.. the feeling of being a Guy who has Places to go. look at all this luggage! the amount of things I need that goes beyond a simple bag! quite the work eh?
of course half of that perception is just 'wow! executive adult with responsibilities!' but not entirely, there are definitely tasks that require a lot of gear and stuff. filming crews, folks with laptops etc. and then there's the elusive Guy with a Big Bag With Wheels. thats the peak of the ideal
as with everything in my life specifically it all circles back to being disabled and having to stay at home bc I literally am not capable of physically doing anything even remotely close to what the generic student/employed person does and I think that helps a lot to the kind of romanticized view I have of this sorta thing
in a good day a majority of people would rather not have to carry and worry about a pack full of stuff or having to carry the weight of a computer and then some. but it's not that bad if you like/love what you're doing even if it requires those things yknow?
every year of high-school, even if it was the worst experience of my life that degraded me mentally physically and made me so fucked I had to cut myself in between or during classes.. I still looked up to the starting week and the feeling of a kind of new beginning. and packing everything to be super ready to whatever was to come like I was about to spend a month in the wild or climb a mountain
camping and stuff is another kind of 'look at all this shit we're packing and gadgets we have to make fire or little lanterns or makeshift homes (tents) that we have' and its just. holy shit man you sure are busy with a lot of stuff to do huh. and you've got the money to buy it all and friends to enjoy it with you. and you're going to the woods for fun and not to run away from your life because everything sucks. you've got your life all figured out! if only I could also match this unrealistic utopic vision that's sold in every sleeping bag package lol! 🙃
and the rest of this romanticized view also extends a bit to gender and self esteem in a way
of course I, a disabled person, would love to be a person that Can go places and even Has places to go and is important enough to have a complex task that needs all that luggage. and looks like a guy. maybe even a fancy guy with fancy bags and fancy clothing. it's all very important, being all that! unlike being a nobody that has to ask for a seat bc he can't stand for 2 minutes without crumpling like a wet sock because of his fucked up spine and spaghetti muscles
everybody looks up to someone who has something that they don't and wish they had or were like.. and I'm so miserable I just wish I mattered enough to be that average guy crossing the street with his bag on his shoulder. and it just so happens that's asking too much of life in my case
#i even managed to find possibly the prettiest backpack that ive had for like 6 years or more by now#when we were re-stocking on school supplies one year#its got more than 8 pockets on the front and is a silvery black with a subtle camo pattern in it. everyhting i could ask for#and its just picking up dust in my wardrobe now. i legit feel bad bc its such a good backpack#last year i had a college class that actualy required writing materials (unlike the other programming classes which had the uni's pcs)#and i was so excited! finally i can justify using my backpack!! but the weight was just not worth it bc of my back. and i already had a>#>notebook binder that was good enough so.. no luck.#self harm mention#<can never go too long without mentioning it huh..#its hard not to.. just prodding my brain for any crumble of memory of the time i was still in highschool but its all gone. pure fog.#and to have the parts that i do remember being genuine torture and making me want to kill myself every week because of it#suicide mention#<lol anyways. its just crazy. to think i somehow managed to scrape by living like that for a decade despite it all#knowing full well the amount of pain it was to go through 3(?) stories of stairs at least twice everyday carrying 5 books in my back..#..and still longing for just the image. of being someone once. going Somewhere. the privilege-even if temporary-of having a path to follow#college will start soon and while it isnt as soul crushing as hs was it does not spark a single grain of joy in me.#even if i got to use my backpack and pretend i had something to do id still be doing it with distaste. its not fun anymore.#everything fucking sucks and i dont know how much else ill be able to block it and pretend i dont fully exist.i wanna strangle someone‼
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some way, some how
jeon jungkook x (f) reader
Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.
Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry
Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol
Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)
the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day
inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!
The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.
Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.
“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”
Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.
“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.
“A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”
There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.
Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”
You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.
The diner.
A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.
“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”
“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.
You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.
He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.
He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.
Sojin was... full of surprises.
She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.
Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.
The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.
(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)
He cut it that same day.
As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.
Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.
Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.
“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”
You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.
When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.
Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.
After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.
You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.
“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”
He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”
You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.
“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”
Again, silence.
You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.
“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.
“And the paint job?”
A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.
“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.
You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.
The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.
The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.
“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”
You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.
“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”
Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.
“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”
You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”
“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”
“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.
—
One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.
You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.
The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.
Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.
“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”
“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”
Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”
You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.
Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.
There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected.
“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.
“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.
You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.
“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.
Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.
“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”
Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“
“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”
A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.
Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”
You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.
Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.
Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”
You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”
“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”
Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”
He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.
“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.
“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”
He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.
“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.
“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.
Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.
“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.
“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.
“Actually, I was wondering if—“
“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”
You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”
His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”
You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”
—
Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.
By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.
You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.
“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.
When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.
Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It’s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”
“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead.
His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.
“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.
Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”
There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.
“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”
He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.
Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.
He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”
You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.
Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.
“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.
You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.
“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.
He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.
“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.
You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.
“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”
“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.
“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”
Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.
—
“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.
In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”
You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”
“A lot,” you say.
There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.
“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.
“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.
“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.
“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.
Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.
“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”
Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.
“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.
“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.
“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”
Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.
“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.
“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.
You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”
You don’t know what to say.
Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.
But you can’t because he’s not.
You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.
“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.
—
Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.
“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.
“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”
“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”
“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.
“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.
Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”
“The one and only.”
Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.
You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.
It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.
You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.
Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.
He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”
It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.
Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”
You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.
Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”
You freeze.
“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?
Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.
“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”
You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.
“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.
You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.
Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”
“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”
“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”
You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.
It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.
“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.
As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.
“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”
His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.
A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.
The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.
Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.
“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”
Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.
“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.
He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”
He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.
You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”
You know they will.
You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.
“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.
You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.
He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.
You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.
He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”
“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.
Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.
His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.
“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.
The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.
“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.
Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”
“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.
There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.
“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.
You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily.
“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”
—
Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.
Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.
The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.
There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.
On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook.
Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.
“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.
He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”
You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.
“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”
What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”
You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.
“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”
Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”
“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.
“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”
“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.
“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.
Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.
You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.
There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.
Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.
“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.
He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”
You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.
“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.
“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.
You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.
Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.
You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.
He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with.
“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke.
Neither of you laugh.
You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak.
You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got.
Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case.
Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car.
Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight.
“Perfectly okay,” you tell him.
—
The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.
A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.
Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.
The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.
When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.
The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.
“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”
You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”
“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.
The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.
The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.
“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.
“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”
Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father. “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”
“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.
“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“
“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.
“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”
You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.
Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”
You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.
The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.
“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.
“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.
“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”
You remember it.
The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.
Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.
A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.
You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”
“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”
She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”
You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.
Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.
The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.
—
Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.
“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”
You deflate.
Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.
Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”
“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”
You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.
“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.
“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”
Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”
You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”
“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.
After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”
“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”
Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”
Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”
Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”
—
You hideout for the rest of the week.
On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.
It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.
Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.
Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.
Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.
The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”
The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.
He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.
There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.
Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.
Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.
“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”
You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”
Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing.
You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.
Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.
“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”
He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.
You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.
Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.
“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”
His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.
On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.
A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”
You say nothing.
Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.
“Since when?” You inquire.
Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”
Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.
Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”
Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.
“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.
You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”
His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.
Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.
His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“
“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”
The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.
Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.
“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“
“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.
His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.
“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”
Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”
You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.
A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.
“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”
You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.
Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.
Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.
“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.
You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.
“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.
The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.
A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.
You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”
Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”
He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.
The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.
A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”
You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.
“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”
You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.
You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.
Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.
Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.
“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.
Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.
“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.
“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”
You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.
There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.
It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.
He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”
“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.
Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”
You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.
Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.
“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.
It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”
You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.
Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.
“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”
“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”
Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.
He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.
Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.
“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.
He doesn’t.
Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.
The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.
“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.
His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.
When you think he’s done, he’s not.
Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.
The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.
“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.
Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.
“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.
“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.
“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.
The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.
Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.
This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.
“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”
“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“
“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.
Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.
“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”
“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.
He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.
You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.
He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.
It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.
“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.
You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.
“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”
Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.
You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“
Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”
“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”
He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.
“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”
Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”
“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”
“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.
Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance.
“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck.
Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”
“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering.
Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”
#goldenclosetnet#ksmutclub#networkbangtan#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook smut#jjk smut#jungkook fic#mine
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Rewatching Love, Victor season 2 and all I can think as I’m watching is that Benji is cooonstantly putting his own feelings aside and instead striving to put himself in Victor’s shoes and empathize with Victor. Victor, for his part, gladly takes that from Benji and then proceeds to fail to put himself in Benji’s shoes in return. (We’ll leave Benji’s issue with conflict avoidance/not stating what he wants aside for a second but we’ll get to that shortly.)
Long-ass post, prepare yourself :P
Example exchange: in ep 6 after Isabel is so nice to Rahim and Benji fails to be #stoked about it, Benji comes up to Victor at the coffee shop the next day and says something like hey, sorry I wasn’t supportive when you were so excited that your mom was being nice to Rahim. And Victor just goes thanks for saying so yeah she was really being nice to him and I think we made some real progress yesterday!
Like. Okay. rewind noises
Let’s do that whole exchange over again but in the way a healthy couple would, shall we?
Benji: Hey Victor. I’m sorry I wasn’t supportive yesterday when you were excited about your mom. I know you wanted me to be excited with you. Can I tell you a little bit about my own feelings around your mom?
Victor: of course you can.
Benji: Okay. To be honest, I feel really hurt when your mom gives me the cold shoulder. And that’s been something I’ve been dealing with for a while now. So, as much as I want to be supportive of you and excited for you when you see her seeming like she’s making some progress, it’s hard for me. Because it would hurt for me to get my hopes up that she’ll treat me better, only to be disappointed.
Victor: Damn. Wow. I’m so glad you told me how you feel about that. That makes a ton of sense. I would really like your support, because I love my mom and this whole thing with her is hard for me, but I understand now why it would be painful and complicated for you to get too excited. Now I get it. Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep that in mind when I bring it up to you from now on and we can navigate all of it together.
fast forward noises OOC cause I just wrote that as I thought about what I would say in a similar situation, but you get the idea.
Returning to Benji for a sec. I’m a cliiiiinically conflict avoidant person, and I recognize a lot of myself in Benji. He doesn’t want to take up space. He makes funny stories and jokes out of his trauma (strip club, crashing car into Wendys). He doesn’t stand up for himself even if he has a legitimate reason to be upset - he finds reasonable reasons to apologize for his part in the situation and tries to make amends. (Certainly not always a bad thing, just can definitely be a conflict avoidant thing.) I mean, we saw him behaving this way even in s1. Think about on their anniversary when Derek said “can we just go catch that show” and Benji said “you go ahead, I’ll catch up” instead of “hey, I know you don’t care about anniversaries but I do. This means a lot to me. I want to spend time together.”
So yeah, Benji has some serious issues with avoiding talking about his own feelings, standing up for himself, etc if it basically doesn’t “go with the flow” of what the other person is thinking or feeling. Conflict avoidant. He doesn’t want to rock the boat. I don’t know why, yet. I don’t think we as the audience know why at this point, but I hope the writers will get into it. Probably isn’t “because alcoholism” - rather, I think the alcoholism is another symptom of the same issue.
Victor, for his part (and I’ve touched on this in another post), probably has spent so much of his life being the fixer for his family that he kind of unconsciously latches on to people who will give him a break from that and take care of him (think Simon, for instance??? Lol). And he forgets that it’s not black or white, it’s not one or the other: care or be cared for. In a relationship it goes both ways. I really think he got this massive crush on Benji, put him on a pedestal, made him out to be perfect; almost saw him as kind of a savior. Someone who could come, sweep him up, and make everything okay. Fulfill all his fantasies. Victor doesn’t seem to see Benji as a real person yet. And he doesn’t seem to realize that he needs to proactively take care of Benji, not just let Benji keep taking care of him. That they need to meet each other halfway.
And speaking of avoidant people, Victor does seem to have a pattern with this behavior doesn’t he? Dates Mia -> not working out -> run to someone who is new and seems perfect. Dates Benji -> things are complicated and hard -> oh look a handsome boy who is wonderful in every way (runs to someone who is new and seems perfect) (and will fix all his problems). Boy needs to stop running off to the next person who’s gonna “fix all his problems”. He needs to invest in his current partner. He needs to invest in being the one to care about his partner, being the one to put in the effort. Not just being the one to be cared for. He needs to stop waiting for someone to come sweep him up and fix all his problems. It’s not realistic, Victor. Get yer shit together & learn how to be a better bf. For reals. Smh
That went off on a little tangent lol, but honestly, at the end of the day, none of this is really even either of these guys’ faults - yes Victor puts Benji on a pedestal and is just beginning to see him as a real person with complexity and flaws, but to be fair Benji basically did the same thing: put Victor on a pedestal. “I broke up with him. I just want to be with someone where I can be myself and that’s enough. That’s how you make me feel, Victor.” = a really similar pattern to what we’ve seen Victor do. Relationship failing, abandon ship for the shiny, new, and better-seeming option. I’m not saying that that’s always the wrong choice. I don’t think that it is. But I am saying that both Benji and Victor are experiencing something very natural: having big crushes, letting infatuation and rose-tinted glasses go to their head, and then experiencing whiplash when their partner isn’t perfect. Honestly I think we’ve all been there to some extent.
At least in s3, now that they’ve seen some low times and their rose-tinted glasses are off, they should get a chance to create a deeper bond if they choose to do that (I feel confident that they eventually will). Benji needs to own his conflict avoidance and start advocating for his wants, needs, and feelings. Victor needs to recognize that although Benji seemed like a dream boy and is way more experienced yada yada, he’s not there to save or take care of Victor - he’s just a person, who also needs to be taken care of sometimes, and Victor needs to meet him halfway in their relationship and do that for him. They need to be able to exchange care as equals.
There I fixed their whole relationship you’re welcome afhffjhgfgjfgjg
(…….oh god I just realized how the writers are gonna have Victor figure out that sometimes he needs to take care of Benji too, and it’s totally gonna be bc Benji relapses with alcohol. Probably. Sounds like a TV-show move, doesn’t it?)
#not me wondering if I’m gonna write a fix it fic for this convo now#oh dang I……. I might just#or actually I think I’m gonna write another scene from s2 but from Benji’s perspective….. hmmm. someone hold me to this#also am I processing the things I’m learning in therapy through these fictional characters? you bet your ass#venji#victor salazar#benji campbell#love victor spoilers#love victor#lv spoiler#love victor season 2 spoilers#love victor season 2#love victor analysis
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"Writters aren’t exactly people. They're a whole bunch of people trying to be one person" -F. Scott Fitzgerald
I don’t think there is one ask I havent said this, but I will say it again: Fuck Shinyun and Asmodeus!!! Leave my Magnus Babe alone!!!
YOU LOVE HIM MAGNUS! JUST SAY IT! *I wont say I'm in love starts playing*
Magnus has never really felt safe anywhere. Never. That’s weird. Maybe even sad. Get this man some love and affection😭😭
I figured it out! The true enemy of this fic is the foreshadowing we made along the way 🙂🔪
Lily!! She is a queen and a godness!!! I LOVE HER SO MUCH!!💙💙💙💙 Can I marry her???!? She is the best character of the day dont @ me
“Fine. Only because you two look like you make very bad decisions at parties.” Raphael only saying yes to Lily!!! That friendship gets to me every time😭😭
Idk I just feel Magnus is one of those people that in their POV things actually made so much sense but for the rest is like: wtf ???
“I know,” Alec replies. “But there is a safe way.” All of that scene was really sad but at the same time realistic bc unfortuately it is that way for many people...
Just. Alec taking Magnus to Indonesia and Rafael to Argentina. Dont touch me I'm soft🥺🥺🥺
Alec and Rafe being so done omg😂
HELL YEAH HE IS FINALLY ABLE TO BE THE WAY HE WANTS!!! I'M SO PROUD OF HIM😭🥺
"I'm always looking at bapak." RANDOM POETRY>>>
Max is so done with Malec being horny 😂 Cant blame Alec tho... Magnus looks stunning!!👀
The speech was 1000/10 *chef kiss*
"The little shit always manages to surprise him." You love that lil shit dont lie!! Jshdksbdj
Diego and Rafael are family and I'm crying and😭
My beautiful Selena!!! She is always helping other people and she is my unproblematic babe🥺🥺 ALSO YESS NICE TO MEET YOU JAZMÍN!!! (should I thank her for bringing that Gorgeous Gabriel into existence or is it weird?)
Me reading Selena's part: 🎶I think I've seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending🎶
Pressing into places that are familiar to no one but her. Removing the pressure he shows to no one but her. Rosewood lives on my mind 24/7 rent free ❤️❤️
So in lbaf Max "tried" to kill Rafe and in tlnd Rafe punched Max?? Okok just normal problems jdusjdngcgk
Rafael sometimes finds it annoying. The way Max laughs. He hates it even. It’s so loud. Like he doesn’t care – about anything. He wonders if he hates it because he can never laugh that way – with not a care in the world. No thoughts. Head empty. Just wow.
Not ones you know anyway. Oh so he has a secret.... Interesting 👀
"Everyone is hiding something, Rafe.” Why is it that I love quotes that involve something secretive???
David would be so disappointed in you. Why do they insiste on hurting me?? 😭
All this fic hurts on a deep level, but Rafael and Max's scenes and POV's just hit so fucking much. Idk why, they are both so complex and their relationship is flawed but so on point and they always argue but they are there for each other and in this essay I will-
Anyway, I'm tired af so I will go to sleep. I'm planing on finishing a book this weekend and I think I finally have the time to edit my story so I will use this weekend to be really productive!!
Bye and please take care with everything going on! Stay safe Dani💚
Okay but this quote me a crisis, dude. Like you know how when you write a story, you write ALL the characters? How do we as writers do that? How do write eloquent Alec and Bitchy Zara and Traumatised Magnus and Cocky Max and all of that kdsjncvkjsdn WRITERS ARE AMAZING!
Anyhoo.
I'm glad you liked this chapter and I hope you got some sleep! Good luck with the story editing. If you need any help or feedback or anything at all, you can message me 💚
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word count- 2.5k+
genre- FLUFFY | neighbor!au
characters/pairings- neighbor!jeno x reader (gender neutral) | dreamies
warnings- language | dialogue heavy | over usage of words bc i’m irrelevant | the cutest people ever
introduction- since moving to the city— closer to your university— you noticed that your cat had taken an interest in another cat from the apartment building across from yours. she seemed very intrigued and things only escalated. in a good way for the both of you. because who knew such a good looking guy owned three cats he was allergic to?
a/n- based on some ‘the dodo’ story i saw a couple months ago and it was so cute hehe. also yes this is another jeno drabble thingy okay. and idk where the divider is from, i just have it on my phone sorry :(
the last box you had packed prior was finally set in your new apartment by your brother.
“this is the last one, right? because i’m not helping you anymore,” he huffed out a breath and rested his hands on his thigh. you snorted out a laugh and responded, “lazy ass. yeah, this is the last box. thanks for coming.”
you invited your brother to stay a bit later to treat him for takeout but he declined and reassured you he was fine and was going to head home. nodding your head, you just agreed as you walked him to the door.
it was only about six p.m. when you decided to unpack the rest of the boxes that you and your brother had brought up. when walking back into the living room, the shades to the window were still opened and you saw your cat, bomi, sitting by the window peering through the opened shades. the apartments from the complex across from yours were the same as any others. many university students or young adults filled the rooms, some curtains were closed, and some were lit up by the LED lights that lined their ceilings. but one window was opened. it showcased the large tv the stranger had as well as three cats by the window as well. one of them was even similar to bomi. however you thought nothing of it, too tired of driving back and forth and bringing boxes up and down. so you closed everything in for the night after unpacking about three or four boxes.
the following morning, you walked to the kitchen. and through the opened kitchen was your living room which you saw bomi sitting at the window again. you had called her over and put the cat food in the bowl for her breakfast. after leaving bomi for her breakfast, you grabbed your laptop from your bedroom and sat on the couch to finish some work and answer emails from your new university. moments of rereading emails stopped when you looked up— for no particular reason— and saw the same cats that caught bomi’s attention by the window. and then the shade was opened. oh wow.
the owner of the cats was a male. you didn’t want to assume but he looked as though he was around the same age as you. and he was cute. really fucking cute. the guy that opened the shade was wearing a pair of adidas track pants and was shirtless. and you just stared at him, as creepy as it looked and sounded like. by his feet were his three cats and bomi was sat next to the window once again.
“bomi, what’s wrong with you all of a sudden?” you asked and grabbed her small body and sat back on the couch. “do you want friends now? are you lonely because we moved?” you joked to yourself and scratched behind her ears. but once you set her free from your grasp, she sat by the window and you noticed one of his cats was looking at bomi. just as you were about to put away your laptop, bomi got up and walked around the perimeter of the window with her head still facing out the ceiling-to-floor window.
your eyes followed her feline figure and an idea shot up from your noggin. you didn’t know if it would work but it was worth a shot. so you went to your car and drove to a nearby craft store to buy some poster boards and markers. when you got home, you contemplated in your mind for a couple minutes before just going for it. fuck it. you wrote the poster as if you were in bomi’s body. and you thought it was a bit childish and unrealistic but it was worth a try.
‘hi, i’m bomi from the apartment complex next door. i see you three cats, do you wanna be friends?’ unbelievable. absolutely unbelievable. but you just taped it up on the window and closed the shade just enough for you not to see if he responded and got ready to go to your job. this was never going to work.
—
when you got home, the sun was just barely setting and bomi was once again, sitting by the window and looking out into that apartment. you sighed to yourself and picked her up before opening the shade to see if the cats— or more so the boy— had responded.
thankfully, the boy didn’t reply and it calmed your nerves down a bit more. the entire day you were away at work, thoughts filled your head about all the possible outcomes that could happen. without realizing, you breathed out in relief and set down bomi to get ready to eat dinner and shower. all the while, you forgot about the poster and there it was— left taped on the window.
donghyuck, renjun, and chenle had been over jeno’s apartment that day when they saw the poster taped on your window.
“jeno! who’s bomi?” exclaimed hyuck with his brows raised up and down, playfully. jeno got up from his seat at the kitchen island when he looked out the window behind his couch. he then just shrugged but did not miss the cat that looked somewhat like seol. then renjun spoke, “maybe it’s that cat. hey, doesn’t she look a little like seol?” chenle went toward the window to put his two cents into the conversation, “hey, she kinda does! what if she’s looking at your cats, jeno?” he asked and pointed out the window. “we should write back!” he then said with a bright smile on his face.
“we can, but i don’t have any poster paper right now,” he excused. though the boys thought he was lying they suggested that they would go to the nearest corner store to buy some cheap poster papers to reply to you.
and they did, but around ten at night when you were long gone from your living room and asleep in your bed. bomi wasn’t at the window either, but they still decided to write the letter for you in the morning.
‘i’m seol, the one that looks like you. the one with the black is nal and the one with the gray stripes is bongshik. it’s nice to meet you!’ read the sign. jeno could not believe he was writing back to a stranger he’s never even seen before. but it was whatever, new friends for his cats, he figured. the male held the sign in front of him for a minute before just shaking his head and taping the poster to his window and he was out for the night.
—
the morning you woke up, you had set a reminder to yourself that your classes started today and got up from your bed to make breakfast for both you and your kitty. opening the shade to the window, bomi was pawing and softly meowing at the window.
noticing the paper still stuck on the window, you mentally curse yourself out and look to the opposite side of your building. there was also a piece of poster paper that was taped onto the window with his three cats under it, looking out into the city. you identified the three cats immediately.
“bomi look! you really do look like seol. they can be your friends instead of those alley cats back home,” you spoke to her and then got ready to attend your nine a.m. class. however before putting on your shoes, you wrote back a little note for the cats on the opposite building.
‘great! y/n (my owner) is at university but let’s meet some day!’ you still could not believe you were doing this as you finished taping up the board. you left it there for the day as you went to your classes for the next couple hours.
throughout your first classes, your mind always went back to what happened the last few days. your neighbors as well as his neighbors must’ve thought you were both crazy. but anything for your cats.
—
for some reason when you got home, you were in a rush to see if the boy had responded to the message you left that morning. and in all hell, he did.
‘hey! jeno (our owner) is on his way to class too! and yes, let’s definitely meet one day! our owners can meet too!’
when jeno awoke that morning, he was shoving cereal down his throat and looked at your window. his heart was beating faster as he read over the note and ran to put away his bowl and get ready for his class. though he didn’t forget to write back at you, even if you probably wouldn’t see it until later.
with the cap of the marker in his mouth, jeno quickly wrote down what he was going to say and messily taped the poster to his window and left his house. he was almost late for his nine a.m. class.
watching the students come in you noticed the owner of bongsik, nal, and seol come into the room. oh shit. you tried to hide yourself behind the screen of your laptop when you remembered that he’s probably never seen you before. so slowly, you escaped your little hideaway and kept your identity on the low. because he might have seen you in broad daylight when your shades were up. but he didn’t, so you were safe.
—
looking at the message taped to his window, you wrote back.
you were sitting on the carpet floor of the living room when jeno finally saw you; specifically your side profile but he wasn’t complaining. you were doing the same thing he was that morning— the marker cap in your mouth with your brows furrowed.
he then saw your face when you sat up and got the roll of tape to stick on the glass. and you too, saw him looking at you with a smile on his face. your jaw was slightly dropped and the cap of the marker fell from your mouth as the boy laughed at your expression, then he waved. your eyes were opened wide and you shyly waved back.
jeno read over the note you just wrote. ‘hi i’m y/n (sorry this whole thing was so weird but my cat would not stop meowing at yours) but we could meet at the park? if you’d like?’ he smiled even more as he read over your writing. jeno nodded and asked ‘is it okay if we meet now?’ to which you shook your head ‘yes’ and were on your way to the nearest park (which was a measly three minute walk from your apartment.) then, you realized you never specified a park and just hoped he came to this one.
your hands were in your pockets as you awkwardly looked around to see the cute boy that lived across the street. he came up from behind you and greeted, “hi, i’m jeno.”
upon the sudden talk, you slightly jumped and turned around as he laughed again, his eye smile on full display.
the two of you walked around the park and conversed for what seemed like a couple minutes. but after you exchanged numbers and arrived home, you realized you had been at the park for a good hour and a half. holy shit.
you found out a little bit more about lee jeno. he was allergic to cats yet he still adopted three (which was beyond the epitome of cute), that he also moved to the city around a year ago, and that you two were attending the same nine a.m. class. you two had so much in common, huh?
arriving home to his apartment, jeno laid on his bed with his hand over his heart. it was beating fast. who knew his cats would bring him someone so attractive?
just as he was thinking about you, seol jumped on his bed and knocks were heard from his front door. he rolled his eyes and got up from his bed, it was his best friends staying for the night. it was a friday, after all.
while hanging with his best friends he decided to message you to see what was popping i hate that i said that lmao. and through the next two movies, jeno was not paying attention. he’d look to see what was happening here and there but always trained his eyes back to his phone.
“ayy why are you on your phone?” teased jaemin and hyuck.
“yeah, who are you texting this time at night?” said mark and jisung.
“and why are you texting someone?” poked chenle and renjun.
none of these questions were barely answered because jeno was too busy smiling at his screen. but then mark looked over his shoulder to see that jeno was texting you.
“ayyy, who’s y/n?” mark raised his voice and hit jeno’s strong bicep. just as your name exited mark’s mouth, jaemin’s eyes lit up and knew who you were.
“oh my god, that’s soojin’s new neighbor!” he shouted and stood up from the couch.
“jeno’s got a (boy)girlfriend! jeno’s got a (boy)girlfriend! jeno’s got a (boy)girlfriend!” the six boys jumped from their seats and chanted. renjun then reminded them that you lived across the street and they ran to the window to see if you were there. unfortunately for them, your shades were closed and the only thing they were able to see was bomi.
“hey doesn’t that cat kinda look like seol?”
the next day (after his friends had left), jeno invited you to come to his apartment so that bomi could meet his three cats, two which you agreed and packed whatever bomi needed. you weren’t going to stay there long, right?
—
when bomi met bongshik, nal, and seol, the four of them kicked it off nicely. there was no hissing nor scratching and it made both you and jeno happy to see that your cats were getting along after never having a meeting. so while your cats played around in jeno’s apartment, he offered to let you stay for dinner. you were hesitant at first but agreed as he ordered some soju and chicken. predictable.
to you, jeno was being nice. though he was cute, you didn’t really know who he was and so you didn’t have a reason to catch feelings for him. but to jeno, you were more of a crush. not a big one since you both just met, but a tiny one. he knew you were a good person at heart and he couldn’t help the little emotions that he felt in his chest.
—
after many play dates between your pets, you did actually start to form feelings for lee jeno and he finally had the guts to ask if you wanted to go on a date.
“i thought you would never ask.”
and though it all deemed impossible and like a fairytale, you were glad you spoke up that day. because in the end, you got a boyfriend that was loving, and your cats had each other to play with.
#nct#nct dream#nct u#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct dream imagines#nct dream fluff#nct jeno#nct jeno fics#lee jeno soft hours#lee jeno scenarios#lee jeno drabbles#lee jeno fluff#lee jeno imagines#jeno au#jeno x reader#lee jeno
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Alright we’re trying this angst thing again
Diamond Brothers Angst because I said so
Both Daiya and Mondo have huge self esteem issues bc of the crash
Both think stuff along the lines of what the fuck I could have prevented that
Neither Daiya nor Mondo can sleep very well because when they hear vehicles driving past and the occasional screeching tires they’re back at the scene of the accident
They hear a semi truck rumbling past? Suddenly neither of the brothers remember how to move or breathe properly
They both survived the crash but they were both injured severely bc fuck dude that was a truck that hit them
The Crazy Diamonds witnessed the whole thing and they were Worried™️
And we all know how the Owadas hate being vulnerable
Neither of the brothers could actively ride their motorcycles for a long time after the crash because they couldn’t handle it emotionally
They played off their mental recovery time as time in the hospital
Daiya made Mondo promise not to get back on his motorcycle, much less the road, until he was 100% sure that he was prepared to handle it because what if there’s another freak accident that neither of them have control over
Mondo made Daiya promise the exact same thing because He Cares™️
Mondo has reoccurring nightmares about the crash and often sees Daiya dead in those nightmares
The gang shows up in the nightmares too and they’ve all been hit and it’s all Mondo’s fault and he couldn’t be a good leader because he wasn’t strong enough and why couldn’t he just be more like his brother god fucking dammit
Sometimes he sees Taka or Chihiro in place of Daiya and the Diamonds and that Absolutely Terrifies Him™️
Daiya has reoccurring thoughts about hijacking a truck to hit the driver who hurt him and his little brother
He wants them to feel all the same pain and more that they put the Diamond Brothers through
Daiya has breakdowns over this because even if he is a gang leader, he would not go that far
cue the Am I A Bad Person Complex™️
Mondo does not let himself stim
He doesn’t think it’s manly and it definitely doesn’t fit the Tough Guy™️ act
This leads to worsened focus and next thing you know he and Daiya are having a yelling match at home because if Mondo’s grades drop any lower he’ll be expelled soon and Daiya just wants the best for his brother but nothing works out the way it was planned
One time Mondo received a popsicle stick and paper heart from Taka
He was extremely happy
When he got back to his dorm he was that happy that he was shaking and then oh shit
Mondo broke it
He snapped the popsicle sticks in half
the note that Taka wrote,, it got ripped in the process
Mondo full on sobbed over this for an hour at the least
Like
Actual
Real
Tears
He broke something that Taka— not just his bf, but his best friend— had worked so hard on to make just for him and he fucking broke it like a shit for brains idiot
Mondo is terrified of hurting his friends
Because what if he forgets to take his adhd meds one day and his emotional dysregulation is all fucked up and he has an outburst again and actually hurts his friends
Or what if he takes 2+ doses by accident and focuses too hard and is left staring at one (1) spot and everyone hates him and what if they think he’s a creep
Mondo hates going out of his dorm at night because what if someone else is out and they have a flashlight and now they’re pointing it at him and it’s bright and those are headlights and that’s
that’s his brother
on the ground
not moving
Mondo will start shaking and he’ll break down hyperventilating or freeze on the spot
Either way, he hates being vulnerable
Whaddaya think? :D was that enough angst?
also can you tell that i kin Daiya on the dl bc i too got hit by a moving vehicle to save my young mer sibling from being hit /lh but also srs lmfo
HEY TINK??? HEY TINK????????
GodDAMN make me cry over this shit oKAY-
also sorry this took ✨forever✨ I had to gather my Thoughts™️ and my brain did not want to work today 😌
also before we get into my things, tw for trauma (obviously), unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking/drug relapse/smoking as a crutch, and suicidal ideation (passive, but still there)
First of all, y e a h oh my god?? There is literally so much internalized guilt for both of them,,,,,like they rlly do have episodes sometimes where they just. Play over the events of what lead up to the crash in their heads and fixate on what they could have done differently,,,,,even though in the moment they both did their best? Like “well, I shouldn’t have taken us down this street” or “if I had acted quicker, maybe it wouldn’t have happened” and.....yeah those thoughts really fuck with them, y’know?
and 100% that unexpected/overwhelming vehicle noises and/or presences are nearly debilitating. Honestly, I imagine that Mondo can’t go hang out with Leon and Taka or whoever else if said people are hanging out in Kaz’s workshop. Owada’s only ever been in there once and immediately had to leave when he heard Kazuichi starting an engine he was working on. Not to mention being surrounded by a shit ton of vehicles, even if they were idle, had kept him on-edge the entire thirty seconds he was able to handle it.
They both deal with a lot of phantom pain, as well. Like something triggers them and suddenly, even if they’re able to remain in the moment and keep conscious of their surroundings, they somehow feel every ache, every twinge of pain, every breaking bone, or bruised patch of skin that they felt on that day. It’s a lot more prominent in Daiya than it is with Mondo, but they do both experience it!
And neither one lets the other know when they’re feeling like shit or having an episode because 😌 Daiya. wants to be strong. for his little brother. and Mondo. sees his brother basically functioning like a typical person. and figures that there’s something wrong with him. because he can’t get over what happened.
Takemichi is absolute shit with Emotions and being vulnerable or getting people to open up to him, but he’s like..........internally these bitches are Not Okay what the fuck am I supposed to do about it???? So he kind of...tries to hint to both of them that he’s worried? Without making it obvious or embarrassing them, but he’s like.......fuck these assholes.......making me be the one to make them realize they need help goddamnit........
And michi exhibiting a change in behavior is pretty 👀 because. it’s michi I mean he’s not just gonna change the way he talks in front of u for nothing, u know? So both Daiya and Mondo are actually able to pick up on it, although their reactions differ pretty greatly.
Like Daiya’s first thought is “wow, he’s worried, that’s really sweet of him. Better convince him everything’s okay.”
Meanwhile Mondo’s is “wow, he’s worried. my stupid emotional turmoil is that obvious. he must think I’m some sorta fuckin idiot for not being able to get over it. or selfish. or both. yeah, probably both.”
Also I think Daiya’s pretty perceptive in general? Like he can Tell™️ that something’s going on with his brother, but........yeah emotional conversations....vulnerability......that’s rlly neither of their strong suits. + he also figures that if it were something mondo were really really really having trouble with, he would come talk to him!
And so Daiya has absolutely no concept of just how Not Good his brother is doing right now hbbvvvv
So he settles for being like “I’m just gonna stay strong and act like the memories and intrusive thoughts aren’t affecting me in any way because I want to be a good role model” (which. is not healthy obv)
oh g o d the nightmares
they are so horrible and vivid and concentrated at times that Mondo simply.....refuses to sleep. He’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and yet he can’t bring himself to close his eyes because he knows what he’ll see if he does.
And of course it affects him to the point that his friends start to become worried. Like Taka notices a stark increase in tardiness or general absences, and, after an initial assumption that it was simply Mondo choosing not to care about his academics again, realized that there was probably a lot more going on than he realized. He really, really wanted to bring it up and let his boyfriend know that he’ll always be there for him no matter what, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to articulate it properly. The farthest he gets is with the question, “is everything okay?”
And as much as Mondo wants to respond to him by saying that no, in fact, everything is not okay, everything sucks and everything hurts and he’s tired and he hates himself and sometimes he wishes that the crash had killed him, but that’s selfish so he should shut up- he just.....can’t bring himself to open himself up like that. Yes, he and Ishi are dating, so logically he should be able to tell him all this, but.....it’s so much. It’s too much. Too much to think, too much to feel, let alone try to explain. So he shuts himself up with a quick, curt, “Yeah.”
And....Taka knows he’s lying. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. And it hurts to see someone he loves so much in such a state of anguish, and basically be unable to do anything about it because....how is he supposed to respond? What is he supposed to say? Navigating everyday interaction is difficult enough without having to improv something that could affect his partner’s mental health indefinitely. So....he does his best. Which isn’t enough, really, but it’s something.
“You can tell me anything.”
Mondo wants to believe him.
—
Another side of that same coin is Mondo skipping class a lot more than is typical for him. It’s almost always with Leon, but he’s also begun slipping away on his own, occasionally, as well, now.
And....y’know, at first, Leon thought it was super rad that Owada and he were skipping more! Like it used to be that Kuwata would offer for them to miss the next class, and Mondo’s usual answer would be ‘not today,’ and then Leon would keep bugging him about it until Mondo either gave in or told him to fuck off.
But....there’s just something about how it went from Leon being constantly shut down, to being told yes around the first few times the idea was brought up, to how, suddenly, Kuwata wasn’t even the one asking, anymore. It’s....depressing? Uncomfortable?
There’s also the fact that hanging out while they’re cutting just....isn’t as fun as it used to be? Leon’ll crack jokes or come up with stupid dares, and Mondo’s responses will be noncommittal at best. And Leon’s had enough experience with sleep deprivation to know it in his friends when he sees it.
He’s never been put in this situation before - usually it’s kuwata having some sort of stupid episode and usually it’s owada who’ll tell him to chill the fuck out and think rationally about things, but....Mondo acts a lot different when he’s upset than Leon does. He smokes more. Cuts himself off from everyone. Doesn’t engage with anything.
It’s different with people like Toko, or Makoto, or Kaz, because Leon knows what they need. He knows whether or not they need vulnerability, or a physical presence, or tough love, or tactile grounding, or a willing ear or shoulder to cry on, but with Mondo......he just isn’t sure.
So Leon doesn’t comment.
——-
Chihiro’s probably the one to get him to open up about it ngl.
ANYWAY-
y e a h Daiya intrusive thoughts?????? fuck yeah???? absolutely??????
god yeah I rlly feel him on that ngl hbhdbdbdbbb
and MONDO DARLING 🥺
god okay it SUCKS because????? he doesn’t judge his friends for stimming????? Like he sees his friends fidgeting or repeating phrases or rocking back and forth and he’s like???? Hell yeah you go u funky kid ilysm
But when it comes to himself????? he’s like if I do anything aside from stay perfectly still, I’m weird and bad and a failure so I simply Will Not
he’s wrong but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels that way ❤️
hhhvhvvdd I’m also a slut for daiya doing his best as a makeshift parental figure,,,,,,,like fuck dude okay,,,,,,as an older sibling who also loves and cares about their younger sibs but often finds emotionally connecting with them to be difficult,,,,,,,,,mood??? And having all of that amplified by rlly being his younger bro's only support in his home life,,,,,,,like ok mr. owada go off
he feels a lot of pressure to get it right and make sure that Mondo's doing okay, so the grades really worry him. but, of course, grades are a touchy subject with mondo regardless, so as u said it devolves into arguments and yelling and a lot of defensiveness!!
and god okay,,,,,,,the heart rlly got me,,,,,,,like that hurt. it rlly hurt man okay damn
honestly??? I think that might be the thing that gets him to break. like that might be his final straw.
because when they meet up again, Ishi asks him about it and whether or not he liked it. And Mondo just.
fucking.
breaks.
down.
He’s shaking and he’s crying and there’s snot running down his nose and this is so ugly and so not manly but he can’t stop. he can’t stop. Because there is this sweet, gentle, kind, sweet, beautiful, darling, sweet man before him who did something so nice for him, something he didn’t deserve, and he destroyed it.
Like he destroys everything.
And so when Taka panics and asks him what’s wrong (yes Ishi gets worried that he did something bad and yes ishi also gets worried that his boyfriend didn’t like the present because hdbdvdvd kin 💛) owada just. spills everything. and he doesn’t even begin with the gift??? he starts with apologies upon apologies, many of them incoherent, and many of them with Mondo not even certain what he’s apologizing for, just that he knows he needs to
and ofc Taka is like o-o because wow ok
but after his initial shock, and after Mondo has thoroughly cried himself out and explained everything he could stand to explain at that point in time, Taka just......holds him. And strokes his face, brushing away the tears that have not yet dried, simply offering his body as a weight, as something for Mondo to ground himself with. And it works.
And Taka insists that Mondo has nothing to apologize for, only that he wishes Mondo would have told him what was going on sooner. Because he wants to help. And hearing that just gets Owada’s waterworks going all over again, but he’s still got Ishi there with him. He hasn’t scared him off.
And it’s more than enough.
—
and UGH yeah????? yes absolutely absolutely okay okay so,,,,,,,,mondo comorbid adhd/depression/anxiety
like sir 🤝
got me fucked up smh
honestly he’s probably not diagnosed with the depression or anxiety, either, until something like the incident with ishi prompts him to realize oh wow I’m not okay actually
so yes he 100% does???
he constantly has all of these what if situations swirling around in his brain about what might happen if he fucks up, or does something that he doesn’t qualify as fucking up in the moment, but leads to something awful or painful or harmful for someone else, and he’s just??????? g o d
#sorry this took forever and i doubt it’s even legible my god#but yes angst 🥺#mondo sweetie......I’d die for u....#also not me getting distracted every fifteen minutes or so by spotify playing a song that reminds me of a headcanon for a different char 😳#took me all day to write this I’m sobbing#danganronpa#ask box#mondo owada#car crash#car crash tw#trauma#trauma tw#angst#dr#ishimondo#daiya owada#the-human-sharpie#non despair au (danganronpa)#crazy diamonds#diamond brothers#kiyotaka ishimaru#trigger happy havoc#danganronpa trigger happy havoc#thh#dr thh#dr headcanon tag
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Sanders Sides D&D 2
Ooh fresh take: Jan is virge’s patron and that’s why there’s beef
Also: Jan is some sort of fae related being
Jan: i need you to do something for me Virgil: no Janus: that's not how this works!! Virgil: watch me :P
Okay so I was thinking of Patton as a cleric cuz ooh healer however, Patton as a Druid makes me so happy
I want logan to have Rage
(Also that could tie nicely in an arc about Logan learning to accept feelings)
but barbarian logan is going to be a scholar again and is gonna be smort
bc hes logan. he cant be not smart
Oh I figured he’d be the bbeg that eventually joins the party (hurt/comfort baybee!)(Remus)
he was the bbeg but then joined the party as a bardbarian or just a bard
plus, actual bard who accidentally casts vicious mockery instead of bardic inspiration
Side note: please include a scene where Remus attempts to seduce the dragon
also with this second au, i can start them at like level 5 so people can multiclass
Pat as cleric/druid
gasp logan as artificer/barbarian
janus sorcerer/rogue
because basically everything but alchemist would work well with barbarian, but alchemist feels very Logan
bc mad scientist being actually mad
alchemist logan making an experimental potion and going "here im not sure what this does but im sure its fine! someone drink it"
Remus does it voluntarily, but Logan usually tries to get Roman to drink it
Virgil will occasionally drink it when he's on his last legs and is just like.....100% done with the party
remus as a wild magic path barbarian and just fucking teleporting or doing something equally ridiculous whenever he rages
Oh my god Remus with rage would be a force to be reckoned with
You gotta describe the first time he goes into a rage really dramatically
obviously virgil is trying to "escape" his patron, Janus (really just do whatever he says to not do out of spite)
Eldritch knight roman
Feywild warlock virgil
hey so in the second d&d au, should roman and remus be actual full siblings but like remus went darkside and like romans just trying to get back at him for putting a dark stain on the family name
hey hey hey what about warforged Logan? (essentially a robot)(so like "i dont feel anything" becoming real)
okay hear me out. elf roman and elf base simic hybrid remus. so like maybe the reason remus went darkside was experimentation? so like. hes elf but special
FALLEN AASIMAR VIRGIL
virgil just transforming in the middle of a combat scenario and like his eyes turn into black pits and flightless skeletal wings appear on his back and like everyone near him has to make a charisma check and like he deals extra necrotic damage
Pat is the one human stuck in a band of misfits
so with it, roman would be a full elf, and remus would be an elf that has tentacles bc octopus
So robot logan
i meant literally he doesnt feel anything
like he has all the emotions, but he doesnt physically feel the need to like eat or sleep or stuff like that
he just.....he pretend he don't have the feelings.....but he do.....he feel so much and he hides it all in his littol mechanical heart <3
plus......if he warforged, then like.....AC huge
he stands in front of friends.....he protecc...."no, i don't have feelings, i am physically incapable of affection" but he do!! he do! he take hits for them because he do!! he care so much
Bro he spouts all this and then he uses a reaction to dive in front of someone and everyone’s just like oh
LIKE ROMAN STILL BEING MEAN TO LO BC HE THINKS HE DOESNT HAVE FEELINGS BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE A HEART BUT HE DOES
hey hey everyone needs to grow
and logan standing up for himself and other people stepping in and saying no stop thats not right
plus if canon wont give me roman facing the consequences of his actions towards Logan......
but also Roman learning how to properly handle his own emotions and how he interacts with others
logan who doesn't view himself as anything more than a machine to be useful to others
the party giving logan love and affection until he slowly learns his own worth as a person
Roman and Logan not getting along (maybe Roman has a Lore reason to distrust Warforged, maybe not) and slowly learning to trust each other
when Logan is feeling real down or having some issue, Roman actually comes through to help him, showing how far both characters have come
Okay yes but also can we please give Roman more confidence than canon? Like I’m sooooo sick of low self esteem being played for laughs or just being really really sad
this boy is going on a mission and will slap his brother upside the head and tell him to shut tf up remus youre not a monster just come back home and he will do it alone if need be
OKAY SO WHAT IF HE ORIGINALLY WENT ON THE QUEST JUST TO STOP REMUS ONCE AND FOR ALL BC ROMAN THOUGHT HE WAS A MONSTER, BUT ALONG THE WAY, AND AFTER LOGAN, HE CAME TO REALIZE THAT NO, JUST BECAUSE REMUS (AND LOGAN) ARE DIFFERENT, THEY ARENT MONSTERS, JUST DIFFERENT
AND LIKE IN THE FINAL PUSH TO MAKE REMUS JOIN BACK WITH HIS BROTHER, ROMAN IS PROJECTING HIS OWN FEELINGS ONTO REMUS AND EVERYONE IS LIKE WOW BRO YOU GOOD THERE, BUT ITS A BIG MOMENT FOR LOGAN, ROMAN, AND REMUS
im unsure as to how, but it happened when he was an older teen/young adult. a simic scientist either picked him (read: kidnapped), or remus volunteered (potentially to escape court life, unaware what exactly the experiment was going to do to him physically
bc also, remus and roman are royalty
so like. how best to get at the nobes/royalty/rich famous people than by turning their kid into a monster
wait, wait, wait, because i'm lowkey a sucker for this trope, but i'm not sure if it fits Remus: the experiments left him with some fairly significant physical pain/uncontrolled magical reactions. through some combo of trying to deal with that and trying find a cure for his pain, he keeps like....absolutely wrecking random towns on accident but also deliberately wrecking certain places looking for either a) vengeance on the guy(s) responsible or b) someone who can make the pain stop
SO LIKE. WILD MAGIC BARBARIAN DOING WEIRD SHIT TO HIM WHENEVER HE RAGES
AND LOGAN COULD MAYBE HELP WITH THE PAIN AND SHIT
BC ALCHEMY
Yknow, for simplification purposes, we could say the True Bbeg just gave Remus lycanthropy and Remus hasn’t managed to control it yet
lycanthropy but simic shit?
Mr. I-Don't-Have-Feelings sees the poor dude in pain and also Roman in emotional pain from seeing his brother in pain and is absolutely like "i must resolve this like right now, immediately" because he definitely doesn't hate seeing his friend suffering, or his friend's brother whom he's just met
he definitely doesn't relate at all to the idea of someone else shaping your body and absolutely does not sympathize with Remus's plight
i was thinking the grappling thing and either manta glide or the ability to breathe underwater for the simic stuff, but like he doesnt have control over the tentacles yet?
Manta glide seems like we could have fun battle scenes
he just jumps off a cliff to avoid mushy talk/dealing with his actions/roman
Roman: Remus just because you're a monster and though i wish i was an only child-- Remus, jumping off a cliff: byyeeeeee Patton: Roman, look what you did! Virgil: dammit jan what did you do? Janus: why do you think i had anything to do with that? im a fae, not a genie Logan, thinking: what an asshole. i wish i could do that
oh my god Logan always being tired mentally bc he cant sleep
Oh my gosh I love that. So Remus got kidnapped super young, (from royal family) they never found him, as a result Roman had to grow up super fast (side effect: lowkey inconsiderate and forgets to ask for others input). Meanwhile, Remus was experimented on by True Bbeg and came out with some trauma and super cool additives
yep! chronic pain and ptsd and all sorts of other shit!
so like, simic hybrids are usually created when they're adults. but what if the true bbeg decided to go younger to see what would happen, and thats why remus has chronic pain and stuff
he was still growing when his genes were spliced, so hes dealing with growth plates shifting and his body maturing and puberty and body changes and stuff
Pat is going to have a lighthearted story. Im saying that now. Hes the one without all the baggage
Sure, but his parents have to lowkey be the really kind people who are surprisingly always down for violence
everyone: multiple crises Pat: y'all need help Pat: love and affection in spades for his little band of misfits
Patton (which I think would be pretty simple, honestly he might just see danger and jump in and suddenly everyone in the party has Feelings)
Logan
Mhm. So how did he grow up? Was he just poof created? Wait
What if he was created by the king?
To make up for remuss disappearance
wait, wait....angst......he was created to fight (hence the barbarian stuff) but alchemy is his real passion
wait so like. a second son???
hes there to replace remus?
Yea! (But like in a sympathetic grief way) But that causes a bit of a complex in Roman and ergo Roman and Logan have a bit of a beef
okay so like. hes there to be a companion for roman, and like take remus' place, even though hes not actually in line for the throne?
LOGAN AS A KNIGHT
and just......the conflict of being created for a specific purpose (plus being, you know, robot and technically incapable of deviated from said purpose) vs the fact that he actually does have independent consciousness and like....wants to live life for himself
the parents made Logan a barbarian in hopes that him and Roman would be safe
okay. so logan was created by the king with the sole purpose to take remus' place as romans brother/companion, and to be his like guard? protector? and fight, but logan wants to be an alchemist and study shit
wait, wait, wait.....thinks about Asimov's Laws
he.....his first operative is protect (specifically protect Roman)
oh man. so hes literally just a shield
his second level operative is just like.....care for Roman's emotional well-being, but he doesn't really know emotions because he was kinda just spawned and nobody told him how
and he just....kind of....lets Roman treat him like garbage and take all his grief out on him because he's staunchly in denial of both having feelings or knowing how they work
Anyway Yea so Logan created by royal family in place of Remus which created angst between the two “brothers” and identity issues in Logan. Their arcs are learning how to healthily process emotions plus Roman apology and Logan commits to alchemy
So big question: why did virge make a deal?
Tricked
he gave janus his name
and instead of janus like killing him or whatever the fae do to people who break the rules of dealing with the fae, jan was like. hey. i'll give you magic, but do what i say
Janus is lawful neutral, but leans towards being selfish
hes self serving, but he has a strong set of morals and rules he follows
Tho I want to Virgil to also not be pushover so let’s say loophole happened and Jan has to stay with virge (hence why Jan is a part of the party)
okay so a couple of the rules are dont give a fae your true name and don't try to figure out their true name
So
what if virgil accidentally gave up part of his true name, and got stuck in the deal, but then figured out janus' true name
so in the same vein that janus had control over virgil, virgil now has more control over janus
he still gets his magic from janus, so he cant break free completely, but virgil has more freedom and can occasionally tell janus what to do or when to shove it
there should a running gag where virge can explain how he learned Jan’s true name but Jan can make something loudly censor him every time
(he learned his name bc once he heard janus practicing his evil genius voice and talking to himself in the mirror and janus said his true name)
so maybe janus sent virgil on the quest to protect a town or stop something related to remus, but virgil dragged him along
he might just be trying to protect a town thats close to a ley line, or something fae-related, and they just happen upon the whole thing
janus is selfish. but lawful vs chaotic is where he comes through, in morals vs doing whatever. janus has a strong set of loyalties to the fae, and to himself
so like....Remus is just too close to Jan's stuff and he wants to take him down
Virgil is just like....exhausted and said "fine, but if i gotta do this, you're coming, too"
or at least figure out a way to protect his place, even if it doesnt mean fully taking out remus. just moving him would work for jan
Janus: virgilllllllllll hes going to mess up my magic storage locker Virgil: Jan, its empty Janus: but its mine
Yea. Remus attacks a city away from the fae: Jan: Yknow I’m gonna sit this one out Virge: oh no you don’t, get up
Or
Janus vs Janice
so his real name is Janus, but Virgil calls him Janice
Virgil: This is Janice Janice: with a “U-S” Virgil: mhm, sure Jan
I'm a big fan of just like any of the old theory name being various aliases for Jan
Damien, Dante, Ethan, Declan, etc, etc
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Blond Janus Darkside Headcanons
I noticed how I haven't written down any info on the dark sides (Wrath, Apathy, Depression, Remus and pre-AA Virgil). More will be added.
Masterpost
Taglist:
@mother-snake, @writerstrashbin, @psychedelicships, @cryptidwriterdotcom (ask to be removed or added)
Wrath
Leader of the dark sides
Can induce a blind rage
When the rage is happening the recipient cannot control what they say or do and react simply on their first thought
The rage becomes stronger the more angry the person becomes
Wrath can't bring someone out of the rage. He can induce it but the person has to come out of it themselves
He has almost no control of Apathy because of that due to his lack of emotion
Likes to wear a partial suit. Finds that the coat is restricting and makes more complex movements hard
Still owns the coat. Just never wears it.
Symbol is tattooed on his left wrist
Orange and black color scheme. Like this:
Immediate reaction to almost anything is to yell.
Loves huge parties
If he's going to make a point, he makes it loud and clear. Often in front of other people so they can see what happens if you step out of line
Rules the dark sides more like a dictatorship then a family or of equel footing
Believes that they have to bend Thomas to their will and that the light sides are complete fools who will only destroy Thomas life
Wants Thomas to take what he wants and not to worry about who he leaves behind
If Thomas has to kill a politician to get what he wants? Sure go ahead. As long as he gets what he wants
When angry, Wrath is ruthless
He'll take your deepest fear and taunt you with it until you snap under the strain and comply to his every whim
He refuses to take no for an answer
Because of his hatred for the lights; he takes it out on Janus
He's big on public humiliation
If Janus would step out of line; well, he doesn't need all of those scales does he? He's sure Apathy would love to see the reactions if you rip some off
To aid in the control of the others; Wrath has complete control over the food supply
When the others are listening and followings orders. Good, they get to eat properly
When they don't? Your options are moldy bread or cheese that has been out in the open for about a month.
Him and Apathy eat like kings while the others decide between food poisoning and starvation
Likes to take words of affection and make them have a negative meaning (ex: the word Love.) after beating the hell out of someone, he would make them look directly in his eyes and says that he loves them... And he makes them say it back
He hates it when the others cry
Says that they're doing it for attention and that they should shut the fuck up
Apathy
Second in command
Can nullify peoples emotions. Leaving them feeling like an empty shell. The effects normally break after an hour
If Apathy knows your name he can control you like a puppet
White and black outfit. White shirt with black suspenders and pants.
Doesn't show where he keeps his symbol (its on his right ankle, its more like a tattoo then a patch)
Has a deep obsession with fire
Owns a zippo (a lighter that flips open)
Often feels empty due to his function. The fire makes him feel warm, feel more human (as human as the sides can be anyway)
Doesn't quite understand emotion. He understands the basics of it (cry = sad, laugh = hqppy, yell = angry.) but the more complex reactions confuse the hell out of him. Crying out of happiness is one of the things he will never understand.
Because of his lack of understanding of emotions; Apathy tries to understand through making others feel said emotions
Wants to know how someone would react when you break a precious item? Time to find a couple photos.
Will someone scream when you waterboard them? Hm well, only one way to test that.
Opinions change like a flip of a switch
One day he'll help you make dinner with a plastered on smile. The next he'll knock you out and burn you with his lighter with that same smile
Has only properly laughed twice
The first time was when Thomas accidentally laughed at someones funeral (he couldn't cope that the person was gone and his default reaction was to laugh)
The second was after the three of them (wrath, depression and him) shut off the heating to Janus' room and locked him inside
In order to understand things he doesn't know; he does experiments
He's not allowed to experiment on Wrath and Depression has no fun reactions. So he has his fun with Janus instead
Kinda likes it when blood stains his dress shirt
Because its warm. The warmth that once came from the person now belongs to him and it eases the cold empty feeling only slighty and temporary but its warm
He's indifferent on the lights. They're a little too perky for his tastes
Depression
Third in command
Doesn't really get a lot of say with decisions
Can erase certain memories (he doesn't use it very often)
Wears a medium blue dress shirt, brown leather suspenders with a black bowtie.
Normally keeps his sleeve rolled up
When crying; his eyes leak black
If the tears hit your skin, its a 10% chance that you could collapse and start spewing your insecurities while your eyes leak black
Symbol is on the back of his neck
Doesn't really mind not having the control that Apathy and Wrath have
Less work for him to do anyway
Couldn't care about the other twos blatant abuse of Janus
He sees it as a way to keep Janus in line
If Virgil wanted to play father figure he can go ahead. But that doesn't mean he has to be kind
Respects and looks up to Wrath
Normally just follows the lead of the others
He's the epitome of the duckling following the leader
Wrath has steak and potatoes for dinner? Depression also wants that too
Wrath says that they need to bend Thomas to their will? Well duh! Of course!
Wrath says that Janus has been out of line lately? Well why don't we break his leg again to show him a lesson
Most of the time, the food restrictions have no effect on him bc he listens to Wraths every word
Virgil
Was the second in command before he left
Opposed Wrath on his more extreme tactics
Has the ability to control shadows and others own Anxiety
Hated the dress code that Wrath insists on having. What kind of person wears suspenders and a dress shirt daily anyway?
Still wears the stupid things anyway because Wrath said to and he's not in the mood to get beat
Symbol is tattooed on underneath his shirt. The left side
After adopting Janus he lost his position as Wrath's right hand
Kinda pissed him off when he got demoted. Not bc of the loss of power. But bc he couldn't protect Janus as well
After adopting Janus he became the 4th in power (after Depression)
Remus
Is the epitome of don't give a shit
He has the power to conjure things and cause intrusive thoughts
Half the time he ignores the dress code completely
Typically opting for his normal clothes but does own a uniform as well
(if anyone has a better photo of this outfit pls pls pls DM me. I've looked through hundreds of photos and this is the best dark green dress shirt with suspenders I got)
Symbol is tattooed on the swell of his back
Gets practically no opinion on dealings or decisions with plans
Remus is a indifferent party. One moment he'll help you. The next he'll stab you in the back
He mostly just works with who can give him what he wants the fastest
He actually feels pity for Janus
Not like he'll ever act on that but he still feels a bit bad for the guy
Remus is kinda like that uncle at family get togethers that no-one talks to or cares about but he's always there
Janus
Oh boy, where to start?
Has the lowest rank out of every other side
His power (the ability to make people unable to talk) can only be used on the light side of the mind
He is also unable to heal immediately on the dark side
Meaning that he has to treat his wounds the old fashioned way
Doesn't really like the dress code
Only gets to wear his normal outfit when he's visting the light sides
Blond hair (wow! Really? Not like its the the name of the au!!)
His patch isn't a tattoo
This boi has the biggest fucking sweet tooth you could ever imagine
He is also so fucking short
His shoes have lifts to make him taller
He's cold blooded
When he gets focused, he bleps
This is turning fluffy-
He is literally covered head to toe in scars
Almost no skin was left untouched
Lying is a defense mechanism for him. He's deceit! He can lie his way out of anything!
Heavily disagrees on Wraths views
Thomas should get ahead, of course he should. But that shouldn't come at the price of someones life or the cost of his reputation
Hurting someone to get ahead in the short-term is only going to harm you in the long term
To hide the bruses, he applies thick layers of makeup and illusions if he's on the light side
Hasn't gotten a good sleep in years
He's terrified that someone will break into in bedroom while he's sleeping and finish him off
Or that they'll cut the heating again and he'll slowly freeze to death
Or that they'll drag him out of his room and chain him up somewhere to become nothing but a punching bag
He has agoraphobia (fear of open spaces)
Hasn't had positive touch since Virgil left
He has venom. Its very lethal and only activates when threatened
When angry, his eyes glow yellow and his canine teeth grow sharp and long that they stick out of his mouth slightly like fangs
Was meant to be a light side and function as Validity and Societal Self Preservation. But the dark sides found him first and brought him back with them
Virgil is his father figure
Doesn't really know how to feel after finding out that he's not a dark side
He does feel really really lied to and betrayed
But... Virgil is his dad. Virgil raised him
How could he be upset?
Writes down all of his thoughts and complaints in journals that he keeps in his room
He started writing journals when he was very young, so there is hundreds of them
Honestly doesn't know how to feel about him being a light side.
He's mad at Wrath. He knows that. But he can't do anything because his powers don't work on the dark side
He might as well be powerless.
When on the light side (so when all his powers work) his powers include: silencing others, the ability to repress sides/ make them unable to appear to Thomas and illusions.
His title is technically Validity with the added function of societal self preservation
Still goes by Deceit anyway
----
Has three brands burned onto him via Apathy
Is on his left ankle. Its his snake symbol. About the size of your fist
On his right bicep. The word "monster" in bolded writing. About two fingers in thickness.
Left chest, above his heart. The words "Property of the Dark Sides" in cursive text. The writing sits in a box.
All the brands are extremely painful for Janus if touched. Brand #3 is the brand he hates the most
His scales are more in patches then a perfect 50/50 split down his body
More will be added in the future.
#Blond Janus AU#janus sanders#sanders sides#deceit sanders#unsympathetic dark sides#sympathetic virgil#sympathetic remus#sympathetic deceit#sympathetic janus#remus sanders#Unsympathetic dark side ocs#abused deceit#abused janus#sanders sides headcanon#headcanons#headcanon#my writing#tw blood mention#ts janus#ts deceit#ts virgil#ts remus#ask to tag#swearing tw
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hi bella i'm here bc t-shirt by thomas rhett w jalex?????? totally not bc we're listening to the song and have the same brain???? never??? not at all??? ok ily bye
sam the fact that you will just indulge me like this...........i adore you. anyway here’s some thomas rhett jalex to soothe your soul thank you for asking me to write this after i told you i wanted to write it dlgkmdfklgmfj
ao3 link!
-
Jack has a table when Alex arrives.
“Hey, hey, hot stuff,” he hears, and looks up to see Alex leaning over the patio fence.
“Wow, and only ten minutes late,” Jack says, making a show of checking the time on his phone. He gives Alex his most look-how-impressed-I-am face.
Alex laughs and reaches through the fence to poke at Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll be in in a sec,” he says, and then retreats to go around front. Jack figures he can wait a little longer. Alex will probably stop in the bathroom before he joins Jack at the table, anyway.
A few minutes pass, and then someone tugs gently at Jack’s ear, so Jack puts his phone away, this time for good, and turns a smile to Alex.
Alex looks good. He always looks good, would look good even in a paper bag, even in nothing at all (especially then), but there’s something about the all-black combination that makes Jack’s heart race. Clothes were invented, Jack decides, to be worn by Alex. All clothes.
Leather jackets in particular.
“Hi,” Alex says warmly (he’s trying not to say it warmly but Jack knows he can’t help it), before dipping his head to kiss Jack. “How was work?”
Jack smiles. He always smiles around Alex. He’s probably in love with Alex, but in a relationship this young it’s hard to say, and Jack falls so easily it’s actually ridiculous. The words taste sweet under his tongue, so he leaves them there for the moment. For whatever it’s worth, he imagines he’ll have many days on which to share them.
“Fine,” is what he says instead, as Alex sits down. “Some of this paperwork is going to be the death of me, but you don’t want to hear about that.”
“I do,” Alex insists.
Jack shakes his head. “I promise you, you do not. I was telling Zack about it on my lunch break and I’m pretty sure he fell asleep.”
Alex chuckles. “Well, Zack’s not your boyfriend.”
“That you know of.” Jack waggles his eyebrows. It makes Alex laugh, which is always the goal, and Jack laughs too, mostly to show that he’s joking, but also because Alex’s laugh makes Jack laugh.
“Fair enough,” Alex concedes. “Well, lucky for you it’s Friday, so no more work.”
“It’s Friday for you too.”
“Yeah, but I have lesson plans to draw up, papers to grade, et cetera.”
Jack squints. “Do you…do you think I don’t have work to do over the weekend?”
“Gonna be honest, I still don’t fully understand your job,” Alex says good-naturedly.
Jack grins. “That’s okay,” he says. “You look amazing tonight.”
It makes Alex look down at himself, only to look back up at Jack, and under the multicolored string lights of the patio (why are there still Christmas lights up in June?), Jack can see a blush rising. “Thanks,” he says. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Thank you,” Jack says. It’s just his work suit. Their date night restaurant is within walking distance of Jack’s office, for convenience reasons, and Jack is still in his suit for the same reason. “I thought I’d make a bit of an effort, you know. Once in a while.”
“Well, if you set the bar low, you can only ever really surpass expectations,” Alex points out. Jack claps triumphantly.
“Exactly!”
The waitress approaches then, asking for drinks orders and informing them of their deal on appetizers, two for the price of one. Jack orders a beer and Alex gets water, because he’s driving, and as the waitress leaves, they decide almost without conversing that they’ll be taking extreme advantage of the two-for-one deal.
For the rest of dinner they make small talk, except it’s not really small talk, because Jack cares so much to hear about the inane things Alex’s students have done that day; he’s been dying for an update on the gossip about the history teacher and the math teacher, and gasps when Alex shares how a student actually asked Mr. Hood if Mr. Clifford was his boyfriend. (“I’ve literally never seen Calum speechless like that,” Alex says, smirking. “It was almost hilarious.”) It doesn’t feel like small talk to hear about Alex’s day and to talk about his own, because Alex’s eyes are trained on Jack with so much focus that Jack feels like he’s explaining something much more complex and profound than just the broken coffee machine in the break room at work. It would be small talk if they had nothing else to talk about, but they have, and just aren’t; for two hours, while they slowly work their way through their own food and each other’s (Jack shamelessly nicking mozzarella sticks off Alex’s plate), they just catch up.
Jack is probably a bit tipsy as they reach the end of the meal. After Alex pays — immune to Jack’s myriad efforts to stop him, including but not limited to stealing his wallet — they sit at a mostly cleared table, waiting for the check to come back, and Jack stares at Alex. He finds himself doing it more often lately, and he can’t put a finger on why, except that Alex is so goddamn pretty it’s impossible not to stare.
“What?” Alex says, bracing his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. He leans forward. “What are you lookin’ at?”
Jack folds his arms over the table in front of him and mirrors Alex. “You’ve got something on your face,” he says. Alex starts, frowns; Jack giggles. “I’m teasing. You don’t. You’re just so fucking good-looking. I can’t believe you’re mine.”
The blush from before returns with a vengeance. “Careful,” Alex says lightly. “Talk like that might get you into trouble.”
“Are you trouble?”
Alex doesn’t waver. “I might be.”
“That’s where I wanna be, then.” Jack grins. “You wanna come over after?”
“No way,” Alex says, but he’s lying, or joking. There’s a glimmer in his eye that might just be the ridiculous Christmas lights, but Jack has seen it before. “I’ve seen your place. You messy bastard.”
“Hey, I cleaned!” Jack protests. It’s stupid, but he had, and not just because he’d hoped to bring Alex back with him tonight. (Okay, mostly for that reason.)
Alex laughs and pulls Jack into a kiss across the table, and it settles in Jack’s sternum, warmth throughout his chest. He can tell Alex is holding back, and he likes it.
“Fine,” Alex says, as they break. “Twist my arm. I’ll come over.”
“Yeah, you will,” Jack says, smirking, and just then the waitress returns with the check.
-
They don’t even make it to the landing.
Well, they do, but clumsily, with a lot of tripping and almost-falling. Jack’s not sure if he’s holding tight to Alex so they don’t have to stop kissing or because he’s legitimately afraid to fall over. He’s mostly sober, just tipsy enough that he’s laughing at things that aren’t that funny, like when they reach Jack’s door and Jack realizes he’s forgotten to get his keys out.
“Shit,” he giggles, and instead of searching for them he just kisses Alex again. Alex is no help at all; he melts into it like every other one, arms securely around Jack’s waist. For a minute Jack forgets that this is supposed to be the beginning of the night, and not the end. Alex’s hands find their meandering way up the back of Jack’s shirt, and Jack makes a quiet noise at the cold of his fingertips against Jack’s skin. He pushes gently at Alex’s chest. “Okay,” he says, slightly sobered, “let me get the door open, you impatient fucker.”
Alex just gives him a cheeky smile and leans in for one more kiss. It’s really fucking hard to turn Alex down, and for a second Jack wonders if he should even bother. Then he feels Alex’s hand dip into his back pocket, and when Alex pulls away this time he’s holding Jack’s keys.
“Too slow,” he says, mouth curling into an enticing smirk.
Jack shakes his head. “Your fault,” he says as Alex unlocks the door, admitting them both to the apartment. The keys clatter as they land on the dining room table; Jack’s going to forget they’re there later, and Alex will inevitably remember. Both of them kick off their shoes somewhere in the general direction of the front door, and by that time Jack’s grown impatient himself. When Alex looks first at Jack and then past him to the bedroom, a question in his eyes that’s also an answer, Jack wastes no time.
It’s messy, but it’s always messy; Jack loves that about Alex, that he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, to play rough and leave Jack satisfied but wanting more. Anyway, Jack feels they’ve earned the right to be a little messy. Alex is a middle school teacher, and Jack’s working an office job, for fuck’s sake; if Alex wants to be the reason for wrinkles in Jack’s shirt, Jack’s in favor of that.
After, Alex cuddles himself into Jack’s chest, face pressed into Jack’s neck, trying to absorb Jack’s warmth. Jack doesn’t have control over the air conditioning in his building, and as a result it’s always either slightly too cold or hot. In summer months it’s the former, and Alex isn’t wearing a shirt, which is probably lending to the chill. Jack could suggest that Alex get dressed, but he likes Alex like this, clingy and cuddly, leeching heat out of Jack’s skin. Alex runs cold, unfortunately for him, but Jack runs warm.
(It’s just another way they’re perfect for each other. Jack keeps running into them, the things that make Alex and Jack complementary, like how Jack doesn’t like pickles and Alex does, or how they don’t share any of the same favorite breakfast cereals so they’d never eat the other’s, or the fact that somehow, having held hands with many people in his life, Jack’s never felt his fingers fit as well as they do between Alex’s. Maybe he’s just romantic, but fuck if he doesn’t feel like he and Alex belong together.)
“You could put a shirt on,” Jack murmurs, pressing a kiss to Alex’s forehead, after Alex shivers and curls tighter against Jack.
“Boring,” comes Alex’s muffled voice. It sends a buzz through Jack’s skin. “Zero points for creativity.”
Jack laughs. “Come on, Al, you’re freezing. Take one of mine.” Alex makes a noise of protest. Jack gently pats his back. “Alex, you’re a big boy. Don’t be stubborn.”
“Your mom’s a big boy,” Alex says, but he rolls away and, with a great dramatic sigh, crosses to Jack’s dresser to rifle through his t-shirt drawer. “Any suggestions?”
“I suggest you put a shirt on.”
Alex shoots him a look. “Duh.” He pulls out one of Jack’s Orioles t-shirts and grins. “Oh, this is it for sure.”
Alex pulls the shirt over his head, and when he resurfaces his hair is hopelessly messed up. Jack can’t help but smile at it, at the whole picture. It’s too much for him, Alex in his Orioles t-shirt and boxers with the fucking American flag on them, which is his idea of a joke (and had, of course, made Jack laugh).
“What?” Alex asks. He does a spin as if showing off the new look, and Jack snorts and shakes his head. “Stop staring at me, you creep.” He takes a running jump towards the bed, landing with a screech beside Jack and crawling over him. Their legs tangle together, and Jack gazes up at Alex, overwhelmed, hoping he never stops feeling overwhelmed by Alex.
“You just look super hot, that’s all,” Jack says gratuitously. His pulse racing, he tugs Alex down into a kiss. Alex goes willingly, and Jack closes his eyes, drowning in everything Alex; the image of Alex twirling around in Jack’s shirt, the cold of Alex’s skin where Jack’s fingertips graze his hips, Alex humming quietly in the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss, Alex’s hand in Jack’s hair, Alex’s cologne permeating the whole room, Alex’s mouth on his, and all of Jack’s senses Alex Alex Alex until nothing else matters, just him and Alex and the universe on pause.
(He almost says it, really, almost ends the kiss with I love you, you know?, but he stops himself. That’s the kind of thing people do when they don’t have the time to wait, and Jack has time. They have all the time in the world.)
#jack barakat#alex gaskarth#jalex#jalex fic#all time low#atl fic#fic#my fic#tshirt verse#just realized i cant tag these with atl or theyll show up in my atl tag#CRIME#anyway.......sam i wrote this this morning during my first class of the day lmao#so i hope it's not awful#it was partially inspired by#reading m's fic and thinking well fuck now i need to write some jalex fluff#so i hope that between m and i we've restored balance to the jalex world#and i hope u like this sam <3 thank u for constantly and forever indulging me#in everything all the time kdfgmldkfbmkj#tirednotflirting#ask#answered
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Titans Season 1: A Summary
Rachel: Please help me!
Dick: I will help you.
Rachel: Please dont leave me behind!
Dick: I promise I will not leave you behind.
*Dick leaves her behind*
*Rachel is kidnapped*
*Rachel is rescued by someone else*
Rachel: Please help me!
*Dick enters the chat*
Dick: But I’m helping her!
*5 minutes of Rachel emo sadness about no one wanting her*
Dick: Fine you can come
Titans Season 2: A Summary
Dick: It’s fine I got dis
*Dick did not in fact got dis*
Donna, Hank, Dawn: We hate this tower and have irrepressible guilt but we will lay blame entirely on Dick until he shows up in a new suit
Jason: I just wanna prove myself because I’m working under the original Robin who continues to never give me the time of day because of his unresolved insecurities in relation to Bruce despite starting the season with a supposed closure scene. And all his teammates continue to treat me like shit and mistake my immaturity and rashness with outright cruelty thinking I was pranking them by targeting their own insecurities when I myself nearly died and am clearly suffering trauma from the event
(Yeah I have some feelings)
Rose: I have a very complex relationship with my father but my character development will be shallow
Rachel: My powers are, once again, a mess and will define my entire character
Gar: I guess I’ll hang out here then and get brainwashed into a murder weapon
Conner: Look I’m literally a week old, I just want friends and to help people
Jericho: I’m ALIVE GODDAMMIT
Check date: 1/3/22
Titans Season 3: A Summary
Bruce: I think of Jason as my son but don’t even offer him the tiniest amount of faith that he can make his own choice regarding being Robin and if he still wants to continue it. And when Jason dies, I will take 0 actual responsibility for my actions, and just fucking murder the Joker before writing my will and ditching Gotham
(Im sorry but Titans Bruce Wayne is kinda a travesty)
Dick: Ok Titans I will now finally focus on you completely! All my attention is on you guys- oh wait what was that?? My past trauma with Bruce and my current issues with just the fucking horrible way I treated Jason require my immediate presence??? There’s also my former literal partner in crime who is super fine that is giving me vibes?Sorry fam, gotta go. HAHAHA jk im back I died for a hot second but let’s go on a road trip. I hear the DickKory love story finally beckoning (and not just bc I saw my daughter in a dream).
Kory: I’m having dreams. Oh wait lol it’s just my sister. I hate my sister. I love my sister. My sister stole my powers. I’m still having dreams. Oh wait lol my dad was actually a piece of shit. Oh wow look I actually have my own powers. And also I never call that therapist dude except during a crisis. I am currently unaware that Dick saw our daughter while he was dead.
Barbara: I’m a badass Police Commissioner but I’m gonna get swayed by a man child with severe trauma and attachment issues to his father figure.
Gar: Kory keeps trying to sleep-kill me??? Also I guess bonded with Jason a little so that’s the other half of my arc other than missing Rachel?
Connor: I am, for all intents and purposes like, what? A few months to a year old? But yo Blackfire is hot so sure let’s throw me into a relationship. Also Dick “betrays” me, then I torch my girl’s ship when she was boutta leave and claim her throne, bc I feel betrayed, but we’re gonna brush past all that and pretend everything is fine and settled.
Blackfire: I have a sister complex and that boy is hot. But actually I was probably one of the most interesting characters in the show and had a genuinely complex story arc (aside from the love story which felt stunted and out of nowhere).
Jason: Finally made it to the RedX story line. Do people still hate me? Yah. Did I try to make things better? Yah. Did it work? Kinda. Do I feel better? Nah. But hey at least Dick doesn’t treat me like dirt anymore.
Rachel: lmao I’m so bored on this island and Donna is still dead. Oop wait no her body disappeared. Guess imma head out.
Scarecrow: Mommy issues. Genuinely fascinating character to study. Genuinely brilliant plan to turn the masses against the Titans. Death by nightmare fuel via Rachel??? Brutal as shit
Dawn: I am once again completely defined by my relationship with Hank and none of my own personal worth. And then Hank died so guess I will have to continue to wallow in my misery.
Hank: Dawn hates me. Now I have a bomb in my chest bc I was a piece of shit to Jason, who was just a kid. Now I’m dead. But wait I can get back to the land of the living— aaand never mind. OH LOOK. MY BROTHER. Guess it’s all fine now.
Donna: I’ve been dead for like half a season already, but like there was this kid on the train and then I ran into Hank in the afterlife so what was I gonna do? Stay dead? Not for a hero.
Tim: I think superheroes are neat. Dying sucked but hey superheroes are still pretty cool.
Rose/Jericho: what was that? What was that you said about finding family in the Titans??? Hm?? Where were you?? All season???
#titans#dc titans#netflix titans#titans season 2#dick grayson#brenton thwaites#anna diop#koriand’r#teagan croft#rachel roth#ryan potter#garfield logan#curran walters#jason todd#conor leslie#donna troy#wonder girl#minka kelly#dawn granger#alan ritchson#hank hall#hawk and dove#joshua orpin#superboy#rose wilson#titans season 3#kormand’r#Blackfire#red x#Tim Drake
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Ok so like,,,,,,,,,Concept
Mermaid au but All the sides are mermaids and Thomas is the only human among them
Like humans still exist and stuff and it's probably modern day but mermaids don't really...interact with humans much
They aren't really *dangerous,* since most people don't believe they exist anyways, but mermaids just. Don't see them much. They never come out to deep enough waters or come by the coast at the right times or stay long enough, and most mermaids don't see it fit to expose themselves anyways.
Idk what fish everyone is yet, I plan on looking that up later, honestly, but I've got some Other ideas.
Anyways uh,,,,,,Remus is totally the one who finds Thomas first
He was with Roman, the two of them just seeing if any humans were hanging out near the beach. They were about ready to leave to go back to where the others were (they have a little grotto they've claimed for themselves that most other mermaids don't touch, probably mostly bc Remus terrifies them)
And then Remus stopped, hearing a human singing a song. That sounded like it was underwater. And was *also* an ancient siren's song, wh-?
Remus grabbed Roman by the shoulders and dragged him back closer to the shore, telling him to listen.
Both sat stunned for a moment.
Mermaids have their own language that most humans can't understand; it's a lot of singing and humming and clicking + a few deviations for different species, like accents for humans. Most of this language is due to mermaids being descendants of sirens, though nowadays they have different, more complex powers that align with a species and then deviate between people, in some circumstances, though most of them still relate to singing in *some* way. (Dw, the boys are all getting their own powers.)
Mermaids can understand humans, but just barely, most of the time. This human though, he was singing something they understood loud and clear.
They took a spot on a rock near him, Remus hiding behind Roman a bit. (He's always been the scarier of the two, and Roman is more social anyways. Plus...it was an old habit left over from when they were kids, ok? Don't judge.)
When the man stopped singing, eyes opening, he took a moment to look around
and then simply *froze* when he noticed fucking *mermaids* right in front of him, what the hell-
Thomas was just singing an old song his parents had sung to him when he was a child, why are there fucking *mermaids* here??
Roman quickly explained that *yes* we're mermaids but also YOU were the one singing an ancient siren song
And then the dude was like 'oh yeah I'm hearin ya' and they were like 'HH???'
Slowly, they explained that 'dude humans usually can't understand mermaids and we can't usually understand them, wh-'
And then the man's face scrunched up and he began speaking human speak, eyes widening as he switched again. "...how the Hell didn't I realize I was speaking in hums and whistles."
"Ya might be siren born!" Remus chimed from behind Roman, sharp teeth grinning wide as he moved out from behind him a little more.
Thomas was just like '???' and so they explained that 'yeah you might have siren descendants, we have a friend who knows more tho'
The twins talked with the man a little more, finding his name was Thomas and he was coming out to the beach because he used to come here a lot as a kid. Not to mention that the sea was...calling to him, he felt, as it always had.
"Definitely siren born," Roman muttered.
Anyways, after a little more talking and the boys introducing themselves-Roman and Remus, twins-and their powers-able to create anything they desire with a certain song and the right ingredients-they told Thomas to wait there and got the other four.
Thomas didn't get to ask what the "power" they mentioned was all about, but he simply waited.
Roman and Remus returned with the others, the twins settling on the same rock and most of the others just popping up from the water.
They introduced themselves, one by one;
Logan, able to help anyone understand or learn anything by simply humming in their hearing range. He's helped his stupid friends figure shit out like this a few too many times. He knows a lot about many things, as well; his powers are *made* to help people learn, and it pulls him to learn enough to properly do so.
Janus, able to deceive or trick anyone he wishes with the right song. He's also able to make anyone believe what he wishes them to, which he usually just uses to basically go 'psst. Taking a nap is a good idea' to his friends most of the time. He is not easy to trick, but he has a habit of lying, as it is what his powers are made for. It's also very difficult to get him to believe anything besides what he does at the time.
Virgil, able to make anyone fear or not fear anything at all. This is rather useful for keeping others safe and keeping dangerous people and things away from them aswell, but he himself is rather fearful, a result of his purpose being to manipulate others' fears.
Patton, able to spread any emotion he pleases, and able to sense emotions. This is useful in helping the others calm down and making sure they're ok. He's very emotional, however, and is often scrambled with his own between broadcasting emotions and sensing outside ones. A part of him is naturally against feeling negative emotions, as he fears he may accidently broadcast them. And either way, he's made to spread good, *useful* emotions, right?
And Roman and Remus' repercussions; Roman can only make certain things and same for Remus. Twins often share powers in this way, split between them. They also basically never stop thinking about what things to make, which makes them a little spacey. Remus is also prone to violent creations, and Roman flowery ones, as that's part of their bias as two halves. When they work together, it's absolutely perfect. Their harmonies are known for their beauty, similar voices harmonizing perfectly to put together things neither could dream of making on their own. Of course, it does take quite a bit of harmony from the two themselves, but they usually manage it. (There's a chance part of Remus' hectic personality is due to people disliking his creations for their darkness, and that part of Roman's theatrics and happy tune is part of trying to keep his side of their creations, but that's a different story, and a problem they're working on anyways.)
After Thomas asks about the "powers" stuff, Logan tells him simple and clean; "due to the fact that mermaids are descendants of sirens, we often have our own versions of their ability to lure others in with their songs. For instance;" Logan gave a simple hum, and suddenly Thomas knew the random (but slightly pertinent) fact that twin mermaids often have powers split between them.
As for the rest of the AU, Thomas just generally learns more about mermaids and stuff and eventually, over some time and some investigating into his family history that *yea I'm a descendant of a siren holy shit.* Thomas' power seemed to be a rather weak version of ancient sirens'; he's able to attract people to him, basically. People hear him singing and go 'wow he seems super cool I should talk to him'. Like um...friendship powers. Literally friendship powers.
Which is uh. Probably part of the reason the sides ended up becoming friends with him in the first place.
I don't know exactly what ocean creature everyone is going to be yet, and it probably won't change their Power(tm) (wow I need a better name for those) but it miiiight change their role in their group a little bit/the headcanons I have for how everyone is going to act, so I'll have to wait and see. For now though, I'll give you the basic idea:
Roman and Remus are the chaos twins, of course. They go around creating whatever the hell they want, basically-within reason. Mostly. Remus scares off any other mermaids for the most part and Roman talks to the ones that seem nice and assures them that they're just trying to keep their little grotto safe. The two of them were abandoned and grew up pretty much alone. They only had each other. They've got a pretty unbreakable bond-oh and also they have an *infinite* amount of teasing material and inside jokes.
Virgil also instills a little fear in most of them of specifically *hurting* him and his friends/messing with their shit. It used to be pure 'yeah fear us' when he didn't have as good as a grasp on his powers and just Panicked anytime anyone came up but now he's more like 'yeah just leave us alone pls'.
Janus? Absolutely the local mom. Goes around forcing everyone to sleep well and to eat and to *preserve your goddamn voices you idiots, I know we all love singing here but our voices are Important ok-*
Also forces Remus to stop chasing local tiny fish and is the only one that can really keep him in line. (Roman can too, for the most part, but he doesn't rlly mind Remus' random shit for the most part.)
Logan usually leaves for at least part of the day to explore and find more things out. He exhausted most tests he could of the other fives' powers to understand them better in about the first month, but he still has it filed away in his Memory Brain. (And that memory of his is exceptional; another important part of what makes his powers useful, and thus extremely pertinent.) Other than that he's usually telling the others off for doing stupid shit or telling someone stuff if they want to hear. (One of the others sits down every couple days and lets him infodump on specific fish and stuff like that. Sometimes verbally, sometimes through his hums, depending on the day.)
Patton is usually goin' around spreading good feels and fixing any bad ones he finds along the way. He's always checking on everyone, always making sure everyone's happy and ok, and they make sure he is in turn.
Sidenote for the Glasses Boys: yeah no I don't think they have glasses. Maybe it's more like...hm...they were born with slightly weak voices, ones that were wobbly. A simple fix, just as glasses are; simply more singing, more training of the voice, and they're mostly up to snuff.
Second sidenote, mermaids can sing without using their powers, but it's fairly rare as most see it as a necessity rather than something fun. The sides love singing, though, and random singing without a meaning at all can often be heard ringing through the tiny little home they've carved out.
I just realized I don't know how they sleep. Idk if/how this is going to work depending on what ocean creatures I choose, but currently the plan is they sleep in piles on the ocean floor, inside their grotto/cave thing. Sometimes just a couple of them sleep together, sometimes they'll all pile on. Depends on who goes to sleep when and what piles you want to join. The rule, though, is no one sleeps alone. It's just not as fun, and Patton insists. And we don't ignore Patton in this household, ok?
The twins like/hate sleeping together on their own depending on the night, though they almost always sleep together anyways. Just the two of them reminds them out at sea, alone when they were kids, but it also makes them feel *safe.* On the nights it reminds them of sadder days, they usually just beg one of the others to join them for the night.
It's basically a rule that *someone* has to oblige.
The twins don't sleep right without each other, honestly. Sometimes, though, they need someone else there to remind them of where they are now.
Idk what I'm going to do with the others' backstories, really. If nothing else, tho, current plan is that mermaid parents usually work like ours do; they raise a mermaid until it's mature enough to be out on it's own. This can change between species, though, and is mostly decided by the mermaid and it's parents according to species, preparedness, and like 50 other factors. So it's not quite as set-in-stone as it is for humans.
Remus and Roman were *certainly* too young when they were abandoned; maybe 10 years old when most leave at 16 to anywhere around 24.
No one knows where their mother went. Not even them.
Also just realized they don't have ages,,,,,,,,h
Note: mermaids live longer than humans (around 150 yrs mostly, deviates slightly depending on species) but they still use human ages, since they mature at...kinda the same rate. Sorta. Thomas, of course, will be living a little longer than most; probably 120 yrs or so, as most of his family is known for. (His great grandfather holds the record for humans at 140 yrs. Probably only a couple lines down from that og siren.)
Roman and Remus: 23
Virgil: 22
Patton: 24
Janus: 25
Logan: 24
Thomas: 23
Mermaid lifespans would probably be a lot shorter if most predators didn't know not to fuck with them. Even animals can understand that mermaids are *powerful,* and can and *will* protects themselves. Most mermaids live peacefully, unless they try to fight each other, which is actually kinda rare since they're usually loners or in small groups like The Boys are and they're usually pretty spread out.
Idk if I'm gonna do any romance for this AU...I'm kinda not in the mood?? Feelin like lettin this just be friends bein friends yknow
Idk. I think that's it for this idea for the moment. I'll come back with any major ideas/those ocean creature designations later, so yknow,,,,,,,,hype for that ig
#sanders sides#ts roman#ts remus#ts patton#ts virgil#ts logan#ts janus#trash talks#long post#sorry for the long ass post guys. im on mobile so i cant add a read more. rip#im gonna call this the#mersiren sides au#for now#cause i feel like it fits well ig#creativitwins#lowkey. just a bit#bc im like. 90% love for brotherly creativitwins content at this rate#also uh. yeah! just in time for mermay!!! ...pfft#i get this idea literally 2 days into june. Hilarious#ts deceit#extra tag just in case#80% of this is random bullshit science lol
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sixcago gave me my gay rights
alternative title: review of the evening sixcago show on july third
this is like almost 4k and its mostly just rambling but i need to express how much i love sixcago
like at least half of this is just me being gay so i bolded some of the things that i found really interesting and isnt just me like, freaking out
so to start off: holy shit. the energy of the entire show was amazing, it was really funny and fun and the acting/dancing/singing was on point like i cant think of a single complaint on the part of any of them.
so to get into the actual show
ex wives
when the curtain came up and the smoke started pouring out i actually felt my soul leave my body it was such a good moment
less than thirty seconds in brittney mack made eye contact with me and i swear to god my heart stopped and i honestly had trouble focusing on the rest of the song
i am not exaggerating that is the whole truth and nothing but the truth
shes............. literally so good im still shaking as i write this like three hours later
the third repetition of the rhyme where they all sound kinda pissed off? they nailed that
adrianna was so cute when she said “you wont try that again”
andrea holy shit. thats really a wrap on that
abby got that like, kinda head in the clouds thing that i feel like is janes Brand during this part
when he saw my portrait he was like JaaAAaaa
i love brittney mack
courtney knew what she was doing with that prick line. get it girl
anna has the most angelic voice i swear to god
the six of them work really well together on stage???? like i know its all choreo and stuff but you could Feel the energy that they had together it was good
oh man the choreo for the end. im so gay
intro thingy:
adrianna with that riff!!!!! we stan
annas face after “herstory” was iconic. she knew what she had done wrong
you couldnt hear the intro for maggie bc people were cheering so loud
the way adrianna says maria made me gay
abby also knows what she had to say. she knows how cursed janes sense of humor is and she was really playing it up
protestent............ protestant
“we’ll tell you what you want what you really really want” this made me laugh so hard i dont rly remember the next like thirty seconds because i was dying
“the biggest.... the firmest......... the fullest..............” im. i cant
no way
“maria” AGAIN adrianna please. please i cant handle it
“OH muy bien aHHah” not to be Lesbian On Main but fuck this was so cute
her emotion during the monologue was SO funny
it was peak, it was so good
she really gets it. i dont totally know what it is but this aragon monologue gets it
when she said “really trying” she did like, a motion. i cant go into more detail but Fuck
so after “move me into a convent” everyone like, gathered around aragon and adrianna did a
well idk what youd call it but a like
her entire torso swung around in a huge circle right before “i dont think i’d look that good in a wimple”
and idk what it was but that part just made me Lose It
adrianna had this way of making it all a little funnier?
like catherine is usually pretty Serious, i think but it felt like adrianna knew she was playing a character who was Like That, if you will, and was kinda leaning into breaking the fourth wall a little
i can probably elaborate if that doesnt make sense
you say its a pity cos quoting leviticus ill end up kiddiless all my life
she said that with such conviction goddamn
oh, he doesnt remember
this was so good
the “sh-”s were really funny
the fucking. i dont know what it is but the *ting*
holy shit
i cant put into words
how much i loved that part
the pause after “i’ll go” was............ expansive
i just checked it was 10 whole seconds
that doesnt sound long but it felt like forever
she went high on “end of my life” and thank u for mine adrianna hicks
the amount of no’s was impressive and im heart eyes for it
adrianna just had really good stage presence
like i caught myself looking at her during the dance breaks of all the songs when i wasnt looking at brittney
it was just so fun to watch her go!
dluh
during the intro of like “yeah, you know, the really important one” andrea was doing some Dumb Shit in the background
like i dont know exactly what it was but she was just like
idk like noodling around in the back
and i caught her eye and she like, smiled a little
the gasps the rest of them did were....... cute
then andrea busted out a full on fucking witches cackle
then she stuck her tongue out and looked like she was taking a selfie and it was so cute
like, her tongue was OUT
“not my thing” had the BIGGEST uwu energy of anything ive ever heard
i thought people were kidding when they said andrea boleyn had uwu energy
they were not
pret a manger barely came across as a real line it was more like, an experience
the sorry not sorry choreo. its so funny and cute and simultaneously cursed
the way andrea delivered her lines here was just
it was like, cutesy and fun but also kind of cursed
uwu
when she said “are you blind” andrea like, gestured to herself, in a like “look how hot i am” kinda way
which might be the standard? either way it made me laugh a lot
don’t be bitter/cos im fitter was the only line in the entire production said with a british accent and it fucking slayed me on sight one hit ko
i actually like that they changed “mate, what was i meant to do” to “wait, what was i meant to do” because
it implies that anne had no other train of thought than the one she was on and thats very funny to me
i think it fits w andreas portrayal too
everyone was like, fake crying when anne fake walked down the aisle and it was really funny imo
and as soon as she got to the end anne like, turned, yk?
bro just shut up
the entire audience gasped after that
andrea had actual like, panic on her face
then she led into “i guess he just really liked my head”
and there was a beat after that, where everyone laughed
it was long enough that everyone got the joke
then she mimed the blow job
her riff on “hell”? iconic
“wait, didnt you actually die” no jane she was beheaded but she was fine
abby seymour said dumbass rights she has the Dumbest Bitch energy god
“catherine of aragon had tragically died” catch adrianna looking like, yeah it was so sad for me, how terrible, right?
then boleyn goes off
the. fury, passion, anger, zest, contained in andreas “MASSIVE-”
“over my dead body” andrea gave her this look like, youre damn right it will be
heart of stone
oof
okay so the monologue
oof
“i was lucky. okay, i was really lucky” o o f
“edwina” is still cursed tho
i dont know what it was about this. i dont know if it was abby, or the dialogue, or just it being live but
this made it clear that jane had been Through It
like, this monologue came across (to me at least) as unquestionably a “woman who was abused trying to justify it to herself” kind of situation
“and that’s not because i was scared,” she said, wearing an absolutely terrified expression
this is where she started tearing up i think
okay i gotta take a moment here because
abby was fully crying before the song even started
like somewhere about halfway through her monologue she started tearing up
i was looking for it specifically
i wrote this before the last part so see above
so by the first fucking like of hos you could hear her voice breaking
holy shit ms meuller what the fuck
im not kidding who gave her the right
at the stagedoor she said that after this she was like, “well thats it for my makeup” when someone complimented her song
she is crying. the first chorus and she is actively crying. in the breaks between her lyrics you can hear her crying
abby went high on a couple of notes in here
she riffed on “truthfully” and it was, wow
she didnt go for the whistle tones which was, honestly? the most relatable thing in this entire show
but a couple of the other notes she went high on and they were so killer
there was a second or two of pause after the end where everyone just, absorbed things before the applause
i have some questions for abby about this actually because i dont know if its just because the monologue was different than im used to but
i just want to know if abby meant to have everything come off like That but god
the mental gymnastics jane is doing here are so intense
this performance genuinely changed how i listen to hos forever
i dont think i can ever peacefully listen to this song again
this song gave me so many layered emotions thank u abby mueller
haus of holbein
hans................................. *holbein*
the chaos
i honestly barely remember most of it it was
i had no idea who to be looking at
but i remember it being beautiful
i dont have the words to express how
fucking funny it was
the accents were hilarious
like they werent great german accents, but that made it far better
they were leaning into the ridiculousness of it all
the way abby said “but we cannot guarantee that you’ll still walk at forty” had me on the ground
ive spent the last 24 hrs trying to figure out exactly why it was so funny and i think i got it
she dropped the german accent
and she straight up sounded like she was reading off the side effects of a pharmaceutical ad on tv
the freeze frame? legendary
anna and courtney (im pretty sure?) managed to look so genuinely offended that henry swiped left on them
your highness your highness your highness
god adrianna please
actually every h sound that came out of their mouths
but adrianna Got It
get down
oh god i gotta talk about “didnt live up to his expectations”
brittney like, half took off her jacket and gestured to her body and like, body rolled a bit and honestly? i was fucking dead
the sarcasm really jumped out here. brittney went off in the best way possible
she was fully fake sobbing right before “tragic”
fucking legend
brING me some pheasant!
the woof line is always a good moment but their facial expressions really made it work here
this song has the most outwardly complex choreo (ofc i cant speak to its actual difficulty) and every single one of them crushed it
brittney made eye contact w me again on “looking cute” and im deceased
oh god after “take my fur” she whispered “thank you. honestly” and gestured to herself again and like, i was dying
iirc brittney was like, skipping across the stage or something on “i look more rad” and snapped into position for “lutheranism”
we gotta take a moment to appreciate the operatic talent of that one “get down you dirty rascal” instead of the slo mo
like, ofc the slo mo is a good moment but
brittney went full opera and it was,
wow
shes got a voice on her holy shit
so much talent in such a tiny body
aCHYEAH
she picked the person sitting next to me to dance w her and
they did their cute little dance thing and then brittney gestured like, go sit down, and the person did, then stood back up and started dancing again
not like, in a bad way i dont think
it was super fuckin funny and after the song brittney was like “oh that was cute you think youre funny”
but i heard them talking at the stagedoor and like, brittney was chill it wasnt like a violation of anything
im not explaining it very well but it was really funny in person
everything about her on stage was just, so enrapturing
i dont have too many specific notes about this song because it would probably turn into just, me being gay, which is enough of this already
anyway! get down was good brittney mack is a stellar cleves
her fake crying is next level tho
the confrontation
boleyn, unprompted: i lost my head!
the beheaded cousins high fived after “nice neck” and like, stuck out their necks a bit it was so funny
seymours “i died”
we all know abby is gonna kill her line delivery
but GOD
and then after, she like, realized what she had said and struck a pose like, shit please still think im regal
the line itself was actually pretty, uhhhh, sad
theres something about boleyn roasting khoward in andreas voice
courtney with that “and your songs” had perfect timing
also “when will justice be SERVED” had such good punch to it
after she did that she like
rubbed her hand on janes face
and abby looked SO offended
theres something so, sincere about courtneys delivery of her roasts that i hadnt been getting and its SO much funnier to me
i forget exactly where but at some point boleyn aragon and howard were arguing
and in the background it really looked like seymour and cleves were having a normal conversation and i lost it like. they were just chattin
there were a couple moments of like, cleves and seymour interacting and it was interesting
aywd
courtney! mack! took! no! prisoners!
jesus christ
okay so i dont know if other howards do this or if it was just because i was seeing it live and up close and that made the difference but
for me the most compelling part of this howard was the fear
like yes there was the sadness/anger/etc like there was good emotion but
from the “he says we have a connection” re: henry, and then on, everything about courtneys body language just screamed that she was afraid
idk i might expand on this in a separate post because its a darker topic but yeah. holy shit that was emotional
not a single person clapped after the last line. they all waited until after “yeah, and then i was beheaded” before clapping
like the theater was dead silent. DEAD silent
it was like, so haunting because it was just courtney on stage at that point, with just the white spotlight on her, it was a Moment
im not sure i have the heart right now to get too deep into this
if it would be particularly interesting to anyone feel free to ask, im happy to get more into it but idk its just Emotional
actually this is already so long ima go for it
so on each “we have a connection” it was uhhhh parr and aragon (i think) who each put a hand on like, her clavicle
and for the first two verses she grabbed one of the hands and was like, flirty? ig
but on the one about henry seymour also put a hand around her waist and she like
she freaked out
and listening back to the audio i can
unpopular opinion perhaps but the actual emotion of her on stage didnt come thru in the audio
because it was so physical
like you could see how scared she was
which made it more relateable to me honestly
like she looked so so scared
it was heartbreaking
the confrontation part ii
oh BOOH OO MISTERESSES
“okay catherine, babes” is CUTE fight me
anna looked like, progressively more concerned as that beat went on, and then she just kinda like, deflated? it was really funny tbh
idk her parr feels Different than the parr im used to
during “oh im catherine parr i draw the line in arbitrary places” courtney was playing with her hair it was hashtag cute
BACKING VOCALS RIP CATHY PARR
idnyl
a cute little b flat major 7
yeah anna parr seems
hmm
she seems like she’s just, over henry
like from the start she just has no time for him
idk im Conceptualizing
anna uzele is
her voice is next level
she put survived in the “got married to the king became the one who survived” in air quotes which i think is an interesting note
anna got really physically into the “remember that...” bit of it and everyone in the back was also having a good time with it it was Good
andrea. she stuck her pointer finger between two of her other fingers on her other hand for the “my sixth finger” line and it was SO funny
khoward keeping aragon in line was
not the hot take i was expecting but nevertheless the one we deserved
both for “dissolution of the monasteries” and “well actually”
idk it was a cute character moment
one of *unsure, disgusted, vaguely annoyed* siiiIIIiix
abby was right in front of me and she looked SO uncomf
yeah, i read
iconique
andrea like, threw her head back for this line
the pause after “theres not much we can do about it now” is
painfully long and so so so funny
i was only really looking at brittney but she was like, arms down head up no body language it was SO funny
also her “yeah?” ended my life
she raised the mic up to her mouth while not moving an inch of the rest of her body
the part where they get all meta. has me dead
it was about halfway through this second part that i realized cleves had her coat back. i dont know when that happened. if anyone else knows when exactly anna of cleves gets her coat back after it gets taken off in get down please tell me. i genuinely want to know
this actually distracted me
i got vibes that they genuinely hated henry during this part
first off, mood
secondly, good
annas riffing. god.
she is so talented
dsfjksdf they all straight up left
six
the opening moment is really sweet and kinda funny
abby again killing it with janes cursed lines
courtney howard is actually so cute
when shes not being heartbreakingly sad that is
like her “bye!” was so cute
theyre all so supportive of each other its very cute
megasix
adrianna and abby both looked into my camera and like, i died
at the end anna and brittney were doing some dumb shit as they walked off stage and it was SO cute
after the show
i went to the stagedoor and it was a really fun experience! ive never done that before
it seemed like everyone was being pretty respectful and stuff, thank u six fans for being sane
i got four signatures on my program dklfjsldfjds
abby was such a sweetheart, we actually talked a tiny bit
i told her i loved her line delivery (because uhhhhhh i do) and she said that she tries to get in that comedic timing when she has Those Lines and like yeah
she was seriously the nicest
the ladies in waiting came out as well and everyone cheered for them and lets be real they DESERVE it
lemme sidebar here actually and talk about the ladies in waiting because
they killed it
bessie on the bass was living her best life at literally all times
brittney was also super sweet! i told her she had good energy (because uhhhhhh she does) and she was very nice about it!!!
i didnt really talk to anna or andrea but i got their signatures!
also speaking of my program im still losing my mind over “remembered for: headlessness” and “remembered for: staying alive”
thank u sixcago program
in conclusion! this was such a great+special experience!!! all of the actors were incredible, it was so wonderful
im also not claiming any of this stuff was unique to this performance or to sixcago in general this was just the stuff i noticed as i was watching it. if you clown on this post ill end u
#six the musical#sixcago#**#i typed up no way dluh idnyl and the after show part in a daze as soon as i got back#i got more of it filled in later and then i kinda lost steam#and im filling in the last bit almost a day later so yeah thats why some of its Like That#i ran out of energy for six/megasix but im not sure when ill get the energy so#and also this is Long as Fuck#and i have even more thoughts re: the cast and their portrayals#esp vs the west end cast portrayals
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Do them all. Suffer as I did 😂
Bitch I told you this was our friendship. We force each other to answer all the questions.
1. selfie
Well… I wasn’t dubbed Selfie Queen for nothing…
This one is interesting bc I have zero makeup on. The most recent ones are too blurry. A lot of my fav selfies are full faces of makeup tho.
2. what would you name your future kids?
I feel like that’s a decision for both parents but I really like the names Felicity, Isabella and Dimitri. Yes, all of them are names from various franchises I enjoyed throughout the years. Be glad I’m out of my phase where I thought Vladimir was a good name.
3. do you miss anyone?
I miss all my friends I don’t get to see frequently. Love all of y’all and hope y’all are doing well in life!
4. what are you looking forward to?
Fucking graduating. Jesus Christ it’s taken me five damn years.
5. is there anyone who can always make you smile?
From my club it’s Chris, Yara and Josephine. Also my entire friend group from back home. Honestly I love my friends so much.
6. is it hard for you to get over someone?
I feel like every situation is different so that’s a tough question to answer.
7. what was your life like last year?
I honestly don’t remember much from December of last year. It was a good time though.
8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed?
I’m an emotional bitch. I’ll cry over anything. I cried over fucking Mulan the other day.
9. who did you last see in person?
My parents and brother. Earlier in the day my club.
10. are you good at hiding your feelings?
I’m shit at it. My face gives away everything. The other day my professor was going into her inspiration porn narrative and I just gave her a cold dead look the entire time.
11. are you listening to music right now?
No but I have the Hamilton soundtrack stuck in my head right now since that’s what I was last listening to. If you haven’t heard it I highly suggest it. Man I wanna see it so badly.
12. what is something you want right now?
Sleep but I’m trying not to throw off my sleep schedule right now and am waiting a bit before going to bed. I only got three hours of sleep last night so that’s fun.
13. how do you feel right now?
Kinda tired. Relieved that I got two service projects in a row done today. It’s been a long weekend.
14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you?
My friend Sebastian hugged me when I dropped him off. I guess that counts.
15. personality description
I’m a makeup loving nerd who enjoys sitting in pajamas watching anime and superheros as much as she enjoys swatching EVERY lipstick in Sephora. According to my friends I can’t go 5 seconds without mentioning how old I feel and my love for Dungeons and Dragons. I’m also an asshole. (Wow this sounds like a 12 year old writing this)
16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t?
Yeah tons of times. It’s bitten me in the ass. Oh well live and learn I guess?
17. opinion on insecurities.
Everyone has them? If they say they don’t then they are lying. Mine is mainly related to my appearance or how I speak.
18. do you miss how thing were a year ago?
I miss how things were in the beginning of this year. It started off strong then kinda turned into a shit show.
19. have you ever been to New York?
No but it’s my top thing on my bucket list. My friends and I are highly considering a trip.
20. what is your favourite song at the moment?
Of all time: Get Low by Lil Jon
Currently: “Told You So” by Little Mix (If you haven’t heard their new album I highly suggest it if you love girl groups that preach women empowerment)
21. age and birthday?
22 - June 21st (She’s a Cancer)
22. description of crush.
I don’t have a hardcore crush right now. More like 5 second crushes that are over the second they do something I don’t like.
Edit: Currently “celebrity?” crush is Nathan Sharp. I am seriously considering dropping $55 to see him at a convention this month.
23. fear(s)
Heights, something terrible happening to my loved ones, wild snakes, and the usual common anxiety fears
24. height
Five foot three inches. I’m short. Yes I know it’s not that short but tall people like to put me in the short category anyway.
25. role model
My mom’s coworker who was my internship supervisor. She has a doctorate’s in what I want to do and is amazing at what she does. The amount of knowledge and experience that women has is incredible. She is also extremely funny and knows how to teach with a sense of humor which I appreciate.
26. idol(s)
Celebrity idols? I don’t really idolize celebrities bc humans are humans and have flaws.
27. things i hate
Immaturity, intolerance of differences, demeaning slurs, The Last Jedi, and the new Fantastic Beasts movie
28. i’ll love you if…
Play with my hair, are kind to my friends and family, share common interests, show an interest in what I have to say, basically respect me and those close to me and we’re good
29. favourite film(s)
Hairspray, High School Musical, The Greatest Showman, Stardust, The Harry Potter series, Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy
30. favourite tv show(s)
Jane the Virgin, Naruto (fuck off I hate myself too ok), the first three seasons of Arrow before it turned to shit
31. 3 random facts
I’m not artistically talented but I genuinely enjoy makeup and creating looks
I have a nonverbal brother with autism and he’s my favorite person ever
I completely programmed my brother’s communication device by myself
32. are your friends mainly girls or guys?
Now my friends are mainly girls but when I lived in Tampa 90% of my friends over there were guys (Hi Mason). I’m going to say that’s bc of us all playing video games in the Delta lounge (RIP Dirty D). But yeah now it’s mainly girls and 80% of my dude friends are gay.
33. something you want to learn
Sign Language. Ice skating. Hairstyling. Fashion (I’m trying to be better about putting clothes together). Also I’m down to learn more about makeup and techniques
34. most embarrassing moment
Either farting while doing an air guitar in front of my entire girl scout troop
or signing to my friend that I liked her friend at a party and his brother repeated what I had signed out loud in front of everyone
wait. No. When I F U C K E D up in front a super hot guy while volunteering and then chose an 18 year old jock as my wingman. 18 year olds are dumbasses. Don’t use them as wingmen. Fuck you Khaled.
35. favourite subject
In grade school I think it was English or History. It really all depended on the year.
36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill?
VISIT NEW YORK
Hike the Smokey Mountains
Visit Europe
37. favourite actor/actress
Chris Evans (especially when he is trying to fight orange president on twitter)
Also Mark Hamill is perfect
38. favourite comedian(s)
I don’t watch comedians often. I guess the Fluffy guy?
39. favourite sport(s)
The only time I give a shit about sports is when my university is undefeated or playing my first university in football. Or the soccer world cup if it’s on. However I appreciate the skill it takes to do a sport.
40. favourite memory
San Antonio. It was my first time traveling without family and it was the greatest time. It was such a cool city
41. relationship status
Single - I take my sweet ass time
42. favourite book(s)
Eragon (No, I haven’t finished the entire series. No, I don’t want spoilers bc I will do it eventually.)
43. favourite song ever
“Get Low” by Lil Jon
“Look Through My Eyes” by Phil Collins
44. age you get mistaken for
Last year I got mistaken twice in a row within an hour for a middle schooler. I was 21 at at that time. During my internship one of the parents asked me if I had any kids. I’m either mistaken as a parent or as a 13-15 year old. There is no in between.
45. how you found out about your idol
N/A since I don’t have an idol
46. what my last text message says
“lmao it’s alright” to Joey but the previous one is more funny “thankfully no one threw up this time” in regards to my friend’s party last night
47. turn ons
Well I aint about to talk about my sex life so let’s go with personality
Common interests such as superheros or anime, charismatic, easy to get along with, common goals in life, cares about their loved ones, has passion, and someone I can hold an intellectual conversation with
48. turn offs
rudeness, immaturity, inattentiveness, bad tempers, superiority complex, not being genuine, judging others, treating people like objects, and general lack of care for others or themselves
49. where i want to be right now
Back in the smokey mountains in a cabin watching movies and anime
50. favourite picture of your idol
N/A
51. starsign
She’s an emotional Cancer
52. something i’m talented at
Apparently I’m good with kids Makeup too I guess?
53. 5 things that make me happy
friends, family, nerdy shit, makeup and Kakashi
54. something thats worrying me at the moment
Some shit happened last night that has me worried for some friends but I’m sure they’ll figure it out
55. tumblr friends
A shit ton of y’all I know IRL. I won’t tag y’all bc that’s annoying af
Joey’s my only internet friend @earthschampion (answer my text bitch)
56. favourite food(s)
pasta, empanadas, crab rangoons, taziki sauce
57. favourite animal(s)
Meerkats and koala bears
58. description of my best friend
K @burnitstronger: realest damn friend you will ever have. Will tell you how it is and provide never ending love and support. Never understands my dumbass shenanigans but loves me anyway. Love you boo
J : Will also tell you how it is and forces you to watch Naruto and ruin your damn life. Will happily go with you to eat junk food after class. Will fight anyone who wrongs you and is def still plotting revenge on all my ex’s. Stans Loona
M: Will scream at you in Leo in a frightening but loving way. Has the best damn fashion sense I have ever seen. Is the friend that comes by when I need her to and brings a shit ton of snacks and love (J does this as well).
59. why i joined tumblr
I was bored on fourth of July in 2012 and my friends kept telling me that this website would be fun. Also the avengers “fandom” from back then
60. ask me anything you want
I would say I’m sorry Mason but I enjoy making all my friends suffer. Make sure to give him a follow bc he’s cool. @masonjar828
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🖊 AS MANY AS YOU WANT
>:3c
Gumm
melted gummy but like not sticky
and yeah she tastes like it too
what flavour? varies
peppy :>
Hotaru
adopted by 2 gays who, in raising her, gave her her traits of ‘smart’ and ‘takes no shit’ in a backstory that I made bc of me joking abt making an ishimondo lovechild
in a less murdery universe? Gifted Kid Syndrome
speedruns professor layton games sometimes
Airi
“I am the Airi I speak for the bees”
flits wildly between “I could eat an entire bucket of honey rn” and “I can’t stand honey blugh”
I think I’ve mentioned it but she keeps 1 bee with her in her suit since he’s a smart boi and they’re best friends
his name changes every time she talks to anyone abt him
has never seen bee movie despite what folks might think
Akiara
gentle precious boy
never fit into regular clothes when he started gettin real tall so his mum started making his clothes
then he learned from her and honed his skills to be. the best
he’s naive but he ain’t no babby and would like to not be treated as such
silently judging your clothing choices but like in a nice way
Chouko
her dad taught her how to aim and made her the girl she is today but that don’t mean she much cared for him or agreed with him when he was alive
adopted her Aesthetic to overcompensate for people’s initial impressions of her being the ultimate marksman
has no impulse control over her mouth like if she thinks it she can and will say it
Isamu
look at me about to call my boy out over his cool dude facade
the shades he wears are a lie he’s not cool
he’s only able to act that way bc the shades put a major damper on his anxiety
he’s a stuttering shaky mess talking to anyone face to face without em
the beanie and scarf are extra precautions so he can hide away
he like. really wants Mayu to act in one of his films
“yes I’m known for my critically acclaimed movies. yes Pixar’s Cars 2 is among my favourite movies. what of it”
Kouta
tiny and takes advantage of that
doesn’t need to be big to frighten folks w/ his death talk
keeps his mask and gloves with him so he’s ready for dead bodies at any moment
Mayu
2nd youngest of her numerous siblings
realised she was good at acting at some point and started doing it seriously so she could get the attention she wanted from her family
the epitome of celebrities going on talk shows or w/e and being Oh So Awkward And Quirky And Nerdy
she’s not nearly as shy as she makes herself out to be I’ll spoil that
Momoko
Inferiority Complex
tsundere but like. in a friendship way
adores Umeko tho she’d never push her away
if only she thought her own talent was as cool as her sister’s or even anyone else’s :)))
she’s the one who thought to get her and Umeko the matching hairclips but she won’t admit it
and she won’t admit to knitting gifts for her friends by her own free will either
“I had some excess wool left over that I had to get rid of and I guessed no-one else would want this so here take it”
immune to non-talent-related insults
Morten
he’s a big A-Ha reference like Nirvana to Sonia Nevermind adsdffhj
Morten --> Morten Harket, Lycantear --> Cry Wolf, Hunhalow --> Hunting High And Low
speaking of Sonia he can’t stand the girl
the relationship between their kingdoms is. tense.
isn’t fond of the idea that he’s like. following after her in going to HPA
wants to be a good role model to his little siblings and also his people
Noburu
Sad
ultimate mathematician too but keeps his comedian title as the public one
thinks that comedy can be calculated and that’s the basis on which he writes his shows
keeps going out of sheer spite
he feels like giving up sometimes but then he gets a comment on one of his social media pages that’s like “your jokes suck kys” and decides uhh no thanks
V different on stage compared to irl
Ren
he got low self esteem bc his friends ignored tf out of him all through his life so he just kinda took from that that he doesn’t matter :))))))
disaster gay
as in ‘please send help i want to smooch everyone i meet’
can guess your kinks from a mile away
I can’t believe I accidentally stole Gwenpool’s hair for him ;;;;;
Sachiko
trash baby
maybe her charms work? maybe they don’t? even she doesn’t know but she’s not gonna say that
fate does seem to be in her favour tho
sleep? what’s that
Takara
sexual orientation: “me”
has an Illness
who knows what it is
what we do know is pls don’t take his mask off or he will Die in like a minute
has never not skated anywhere
official title is ultimate figure skater but pls he does any and every kind of skating be it ice, roller, skateboarding, w/e
do Not bring up certain figure skating anime around him. for your own sake
Tarou
works at the family bakery
makes some tastey cakes
and rly likes decoratin em
big sweetie but. he got a super short temper
likes his clothes comfy
Umeko
rowdy gal
can’t help rushing into anything and everything and continually gets herself (physically) hurt over it
sunshine baby
lovs Momoko with all her heart
teases her sister over her sour attitude whenever she can
outs her “left over wool” lie every single time “nope she wanted to make something nice for you because she cares abt you!!!
how,,, do those glasses stay intact
Yaulmi
Lovs human culture
wait what do you mean there’s more than one
they love humans’ ideas of what aliens might be like wow! haha! that’s what i am! but it’s completely wrong! wow cool!
buys any alien related merch they see
upon being questioned abt gender they don’t understand??? there ain’t no gender in space
but they do some research and they like the idea of girls so they lean into that
#sorry this took so long asdsdffdh#i saw 'as many as you like' so my dumbass brain said ALL#except not my fantrolls#not today no thanks#ayakayuuna#ask loly
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