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heliads · 3 years

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Best Kept Secrets (Part One)

Based on this request: “Wanda and the reader are married and the reader mom is Agatha but the reader does not know that...Then Agatha watches the reader having a good time with her family and Agatha is happy but sad because we get another flashback of the reader snapping their finger in order to destroy thanos and his army.”

masterlist / part two

Lights flick on in the studio. Cameras start rolling. Title cards disappear, show is live.

Wanda sits on the sofa, legs folded primly in front of her. Her best friend, Agnes, is seated one cushion over, arm flung over the back of the couch, similar to Wanda in excitement but less so in decorum. Classic, charming 1950s dresses are resplendent on both; Wanda’s is plain, Agnes’ checkered. The scene is set, the black and white filter flickering over them both.

The friends are in mid-conversation when Agnes stops suddenly to point at a ring on the other woman’s hand. “Why, Wanda, I didn’t realize you were married! Who’s the lucky sucker, and how come I haven’t met them yet?” Wanda holds out her hand, and both of them admire the shiny band on her finger. “Their name is Y/N, and you don’t know because we were only married recently. The ceremony was just a short while ago, but I feel like I’ve known them all my life.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Wanda flies from her seat, hurrying over to answer. “In fact, I think that will be them right there. Oh, this is swell- I’d been hoping the two of you would meet.” Wanda opens the door to reveal her spouse, sporting 1950s attire as well, a briefcase clasped loosely in one hand. Y/N leans over to kiss their wife, then glances over at Agnes, who has risen to her feet, a somewhat stunned expression on her face.

“I see we have a guest! I don’t believe we’ve yet been introduced, my name is Y/N.” Y/N holds out their hand to Agnes, who shakes it after a second. “Agnes, dear, I’m Agnes.” The neighbour glances over at Y/N’s clothes, then flashes a cheery grin. “I love your fashion sense, honey! You’ve got to tell me where you got those slacks.” Y/N laughs. “Odds and ends from around town. I saw this purple shirt and I just couldn’t resist picking it up. I think purple’s got to be my favorite color.”

Agnes' smile twists slightly, as if thinking about an inside joke that only she happens to know. “It’s my favorite color too, dear. Looks like we have that in common.” Y/N smiles at that. “I’m afraid I’m rather late to meeting you, though. I have work in the city, which ran a little overtime.” Wanda, after taking Y/N’s coat, rejoins the two newly formed friends. “Y/N’s magic at computing. Magic’s just the right word for her, actually.”

Y/N flinches at that, turning to Wanda with a frozen smile. “Wanda, honey, I thought we weren’t supposed to be bringing that up.” Wanda just waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it-Agnes already knows everything about me. She won’t be worried by a few things that are out of the ordinary.” Y/N visibly relaxes. “That’s good to hear.” Y/N faces Agnes once more, smiling. “If you know about Wanda’s magic, then I’m assuming you’ll know about mine. I’m still not sure when to tell people or not. I don’t want a whole Salem Witch Trial on my hands, you know? That could get kind of messy.”

Agnes grimaces. “You have no idea.” A faint ripple of laughter cascades down from the audience, and Y/N smiles fondly at Wanda. “That’s part of how we met, actually. We both have similar abilities, except she’s in red and I’m in purple. It certainly helped bring us together- I don’t think anyone can really understand everything about me except her.” Agnes clasps her hands together. “That’s just darling, honestly. You two are the cutest.”

Camera zooms out on the scene, screen fades to black.

Agatha walks out of the house while Wanda is busy setting up the next scene. There’s no way Y/N could be- absolutely no way. But there are too many similarities between herself and Y/N for a coincidence- the purple, the magic, the resemblance? It couldn’t possibly be true, but yet, Agatha still has a dawning realization that Y/N could maybe, possibly, just be-

Scene opens to a new episode. The audience cheers, action!

Y/N stands, holding their young son Billy in their arms as he carefully tapes the last edge of a banner to the wall. Y/N adjusts their grip slightly, Billy’s shoes several feet above the ground so he can properly affix the banner. There’s a whooshing sound from behind them, and Y/N glances over to see their other son, Tommy, just arriving in the room. He flashes a thumbs-up and a big grin to his parent. “Everything is set. We’re ready to go!”

Y/N smiles, putting Billy back down on the ground once the banner is secure. Billy gestures excitedly to Tommy, who pulls a card out from behind his back. “We made this for you!” The boys say, identical broad grins stretching across their faces. Y/N beams at them, flipping open the card to read the message inside. “Aw, you guys are the cutest! Thank you so much!”

There’s a sound from the staircase, and all attention is instantly diverted away from the card and to Wanda, who is descending from the upper floor. She begins to enter the room. “What’s all this noise I’ve been hearing?” Wanda freezes in her tracks, taking in the room, the banner, the decorations. Billy and Tommy run up to her, shouting “Happy Mother’s Day!” to their mother and wrapping their arms around her. Wanda laughs, glancing around her with a look of awe. “You put all of this together?”

Tommy smiles exuberantly. “Well, Y/N helped us too.” Wanda nods understanding, gaze cutting across the room to her spouse. “That doesn’t surprise me.” Y/N laughs, leaning over the boys to kiss Wanda. “It was an important occasion.” Wanda grins, then her voice drops to a whisper. “Have you really been up decorating with them since early this morning?” Y/N’s eyes widen in exhaustion. “Yes. I’m going to bed at 5 tonight to make up for it.” Wanda grins. “You’re the best.”

Already, the twins are tugging at Wanda’s sleeve, pulling her over to the semi-edible breakfast they’ve prepared. Y/N watches them go, but once all eyes are off of them their grin fades away and they stand alone, looking on in melancholy. Once Y/N’s sure their family isn’t watching, Y/N slips away, out of the house through a door out back. They walk into the backyard, breathing in the refreshing air of morning.

However, it doesn’t look like they’ll be alone today. There’s a shout of greeting from the sidewalk, and Agnes starts to walk over to them, but her friendly grin drops when she sees the look on Y/N’s face. “You alright, dear?” Y/N sighs, looking away. “I should be fine, it’s just-” They break off, hesitating a few times before continuing on. “When I was very young, my mother left. My father was already out of the picture, and it was just us until, well, it wasn’t. It was one thing to have to learn how to take care of yourself when you’re so small, and it was a whole lot worse when I had to figure out all this.” Their voice drops off as they hold up a hand, purple sparks and streaks flying around their fingers.

“I was scared and alone and I had no idea how to control my magic. All I knew was that my mother abandoned me, probably because of all this.” Agnes’ face drops, and she looks shattered. “Oh, honey, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Y/N laughs bitterly. “It’s alright. Sorry to burden you with all of this so early in the morning, it was just strange seeing the boys so excited about Mother’s Day and all that. I was wondering why I didn’t have any memories like that with my mom or if I should be calling her and then I remembered.”

Agnes sighs in sad sympathy. “Well, I don’t know if this will do anything, but if it makes you feel better you can consider me your mother for now. I know it doesn’t solve anything but at least you’ve got me, you know?” Y/N smiles ruefully at that, glancing over at the dark-haired woman. “Thank you, actually. It means more than you’d think.” Y/N laughs quietly. “In that case, I think I should give you this. The boys found it from the highest quality of Hallmarks.” Y/N pulls the slightly bent card out of her pocket, and hands it over to Agnes.

Agnes laughs. “I’ll treasure it.” Y/N laughs as well. “Well, I’d better get back inside.” They start to head back over to the door, and then turn back to face their neighbour once more. “Oh, and Agatha? Thank you.” With that, they disappear through the door. Agnes stands alone in the backyard, suddenly frantic. “Wait- how did you know-that’s not my name- how did you-?”

Cameras cut to black. Ad break begins.

Agatha feels sick to her stomach. Seeing Y/N so hurt, so sad over the disappearance of their mother? It was strange seeing them like that- Y/N was always happy, always smiling, always there. Yet in the flash of an eye, their guard had come down, revealing the person within, who was far more battered and broken than Agatha could have thought. And then Y/N said Agatha’s real name-

She doesn’t know what to think. As she crosses back over the road to her house, Agatha’s head is spinning. She doesn’t want to go back to that time, to revisit that memory, but the scene is already building before her eyes. It happened many years ago, but Agatha can still see it as plain as day.

Agatha stands in the center of the witch coven, one she’d found only recently. She’d been hoping for another group of women to teach her power and control, but it had been a mistake. She can see that now, see it in the way they stand and why they’ve come. Agatha’s voice is raw with begging and pleading.

“Please, no! You can’t take my child! I’ll do anything- leave, use my power for you, anything. Just don’t take them. They’re just a child! They won’t know how to survive!” The coven shakes their heads, and the leader steps forward. Agatha shrinks away, but the witch still approaches. The leader casts a spell, one that freezes Agatha in place. The woman draws closer, takes the bundle wrapped in blankets from Agatha’s arms. The witch stares at the bundle, at the face of the child inside. “You knew the rules. They cannot be broken.”

The witch walks away. The coven melts away to follow her, and they all disappear into the night. Agatha isn’t sure when the immobility spell breaks, or if it matters at all- she couldn’t move an inch if she tried. All Agatha can think about is the child that has been ripped from her grasp, the child she was just beginning to raise as her own.

Y/N. That was the child’s name. That was the child Agatha could have had, and the child that is now gone from her forever.

Agatha’s eyes snap shut, sealing her away from the world around her. She can’t think about this anymore. She gestures idly, sending out a magical message to the show. Continue on with the episode, further the plot. Anything to distract Agnes from the pain of the past.

Return from the ad break. Scene opens with an overhead shot of the city. B-Roll is being filmed for the title sequence.

Agatha stands from a distance, watching the figures before her. Y/N and Wanda have decided on a picnic, something cute where they can bring their children along. It was a good move on Wanda’s part- they’re not saying any important lines, and park picnics are always adorable and simplistic enough to make excellent material for her next title sequence. Y/N has recovered from the memories of their past with their mother. Agatha wishes she could move on as easily, although she has a feeling that Wanda took note of her spouse’s unhappiness and wished it away in the changing of the decades.

Y/N is laughing now at a joke one of their children told them. It was a terrible joke, certainly, barely makes any sense, but that doesn’t matter because it’s a beautiful day and Y/N is happily content here with their family. Y/N reaches over to muss up the hair on Tommy’s head as the boy attempts to use his super speed on a Rubik’s Cube. Wanda hands them a sandwich, and Y/N kisses her lightly on the cheek as a thank-you. They look so happy here, so peaceful. It’s hard to imagine that it’s all happening within Wanda’s barrier, that all of this is only happening because Wanda called it up.

Y/N kneels on the red and white checked cloth of the picnic blanket, reaching for a water bottle. It’s an innocent scene, perfectly charming and everything, but Agatha flinches just for a second. It’s that movement right there, Y/N kneeling and their right arm raised in front of them. It reminds Agatha of something she saw in Wanda’s head, when she was searching for a reason as to how Wanda conjured up this entire place. Agatha winces, trying desperately to stem the flood of memory, but it’s no use. The moment is called up before her anyway.

The battleground is desolate, armies of heroes and alien mercenaries clashing all around. The sky is dark with dust and debris. Tony Stark, or the famous human hero Iron Man, sees the Infinity Gauntlet torn from Thanos’ mighty fist and begins to lunge for it, but he’s stopped by another figure, who holds out an arm to block him. Tony turns, sees a familiar face. Y/N shakes their head. “I’m not letting you do this. You have a family who needs you.” Tony puts a hand on their shoulder. “You can’t do it either. You have a life in front of you.” Y/N smiles, though it is sad and broken at the thought of the life they’re about to give up. “There are people depending on you. Tell Wanda I love her.”

With that, the witch sprints away, meeting Thanos at the gauntlet just in time to be knocked aside to the ground with a blow that shakes the earth, a blow that would have killed anyone who didn’t have Y/N’s power. The other Avengers charge Thanos again, desperately trying to fight for a world where Y/N won’t have to make the sacrifice they know is coming. It doesn’t matter. Thanos still rises, still strides towards the gauntlet.

The Mad Titan slips the gauntlet onto his hand, grimacing in agony as the power rushes over him. There’s a silence on the battlefield. Y/N claws their way out of the cracked ground around them, stands and locks gaze with the Sorcerer Supreme, who holds up one finger. Just the one, but it is enough. Y/N nods, eyes flickering shut for just a second as they reconcile themselves to what they’re about to do.

Thanos stands triumphant. His fingers are about to come together in a snap when a figure flies out of nowhere, violet magic lighting them up and making their eyes dance in a purple haze. Y/N’s hands lock around the Infinity Gauntlet, and they begin to pull it off before Thanos backhands them into a rocky outcropping.

Thanos smiles a crooked leer, speaking one last time to the assembled warriors. “I am inevitable.” He snaps his fingers, but nothing happens. Confused, he turns over his hand to see that his gauntlet is empty, and whirls around to face Y/N once more. Y/N, who is kneeling on the broken ground, whose hand is enveloped in a gauntlet of purple light, Infinity Stones displayed proudly across their knuckles. The power of the Stones should be too much for them, almost is, but they keep their cries of agony buried deep inside.

“Not anymore.”

The sound of their snapped fingers echoes across the battleground. Around them, enemy ships crumble to dust, scores of fighters turning into ash. Even the Mad Titan himself decays away, although he is the last to go. The heroes turn to each other in awe, but their smiles of victory slip away as they realize the cost. The final cost, one that cannot be erased by another snap of gauntlet-clad fingers.

Wanda flies down from the sky in a cloud of scarlet, her face a mask of calm. She rushes to Y/N’s side, helps them sit down against an overhang of metal. Wanda smiles at her love. “You saved us, Y/N, you saved us all. You did it.” Y/N opens their mouth to speak, but can’t, and settles for a quiet smile of their own. Their face, arm, entire right side of their body is split open from the brunt of the Infinity Stones, a hundred scars and gashes crisscrossing across them. Wanda cradles Y/N’s face in her hands. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Y/N nods, just the once, and then their eyes lose that light, the light they’d always seemed to spark and carry. The last remnants of purple charms and magic fade from their body. It is only now that Wanda allows herself to lose her painted picture of serenity, allowing her face to twist with the grief and sadness of a lifetime. Y/N is dead. Y/N is dead. Y/N is dead.

Agatha stares at the happy family in the park, at Y/N in the center. Y/N L/N, Avenger, was buried a couple of weeks ago. Agatha came to Westview to find out how Wanda had so much power flowing right at her fingertips, and was later joined by S.W.O.R.D. or whatever that organization was called. Between the two of them, there’s no doubt that Wanda will be forced to leave this daydream behind and join reality, but Agatha doesn’t know if she can take it. Agatha doesn’t even know if Agatha can take it, to be honest. At some point in the future, there will be a time when Agatha will have to watch her own child fade away into nothingness once more, gone at last.

It’s strange to think that Agatha technically hadn’t met her child at all, that this Y/N is just a projection of Wanda’s power, but they’d grown so close. Agatha bites her tongue, trying to focus on the physical pain instead of the knowledge that haunts her, that she’ll have to say goodbye to her child once and for all. Then she turns, and walks away. The family remains at the park, one witch among them smiling and laughing for all to see.

#wandavision #wandavision spoilers #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #scarlet witch #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagines #wanda maximoff oneshot #scarlet witch oneshot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagines

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seraphimguks · 4 years

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roses, poetry and jeon.

☾ pairing: bookstore employee!jungkook x reader

★ summary: Between the pieces of sappy poetry and dried rose petals hidden in every book you buy from the local bookstore; you fall in love with the anonymously enigmatic writer.

➳ genre: bookstore au, enemies to lovers-ish?, fluff, slight angst

☂ words: 12k

♡ a/n: hellooo! So, after countless days and nights working on this, I’m VERY proud as to how it came out to be. I don’t have any experience as a bookstore employee so please forgive me if I made some mistakes! Also, all the poetry compositions have been written by yours truly hehe. I really hope you guys enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it! Let me know how you felt (reblogs and comments go a long way!) c:

~*~

The sunlight filtering through your window was a familiar feeling. As it warmed your covers, you lazily turned to the other side of your bed hoping to find a cooler spot to resume your slumber. When not even cocooning yourself helped, you angrily pulled your blanket over your frame and let the heat take the win for this one.

You opened your eyes and took a minute to take in your surroundings. You felt like your party-hungry college student-self waking up one morning on someone else’s bathroom floor that wasn’t yours. In that reverie, you winced as you could almost taste the vodka at the back of your throat and the puke roiling up in your stomach.

A half open book lay face down on your nightstand and dried up drool pooled near the top of your pillow, possibly because you dozed off in between. You checked your phone, and was relieved that it was the weekend. There were no messages from work, you wanted to jump up in joy like you were a child on sugar rush.

Your job as a market assistant was good, and although you enjoyed the work, sometimes it felt dry and you lost all enthusiasm to continue. Your boss was an asshole, you really wanted to smack him. Your colleagues were no less either, but in all speaking you didn’t want to change your job yet because it paid well to give you a good apartment room and four-square meals a day.

Even thinking about work made you upset. You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your head on them because you were just too tired. Deep down in your conscious, you knew you couldn’t pursue your true passion for financial reasons and because it was just a dying profession.

Thoughts aside, you decided to treat yourself to the weekend by going to the bookstore just around your block. You loved bookstores, it was your favourite retreat growing up when your father would come and pick out the books you wanted to borrow. You were a very avid reader as a child, however as the homework started piling up as you went up a grade, there was no time to wiggle some reading time in between the cracks of your heavy schedule. Until now.

The bookstore opened five years ago, a cozy place that usually met a lukewarm crowd on weekends. You were a regular there. The owner, Kim Namjoon, was few years elder to you but was polite, handsome and very well read despite having a demanding position at his accounting job. Namjoon had opened the bookstore as a part-time thing to stay rooted to his love for literature, and since his profession earned well, he was able to recruit two or three employees to help him out when he was at work.

Ji Changmin was the cutest employee there, and honestly you couldn’t deny that part of the reason why you headed up to the cozy establishment was to see him. He had an ebullient disposition with lovely dimples that you couldn’t help but think was cute. He always greeted new customers with a wide smile and you stifled a laugh when you remembered his extremely loud shriek when one of the customers accidentally dropped a book. The poor boy almost fell from the ladder when he was trying to sort out the books on the highest shelf.

He was a dance major at the nearby University and his shifts were on the weekends, the two days when he was free. He often came to the store disheveled from practicing on his own, but he still managed to clean up and look flawless in a simple apron uniform.

You also knew that the first weekend of the new month meant fresh arrivals – so not only were you going to see your favourite employee (you would never tell Changmin, of course) and get some eye-candy, but also browse through the new novels waiting to be read by fellow bookworms like yourself. Maybe even eye Changmin over the top of the pages you read, and knowing him long enough he would probably be practicing few steps of his dance routine, and oh didn’t he look sexy.

And with that said, you were ready in flat 15 minutes.

~*~

The conundrum of living in cities was known to you – the whizz of scooters going by in the morning, the delightful screams of school children returning from class in the afternoon and the shutters of karaoke bars and clubs opening up for the evening.

That’s why you were so relieved that the apartment you were housing in was located in a sleepy neighbourhood, where the hustle-bustle was less pronounced. It was also near a subway that took you effortlessly to work. The street which you lived in mostly had all the necessities you could ask for, from grocery markets, a hospital, small cafes, retail stores, and of course, a medium-sized bookstore.

Fact and Fiction Bookstore was a store squeezed in between a medical shop and an apartment, just a couple of blocks from your place. It always had a wooden signboard that had “Open” and “Closed” in hand drawn letters and the interiors were festooned with decorative pendant lamps that lit the room in a golden halo. Walnut coloured, skyscraper height bookshelves lined the walls in even spaces, from classics to children’s books to study materials. There were few wooden stools scattered hither and tither and a small cash register at the extreme center, that led to the store room in the back. Overall, the shop had a modern yet minimalistic look that was to your liking.

As you walked inside of Fact and Fiction, you heard the familiar bell chime as you pushed open the doors. You made it just in time, and of course there were no customers there. You smiled a bit, knowing that Changmin might just be around and you could have some quality time with him for a bit. But instead of seeing Changmin usually wiping the bookshelves carefully, you were surprised to see Namjoon in his place.

“Oh Y/N! So nice to see you this morning,” Namjoon smiled, walking up to you. Namjoon never came on weekends, and if he did, it was when one of the employees were unable to work anymore. But that was very rare. Could that mean-

“Hey Namjoon,” You said, trying to mask the slight disappointment. “I thought you didn’t come on weekends?”

“I don’t, but now I guess I have to,” He laughed, returning to clean the bookshelves at the far right of the room.

“Why, what happened to Changmin?” You faked playing it cool by taking a book off the Bestseller’s shelf.

“He had to leave, he got scouted by an entertainment agency couple days ago. He’s going to be a trainee,” Namjoon shouted from the opposite side of the room.

As much as your heart felt like it fell from the sky, that you were no longer going to be ogling over the button eyed boy now, you felt a surge of happiness at Changmin finally achieving his lifelong dream to be an idol. It would take some years, but seeing him on the big screen – possibly even cuter – made your heart flutter. Of course, Namjoon was handsome too, so you didn’t mind stealing glances at him now that you no other choice.

“So, what are you going to do, now that he’s gone?” You asked. Surely the other two employees would be a replacement, you thought.

“I already hired a new employee; he’s going to be in charge in weekends now,” Namjoon wiped his hands on the cloth and disappeared into the storeroom.”

You silently nodded to yourself. It was silence now, just you and the books. Evidently you moved to the New Arrivals section, picking an interesting book cover and started reading the first chapter.

As soon as you ensconced in the setting, you heard the door open with the low chatter of what you assumed were female college students.

You heard footsteps. Someone from the other end of the store, presumably the new employee, greeted them in the conventional fashion bookstore employees usually do.

"What may I help you ladies with?"

The hair on the back of your neck stood. Your ears perked up out of its own volition. The vibrations in your heart quickened. Your knees suddenly felt weak, goosebumps erupting on every inch of your skin. You felt the air shifting, as if the coffee toned floorboard beneath you was angled and moved on its own accord.

You've heard that voice before. No, you knew that voice. You started to panic, leaving the book you were reading on the wrong shelf and scurrying past the aisles to the center of the room, where the voice seemingly came from.

You tried to recall where and whom the voice belonged to. The vestiges of your brain that locked out certain memories of your high school unlocked. Your mind worked like a tape recorder left on fast forward. If what you thought was right, it seemed as if that voice belonged to a certain five foot something, a mean, nitpicking, lanky teenager that went by the name –

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes widened immediately. The second you laid eyes on your high school enemy, your legs went cold. You stood there gawking at the boy – now a man – and couldn't for a second fathom why, in all places, he just had to work here in the same neighborhood you lived in. For a second you were cursing Namjoon, but honestly how could that innocent and charming aficionado, unalike Jungkook, know who your high school nemesis was?

Jungkook too, seemed flustered by your appearance, hand straight away behind his neck as he looked at you sheepishly. He aged well, you thought for a moment. He was no longer the gangly teenager that he was; he was bulky, with budding muscles on his arms if you strained your eyes just a bit. He grew out of his ridiculous mushroom haircut, settling for a fringe that slightly kissed the top of his eyes. He grew taller, no doubt, and this time he grew into his features, a square face with a visible jawline that could, quite literally cut glass.

Your history with Jungkook was clear as day. You guys were classmates in high school for four years. The then 15-year-old used to tease you every chance he got. He used to make fun of what you wore, the pieces of writing you wrote and why you always received the highest scores in literature class. Even when he asked for your help in getting better scores in English, he would always speak with a hint of sarcasm and impatience. You left high school cursing him through and through, but was happy you'd never get to see or run into him ever again. Until today.

"Hi Y/N," he said.

"Jungkook," you took a step forward, crossing your arms. This was habit you did as a form of defensive mechanism. Sure, whatever teenage Jungkook said to you during your high school years were long past, but it did put a dent in your self-esteem even if a bit. Maybe your teenage self still feels that the grown up Jungkook would once again sputter mean words to you even though high school was a good while back. “Been long.”

"Yeah, you're right. It's so good to see you again, I mean, I never expected," his voice soft, kind. Of all things, this was the most surprising. You tried to forget how shockingly attractive he turned out to be.

"Ditto," You said, unsure of what else to say. You looked down at your shoes, circling one foot around the other. "So how do you know Namjoon?"

"Oh, Hyung and I go way back. He used to tutor me in high school. Maths, geography, literature, you name it. I owe it to him, for making me pass. I heard he was looking for work so I decided to step in."

Oh, so that's why. The pieces were falling in place now. It did feel nice to catch up with an old high school ‘acquaintance’ of sorts, so you kept aside the qualms of your bullying experiences aside.

"Hey, now that you're here, I never got to say that I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you in high school. I was dumb, stupid really, I mean, dumb and stupid are the same thing, but what I mean is-"

"It's okay, Jungkook. I'm long past it, to be honest. You're forgiven." You manage a small smile, your insides warming with his thoughtfulness. What was even sweet was that he appeared a bit nervous, even though the line seemed rehearsed - it made you think as if he'd been saying this apology to himself so many times as if he would meet you again one day and say it.

Now that the mood was lighter, few more customers began pouring in. You let Jungkook continue with his work even though you wanted to know details about his life now. You resumed reading the book, considered even making this the first purchase in a long time, before Jungkook waddled up to you suggesting that he was free to talk.

"So," Jungkook began slowly, leaning over the wall opposite the bookshelf. “You live here?

“Just a couple of blocks from here. What about you?”

“Oh no, I took the subway here. It’s bit far from my boxing center at home,” he smiles, bowing at new customers who already seemed to know what to look for. You noticed when he smiled that the one thing that didn’t change about Jungkook was his doe eyes. God, they were so misleading to anyone else who didn’t know him well.

And wow, that explained the muscles. Jeon Jungkook having his own boxing center? You pegged Jungkook as being unemployed after high school because if you recall correctly, his grades were dismal. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?

“Wow, boxing center huh? How’s that going?” You kind of feigned interest, nodding your head more than usual whereas you just wanted to read.

“Great actually. I took business in college, and it really got me thinking. So, I pulled some strings and opened a center, that way I could practice and so can everyone else. It’s going pretty good,” he nodded satisfyingly.

You give him a sad smile. He was doing something he liked. You were too, but not exactly.

“So, do you still write poetry?” He asks, knowing he’d been talking too much about himself.

Ah, that was your sour spot. Your true passion. Writing poetry. Those years in high school you realized nothing gave you true happiness than what the joy of words did. You never wanted to make a career out of anything if it didn’t happen to include writing. However, prospects in becoming a writer were perilously low and by the time you finished your first year in college, you realized you had a take different direction if you wanted to lead a financially stable life to pay off your loans.

“Oh, that.” You shrugged, another one of your defense mechanisms. Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted questioningly. You weren’t one to call poetry as ‘that’.

“Well, I learnt poetry can get you far enough as someone with a dying YouTube career, sadly as it is. It's a beautiful profession, but I needed to make ends meet. So currently I'm working as assistant marketing manager at this company an hour away.” You tried to seem as content as possible.

“How is it?” Jungkook now had to go and take to some customers but he was still listening to you.

“It's great!”

It's fucking tedious. Sometimes I want to scream, tear some papers and run around like a maniac.

“I love my boss and my teammates.”

My boss is a sexist, misogynistic prick and my teammates love to kiss his ass.

“There are days when I don't even think about poetry.”

I think about it every single second that I'm at work. I can’t even write cause I’m so packed with stuff to do.

Jungkook laughs as he aligns some books in the correct angles. "You were a good student in high school. With those grades, getting that job must have been piece of cake for you. Although, it must suck not to write because of your work.”

You’re telling me.

The book you were previously reading wasn’t that interesting as you thought. You moved over to the Poetry section, skimming your fingers over the covers of books. You saw a familiar title and took it out. It was the same book of poems that your school had given as part of your Literature syllabus. This book made you fall in love with words and what they mean. You looked inside and to your relief, it had all the poems of love, tragedy and loss that you came to love when you studied them meticulously when you were still a student.

Your favourite poems were I Dream of You by Christina Rossetti and Rooms by Charlotte Mew. You longed for a romance like the ones they described in stanzas, but only seldom in your life did you come across someone who shared the love of sappy poetry like you did.

“Rooms, huh? I love that poem,” Your head sharply whipped towards Jungkook’s direction, who was now curiously studying the book you had in hand.

Jungkook, liking poetry? The same lad who made fun of all the writers for being over-dramatic over love, was now saying he liked poetry?

“Surprising, I know. But like, if anyone found out the guy on the football team shared a secret love for prose and poetry, I would’ve been thrown out,” He shrugs lightly. You understood, your school solely ran on conservative values of toxic masculinity and favouritism. You managed to survive all of that, thankfully.

You and Jungkook then engaged in a discussion on the best poems and writing you guys read, surprised at his wide knowledge and the opinions he had to share. You agreed on many, disagreed with a few. But one thing you realized was that maybe meeting Jungkook wasn’t such a bad thing at all, you guys could finally be friends.

You decided to buy your book of poems. You haven’t seen this book in ages and it would be nice to add to your collection anyway.

As you handed over the book to Jungkook to check out, your hands touched only slightly. Jungkook gave you a small, shy smile, and you returned it. Right before he was going to give you the bill, his hands awkwardly hovered over the register for a moment.

“Wait,” he quickly remembered. “I have to put a stamp inside of this. It’s a way of checking what books are purchased. Work regulations. Give me a sec?”

You nodded and he disappeared into the store room for a good 10 minutes. You waited as you looked around the store for the nth time and wondering when you’d be back again. Jungkook suddenly returned, looking a little sweaty even though the air-conditioner was still on. He wiped his sweat using a towel next to the register and handed over the book to you with both hands.

You smiled at your purchase, tucking it in your bag and respectfully bowing to Jungkook before you decided to make your leave. As soon as you turned your heel towards the door, Jungkook awkwardly extended a hand to you.

“So, what do you say, friends?” His eyes were looking down, to hide his embarrassment. You thought it was cute. You extended your hand too.

“Friends.”

~*~

The sky had enveloped the sun the same way it always did during sundown. You settled comfortably in your duvet, taking out the book inside the paper bag that had the initials F.F. printed in large colourful letters. You placed the book gingerly between your legs as you scanned the hard cover.

You inhaled the pages, the smell settling somewhere in your bones. Then you began reading. It was sunset when you started and then midnight when you got to the middle. You held back a yawn as you decided to call it a day and then get to work from tomorrow. You were putting a bookmark inside the page you stopped at when something like a scrap of paper fell out of the book.

Carefully, you kept your book on the night stand and picked up the fragment and turned it over.

The paper looked as if it were torn from a notebook. What looked like a poem was written in the childish scrawl of a 10-year old, but it didn’t seem reasonable that a child would write something with such thought and maturity.

Thousands of libraries will never exhaust

How you wander in the loveliest recesses of my thoughts,

An angel fallen from heaven,

Am I merely just a spectre in your presence?

Your fingers possess secrets in every page that you write

But how would it feel my dear,

if the hands that touched your skin, were I?

Books may command your attention

But I mean no harm,

But beyond the classroom walls, here is my confession

That it fatigues me that to remain a boy who will love you from afar.

You stared at the paper for a while.

The poem was no doubt very beautiful, suggestive even. Unrequited love always made the best poems, you knew. You imagined a love-struck young boy penning down this very poem for his classmate in the back of his Algebra book, thinking it would never be seen by anyone else except him. What you loved most was that in each verse, the writer made his best effort to form an analogy between his lover’s passion for books and his passion for her. And to top it all, you and this girl shared your love for books.

But how did such a sensitive piece of writing wind up in your poetry book?

The paper didn’t match the quality of the paper of your recent buy, obviously. Namjoon was also not one to keep second-hand or used books in his store either. Was someone else reading the book and somehow slipped this inside? But the writing seemed very personal and it would be irresponsible for someone to misplace something like this.

You shrugged it off later, safely keeping the piece in one of your night stand drawers. Just when you were about to place your treasured book of poems in your book case, rose petals from the book fell to the floor.

Gasping, you picked the bunch in your hands, the petals bearing an angry crimson shade. Roses were your favourite flower, so you couldn’t but smell the petals that lay within your reach.

But if anything, it only multiplied the questions in your head as to how, when and why both the love poem and the petals were in the book in the first place.

~*~

You forgot about the poem and the rose petals until you found yourself going back to Fact and Fiction the next week. Surprisingly, work load was less but you didn’t want to be one to ask why.

It was a sunny afternoon. You got the news that a sequel to one of your favourite series released few days ago. You were sure that Namjoon would keep a neat pile of the sequel somewhere in his bookstore.

Jungkook was already at the register handing a customer his receipt when he noticed you entering through the glass door. He gave a small wave as you scuttered to the New Arrival’s section. Anxiously, you browsed through the section until you finally saw the familiar title.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you muttered, the pads of your fingertips feeling the glossy hardcover. You had only turned to the front page when a dark-haired someone appeared by your side.

“Seriously, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? Heard it didn’t get good reviews,” Jungkook smirks at you.

“Didn’t get good reviews my ass,” you mock him, going back to reading. The boy shakes his head and lets you read as he helps a customer find a certain book. More customers started to pour in, and soon Jungkook is up and running across the store every five minutes. You felt sorry for him, but then you realised with all his working out, running across a five thousand feet store was practically nothing.

It was just you in the store when it was evening. Jungkook leaned on the wall, resting his head on the counter in respite. You smiled dejectedly at him, wanting to say something to light the mood.

“So, how is Taehyung and Jimin? We couldn’t really catch up properly,” you said, sitting on one of the tools.

Jungkook sighed, almost happy that he could have one conversation today that wasn’t about foraging book titles of books ceased producing copies anymore.

“Jimin is good,” he said, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand. “He’s working at this law firm in Australia. Taehyung is pursuing his Master’s in Europe, something in cultural studies.’

“Wow,” the jealously in your voice was slightly apparent. You did work at a well-known company, but still, working abroad was a different league altogether.

“Gosh, can you believe how messed up we three were? Always fooling around, teachers said we wouldn’t amount to anything,” Jungkook reminisced, leaning his elbows on the counter now.

“I remember,” you laughed. “Especially when Taehyung pranked Mr. Choi with that whoopie cushion and Mrs. Kang when you drew her face on the board one day.”

“I think even Mrs. Kang laughed at that drawing herself, it was pretty impressive,” he smirks, lips breaking into a cocky grin. “

“And I think everyone remembers how you made Hae-ri cry in front of the whole class when you broke up with her,” you chucked, remembering the incident. Hae-ri and Jungkook sort of were going out in the middle of eleventh grade, but you always heard rumours how Jungkook was just playing around, like boys always did.

“Come on, Hae-ri and I were a joke. Can’t help it if she took us seriously,” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He clearly wasn’t interested in her as much as she was. As much as the others girl were really, even though to you he was what you always thought he was – a stupid, mean and lanky adolescent. “To think of it, I couldn’t help if I was a bit popular.”

“Oh, you were the cynosure of all eyes, Kook,” you smiled, looking down. It was true. Jungkook always carried an aura of confidence was that infectious. The kind of charm that made heads turn when he walked in the room, the type of startling charisma that was unnatural of a fifteen-year-old.

“Everyone’s eyes except yours,” he emphasised, crossing his arms over another.

“I mean, you hated me. We hated each other,” You state matter-of-factly, as you got up from the stool to the counter to make your purchase. “I can’t believe I even tried to be nice with you.”

Jungkook faced you with an expression on his face you couldn’t decipher. “I didn't hate you, not completely.”

That was news. You always thought Jungkook and his little gang were out to torture every weakling in school. Jungkook especially liked to torture you, so it would be an understatement to say you were a bit surprised.

“Which part of your icky teenage self,” you jabbed a finger in his shoulder playfully. “-even tolerated me?”

“The part that tolerated you thought you were special. And you still are, Y/N. Special.” He repeated.

There was a twinkle in his eyes when he spoke that you didn’t miss. Your heart felt like it was floating, warmed by the how Jungkook meant every word he said about you. Your stomach did this thing where it felt like a million bees were swarming around when you felt shy. A blast of warmth shot up your arms. The feeling lingered even when you pushed The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes in his direction.

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t wipe off his face after you had given your payment. The silence seemed unusual, did you just share an intimate, if brief, moment with your high school foe? Why had he called you special? You never stood out even when you were classmates, so why was he saying this now?

“I’ll go stamp this, yeah?” he cuts the silence. You nod, and he vanishes into the storeroom again. He comes back five minutes later this time and hands you the paper bag. You take your leave and silently leave the store.

What you don’t see is Jungkook’s gaze following you intently as you pull the door, walk across the street from the store and disappear into the night.

~*~

You returned home, your laptop greeting you with tons of messages from work. You cursed each of them, especially the one from your boss asking you to revise last week’s updates even though you emailed in a bunch of times saying you did. You pulled an all-nighter as you completed the tasks expected of you. By the time you were done, it was already two-thirty in the night.

You flopped on your bed, your body relaxing as it hit the soft covers. You breathed a sigh of relief as you pulled out your purchase from the paper bag.

You suddenly remembered the poem and the petals. You decided it would be weird, but you turned the book over as if you were expecting the same contents to pool from it. And sure enough, you were right.

Not one, but two pieces of notebook scraps settled onto your lap with some blue coloured rose petals. Your mind did a mental ‘what the fuck?’ before picking up the petals and placing them on your night stand. You picked the scraps and read them, never expecting what you would find.

Help me, for I am surrounded by loquacious ghosts

Yet you stand there, a beauty in flesh and bone

Women would die for me,

yet my mind echoes only your name

Break me from my reverie,

To kiss you in the blue sweater that hugs your delicate frame

You eye me with pure hate, yet is I to blame

I treat you wrongly,

But only to hide my love for you – if you push me away.

You read the second one now.

Blue,

It is the colour of the sweater you wear every first Monday of the month

The pencil you write poems at the top of your chemistry notebook,

The rain as it brushes against your skin when you're late to class

The look on your face when you're happy

The sound of my heart when you walk past my seat at the cafeteria table

The smile you wear when your friends hook their arms around yours

And my love for you that will never be requited.

Cold sweat broke out on your spine. This wasn't some love poem that was mistakenly placed in your book. It felt like the poems were directed at you. Even the first poem made you feel slightly suspicious because you had a resemblance to the girl mentioned in it.

You tried to knit all three poems together, because all those years in poetry class made you an expert at analysing. You found a connection. They were written by someone in high school.

The love for books, the pencil, the sweater, the behaviour traits, all reminded you of your teenage self from years ago. It was so intricate, as if this person had been observing you through a lens in class for years.

It was someone that you hated and he hated you too, but then again, you hated a lot of people in high school, and they too, you felt, disliked you. You had few friends, however good ones, all of which whom you remained in contact today.

Who could this person be? He definitely had outstanding poetry skills, the words worming its way into your heart ever since you had the first poem. You felt shy. Someone, in your class, liked you behind a mask of hatred. Your body contracted as you concluded that you had a mystery writer sending you messages with every book you bought. You wondered why you were living in the dark for a long time.

How had this not happened earlier? Why was it that before buying the book, it didn’t seem to have any individual contents in it, but after taking it home, it did?

You wanted more answers. You wanted to write back, but whom would you be writing to? You didn't know this person or his address. You realised that this was a one-way connection. You could only build your assumption if you had more poems to build them on.

And that could only happen if you happened to go to a certain bookstore couple of blocks from your apartment.

~*~

You went there the next weekend, on a cold Sunday morning. You kept the mystery poet a secret to yourself, although it haunted you for the whole week while you were at work.

As the weeks ensued, work was piling up, but you felt at peace when you were there among the books and Jungkook's company. The weekends went by with Jungkook narrating funny stories of certain customers he encountered, high school memories, work schedules, and of course books.

“No, Dark Places was absolutely not one of Gillian Flynn’s best works,” you commented, one evening.

“But the Satanic vibe was cool, you have to admit,” Jungkook’s voice was lost as he piled books in front of a stand.

Jungkook was a diligent worker for a newbie; he polished the shelves and smoothened out dog-eared books. He always checked the register and counted the cash, aligned the books the correct way, made note of what books were available and those which needed immediate restocking. He lost his callous attitude of high school years, but you berated yourself for always comparing his high school habits to the Jungkook now.

You rolled your eyes. “Have you read Karin Slaughter’s books though?”

You could feel his smirk from behind the stack of books. “Pretty Girls.”

“The Good Daughter.” You argued.

“Pretty Girls was grislier. I like.” God, you wanted to lunge a book at this guy. Everything gory or Satanic amused him, it seemed.

Jungkook was funnier than you imagined with the comedic antics he sometimes pulled off, by failing at twirling a book in his hands to accidentally hitting his head on the storeroom door behind the register. He sometimes flirted here and there, which was mostly harmless. But you couldn’t forget that time in the store when he called you special. The look he gave, the sincerity behind it, how genuine it felt.

You kept buying books and of course the love letters kept emerging along with the roses. You still had no idea who this person was, but as time went by, you kept falling more and more in love. You kept the petals in your journal. They did dry off, but you kept them regardless. You always kept the poems in your drawer, neatly piled into one corner. Sometimes, you pressed them close to your chest as if the words would somehow leap up from the page, dissolve into your rib cages and settle near your heart.

But one stormy morning that you were at the bookstore, you were weighed down by how work was progressing. The company had faced some setbacks, so you were responsible for getting the hearing from your boss. You tried to mask your sadness until you see Jungkook doing something suspicious near the centre of the room.

There was a small stand, where usually books were heaped into a mountain of paperbacks. It looked as if the boy was trying to pile the books in a house of cards fashion. The experiment was bound to fail, and Jungkook was lucky Namjoon was never here on weekends to see what was about to be happen.

But you help him instead.

“Do you like working here, Kook?” you tried to sound nonchalant. You hand him two books at a time, while he dexterously stabilised a book on top of another.

“I do,” he replies. “It’s relaxing. Especially when I’m not sweaty and working out all the time. Why?”

“It’s just, I hate my work environment you know, and I miss writing– “

Jungkook eyes you worriedly as he stops midway through the activity. You don’t notice and hand him some books anyway, but they fall right at the edge of the pile and the whole stack falls down on both of you like dominoes.

Jungkook falls back first on the ground, catching you as you fall on his stomach. Your faces are inches away from each other, but you rest your head on his chest, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! See? I’m such a mess. I can’t do anything right, I’m a failure, I’m-“

Jungkook rests his hand on your back and the other hand gently stroking your forehead. You picked up on his hesitance, as if he was asking your body to relax as a signal that he was comforting you. You did relax, you felt as ease. The weeks when you were around him, you never felt comfortable with anyone in your life. Let alone the fact that he was attractive, erm, cute – but he was probably one of the best people you knew.

“Shut up okay? You're amazing. Those assholes at work don't know how talented you are. You're amazing.” Jungkook whispered, rubbing your back in small circles. “I…I sometimes don’t like working at my centre either. The toxic masculinity over there makes me want to puke. I hate the environment, and sometimes I think I’m the one who sparked it.

He wraps both arms round you now, and you're reminded again literally, that being surrounded by books and Jungkook was what led you to Fact and Fiction every weekend. You two lie there for a good ten seconds, before you realised that a customer may walk in any moment. There was also the mess to sort out.

You help Jungkook up, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“I can’t really see you cry, I start crying too,” Jungkook jokes, as he hands you a tissue from the tissue box. Always so concerned, you took note. “Is there something that keeps you happy apart from books? Y-you could try and do that?”

"Actually,” you sniff. “There is something that keeps me happy these days. Someone keeps writing me love letters."

There, your secret finally revealed. Jungkook gaped you, as if he didn’t believe it. Honestly, you didn’t either until you made the connection yourself.

He proceeded to ask you details of the discovery, and was shocked himself when you told him of how you thought the person could be someone from high school. It really got him thinking. He named each classmate you’ve ever had an interaction with, but you couldn’t picture any of them having any interest in you.

How did your mystery writer/(lover?) know so much about you? Little details, little quirks. Was he a stalker? But how did he know exactly which books you bought and when?

"Well, maybe you should write something of your own too. Maybe like, in response to how you feel when you read his poems.” The boy suggested, picking the books from the floor, dusting them before putting it in a box next to him.

You mirrored his actions. You pondered over the thought for a while though. Writing to him would be a way to practice your writing that you thought you lost. It was a great idea; you were doing it for yourself. And then if you ever meet this mystery guy, you would show him too.

“Wait, before you leave,” the doe-eyed boy stops your tracks. The books were successfully placed in the box, and you were helping him put it in the sore room when he asks you to wait.

Jungkook walks you toward the end of the room. He picks out a book and shows you the cover. It’s a limited-edition copy of one of your favourite authors of all time, and signed. You wondered what it was doing at the back, when it should be out in front.

“I saved this copy, just for you,” Jungkook’s cheeks blushed a tinge of pink. “I remembered how much you liked his work in school. And I’m willing to give this to you, half the price.”

You ran and hugged Jungkook the tightest hug you had ever given someone in years. He laughed, returning the hug. You felt like the luckiest girl, customer, (whatever!) and you almost felt bad because you had gotten something exclusive for a discount because you knew the employee, anyone else would have paid fortunes for this. You thought about declining, but Jungkook really insisted.

“Don’t think about refusing. I’ll go stamp this before you make your payment,” he says before you could protest.

Really, where had Jungkook been all this time? So much kindness, this boy was brimming with endless love that you thought you didn’t deserve. After a while, he comes out and you hand him the cash.

As you say your goodbyes and make your leave, Jungkook says “And please don’t cry, wouldn’t want to taint that pretty face, right?”

Something stirred in your heart. You had just started seeing Jungkook as a man, was it now that he started seeing you as a woman? A blush creeps up your neck as you contemplate the thought all the way home.

~*~

You carefully keep the purchase on your bed. Taking out the scraps of love poems from your drawer, you needed to look at your muse before you started writing on your own.

You stretched your hands, pen in hand, ready to recreate wonders when it hit the paper. But you were blank. It’s like your mind had wired out all the imaginations you had kept stored for the last couple of years. You fell flat on your desk, exhaustion over coming you. Had you really lost your touch? Your parents, teachers and friends always praised you for your writing skills, have you let them down? But you weren’t really going to quit this easily.

You looked at your purchase. There must be another poem hidden inside. As if controlled by an entity, you opened the book, flipped the leaves and saw the very page sitting in between the middle pages. You removed the pink rose petals too, your guy never seemed to forget adding them in. You turned the scrap over.

Today I heard your laugh

Setting my heart in a frenzied trance

The purest sound even the sweetest nightingale could not match

Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass

The most beautiful treasure, I can never have.

Your eyes watered. It was a poem tinier from the rest, but this one struck something within you. “Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass”, the words feeling sweeter every time you repeated them. You couldn’t believe someone, who was so far from you, could love you this vehemently.

Suddenly, you had found your strength. You were going to write. You were doing this for him. For you.

You picked up the pen and the words just came to you. It was a struggle, but it was a start, you console yourself. You never imagined you would be writing a love letter to someone you had never seen, touched and spoke to, but you didn’t care. Your hands worked away, filling the page in front of you.

But your mind echoed the same mantra over, and over again: I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us.

~*~

It's three weeks later that you decide to do an experiment. It's been quite a while since you've been to the store, and the poems stopped coming as well. Work was driving you crazy. You knew sometime in this week you had to drop by the bookstore, so you decided to see if your mystery lover came on the weekdays.

Another employee whom you didn’t know personally and Namjoon were there. Jungkook, of course, was nowhere in sight like you guessed. Namjoon gives you a wave from the register as he speaks to a customer. You knew that you already had too many books, but today was crucial if you wanted to see if your experiment worked out. You could also return the book after you bought it, granted you brought it in after fifteen days. You could buy a book for someone else; your mystery man would never know you were buying it for yourself. Yeah, that’s what you decided do.

You picked up a random title from the shelf and made your way to the counter. The store was mostly empty, except one or two customers. Everybody was busy on a weekday.

As you made your payment, you noticed Namjoon stamping the inside of the book before handing it over to you. The counter was designed in a way so that a person standing a normal distance away couldn’t see what was inside of it. So naturally, your eyes furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t you have to go inside and stamp?” You asked, wondering if Namjoon made the wrong stamp. Even the brightest minds can forget.

“What do you mean? Namjoon looked at as if you had said the most ridiculous thing ever.

"Like whenever Jungkook checks out a book, he goes into the storeroom and stamps? It’s a rule?" You weren’t being sure of what you were saying right now. You sounded like a poor student explaining the concept of rocket physics to a professor.

"Oh, I don't know why he does that, since there's already a stamp here." He holds up a plastic rubber stamp like someone would hold an antique. "And I mean, you could do that, since there are few spare ones in the storeroom, but that’s like extra effort you have to put in. I'm not sure why he does that."

You nodded, kind of silent.

"Does he do that to you or for every customer?"

You realise you never even noticed this. Usually when the store had customers, you were engrossed in reading or looking at books. You never even wondered if Jungkook went to the storeroom to stamp all the books that were purchased. The bookstore would be very crowded during weekends, and the time taken for Jungkook to go and come back usually takes five or ten minutes. Surely, he would’ve taken one of the stamps to the counter itself cause the journey would be too tiring. But you didn’t know for sure what he did for other customers. You slapped yourself in your head for being so ignorant.

You left the store with an uncertainty heavy on your chest.

You return home. Billions of questions bounced from one corner of your mind to another in an intense ping-pong battle. What was worse, when you looked inside the book you bought, there was no poem. No rose petals either.

Could it be that Jungkook knew your mystery guy? Was he the one slipping in the poems when you made your purchase? Did your guy come in the middle of the week and hand Jungkook his writing and leave it up to him to do the favour? Is that why there were no poems or roses today, cause Jungkook wasn’t at work?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the best way to handle your doubts was to confront Jungkook.

You noticed that you needed to buy groceries for the night. You just had take-out for three days in a row and now the thought of Chinese food made you feel icky. You hit yourself on the head for not buying groceries earlier after you were at at the store. You took your purse and made it in time at the grocery before closing.

Once you were done, you stepped out with your heavy paper bag and saw it was pouring heavily. Pedestrians were already waiting outside the store, hoping the rain would subside soon. Nobody suspected today that it would rain and neither did you.

“Fuck,” you muttered, you didn’t bring an umbrella. The bookstore was just across the grocery. It had a bigger shade, enough to cover seven people from the rain. You silently thanked Namjoon’s choice of constructing the store as you launched yourself across the street.

Jungkook was standing under the shed, looking for something in his bag. You didn’t notice he was there until he called your name.

“Y/N!” his eyes lit up. Desperate, your eyes searched his hands. He was carrying an umbrella. You breathed easier.

“Oh hey,” you say, the rain making it hard for you to be audible. Raindrops pounded against the shed like fists banging a door. “I thought you didn’t work on weekdays?”

“I don’t,” he said. “I was meeting someone here for work.” You nodded, wondering how would bring up the topic of the poems. Maybe you would ask him on Saturday, two days from now. Right at this moment, didn’t seem like the best time.

“Would you mind dropping me off at the subway, though? It’s just near my place,” you knew you sounded desperate, but you needed to get back home. You remembered he had to take the subway to get home too. Jungkook violently nodded his head as he opened his umbrella. You both started walking, shivering slightly at the cold.

"Hey, come closer. Don't want to get your pretty outfit wet," Jungkook huddled you closer to his side, wrapping a hand around your waist for purchase. Your cheeks reddened, maybe at the way the wind whipped your skin or the fact that no one's ever been this near you.

As the space between you and Jungkook closed, you looked at the boy who was always so concerned with your well-being. He had been occupying your thoughts lately. Maybe because of his dorky personality or because he was very smouldering in person, but either ways, your experience of crushes told you that this was the beginning of another infatuation. But you, liking your high school classmate? As much you fantasised him from time to time, you had to resist thinking about it. He maybe had a girlfriend, who knew? Someone as wonderful as him deserved one.

But in this moment, under the incessant rain where both of you trying to turn his upturned umbrella, Jungkook breaking into bouts of laughter as a car splashed water on your clothes, and you complaining of your matted hair – you felt so happy. The puzzle of the poems was longer a worry to you. All you wanted was to be happy in the moment, with Jungkook.

“So, are you going to give this mystery guy a chance?” Jungkook's voice strained to speak over the rain. Ah, coming to the point. You had been so sure you wouldn’t bring up the topic, but destiny had other plans.

“How am I supposed to give him a chance when I don't know who he is or how he looks like?” You say, uncomfortable at how wet the hem of your jeans was. You were walking at an uncomfortable speed, trying to avoid the puddles in your path but in vain.

“He surely knew what he had to do to get you swoon over him,” Jungkook laughed, as if he was so sure. He was right though, strangely.

“He does have a way with words,” you agreed. The wind was horrible now, pulling your top over your midriff. "I'm scared cause maybe the day he'll come up to me, I'll look like trash."

"No, you never look like trash. You look pretty in whatever you wear, Y/N." Jungkook scoffed. You blushed again. God, why was it so hard not to blush in front of him? “But you do know what's coming.

“What is?” Honestly your mind had been occupied so much about work, and your anonymous lover than you had no time to think the next Jungkook wanted to say.

“Valentine's Day.”

As soon as you heard it, something in you jolted. Two days from now was Valentine’s Day.

"Do you think he might make his appearance that day?" you asked, your voice high as a sparrow’s chirp. Jungkook offered to hold your grocery bag in return for holding his umbrella. You obliged.

"Can't really say that, but would it make your day if he did?" he continued.

“Oh my god, yes,” you stressed on the word, even slightly a little bit anxious because you wouldn’t know what you did if he came out of nowhere.

“Does someone have butterflies in their stomach now?”

"Stop it.” You nudged an elbow at him. You have no idea what he does to me."

"I do know." He holds his gaze longer this time. The rain finally subdued. You saw something in Jungkook's eyes then, you're not sure what – sadness, hope, expectation? But whatever it was, you felt something reverberate in your ribs long after he tears his gaze away.

"I think this is where we part." You say, brushing the hair from your eyes. You were still holding his umbrella, waiting for the right moment to give it to him.

Jungkook suddenly takes your free hand and squeezes it in his own. "Whatever you do, Y/N, please give that guy a chance. He does seem to really like you." He tucked a hair beside your ear, you shuddered a bit at the cold touch.

Why was Jungkook being so persistent about it? Why was he so serious when it came to you and your mystery lover? Whatever the deal was, Jungkook's expression didn't waver. He was right too, and that strengthened your resolve to accept this stranger no matter who he was. You nodded, which made Jungkook only happier.

"I wish I can see him." You sighed, wondering if Jungkook was thinking what you were thinking.

"Y/N," Jungkook leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Maybe you just need to keep looking around you, because he could be so near to you, but you just don't know it yet."

You still don't understand what the raven-haired stunner meant by his words when he hands you the groceries, leaves without his umbrella and descends the subway stairs.

~*~

It was Saturday. Valentine’s Day.

Jungkook woke up in his one-bedroom apartment, a little shaky. Today was the day.

As he reached over to pick up the backpack he took to work, he unzipped the tiny front pocket. Scraps of paper fell out from the seams, like snowflakes on a wintry morning. The twenty-three-year-old looked at each piece, running his fingers over the love poems his high school-self had written to you. If Jungkook had told his angsty teenage self that someday the poems he had written at the top of his history notebook would be read by you, he would have never believed himself.

Jungkook always liked you.

It wasn’t love at first sight, heck, he didn’t believe in that. He didn’t mind you at first, but he realised what made you so special than the rest. You were strong, maybe not in the vocal way, but in the way you saw the world around you. When the teacher complimented how well you would write your answers, you evocative your poetry was – Jungkook could never imagine how a shy girl, her nose so lost in a book at the corner of class would do that.

So when Jungkook read your answers one day, or when he would sneak a glance at your writing, he felt insecure. The real reason why Jungkook always teased you was that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t write as well you did, put his mind to something that you did so well, to be so intelligent, strong and soft. From you, he understood that strength doesn’t equate to being aggressive, or overly vocal. It can be in the way you can showed kindness as well.

So that’s why started pestering you, to hide his own feelings he could never reveal to anyone.

Jungkook never forgot how even after he teased you repeatedly in class, you would always give him an extra pencil when he wanted one, or a reassuring smile when he was anxious before a test. That was the only limit of his interactions with you, but it was more than enough.

He quickly took notice of you in the most subtle ways. The pencil you wrote with, the way your hair was styled one morning, that blue sweater that was apparently your favourite. How you passed by his seat at the cafeteria every morning to sit with your friends. How opinionated you were about certain authors and their writing styles. Even when Jungkook had to put up his ‘popular boy’ persona, sometimes he would tune out all the meaningless conversations he had just to hear how soft your laugh sounded when your friends showed you something funny.

You quickly became his muse. Jungkook was good at physical activities. He was popular, everyone had expectations from him to go on to college with a football scholarship. Everyone looked up to Jungkook cause made himself look like an idol. But in reality, Jungkook had nothing to show except for a fleeting charisma. Jungkook was good at physical activities, but not at words.

But you made him fall in love with words. Like everyone else, he was at first impatient at why poets and writers took so long to get to the point. But he learnt from you that art was patience. Love was patience.

He struggled, for weeks, months, trying to get the right words out of him. How he felt for you, how you made him feel. He now realised how hard it was express your feelings in few words. But with some practice, Jungkook eventually got there. He had begun to read more, surprising his parents too, but he eventually loved the activity. It calmed him. Soothed his nerves. Staying up late at night just reading, Jungkook noticed his English answers were improving. When he received the final grade, it wasn’t great. But he was satisfied. His whole gang slapped high-fives with him asking how he cheated his way through the exam successfully. He bit his lower lip, a habit of his, as he shrugged at them in response. The real reason was a pretty girl who always sat in the corner of class.

He kept his proudest pieces of poetry hidden in his bag for so long, secretly thanking you for realising a part of him he never knew existed. He took the bag everywhere with him, serving as his strength. His true, strength. Not the kind that had him running 20 laps around school and bench press 30 kilos to impress his coach.

He always regarded you as his first love, not Hae-ri, not any of the girls he went out with as a joke. He was sad when he graduated high school, but was too shy to come up and thank you. He regretted not saying anything to you then, knowing life is not one to give second chances.

But when Jungkook saw you in the bookstore for the first time, part of him thought this was fate. His feelings resurfaced, stronger than ever. He still had the scraps of poetry in his bag in the storeroom, he could just retrieve them and slip them into the book you would purchase. Maybe even some roses Namjoon liked to decorate on the inside.

When you slid your book the counter, Jungkook had deliberated the idea. But he knew that everything happens for a reason, so he decided to do it anyway. You would never know who it was, but at least he could tell you how he felt for you in one way. He kept repeating this as many times as you bought something from the store. He loved your company, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Never had he felt happier when he was talking to you, getting to know the real you.

So that’s why he wanted to reveal himself to you, behold! I’m the writer behind all those poems!

Valentine’s Day would be the perfect opportunity to do so. He just hoped, wished, that you wouldn’t push him away. Or, be disappointed. That was Jungkook’s fear that kept him wide awake at night. Could you have been hoping for someone else? Did you not look at Jungkook the way he looked at you?

He would only know today. He was bracing himself, when he got changed, when he showered, when he raced to the subway and made it sharp at ten am.

Namjoon was already there, smiling at the young boy wondering why his cheeks were so red. Jungkook’s heart never beat that fast. His heart felt like it would be sliced open by a hundred bullets. He quickly put on his apron and pretended to be busy arranging the books on the middle shelves in proper order. It was already an hour when he heard the door open.

Jungkook’s feet almost leapt up when he saw you coming inside. He waved, a bit too much he thought, and took few seconds to gather himself together. He was ready to approach you any moment now. He would take your hands, press them against his chest and say: “Its me, Y/N. I’m the anonymous writer you’re looking for.”

Jungkook edged himself forward. All this time he’d been waiting for this.

Until he sees Namjoon walking up to you first.

~*~

“Y/N,” Namjoon approaches you. You didn’t expect him to be talk to you, since he was always so busy on weekends. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say…that you look pretty today.”

“What?” you laugh, nervously. Namjoon calling you pretty? All of a sudden? You never even thought he even looked at you beyond a friend. Yes, he was very good looking, Jungkook must have talked about you to him, hadn’t he? The former always complimented on your appearance, making you smile inwardly.

“Gosh,” he chuckles in return. “Your laugh really does sound like fireflies bouncing against thin glass.”

You blink twice, hand going right up to your mouth. Namjoon. Wait, Namjoon? So, it had been him all this time? Yes, it all made sense! Only someone as charming, educated and well-mannered as Namjoon fit in all the right pieces of the mystery man you pictured. No wonder the poems had a very loving touch, it was written by someone like him. But how he had he known so much about you? Was it Jungkook who told him all those teeny, insignificant details that you were made of?

At that moment, you didn't care. All you knew was that Kim Namjoon noticed you. He had noticed you.

You smile at him.

You looked over your shoulder, Jungkook’s face turning to a shade of grey. His seemed frozen in position. You wondered why. You just wanted to jump up and shake him and scream into his face: Jungkook! Namjoon is the one! He’s been the one writing to me!

“I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out to coffee with me today? It is Valentine’s Day,” he scratches the back of his neck. You take his hands in yours. You nod willingly. You were too excited that all you had was time to point at Namjoon to Jungkook when Namjoon had his back turned to remove his apron.

Jungkook got the message you tried to tell him. He only smiled, but you wondered why it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

~*~

The café shop that you and Namjoon decided on was already swarming with customers, couples mostly. You guys decided to sit outside, a table for two. You were so excited, you were ready to bombard Namjoon with a series of questions, hoping it would give you the insight it needed. You both ordered two lattes and brownies with ice-cream topping.

“I can’t believe you readily agreed to go out with me,” the man before you shrugs modestly. “I mean, I could pass on as your elder brother, right?”

“Um, no, I was so happy that you asked, I…I never imagined, really. I’m really happy you did,” you stuttered, reaching out your arms to touch his. He appreciated the compliment.

“That’s so sweet, Y/N,” Namjoon smiled again, resting the palm of his hand on his cheek, giving you a longing gaze.

“Sweet, just like the poems you wrote for me,” you giggled, waiting to hear just what he would say. You almost choked on the next words.

“The what?” He blinked. Immediately, you knew you looked stupid. You tried to find your words.

“I said, just the like the poems you wrote for me.”

“I never wrote poems for you, heck, I can't even write poetry, Y/N.” Namjoon sipped on his latte that arrived. Your knees turned rubbery. He was joking right? You continued to insist, but Namjoon just shook his head firmly.

“I'm serious, I never wrote anything for anyone. Ask all my exes.” He was looking at your curiously now. You did too. Your hands were getting sweaty with nervousness.

“Then why did you say that my laugh sounded like fireflies tinkling against glass?” Exactly your question.

“Cause, I heard Jungkook saying it was.”

Your heart again did a little flip at his name. He was talking about you to Namjoon. But Jungkook was narrating the same line from the last poem you received, how is that possible, granted if he didn’t know the content? Or if, someone had given him the poem in the first place and he just happened to see it? A streak of anger went up your body when you thought of Jungkook intruding on your privacy.

“If...if, you didn't write these poems, then who did?” You searched your bag, taking out the poems that you kept in your wallet. You laid them out, one by one, on the table. There were many of them, but Namjoon scrutinised each piece closely. His eyes darted from one end to another, eyebrows furrowed in confusion suggesting he was in deep thought. Namjoon squinted at the scribbly, childish scrawls on the scraps and suddenly his brain clicked.

“This seems a lot like the poems Jungkook showed me, you know.”

You looked up shocked, your heart feeling like it was dropped from a height. Jungkook writes poems? You knew he read often; you didn’t know he wrote too. Did he have the time to? When did he start writing? All these questions made your head feel like it was stuffed with cotton.

Namjoon noticed your silence. “I know,” he laughs. “Seems weird right? He doesn’t seem like it, but that boy does have some talent in the writing department. He says it calms him somehow.”

“Do you keep roses in the store room, Namjoon?” You said, not looking at him. Your voice almost sounded robotic.

“I do, to brighten up the space there. Although I realised on the days you would come, there would always be one rose less the last time I counted them.”

Do you think...?

Suddenly, your brain had connected the dots. You shouldn't have judged Namjoon so quickly. All the times you remembered, Jungkook mentioned going to the storeroom to stamp the books you purchased. There was actually a stamp right there in the counter, but he never failed to go inside the storeroom instead. Maybe he slipped in the poems and the roses then?

And the handwriting. You remember going through Jungkook's essays in high school when you tried to help him out, even a bit. You remembered how bad his handwriting was.

But Jungkook, writing poems for you? You admit you did feel a soft spot for Jungkook albeit your sour history with him in high school, but soon you realised he's so much more than his shy demeanour. Yes, your assumption on Namjoon being your mystery writer overlooked all the clues, and you wished you thought more thoroughly. Now, because of your impulsive decision-making skills, you landed up in this awkward situation with Namjoon.

Jungkook was the one writing poems for you. Only he could notice those habits you had possessed in school, he was your classmate for fuck’s sake! All those years that you hated him for being mean to you, he was crushing on you instead? How, why?

But then you understood. You liked Jungkook. Ever since the first poem. He became such a beautiful writer, with all the delicate details he noticed about you. So, there was meaning behind him calling you special. There was meaning when he looked at you for a few seconds longer. There was meaning in his smile, in his actions, in his concern. There was meaning in every little thing he did because he liked you, and still likes you. And you liked him too.

Why had he resisted the ache in his heart to come forward and tell you the truth about who the person behind the poems was?

You put back the poems and muttered several apologies to Namjoon before you fled the scene, your mind rehearsing exactly what to tell Jungkook the first thing you meet him.

~*~

You barged inside the familiar bookstore, the cold air from the air-conditioner hitting you smack in the face. There were no customers, it was Valentine’s Day you remind yourself. Jungkook was busy cleaning up the bar, a solemn look colouring his usually bright face.

He looked a bit startled when he saw you open the door, as if he didn't expect you to enter at this hour.

“Y/N! How was your date?” He faked enthusiasm. You marched up to him and slammed the poems down on the counter.

“You could have told me, you know. The worst I could do was to storm off,” You crossed your arms, this time not as a defence mechanism.

“What are you talking about?” He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the poems now. How long was he going to keep up this act?

“Disappearing to stamp my book? The horrible handwriting? The intricate details about how I was in school? Sounds like only someone who knew me, or observed me very well, would know.” You said, tone a bit lighter. “I'm not dumb, Kook.”

There was a slight pause on Jungkook’s end before he speaks. “Took you this long to find out, though.”

You grinned. “You’re a coward.” You leaned forward, slightly kissing him on the lips. He responds, smiling, taking his hand to cup you on the cheek. It’s awkward at first, but his lips were just the right amount of soft and yours. Suddenly, Namjoon, your temporary crush on Changmin, disappear. The moment is magical as you lock both arms around Jungkook’s neck as he kisses you excitedly. Sparks fly between both your bodies.

You break away from the kiss. “You say big words in your poems, yet you can't muster up the courage to confess to the girl you like?”

“I thought…you and Namjoon hyung...” Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed crimson, as he eyes the floor in attempt to hide his evident embarrassment.

“Which wouldn't have happened if you confessed to me earlier.” You rolled your eyes, baffled that he didn’t speak up when he should have. “Do you know how awkward it was, realising you were the one behind the poems and not Namjoon?”

“Oh my god, did you leave him there all alone?” He tried to suppress a small laugh. “So, do you like me now?”

“We just kissed, Jungkook.” You punched him. “But yes, I have liked you ever since I read your poem the first time. And your writing is just…wow.”

“I try,” He did that thing again where he rubbed the back of his neck when he got shy. “Only for the girl I always had a crush on.”

“And you succeeded.” Throwing your hands over his neck again, nuzzling your nose against his, you felt the comfort, the same one whenever you were around Jungkook, slowly making it way from your legs to your arms.

“Valentine's Day is not over yet, shall we go out?” You nodded at Jungkook’s suggestion as you both made your way out the store, no customers projected to come anyway.

Hand in hand, you realised that fairy tales with happy endings did exist. Except for princes, dragons and villains – your story had roses, poetry and Jeon Jungkook, your enigmatic writer in hidden notebook scraps, whom you loved with all your heart.

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sohotthateveryonedied · 3 years

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Gender? In THIS Economy?

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Duke is questioning stuff and goes to Tim for advice. (feat. trans!Tim and nonbinary!Duke)

“Here you go. One Batburger with extra pickles, extra onions, and extra extra mayonnaise.” Duke drops the paper takeout bag unceremoniously into Tim’s lap. “Your taste buds need a tune-up, bro.”

Tim unwraps his burger and takes a bite. Batburger may be questionable when it comes to copyright laws, but damn if they don’t pile on the condiments better than any fast food restaurant in Gotham. “Sounds to me like you simply haven’t reached the sky-scraping level of enlightenment that I have, grasshopper.”

“Enlightenment would have been going to Red Robin and using your uniform to get a discount,” Duke says. He sits beside Tim on the rooftop’s edge, their legs dangling side by side a hundred feet above Gotham’s plunging gray streets. He digs into his own burger and makes a face. “Enlightenment would also be getting the Robin Nuggets next time. This tastes like dried leather.”

“I like it,” Tim says with a shrug. “It has personality.”

“So does raw sewage, but you don’t see me eating that.”

Tim concedes the point. His communicator buzzes in his belt. He checks the screen and discovers an alert from Cass composed entirely of clown emojis and red harlequin diamonds.

Duke notices. “Should we get that?”

Tim pockets the communicator. “Nah, Spoiler’s got it. We have time to relax.” And he’s not about to pass up quality time with the one little brother who doesn’t hate him. It’s hard enough as it is for Tim and Duke to find the time, what with them being on opposite sleeping schedules and work snatching their attention away with grabby, toddler-sized hands.

“Don’t get a lot of that during the day shift,” Duke says. “Every time an alarm goes off, it’s my business.”

Tim knocks him in the side with his elbow. “That’s what you get for turning to the light side instead of kicking it in the shadows with us. More employees to go around.” He sips his soda for a moment. “Why did you come out tonight, anyway? I thought you stayed in on weeknights.”

“Right. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” Duke says it carefully, like he’s testing the waters. “I need advice.”

Tim has to admit that his chest puffs out a little at that. It’s not often people come to him for advice when Dick and Barbara are right there, all full of adult wisdom that Tim is too pitifully shrimpy to possess. “What’s up?”

“It’s kind of...personal.”

“Yes, Bruce does have special powder for suit-chafing. It’s in the cabinet under the first-aid supplies.”

“It’s not that,” Duke says, though he snorts in half-hearted laughter. He looks down at his hands like he’s dreading the words lodged in his throat. “What was it like, realizing you were a dude?”

One of Tim’s eyebrows shoots up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s an invasive question.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You just caught me off guard, is all.” It’s not like this is the first time someone has asked. Tim used to be uncomfortable talking about it, but he’s grown up since then. Talking about his trans journey is as normal as talking about what he did yesterday. He eats a fry. “What do you want to know?”

Duke searches Tim’s face for a sign that he’s lying, that he should back off. When he doesn’t find one, he asks, “How old were you when you figured it out?”

Tim thinks back. “Nine, I think? But even before that, it’s not like I ever really felt like a girl. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what. When I first heard about what being transgender meant, everything I’d been feeling until then clicked into place.”

“What was it like?” Duke asks, “growing up the way you did? Presenting as a girl when you knew you weren’t?”

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. It was life at the time. I dealt with it.”

“Was it hard? Pretending to be something you weren’t?”

Tim doesn’t know what answer Duke is looking for, or why he’s so interested, but he won’t ask. “My parents always had this idea of me being the perfect daughter, all obedient and graceful and crap. I’m pretty sure their hope was to eventually marry me off to the highest bidder so they could reap the business benefits.”

“That sounds awful.”

Tim shrugs again. “I didn’t start feeling any different than I should have until around six or seven. I was always a tomboy. I liked doing boy stuff and playing sports, but my parents thought it was a phase I would grow out of. They’d make me wear dresses and go to fancy parties with them, all the while I just wanted to claw my skin off and go home.”

He remembers the nights he would lie awake in bed, imagining what it must be like to have been born someone else. Anyone else. To grow up as a little boy who was allowed to run around, to get dirty, to be himself instead of following some arbitrary guidelines someone else drew up the day he was born. He imagined what it would feel like to answer to a different name than the one he’d been given, which grated on his ears the longer time went on, like an itchy sweater he couldn’t shed. It was hell.

He gives Duke a sly grin. “But the upside of having absent parents is that there aren’t as many people watching you. No one cared if I went to school in the boy’s uniform instead of the girl’s. No one was there to stop me from cutting my hair short the way I wanted it.”

Duke's eyes widen. “You cut your own hair?”

“It went exactly the way you’re thinking. I had to go to the barber the next day and have them fix it because it was so uneven. But by the end of the day, it was the way I always imagined it. I was finally starting to look like the person I wanted to be.”

Duke stares intently at the remains of his burger as if the universe’s answers to an unspoken question were written in sesame seeds. “Did it get better after that? Did you feel...at peace?”

“‘Course not. The world wasn’t magically fixed just because I took a step in the right direction. My problems didn’t go away.” When he says that, Duke looks almost...disappointed? “But,” Tim adds, “it was better than it was before. I still had to act for my parents and the rest of the world, but I didn’t have to hide from myself anymore.”

“How did your parents react when they found out?”

Tim grimaces. “They...didn’t take it well.” He can still hear his father’s voice in his memories, bringing up therapy and camps and whatever places he could think of that would “fix” his little girl.

“But, after a while,” Tim continues, “it was clear that I wasn’t going to change my mind anytime soon. I guess they figured it would be easier to go along with it than fight me every step of the way. They still didn’t like it, but they tolerated it.”

Duke is quiet.

“Why do you ask?” Tim prods.

Duke’s expression doesn’t give anything away. It’s nights like this when Tim can see how perfectly Duke fits into this mental institution they call a family. For all that Duke thrives in the light, he keeps his cards just as close to his chest as the rest of them. He gives Tim a half-smile. “Just wondering.”

“Okay.”

They fall into weighted silence, the scales tipping on either side of their post, but never settling. Tim waits. He finishes his burger and busies himself with reorganizing the pouches in his belt, giving Duke the privacy to think.

“I don’t know,” Duke starts after several minutes, “if I’m a boy.” He looks at Tim. “I think I might be something else.”

“Okay,” Tim says calmly. “What do you feel like?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always felt different, y’know? When I was a kid, it was because I was smarter than everyone in my class. And it was fine, because I knew what it was and how it worked and why it was a good thing, being the smart one. It made sense. Time went on, the other kids started catching up, but that mismatched feeling never went away. I never felt right in my skin.”

Duke’s face rises to the dark clouds, the Batsignal shining from the top of the police station like a holy beacon. “Then I met Batman. My powers started to come in and everything clicked into place, all at once. That was why I never felt like I fit in with everyone else, because I was different. I had powers. That must have been it.”

“But it wasn’t,” Tim guesses.

Duke shakes his head. “I thought it would be. I mean, what else could it have been, you know? It should have explained why I never felt at home in my identity. But time goes on, I learn how to use my powers, and it fixes some of it, but not everything. There’s still part of me that looks in the mirror and sees something off. Some detail out of place.”

“Do you feel like a girl?” Tim ventures to ask.

Duke folds over the corner of his straw wrapper again and again in tiny triangles. “Nah, I doubt it. I like some feminine things, but I don’t think I’m a girl. Or a guy. I think...I might be nonbinary?”

Tim does his best to channel Bruce’s “supportive dad” energy and smiles. “Okay. What pronouns do you want to use?”

“They/them, maybe? For a while?”

“Duly noted.” He puts a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “I really do appreciate you telling me.”

Duke rubs the back of their neck, their cheeks flushing. “It feels good to say out loud. Not just in my head.”

“Do you think you’re going to tell anyone else? You don’t have to if you’re not ready, but our whole family will support you.”

“Yeah.” Duke picks at their nails, nodding absently. “I know they will. I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Duke takes a deep breath in, and Tim is reminded of a balloon close to bursting. “My parents aren’t dead. I’m going to get them back. And when I do...what are they going to think when they wake up after half a decade and find out that their son isn’t their son anymore? What if they don’t like the person they see?”

Tim can’t say that he hadn’t swum with the same thoughts years ago, back when the person who is Tim Drake was still on the drawing board. But there’s a difference between his situation and Duke’s. “Your parents love you, Duke. They’re not going to stop loving you just because you’ve grown up since they last saw you.”

“What if it’s too much? The superpowers and the crime-fighting and the new gender...it’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, sure,” Tim says. “It might take some time for them to get used to it, but this is who you are. They’re going to love it just as much as they love the rest of you.”

Duke smiles, and if their eyes are a little misty, Tim pretends not to notice.

“Besides,” he says. “If I were you, I’d just lead with the superpowers thing. Anything after that sounds perfectly acceptable.”

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goddamnitdazai · 3 years

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Doldrums | Dazai {AU}

The Tea House is the only clean place in all of the three outlying territories; the capital and castle are overflowing with gold. There's boredom in both places and freedom in neither. Dazai finds the only way to amuse himself and you're just curious enough to agree. {fic under the cut} [ao3 link] x [patreon]

The long reign of the king ended unexpectedly. Within the first few months of the king’s death, the prodigal heir to the throne was crowned the one-hundred-and-fifteen King of Tartalya. Despite what the royal family toted to the public the new king only resembled his father in strategical demeanor. The prince’s (now king) features were prominent and sharp whereas the previous king had cheeks still plump with baby fat and a wide smile. Prince Osamu never smiled; that was the rumor anyway.

Per Tartalya tradition the new king was married within the first month of his new position. His wife, the dutchess of a rich port territory, fawned over him endlessly. A polished depiction of what Tartalya’s queen should be. Sweet, humble, and above all else, proper. Tartalya’s prior king required indisputable perfection within his court and their partners. Any imperfections were snuffed out quicker than a strong wind extinguishes a candle. The ruthless king’s only heir was no exception to these strict expectations; a rumor from the high court states the prince’s wife was picked when they were both ten years old due to her bloodline, manners, and demeanor. Rumors from the high courts were often stretched and dissected until they resembled fables, but there was truth to some extent. That is what you were taught to believe anyway. Take the words of a man with as you would an ill-cooked gift; chew with conviction then spit it out when their back is turned. You were taught this of all rumors and of all men. Of the region claimed by Tarayla’s century-old monarch, only three territories have been allowed to rule without direct sanctions from the high court or prince. They are considered the dark outliers in both qualities of life and the quality of inhabitants. These three territories provide shelter for merchants coming to port looking to gamble and drink, criminals from other territories seeking asylum, and those who are not able to afford a single room within the cheapest region of Tartayla’s kingdom. Like many of the other inhabitants born in Valnnin, your mother chose to leave you at the Tea House under the care of the Ozaki clan the day after you’d turned five. She was paid a handsome fee and signed a contract never to return to the Tea House. Supposedly, many women bear children simply to drop them at the Tea House for the reward. That rumor was not hard to believe given the state of Valnnin. Decent money offered the means to escape Valnnin to the closest region in Tartayla, Soinet, where large farms sit on rolling green hills lush with purple fruit that grows plentiful on tall trees. Anyone who made it out of Valnnin stayed out; by starvation or success. A part of you hoped your mother starved. There are worse fates in Valnnin than the Ozaki’s Tea House, though. Bred with a sharp wit and long cherry-red hair the Ozaki clan were well known all over Tartayla for their refined charisma and elegant beauty. Some of these traits were able to be passed on to the right young men and women making the courtesans of the Tea House the highest priced commodity in all of the three territories. Top earners are allowed to live in the lavish rooms on the top floor of the Tea House. The Ozaki house, a four-tier traditional home lit with gold paper lanterns and endless vines wrapped over a cobblestone bridge, sits across the Tea House. The watchful guardian for the inhabitants of the Tea House. Other than becoming part of a legacy family in Valnnin, like the Ozaki, the best living was at the top of the Tea House. Residing in the middle, for now, was comfortable enough. “___, dear you’re staring.’ Kouyou tuts, whacking your knee with her lace fan. When her fan is fully spread the gold filigree becomes a long winding dragon sifting through the clouds. A well-known symbol of the Ozaki clan. The dragon is imprinted throughout the Tea House and stamped on the inside of each girl’s wrist in gold ink. Ownership and protection, that is what they preached while poking your skin with a hot needle. “Is that potted ivy really that intriguing? It must be with how rude you’re being during our conversation.” Her long manicured nail brushes over your nose to draw your attention. Her touch instantaneously forces your shoulders to go rigid as your eyes drop to your lap. Kouyou’s sharp nails bite at your jawline. “Don’t be rude to our company tonight. Understood?” You nod, wincing a bit at her grip. Kouyou-san only showed this type of intensity with newer girls in order to hammer in the traditions of the Tea House. You, however, had been here for fifteen long years and knew every twist and turn. Your familiarity had risen to the point that you and the other girls made wages on some of the staff’s mood based on an eyebrow quirk or tense knuckle. For the most part, you won each round. Kouyou-san did insist your looks and keen eye made for a high commodity, however, the blessings around your features were not as god-like as some of the girls. You were sure they came from a line of Queens and Goddesses long before humanity stomped over the grasslands. “Kouyou-san, I don’t understand why you won’t inform me who I am waiting for.” You shift uncomfortably in your silk robe. The pillow beneath your knees had become a hardened lump of clay that was sure to leave bruises. “Using the gold room is above my station.” “It is.” Kouyou agrees without an ounce of hesitation. If you were allowed to show your true emotions a dark frown laden with knitted brows would be reflecting back at Kouyou. Tea house manners forbade any type of backtalk, verbal or otherwise, toward the ladies of the house. It had been a long time since your feet had been whipped into a bloody mess due to your expressions. “You should be thankful a man of high caliber is interested in your company.” You exhale through your nose and adjust the pillow subtly just for something to grab and ease the tension rising up your spine. The golden room was incredibly expensive and reserved for foreign clientele or a man rich enough to buy the country twice over. What you could gather from the maids who set the room was scarcely what you could consider good information but their gossiping mouths let out that the changes were due to the man’s incredibly specific taste. Instead of immaculate gaudy golden candles, simple paper lanterns were hung in shades of red that bounced off the polished wood walls. The marble table had been replaced with a smaller traditional one stacked high with poker chips and two crystal glasses. A bottle of imported whisky more expensive than the entirety of Valnnin had been staring back at you for the better part of an hour. Jewels from all over the country were heaped into woven baskets spilling out their glittering gemstones of blues, pinks, reds, and purples. One stone looked as big as your palm. Within the baskets, bracelets, and necklaces sparkle and hang over the rim like a used handkerchief tossed in the garbage. Money can’t buy taste, you think to yourself, though you wouldn’t mind pocketing some of those jewels to sell later. Abruptly the double doors open and the lanterns are snuffed out. Above your head dangles an imported odd-shaped light with arms extending outwards holding each white candle as if it were trying to scorch the walls. Kouyou stands to greet the unknown guest. Gliding across the wooden floor as a swan crosses a lake. You remain perfectly poised. Long red dress stretching out your arms to pool against your thighs. The Tea House provided silk garments for expensive clients that showed skin without being over-zealous. A strong dip in the back revealing your spine for wandering fingers. Bare shoulders for teeth to graze and tease. Your lips had been painted deep red to accentuate a pout worthy of a diamond necklace. Beyond Kouyou’s tall stance you barely make out the rough edges of a man much taller than Kouyou. “Enjoy your time, sir. Please, let me know if I can do anything to be more accommodating.” Kouyou’s bow is deep and longer than usual. The man doesn’t bow back. The guards that had accompanied him to the golden room remain on the other side of the screen door once it’s closed, another uncommon occurrence. You get to your feet and walk towards the man in the same manner Kouyou did. You’d done this a hundred times. A thousand. Something high up, but there was an odd sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. Circling the pit of your belly like a serpent through the grass. “Good evening. Who do I have the pleasure of spending time with? I’m afraid my tongue has gone numb in excitement.” The man chuckles and takes a step forward; you take in his form with a simple blink. His hair is an unruly slue of dark browns overlapping each other held back by a deep ruby pin, an odd style but the capital tended to couple foreign fashion with traditional garments. The stranger is incredibly tall, thin, wearing traditional Tartayla clothing though the crest on his lapel doesn’t ring a bell. It did not mirror the crests members of the court wore nor the men stationed beneath them. Scribes, military, footmen, all members of the palace wore crests revealing their status to the world. A palace aid, even, would be able to afford the golden room for a night. “That’s a lie.” He takes another few steps towards you. Swift. His long legs easily bring him close enough for you to smell his cologne. Expensive and foreign. “I specifically told Ozaki not to speak my name. A clever way to ask without asking.” You blink rapidly but hold your ground, folding your hands politely in front of your thighs. His stare is honey lined with liquid gold. “As expected of a woman raised in the Tea House.” “I did not want to seem ill-prepared.” You finally answer, “It is uncommon to not know the name of my companion prior to meeting.” Nicknames--you roll through the most requested, but none of them fit. He bends a bit, you expect a hand on your cheek or your chin; he grips your throat. Contracting your airways with an eerily gentle touch. “You can address me as Dazai, nothing else.” His gaze remains ice cold. Something about the name bubbles up and up until your mouth unintentionally drops open just enough to let out a silent gasp. Prince Dazai. If he would let go of your chin you could bow to him but he anchors himself to the ground. “Ah, there it is. I can let go that you did not recognize me considering we let the territories exist as an extension. Not much royalty passing through here? What a scandal~”. He releases your jaw and walks over to the table in the center of the room. Out of instinct, you follow behind with your head bowed just slightly. What would the prince be doing here? You presumed when royal blood desired the flesh of someone else other than their betrothed they found it easily among the many women of the court. “Dazai, what is it you desire tonight?” Common phrases of your trade finally return once your tongue has melted off the shock. “Business.” He states, taking a seat on the plush pillows. “Come, and don’t speak unless I ask you a question.” Dazai pats his hand on his lap as he speaks. You follow his command and walk yourself to his lap. The scent of him is overwhelmingly pleasing in comparison to the other men that have requested this position. With your back against his chest, you can feel the ruffle of fabric on your bare skin from his vest, it’s an interesting sensation. You’d never felt this type of material before. “Now,” Dazai starts voice a rich smoky tenor, “you will come with me to the capital and sit just like this. You won’t speak, you won’t move, you won’t do a thing except look as you do now.” He drags his knuckles down your spine. “All you need to know is that. What lies in this room,” he lazily gestures to the jewels in the collapsing baskets, “will be your payment.” All you can do is nod dumbly. What the hell did he want you at the capital for? To be a lap ornament? What a strange request. You want to say no, to tell him you’re much more than a porcelain doll to play with. Your wit and charm has made you the favorite of so many men of his own court. Dazai presses his nose to the curve between your throat and shoulder. “You may ask one question but make it quick, I dislike having to ride home during the day.” Dazai gave you information without giving you detail. The bare-bones without an explanation or purpose, but he was the prince. You couldn’t pester him for more like your regulars who gave vague requests--of which you denied regardless of what it was. Taking a courtesan out of the Tea House was strictly forbidden. There was no amount that would interest the Ozaki women to allow their charges to leave the premises with a client. Every person had their price, though, it should have been obvious considering your line of work. “Am I to be a lap ornament for your entertainment or to prove a point to another person?” Dazai pauses his hand on your spine. For a moment your heart freezes--until he begins to laugh. Harmonious and cheerful, it almost sounds sweet but the tingle in your spine tells you otherwise. “Both,” Dazai places his hand on your thigh giving the soft flesh a tight squeeze, “but the latter. I don’t find very much of this world entertaining in the slightest.” Abruptly his teeth graze the shell of your ear as his hand wanders beneath your silk dress finding the edge of your hipbone. “This is just to waste time.” __________________________ Jealousy was not something prince Dazai experienced. However, the man across from you seemed to be dripping green with it. You vaguely recognized him, a court-appointed general from the land across the sea. The name escaped you, anytime he appeared at the Tea House for your attention his words sank to the bottom of your consciousness. His conversation was as dull and his hands were fat with sausage-like fingers that didn’t know how to properly undo the knots that held your dress together at the side. He never had enough money other than to converse for twenty minutes and stare at your nude body. Prior to the meeting, Dazai had walked you through the main courtyard filled lined with enormous evergreen trees and rose bushes taller than your shoulders. Members of the royal court bowed and held their tongues as you passed. Your clothing served as a clear indicator of your position in the Tea House. Dazai had made it a point to dress you in the most elegant outfit the Tea House allowed. Draped in gold and black with hints of deep scarlet beneath the split up your thigh. The palace was, unsurprisingly, massive in size and stature. Getting lost for hours within its corridors and monumental rooms seemed inevitable. Had Dazai let you wander from his side. “Do not speak or move without my permission.” His only warning punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass. While the meeting went on Dazai’s hands grew increasingly curious in tandem with his ever-rising boredom. Beneath the table, his fingers roamed between your legs never touching where you wanted. They drew teasing circles just outside your lower lips. Dug crescents into the meat of your inner thighs. The longer the meeting went on the higher his hands reached. Inside the deep cut of your dress to squeeze your breast while he spoke about the outcome of a fictional war the general had threatened, apparently. Something about trade prices rising. Anything happening beyond Dazai’s grip wasn’t sticking to your psyche. By the time the meeting was finished sweat was beading down the back of your neck. Your cheeks had grown hot to the touch and your clit was aching for touch. Dazai simply stood expecting you to catch yourself. “You will not be returning to the Tea House.” It was all he said before two guards escorted you down a long corridor lined with paintings of the royal bloodline. ___________________________________ The first time he fucked you the moon had appeared in splendor. Bright and bold against dark skies empty of stares and clouds. His wife had requested him to come to bed early. Her long dark hair falling in gentle curls illuminated by the candelabra she held in her fist. You watched from the corner of his study as Dazai used that talented tongue of his to herd her back to bed. Once the door was shut and locked with a metal key Dazai bent you over his desk and fucked you deep and slow. He left bite marks on your neck and laughed when you begged so pathetically to cum around his cock. At first, there was nothing inside him. No emotion to his touch and no passion beyond the carnal desire to fuck you when he needed release. His wife would often stare at you when you passed in the corridors trying to find some sort of entertainment. You had heard nothing of your position at the palace nor had anyone questioned your existence there. Dazai demanded you stay within his sights at all times and would punish you with hard slaps to your bare ass when you wandered too far. He was the softest after he left a red handprint on your behind. He’d cradle you in his arms and call you pretty things like a lover would. It only served to deepen your confusion in both your own feelings for him and what he wanted out of your existence in his life. _______________________________________ The queen’s illness came on rapidly and without a cause. She was pale with a fever and sickly looking. Her skin stretched over the bones of her face and her eyes looked glass. Nothing the doctors were doing had made a difference. She existed on her large bed surrounded by basins of water and broth, her ladies in waiting rotated washing her and feeding her the best they could. She couldn’t move on her own accord except to speak in a low muddled voice. Dazai did not visit her often. After a week she had been moved to her own room down two corridors and across from the King’s quarters. The bed was burned and the room scrubbed clean until it glistened. Dazai didn’t ask, he never did. When your room turned up empty you knew to find him in his quarters. His long legs propped up on the ottoman beside the window, fingers over his favorite book gifted by a friend long gone from this world. His touch had become gentle in the past few weeks. You presumed, at first, it was due to his grieving and perhaps guilt for the affair. Yet he did not change the frequency in which he kissed you, fucked you, held you against his chest for a few minutes before he eventually left the bed to finish whatever work he’d thrown across the floor when he grew too aggravated or bored. Nights he wanted to fall off the edge of the world he tied your hands to the bed and played with your body until sunrise. Dazai left his mark where he pleased. Nothing felt as good as his hands, his attention, his tongue. Rarely did he ever keep himself on top. No, he expected you to ride him. Make him cum while he watched you grow addicted to the feeling of his cock inside of you. ______________________ Dazai had to produce an heir, he said, one morning while you’d been eating breakfast at his side. His wife could not fulfill that duty while sick. You pause for a moment and set your glass down. Looking at him as the sun rises behind his head. “You know I can’t have children.” Part of the process of becoming part of the Tea House; everyone went through the procedure. “What do you plan to do?” Dazai wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do?” He places his elbows on the table and folds his fingers beneath his chin. That same gaze from the day you met him in the golden room returning to douse you in something unsettling. You blink at him and lean back in your chair. “As long as the queen remains alive you are not able to marry another. You will be expected to wait to have a child with your wife when she is well again.” Dazai tilts his head. “I don’t want children.” He says nonchalantly. “Dazai..” What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do? “Dazai.” His grin spreads wide, eyes darkening despite the light from the windows splashing halycon all over the room. “Eat up, _____. I’m growing bored.”

#dazai #dazai osamu #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #dazai fanfic #my writing dazai #fantasy au #dazai au #bsd fanfic #dazai is kind of a dick #what a surprise #dazai one shot

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takoyakitenchou · 3 years

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masquerade ch.10

im back (fr this time)

“I always knew you were weird,” Akira muttered when they got onto the skydeck turned landing pad. He and Hisako had just graduated from their respective colleges and now they, Souma, and the Denmark Nakiris were gathered on top of the Copenhagen penthouse for some quality catching up. There was no doubt that the day would end in another round of shokugekis.

“Rude!” Alice pouted as she set down a large blanket and a few red Solo cups in the shade of Ryo’s new helicopter. “I just happened to buy my amazing husband a gift! Besides, he has a license now and having a charter plane is fun.”

“You talk as if your family doesn’t own three private jets,” Akira pointed out, pouring draft beer from a two-liter pitcher.

Alice waved this off with an annoyed flap of her hand. “Hayama, when are you and Hishoko gonna get married?”

“We’re twenty-two,” Hisako pointed out dully. “And don’t call me Hishoko.”

“I’m not, Hishoko. However, as the official matchmaker of the Nakiri Faction, I must insist that you get the hell on with it already.”

“Nakiri Faction?” Akira inquired.

“Yes! You’ve been an honorary member since you assisted my booth at the festival in first year.”

“You mean Jun’s—”

“And you and Hishoko are going to get married in like… two days, so she’s automatically a part of the faction as well now!”

Souma laughed as he took out a few boxes neatly packed with onigiri. “Yo, Arato, did you buy Hayama a helicopter yet?”

Hisako raised an eyebrow. “No,” she smiled with a teasing air. “But he bought us a company.”

The red-haired chef spat out his Lagunitas IPA. “What!?”

“Yeah, I bought Habui,” Akira said casually, as if he were talking about bargain eggs.

“Holy shit! Is that why you were on the front cover of Forbes!?”

“It’s been the only thing on the news for the last week, Yukihira,” he replied drily.

Alice added, “It was definitely a shock at first, though.”

True—it took her a full hour of staring at the magazine to properly process the fact that twirling his Phi Beta Kappa key around his finger and still wearing his graduation gown, the fresh Columbia graduate had dethroned the Sendawara sisters with a phrase that would become legend—“My nose can make better curry than your hands.” How he’d made that much bank as a college student was up to debate, but nobody questioned the fact that he was the new CEO of Habui.

“Tokyo will be our home base,” Hisako said, staring speculatively into her cup. “I’m starting med school at Johns Hopkins in the fall but after Innlausn opens next month Akira will probably be moving back to Japan.”

Souma’s eyes widened. “Wait! I just had an idea. Why don’t you guys stay at my place in Evanston for the startup period?”

“You’re only saying that because you want us to be indebted to you so we don’t run your ass out of Illinois,” Akira scoffed.

“Cruel,” Souma retorted, feigning hurt. “I’m just being nice. Right, Arato?”

“I mean, I’ll take you up on it,” Hisako grinned, and she and Souma exchanged a fist bump. “We owe you one.”

“No, we do not! Don’t say things like that to him!”

Alice smirked at this. “Oh, yeah? You only got your Chicago floorspace because Yukihira’s journalist girlfriend pulled strings with the contractors.” She paused for a second, then whirled on Souma. “By the way, Yukihira. You’re getting pretty serious with Erina again, aren’t you? What a fuckboy. Two girls at once?”

A vein pulsed in Souma’s temple. “Oh, shut the fuck up. I’m single and Erina doesn’t like me like that anymore.”

“Baseless assumption!” Ryo bellowed.

They all laughed at this — the story of the spontaneous kiss after Origin’s opening night had circulated among the friend group and now they were placing bets as to when the former first and second seats of the Elite Ten would finally quit beating around the damn bush. Souma, who had been too embarrassed to call Erina since the debut, had chosen to aggressively not participate.

Within moments, they were all rolling up their sleeves and getting their hair out of the way to crack down on each other in a shokugeki themed “obscenely expensive”. They had just raided Alice and Ryo’s apartment-sized kitchen, making vulgar comments on how Akira had only bought Habui because he was still salty about Sendawara Natsume hitting on him during the Elections and talking general shit like they hadn’t already earned each other’s highest respect, when Hisako’s phone rang.

Everyone leaned over the doctor-restaurateur’s shoulder to see just who the hell would dare interrupt their shokugeki episode.

Incoming FaceTime call from: Nakiri Erina

Before Hisako could even answer the call, Souma dropped his knife and bolted for the door. His flight was cut short by Ryo, who grabbed his collar and yanked him backwards. “The fuck you going?”

“F-finland,” Souma squeaked, his arms and legs in frantic motion.

“Oh no you are not,” Akira snapped, shoving Souma back over to Hisako, who was greeting Erina over FT. “Take responsibility for your dumbassery.”

The blonde chef dropped her phone when Souma entered the frame. “Y-yukihira!?”

“Um… yo…? Nakiri? Sup?”

Erina was already blushing, but she managed to say, “Nothing much. You?”

Hisako passed the phone to Souma with an expression of amusement, who nervously combed his fingers through his hair and started moving around to find better lighting. “I’m uh… not doing anything either. Where you at?”

“I’m in Tokyo,” Erina said. “At dinner with—”

“Yukihira!” Asahi grinned, popping into view.

Erina looked a little disgruntled as the two proceeded to treat each other like the brothers-in-law they were probably going to be (hahah the foreshadowing).

The rest of the Nakiri family greeted Souma and asked him if he knew where the hell Jou had disappeared to this time, and obviously Souma had no clue, but it really did seem like things would work out between the two families after all. Once it was just Erina watching him silently through the screen, Souma gave a slow smile and said, “Good seeing you again, Nakiri. I guess I’ll…”

Erina asked hesitantly, “Are you free later? Maybe around midnight my time?”

Shrugging, Souma answered, “Should be. Why?”

“N-no, it’s nothing. Never mind. Goodbye.”

“I’ll call you,” Souma offered.

Erina’s ears turned red. “If you insist, I will pick up your call.”

“Sounds great.” Souma passed the phone back to Hisako and sat down grinning like a foolish idiot.

Alice had been watching the whole interaction with mild amusement, and now she tapped the kitchen counter for attention, first dibs on the truffle oil long forgotten.

“So, Yukihira. You still think she doesn’t like you?”

#shokugeki no souma #yukihira souma #nakiri erina #sorina #soueri

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geekkatsblog · 3 years

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Grey's Anatomy season 17×06 Review

(How the f**k they just gonna leave me on read like this till March 4th)

The episode was a rollercoaster but something tells me the real ride is going to happen from the next episode.

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Maggie

I knew Winston was gonna show up in person at some point or the other. When he dropped the long distance wasn't working line and put the phone down in her ear so he could get some 'eggs' I knew he was in Seattle, good for her she's going to need him to lean on seeing that Mer freaking crashed again. At least she'll have somebody there for her because all her other support is personally attached to Meredith as well.

Besides Winston turning up, treating Tom and her being understandably giddy at Mer being awake there was also a scene where she educated Amelia on some things now I won't get into the details again but I'm just in love with the fact that Grey's isn't afraid to touch on controversial topics, they use their large platform to raise awareness and their speeches are always on point.

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Teddy/Owen

(She needed the time off more than Bailey did tbh)

My God was it satisfying when Richard literally just tore into her. She put herself in the situation and is now taking her anger out on others which is really in poor taste. Poor Helm, I hope she didn't take it personally. At this point it's her time to annoy me, I miss the season 6 Teddy, hopefully she redeems herself soon. After being torn apart by Webber's words she then proceeds to make things worst by revealing yet another big secret to Owen at work. (At least this time it was on purpose.) She just needs to take some time away and think on what she really wants and needs to reflect before spontaneously starting potentially life changing conversations. First it was telling Tom they had a chance then it was telling Owen that she still loves him and the kids while also revealing that she named their daughter after not only her best friend but also the woman that she was very much in love with. Pick a struggle Teddy at this point she's seeming confused more than anything else.

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Owen

For the past few seasons Owen was one of the characters getting on my nerves but lately he's been fine. He hasn't redeemed himself yet but his probation is going fine. Watching this show really shows how good of a person a doctor has to be in order to follow the ethical guidelines. If I had that scum bag for a patient I would have literally just pretended to fail at saving him and let the guy die, (guess that's why the Lord made me suck at Chemistry and Physics) his response to Bob about him being at the devils barbecue was badass, gave me serious season 5 Owen vibes or vibes like when he punched that guy out for disrupting the ER when he was chief, Major Hunt reporting for duty.

As for him and Teddy I can get why he was upset, her he was about to attempt to make amends at probably rekindling a friendship or maybe their relationship and she revels that your daughter is named after her lover, she could have atleast told him that when they were in the naming process, he deserved to know exactly who his child was being named after. I'm kinda a bitch but there was no way I'd feel comfortable having my child named after my partner's lover. On the other hand he should hear her out he has literally cheated twice and both times he sat and was able to share his side of the story and the woman he was with listened to his explanations. Teddy deserves as much, it might hurt but he did the same and Karma unfortunately is still a bitch.

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Bailey

(I just wanted to give her a hug the whole night.)

She has a really unhealthy habit of working through her grief, first her miscarriage and now through the death of her mom. I'm honestly sad that Ben had to be the one to comfort Tuck and tell him his grandmother had even died (she's always so busy, Ben is pratically the one raising him at this point.) And I'm also upset that I haven't gotten to see Ben being there for her either. I'm assuming it might be a protocol on the sets.

At least she took time off of the cases, I understand why she didn't want to go home as a doctor she has the highest risk of transporting the virus, but her mind understandably wasn't going to be in the doctoring game. I really thought they were gonna make her freeze up and accidentally kill a patient or something, but at least they didn't go down that line. And what even happened to her dad? did he take the Covid test? Wheres he staying now? Is he safe?

The conversations between her and Deluca were sweet, it's another unexpected friendship, before the only one she really disclosed any details of her life with was Richard but now they're opening her support group which is fine. I'm also glad that Deluca was able to look past the whole fiasco last season and hold no grudges. She has now fully redeemed herself completely, she's still my all time favorite character but from season 13 to probably mid season 16 she really had some storylines and scenes that irked me to watch and made me question some things, but now she's back on track at least to me.

Also I know that Richard is the chief of chiefs but how are they just gonna let him take back over the surgery unit like that again? I mean I did miss him as chief but now Bailey just basically seems like a regular old surgeon with a fancy office, idk it just seems kinda weird to me.

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Jackson

Not only carrying on the work and teachings of Mark Sloan but also using his boatload of cash to rescue a patient's mother from racist police who should have been the ones actually in prison. That was basically it for him though.

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Oml I honestly almost forgot she was even really in the episode. She had so little screen time. She's still in the middle of transitioning to OB. I have no issue with that because OB's still can do surgery, so we'll still get to see her and she'll be happy again plus it's about time that Grey's cashes in that Regulars card on Carina. We see her on Station 19 as an accessory I want to see the Jo and Carina tag team.

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Amelia

Not really much in this episode. No content with Link she just did surgery to save the scum with Owen. They may have made a mediocre couple but they work good as friends. Also I'm assuming she's off of maternity leave now? Did they mention that I'm not sure but she's back now.

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Richard

Not much of a storyline, he made the decision to put Meredith on the Vent and is busy running the hospital as the chief of the hospital again I guess. And also spitting the much needed facts that Teddy needed to hear.

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Tom

They're finally showing more of Tom's good side, I mean I always liked him and saw the potential in his character but they never really showed his soft side for a prolonged period like they did today. May I just say I enjoyed his and Meredith's friendly banter they have the same lowkey dark humor and at least it would have taken their minds off of being sick especially for him because he basically has no one else. Hearing him open up about his son and expressing how he'd do anything to hear him say dad again was sad I can only imagine his pain. Meredith was his reason for holding on especially after he had to witness his roommate die from Covid, the same thing he's suffering from right before his eyes and now Mer back unconscious this time with a tube down her throat I'm just really hoping that he keeps the faith, the last thing we need is a death right now.

___________________________________________

Meredith

(God damn it Mer all you had to do was stay awake.)

For a few brief moments all was right with the world Meredith was awake and everyone was happy and then she just had to go be Wonder Woman and over exert herself, but that's the thing they would have probably needed armed guards at the doors to keep her from putting someone else's life above her own, its one of her best qualities and at times one of her worst. I knew it was too good to be true when she was awake and laughing. It was giving me Mark Sloan final episode vibes. They better not kill her off that would be the worst ending for me, what about the kids? Step off the damn beach Mer you've gone through too much to let Covid take you out. On the other hand this gives us more beach scenes. It's more unlikely to have a live character return but there's still lots of dead ones to choose from, her mother is always a likely suspect, Denny loved being on the show and I think Breaking bad had its final season, Mark is a toss up based on how he cut ties with the show and Lexie is also a toss up because she is filming Supergirl in another country, however anything is possible with Grey's. I thought the beach scenes were over because she was waking up but look how wrong I was. All I hope is that they don't kill her off its unlikely because she's the main character but still its Grey's they like to go out with a bang.

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Deluca

I left him for last because to me he really did have the biggest storyline of the night.

Firstly I'm glad to see that at least part of the earliers season's Deluca has returned. I loved him as the passionate, badass and almost cocky guy as well but I always missed his more compassionate and softer side more. I'm glad to see it back and I'm also glad to see that he's taking his meds and resting, and I can confirm that having support is a needed factor in treating mental health. As strange as it was seeing the Bailey and Deluca chat it's good that they both have each other. They both suffer from mental illnesses and can relate to each other on a different level. They have me wondering now if they're going to use his mental health issues as a way to separate him and Mer, or use it as the reason why he pursued her, kinda like how they tried to blame Amelia's tumor for her bad decisions and then used it to break her and Owen up. I guess we'll just have to see where Merluca will go from here or if it will manifest Merhaynes instead.

Now onto the big stuff, the whole sex trafficking thing the whole episode I was literally yelling at the tv for either Deluca, Bailey or Carina to see that bitch, the moment it was connected that the kidnapper was involved in trafficking and she showed up I knew shit was about to go down. My heart was racing when I saw her with Schmitt. I really thought she was going to attack him with how sus she was being, luckily she had to go to avoid further suspicion. They need to put security on those girls' door. They've been through enough. If she goes to finish off Bob then no one cares but the girls don't deserve to go through anything else and Deluca after seeing her decided to go after him himself instead of calling the police, granted the police wasn't doing anything helpful but the last thing we need is for him to go after her himself like Superman and trying to save the day. At least Carina went with him so she can help talk him down if necessary but there's only so much she can do.

___________________________________________

There are too many damn superheroes in that hospital.

___________________________________________

My questions are:

• Will both Tom and Meredith make it out of the Covid sickness or will one or even both of them die?

• Will Teddy finally make her mind up so that the Teddy, Tom and Owen love triangle can finally have an ending?

• Who the hell is coming to the beach next? And can they tell Meredith to get her ass off of the beach and never return until she's like 80?

• Will Superman, I mean Deluca save the day without needing medical attention afterwards? Or worst yet needing a casket?

• Is Jo actually switching specialties?

• Are they going to go after the girls or kill Bob instead?

• How is it going to go with Maggie and Winston now that he has arrived in person?

• And lastly and most importantly what am I supposed to do with my Thursday nights until March 4th.

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rexcoatlarchive · 3 years

Text

Spoiled Goddess

Rex had found himself in possession of a VERY large amount of money (qp or mana prisms or whatever) and he decided that there was only one thing he could do with it

Quetz: you're going to what?!

Rex: I'm going to spoil the hell out of you mi corazon!

Quetz: seriously? I don't think that's necessary mi amor.

Rex: well that's too bad. It's my money and I get to use it however I want, and I want to spoil the ever living hell out of you!

Quetz: where'd you even get so much?

Rex: lottery

Quetz: we have a lottery?

Rex: it's kinda newish.

Rex: anyway, today's all about you! You'll be more spoiled then even Ishtar is!

Quetz: that's so unnecessary mi amor. Just being with you is enough.

Rex: and I will be with you, while spending all of this on treating you!

Quetz: eeeehhh... fine. I guess that's alright. But you should keep some for yourself too.

Rex: sure, whatever's left I'll keep.

Quetz: so... how exactly are you going to spoil me?

Rex: ask for whatever and it'll be your's!

Quetz: hmmmm, but I don't want anything right now.

Rex: hmmmm... well let's just start with things anyone likes.

Quetz: like what?

Rex: some clothes

The two went over to a special store that Sheba ran, she ran many stores because money, and started looking at all the different clothes Quetz liked.

Quetz: there's so many nice clothes here. I don't think I can choose.

Rex: you don't have to. I can afford to buy all you want.

Quetz: no, that's unnecessary mi amor.

Rex: that's the whole reason we're here mi corazon.

Quetz: hmmm, fiiiine. I guess.

They bought so many clothes. Among them were a nice white sun dress, a cute winter jacket, a new swimsuit, a cute purple dress, a styling leather jacket, a very warm looking turtleneck, a new workout outfit, and some new shoes.

Quetz: it's really nice to have all these new clothes. But what else could you buy?

Rex: hmmmm, isn't there anything else you've had your eyes on?

Quetz: well...

Rex bought a whole ass car. Don't ask where they sell the car or where Quetz would use it, she just has one now.

Quetz: it's so nice mi amor! Are you sure it wasn't too much?

Rex: please! It barely made a dent in the lottery funds.

Quetz: how much did you win?

Rex: I forgot, but I've been keeping track to make sure I don't overspend.

Quetz: this is actually starting to be really fun.

Rex: want anything else?

Quetz: how about... some jewelry?

Rex: sure thing

Rex bought Quetz so much jewelry. Rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, almost all of them had nice green jewels in them. It was Quetz's favorite color and she always looked good with it.

Quetz: oooh! I feel so nice with all this on! I must look amazing!

Rex: you always look amazing!

Quetz, blushing: eeeehhh, you don't have to say that mi amor!

Rex: anything else?

Quetz: goodness, I'm not sure.

Rex: I got an idea

Later

Quetz: a TV?

Rex: yeah, a nice bigass flat-screen TV. To watch whatever we want in the HIGHEST quality.

Quetz: that's really nice.

Rex: but that's not all! I've got more new stuff for the room.

Quetz: like what?

Rex: a nice new bed, a big couch, I've had it expanded, and now you're serpent can stay with us!

Serpent: *unholy screech of the damned*

Quetz: aaawww, thank you! I didn't like having to leave them with the other animals.

Rex: and the temple's been upgraded too!

Quetz: eh!?

In the temple room

Rex: now we have all these golden treasures, a proper altar in the center, and a bigass mural on the wall that depicts our journey together!

Quetz: oh my... it's all so beautiful! I love it!

Quetz hugs Rex in response

Rex: I knew you'd like it.

Rex: but I got 1 more surprise for you.

Quetz: what is it?

Rex: just go sit in the side room and I'll come in when I'm ready

Quetz: eh?

Quetz waited in the side room on their second bed for a while. Finally the door opens and in comes Rex wearing a nice suit, like a butler.

Rex, bowing: hello my dear goddess, how may I be of service?

Quetz was enamored. She actually thought Rex looked real good in suits.

Quetz: I want you in bed with me mi amor

Rex, now flustered: w-w-wait! Don't you want anything else first?

Quetz was sitting at the edge of the bed, now with legs wide open.

Quetz: I want mi esposo to take off that suit and join me in bed.

Rex, even more flustered: of course! Anything for you my beloved!

A/N: got this idea while listening to some music earlier. I really would like to spoil the hell outta Quetz.

Tags that are not gonna work but whatever.

@hasereshdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong @hasabbydoneanythingwrong @hasastolfodoneanythingwrong @hassanofthefrostedmuffins @peachyfaeby @castlecsejtespeakertechnician @panyum @grievouslyxorvia @valiantstrawberrymilk

#fate grand order #quetzalcoatl #wife #rex #mastersona #rexcoatl

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rvmmm21 · 4 years

Text

. half that, at best .

summary : lying over text will get you far. seulgi considers herself quite the catfish connoisseur, in a sense, acting twice her size to swoon her date. unfortunately, that only works if you don’t live with four -- very determined people -- who’ll stop at nothing to pry the good and honest truth out of you.

small note : not an original idea, my role is messenger, nothing more. just here to fulfil my promise to drag the very... *perceptive*... reaadvelvet (whom you can all thank for this delicious torment) down with me. also wow, first time i’ve written about vibrators and they’re... hard to write for. also dirty talk y i k e s. hands up, who can tell i was running on 2 hours of sleep when i wrote this? i proofread later i sleep now.

[cocky(g!p)seulgi x wenrenejoyri]

tw : dubcon, degredation, humiliation.

...

Yerim cracks the door open and peers into her room. The air is so damp and heavy with perfume her nose crinkles and she has to practically swat at it to clear the soft lavender fog.

“Unnie, I asked Joohyun unnie and she said yes to pizza tonight,” she says, leaning into the doorway and speaking into the direction of the girl sitting on the bed hunched over her phone, texting furiously.

The younger girl speaks again, louder this time. “Yah! Unnie. Are you listening?”

Seulgi shoots up from the bright LED screen and casts her attention on her impatient housemate, who’s now standing before her, open-palmed and waiting. “… ngh, sorr – sorry, Yerimie, wha – huh?”

Yerim rolls her eyes. “Phone. Give it. I know you have coupons.”

“… mm, yeah… just…”

She’s so distracted, it’s annoying, Yerim thinks. Both her and her unnies are starving for some pizza goodness out there and all Seulgi can think about is getting her dick wet with her dumb little date tonight. With a final head shake, she looses the patience she’s never had, reaching down to snatch the device out of Seulgi’s grasp.

“No!” she yelps, a little too much desperation in her tone, “… Minji’s gonna be here soon, I –”

But Yerim’s already scrolling.

“Wow, can you stop texting your stupid tinder date for like one minute? I’m trying to – wait, what?” she pauses to properly read the screen again before throwing her head back in the loudest cackle the other girl has ever heard, “… I’m going to fuck you till you can’t walk anymore?!”

Seulgi knew she was going to be discovered the minute her phone left her hands. She hadn’t had time to close the app before an impatient Yerim had rudely swiped it out of her clutches. Still, it didn’t stop the crippling embarrassment eating away at her from the inside out when she heard all her steamy, filthy exchanges coming off the lips of their mischievous maknae. All lies, of course, but Minji didn’t have to know that. She had already come up with a list of excuses for why she wouldn’t be able to spend the night or why they’d always have to do it ‘next time’. But all that seems to be falling apart before her eyes, now that Yerim’s the one with the power.

“Yah!” she screams, jumping up from her bed and frantically trying to pilfer it from the girl who’s too wildly curious to let go. “Stop! Shut – no! Give – give it back, shush!”

Yerim’s folded over on the floor now, clutching at her sides with how apparently hilarious Seulgi’s sexting is. “Unnie – unnie!” she manages between fits of laughter, “how are you gonna do that when you can’t even… you can’t even last like twenty seconds!”

Before she knows it, the whole house has gathered into her room. Seulgi grits her teeth at how Yerim’s obnoxious cackling lured the other four in. They simply observe for the moment, poorly concealed enjoyment painted on their faces, seconds away from partaking in the ‘fun’ themselves.

Suddenly, they’re interested in something else… and it isn’t how much they can get off of their next pizza order.

“Another one, another one!” Sooyoung’s taken to egging Yerim on, who’s more than beside herself with glee. The youngest wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and gracefully proceeds, doing her best impression of what she assumes Seulgi sounds like all hot and bothered.

A red-faced Seulgi, wishing the ground would just swallow her whole, just buries her face between her knees, having long given up trying to get her phone back. Any attempt she’s made to preserve the shreds of dignity she’s clung onto since this whole episode started is about to be torn from her when Yerim opens her mouth.

“A-And… and I hope you’re ready, cause I can… oh my god, cause I can go for ten hours, baby!”

This triggers an entire wave of laughter, from everyone, this time. Not that it matters to the girl in question. Poor Seulgi can barely hear them over the sound of her own utter horror pulsing heavily in her ears. She can’t even fucking leave because Joohyun and Seungwan are barricading the entrance, arms crossed out in front of them like bodyguards. And they’re wearing those awful grins, too.

Seulgi has to wonder if they’d planned this all along… or if they’ve just been practicing their non-verbal cues during their spare time and conveniently leaving her out. Either way, it’s all she has time to think before they’re pouncing on her, all at once.

God, they’re fast. And she’s helpless.

With Sooyoung and Seungwan on either side of her pinning her under their full bodyweight, she’s left with little to no wriggle room and swiftly depleting sensation in both arms. She can already feel the sweat dripping. Joohyun humming a little tune to herself as she scans her bedroom doesn’t help either. She’s searching for an appropriate tool of ‘quality control’, as she so forebodingly put it.

Finally, in an open drawer, she spots the perfect solution, with its cord dangling out far too invitingly to overlook.

When she hears the flip of a switch and the horribly familiar whirr, Seulgi does her best to crane her neck up, struggling to see past the tangle of limbs draped across her and weighing her down. She knows what it is, and she isn’t keen. “… wh-what… unnie… why have you … what do you –”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Joohyun cuts her off before she has the chance to finish. “Big girls don’t need to know what’s coming at them to be able handle it, do they?”

“Ten hours, huh?” Yerim asks in an incredulous giggle from the corner of her room. “I mean, that’s super impressive, so we just wanna see for ourselves, you know? Right, Seungwan unnie?”

Just like that, Seulgi finds her fragile fate in Seungwan’s hands, and she doesn’t seem nearly as careful with it, almost like she wants to see it shatter. “Mhm,” the smaller girl concurs with a nod before turning down to face the crimson one of the girl below them. “What’s a more realistic time, d’ya think? Five? Five minutes?”

Sooyoung quickly interjects. “Five? Hah!” she scoffs, “I’m not even giving her two. Look at it.”

All eyes laser downwards to the tip of Sooyoung’s finger, where -- to everyone’s delight (and Seulgi’s repulsion) -- there’s a very obvious tent in her jeans. So obvious, in fact, that her arousal is perfectly highlighted through the thick denim that has moulded around it to create a very captivating shape.

Seulgi opens her mouth like she has any hopes of defending herself, but the potential words break off into a breathy whine when the faint whirring she hears above her directly translates into sheer jolts of pleasure that rip through her body from her crotch. It’s incredibly difficult, but she squints down to see Joohyun holding a purple vibrator between her spread knees, intermittently running it up and down the growing length.

They all watch as it vibrates her to a full erection, helpless and hard and just begging to be taught a lesson.

“Here’s the deal, Seul,” she deadpans. “Since you’re sooo good in bed… since you’re apparently going to fuck Minji till she can’t walk anymore, I think it’s only fair that you prove it, don’t you?”

Oh… there aren’t words that can possibly describe the dread now coursing through Seulgi’s veins at that prospect, despite herself.

“So, yes, I think I agree with Sooyoung. Two minutes. If you last two minutes, we’ll forget this ever happened. And you’re going to last, aren’t you? You’re going to last.”

She hadn’t even noticed Joohyun hadn’t offered the consequences of her failure to hold out. She couldn’t. That was the least of her concerns, for now, anyway. The sensation of being vibed through her trousers was… deafening, to say the least.

You’re going to last, they said. Seulgi chants that in her brain like it’ll make her last longer, like it’ll help her succeed. But… but she’s not sure she can. No, she has to. No matter what, that’s not happening… she can’t – she’s not going to – cum in her trousers.

Oh but it’s getting harder and harder not to want to. Not when Joohyun hasn’t even given her cock a chance to get used to the tingly sensation, going in at the highest setting to begin with. It’s unbearable, even over her jeans… especially over her jeans.

“… uh – uh – nnie…” she’s panting out, screwing her eyes shut to prevent them from going glassy, “… p-please… please don’t… I… it’s… too – too high…”

Joohyun knows she’s referring to the setting, and of course, does anything but what Seulgi wants her to do, which is lower it… or stop. In fact, the younger swears she feels it stronger now, pressed unforgivingly flush against her straining boner, just enticing her to lose her load right into her underwear. Seungwan’s fingers skim over a flushed cheek, cruelly teasing as she wipes Seulgi’s tears with the pad of her thumb.

“But our little Seulgi likes it high, doesn’t she?” she smirks down at hips bucking up into thin air, desperate for some friction other than the intense sparks of electricity zipping through her from the vibrator. “Gosh, baby, you’re so hard you’re poking through your jeans… poor, poor Minji, hm? Don’t you feel sorry for her? I sure do! If she knows she’s been talking to nothing but thorough lack of self-control and a pair of cum-stained jeans this whole time… my, my, what would she think?”

Sooyoung adjusts her weight so she’s leaning to purr into Seulgi’s ear with barely contained amusement. “Should we tell her, unnie? It’s only fair to the customer… we’ve inspected the goods, and uh… they don’t seem to be in ‘working order’.”

There’s a whimper and then a slight shift. Joohyun picks this up.

“Gonna cum, Seul?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“… hgnh – noo…” Seulgi shakes her head vigorously.

However, when the oldest sees chestnut locks gracelessly splayed across the bedsheet, erratic breathing and probably the teariest eyes in the history of teary eyes, she has to laugh. It’s not like she believed her sniffling Seulgi in the first place – not when she can literally feel her cock twitching under her palm, leaking precum by the gallon. Fingers tighten around the trapped boner, and Seulgi lets out a pathetic mewl. “Oh I think you are.”

“I – no – I’m… I’m – ah! No… nooo…”

“Aw, poor baby can’t control herself. Is your little cock all leaky?” Seungwan’s got an arm across her chest to shove her back down whenever she tries to push up, to keep her pinned as the threat of cumming in her jeans stalks closer and closer. “You still have 30 seconds.”

Goddamnit, 30 seconds? The fact she didn’t shoot the moment that godawful vibrator was in her line of sight was no less than a miracle… how the hell is she supposed to last 30 bloody seconds longer? The thought of soiled underwear and wet spots strikes a crawling heat in her cheeks, up her neck and down her arms. A heat that almost overtakes the one between her legs. Almost. It’s built up to an ache so pulsing, she just can’t ignore it. The room is spinning, and she feels dizzy and heated and it hurts… it hurts so good. The way Joohyun has the vibrator meticulously positioned so it teases the sensitive underside of her cock just right almost off-sets how ashamed she is that this is even happening at all.

“… n-not – a – baby,” she stutters, each word punctuated by an involuntary thrust of her hips against that numbing sensation driving her mad. Every upward motion has the zipper line rubbing harshly over her shaft, the thin fabric of her underwear doing little to shield her from the rough stimulation.

“You’re nothing but a baby!” Sooyoung coos, scrunching her face at Seulgi, who can’t even see her clearly through that sheen over her pupils. “Big girls don’t cum in their little panties just from a vibrator.”

“Ten seconds left.”

It’s a voice, but Seulgi’s so dazed she can’t pinpoint whose.

“Poor Minji, she’s gonna be so upset when she finds out our little Seul still makes messes in her underwear!”

“Nine…”

“Seulgi-ah, why did you bother putting make-up on? It’s not like she’s gonna be looking at your face tonight.”

“Eight…”

Searing rivers of tears are streaming down reddened cheeks because of how mean everyone’s being to her. If it weren’t for the raging stiffness threatening to bust through the seam of her jeans, you’d almost think she wasn’t enjoying this.

“Seven…”

She’s practically giving herself whiplash from how much she’s jerking and twisting, trying anything to escape the stares of the four girls looming over her – watching and waiting for the inevitable with ear-to-ear grins.

“Six…”

Just as she thinks she’s actually going to make the full two minutes, Joohyun slides the vibrator up to settle on the head of her cock, so sensitive, so painfully overstimulated –

– that she can’t take anymore.

The teasing, the vibration, the humiliation… god, it’s too much and it’s making her – making her cum.

Her jaw goes slack and she arches up despite the combined weights of Sooyoung and Seungwan holding her down. She reaches her limit with a tiny, broken whimper as warm liquid spills into her underwear, seeping through and soaking the dense fabric of her jeans.

That’s going to be an orgasm to remember. The high is magnificent, if not a little excruciating, and it leaves her a dishevelled, breathless heap of nerves. Oh but… but her date! Oh no, she needs to regain her senses as quickly as she can and she needs to get cleaned up and she needs a new pair of jeans and –

“No, you don’t, Seul,” Joohyun interrupts her frantic thoughts. “Don’t even think of a fresh pair of jeans right now. You’re already running late. She’s gonna be here any minute now.”

She’s too weak to even protest when she feels two strong arms hoist her up and only wobbly knees. When it’s obvious she can’t walk on her own, they resort to physically escorting her out of her room… past the living room… and, oh gosh… right for the door.

She wants to beg, to plead with them not to do this, but she’s outnumbered, and she knows it’s pointless. This is happening whether she wants it to or not.

“It’s okay, little baby,” Seungwan winks, gesturing to the wetness on her jeans, obvious as ever. “At least that’s one thing you can be truthful about.”

She almost sobs when the door shuts in her face, and it only intensifies when she hears the childish giggling behind it. The evening air feels cool against the sweat on her back and absolutely frigid against that spot on her crotch. She barely has time to shiver and collect herself before she’s holding an arm over her eyes to shield them from the blinding pair of headlights that are now in front of her.

Oh god no. She hadn’t been through enough tonight? But this is what she gets for lying.

She has nowhere to go, and she can only pray that she’s doing a good job at hiding her embarrassment from the pretty girl now winding down the window with a cheery, “Hiya! Seulgi?”

#red velvet #red velvet smut #smut #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #ships? like all of them #also #i sniffed the piece of bread i was eating #and it smelt like ALCOHOL???#um #help?#is this an issue?#kpop scenarios #girl group scenarios

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svt13roses · 4 years

Text

All Your Beautiful Lies

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Words: 1.4k

Summary: Everything is picture perfect. But what’s hidden behind it?

Pairing: Boo Seungkwan x Reader

△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽

A/n: When I first decided to get back into writing after taking a break for a few years, I initially wrote a short Seungkwan blurb that wasn’t more than 200 words. I decided “hey you know what, it’s probably time you built on that, loser”. So, here it is! Angst isn’t really my strong suit, but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless!

One year. It’s been one year living in this beautiful, utterly fantastic lie. The line between being naive and playing along was blurred a long time ago. Every day is like a limbo of being in perfect paradise while this dark monster whispers in your ear that it’s fake. You know it’s fake, and you’ve known for a while. But why do you believe it?

It didn’t take long for you to realize the reality of the situation. When you became a concept, something with no actual sustenance. In fact, the day he asked you to be his was a dream in and of itself. Boo Seungkwan, in all his beautiful glory, had asked you of all people to be his partner. The one who sticks by his side no matter what, and ideally he’d do the same for you. You give and you give and you give, and he accepts. You give and he takes. He does give back, in a way. You lived in a picture-perfect apartment with him, with only the best clothes and eating the highest quality of foods. In your eyes, it was all you could ever want. But one day waking up, it all felt fake. Truly, fake.

You initially found it suspicious about how fast your relationship moved with Seungkwan. He swept you off your feet so easily, by the end of the first week you were saying your “I love you’s”. By the second month, he had asked you to move in with him. By the end of the year, you were his on paper. Sealed by the perfect ring that you had dreamed about since childhood. Everyone in your life was so proud of your accomplishment. You had a trophy husband, a job you loved, and a home that was yours. Trophy husband. The words your friends always used to describe Seungkwan. You always laughed it off, playing along with their antics. But when did the roles reverse? When did you become the final piece in the picture-perfect puzzle of life?

That night you lie awake in your bed that’s too big for one person. But tonight, like many nights previously, you’re the only occupant. Rustling around, you decide that the bed was too comfortable to sleep. You got out of your bed, taking your phone off the charger on the bedside table, and checked the time. 1:54 in the morning. A part of you hoped that maybe he would come home. He had late nights in the past, resulting in him coming home in the early hours of 5-6 am. You would both lie in a peaceful slumber that was inevitably interrupted by both of your responsibilities of the day. Lately, however, a simple text of “practicing. Don’t wait up.” was all that you received as an indication that he would not be returning home that night.

You decided that it would be a while before you fell back asleep, so you would might as well get some work done. Entering the kitchen, you were temporarily blinded by turning on the bright lights. You grabbed a bag of your favorite snack and a glass of water, making your way to your office area. Learning from your mistake in the kitchen, you opted to let the light of your laptop illuminate the room as it powered on. As you began to log in, you thought you heard the front door open. Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard his distinctive padding along the floors, trying to be as quiet as possible. You chuckled to yourself; if only he knew how many nights you laid awake hoping that he would decide that coming home was more important than perfecting that last step in whatever dance he was learning.

The bedroom door down the hall slowly creaked open, then clicked shut. Silence. You waited another 10 minutes to see if he realized that you weren’t in bed and silently prayed that he would come looking for you, saying you needed to sleep with a pout adorning his face. The house stayed silent, just as it was before he came home. The only indication of any life being the kitchen light that was, to your knowledge, still turned on, and the gentle hum of your laptop. You looked at your laptop home screen and couldn’t help but smile painfully. The background was one of your favorite pictures of you two, taken when he brought you back to his home to meet his family. You both sat on a bench wearing matching sweaters, the trees turning beautiful shades of red and yellow around you. You had stars in your eyes as you took in the beautiful scenery around you. Even now, you can smell how crisp the air smelled, how soft the sweater felt, and how warm your heart felt. You looked at Seungkwan in particular. Of course, he looked ethereal as he always did but you looked at his eyes. You had been told many times growing up that eyes show the true emotions that people are feeling, but you would roll your eyes. His eyes showed no warmth, no happiness. He was just simply looking like he would at any other person.

Those eyes haunted you. Every picture around your apartment, which you had taken the effort to do, was the same. You held the purest love and adoration while he just smiled. Posed. You unlocked your phone and looked at a picture you had taken together at a cafe two weeks ago, the same one where you two met. Tears slowly welled up as you saw two people with bright smiles. From anyone else’s perspective, you two would look like a perfectly happy couple. But looking at your screen you couldn’t help but feel like an imposter in your own body.

You quickly closed your laptop, deciding you weren’t in the right headspace to work anymore.

“I’ll just go to sleep. Get some rest, wake up, and it’ll be ok. That’s how it always is.” You shakily told yourself, making your way to the bedroom. Standing outside, you felt like there was some force preventing you to go in. The perfect you could be in there, the one that happily greets her husband with no care in the world about how you both really feel. The one who kisses their husband on the cheek goodnight, telling him to have the sweetest dreams about them and snuggling into the blankets silently hoping that maybe he’ll hold her for once. But you weren’t that person. You were a culmination of a person built from a year of lies and dreams. You wanted to tell Seungkwan so bad that you know what he feels isn’t real, you realized it a long time ago. You wanted to tell him that you played your part as a puppet to see him happy. But if he wasn’t happy then what was the point? He clearly put on the same show you did. You just wanted to know what was going on inside his head that let him come as far as this. What’s his motive? Did he want to believe that this wasn’t some show just as bad as you did?

Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door handle, opening it as quietly as you can. The door creaks and you curse internally. You softly shuffle inside, making no acknowledgment that you were even gone from bed at this house. And there he lies on his side of the bed, scrolling through his phone. He makes no effort to let you know that he’s aware that you’ve come to bed. You gingerly lift the covers, trying to make your movements as small as possible as if that would make you disappear. Once safely inside the covers, you contemplate your next move.

“Seungkwan?” You whisper out. You feel the bed move and the sheets rustle as he puts his phone down to face you.

“Hm? What’s up, love?” You almost wince at the pet name. Staring into his eyes, you search for the words you want to say. The truth, about everything you’ve been hiding from him for the past year. You let yourself smile a little and scooch closer to him. You cup his face and kiss his cheek.

“Nothing,” you hum, “just heard you come home and decided I should probably go to bed too. Make sure you dream only the sweetest dreams of me tonight.” You roll over, not daring to look at what expression he could be wearing. You hear a small laugh.

“I always do, I always have and I always will.” You feel your heart stop. You bite your lip, willing to not let any tears slip. Tomorrow will be better, you think to yourself as you drift off, warmed by the blankets and not by the arms you dream to be in.

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #angst #svt #svt scenarios #svt imagines #seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #boo seungkwan #boo seungkwan x reader #rose writes #all your beautiful lies

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starkaer · 4 years

Text

it’ll last longer.

my @starkerkink prompter was @demons-sing-me-to-sleep, and i choose the third prompt. this was both all of the place and so much fun to write! hope you like it, though i didn’t manage to fit as many of your kinks as i’d like to. i might post it on ao3 later, but here we go!

tags: underage (peter is sixteen), incest, unnegotiated kink, mildly dubious consent, exploration of kink(s), unbetaed bc i’m a mess tm.

Nice! Peter will have the whole Stark Tower for himself, for more than a couple of days, for the very first time in his sixteen years. He had plans of inviting over Ned for the whole weekend, maybe bringing over Liz or Harry to try and impress them - maybe even invite that cute pizza boy in and let the things he saw online become reality. But, on the first day, he is going to do what he had been wanting to do for oh-so-longnow.

The tv in his room is indeed huge and he would never complain about it, but nothing could ever compare to the one in the living room. 4k porn. God, he is going to be living the teenage dream. Computer on the coffee table, a towel on his side, clothes not even on after the shower a couple of hours ago.

God, he is actually feeling nervous! He sighs to get the anxiety out, and gets to work. Connects the two screens, opens the secret folder he had put a password on, finds that nearly 3gb sized file (one of the ones he downloaded when he learned his dad had a meeting out of the state), and waits a few seconds for the show to start.

And then it started. A redhead twink, laying on a bed, flipping over a random comic book, only wearing the skimpiest of red speedos. He’s already so damn hard, and the muscled step-dad wasn’t even on the screen yet- oh, there he was. Bulging muscles, skin a dark-ish shade of golden, eyes clearly hungry.

That went on for nearly two hours, Peter stroking himself to the cliff but making sure to never fall in, since he wanted to enjoy as much of this as possible. He had watched all the highest quality porn he managed to download, but maybe he was in the mood for something new.

Maybe some amateur videos? Those typically had great positions. Or perhaps one of the spanking ones? He liked the whimpers from those, they did great things for him.

But then his eyes set down on something else, and his finger doesn’t take long to follow. A few seconds, and there were two men on his screen, the lighting not good enough for him to make every single detail out, but he didn’t mind. He knows very well what happens.

“Do you like that, Stark? Like a big man destroying your ass?”

That first line almost did push him down the cliff, his hand flying away from his pulsing red cock in order to avoid it; now it was becoming almost a game. That man was Steve Rogers, one of his father’s most long-lasting boyfriends, he later learned.

“Yeah, please, ruin me, sir! Fuck me until I can’t walk, please!”

That second line almost pushes him down the cliff, and his hand was still away from his pulsing red cock. That begging whore was his dad, he thought with a smirk, and his dick twitched in response.

Two videos later, his dad has two men deep in both of his holes, one with the best dirty talk of all the sextapes and the other with the longest dick he had ever seen. The moans his dad was making was unholy at best, and he knew this was going to be it - it was the last one, and he barely lasted through the one before with the long-haired one, the most brutal one who got Tony nearly in tears with his pounding.

Oh, it was coming! Oh, he was coming! This is-

“Peter, what the fuck is that?!”

Peter loves horror games, even liked the ones with the cheesy jumpscares - they got the adrenaline flowing, it was fun. But none of those ever made him jump quite as much as he did when his father’s voice came from behind him instead of from the screen.

He shoves his finger on the computer’s button so fast one would think he has superpowers, but it was clearly long past that point. “Hey, dad, you’re, um- You’re not supposed to be home.” His heart keeps drumming on his ears and brain, as he tries to cover his junk.

“What the fuck are you watching Peter? Why?! Why would you watch that, that’s-”

“I know! I know, dad, I know, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

If whoever was that cold man had his father nearly in tears of pleasure, his father had him apologetically bawling on the floor. All it took was the slight tone of disgust on Tony’s voice to get him sobbing, begging for forgiveness. He was disgusting, and he knew it. All he could do is hope his dad would see how truly sorry he was, and maybe put him in a mental hospital, so those gross thoughts could go away and he could be a normal person, a normal teenager.

“Pete, don’t- don’t cry, it’s- It’s okay, it’s okay... You were just curious, that’s all, it’s okay, come here...” Oh, he was very much not just curious. That was nothing on those videos for him to be curious about anymore, he knew every detail very fucking well - but it felt so great to be hugged and apparently forgiven by his dad, he wouldn’t mind if that’s what Tony would have to believe in order to forgive him. “I just hate those videos, but you did nothing wrong, okay? I shouldn’t ever have filmed them, but that’s not on you.”

It took more ten or fifteen minutes of calming and soothing and tranquilizing for him to say anything. And, if he had his mind in place, those probably wouldn’t be his first words.

“Why do you hate them, though?” Head on his father’s lap, feet hanging off the couch in misery, it takes some seconds for him to get a response from above.

“They just don’t represent me well, I guess. Or at all, really.” There’s a good-humored tone to it, but then it gets a bit more serious. “I just... Now I just relate more to the other man, y’know?”

“You’re a top now, that’s what you’re saying?” The question is genuine, but not even Peter himself can’t help but laugh along with his dad when he realizes how simplified it was.

“I guess there’s also that, but...” The man takes a long breath, his face clearly showing he is trying to pick just the right words. “The thing is that... The things those men said to me... Now I prefer to say than to hear them. You know what I mean?”

“So... You’re a dominant, is that it?” There could have been some laughing again, since it was also apparently simplifying Tony’s answer, but the man just stared at him for a few seconds, almost admiring his words.

“Well, yeah... I didn’t know you knew what a dominant is, but yeah, that is what I mean, I guess. But also I’m just a very different person overall.”

“How do I know what I am?”

“Well...” There are butterflies in his stomach, and he tries not to think about how good his father’s thighs are as pillows. “When you watched those videos, did you like to hear what those men said? Do you, well, wish they were being said to you?”

Cheeks turn bright red immediately. “Yeah.” It’s almost nothing, and his dad has to make a questioning sound to get a clear and louder version. “I think I did, yeah.”

“Well, that means you’re probably a submissive. But, like I said, those things can change with time. I used to enjoy those things being said to me, but now I prefer to say them. You’re too young to know for sure what you prefer, anyway, Pete.” He hopes ‘those things can change with time’ would include his taste for his own father’s sex-tapes.

“I’m really sorry, dad. I should never have watched them.”

“It’s okay, Pete, it’s okay. You’re a kid, you’re supposed to be curious about that kind of stuff. Do you... Do you have any other questions about them?”

“When was the one with uncle Bruce filmed? And who was the long-haired dude?”

“Oh, you do. Was hoping we could wrap things up. Okay, um...” He motions to Peter to get up, which he does, sitting on the couch like his father, heart beating fast.

“The one with uncle Bruce… Do you like that one?” He shyly nods, feeling even more gross, but...

But, ugh, that one was definitely his favorite one. He loved when those men called his dad the filthiest names - but that one was completely different, and so much better. Tony sets up the camera, eyes dark in lust and smirk on his lips, then turns on his back and drops to his knees and sucks Bruce dry. Once, twice, thrice, in twenty minutes. The simple image of the man adjusting his glasses while looking down to his father, shaking and trembling and whimpering for some reason, had powered many of his late-night jack offs.

His father lets out a long breath, but Peter can’t tell if it’s good or bad. The thought of ‘is he disgusted again?’ nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“Yeah, that is indeed a good one...” Like they’re talking about pizza toppings, not the man’s own sex-tapes. His dick is spasming and growing and redning, and he wonders if his father’s eyes are actually going from his face to his cock or if that’s his horny, gross imagination. “Do you know why uncle Bruce was crying like that?”

After some moments of nervous silence, he shakes his head, swallowing hard and waiting to see what his father is up to. “Do you want to find out?”

There’s another nod, but never a sound — Peter's mind is turning on itself, really. It hits him: his father, at that moment, was hitting on him. Without a doubt. And, with that question, his cock can’t get any harder. The image of him trembling and moaning while Tony works on his cock like the hungriest, meanest slut hits him like a truck, turning his cheeks bright red.

“Say it, then. Say that you want daddy to suck you off.”

Despite the request of a confirmation still in the air, his father is sliding down to his knees, and he can’t breathe for a second. He doesn’t say it, but he spreads his legs. He doesn’t say it, but he bites his lips. And then he says it, voice shaking more than uncle Bruce. “I want daddy to suck me off, please.” The ‘please’ was out of habit, and he would have laughed for it, if his father wasn’t about to give him the very first blowjob of his life.

His dick was standing nearly straight by now, hardened by his father’s words, and yet Tony’s big hand wrapped around it like it was a pencil. It was so agonizingly slow, but oh so fucking good. Up and down, up and down, always with a twist of his wrist — he wasn’t sure if he was wanting to scream in pleasure because it was someone else, or because it was his father, or really just because that technique was better than his basic quick-up-&-down-strokes-until-he-cums one. Probably all three.

Some more seconds of only masturbating, and his father’s lips were approaching his crotch. Tender kisses to his thighs, which felt both burning erotic and way too intimal (like when a whore has sex, but doesn’t kiss a client), and his father’s eyes are staring into his soul, but he doesn’t pay it much attention. He can deal with his soul later.

“Should I talk like them?” It clearly takes a few seconds for Tony to understand, and he’s scared he’s ruined the moment. “The men, on the videos?” And his father looks up to him, grinning like the devil.

“No...” A long, wet, epically slow lick to his cockhead has him squiming his hips forward for more, but his father doesn’t allow it. “But tell me, Pete, do you want daddy to make this little dick of yours warm?” Oh. That’s right. He was Tony in the videos, and Tony were those men. So he was the little whore, the cockhungry slut, and the fucking faggot — even if he was the one being sucked off. And that thought almost made him cum on the spot.

He didn’t know if Tony would wait for his confirmation this time, but he gave it immediately, nodding quickly, eyes closed in desperation and need. And so, he can’t see when his dad places his mouth around his throbbing dick, but he lets out a moan nearing a scream, and the edge is so close.

The mouth worked up and down his shaft, making lewdy, wet sounds all the way, and Peter looks to the edge he’s being pushed to. This feels so good, he doesn’t want to fall in yet. “Yeah, oh, dad…” He wasn’t required to make those noises, they come from somewhere between his very soul and his genitals.

But it doesn’t last one minute, and he’s being pushed off the edge, falling into the delicious, bright abyss, and screaming all the way down. When he opens his eyes, Tony's face is painted with his seeds, and seeing that is a thousand times hotter than watching any of those videos could ever be. In fact, one second of that blowjob was hotter than any of his thousand hours of jerking off to those videos.

“Oh, that was a lot, Pete.” He could get hard just from watching his father cleaning his hand, sucking the cum out of his fingers like it’s vanilla ice cream. Like giving his kid a blowjob is just his thursday.

“Yeah, I was, uh- I was jerking off for, like, two hours before, so, yeah, that’s why.” He wants to ask if that, the blowjob, will ever happen again (and also why dad isn’t cleaning his face), but knows he shouldn’t. This shouldn’t have happened, but he is so glad it did. “DAD, AH!”

Tony is back to sucking; and, instead of the blessing that was falling from that cliff, he’s falling from grace. It’s burning and cramping and hurting, and he is shaking and trembling and whimpering. Exactly like uncle Bruce.

“Please, dad, ah! It hurts, please!” It seems the more he tries to squirm away, the harder Tony sucks — for one second it hits that, perhaps, he is indeed sucking harder the more he struggles, perhaps he likes him to struggle, but that thought won’t make the cramps stop, so it’s of no real use for him. “Please, daaad!”

But, both as sudden as a lightning and as smooth as a cloud, the anguish leaves, and he is welcomed with another hard-on, and his hurt twitching and whimpering turns into jerking and asking for more. He now opens his eyes, but the sight of his father in his knees, looking deep into his eyes with a pulsating cock in his mouth takes all of his air away, so he closes them again.

He feels proud of passing the one minute mark, but it’s just some more minutes until the gagging sounds and the slick warmness take him down the marvelous cliff once again. There’s more of his semen on his dad’s face, but it seems like just when he's done squirting cum out, he’s falling from Mount Olympus for the second time, and it might be worse.

The cramps return with all force, drowning him in ache, all throughout his legs and his wrists and his elbows — and he can’t wait for the sweet release of sudden pleasure, but it doesn’t seem to be coming. He gives in to begging, “Dad, dad, please stop, please, ah!” And it still doesn’t come for what feels like days on end.

There’s tears falling down his cheeks, and he is grabbing the couch so hard it might break his fingers. His cock is getting hard again — but none of the sweet pleasure that came the first two times hits him, the cramps never go away. He continues to beg and cry and ask, until he comes again, and this time he realizes no more jizz really comes out. He doesn’t even open his eyes, waiting for the ache again, until his father speaks.

“Already dry, kid?” That’s when he allows himself to wake up, and is faced with the man’s face covered in his own cum. There’s quite a nice amount on his forehead and his right cheek. His nose, left cheek and goatee also have some of his liquid, and he thinks one of the eyes is red-ish, so he guesses some landed on there too. “Wanna clean me up or should I?”

He gives no response, breathing deeply from both relief and tiredness. His eyes are starting to weigh, and Tony must have taken it as a no. If he wasn’t so done with the cliffs and the edges for tonight, the sight of his father brushing his cum to his mouth and licking his lips and fingers clean of it like it’s vanilla — that would definitely get him hard. “You know why uncle Bruce was like that?”

Just a tired nod, and he’s dozing away. “You were even prettier than him...”

Just a warm smile, and he’s nearly gone. “Hope you don’t mind me recording it...”

Just a pair of closing eyes, and he’s done, but- “Maybe later I’ll explain the Bucky one to you…”

#starkerkink2020 #starker #starkercest #ironspider #my writings.#my stuff.

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