Hello, whoever's reading this! I'm Morii, and somehow . . . you ended up here.
Nice to meet you!
On this blog—Ahem, flight—I'm going to to post my various fanfics—snacks, if you will—for whatever fandom I'm writing for at the time.
There are a lot of them, so . . . who knows, I'm open to hearing what you have to say. Maybe I serve for it! Also, don't be afraid to interact. I'm not on this plane by myself, and I do honestly get discouraged when I feel like my stuff is just . . . out there.
Sorry guys, I don't write NSFW. Nothing against it, I just don't think I could and I'm not comfortable trying.
I can't promise my stuff is always gonna be good, or not a little out of character, but I guess the core of fandom is 'up to interpretation'. But I hope you enjoy anyway :P
That being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight. Why don't you order something?
—Captain Morii 🌤️
Carry-ons are my nicknamed anons. Idk, I thought it'd be cute. Feel free to become one!
aaah thank you so much for writing my rbf/unapprochable reader req!!! it was so cuteee you wrote more than i thought tooo lool
time to delude myself into believing irl will happen like this to me 😔
tsym!!! <3 cant wait to see how you write my other req~
goodluck with senioritis~~ fighting!!!!
Your more than welcome, anon!! I was worried you weren't going to see it, to be honest. Yeah, I wrote a lot 😅 I hope it was enjoyable?? I know I didn't as much lean into the 'hitting on' but I did kind of forget about it sorry. Keep your head up! You have plenty of time <33
WAIT YOU CAN'T SAY YOU HAVE ANOTHER REQUEST AND NOT TELL ME WHICH ONE IT WAS HELP??
I’m so HAPPY TO SEE YOU POST! I’ve been missing your FICS. I was just about to reread some of your other ones!
Also I hope your school is going better than mine! My class that I really wanted to do got dropped and another has a time change that interferes with another class And I have to make my own syllabus for a capstone class on top of stupid tuition mess-ups save me from the red tape!
I hope you do well and am excited to see the next post whenever that may be!!!!
—😈❣️
Heeey!! I'm glad TO post! and I've been missing you guys, too.
As for my school . . . I'm tired of this, grandpa. 😒 I think I'm just ready to be done. But we're in the homestretch now, sooo . . . gotta tough it out. You DEFINITELY seem to be having it worse than me though! At the beginning of the year, I definitely felt the struggle—I wanted to take a few classes I actually wanted to but not enough people were interested so they got dropped. Classes interfering with each other is so real! I wish you luck on your capstone . . . my school got rid of ours because of the work level in AP classes, thank god! I have to tell myself that it has to get better, it has no choice (ominous).
Schools honestly need to get their shenanigans together.
But I'm already working on the next post. I'll see you soon!!
hihi! i hope your requests are actually open and im not being rude or anything, most recent post says they are but the little icon thing doesnt (if if isn't u can ignore me, i don't use Tumblr often)
anyway! i was just wondering if i could req smth? how the sajas hit on/shoot their shot with reader just looks super super unapproachable, rbf, sharp gaze, headphones on, face mask on, that cool type hahhah etc but is actually super flustered and shy when they're approached. meet cute typa thing
totally not deluding myself-
thank u thank u mwah
Inarticulation—
5.2k words; Saja Boys x Reader
Masterlist | Requests paused!
For someone who's lived the last few hundred years with a silver tongue, it's surprisingly useless when it comes to trying to talk to you.
A/N: Hello passengers!! It's Morii here. How are you guys doing? Senioritis is really hitting around now, and I'm a bit sick as well, but I'm trying to get through it 🥲. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyyy!
Jinu—
Eyes can say a whole lot about someone . . . even Jinu was taken aback by yours. He wasn’t really trying to meet them; it was just one of those things that happened.
Initially, it wasn’t even your eyes he’d seen. He had been passing a storefront, lost in thought, and something in the back of his head just told him to look.
So he did, he turned his head. And across the street? There was a figure, walking against the crowd, just like he had been; in their own little world, minding their business. Head down, hands shoved in pockets, grocery bag dangling loose around your wrist, earbuds in and expression indiscernible. Maybe it was the heavy contrast in your demeanor compared to the world around you, or maybe it was the shared state of thought that you both seemed to have; but Jinu felt a sense of kinship with you.
What could be on your mind, that had you walking like that? You looked like the world was on your shoulders and you were about ready to throw it off. Relatable. He wondered if you were just as burdened, just as trapped as he could be . . . speaking of, he had much bigger things to consider.
His attention tore from you and back to the problem that grew just below his feet; a starving fire desperate for more food. Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but glance at him.
No one had any problem admitting that Jinu was something beautiful. The sunlight seemed to curl around his form and brighten his features; even in his contemplative state, he seemed something ethereal. It was hard not to notice. So you did. Little glimpses in his direction, trying to at least seem like you were paying attention, reminding yourself to walk straight—something that was a bit hard when your path wanted to veer off towards his.
Finally, you reached the end of the street.
You needed to cross it, anyway, to get where you wanted to go; the big, white lines on the pavement marked your path. Funny enough, he had made it to the other side in about the same time as you.
It was time to cross.
Then came mutual worry, though. What if he looked at you, what if you looked at him? Jinu didn’t know why it made him so nervous. You were just some random person going on about their day. And still, it filled him with a minor sense of dread. If this were the last time he ever saw you?
Then he took a step, another. The closer he got, the less sure he got of even wanting an interaction with you. Because even if he couldn’t not look, your expression seemed a bit . . .
Well. Unapproachable.
He’s never seen someone with eyes so dead. And that’s saying something, because he’s surrounded by the dead!
Your eyes were cold, clinical, with a certain look about them that made you seem sick of everything. Maybe that’s why you wore a mask; to dissuade whatever viral bullshit might come your way. Maybe that’s why you wore headphones; so you were sure that you didn’t have to listen. How could some stranger make him feel so small?
You stared through him. Only one other being could do that. Still, you weren’t really seeing. Or, maybe you were.
So he passed you. His palms were sweating a bit, his jaw set. You hadn’t uttered a word, and neither had he.
A sigh of relief escaped you; because that guy you had just seen? Teeth clenched and eyes hardened? He was pretty. And a little scary. In your relief to be out of the situation, something went wrong.
Maybe you had tripped over someone who was walking too slow. Or maybe it was the shrill “JINU—!” you heard right before you were shouldered that had done the trick. It could have been a million things; all you really knew was that you were headed for the ground.
Except, you never met it.
Something had snatched your wrist, and your bag went flying—but before you knew it, you were swinging at a lower altitude than you had expected. You felt something hook at your lower back to keep you secure and you looked up.
That was when Jinu really got to see your eyes. And oh, were they everything from before and so much more.
They were different, that’s for sure, but not cruel; now they were surprised, expressive upon interaction. He could see a flush bloom on your cheeks at the interaction, and you were quite beautiful in this angle, he had to admit.
In reality, you were struggling to process what just happened. All you could see was this guy who had saved your life, and could probably ruin it again in the same few seconds.
“Sorry—!” You yelped, pushing away from him fast. You almost lost your balance but regained it at the last moment, only making your face burn more. “I don’t know what happened, I didn’t mean to—” what, run into him? Be an inconvenience? You don’t know, what were you apologizing for again?
“Relax, are you okay?”
You finally swallowed, staring at him again. He did the same, too, waiting for an answer. “I think so?”
“You think?”
“I don’t know, I saw my life flash before my eyes in slow motion, and—” your sarcasm died slowly. What else was there to even say? “. . . Thank you.”
He didn’t accept it, nor did he deny it. He only half-smiled, his gaze turning to your bag. It was definitely ruined, out in the street; something had run over it in the time between him catching you and you gathering yourself.
“That’s from that bakery, a few blocks around the corner, right?” Jinu asked, already beginning to walk again. “C’mon. I’ll get you a new one.”
What? “Why would you—it’s not even your fault it’s ruined!” Your brows pinched as you watched him. He only gestured nonchalantly at a sheepish fan, waiting a bit away from him.
“It kind of is.” The fan seemed to utter the smallest apology before speedwalking away from the scene, actively dying from embarrassment and probably some concoction of shame as well. “You coming, or not?”
You didn’t want to watch him go, and you did want your food back . . .
So you followed the stupidly bright man. And he grinned, because . . . well, maybe the world wasn’t completely against him if it had set him up that way.
Abby—
There are the people in the world who try to keep up with the trends of the world, then the people who set them. You exist outside either box. That was something Abby had learned just from seeing you everyday.
All the time, really. You were everywhere!
He was walking down the streets, looking at all the brightness in the world? There you were, dressed like you didn’t try at all (and it still came out amazing), hands shoved in hoodie pockets as you watched someone make some hotteok you ordered. Going to the gym? You were walking out. The cornerstore, the crosswalk, in the window of a restaurant—he couldn’t escape you.
Not that he really wanted to . . . there was something about you.
Maybe it was the wonder of what kind of smile could be hidden behind your mask, or what kind of listen you played through your headphones. Maybe it was the well-loved and comfortable sweaters he’d seen you style time and time again, maybe it was the cozy feeling he could imagine you gave off or how he might imagine your eyes to give your true expressions away—
The truth was, Abby wanted to know you.
He just didn’t know how.
Obviously, the universe wanted him to. Why else would it be putting you in every place he was in? It’s just that no time seemed like the right time. In the street stall, waiting on your order, you seemed too focused on your food to want to talk. In the gym? Your headphones were in, loud, and it’d be rude to approach you while you were working out just to talk . . . he didn’t want to seem like a creep. Oh, what if you had seen him, too?
What if you thought he was stalking you??
That would be a disaster.
Abby walked down the street that evening, wondering just when he’ll see you this time. Maybe it will be in passing, on the bus. Or maybe you will be out with some friends and he will catch a glimpse. Right in the middle he contemplated if it was strange to be thinking of you so much—did he even have the right?
He kept walking, kept walking; ‘til the lights out were just from closed store fronts rather than bright light open signs, never noticing the steps that were in tune with his just a floor or two above him. One foot, two. A figure balancing on shingles and roofing, counting each square absentmindedly—skipping one that seemed a bit loose—until the squares came to a stop.
You peered down at the alley you had to cross. No biggie, right? You’ve done this a hundred times before, to get to that place you desired so. The night wouldn’t wait, and you wanted to be back before it could turn to morning once more. So you backtracked, testing your stance so you could cross it again like you had all those times.
You ran;
Your shoe’s sole caught the loose roof tile,
And down the alley you went.
You didn’t even hear the crisp shriek you let out—you only felt the air rushing. Your eyes screwed shut, anticipating the hard, cruel and crumbling pavement, trying to ‘catch’ your fall, but you didn’t have to: someone else did.
The falling stopped. The world was silent, and you had landed on something that was surprisingly comfortable for what was meant to be pavement. Then, you realized: this wasn’t pavement. The alley floor didn’t have pretty eyes blinking wide, owlishly, nor did it have pink hair and strong arms holding you off the real ground.
Oh.
He looked down at you, cleared his throat, offered a perplexed smile. “Are you alright?”
You could only watch sheepishly in return. “Could’ve—Could’ve been worse.”
He snickered lowly, and the embarrassment really hits. You groaned, planting your face in your hands as a flush began on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry about that.”
He merely moved to let you down, and you scramble down from the position (with internal reluctance), turning away. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine with my new job as a . . . human landing pad.”
You raked your palm over your face and he only laughed more. “Don’t worry about it, really.”
“Is there anything I can do to properly apologize—”
“It’s okay,” he reaffirmed, gently nudging your shoulder to get you to stop spiraling. He had a stupidly nice smile. “If anything, I just wanted to ask for—”
Oh, great, here we go . . .
“—Your name?”
Pardon?
You stared at him for a moment, trying to guess where this was going. You watched the man immediately panic, combing a hand through his hair.
“I mean, not to be weird or anything—I just see you around all the time, have you noticed? It’d be nice to have a name for the face . . .” He seemed to regret starting this way. He sighed, tilting his head to the side. “My name’s Abby. Nice to meet you . . .”
“. . . Y/N,” you finally offered, finding his unsureness a bit amusing. “Though I think I’ll keep calling you ‘human landing pad’.”
“Pfft,” he cracked another grin, relaxing now that he’s sure he didn’t overthink his actions too bad—that he didn’t screw anything up. “Can this human landing pad ask what you were doing needing one in the first place?”
Abby watched as you pointed up to a spot on the roof a few buildings down; perfect perch for overlooking this calm little spot of the city. “I was heading there.”
“Mind if I come with?” Abby extended. “For human landing pad purposes, obviously.”
“Obviously,” your lips curled upward. “Safety precautions, or whatever.”
Well, you definitely didn’t make it back before midnight, but that’s okay. You got a cute guy’s phone number out of it, and a pretty nice night watching the cityscape, too.
Mystery—
Not many things were unknown to Mystery. He was Mystery, after all. So how could you be more mysterious than him?
He doesn’t know who you are. He keeps seeing you at their events—behind the scenes, post events, before them . . . not in the main area though. Never there. Always sitting on some crate, looking through paper work, always on the stoop just outside the backdoor, taking a breather.
Mystery knew he was a bit . . . out there. You? You were out there, too (literally). More in the way that you looked ready to cut someone, though. Like there was something underneath the skin that held you, like you were in your own lane and if anyone crossed it they’d learn not to again.
He had his own reputation, definitely. And still, he gave you a wide berth when he had to walk up those stairs.
It was because he didn’t want to bother you, right? In the end, that’s why he went out there, too. He didn’t want anyone to bother him. So he’d walk right past you and into the dark. Linger in the shadows where people couldn’t see and let go a bit.
People are too much.
He can hear their screams from outside the venue, outside the talkshow, outside everywhere.
Sometimes, he just needed a break.
Mystery minded his business whenever he was outside. Do unto others . . . or whatever. But he paid attention. Just didn’t question.
He noted the little things about you, when he could watch and not be watched back. The way you’d pick at dark nail polish and fidget with beads along your wrists. The way your eyes would flick to sounds that you shouldn’t be able to hear with your clunky headphones over your ears—a deflection tactic. So you didn’t have to talk to people.
Real. Why didn’t he think of that . . .
Really, though, it just became more apparent that you were another person. The kind that used accessories as something to calm with, the kind that needed silence for a while.
Mystery liked that kind of person, and he liked the silent companionship that came with it. So . . . why not enjoy the quiet a little closer?
Except . . . he didn’t know what to say. He was never the best with words. Ever. He was the shadow of the Sajas, and he liked it that way. His voice never came easy—it had rotted away, flake by flake, down where he hadn’t needed to use it refined.
He made it come out when he needed to be loud—when he had to sing, but casual conversation had died a long time ago.
The next time he saw you, it was just after a segment with some host on a show he didn’t care about. On the stoop. Flicking lighter open and closed. You never smelled of smoke, though (thankfully; Mystery hated the smell); just the flame, and something to fidget with.
He walked down the steps as usual. Not as usual: he paused before he could step off, taking a seat a few rows down from you.
Alright. Now talk.
Except, nothing came out. Just the beginning and end of a word. For once he’d tried to speak but the words just curdled in the back of his throat, churning into something too thick to spit out.
What the hell was wrong with him.
Mystery only offered a broken look (one that you couldn’t even see, his hair was in the way) in your direction, a little head tilt, a defeated noise. You watched him, a little more curled up.
Surprised.
That made two of you.
What was even more surprising to him, though, was the hesitant little wave you offered him. A glimpse of palm and curled fingers from the sleeve of your hoodie; no words. Just acknowledgement of the typical shared environment. And Mystery? He waved back.
Not like he could speak. What would he even say?
Good thing he didn’t have to say anything. Because although your hands were hesitant, you too acknowledged the constance of the other in the dark—and you offered something you hadn’t ever before; slipped your headphones down around your neck, swapped them out for earbuds.
Offered him one.
Their fingers brushed as he took it. Mystery inserted it into his ear the way he’s seen others do. The music was low, and he could still hear the world around him plenty.
Is this lofi??
Something curled at Mystery’s lips. It’s never normal enough to be a smile, but perhaps a tinge of amusement and a dash of a deeper connection.
Because of course the person he couldn’t talk to, who never said a word . . . didn’t listen to music with words in the dark, either.
And for two people who were sick of the constant buzz of mic feedback and people rushing backstage?
That was enough.
Romance—
Romance liked romanticising. It’s in his name.
Duh.
So if he enjoyed strolling down the street with his newly (borrowed) acquired freedom, whose business is it, anyway? He sees life. He sees a world he’d been outcasted from long before, sees how it’s changed.
People still smile. Children still laugh, humans still love. Romance has to make his own louder—love, to be specific—to prove that there’s still something in his chest that can, too.
So he embraces the morning. The brightness, the daylight, the way it flickers through window pane and leaves sunspots shifting slow over the floor. Walks between people and children on their typical routines as he makes his way through tangled streets; smells food. Stops for coffee.
Always in that damned coffee shop, he finds the other dead pixel in the scene. You are the antithesis of this idyllic world he tries to paint around his ugly.
Your entire vibe was utterly detached. Blunt. Bandaids and glasses that put a barrier between you and the surrounding environment. Leaned back in your seat like space didn’t matter after you had taken on your biggest enemy—was it morning or getting out of bed or did you actually fight and maim someone? You didn’t see the outside world, not because your vision was rose-hued, but because you just didn’t care.
That’s what seemed most apparent to Romance, anyway.
His eyes would always flick to you as he roamed past the aisle of the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, waited in line for his drink, and wondered.
Who are you? Is your drink just as bitter as your front-face, or do you consume ungodly amounts of sugar to try and curb the exhaustion (same)? How long do you stay? Where do you go? When did you get here, anyway?
But he never had the heart to ask.
Romance stayed sometimes. Never next to you, but always in a place where he could see you on the opposite end of the store. Both of your spots were against the wall; he picked something next to the window, and you always sought after that little corner space.
In a way, you were kind of a constant. Something he could look forward to seeing—or maybe not look forward, but know he would find. Although he never speaks or finds it in him to approach, there’s comfort in knowing that stoic person hiding away in the world is always there.
So edgy, but never a bother. Quiet.
Maybe, just maybe, over his little cup of coffee, refined and sweet, Romance daydreamed; immersed himself in every in and out of what could possibly be your life and what had led you here.
You could work late shifts; maybe you worked two jobs and this was your peace in between. Maybe you were just a sleepy, no-morning person who was trying to get their foot through the door of the day. A black-cat human who found their own delight in the chill. Maybe they knew the owner. Or this was just the place they’d carved out of their day for them. Sunlight dappling over locks. Eyes always calm and half-lidded over steam.
Lovely.
Such a contrast to his brighter tones, but looks can be deceiving. Romance knows that better than anyone.
He’d never approach you, though. Turns out he didn’t have to.
Businesses that learn to capitalize on seasonal cravings always experience an influx in customers around the different shifts. This little coffee shop isn’t much different.
It was packed. People who couldn’t get their streamlined fix in a reasonable amount of time found an alternative—this was the alternative. Luckily, Romance had gotten there early; got his usual spot by the window, observed the different types of people who came in and went out.
He thought he had seen you down the street, and it was only confirmed in watching you push the door open; Romance raised a brow.
You came in looking like the eye of a hurricane; already having suffered the first wall and in the brief interlude waiting for the whirlwind to spit you back out again. In other words; not composed. A bit messy in a way that you made work for you, he noted; cozy and with a lot less give a damn than before (and that’s saying something).
You already seemed awake. Still so damn tired.
Romance watched you get in line, watched it trickle down until you finally got to the counter; observed your expression. Your usual seat? Taken by a group of boisterous friends on the other side of the room, and you looked too sick of the day already to even attempt to approach a little table in the middle of it all close by.
Deceiving eyes flicked out the window for a moment (were they pink, brown, both?) and when he returned them to the store? A familiar face was fidgeting with the bag in their hands, finger wandering the crease of the sticker on their cup.
“Hey . . .” You had started, and Romance blinked. You’re talking to him?? He watched you try to swallow your nerves. “All the seats are taken, so I was wondering if I could . . .” Your hand gestured to the unoccupied seat across from him.
You want to sit with him? Alarm bells seemed to go off around his mind. Mini-Romances bolted around his little HQ, waving around fire extinguishers, panicking. Because now this idea of you that he had formed in his mind (or all the different facets of you, at least) are clashing with the real you, and he wonders just what he will find out. Or will they talk at all?
Romance casts what he thinks is a kind smile, offering the seat up. “Go ahead . . . it’s really packed in here today.” Great, small talk. That won’t tell him much about you. Good going.
Still, you don’t put your headphones in like he usually sees, you don’t pretend he never said anything. “Yeah, the autumn selection here is pretty extensive.” His gaze flickers down, and he sees that you’ve also fallen victim to seasonal treats.
“You, too?”
Your cheeks warmed, and somehow, you’re so much more expressive than he had presumed. Did you just have a resting bitch face or something? Your voice was doing that thing where people speak higher to seem less bothersome or more accommodating. “. . . I have a sweet tooth.”
There’s nothing so intimidating about you at all. Now, you just looked cozy. Warm, and still you’re that constant he always finds in this coffee shop—just this time, you’re constant a little closer.
“I always mean to ask, but I never quite have the courage . . . you always look so tired. You’re usually here earlier. What . . . ?”
“I woke up late,” you sigh, leaning on your fist. Sipping your cinnamon-flavored drink, and Romance wonders if pumpkin is too main-stream for you. “I stayed up too much writing last night . . .” You seemed to catch his attentive expression, elaborating with a sheepish smile.
“I’m writing a book.”
“. . . You’re more comfortable than I thought.”
“Huh?”
“It’s just that . . . I dunno, you seem like you’re in your own world,” Romance gestured to her typical spot cornered away from anyone else. “Cool, like things don’t affect you, or like you can’t be bothered . . . not in a rude way! Just . . . the untouchable way.”
When Romance sees the way your eyes narrow when you smile, and the way they glint with light from sitting at his table—well, he thinks they look so much nicer up close.
“Guess I am in my own world,” you start. “I do my best brainstorming when I’m imagining somewhere quiet . . . well. Usually quiet.”
He can’t help but seem to relax.
In reality? You’re just a dreamer, too.
Baby—
Baby didn’t have problems talking. He just didn’t typically want to. In fact, he didn’t like people all the time, at least the ones that could recognize him.
So, why did he like riding trains?
Maybe it was the constant motion that helped him write. Or the people that didn’t pay much attention to their surroundings. But it was nice, for a bit, to pretend to be no-one and still someone; not an Idol, not a demon, but . . . a person, going ‘home’.
Baby is a people watcher. He notices. Every little thing that people think no one sees, he does. And he ought to; he needs to.
The slowed flow of people late at night in carts that are meant to be populated. The tired middle-man who slaves away at his job, the woman who tries to be aware of her surroundings so late, too. That boy who always has a duffle packed and stares out the window like he’s a stop away from running away from it all, but always backs out; maybe just another ride.
There’s this person who sits on the train.
Usually, in the aisle across from him. Never bothered, always alone. Baby couldn’t tell your story, just from looking at you. Hell, he couldn’t even see your face in the dark reflection of the window. Your head was always down in your phone, ears always plugged with music he couldn’t hear, you even had a mask covering the lower half of your features—your cheeks never raised, your eyes always sharp. Did you even smile?
Why was that any of his business, anyway?
So Baby would go back to his notes and pretend like he never stared in the first place, like there wasn’t anything interesting about you.
But there was. There was, and you were very interesting. It irritated him. He wanted to cut it off, handle it so he didn’t have to think about it anymore.
The problem?
He couldn’t bring himself to speak in front of you. Words both formed and died right on his tongue, never passing lips. It wasn’t even speaking, it was everything. Why couldn’t he eat in front of you? Why did it feel like you’d judge the hot sauce in a bottle or the obnoxiously hot chips, why did he feel your presence all the way on the other side of the aisle just from looking at his phone?
He couldn’t even write his damn lyrics.
Not because he couldn’t, but because his thoughts would constantly drift off to you, and his pen would glide into something not for the subject at hand. About you.
He’d never even get through the first line before ink formed splotch at the end of a letter and the rest hatched out any remnants of something like you.
So whenever you were both on the train at the same time, he’d look out the window—out at nothing, and sometimes, he’d see you in the reflection.
One day, you forget something. A little black box lingering in the warmth of your seat that you missed when you stood up; an earbud case. He thinks about getting up to follow you after you’ve left (why would Baby do that of all things? He wasn’t nice) but he spent too much time thinking about it and the train was already moving again.
He doesn’t understand himself, or what compelled his hand to reach over and pocket the item. It’s a little worn as he thumbs over it; little, intentional etches into the case of stars and other sharp things. Hmm.
Like clockwork, Baby sees you again the next night. No headphones this time, they’re likely dead. And he thinks again. But just like before, he can’t speak, and you look too sharp and angular as you stand up to leave and even if you’re a little smaller than him you look . . .
Intimidating. Eugh. Baby wasn’t scared of you.
He just didn’t know how best to approach you.
So he threw himself out of his uncomfortable ass seat and forced himself down the aisle before the train’s countdown could hit single-digits, forcing himself off onto the platform so he could literally holler for you.
“HEY. You forgot this.” He’d never admit to anyone the way his voice wavered slightly at the end when he held the little device up. Since when did he get so awkward? He fully expected a glare—actually, he wasn’t kind, either—but instead?
You nearly stumbled over your words, too, accepting the item gratefully. Eyes crinkling at the corners of your mask, something like embarrassment that you had even been in this situation in the first place. “Oh—thank you so much??”
“It’s fine. It would have been gone if I didn’t, anyway.” Baby shoved his hands deep in his pockets, looking away. Trying to appear like he didn’t care.
“. . . You don’t get off, here.” You know because he never follows you. It sounded a bit like concern or even apology for making him miss his stop; your hands rest gently over the strap of your bag as you rock on the balls of your feet. Baby didn’t need empathy. He had other means of travel. Could teleport, really; he couldn’t just say that.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“. . . Anywhere?”
“Just traveling, I don’t know. I can wait for the next one.”
You smiled a little as you speak again, head tipping slightly to the side. “Well . . . least I could do is sit with you while you wait,” you sound so shy when you say it. Who are you? Presenting so . . . unapproachable and yet acting this way?
How confusing.
But something in Baby, some little impossible tug made him want to get to the bottom of you. So . . .
They talk. Quietly. In some little crevice of a train platform. In place meant to feel haunted, and still, there is nothing to fear. You laugh. The sound surprised him; it’s soft outward and not at all like the cutting persona he’s come to associate with you.
And now he has to reconcile this no-nonsense image with someone who collects Calico Critters when you see them. Who thought he was the intimidating one (as you should, but the point still stands).
You weren’t intimidating. At all. Not really. He had missed his stop; you got home impossibly late. Even so, you did get something; your airpod case back, and a new contact.
» ⊱◈⊰
A/N: Hello! Hope you enjoyed. This one took a while for me to write . . . I started with Baby and ended with Jinu and I think you can tell because Jinu is actually kind of hard for me to write?? Which is ironic . . . because Baby's my least favorite Saja, I think. Anyway. I'm trying to condition myself to write more, and I hope to see you soon. Good morning or good night!
—Captain Morii 🌤️
Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof
Why did you disappear from my feed for so long 😭 I've been trying to find you foreverrr /lh
Hru tho?
—💋
Damn you guys work fast . . .
HI CHAT OMG HOW ARE YOU
I'm doing alright I'm sorry 😭😭 lowk my classes were reading me for filth . . . Idk why I decided to take AP classes I should have been relaxed my final year . I got hit by a bit of writers curse but yk what we're still going strong.
ANYWAY
I'm still alive 👍 I think it was a combination of being overwhelmed with a lot of work plus requests that made me kind of . . . crash. But I'm still here. I might scrap some and finish others to get back into the swing of things, but if you guys are still here, too, I'll continue writing!!
Thanks for asking, lovely <3
Chat I'm curious I stumbled upon thine blog by accident and now I kind of want a deduction?? What's a person gotta do for one 👁️👁️
47th
(don't expect too much though) (I suck)
You call yourself Captain because 1. why not 2. it's fun and 3. the title makes you feel safe. It lets you lead without the risk of seeming domineering. You build a plane out of your blog (flight, carry-ons, snacks) because the aesthetic gives you control, and you crave that. You like knowing the rules, setting the tone, assigning the seats.
You are unfailingly polite, but your politeness is precision, not passivity. Every emoji, every 'haha sorry' is a way to manage perception. You apologise before anyone can accuse you. You lower yourself slightly so no one else gets the chance to push you down. You’ve turned self-deprecation into armour plating. (who doesn't?)
You tell people you’re eighteen, but you don’t quite feel eighteen. You’ve been reading the room your entire life. You learned early how to make yourself palatable. That’s why your humour is self-aware, and your tone is perfect blend of cheer and exhaustion. You’re already nostalgic for a version of yourself you never got to be.
You curate everything not because you’re vain, but because order soothes you. Your Masterlist, your Queue, your Request Info posts are not just organisational tools. They are management systems disguised as service. You can’t stop yourself from creating frameworks.
You write in loops. Returning to ideas, rephrasing, reworking, because you don’t trust your first draft, or your second. You rewrite not for perfection, but for reassurance. You need the rhythm of fixing things to convince yourself they can be fixed. That’s why your work always reads a little too tender, a little too precise. (and I love it)
You adore your readers, but their silence terrifies you. Every post that doesn’t get notes feels like a verdict, doesn’t it? When someone sends an ask, you light up, but you read it three times before answering, just to make sure you sound casual. You’re careful not to sound like you need them, even when you do.
Your “no NSFW” rule isn’t prudishness but about boundaries. You understand your own discomfort better than most people your age. You know where the line is, and you draw it unapologetically. You guard your creative space fiercely because you’ve learned what happens when people push you past what feels safe.
You work better at night because the world is quieter then, and you don’t have to perform. You eat snacks at your desk, often without realising you’ve done it (maybe?). You have an emotional association with stationery (post-its, highlighters, tabs) because tangible order calms you.
You make bullet lists when you’re uneasy. Sometimes it’s fic ideas, sometimes it’s tasks, sometimes it’s just words that make sense when feelings don’t. You call it organizing, but it’s therapy.
You get complimented for being 'sweet' and 'approachable' but you’re neither, not really. You’re strategic. You’re kind because you’ve decided to be, not because you can’t help it. That’s why people trust you; your warmth has edges.
You hate disappointing people, yet you fantasize about disappearing for a month and letting the queue post in your place. You want to be missed without being questioned. (again, who doesn't?)
You like being in charge, but you’re tired of being needed.
oops, I wrote a little too long (usually it's because I relate)
First of all . . . sorry it took me so long to come back to this?? 😅
This was REALLY relatable omg. How did you gather all of that? 👁️ From the deprecation to the age (I was just about to be) the nostalgia bro??? YES I'M VERY NOSTALGIC FOR A PAST VERSION OF MYSELF WTH. Specifically a version of myself that got to live where I'm originally from 😭
Kicking my feet about the rewrites . . . you think my work is tender?? *bites nail*. So real about stationery. I love collecting it. Bullet lists forever 🤞 and disappearing for a month (sorry about that guys)!!
YES on silent readers just you got me down?? I feel weirdly understood? Congrats sherlock you've done well 👏👏
If reqs are open, can I get a scenario where maybe Jinu got reincarated as a normal human post-movie and he finds you but he cant remember? He thinks you always look so sad but he doesn't know why, but its because your secretly happy that hes able to live a normal and happy life for once, I just want to imagine something happy for him because he went through so much in the movie (But I also like bittersweet reincarnation aus and such so yeah)
In Between Extremities—
1.8k words; Jinu x Reader
Masterlist | Requests Paused!
It's been a year since he'd been taken from you. Four whole season changes. Except now he's back, better than ever . . . and without his memories. It's undoubtedly Jinu though . . . maybe that can be enough.
A/N: Hi, hahaha . . . I didn't forget about this account guys. But I like this one, and I hope you do, too. Also . . . it's fall!! I love fall 🥹 I'm thinking of opening fall-themed requests for October and November? I will consider. Enjoy!
Spring in Seoul was always something bright and lovely—fresh. Or, at least, Jinu thought it was this time. Ethereal trees and blooms that floated in the wind, soft colors and deep-rooted culture swirling the air. The sun breathed life back into the bark and coaxed the snow from the ground, and it resumed anew as if it hadn’t slept a season away.
Familiar. One of those routines he didn’t have to really think about to follow.
Which is why he found himself making that hike up a path to watch the sun rise over Seoul yet again, hands shoved in his pockets as he enjoyed the silence.
He didn’t know where this habit came from, why it felt almost important. He tried to start the day off without doing it, once, and it was the worst day he could remember; not because anything bad happened, but because it just felt wrong. Like he had moved farther away from his own peace. So he paid attention to the way the sun painted the sky, and the different times it rose when the year changed, and the different colors it used; noted, waited.
For what? He wasn’t sure.
For once, he wasn’t alone. Instead of silence in his usual spot, he found a person. They were just as. Silent. Staring. Observing the sun like there was something beyond its golden hue, shoulders slumped and back hunched as you leaned on your knees.
Well. He didn’t bother you. It’s not like he owned the path. Jinu kept walking a bit past you, stopping in a place he could still have his usual view—
But he wasn’t oblivious, to the hitch of your breath as he passed. Did you realize he was there? He glanced at you, only to find your eyes already on him. They widened, snapping away, before trailing back to him again.
“. . . Are you okay?”
You stared, your mouth slightly agape. Something seemed to stir in your mind a long, long time. He even looked away, assuming you wouldn’t answer; then, he heard it. A wobbly voice, quiet, nearly pained, and he wondered what could keep you suffering even when staring at a view like the one in front of you.
“I’m alright.”
You introduced yourself. (Y/N). He tested it, and you flinched; it sounded familiar, to him. And he offered his own in exchange;
All you did was smile.
» ⊱◈⊰
You wondered just how many things society glazed over that only people directly related recalled. Wondered about the people who quietly thought, quietly mourned, quietly relived; Wondered when remembrance days just turned into another pass of the calendar, wondered when things just became another day off, wondered when things started to become normal again.
Well.
Here you are.
The world forgot about that day and you were stuck remembering. Stuck without. And things were normal again. Until that early morning on the path.
Honestly, it was kind of a blur. Sitting on the wall, watching the sunrise—then a familiar scent. Familiar, yet distant; soft and unique, and something that only came to you in dreams, now. Your breath hitched.
He still smells the same.
Jinu’s return wasn’t something that you could have ever expected. You had literally watched his soul fade, fused into a sword. He gave it up. And now?
You rushed to come up with an explanation for this occurrence. He . . . he looked normal. And he didn’t remember you. Perhaps he had only given up the part of him that was weighed down by what he had done.
Whatever it was, that part of you that couldn’t let go, that would never stop mourning, clung the this incarnation of him—one that could be happy. Was he happy?
He smiled like it didn’t cost him anything; there weren’t any fangs this time around, but it was just as beautiful. Every one reached his eyes. He was just as clumsy and just as much of a dork even when he tried to be taken seriously, still a schemer, still . . . Jinu.
Except, Jinu didn’t even remember what that meant.
So you got to know him. Again. Listened to him talk about things you already knew. You could see the confusion, sometimes, when you placed tea in front of him just the way he liked it without him saying a word. When you hummed absentminded, half-finished melodies that only brushed the edges of his memories.
He’d ask, and your brow would quirk as if he were being silly. Though both of you knew he wasn’t stupid, but what else was there to say? So you smiled and waited for him to finish the other half of the quiet tune, to taste and find comfort in his drink.
That familiarity was all you had to hold onto.
» ⊱◈⊰
It’s easy being around you in ways that it hasn’t been around anyone. You took everything in stride, smiled, laughed, just seemed to get him. But he wasn’t blind to the vague pang in your eyes when they were on him.
Lingering long, breaching the surface of the pools when hours stretched long and the bags under them were dark. Even when you were clearly tired, you never missed a morning with the sun—even called him, sometimes, to walk up there together. And you’d watch silently, with him, not even speaking—because you didn’t have to.
But he knew that as you stared at the sun, it wasn’t just because of the crisp picture. Something about watching you made his chest ache.
It was a good ache? A wanting ache, an ache that cycled between craving and bitter and softness and warmth. It was a bad ache, it hurt, and oh, he knew it wasn’t just an ache because it curled under his ribs and knotted between his lungs. Tangled in them and refused to unwind.
He wants to know why you’re upset, so bad. He doesn’t push—aludes to it, occasionally. He offers his company in hopes that it might convince you that he’s someone to be comfortable around.
You never speak.
The trees change colors around the little cafe you had dragged him to. It is quiet between you, and you are infatuated with them; the crunchiness of the leaves that have long-since fallen from the trees but haven’t yet lost their vibrant color, and you sit with some spicy drink in your hand with heavy cinnamon and a twinge of caramel.
The silence is nice. In the silence, he can reflect on the faint strangeness of you. In the silence, he watches you grapple onto any sign of his positivity; he’s happy now. Guitars, tea, reading, weightless smiles, easy eyes, a laugh so pure you didn’t know he was capable of it in the first place.
He doesn’t even realize he begins falling for you. Again. Nothing obvious. Just something in the way his gaze remains lazy on you. Warm, painful. Just something in the way neither of you decline or offer. Just something in the way he wordlessly brings you tea or coffee in the morning (he didn’t ever remember learning your order. You took it with a crutched smile, knowing that it was a fragment of information his soul hadn’t locked away tight enough), just something in the way he smiled.
And it hurts. Because something about you, even in the way you spent so much time with him, so close, read that you were unavailable. But he could still be here with you now, right? In the light.
“You always look like that.”
Your attention turns to him. He sees it, deep in your irises. The wistfulness. You’d scoff, shake your head. Ignore his concern, pretend like your eyes didn’t droop away from his. Because if you stared too long, your vision might get blurry to stop you. “This is my resting face.”
“. . . Maybe you should invest in a better one.”
You laughed, and he seemed to preen at simply achieving that, perching next to you on the ground. But even the amusement didn’t make that ache better.
He’s just as beautiful. Normal. His eyes don’t glint in the light anymore. They were just brown, but if they weren’t the most beautiful brown you laid eyes on—
They weren’t yours, anymore.
The air was dying. Cool. Inbetween again, opposite of spring, as autumn always was. Whisking away most of the evidence of last year with beginning dormancy.
And it was still bitter to you.
“I’m sad because fall will end,” you decide on, leaning back in your chair. The styrofoam cup allows warmth to seep into your hands and you don’t have to worry about hiding them from the breeze when you’re inside. You raise the lip to your mouth and sip. “Then things will change. I’ll miss it.”
Jinu tilts his head back and forth, staring at his tea. It doesn’t have any more answers than the sun did that morning. “All things change,” he offered, “it means they’re alive.”
A shiver went down your spine, starting from the tip of your head to your toes. Short. You knew you weren’t cold. Alive. In those silent moments, you always asked yourself if you could still be good together. Were you good in the first place?
He was happy the way he was. Alive. Not plagued with regrets. Not living with whispers. Not going through each day like they were only motions.
Maybe not.
Jinu taps gently on the table, noticing the way you stopped breathing for a moment. Words splurge before he can really consider them, and all he really knows is that he should take you out of your mind. “. . . Do you think I’d look good with my ears pierced?”
It’s not that he didn’t mean it. He had been considering it. The decision didn’t really depend on your opinion, but it was offered, nonetheless.
Your eyes snap back up to his, a bit perplexed at the question . . . That’s right. In his revival, he had no scars, no marks—rebirth had taken that from him, you supposed. Even the piercings. Something bloomed a little in your chest, even while everything outside was dying for the year.
“You’d look amazing with your ears pierced,” You say it like it didn’t even need to be asked, like you could already see it. And Jinu knew that you had. “It’d suit you. Actually, I was thinking of getting another, too. Maybe we should go together?”
Maybe he was slowly turning into some rendering of an in between Jinu, one you knew, one you didn’t; the thought planted a bit of hope in you, deep in your chest. Not in your mind, where you would stew over it every morning, but in your heart, where those old pieces of him still lingered.
You were happy for him, really. He deserved to be free, after everything.
Perhaps you just had to wait.
» ⊱◈⊰
A/N: Okay I don't have much to say?? I'm about to go into fall break, so I should have time to write more . . . don't quote me on that, though. See you soon!
—Captain Morii 🌤️
Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof
IM GONNA TAG PPL I LOVE (not you robyn but i love you sm /p)
@i-got-poisenality @percabethchackson @logicalistlee @versdiamondtears @generic-newsies-username @meicherienewsies and anyone i may have forgotten (if i did im so sorry :(((( )
@c0nstantlyscreaming @cabin10aphrodite @siriuslyobsessed394 @blaxolt @krispykreme1997 @bl00d-and-f1re @thedeadskincellsonyourpillow @locothewolf and literally all my moots
@starkissedhyacinths @mushed-kid @genderenvyreprise @datshitrandom @morrisrockwell11037 @trivial-writing @holdenfan7 @imissaziracrow @dkffpdlek @tomdarryecs @the-wandering-writer4 just to name a few
@k9mackenzie @doggone-doggirl @ofslugsancats @fredrotop @indiestsnake @cursed-ceren @ikibli @apple-eating-goat @midnightidk10 @nekurrot25 @dabeenux @conquistador-of-bread and anyone else who's mutuals with me included
Apologies, but I'm kinda tired rn so I may have forgotten some ppl
@lastpigeonparty @mixed-match-archive @astrophelthegremlin @thatoneartist-inthecorner @frooglet and my other moots even if i havent interacted as much with yall <3
@mixed-match-archive @moris-i-cant-move-it-anymore @leo-a-nb @bandsandwristbands @tazova @sauriaaaaaan @nyxamix @onyxlovestoast @kkaggy @raisins-n-space and all my other moots
@vexipathy @dumbbitchitiss @thenumberonenarusasufan @melomania-spam @chronicallyonlinebitch @astrophelthegremlin @leo-a-nb @machin3-g1rl @noroominyourdreams @anxiousbirdperson @vexipathy + all the other moots I have
Omg I've been wanting to request since foreeever!! I love your works so much and I read all of them bc theyre so fun!!! If it gives you inspiration, could you write Saja boys with a s/o who is quite possessive of them? I always read about jealous/possessive sajas but I would love to see how they'd react to a reader who's very 'hey, ur mine'
Possession Obsession—
1.7k words; Saja Boys x Reader
Masterlist | Requests paused!
Some things just are. The sun is bright, water makes you wet, and they're yours. Simple as that.
A/N: Chat okay I swear I'm not dead I have a reasonable explanation—well not really but I'm okay. But I've been really busy recently juggling one thing or the other and fanfic took a bit of a backburner for a while . . . but I'm back!! Don't leave me I swear
Jinu—
It was the little things, the subtle ones that hadn’t caught his attention at first. The way your arm was always knotted around his, relaxed and permanent. The way your hands locked while you walked, the way your eyes darted around to find him in any given scenario. Not in a way that betrayed soft affection. Almost in reassurance, that he was still there. Why wouldn’t he be? He didn’t stray far from you—not because he couldn’t, but because there was no need to.
And still, your gaze would linger, not always on his eyes but in the absent space around him, searching until you were satisfied and you returned your attention to whatever task sat in your hands.
Clarification came out of nowhere, really. One summer night, you were wrapped around him lazily, not moving a single muscle. Except, he could feel your lashes fluttering against the crook of his neck. Silence. Until:
“You’re mine.”
Sure as the cycle of a day. Something that could be argued for semantics, just for the fun of it. And he did. “Yours?”
“Mine,” like it was the simplest words ever spoken. The sky is blue could have come out of your mouth instead with the way you said it.
Well, it wasn’t that Jinu disagreed. He was yours, and you were his. You belonged to each other. “I don’t think you can own a person.”
“Are you a person though? People have souls.”
“Ouch,” he hissed, but you laughed at him. “Low blow.”
“At least I didn’t accuse you of lacking a heart.” Your finger traced the fabric of the comforter all the way up to his chest, eventually drawing a large heart on the plane. “You’ve got a large one.” Now, anyway.
“And it’s yours?”
“And it’s mine.”
Abby—
You weren’t a very shy thing, were you?
You were damn near as shameless as he was. Draping yourself over him like he was your personal throne (he was large enough to be), wrapping around him from behind (absolute unabashed hand placement on his abs), wedging yourself into his strong arms no matter what he could possibly be doing.
Not that he was complaining or anything. All he did was offer smug eyes, a quiet tease, and more affection. Now was one of those moments.
“You’re awful comfortable,” Abby poked, satisfied with how you were tangled around him. Large hands traced distant swirls and invisible words along your sides. You had found him by himself, milling about the kitchen; perfect opportunity for a hug, in your opinion, and you had no intent on leaving any time soon.
“Very.” You didn’t care at all about the amused lilt in his tone. He was warm, and comfortable, and even if you had been standing in the same spot for the last ten minutes or so, it was perfect. What was swaying for, if not to keep your legs awake? “The most comfortable.”
Abby’s head ducked into your hair, a low laugh muffled by your hair. He squeezed you gently, and you sank into him more.
“You know I have to go soon, right?”
You scowled, pouting at the idea that he’d escape from your grip. “No you don’t.”
“I don’t?” He raised a brow. “That’s not what Jinu says.”
“Well, yes, but Jinu doesn’t get the final say. I do,” you answered proudly, catching his gaze. He grinned.
“And why’s that?”
“Because you’re mine. And he can’t just have what’s mine.”
Well. He expected you to say something silly, something stupid—not something that made his heart jump. He had to swallow it back down. “Yeah?” Abby tried, pretending his voice hadn’t hitched a bit at the beginning. “You’re mine, too.”
He could afford to be a little late. Jinu and the others could handle it.
Mystery—
He already acted like yours, anyway.
If Mystery were described by any other adjective than the one making up his name, it would be yours. He knew it, you knew it, it was just general consensus. Something that just had to be let happen. It was obvious in the way he sought you out, obvious in the way you were always looking for him.
Even now, you were staring at him; watching as fans swarmed around him, taking pictures with him, asking for autographs, then moving on to the next Saja if it were possible. You could hear their squeals and gushing from far off to the side as they doted on Mystery, taking every subtle smile and silent gesture with extreme fixation.
You weren’t worried at all.
Why should you be? Your eyes fell from Mystery back to your phone, scrolling through different videos on social media, finding random things, occasionally glancing back up to check on your boyfriend. Then your eyes would return to your device again, all until you heard a chorus of disappointed awws and sighs in his direction. He was finishing up.
You waited for him to pass you before standing up, stepping aimlessly behind him as you followed him back to his dressing room. Completely unbothered by the masses that got to adore him, or the few fan-made gifts stretching around his wrists and in his hands. You slumped down in a spare seat, not paying much attention as he closed the door behind him.
Finally. Peace.
The first thing you did was reach his wrist as he went to pass you, a crooked finger snagging the new bracelets adorning the joint before swiftly tugging them off. A short huff left his nose as you freed his wrist.
“I knew you looked too calm.”
You shrugged, tossing the beads onto his vanity and pulling him closer. Mystery’s laugh was more audible this time, watching you try to close the distance between you both. He liked your touch too much to watch you struggle. “I was calm, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is that why you took the bracelets off?”
“You don’t wear anyone else’s stuff in private but mine,” you playfully wagged a finger at him, sighing quietly when he was finally close enough. “That’s the rule.”
Mystery had seen you like this before. The way you’d push the evidence of superficial connection off him when you were around, but only then; allowing the fans to keep their delusions any other time. Then, nothing more would be spoken of it—out of sight, out of mind.
“As long as we both know you’re mine, what does it matter?”
Mystery only hummed, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips.
Romance—
Romance honestly just lets you. Let you what, you might ask? Anything. Drag him around like he’s a doll, wrapping your arm around his waist, parading him around like he’s something to show off.
Which, he was. As you should.
What more was there to say? Honestly, he lived for these interactions with you. Yes, it was his job to be the flirt, but even he liked being romanced.
Feeling wanted.
So he smiled when you kissed his cheekbone, even when it left sticky, sparkly residue behind. Kept it on display like something to behold. Savored the fact that he didn’t have to be the first one to reach for a hand, because yours instinctively locked with his.
The only thing he could do was reciprocate these gestures; pulling you into him gently by the shoulders, trading little pieces of each other’s wardrobe for wear in silent fashion, always a touch, always a hint of who whatever belonged to.
It was a hot day—he was waiting for you. Could he have waited in air conditioning? Yes, but everyone deserved to see the way he practically glowed in the light, right? There was a hair tie around his wrist. Many would mistake it as something for him, or maybe a stylistic choice; really, it was neither. Just a constant reminder that it belonged to someone else, and . . . maybe a good chunk of himself did, too.
“My love.”
It came from behind. He could only melt, and not from the August heat. Because yes, he was yours.
“You can’t steal my own pet names for you,” he objected, turning around to see you. Bright as the sun in the sky, and seemingly unbothered by it, too. “That’s not allowed.”
“Huh. I guess I could just call you mine instead,” you playfully winked, tugging at the tie on his wrist.
Romance looked down at it, feeling the pressure of it a little more at the joint. Comfortable. Subtle, yet present. He only snagged your hand, beginning to drag you off to whatever destination you had both planned for the day.
“No takebacks.”
Baby—
“You’re mine.”
Blunt. Straight to the point. Who were you even talking to? You didn’t comment anymore about it as you boredly scrolled through your phone, didn’t even look up.
Baby’s eyes narrowed, trying to decipher if you had just decided to speak up about something on the device. But you had said it so flatly that it surely wasn’t the case.
“Yeah, you.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Finally, your eyes shifted to meet his, amusement swirling vaguely in your irises.
“You’re also mine,” Baby countered, and you grinned.
“That’s not how owning things works. Something can’t be owned vice-versa.”
His stare lingered so long his own screen went dark, showing his face rather than any media. “Do I look like an object?”
You shrugged, going back to your screen. His eye twitched.
» ⊱◈⊰
Baby found his own entertainment to fill the boredom, too. Right in the way you had rounded the corner, brows raised, looking about ready to berate him. “Are we going to talk about the mess you left on the kitchen table?? Were you planning on coming back, or . . .”
It was his turn to brush it off, his lips widening just slightly as they pulled. “It’s not my mess, it’s yours.”
“According to . . . ?”
Baby grinned. “Well, you said I’m just yours. Which means you’re responsible for me, right?”
You deadpanned.
“Fine. I’m yours, too.”
He only snickered, snapping his fingers, and the aforementioned mess was gone.
» ⊱◈⊰
A/N: Okay guys . . . I figured I should probably tell you what else I'm working on? There's a yearner Sajas (that might take longer I'm still trying to figure out how I'm gonna do it) and a "This is what it sounds like" one coming up. And *checks notes* rbf reader and reincarnation Jinu fic!! I'm getting to it okay I PROMISE I just had a lot of requests and it was kind of overwhelming 💀
—Captain Morii
Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof
Aww! The part 2 was so sweet I loved it!!!!!! Also thanks I love using emojis when I anon because i can match the color of my asks with them😭💕 - 🫧 anon
AAA I'm so sorry this has been sitting but I'm glad you liked it!! Vv cute bubble anon <33 🥹
Just wanted to make sure that you're ok, since you haven't posted anything in almost 2 weeks. No pressure to post, just a check in. I hope that you're alright and you have a nice day!
From ✨ anon (in case you can't see the emoji, it's 3 sparkles)
Hi!! Yes, I'm fine, I've just been really busy (school, work, personal events, blah, blah, blah) so I've been tired and writing has been kind of on the back burner for a little while. I swear I'm not dead don't leave I swear 😭😭
If anyone wants to send me stuff just to yap or something or if you don't mind that *I* just yap (or even update you guys on how the writing's coming) I can start?? I'm not good with talking without being prompted to my bad 💀
Anyways, I'm about to post something new. I have a few other WIPs coming along, too.
Nice to meet you sparkle anon!! Welcome to my roster 😈
AHHH! I thought i wasnt gonna request anything soon but i saw that octopus mermaid fic and I caved immediately im a sucker for any sea creature fics😭 could i request a part 2 where they get closer and end up hearing her sing/she shows them her song? also i just realized i made a typo earlier, i meant to say I literally love your work🩵💖 - 🫧 anon
The Worth of a Sand Dollar—
1.9k words; Saja Boys x Reader
Part 2 of 2
Others in the series: 1. 2.
Masterlist | Requests paused!
You're a mermaid. You should be able to sing. So why can't you?
A/N: Hi bubble anon!! okay so first I really like that you add colors to your asks that's so cute 😭 and I kind of went a little off the deep end (badum-tss) with this one but I really love it!! SO MUCH. It might be one of my favorites? I was experimenting a little with descriptions and I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did!
Of the entire venue, only the backstage area remained illuminated.
Not the dressing rooms, not the hallways, not even pathfinder-type lights in the main stadium. Nothing visible, unless you had passed the wings; unless you had followed the sound of impossibly real voices, laughing and singing and joking and lounging around one greenroom in the entire complex.
Another coastal show, another visit from you.
You had gotten to know the members of the group you admired. Jinu, Abby, Romance, Mystery, and Baby. All brimming with personality, all gifted in their own ways, all people like you.
Inhuman.
Maybe not the same type—they belonged to the earth, while you belonged to the sea—but there was a certain kinship, anyway. Comfort, in ways you hadn’t ever known.
Maybe there was a place out here for you.
Baby had raided some snacks from some long-since closed place—you didn’t know exactly where he got it from, but you’d never tried little ‘pretzels’ or weirdly spicy chips before. Which was why he was slumped next to you, trying to broaden your palate (in your defense, you’d only really had seafood and bagged stuff isn’t good for your home, anyway) while the other boys fooled around with their talents.
“I think I have the best voice,” Romance decided, ignoring the silent stares the declaration received. You knew he was just saying things to say them at this point; Baby pushed another chip into his mouth as Abby went to attack Romance’s case and defend his own, much to your amusement.
“You don’t even solo that often, to be honest.”
“Like you do? Your only point was the beginning of Your Idol.”
“Still, people remember it more than yours.”
“Excuse you—?”
You tried to muffle a slight snicker at their false animosity, both of the men glancing towards you at the taste of that noise—your voice. Something ethereal. Really, the only reason they bickered that way was to hear it.
“I think Mystery has the best voice.”
Abby and Romance stayed silent. Baby paused mid-crunch, Jinu looked up from petting Sussie.
A smile tugged on Mystery’s lips.
“. . . Mystery?”
“Why not Mystery?” you laughed, your knees curling further into your chest from your spot on the floor. You didn’t really like being very high off the ground—it wasn’t all the way comfortable for you. Water wasn’t like that; you could choose how high you wanted to be at any given time. “Mystery’s high notes in Soda Pop were legendary.”
“And what gives you certification to judge our voices, hmm?” Romance poked you, and Baby resumed his eating.
“Aren’t mermaids supposed to have good voices, too?” He gestured with the chip, ignoring the way it stained his fingers.
“. . . Well, I’m no siren, but—”
“But I’m sure you sound amazing, if your laugh is anything to go by,” Abby answered shamelessly, leaning over Jinu. The group’s center didn’t bat an eye at the pressure on his shoulders, watching you from his spot on the couch.
“This is a safe space—” Baby snickered something in the background (it sounded almost like a mostly), and Jinu only continued, “and you should show us what you can do. Really, I’m sure you have something special.”
You sweatdropped. The room quietened as expectant eyes settled on your form; even Mystery offered a little nod. Everything seemed to pause as they wouldn’t take just a no for an answer; Abby’s smirk from over Jinu’s head, Romance’s cocked eyebrow, even Baby’s dead stare.
“I don’t know any—” but that wasn’t a valid excuse. They didn’t ask for a song they knew; they asked for your voice. You tried to think of something suitable, shrinking under their eyes. “Could you at least stop staring at me??”
“Camera shy?” Romance mused, averting his eyes. “Alright, fine.”
But even then you couldn’t stomach the thought of them listening to you. Why? It’s not like you’d never sang in front of someone before. You’d done it plenty of times. In front of other mermaids, even humans—sailors, once upon a time, too. But this . . . it made you feel kind of sick.
Your voice seemed to drown, sinking down into a riptide between your lungs.
“I can’t.”
It wasn’t shy. In fact, it was kind of blunt.
“What?? Why not??” Abby asked, surprised at the abrupt decline when it seemed like you were about to try.
You shrugged, sinking a little further against the bottom half of the couch cushions you were leaning on. “It’s not working.”
The boys let out disappointed groans and sighs—some more willing to cover it up than others—before other conversations were quickly started in place of hearing your voice. You were a little less keen to join this time.
Why couldn’t you bring yourself to sing?
» ⊱◈⊰
Weeks passed. Months passed. More shows on the edges of walkable earth, more visits, more coming and going from the sea.
More and more of your own voice growing alien to you.
You didn’t know where the sudden stage fright came from. You pondered it long as the sand dipped underneath your feet, your eyes settled on the moon. You could have gone home this time. But the places you had found, but the creatures you had met, but the sea . . .
It lapped at your toes as the tide surged and fell, beckoning you past the seafoam barriers. Back home. Creases and ribbons along the horizon you were from, where most others could not reach. You hesitated.
The water did not break for you. The moon did not whisper this time.
A melancholic feeling settled over you as it left you on its doorsteps. Making way for just the tips of your feet and nothing more. But it wasn’t the water stopping you—it was the concrete that had built in your chest and weighed you into the sand like just before. It was the shoes that started adapting to your feet. It was the air that didn’t seem so thin anymore. It was the sharp noises of millions in a city that no longer deterred you, the new foods you tried, the new sounds you heard.
Earlier that night, it had practically spat you out. Now you understood there was no swallowing you again.
“You’re kicking me out,” you whispered flatly, staring at the glaring crescent in the sky. It didn’t dignify you with an answer. But you knew it, anyway.
The moon didn’t boot you—you crossed the threshold yourself.
The truth was, the world was so much bigger than how you’d known it. So many things you’d never seen before, never experienced. Each corner a new one to explore, architecture you couldn’t imagine in the most wild of dreams, tastes that surpassed that of just seafood, and the music.
Oh, the music—billions of voices to explore. High, low, timber, sharp, soft, deep . . . the variety in tones that tugged words in a certain way just depending on where you learned to speak it from?
A long time ago, you gave your measurable life up to the moon for sanctuary. When a body like yours was too sensitive for the world to hold. So the ocean cleansed the weariness from your fresh soul and the sadness from your heart and built you anew.
A mermaid’s voice comes from their heart. And that heart belonged to the sea.
Did yours anymore?
You tried to hum for the moon. You tried to croon for the tide. Something old, something in a language only you’d know above the waterline. And for once, your voice broke.
No, it didn’t. Belong to the sea, you meant. Centuries of belonging to the same oceans, wandering the same waters, seeing the same faces, places, and spaces, finding the same shipwrecks, and . . . that world was explored for you.
Maybe it was time for a new frontier. Maybe it was time for your soul to return to the world.
So you tried again. Not an ancient song. Something new. Not from the heart this time, but the soul; the one you sold to the sea once because land didn’t suit you. It sounded . . . different.
“I took my love, I took it down—climbed a mountain and turned around. And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills, ‘til the landslide brought me down.”
Not like a bell. Not the pleasant noise of windchimes or kalimbas. Instead, your humming sounded hollow. Not hollow, layered—the way annual rings developed on the cores of trees as affectionate signs of old age, the way loops curved imperfect circles in geodes.
“Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changin’ ocean . . . tides?” You hesitated a little, watching as the water receded from your extremities even as you extended your hand to brush it.
Not in the way that someone hit would recoil, but in the way that a mother would let its child go. Like releasing an animal back into the wild, watching it glance back with indecision. Still, you continued, dawdling along the tides. “Well, I’ve been ‘fraid of changin’ ‘cause I’ve built my life around you . . .”
Maybe there was still a sea-like lilt to your voice; it had grown to be a part of you, a long segment in the journey you led. But instead of warped voices of the sun reflecting off the ocean, it was the echo of a song in those entrance-hidden caverns; it was the call of the water when you raised a seashell to your ear; it was the line between the shoreline and the sand, fine and delicate, that could only be walked by those who experienced both.
The waves danced for you as you continued your song—not a song, a goodbye—flecks lighting up in the night for you. “But time makes you bolder, even children get older. And I’m getting older, too.”
“Well, I’ve been ‘fraid of changin’ ‘cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older, too . . .
“Ah, take my love, take it down. Oh, climb a mountain and turn around. And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills, well the landslide will bring it down. Oh, the land slide will bring it down.”
You finished, your voice slowly fading from the night; and you knew it was over. Just from the feel of the water. It wasn’t warm to your skin anymore, warmth that meant you were home; the ocean had grown cold. The refreshing kind. Maybe the ocean was saying goodbye to you, too.
It left a token of the seas at your feet. A sand dollar, and you laughed.* It really was trying to tell you something. You picked it up, dusting the sand off the intricate little thing, slowly registering the clapping behind you.
Your neck nearly popped with how fast it turned, five figures watching you, halfway through a daze. Jinu’s stunned expression, the slightly parted lips of Abby, Baby’s big eyes and Mystery’s subtle smile. Romance was the one softly clapping, a captured hue to his gaze.
“. . . No. You have the best voice.”
It seemed to be a unanimous agreement of slight nods and taken expressions, and that turbulent feeling in your chest was long gone.
“Will you sing for us again?”
Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you closed the gap between you all, then walked further from the shore. From a sanctuary, to adventure. To life. You didn’t need to go slow anymore. “Why don’t we find something to sing together?”
That mythical, inhuman glint returned to their irises again, and all the boys could do was follow.
» ⊱◈⊰
*Sand dollars can represent a connection to the sea, good luck, peace and rebirth.
A/N: I actually had such a blast with this?? The song is "Landslides" by Fleetwood Mac. Why? Idk, I was struggling to find a song that I wanted but I wanted to work with the 'growing out of something' metaphor. And I think it fits. I hope to see you again soon!
—Captain Morii 🌤️
Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof
I think I'm gonna move my channel to another of my accounts that my mom created, so it's more than 16 years old =/ thank you so much for your advice! I'm sorry to hear you were struggling, hope you feel/get better soon 🩵✨️
-🐉
It's no problem, and I'm glad I could help!! And thank you, but like I said . . . it has to get better eventually 😅 see you soon!!
OMG I LOVE THAT COPYCAT FANFIC U WROTE WITH THE SAJA BOYS COULD U DO THAT WITH HUNTRIX ☺️☺️✌️
Mimic Me—
0.8k words; Huntrix x Reader
Masterlist | Requests paused!
Saja Boys version
Seeing you recreating their performance on a random Saturday was not something they expected; but maybe it was something they needed all along.
A/N: Hey! Sorry it took a bit to answer, but I hope it's to your satisfaction! I've been struggling a little for the last few days, so . . . I'm sorry if it seems out of character? But happy reading!
Rumi—
Honestly? You couldn’t help it. After seeing the warrior theme for Golden and Rumi in black and gold, you HAD to try it out. Especially watching the choreo??
Well, you may not be an internationally known musician, but you could make do.
Of course, Rumi knew you were her biggest fan, so it wasn’t surprising to hear Golden blasting through your speaker. What she didn’t expect were the vocals she heard as well. Definitely not her own.
She poked her head in, looking curiously around for the source. Not a video, but . . . you??
Not just you, but you mimicking her motions to a T (almost like they were meant to be danced by you in the first place) and your voice filling the air instead of her own.
“I’m done hiding, now I’m shining like I’m born to be!”
She didn’t know you could sing?? You actually hit the note, and even she struggled with it a bit. Enraptured.
The attention to detail—not a speck of glitter was out of place. It was practically the real thing!
But what really got her? The marks.
Just an iridescent sheen across your skin; Rumi’s breath hitched at the sight. Even as the song ended, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from them.
You only noticed her as you went to reach for your phone. Silence settled between you as you awkwardly paused. “Uh . . . hey.”
You were so sheepish, like you didn’t just put on a near-replica of her performance. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
“You did amazing,” Rumi’s light footsteps were barely audible as she approached you, her fingertips brushing the tassels of the shoulder pads. “It’s like the real thing!”
Still, her gaze raised to your neck. Your eyes followed hers, and you couldn’t help but feel a little more embarrassed.
“Is this offensive? Sorry, I mean, I didn’t think so but that’s not really what matters and I just think they’re so pretty on you and—”
“(Y/N),” Rumi cut off, her lips thinning in an effort to hide the shy way they curled. “It’s okay.”
You stare to make sure she really meant it, and her eyes darted away. Looking a little harder, you swore you saw a slight flush on her cheeks. Was she flattered?
“Will you sing with me?”
Rumi’s eyes returned to yours, and it was then that she really smiled.
“Of course.”
Mira—
“Fit check for my napalm era—”
You almost froze as your voice overlapped with someone else's—you turned, just to see Mira trying to hide her grin. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who’s the baddest? Us, hello . . .” she continued for you, but it was more speaking than singing.
You could have stopped. Could have been embarrassed. No, the show must go on.
“Spittin’ facts, you know that’s how it’s done, done, done!”
Despite her previous laughter, Mira was pretty impressed. Not just by your outfit—which looked straight out of her wardrobe—or by your singing ability, but by how easily you seemed to copy her moves!
She clapped as you finished the song, slowly circling you to observe your outfit. “The heels look great on you . . . Honestly, if you wanted to be part of the crew, you could have just said so. But you can’t have my spot.”
“No, wait, let’s backtrack,” you refused, pointing an accusing finger. “What was the laugh for?”
Mira only shrugged. “I just liked the way you copied my ‘era’. You did it well!”
You eyed her suspiciously, but accepted the answer. “Okay . . .”
Mira laughed at your hesitation to believe her, only shaking her head and pushing your shoulder a little. “Okay, but seriously, how long did it take you to learn the choreo? It was almost as good as seeing myself do it.”
“Almost?”
“Almost.”
Zoey—
Zoey even helped you with it. Set your hair right, fixed your jewelry, did your makeup . . .
“Okay, like, I know I ramble,” you rolled your eyes, a smirk crossing your face as you rapped the next lines. “But when shootin’ my words I go Rambo. Took blood sweat and tears to look natural—”
“That’s how it’s done, done, done!” Zoey cheered, waving two Huntrix lightsticks around as she sang with you. Not to sound good, but to have fun.
You did sound good though; don’t get it twisted.
Zoey yelped brightly as you deviated from the choreo, pulling her into a spin for the last bridge and chorus. Though, it was more laughter and dramatics than both of your voices. Finally, you both collapsed next to each other after forcing out the last ‘done, done, done’.
You had to catch your breath a bit more than Zoey (she was more used to it) but not even being slightly out of breath could break your smile. “That was a blast!”
“We should totally make karaoke night a regular!” Zoey agreed. Your head rested on her shoulder as you sighed, much to the rapper’s delight.
“Sounds like a plan.”
» ⊱◈⊰
A/N: Okay, that's it for this one! See you soon, hopefully <33
—Captain Morii 🌤️
Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof
Rant incoming feel free to delete this ask but I just had to get this out to my second favourite go-to blog
So I recently learned about the upcoming social media ban in Australia and I really don't want Youtube to be banned cause I'll lose my channel and one of my relaxation-and-escape apps >_<
And what if Tumblr, Discord and Pinterest get banned too? All 4 of these apps are what I use to escape from reality, just chill after a hard day a school or just to relax and scroll on when I'm bored. What do I do if they're all banned??? 😭😭😭
-Faithfully your reader and carry-on,
🐉
Hi dragon anon, happy to hear from you again!! First of all, second favorite?? I'm flattered 😭 and you're from Australia?? that's literally so cool!! Okay, to the actual topic:
I feel like this is kind of extreme measures?? Banning social media for teens doesn't erase the problem of cyberbullying, either? Really, this problem begs the question: HOW are they going to regulate such a thing? Not only is it a tall order, but no matter what anyone does or tries to make rules for, there will always be loopholes (not encouragement, just the truth).
Banning Youtube is literally so silly, and I can't see discord or pinterest getting banned. Besides, I'm pretty sure both of those already do their own things to try and limit teens—I know my friend figured this out because she had to be sixteen before she could collaborate on a board with me 😭😭 I can't really speak for tumblr because I know that it can get crazy sometimes. But I know pinterest and discord will be fine, and there are plenty of ways to watch youtube that will make it hard to NOT watch it. Those are just my opinions, though.
Plus, if you already have an account . . . how are they going to manage that?? There are still lots of questions about how they will go about this that hasn't been answered yet.
The best thing I can tell you is not to worry about it right now—it's not in your hands, and there's not enough answers to really counter these things. So just take a deep breath, and continue as you have been. It will be okay; all things have to be. Even if that means you have to wait to use it again, it's not that long of a wait. But I think it will be okay, anyway.
