#//he wants to be there too because being there means not having to deal with emotions and issues he does not know how to grapple with

[sukunasweetheart]

hear me out on bully!sukuna okay...

warnings; highschool setting, DUBCON, dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, sex in a confined space, semi-public sex, breeding, sukuna is kinda mean but is a simp at the same time, groping, cum in panties, just lots and lots of cum, "just the tip" he lied, mentions of pregnancy risk, ?cheating, sukuna the toxic tsundere but is horrendously down bad and perverted, eventual or mildly submissive sukuna?, this isn't gonna be the healthiest relationship - but its to be expected tho bc its a bully fic so..

Word count; 5.5k

bully!sukuna bothers you because he has a weird complex with you - preferring to be outright hated by you rather than deal with indifference or facing possible rejection.

it's often teetering on the edge of actual bullying; his existence is more of a nuisance than a serious distress to you.

he often loves getting on your nerves by tripping you up with his foot, only to catch you himself, or he purposefully bumps into you in the hallways making you almost topple over - like the fucking asshole he is. and you'll never forget the time you happened to get paired up with him on an assignment and the bastard had the audacity to try and take you both down by not doing his part. in exchange for his participation, he had you carry his bag for him around school for a week...

and he only gets more thrilled the more you fight back or retaliate.

sukuna likes to call you names, often using very condescending and colourful insults against you. and he likes to harass and chase off any potential boyfriends that come your way. that last one pisses you off the most. you want a boyfriend so bad, and that bastard is being such a huge cockblock. god forbid a girl wants to get laid. all your friends have had their first times already - why can't you?!

and he's back at it again too, after finding out that another guy confessed to you at school today. you accepted it. obviously when he wasn't watching. for a damn reason.

he finds out your last class was P.E today and you find yourself cornered in the locker room, empty of girls except for you. you ended up lagging behind as you were texting your new boyfriend over your phone after class. you try to walk past him to go home, but he traps you against your own locker.

you end up snapping back at him, having had enough of it.

"what is wrong with you? you know what? i think you're obsessed with me!" you shout back, shoving at his chest.

"who do you think you are, to stop me from getting a boyfriend... what, do you like me or something?" you speak without thinking, in a fit of anger.

"i bet you do! i bet you go home every night and jerk off to daydreams of me. is that right?" you go off, pushing every button you can.

sukuna falls silent. you expect him to argue back, to deny all your claims fiercely, and then go storming off, having heard enough of your nonsense.

but he's glaring at you, tight lipped, ears and cheeks turning bright red.

"...why're you silent all of a sudden? say something..." you continue awkwardly. "don't tell me... you actually...?"

"shut up," he hisses at you. "just shut up, for a second."

he wears an expression you've never seen on him before, and seems to be thinking about what to say next. he looks as though he wants to say something.

you open your mouth to tell him 'nevermind', but the sound of a small group of girls approaching the locker room is audible, which interrupts the both of you, and you panic. just what kind of rumours would spur on if they caught you and sukuna like this in here? you only just got your first boyfriend, there's no way you're gonna let this bastard ruin that for you!

thinking quickly, you open up your locker and roughly push sukuna inside, and then jump in after him. you shut the locker door quietly and peek outside through the little gaps at the top. the girls come in, having come back to get something that they left behind. what terrible timing.

one of the girls walk up a little close to your liking and you end up moving your body back as far as you can, your back pressing up against sukuna without thinking. and then you're startled by the low and quiet groan you hear behind you.

whipping around, you see sukuna with clouded eyes and a tightened jaw, barely able to fit inside this narrow locker. but he doesn't find it in himself to feel uncomfortable or annoyed at the situation.

after all, your ass is pressed up tightly against his growing bulge right then and there.

you were right about what you'd said earlier. he'd always daydreamed of a moment like this, pumping his cock at the thought of doing lewd things with you...

you turn back to the front, panicked. what the fuck? why does he look... like that?

kinda hot...

shaking your head, you try to ignore your beating heart, praying that the girls exit the locker room soon so that you can quickly escape from this situation.

meanwhile, sukuna's hands struggle to keep away from you as his brain begins to short circuit, dick helplessly twitching in his pants, chest heaving but it being of no help - as the locker fills with the scent of you in it, the sweetness of your shampoo and perfume, making his heart pump harder.

you slowly shuffle forward a little, trying not to lean against him so much. when are these girls leaving... you think to yourself. they've started gossiping amongst themselves, sitting on the bench. goddamn it!

large hands fall onto your hips and pull you back toward him. you feel him grinding his crotch against your ass, and you know that whatever is poking you is definitely his fucking boner.

"what the fuck, sukuna? s-stop," you whisper to him as quietly as you can.

sukuna has stopped his thinking in itself entirely. whatever's making him act right now is nothing but his pure and selfish desires. there's no way he can resist you when you're the one who climbed inside your own locker with him. he needs to relieve his ache somehow.

he gets more and more handsy with you as each minute passes. his large hand snakes up to fondle your clothed tits as he continues to discreetly dry hump your ass.

you should be disgusted. you should jump out right now and snitch on him and call him a molester right in front of these girls.

but good god, this feels like... nothing you've felt before. his wandering hands. his immense horniness. this tight enclosed space. the size of his boner. it's all making you excited in a weird way, and you're starting to feel aroused at your core.

sukuna is doing his best to get some pleasure from this minimal friction he's getting inside his tight space, but it's not enough. the desperation and arousal claws at him, his dick hurting from how tightly it's sitting in his pants. he swallows on nothing.

fuck it. he's already started. why hold back now?

you feel a shift behind you and the sound of fabric and a zipper being undone. is he...?

you gasp softly when something hot and hard gets pushed between your thighs. it's... it's pulsing. you can't believe this is happening. with sukuna, out of all people? should you be mortified or intrigued? you fear that the latter might be truer.

there's ringing in his ears. not a single logical thought is occupying his brain as he thinks purely with his dick at the moment, having waited so long for a moment like this. fuck, he's so hard. and it only excites him more that you haven't leapt out of this locker yet, running away from him. even though you could. his heart is on the verge of beating it's way up to his throat.

small, shallow thrusts. you feel his heavy cock rub up against your inner thighs, and both of his large hands are now groping your clothed breasts lewdly. he unbuttons your blouse, and then messily pulls down your bra, as he's desperate to feel the real thing, and you can't muster the strength to swat him away. when his fingertips tease your nipples, you have to stop yourself from making any noise. you've always wanted someone to touch you there...

never did you know that someone would be sukuna. you grab his wrist in a fit of desperation.

"you're a fucking pervert... what the hell are you doing?" you tell him a tad bit loudly, trying to deny the heat in your cunt.

"... did you guys hear something?" one of the girls suddenly ask outside.

your heart drops to your stomach as this sets off a panic inside you again. a big, warm hand clasps over your mouth, shushing you effectively.

"quiet..." he mumbles into the shell of your ear, and it weakens your knees. it never occurred to you that he's always had an attractive voice. a wave of goosebumps wash over your skin.

you look down. you can get a tiny peek of his tip whenever he thrusts in... it's so fucking big. you can't possibly fit that inside you, could you? when you catch that it's glistening with precum, your pussy squeezes around nothing.

one hand still over your mouth and the other teasing your tits, sukuna is busy slowly chasing an orgasm, regardless of the girls that have gotten a little wary outside. they soon forget about it and continue their pointless chatter.

fuck... his cock is so close to your cunt. the thought of it makes him shudder. he's almost there.

your hands are semi-clawing at his hand that's still against your mouth, when you suddenly feel him cease the incessant groping at your breasts. instead, it goes under your skirt - a finger loosening your panties up to fit his fat cock beneath the flimsy fabric.

there it is. your bareback fuckin' pussy. he has to bite his own lip to hold off groaning out loud. he does his best to slide his dick in and out against your slit - being restricted in movement due to the tight space, but make doing somehow.

you're actually thankful for his hand covering your mouth up, as you would've definitely moaned out loud if it weren't for him. it's unreal how turned on you are right now. does he feel it? all the slick pouring out of you? it's so, so strange. you were so sure that you didn't want this with him before, but not anymore...

it grazes over your clit over and over, painfully teasing, and you need to orgasm so badly.

sukuna jolts his hips against you, giving a final short thrust as his tip catches the fabric of your panties - he presses his own face against your neck to effectively silence himself as he reaches his first high.

you shudder as his dick pulsates between your thighs so strongly, making a hot mess in your underwear, cum spilling out in thick ropes - you feel the heat of it on your poor cunt, and you shiver as sukuna inhales deeply against your neck, his breathing wavering, dick aching for more even as it continues to spill heavily, creaming your panties. his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, causing you to shiver.

it's a pleasure that's greater than he could've ever given himself alone. but he wants more. he needs more.

you're in the middle of trying to gather yourself again, but you again, feel him moving his hips. just what is he up to now...?

your eyes widen when you catch onto how he's trying to thrust himself inside you now. there's no way... you struggle against him but he holds you still - mouth still firmly silenced by his palm.

the best he can do is have the tip inside. but for now, it's enough. he doesn't care - as long as he can get whatever pleasure that's available...

"j-just the tip..." he whispers with the smallest voice he can manage, against your ear again. it turns you on so good.

you can't help but enjoy when he gropes at your chest again, his tip bullying it's way in your desperate and wet hole, popping in and out, in and out, in and out.

even with just the tip, you're about to lose your mind. you want more, but at the same time you're scared what'll happen to your mind if he shoves that whole thing inside you.

sukuna's brain is yet again short circuiting as he dips the tip of his cock into your hot and slippery cunt - making him feral and desperate to get deeper. yet, what's stopping him is this confined space that suffocates him. there isn't enough oxygen for both of you here, and he wonders whether it's you or the lack of oxygen that's making him endlessly breathless.

oh, he's close again.

he's going to cum again, but this time inside. you want to protest, but you've always wondered... does it feel good to have it spill inside? regardless, you still try to struggle against him purely because you don't like the thought of sukuna knowing that you're enjoying this. even though it's already too late.

he holds you so tightly against him - before letting himself loose once again - tip poking into your pussy as he pumps inside, balls clenching. your hole is welcoming, and it puckers around him mind numbingly, milking his heavy cock for everything he has. you feel the warmth of his seed reaching inside you but not very deep - most of it trickles back out onto your panties. he twitches against you harder and more intensely, hips shoving into you messily.

you're both out of breath...

...and that's when both of you hear the girls leaving the locker room with muffled laughter, successfully avoided noticing you and him inside.

they turn the lights off before they leave, and the locker room turns dark and silent. you're now sweating against sukuna - and the moment you feel his hands loosen against you, you push the locker door open and step outside, unsure of what exactly you're trying to run from. sukuna himself? or the fact that you might be forming some kind of attraction to him? to the way he treats you?

but alas, no matter how fast you think you are, you could never beat sukuna's reflexes. in that quick momentum, he's pursued you outside and grabbed your arm - before pulling you back and shoving you against the now closed locker door.

"where do you think you're going?" he asks with a deep and low voice, vein popping on his forehead and looking desperate and an intense blush being permeated on his face. why is it that it's always made you feel so squirmy, whenever he cornered you like this? the size difference, the strength difference... the pervert here is not only him, it seems.

your needy gaze flutters from his eyes down to his exposed cock. it's veiny, throbbing, and leaking messily. it looks heavy and most importantly... it's so fucking big.

in the blink of an eye, sukuna has hiked your legs up, holding you up against the lockers, making it so that you cannot run from him again. it's game over.

"having the nerve to try and run after seducing me with your ass..." sukuna mutters angrily, lining his dick above your cunt and tummy, showing off how deep it'll reach if he slid it inside.

"no- i didn't..." you protest weakly, heart hammering with excitement. "idiot... let me down."

you tell him, despite your arms that loop around his neck.

"your voice is lacking it's usual sharpness," sukuna tells you breathlessly, flipping your skirt up and pushing your panties aside. it's still wet with his previous loads. oh- he can't think straight.

"wait-! something that big won't fucking fit!" you tell him, only now the fear beginning to hit you. moreover, you're afraid he'll end up breaking you and stop all rational thinking - this is dangerous.

"it will. i'll mould the shape of your insides to my fuckin' cock," sukuna insists, eyes focused on your wet glistening pussy. so pretty.

he pushes it in. but he doesn't stop there. he pushes it in all the way. balls fucking deep.

your eyes widen and when he thrusts the whole thing in one go, you well and truly break. legs trembling, pleasure washes over you and you cry out a moan.

"fuck-! did you just cum? are you cumming?" sukuna asks, panting, slowly sliding himself in and out as your cunt spasms around him. soon enough, he speeds it up and makes sure his tip is bullying your cervix with each deep thrust, eyes rolling back as your walls welcome him so warmly and clamp down on him.

"haah- haah- mm, fuck! you're so fuckin' tight! ugh, 'm gonna bust again," he slurs messily, hips moving non-stop. the unkempt bush of his pubic hair gives friction against you adding onto your strange sensations of pleasure. drool begins to roll out from the corner of your mouth.

his balls have never felt heavier as they slap against your wet ass each time he slams his cock inside, slick pooling out of you and creating droplets on the floor. he has a lot to give you... and your cunt is being so agreeable, the way it sucks on him, warm and wet. it's turning him animalistic, no thoughts running inside his brain except to fucking breed this hole. breed you.

not inside... not inside... you think, not realising that you're not saying it out loud.

"i'm gonna do it inside. i'm gonna-!" he hisses, hips stuttering at the last second.

"ugh- shit! 'm c-cumming... fuuck... fuck!" sukuna cusses deeply, thighs trembling as he continues giving tiny, but sharp thrusts even as he's spilling into you while buried to the hilt.

it's hot. you can feel that it's thick. there's so much. even more than his two previous loads. sukuna's face being twisted in pleasure puts you in awe - and you unknowingly tighten your pussy around him as he orgasms inside, joined to you hip-to-hip.

he's never felt such a deep seated pleasure in him before. he continues to gasp and shudder with every stringy spurt that he knows is reaching your womb. what if he actually knocks you up? what if his seed takes? it's a scary but thrilling thought. the thought of you swollen with his baby... all rational thinking has been thrown out the window due to this pleasure.

sounds that you never could've imagined coming out of sukuna continue to spill from his lips... he slides his cock in and out and squeezes every last drop out of himself, and he suddenly brings his lips to yours, kissing you feverishly. both of you pant over each other while making out messily as he slowly begins to thrust into you over and over again. he's going to get addicted to this. he's going to crave your pussy everyday from now on.

sukuna sucks on your tongue like he wants to swallow it. your arms hold onto him for dear life.

all too suddenly, he brings you off the locker, arms hooked under your legs and palms supporting you by holding onto your ass cheeks.

the kiss breaks, and catch sight of sukuna's lust-filled eyes as he moves you up and down his cock using his monster-like strength. and you're held up by him like this, you can't do anything to stop him. just cling onto him and take what he gives you.

"f-fuck, sukuna... ooh-! t-too deep," you mumble with tears in your eyes, gasping from the way his tip kisses your womb effortlessly. he's seriously too big for his own good.

"keep saying my name like that- it'll only make my dick harder," he pants, continuing to use your pussy like a fleshlight. his thick load has made it even wetter. he can feel your slick beginning to cream up around the base of his cock now, and it makes his chest well up with something like pride. does he turn you on that good? this hole of yours refuses to run out of lube.

the absurdly obscene plap plap plap sound of flesh against flesh, makes for the lewdest echo in the locker room. that, paired with the mild darkness, and the possibility of being seen by someone coming in during after-school hours, makes for the perfect thrilling atmosphere for such feral sex.

it's driving you mad. the echoing, the subtle anxiety, the smell of his sweat.

it's marvelous...

another orgasm hits you like a bullet train. gasping, you whimper as he continues fucking you through it this time, relentlessly thrusting into you regardless of your pulsing walls.

"shit... your cunt's clinging to me," sukuna groans, feeling blessed to see you get undone by him, by his cock. the fingertips of his large hands against your ass sink deeper, the pleasurable knot in his stomach getting tighter once again.

"you and your uselessly big dick... fuck you," you chide breathlessly, doing your best to keep your sentences clear even as he plunges into you with an unforgiving pace.

"clearly not useless when it's made you cum twice now, right?"

"shut up-"

you get cut off when he begins to thrust faster, as you witness the very moment sukuna's eyes become blank with pleasure, getting ready to empty his balls again.

"slutty fuckin' cunt. latching onto me so greedily... can't stop- thrusting-" he mumbles, gripping onto your ass tighter.

you can't help but sigh with pleasure when he begins to fill you up again, twitching and pulsing like crazy inside you as he spills so much seed like he's peeing.

"ohh, shit... cumming s-so hard..." he breathes out shakily.

you're starting to feel full. but you get the feeling that this still isn't the last one. desperate kisses are pressed against the side of your neck as he takes some time to relax a little again, thoroughly finishing deep into you, hips jolting every now and then.

he carries you over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he lies you down and brings your knees closer to your chest, fully exposing your cunt to him, whole. his dick still squeezed into you.

with a hoarse shaky groan, he slowly drags his thick cock in and out of you in this position, with only the heavens knowing how he is still hard after so many orgasms.

you give a small yelp as he speeds up - your plush walls embracing him warmly and filling up his balls once more. god, he doesn't think he'll ever have enough of this pussy. of you.

"idiot! e-enough.. take it out... i'll get- pregnant-" you warn him not-so-convincingly, with gasping moans between each word.

"c-can't... you're... sucking me in so good... can't stop-" sukuna replies with no thoughts in his brain other than to relieve the throb in his erection again. it's driving him up a wall, too. the flesh of your ass that softens the impact everytime he drives his hips into you. your squeals and whines of euphoria. your exposed breasts and glistening clit. he burns every detail into his brain, to make sure he remembers forever...

he doesn't even know what number round this is, but it amazes even him how he feels like he's already edging close to another climax. it's pathetic and ridiculous of him. but he can't help the fact that you push him over so easily.

the number of tissues he'd run through just from jerking off every time he thought about you all night... you have no clue.

recalling those moments makes him feel even more determined to chase this final orgasm even more rigorously. it won't be difficult, not with how your cunt swallows him up so nice.

"fuck.... i- i like you. i've always liked you..." sukuna mumbles out the sudden confession slowly.

"stupid... bastard... you say this now...?" you say as you sigh in pleasure, almost being close to your own climax as well, this position setting off yet another deep arousal in you. after all that bickering and tormenting - he has the audacity to confess to you? only after cumming inside multiple times?

"can't give any excuses can i?" he voices with a curt laugh - finding himself to be pitiful in this moment as well.

"but it's true... i- fuck- i like you so much..." he groans, hips getting faster.

your eyes begin to blur with tears again... sukuna thumbs your clit gently... and then you arch your back with a gasping squeal. sukuna too, hisses as he pumps you full for a final time, letting his dick drain itself in your fluttering hole, hips and thighs jerking uncontrollably while his tip leaks spurt after spurt through your cervix, overflowing you to the maximum.

after dumping his final load, he slowly drags his large, twitching cock out of you with a pop and lets it rest against your gaping cunt, pulsing weakly against your clit. his thumb pushes your panty lining aside to keep your pussy exposed for him to see. your hole is still gaping and thrumming, as if missing him already and he's watching with awe as big globs of his spend trickle out of you thickly. if he wasn't so exhausted, the sight of this would've made him hard again.

sukuna lets go of you and lets your legs rest on the bench, as you're still panting from the exertion, mind numb from that last orgasm. he seems to loom over you for a second, before leaning down, arms caging you against the bench, knee between your legs, to kiss you on your glossy lips. it feels good, but you wouldn't want to admit that out loud to him.

"i like you." he repeats again, after breaking away from you. he wonders why it had taken him so long to admit this fact. once he got it out, it became an easy thing to say. you look at his face and he looks so pathetic in your eyes, the usual look of cockiness and mischief being wiped away. he says it as if he's pleading you, and you know what he's asking for, what he's unable to say out loud. he probably wants to be your boyfriend.

it's strange to see the puppy eyes of your literal arch nemesis, and it's also strange to hear his voice give you a love confession. it makes you mad. it makes you angry. not because you hate it, but because you don't hate it.

he sees it. he sees the instant your eyes glint with anger, and he very swiftly dodges the head butt you try to give him at the very last second.

"move, idiot," you say sharply, glaring at him.

alright, he probably deserved that one.

you stand up and fix your bra and blouse before gathering your things from the locker before leaving without another word - sukuna follows you outside in a fit of mild anxiousness.

"hey-"

"you. take responsibility and buy me some plan b pills. and a pregnancy test kit," you interrupt, looking back at him.

"...alright," he responds rather obediently, after a nervous swallow.

after you turn back around to continue walking, the tiniest smile grows on your face... sukuna looking nervous is something you never thought you'd see. maybe you can use this to your advantage.

your phone vibrates in your hand. it's from your new 'boyfriend'. a sweet message saying he's excited to see you again tomorrow. you delete the notification with a little bit of guilt on your mind. you'll leave tomorrow's issues for tomorrow.

in front of the chemist, you languidly stand around outside waiting as sukuna does as you'd asked him. truth be told, it was because you didn't want to buy them yourself, out of embarrassment. you know he doesn't care about how people sees him, so no harm done there.

when he comes back out with the bag, he holds it out to hand it over to you. but when you try to grab it, he lifts it away.

"you're gonna break up with him, right?" he suddenly asks, with a rather serious expression on his face.

you ignore the question and try to grab the bag, but he avoids you again.

"...right?" he emphasises. he doesn't intimidate you at all anymore, not after knowing about his feelings for you.

"it's none of your business?" you tell him, finally snatching the bag. he doesn't look too pleased about that answer. you take the pills quietly and shove the rest into your bag.

"okay. now go home," you shoo at him. "i'm tired."

"you haven't answered me yet," he says firmly, holding onto your wrist.

"you'll have your answer tomorrow," you reply in an exasperated tone, shaking off his grip.

"and just letting you know. if it turns out positive, i'm never speaking to you again," you warn him with a deadpan face. in the back of your mind, you're pretty anxious about it, but you know according to your cycle, today wasn't a fertile day. that, and with the pill... it should be alright.

sukuna stiffens up and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

"and don't follow me. if you do, i'll also never speak to you again."

you're not that serious about not talking to him ever again, but you believe he deserves to feel as anxious as you do.

"... i wasn't planning on stalking you anyway. jesus," sukuna mutters, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

you narrow your eyes at him, and then continue your way home.

he scratches the back of his head in frustration. it's like he's skipped a lot of steps towards you and it's coming back to bite him in the ass. ah, well. nothing he can do about it now.

sukuna starts praying that the test comes out as negative.

-

in the end, you decided to become the asshole and just break up with the guy over text. what was there to even really 'break up' anyway? it was for less than a day...

regardless, the news seems to run across the entire school and your friends begin to pester you about why. you can't tell them the truth. what could you even say? 'oh, i got railed good by the one guy i despised in school and it made me end up changing my mind'? fuck that.

he walks towards you after school with seemingly high spirits.

"so... i heard you broke it off after all," he approaches you after hearing the good news. you'd been ignoring him all day, but he's hoping you'll stop once the day was over and there was no one else around to watch them.

you continue to give him the silent treatment, walking along without sparing him a glance.

"hey," he grabs your forearm to stop you from walking.

"stop ignoring me. please."

you only spare him a glance because he added 'please'.

"...i don't see how that changes anything between us," you finally respond.

"right. surely not," he responds, voice thick with sarcasm.

"is that the correct attitude you should be taking? i broke up with him because i felt bad i fucked someone else while we were together. not because i like you back," you shoot at him, crossing your arms.

"oh, give me a break. you were barely with him for one day-"

"sukuna. do you want me to like you back?"

sukuna falls silent, looking at you with annoyance yet also simultaneous desire.

"if you want me to like you... then you need to work for it. make up for all the mean things you've said and done to me."

"...how? what should i do?" he asks, daringly, stepping forward towards you.

you wordlessly take your bag and shove it against his chest with an aloof expression on your features. it startles him for a moment, but looking at your face, he understands what you're asking of him. he slowly smirks and slings your bag over his shoulder, on top of his own.

"easy. anything else?"

"...i'm kinda hungry. take me somewhere good to eat. you pay."

"so... a date?" sukuna hums teasingly, trying to hold your hand.

"nope. you're gonna act as my lackey for a few weeks. it's payback. after that... well, we'll see," you say as you dodge his hand.

he can't wipe the smile off his face. you're clearly playing around with him, but he doesn't hate it. it's another form of attention, is it not? he'll have plenty of chances to make you his from now.

little does he know... he's the one that will become yours in the end.

you know the drill! dot points bc im lazy as fuck!!

okay well, first off the test does turn out negative, lucky for him... from then on you make him wear condoms whenever you have sex

but before that, he spends a few weeks running around to try and appease you

everybody shocked to see the big bad bully is being so obedient, and little do they know...

mmmaybe you give him little rewards every now and then, some sneaky kisses or so, just to keep him afloat... and then you withhold your body from him again

still carries your bag for you everywhere

has to deal with the frustration of not having boyfriend privileges yet... always itching to touch you but you wont allow it until you think he deserves it

sitting between his legs but not letting him be handsy with you is torture. maybe he'll break the rules a bit and hug your waist anyway

love the thought of him borderline begging for your touch because he's so hard from spending so much time being so close with you and it's been well over three weeks since he's done anything remotely sexual with you

maybe you'll feel a little turned on by his pleading that you cave in a bit, and take him to the public restrooms for a few handjobs

he will take anything he can, the opportunist...

and you'll have plenty of fun edging and toying with sukuna until he's shaped nicely into being a good obedient boyfriend for you

bully sukuna trope was inspired and set alight by @gojos-thot-patrol btw, link to his fic here... mine took a completely different path but it was a similar concept in the end ✨️👌

Masterlist

[shadesofjinx]

Answering all of these because I have truly nothing to hide!

1. What are 4 tabs you have open on your browser right now?

swim team membership page, one of my own fanfics on ao3, my ao3 bookmarks, my dining hall’s daily menu

2. Have you ever thought about seriously harming someone?

Yes, my abusers:) and also because of intrusive thoughts and those being super horrible bc of certain traumas

3. How are you feeling emotionally right now?

Pretty damn good. I feel lucky, where I’m in college rn is pretty quiet and I feel like I’m in a bubble and privileged enough to not be dealing personally with the backlash of trumps administration here but I do my best to spread info around for those who need it

4. What type of place(like building) are you in right now?

My college dorm room / dorm building

5. Does anyone know your deepest, darkest secret?

Well no, not yet at least. There are some things in the past that are so fucked up we’d just rather go to the grave with it but we may get the courage to tell our therapist these things

6. Have you ever tried to feign mental illness for personal gain?

Thank God no, you heard it here first we haven’t ever done that

7. Do you have any enemies?

Donald trump, my abusers, and the American healthcare system that personally failed me <3

8. Do you have people you only pretend to like?

Absolutely not?? The people who pretend to like others are fake as fuck I’m sorry (not including people who are genuinely unlikable re: terrible people). I’ve been the victim of this several times and it hurts very much so don’t be that kind of person, be genuine in your connections or else you won’t wake up tomorrow:))

9. What is one item you never let anyone look at or in?

The one sex toy I have . Prettyyy self explanatory

10. Do you have any talents people say you have but you don’t actually have?

My dad likes my singing and I never believed I had the potential to be a singer or be in a choir (I thought my singing sounded horrible) but now I am and my choir teacher has been very encouraging I love her!! My singing has already gotten a lot better

11. Something you like that apparently other people don’t like?

Cats. A lot of people I used to know, key word used to were avid cat haters and I was not here for that

12. Are you a virgin?

Somewhat unfortunately. I say that cuz sex would be great but we have sexual trauma so go figure

13. Is there anyone your grandma would hate that you’re subscribed to on YouTube?

Yes, Tommyinnit cuz he swears quite a bit, and DanandPhilGames because both are out queer men who live together and she’s homophobic and conservative

14. Introvert or extrovert?

Bruh I mean I’m autistic so introvert I guess but i prefer to be alone unless I’m with my bestie

15. Most used app on my device?

Chrome because use it to read ao3

16. How much fanfiction have you actually read?

Good question! I don’t know! But I’ve been on that site for 4 years and have let’s see 81 pages of ao3 history

17. Worst Fears?

Deep water, touch (in some instances), dying alone, dying unmarried, heights (I say as if I’m not a rock climber and also want to go bungee jumping but it’s ok I’m an adrenaline junkie so the fear and potential adrenaline cancel out)

18. Biggest mistake you’ve ever made?

Trusting certain people in my past 👍🏻

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

When my brother was stalking me online for years and found out that my therapist and I thought I had DID at the time (diff therapist, now diagnosed with DID with specialist) and I lied to his face (that I didn’t have DID) for my own safety

20. Do you consider yourself a trustworthy person?

Pretty much yeah I’m not good with like positive secrets (like a surprise party, I’d just get too excited and want to tell the person yk!!) but if anyone ever tells me deep dark stuff and I’m told to keep it a secret (as long as they’re not in danger/a danger to themselves) then yeah I’ll take that shit to my grave nobody’s gonna know

“I have nothing to hide” Asks

(For those daring enough to reblog)

1. What are 4 tabs that you have open on your browser right now?

2. Have you ever thought about seriously harming someone?

3. How are you feeling emotionally right now?   

4. What type of place(Like building) are you in right now?       

5. Does anyone know your deepest, darkest secret?

6. Have you ever tried to feign mental illness for personal gain?

7. Do you have any enemies?

8. Do you have any people you only pretend to like?

9. What is one item that you never let anyone besides yourself look at or in?

10. Do you have any talents that people say you have but you don’t believe you actually have?

11. Something you like that other people generally do not like?

12. Are you a Virgin?  

13. Is there anyone that your grandma would hate that you are subscribed to on youtube?

14. Introvert or extrovert?

15. What is the most used application on your device?

16. How much fan fiction have you actually read?

17. Worst Fears?

18. Biggest mistake you’ve ever made?

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

20. Do you consider yourself a trustworthy person?

[dottowos]

audite me.

synopsis: You make the mistake of telling Dottore how much his voice affects you. He’s eager to test the limits of that.

includes: dottore w/ fem! reader

notes: Dottore makes you come with just his voice alone. Established relationship, voice kink, reader is blindfolded, bondage (he straps you to the examination table), no actual penetration (yet), dirty talk, praise, he just watches you and talks the whole time, brief mention of the segments fucking you, brief mention of consensual filming, reader uses no pronouns. Minors DNI.

In the midst of everything that went on in your life, Dottore’s voice was always there at the end of the day.

It was there to add to your joy when you were happy. It was there to comfort you and cut through your bad thoughts when you were sad. It was there to steady you and calm you down when you were angry. Even if you two were just having a normal conversation, his voice and words always made your heart flip in some way.

More specifically, his voice rendered you especially defenseless when you two were intimate. He could range from smooth and cooing when he was praising you, or perhaps low and rough when he was being mean, even to a high, cocky laugh if he desired to watch you struggle. It drove you crazy in a good kind of way.

The topic came up in conversation one day - the conversation being about sex. Although it was definitely quite embarrassing for you to discuss such a thing, especially when Dottore had a straight and unaffected face the whole time, the scholar required it for research. (The research being how he can make it more pleasurable the next time, how to make you come even more, if he can make you even more far gone… and of course any discomforts.) Regardless, you decided to offhandedly mention it.

“I think you should talk some more,” you offered as a suggestion. Although Dottore certainly didn’t shy away from talking while fucking you, oftentimes he let your incoherent babbling and lewd noises speak for itself.

“Is that so?” The scholar made sure to write that down as he hummed in interest. 

“Of course! I love listening to you,” you smiled, both of you well aware of when you’d listen to his tangents, especially back in the Akademiya. He always got embarrassed when you paid attention so wholeheartedly. 

“I see. How else does my voice make you feel?” You couldn’t see it, but he already had a devious plan in motion.

“Well… you know. Good!” You tried to keep your answer short because you didn’t want to verbally admit how much it affected you sometimes.

“Just good?” Dottore questioned. “I would think it would have much more of an impact if you’re bold enough to tell me.” With that, he swiftly got up from his seat and loomed over where you were sitting not too far away, with a crooked smile. “Now, I would appreciate it if you didn’t withhold any crucial details. I wonder, does my voice provide merely mental stimulation or does it extend to your body as well? Is it affecting you right now?” Your mouth opened and closed, struggling to form a response from how close he was.

“I g-guess I feel a bit tingly,” you ended up admitting, hoping he’d finally drop his teasing. Dottore pulled back with a chuckle, and you just barely let out a sigh of relief before he suddenly picked you up in his arms and started walking toward the middle of the room.

“Hey!” You squirmed in his grip but he simply patted your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“Relax,” Dottore purred. “I just want to run a test on you,” he said as if it was no big deal. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy this very much.” Although you had reason to doubt his words considering his past experiments on you, you didn’t protest much when the Harbinger laid you down on the cool examination table. But then suddenly, with the press of a button, restraints appeared to cuff your arms and legs to the table - you didn’t even know that was a feature. As quickly as that happened, the doctor began pulling off your clothes and leaving you bare, save for your underwear.

“What are you going to do?” You gasped as you tried to move around, but of course, the restraints were strong enough to mostly hinder that.

“Relax,” he repeated himself again, smiling as he patted your head. “I won’t do anything,” he stated, which obviously sounded like a lie - he was especially hands-on when it came to you.

“Huh…?” You watched as Dottore shuffled around in the drawers for something, and then produced a silky blindfold.

“This should help to strengthen your other senses,” he remarked, tying it around your eyes so your vision went dark. Now, you could only hear the clicking of his shoes as he walked away, and then returned, the sound of something dropping against another nearby table. His notes, perhaps? But before you could question him, Dottore finally spoke.

“As I said, I won’t do anything to you,” he began, starting to walk again. This time, however, you imagined he was pacing around you, eyes boring into your nude body. “I won’t touch you. And as for you… you won’t need to do anything either. You will stay there until I am satisfied.”

“Okay…”

“Are you still confused, beloved?” He chuckled, and then you could hear tapping quite close to you, presumably his fingers drumming against the table. “Today’s experiment will serve to not only indulge your desire, but also to see how much I can make your pretty pussy drip without any physical stimulation. I believe it will be quite fascinating,” you could practically hear the smile in his tone. But you, on the other hand, were very much now wiggling in a fruitless attempt to escape.

“I can’t do that! That- that’s too much!” As much as you loved his voice, not having his fingers or cock to go with it would be torturous.

“You can take it,” he reassured you, although you were pretty sure you could not, in fact, take it. “I’m not even fucking you. Surely you can handle this? Or perhaps I’ve underestimated my own power,” he commented, wondering if he’d discovered another thing to hold over your head. Some more click-clicks and scribbling against paper followed, before he spoke again.

“What to start with…” Dottore said to himself as he observed your trembling form. “The basics, I suppose.” The man walked back to you before he noticed the slight damp spot on your underwear. “Or perhaps that won’t be necessary. You seem to already be worked up. Tell me, what else should I say? Your input is very much needed and appreciated in this experiment as well.” You tried to control your racing heart and force out some words. At this point, it was better to go along with him than to deny his whims.

“Please, anything… or just tease me,” you said honestly, which made your lover contemplate for a few moments.

“But I thought you hated it when I teased you? Or was that just a lie?” You swallowed deeply and remained silent, your head fuzzy with only his voice, as your vision was completely dark, when suddenly you felt a puff of air near your ear and his voice so close to you. “I expect an answer,” Dottore demanded.

“No! I mean, yes and no at the same time,” you quickly tried to defend yourself but you didn’t have much of a good argument.

“I see… I see. That leaves me to question what times you were secretly fond of my teasing. Was it the time I kept making you come on my tongue and fingers, refusing to give you my cock? I do remember you begging me to stop and hurry up. Did you like that, love?” His deep voice and words had your chest twitching, struggling to maintain composure.

“Or maybe it’s the opposite. Did you enjoy when I properly fucked you and wouldn’t let you come on my cock? I recall you being so tearful, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you liked it.” You sniffed and eventually, you could feel tears bubbling at the corner of your eyes. Adding to his words, you could hear him pacing around you, like how a predator would circle its prey. An astute comparison, considering how he was devouring you right now. Dottore just kept listing off dirty things, watching as you cried and flailed against the restraints, trying so hard to get some kind of pleasure but failing.

“Ah, but I know one thing for sure. You’re enjoying it right now, aren’t you?” He hummed as he eyed your soaked underwear. “After all, my eyes do not deceive me.” With great precision, he quickly slipped your underwear down without touching your skin, revealing your sopping cunt. You couldn’t help but whimper, wishing his skin was against yours.  

“Please,” you choked out, a sincere plea for him to finally touch you. You waited for him to at least wipe your tears away with his fingers, but he never did. If anything, he was probably standing over you with a sick smile.

“Hmm… if I knew you were so sensitive to my voice, I would have taken some more measures. Ah, maybe I should borrow your Kamera. Yes, that would do, wouldn’t it? Recording some lines for you to touch yourself to… telling you what to do even when I’m not there… I wonder, would you listen to me or get too carried away?” Dottore laughed at the notion of you delaying your orgasm as his recorded voice ordered, simply because you were so good for him and would never want to disappoint him, even when he wasn’t there. 

“And perhaps I should get you to record yourself as well? To see whether you deserve a punishment or not?” The restraints made you unable to squeeze your thighs together, but they still allowed you to buck your hips into the air, grinding against only the air, much to your dismay. 

“Oh? You seem to favor that, don’t you?” Dottore seemed pleased with your response before his tone dropped. “But now that I think about it, even if I did provide you with that solution… would you even utilize it? You’d prefer to go to one of my segments to satisfy yourself, wouldn’t you? You’d rather be drilled by their cocks instead of waiting for me. Dirty thing,” he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

At this point, your cunt was aching and dripping with need, your back arching and flattening, your body twisting around for something, anything, loud pants and sighs coming from your lips. His voice was all that occupied your mind, his promises leaving you needy.

“Tell me, what vivid images are you picturing right now?” At Dottore’s question, you could briefly hear the rustling and unbuckling of something, but you weren’t sure what it was.

“I… I…”

“Go on now. This is beneficial for both of us.” Dottore began languidly stroking himself, wondering what was going on in that usually intelligent mind of yours, now pliable to his desires.

“Zandik, need you now, n-need you to…” your words died on your tongue, the growing feeling between your legs rendering your words impossible.

“Hmm… I’m not sure whether to consider this a success as your mind already seems to be gone, or a failure since I’m unable to collect more evidence. A pity. If I had to guess, however, I suppose you’re thinking about being my cumdump, yes? Seeing as that is what always happens,” Dottore said matter-of-factly, noticing how your breathing was rapidly speeding up. 

“Now, what would you prefer? Should I keep you tied up? And should I use your mouth or cunt first? But it does seem that your pussy is tired of being neglected,” he mused in false pity, watching as you wildly bucked your hips. “Yes, I’ll fill you up nice and full, and then have you clean me up like a good pet. That sounds good, doesn’t-” Before Dottore could finish his words, your flurry of incoherent words interrupted him as your juices splattered onto the examination table, your shaking legs and gasping adding further confirmation to what just happened.

“…You actually came. I must admit, even I didn’t expect that. Excellent, my dear, excellent. You truly never cease to amaze me,” Dottore praised you, his compliment swimming dumbly around in your mind. 

Your restraints and blindfold were soon removed, but your body was too tired to move around anyway. Dottore stroked your thighs gently in an effort to calm you down, but your mind was so filled with his voice that you barely noticed that the tip of his cock was now rubbing against your pussy.

“Now, darling, why don’t I fill you up with something more… substantial?”

[gyu-tori]

To Fly or To Fall | L.HS

Pairing: highschooler!heeseung x fem!reader Genre: ANGST !! tiniest fluff if you squint Warnings: verbal!abuse, physical!abuse, domestic!violence, familial trauma, unrealistic expectations, familial and academic pressure, main character!death (im sorry), if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, then please don’t continue. (let me know if i missed anything)

Summary: You were the perfect student, always silent and disciplined, blending into the background where no one can see the weight of your father's expectations or the silence of your mother.

When you're paired with Heeseung, a carefree troublemaker who seems to notice everything about you, your world begins to unravel. He sees past your mask, offering you an escape from the suffocating cage you've been living in. But when your defiance leads to consequences you never expected, you must face a choice: stay in the cage, or take a chance on freedom, even if it means risking everything.

Word Count: 16.4k

You have perfected the art of silence.

You sit in the front row, back straight, hands folded neatly on your desk, eyes fixed on the board. Your pen moves smoothly across the page, transcribing every word your professor says with precise, practiced strokes. You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not laugh in public. You do not break the rules.

Because breaking the rules is dangerous.

The classroom is alive with movement and murmurs—the scraping of chairs, the hushed whispers of classmates passing notes, the occasional sigh from the teacher when someone isn’t paying attention. None of it touches you. You are a ghost among the living, a shadow in the corner of their vision. Present, yet unnoticed.

There is a skill in blending into the background, in being so quiet that no one notices how little you exist outside of the expectations placed on you. You are Y/N, a shadow in the classroom, a quiet force that functions with precision, always meeting deadlines, always turning in homework on time, always sitting in the front row with your eyes on the lesson. You don’t speak much, and when you do, it’s always in a manner that is polite but detached. It’s easier this way—easier not to draw attention to yourself, easier not to stand out in a crowd of people who seem so sure of themselves, so confident. You don’t understand how they do it.

You’ve learned from a young age that perfection is what earns you value. Anything less, and you are nothing. Your grades are impeccable, and your quiet demeanor keeps people at arm’s length. You keep a smile on your face—small, controlled, but  never too big. It’s a smile you’ve worn for so long that it’s become a part of you, even if it never quite reaches your eyes. People call you smart, efficient, reliable—but no one truly knows you. Not the way you want them to.

At home, it’s no different. The weight of expectations is even heavier. Your father’s voice rings through the house like a constant reminder of the standards you can never afford to slip from. His words cut deeper than any physical punishment. His criticism is never loud but always precise, always calculated, always there.

��Y/N,” he’ll say in that tone of his, sharp and demanding, “you can do better than this. I didn’t raise you to be mediocre.”

The sound of his voice has become so familiar to you that it feels like an eternal echo in your mind. It’s never angry, not in the way you hear other parents shout at their children. No, his anger is cold, reserved, and often cutting. There’s always something under his words—disappointment, frustration, something that weighs on your chest like a boulder. As if you were Sisyphus and his words were the boulder you had to roll for eternity. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. The way he looks at you, the way he expects nothing short of perfection, says everything.

Your mother doesn’t speak much. You’ve learned early on that silence is her way of dealing with things. You’ll be in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and she’ll be sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her gaze always downward. When you talk to her, she nods quietly, but her eyes never meet yours. You wonder if she even notices the way the pressure affects you, or if she’s too tired to see. You’ve long since stopped looking for comfort in her.

There’s a strange stillness in your home, a heaviness that hangs over everything, leaving you to carry the weight alone. And so you do, in silence, in isolation. The only thing that matters is meeting your father’s expectations, keeping up the perfect image. Anything less would be unacceptable.

And then there’s Heeseung. The first time you notice him, he’s laughing. Loudly, obnoxiously, with no care for who’s listening. He’s everything you’re not—effortless, carefree, and always surrounded by a group of friends who hang on his every word. You watch him from a distance, fascinated by the ease with which he exists. He has a presence that commands attention, even when he’s not trying.

He’s the kind of person who challenges authority with a smirk, who has a way of making teachers laugh even when they’re scolding him. And somehow, despite all his rebelliousness, he gets away with it. It’s infuriating, really. But also… strange. You don’t understand him.

So, you just observe from afar, intrigued by the mystery surrounding him. Heeseung is the kind of person who seems to have a solution for everything, who always knows the right thing to say, who never hesitates to jump into any situation with enthusiasm and confidence. When he talks, everyone listens. When he moves, everyone follows. It’s the way he carries himself, as if nothing could faze him. There’s something magnetic about him, but also distant, as if he’s always just a little out of reach.

But while people are drawn to him, they also fear him. His recklessness has earned him a reputation. Heeseung isn’t the type to abide by the rules. He’ll skip class without a second thought, and when the teacher calls him out for it, he’ll flash that devil-may-care grin and smooth-talk his way out of any consequence. He’s practically untouchable. 

Heeseung doesn’t care about grades, about rules, about anything really. He’s one of those people who just does what he wants, when he wants. You can’t help but admire how free he is, how easily he lets go of the things that bind you so tightly. You wish, just for a moment, you could be like him—unburdened, carefree.

But that’s not you. You can’t afford to be careless. You don’t have the luxury of being like Heeseung. You have responsibilities, expectations. You have to be perfect. You can’t let go, even if a part of you wishes you could.

There are rumors about him, of course—some of them true, some exaggerated. He’s been seen sneaking out of parties at odd hours, showing up at school with a disheveled look that tells you he didn’t get much sleep. Some people say he’s reckless, that he doesn’t think ahead, that he’s a risk to those who get too close. Others say he’s simply misunderstood, that he’s more than what people give him credit for. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s just speculation.

But you can’t deny that there’s something about him. He’s everything you’re not: confident, free-spirited, and unafraid to take risks. You feel your envy simmer under the surface, though you quickly push it away. It’s a strange feeling, one that makes your chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. How can someone so reckless be so captivating?

You can’t help but compare yourself to him, even though you don’t want to. Heeseung seems to float through life, unaffected by the weight of expectations, while you feel every ounce of pressure bearing down on you.

He’s like a butterfly—light and free, flying wherever the wind takes him. You, on the other hand, are a moth, tied to the bright light that is responsibilities and the need to meet every expectation.

You’ve spent years crafting the perfect image of yourself, and yet Heeseung is the one everyone talks about. He’s the one everyone seems to want to be around. You wonder what it would feel like to be so sure of yourself, to move through the world with such ease. You wonder if he even realizes how different he is from the rest of you.

You watch him during class, and when he glances over at you, you quickly look away, feeling an unfamiliar heat rise to your cheeks. There’s something about the way he holds your gaze that makes your insides twist in knots. It’s not a challenge, not in the way you’re used to seeing people look at you—it’s something else. You can’t explain it, but you feel it every time he looks at you. It’s as if he sees straight through your carefully constructed walls, and for a moment, you wonder if he knows exactly who you are.

It’s frustrating, really.

The announcement comes as a shock. You’re sitting in the classroom, waiting for the professor to assign partners for the group project, when you hear your name paired with Heeseung’s. Your heart stops. You freeze. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve heard the professor wrong, but when you look up, you see Heeseung already grinning over at you, that same confident, devil-may-care grin that makes your stomach twist into knots.

You feel a sudden wave of panic, your mind racing. This can’t be happening. You need to do this project alone. You’re sure of it. You approach the teacher after he finishes, quietly asking if it’s possible to work solo. You don’t want to deal with Heeseung’s casual attitude, his distractions, his carelessness.

Before the teacher can even respond, Heeseung’s voice cuts through the air, an arm draped around your shoulders.

“C’mon, Professor, I’m a great helper. Right, Butterfly?”

His words are teasing, playful. You feel your stomach twist. That nickname—it feels wrong coming from him, like an invasion of your space. You don’t want to be anyone’s ‘butterfly.’ You’re not fragile, you’re not delicate. You’re strong, you tell yourself. Strong, and capable.

The teacher chuckles, clearly amused by Heeseung’s antics. “No, Y/N. You’re working with him. Make it work.”

You don’t protest. There’s no use. Instead, you turn to sit back at your desk, trying to keep your emotions in check. Heeseung sits next to you and leans back in his chair, arms crossed, flashing you that cocky grin. You can’t decide if you want to strangle him or… walk away.

“Don’t worry, Butterfly. I’ll help you get that perfect grade,” 

His words make you feel small, almost as if you’re nothing compared to him. You don’t want to admit it, but they sting. You’ve spent so long making sure you’re always in control of your life, always prepared, always following the rules, and here he is—throwing everything off balance with a single sentence. You don’t know how to handle it.

You don’t want to admit how much his teasing bothers you. How his confidence makes you feel like you’re not enough. 

But despite all of that, there’s a part of you that’s curious. A part of you that’s drawn to him, despite everything you’ve told yourself. You’ve always been the responsible one, the one who keeps her distance from people like him. But now, you’re stuck with him. For the next few weeks, you’re going to have to work with Heeseung, and something tells you that it won’t be as simple as you’d like it to be.

Heeseung leans over to you, his hand brushing yours as he collects his things from the desk. It’s a light touch, barely there, but it sends a jolt through you that you can’t ignore. You turn your head quickly, your face flushed, and Heeseung notices.

“Ready to get to work, Y/N?” he asks, his voice a little too casual, like he’s trying to be playful but there’s a deeper intent behind it. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

But you’re not sure if you believe him. You don’t know what to expect, and the way his eyes linger on you just a little too long makes you feel like there’s something more to this than just a simple project.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Let’s just get this done,” you say, voice almost trembling, but you don’t want him to notice.

Heeseung gives a small laugh, clearly amused by your reaction. “Relax, I’m not going to drag you into anything crazy, Y/N. I promise.” He says it with such ease, like he’s been in this position a thousand times before—like he’s used to making promises he doesn’t have to keep.

The days leading up to your first project meeting are filled with a strange sense of unease. You try your best to focus on your studies, to immerse yourself in your textbooks and assignments. You tell yourself that this project with Heeseung won’t be any different from the countless others you’ve worked on over the years, but the idea of being paired with him still makes your stomach churn.  

It's not that Heeseung is particularly unpleasant, it's just that he's... well, Heeseung. He’s always been the person who stands out, effortlessly. The loudest in the room, always quick with a joke or a sarcastic remark. The kind of person who can get away with anything, and yet somehow, no one seems to care. You’ve always kept your distance from people like him. Your world has been quieter, more controlled, more predictable. And now, Heeseung is a part of it—whether you like it or not.  

You can feel his presence in class even before he says a word. The way he slouches in his chair, his feet on the desk, his easy smile that makes everyone around him chuckle. And then there’s you, sitting in the front row, quiet, trying to blend in with the background, not wanting to draw any attention. You like it that way. You’ve always liked it that way.  

It’s not that you have anything against him—he’s just... the opposite of everything you’ve built for yourself.  

You can already feel the weight of the project bearing down on you as you gather your things at the end of class. The thought of having to work with Heeseung, of having to be in close proximity to him for hours on end, fills you with a sense of dread you can’t quite explain. You push your way through the crowded hallway, trying to avoid his eyes, trying to make yourself invisible.  

You reach the door to your next class and just as you're about to step out, you hear his voice behind you.  

“Hey, Butterfly.”  

The nickname catches you off guard. You pause, half-turning to face him. He’s leaning against the wall, looking casual, almost amused by your reaction.  

“Uh, excuse me?” you reply, a little too sharply. You roll your eyes. "Don't call me that," you murmur, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself.  

His grin widens. “Whatever you say, Butterfly. So, we’re meeting tomorrow to start the project, yeah?”  

You nod curtly, not sure how to respond. “I’ll meet you at the library after school.”  

Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Library? How boring.”  

You bite back a sigh, not knowing how to react. "It's a quiet place to work," you say, keeping your voice even.  

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs again, not seeming bothered by your lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll see you then, Butterfly.”  

You quickly make your exit, your heart still racing. “You can do this,” you tell yourself, but it’s hard to believe. You’ve never had to deal with someone like him before. He’s too unpredictable, too casual. And you—well, you’re not exactly good at dealing with people like that.  

As the evening passes and you prepare for the meeting, your mind races. You know you’ll have to keep things strictly business—no personal conversations, no distractions. It’s just a project. A project you have to get done. That’s all.  

But even as you reassure yourself, there’s a small part of you that wonders why Heeseung insisted on working with you in the first place. Why would someone like him want to work with someone like you, someone who’s so invisible? Maybe it’s just the project. Maybe it’s just that you’re the only person left for him to work with. Whatever the reason, you can’t afford to think too much about it.  

The next day, you arrive at the library early, setting up your things in one of the study rooms. You try to focus on the notes you’ve gathered for the project, but your mind keeps drifting back to Heeseung. You tell yourself to stop, but it’s impossible to push the thought of him out of your head.  

The door opens with a creak, and you turn to see Heeseung standing there, holding a coffee cup in one hand, looking as relaxed as ever. He gives you a lazy wave before walking in and setting the cup down on the table.  

“Here’s to a fun project,” he says, grinning.  

You raise an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond. “We’re here to work, not to have fun.”  

Heeseung shrugs, not the least bit bothered. “It’s all the same thing to me. Might as well enjoy it.” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, leaning back in it, his feet resting on the floor as if he’s lounging in a café rather than at a study table. “So, what’s the plan?”  

You stare at the pile of notes and books in front of you, taking a deep breath before speaking. “We need to go through the research, divide the work, and decide who will present.”  

Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve already planned everything. You’re no fun, Y/N.”  

You don’t reply, focusing on your notes, determined to stay on task.  

But Heeseung doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.  

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You never let yourself have any fun, do you?”  

You force a smile, keeping your voice calm. “I’m here to do my part. That’s it.”  

“Right,” he mutters. “Because that’s so much better than actually enjoying what you’re doing.”  

You remain silent, unwilling to engage in a conversation that could sidetrack you. You try to focus, but his presence is like a constant distraction—his casual demeanor, the way he seems completely at ease, the way he doesn’t care about the rules or the expectations. You envy that in a way.  

But that’s not your life.  

You keep your attention on the work, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. You can’t afford to let Heeseung’s easy confidence derail your plans.

The longer you spend time with Heeseung, the more you realize that he’s not as carefree as he lets on. He’s sharp in a way that makes you uncomfortable, picking up on things you don’t even realize you’re giving away. It starts with small things, moments that might seem insignificant to anyone else, but Heeseung notices. You wish he didn’t.

There’s something unsettling about the way he watches you, the way his eyes seem to linger just a bit too long, as if he’s searching for something in you. You tell yourself it’s just his natural curiosity—he’s always poking fun, always teasing, always getting into people’s personal spaces. But there’s an intensity to his observations, a certain weight to them, that you can’t shake off. Heeseung’s gaze is like a spotlight, and you’re the only one standing in it.

It happens during another project session, when he’s distracted as usual, tapping his pen against the table. You’re trying to focus on your notes, but the tension between the two of you feels like it’s thickening, turning everything into an uncomfortable weight. The silence is oppressive, and Heeseung’s gaze feels like it’s burning through your skin. You glance up once, meeting his eyes, and quickly look away.

“Why do you always look like you’re hiding something?” he asks, his voice light, but there’s a question behind it.

“Huh?” You freeze for a second. “I’m not hiding anything.” The words come out clipped, defensive, but you can’t help it.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, his smirk never faltering. “You sure? You always seem like you’re trying to disappear into the background. You’re like a ghost.”

You tense up at the comment, your heart thumping louder in your chest. He’s wrong, isn’t he? You’re not hiding anything. You’ve been good at staying invisible, blending into the crowd, and it’s worked for you. So why does it feel like he’s peeling back your layers, even though you don’t want him to?

You force yourself to smile, even though it feels like your face is made of stone. “I’m just not like you, Heeseung. I don’t need attention.”

Heeseung looks at you for a moment longer, then shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Fair enough, Butterfly. But you’re too interesting to stay in the shadows for long.”

His words linger in the air, leaving you with a bitter aftertaste, and you push them away, returning to your notes. But the weight of his gaze never leaves you.

It’s a warm humid day when Heeseung first notices the way you frequently wear long sleeves, even in the heat. The weather is hitting the highs, and yet, here you are, sitting in the library in your thick sweater, sleeves pulled down past your wrists. Heeseung notices because it’s unusual. You’ve been sitting next to him for hours now, working through the project, and he can’t help but wonder why you’re not sweating or uncomfortable.

You reach for your water bottle, and the sleeves of your sweater bunch up slightly, revealing just a hint of your wrist. Heeseung's eyes flicker to it, then back to your face, trying to read the strange choice of clothing.

“What, you cold in 80-degree weather?” he asks, his tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity.

You stiffen, not expecting the question. You immediately pull your sleeves further down, hiding your hands, and offer a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I just like it,” you murmur, trying to brush off the discomfort.

Heeseung looks at you, his smirk fading slightly as he studies your reaction. There’s something about your defensiveness, the way you’re trying to hide the motion, that makes him pause. He’s seen you in class, seen you move with such careful precision, always in control, always composed. But right now, in the middle of this warm afternoon, you seem a little... off.

He could push, ask why you’re wearing long sleeves in this heat, but he doesn’t. He lets it slide, but not without storing the image away in the back of his mind. He wonders if you’re just one of those people who don’t like the sun, or if there’s something else behind it. Something he doesn’t know.

But Heeseung is patient. He knows that everyone has their secrets, their little things they try to hide. And for now, he’s willing to let it go.

Another incident happens during a group discussion in class, a moment so small that no one else notices. You’re standing at the front of the room, talking to the group about your section of the project, when Jay, being the playful guy he is, nudges you in the arm, just a little too hard.

It’s the lightest touch, and you don’t even flinch in the usual sense of the word—there’s no startled gasp, no visible wince—but it’s there. The way your body goes stiff, the way your eyes flicker to the side, the way your hand tightens into a fist at your side. It’s all too fast to notice for anyone but Heeseung. He sees it, though, and something about the way you react makes a knot tighten in his stomach.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but he watches you. You regain your composure quickly, forcing a smile that’s almost convincing. The discussion continues, and you go back to talking like nothing happened, but Heeseung can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to that brief, subtle movement than you’re letting on.

Later, when the group disperses and you return to your seat, Heeseung is quiet. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. Heeseung doesn’t ask about it. He never does. But he keeps it in the back of his mind, another piece of the puzzle that he’s not sure he wants to put together.

It’s late when you’re studying together again. The library is nearly empty, the only light coming from the overhead fluorescents and the glow of your laptop screen. You’re working through the final section of the project, but something feels off. Your hands are trembling slightly, the tips of your fingers tapping nervously against the table. You keep glancing at your phone, the screen lighting up every few seconds as if you’re expecting a message.

Heeseung notices it almost immediately. You’re usually so focused, so controlled. But tonight, you seem restless, like you can’t sit still. Your eyes dart from the screen to your phone and back again, a sense of urgency growing in your movements.

“What’s going on?” Heeseung asks, his voice low, but there’s a hint of concern beneath the teasing.

You flinch at his words, the sharpness of your anxiety hitting you in a rush. You barely hear his voice as you scramble to pack your things.

It’s like a whirlwind. One moment, you’re standing at the table, trying to gather yourself, and the next, the library’s warmth feels suffocating. Your hands tremble as you close your laptop, trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind is spiraling. Every second seems to stretch longer than the last, your heart pounding with an urgency you can’t explain. The weight of the moment bears down on you, and the only thing that matters now is leaving. You need to go. Now.

You feel it—a quiet panic spreading through your chest, and it’s all you can do to push it down, to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself that everything will be fine, but there’s a gnawing fear deep inside that you can’t shake. You gather your things and stand up, walking quickly toward the exit, not daring to look back.

Heeseung’s voice cuts through the air, laced with confusion. “Hey, slow down. What’s the rush?”

You don’t answer, your footsteps quickening as you move through the doors and into the open space. Your breath hitches, and you try to keep your pace steady, but something about the way Heeseung’s voice follows you makes you feel even more exposed. Your heart beats faster as he continues to follow, his shadow falling across your path.

“Y/N.” His tone is softer now, but there’s an edge of concern beneath the teasing, something that wasn’t there before.

You glance down at your phone, and the instant the screen lights up, your hand trembles. The message—just a glimpse—is enough to send a wave of terror crashing through you. You can feel the panic rising in your throat, threatening to spill over. Your fingers shake as you type out a response, each word feeling like a burden. The anxiety gnaws at you with every passing second, and you fight the overwhelming urge to break into a run.

You don’t even hear Heeseung until he’s right in front of you, stepping into your path, blocking your way.

“Y/N,” he says again, his voice firmer now, cutting through the haze in your mind. “What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

For a split second, you freeze. Your mind flashes to your parents, to the mess you’re about to walk back into. You can’t think, not with the growing panic suffocating you. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, and you feel like you might collapse right there. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the tears start to well up, despite your best efforts.

You force yourself to look up at Heeseung. His eyes are searching yours, and there’s a strange softness there, a genuine concern that catches you off guard. And that’s when you feel it—the tears, rising, unbidden. You bite your lip hard, trying to hold it in, but they come anyway, slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Heeseung’s eyes widen in shock as he steps closer. “What’s happening, Y/N?” His voice is quieter now, more vulnerable, like he’s afraid of what he might hear.

You can’t answer. You can’t explain this. The panic, the terror—it all feels too big to say aloud.

“Move, Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice shaking uncontrollably. “I have to go. I’m late.”

Heeseung doesn’t move, though. He stays in front of you, his expression softening even more as he takes in your trembling form. “Why are you crying?”

The question is gentle, but it cuts through you. It feels like the weight of everything pressing down on your chest, the truth hanging just out of reach. You try to hold yourself together, to make him understand without saying it, but your voice cracks.

“I’m late. I need to be home. Please.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he watches you, his brow furrowing as he processes what you’ve just said. You expect him to push you away, to back off, but instead, you feel him stepping closer, his presence steadying you in the chaos of your emotions.

“What happens if you’re late?” he asks softly, his voice unusually calm.

Your heart races even harder. The words are harder to say now. You could lie, but the truth has already begun to slip from your lips. You take a deep, shaky breath, and then, you whisper it—barely audible, but it’s enough for Heeseung to hear.

“I’ll be punished.”

Heeseung’s jaw clenches, and his eyes flash with something you can’t quite read. For a moment, he says nothing, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger. You don’t know if it’s because of the words or because of the rawness in your voice, but you feel his presence shift. It’s like a spark has been lit, something igniting within him, and he’s not going to back down.

“By who?” His voice is low, measured, but you can hear the edge of something dark in it.

You hesitate, caught between the instinct to protect yourself and the strange, magnetic pull of his concern. For the first time, you tell someone. Not even your friends know the full truth, not like this. The impossible standards. The punishments. The bruises.

“My parents,” you whisper, the words tasting like poison on your tongue. “They expect me to be perfect. To never fail. I don’t want to be a failure, they won’t let me go if I do.”

Heeseung’s eyes harden, his expression shifting into something cold and furious. “That’s not a family,” he mutters, barely under his breath. “That’s a goddamn prison.”

You wipe your eyes, trying to regain control, but you can’t. The tears keep coming, and they’re so much heavier than you expected. You don’t want this, not like this, but the weight of everything—of your family’s expectations, of the fear, of the years spent trying to hold it all in—feels like too much to carry anymore.

“I have no choice,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Heeseung’s gaze softens, but there’s a determination in it that makes your chest tighten. “You always have a choice, Butterfly,” he says quietly. “You just need to take it.”

You don’t know why, but the words hit you harder than you expected. For the first time, you want to believe him. You want to believe that there’s something else, something beyond the cage your parents have built around you. You want to be free, even if it scares you.

“I’ll take you home,” he says firmly, “You’ll get there faster.”

You hesitate, but the thought of being anywhere but here, of escaping this moment, feels like it might be your only chance. You look up at him, and for the first time, you let yourself trust him. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate—he steps to the side, giving you a choice.

“What, scared?” he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

You nod, climbing onto his motorcycle, feeling a knot in your stomach loosen slightly. You try to calm yourself as Heeseung revs the engine, the roar of the bike vibrating beneath you. The second the bike speeds forward, you cling to him tightly, your body pressed against his, the wind whipping through your hair.

Heeseung smirks over his shoulder, teasing you once more. “Didn’t know you liked hugging me this much, Butterfly.”

You try to ignore the warmth blooming in your chest, focusing on the ride, on the freedom of it all. The idea that you might finally be able to escape it all, even if just for a moment, is intoxicating.

Heeseung drops you off a block away from your house. You can’t let them see you with him—not yet. Your heart sinks as you pull away from him, your gaze lingering on him for a second too long.

Heeseung watches you disappear down the street, his eyes filled with something you can’t decipher. He stands there for a moment longer, before turning back toward the bike, the sound of the engine fading into the night.

The moment you step into the house, you can feel the air grow thick with tension. Your father is waiting just inside the front door, his posture rigid, his arms crossed. The chill of his presence strikes you like a cold gust of wind. You don’t even have to see his face to know the storm is brewing.

“You’re late.” His voice is eerily calm, but it cuts through you like a blade. It’s the kind of calm that never bodes well. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you don’t flinch, don’t let yourself show any sign of fear.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, stepping inside and trying to ease the tension. Your words feel hollow, like they’re floating in the air, barely reaching his ears. You’re used to the routine, used to the cold responses, the indifference. But tonight feels different. Every word feels heavier.

He steps forward, and without warning, grabs your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin with a force that makes you wince. "Do you think you can just come and go as you please? Do you think I won’t notice?!"

Your mother remains silent, standing in the corner of the room, her eyes focused on the floor, as though she’s not even there. The room feels smaller with each passing second, as if the walls are closing in around you. You force yourself to breathe slowly, to push down the panic rising in your chest. But you can’t stop your heart from racing.

Your father’s grip tightens, and you feel the sting of it, but you don’t make a sound. There’s no point in screaming or pleading. He won’t listen. Not when it comes to you. You’re just a thing, something that needs to be controlled, kept in line.

“Do you understand how serious this is?” he growls, his breath warm against your ear. You nod, though you’re not sure you do. Everything feels foggy, like you’re watching yourself from a distance. It’s all become so familiar, this cycle of anger and control, but it still catches you off guard every time.

Your mother says nothing, her gaze still averted, her silence a constant reminder of everything you aren’t. Everything you’ve never been able to live up to.

“Your mother—” Your father spits the word as though it’s venom on his tongue. “Your mother and I expect nothing less than perfection from you, and this—” He pulls your wrist, making you stumble toward him. “This is not perfection.”

He shoves you back, and you don’t even try to stop yourself from falling against the wall. Your shoulder collides with the plaster with a sickening thud. You don’t cry out, don’t even flinch this time. You’re numb. You’re so used to this.

Your father steps back, glaring at you with a mix of disgust and anger. “You think you’re special? You think you’re better than this? Do you think anyone cares about your pathetic little life?”

The words sink into your skin like daggers. You stand there, unmoving, your mind empty but for the cold, sharp pain in your chest. It’s too familiar. Too suffocating. You want to scream, to tell him to stop, but you can’t. Not anymore.

Your father sneers, his words cutting deeper than the slap. “You have one job—be perfect.”

You flinch at his words. The ache in your chest is familiar by now, but it’s still unbearable.

“You don’t get to be weak.”

He steps closer, his breath hot on your skin, and the next words fall like a heavy weight.

“Don’t make me regret having you.”

The slap comes next, fast and brutal. It lands across your cheek, knocking your head to the side, the sting spreading through your skin like fire. You stare at the ground, feeling the hot rush of humiliation flood your face, but you don’t cry. Not anymore. You haven’t cried in years.

Your father’s words ring in your ears. “You don’t get to be weak.” They echo in the silence between you, louder than anything he’s ever said. His words are poison, and you’ve been swallowing them for so long that they’re part of you now.

Your mother finally speaks, her voice barely audible. “Stop. Don’t go too far.”

You can’t help but look up. You expect to see your mother’s eyes full of concern, or at least some semblance of empathy. But instead, all you see is the same vacant expression you’ve grown so used to. Your mother doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge the bruises that are already starting to form on your skin. The woman who gave birth to you remains silent, a passive participant in the abuse.

Your chest tightens. You want to scream at your mother. You want to beg her to fight for you, to protect you from the world that seems determined to break you. But you know better than to expect that. It’s always been just you. Alone. With nothing but the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

Your father steps closer, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re nothing. You’ll never be anything.” The words strike like lightning, but you don’t flinch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, though you don’t know what you’re apologizing for anymore. It’s just a reflex. A way to make the silence stretch between you.

Your father eyes you for a moment, then turns his back to you. “Go to your room. We’ll talk about this later. You’re lucky I’m letting you off this time.”

You nod, your legs barely able to carry you as you walk past him and toward the stairs. Every step feels like a weight, dragging you down, pulling you deeper into the dark space inside you that’s been growing for years. You’ve been living in this cage, waiting for the moment when you can finally escape. But you know it’s never coming. Not as long as you’re here. Not as long as they’re watching your every move.

Your heart is heavy, but you don’t cry. You haven’t in years. Not since you realized that no one would ever save you. Not even yourself.

You spend the night in your room, staring at the ceiling, your body still aching from the physical and emotional blows. The bruise on your cheek is already forming, but it’s not the pain that hurts the most. It’s the emptiness. The way everything inside you feels hollow and drained.

Your father’s words replay in your mind. You’ve heard them a thousand times, but tonight, they cut deeper. You’re tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of being the person they want you to be. But you don’t know how to stop. You don’t know how to escape.

You lie in bed, your body aching from the force of the slap, but it’s not the physical pain that keeps you up—it’s Heeseung’s words. The ones he whispered when he saw you trembling, “You always have a choice.”

For a moment, you let yourself wonder: What if he’s right? What if you could actually make a choice for once? But the thought is quickly drowned out by the fear of the consequences. The thought of leaving behind everything you’ve ever known, even if it meant freedom, is terrifying. But you hold onto those words. Just for a little while longer, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can find a way out.

The silence in your room is deafening, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. Your hands are trembling, but you don’t reach for the phone on your nightstand. You know it’s pointless. There’s no one who can help you. You’re too far gone, too deep in this cycle to escape.

The tears come then, but not for yourself. You’ve long stopped crying for yourself. Instead, they fall for the person you could have been, the person you’ll never be. For the girl who never stood a chance.

The final bell of the day rang through the school, signaling the end of another monotonous day. Y/N felt the weight of the hours dragging on her as she watched the other students file out of the classroom, their voices blending into the background. Her eyes found Heeseung at the back of the room, packing his bag with his usual nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside her.

Today, she couldn’t stay silent any longer.

The pressure of her parents’ expectations had been building up for so long—her life dictated by their demands, their goals for her future, their vision of who she should be. She had lived in their shadow, following the rules, pretending to be what they wanted her to be. But something inside her had shifted. The walls she’d built around her heart were beginning to crack, and she couldn’t pretend anymore.

Her legs moved before she could think, the words tumbling out before she even realized what she was about to say.

"Heeseung," she called out, her voice shaky but firm.

Heeseung paused mid-step, his hand still gripping the strap of his bag. He turned toward her, his expression softening as he noticed the look in her eyes. "What’s wrong?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her chest tight with the weight of her decision. "I’m ready," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "I’m ready to make a choice."

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "A choice about what?"

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling her heart race as she finally put her feelings into words. "A choice about... about not living for them anymore." She paused, her gaze steady. "I can’t keep being what they want me to be. I can’t keep pretending to be the person they’ve decided I am." Her voice wavered, but she didn’t look away. "I need to stop trying to meet their expectations. I need to learn how to let go of what they want and figure out who I really am."

Heeseung stood frozen for a moment, processing her words, as though trying to understand the weight of them. His eyes softened as he took a step toward her, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with something quieter, more serious.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low, "are you saying... you want to walk away from everything? From your parents? From what they’ve planned for you?"

Y/N shook her head, the tension in her chest growing. "No. I’m not leaving them. But I need to stop living for them. I need to stop letting their expectations control everything I do." Her voice cracked slightly, but she held firm. "I can’t keep being the person they think I should be. I’ve spent so long trying to live up to what they want, and I’ve forgotten who I am in the process. I don’t want to be trapped anymore."

Heeseung’s expression softened further as he took in her words, his gaze shifting from her face to the ground as if he was considering what to say next. For a moment, there was a heavy silence, the weight of her confession hanging in the air between them.

"You know," he began quietly, looking up to meet her gaze, "it’s not going to be easy. Letting go of their expectations... it’s not something that happens overnight. But I get it. You don’t have to live for them. You don’t have to keep pretending to be who they want you to be." His voice was gentle now, sincere. "You deserve to live for yourself, not for them."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, something she hadn’t realized she needed to hear. "I don’t know if I can do it," she admitted, her voice shaky. "I’ve been living this way for so long. What if I fail? What if they never accept it?"

Heeseung gave her a small, encouraging smile. "You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do it alone."

Her heart fluttered at his words, a mix of gratitude and something deeper. Heeseung had always been there for her in his own way, but this was different. This was real.

Y/N took a deep breath, the decision feeling heavier now but also strangely freeing. "I don’t know where to start. I don’t even know what it means to live for myself."

Heeseung’s eyes softened with understanding. "It means taking the time to figure out what you want, not what they want for you. It means choosing yourself, even when it’s hard. It means being brave enough to make mistakes and learn from them." He took a step closer, his voice low but steady. "And it’s okay if it’s not all figured out at once. Just... take it one step at a time."

Y/N felt the knot in her chest loosen, the fear and uncertainty starting to ebb away. Heeseung didn’t have all the answers, but his words were a lifeline, pulling her toward something new. Something real.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice gaining strength with each passing second. "Okay, I’m ready to let go. Not of them... but of their expectations. I’m ready to start living for me."

Heeseung smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made something inside her flutter. "Good. And you’re not alone. I’m here."

Y/N nodded, a small but genuine smile tugging at her lips. The path ahead wasn’t clear, and she wasn’t sure what it would look like, but she felt the first stirrings of freedom—freedom to be herself, to figure out who she really was beyond the role they had forced on her.

As Heeseung turned to leave, Y/N stayed behind for a moment, her eyes following his retreating figure. She was still afraid, still uncertain about what lay ahead, but for the first time, she felt like she could breathe. And that was enough for now.

It’s a rare moment of defiance. The classroom door slams behind you as Heeseung leads you out of the school building, the sound of the bell ringing in the distance. Your heart skips, half exhilarated, half terrified. It’s not that you’re the perfect student—it’s just that breaking the rules with Heeseung feels like stepping into a whole new world.

Without a word, he pulls you toward the staircase that leads to the roof. You can feel the weight of every footstep, the tension building with each step you take. You’ve never been up here before, and the thought of being caught sets your nerves on edge. Still, the pull of freedom is too strong. You follow him, breathless.

Heeseung pushes the door open, and a cool gust of wind hits your face. The city sprawls out beneath you, distant buildings touching the sky, the world buzzing on, unaware of your small rebellion. Heeseung turns to you, his usual smirk softened into something warmer.

“Breathe,” he tells you, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “For once, just breathe.”

You stand there, your back pressed against the cold metal railing, and close your eyes. The rush of adrenaline fades, replaced by a strange sense of peace. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting everything in a soft, golden light. You inhale deeply, and for the first time in ages, you let go of the constant pressure—your family, your grades, your responsibilities. It all feels so far away here, with Heeseung.

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing just a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read. Is it admiration? Something deeper? You don’t ask. Instead, you smile, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, alone on this rooftop, free from everything. You take another deep breath, and when Heeseung glances at you again, the smile he gives you feels like an unspoken promise.

The bike hums beneath you, and the wind whips through your hair as you cling to Heeseung’s back. The first time, you were stiff, a bundle of nerves pressed against his shoulders, too afraid to trust him completely. But this time is different. This time, you don’t hesitate. The world blurs around you as he revs the engine, taking off down the street with a fluidity that feels natural to him, as if he were born to ride.

“You’re getting used to this,” Heeseung grins over his shoulder, his voice barely audible above the roar of the engine.

You can feel your hands loosening their grip on his waist, just a little. It’s a small shift, but it’s progress. Heeseung’s voice, light and teasing, calls back to you, his confidence contagious. You relax against him, your body starting to move with the rhythm of the bike. You can’t help but smile, the feeling of freedom sweeping over you.

“Are you sure you’re not scared?” you ask, leaning closer to him, your voice just a whisper now.

Heeseung’s laughter fills the space between you. “Scared? Nah. I trust you.”

You glance up at the sky, the clouds racing by, and for the first time, you let go of your fears. The world doesn’t seem so heavy anymore. With Heeseung, it feels like you can be anyone—free and untethered, like you’re meant to be.

You settle into the ride, letting the wind carry away all your worries. When Heeseung pulls over, the engine dies, and the world falls quiet again. You’re still holding onto him, your chest rising and falling with the aftershock of the ride. He doesn’t let go, his hand resting on yours, a gentle anchor.

“You’re not so bad at this,” he murmurs, and you smile, the words a small victory in your chest.

The street is alive with lights, the sounds of vendors calling out, people laughing, the smell of food filling the air. Heeseung takes your hand, pulling you toward a stall lined with colorful bowls and sizzling pans. You can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the chaos, but Heeseung looks completely at home in it.

“This is where the real food is,” he grins, passing you a bowl of tteokbokki. You hesitate, the red, steaming sauce looking much spicier than you expected.

“Try it,” he encourages, his gaze soft as he watches you. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

You take a tentative bite, and the heat explodes in your mouth. Instantly, your face turns red, and you gasp for air. The spice is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and your throat burns as you reach for your drink.

Heeseung laughs, a deep, rich sound, his hand sliding across the table to hand you his drink. “You’ll get used to it, Butterfly.”

You take a sip, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the fiery tteokbokki, and the relief is instant. Heeseung’s laugh is infectious, and despite the spice still tingling on your tongue, you find yourself laughing with him.

“Just wait until I bring you the next level,” Heeseung teases. “Then you’ll really regret asking for food here.”

You shake your head, still trying to get the spice under control, but the laughter in the air feels comforting. There’s something about sharing this moment with him—no masks, no expectations—that makes the world feel a little less heavy.

The carnival is a blur of lights and sounds, everything spinning around you in a kaleidoscope of color. Heeseung leads you through the crowd, his hand warm in yours. It’s easy to get lost in the excitement, but there’s something even more electrifying in the air tonight, something between the two of you that you can’t quite name.

Heeseung stops at a game booth, grinning as he wins you a stuffed bear. You take it from him, still smiling, but the weight of the moment shifts as your fingers brush against his.

The contact is electric.

You freeze, and Heeseung’s eyes flicker to yours, the intensity in them making your breath hitch. There’s a moment of stillness, like the world has paused just for the two of you. The carnival lights seem to fade as he leans in, his lips just a breath away from yours. You can feel the heat of his breath, the tension hanging in the air, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll let him kiss you. You want to. You really do.

But then, the fear—old and familiar—rises in your chest, and you pull away, the moment slipping through your fingers like sand. Heeseung doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, his gaze a mixture of understanding and something deeper, something that makes your heart race.

“Maybe next time,” he says softly, his smile tinged with sadness.

You nod, the space between you now filled with words unsaid. The carnival lights flicker around you, but in that moment, everything feels heavy with the unspoken truth between you both.

You’ve been wondering about it for days, and finally, the words spill from your lips.

“Why do you call me that?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost uncertain. You’ve heard the nickname before, but tonight it feels different. The weight of it is heavier now, and you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than just a cute term of endearment.

Heeseung looks at you, his smile playful, but there’s something deeper behind it. “Because you’re delicate. Fragile,” he says, his voice soft and thoughtful. You can’t help but notice the sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes soften as he looks at you.

You frown slightly, unsure how to respond. “But I’m not fragile.”

Heeseung’s expression shifts, his eyes growing serious for a moment. “But you are. You’ve been caged in your whole life, Y/N.” He takes a step closer to you, his voice low. “But you don’t belong in a cage.”

The words hit you harder than expected. For the first time, you feel like someone sees you—not just the perfect daughter your parents want, but you, as you really are. Someone who’s been trapped, fighting to break free. And Heeseung, in his own way, has always understood that.

You swallow, the weight of his words settling deep inside you. “Then maybe I’m ready to fly,” you whisper.

Heeseung’s grin returns, but this time, it’s gentler. “I think you already are, Butterfly.”

The house feels suffocating as soon as you step inside, a weight pressing on your chest. Heeseung had dropped you off with a quiet promise to be there if you needed him, but you didn't tell him what you were walking into. You could never find the words to express how much you feared your father’s anger. Tonight, though, you sense something is different. Something feels off in the air—too tense, too heavy, like the calm before a storm.

The front door clicks shut behind you, and you already hear the heavy footsteps from the hallway. You don’t have to look to know it’s him. Your heart races as your father emerges from the shadows of the hallway, his gaze sharp, already calculating.

“Where have you been?” His voice, usually controlled and cold, is tight with something more dangerous tonight. You’ve never heard him like this before. His eyes search you with an intensity that’s almost too much to bear. “Out with him again, huh?”

You freeze. For a split second, your mind is blank. How did he find out? You hadn’t told him, hadn’t given him a reason to think anything was wrong. Had he been watching you? The idea is enough to send a chill down your spine. But you force yourself to stand your ground, even though your insides are twisting in panic. You’ve dealt with his anger before, but this feels different.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath. “Heeseung is my friend. I—”

“Friend?” He spits the word out like it’s venom. His lips curl into a cruel smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That boy is nothing but trouble. You’re wasting your time with him.”

You feel a pang in your chest, a mix of anger and hurt. How can he say that? Heeseung is the one person who’s ever made you feel like you’re more than just a tool in your father’s games. He’s the only one who’s ever treated you like you matter.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you say, your voice shaking but strong. “You don’t know him. You don’t know anything about him.”

Your father’s eyes narrow, and you can see the darkness brewing in them. For a second, it’s like he’s calculating how far he can push you before you break. “You’re nothing but a child,” he sneers, taking a step toward you. “You think I don’t know what’s going on behind my back? I saw you two. I saw you with him today.”

Your stomach drops as you try to make sense of his words. “What do you mean? How did you—”

The realization hits you like a slap in the face. Your heart starts pounding as the pieces fall together. He’s been watching you. Somehow, he’s figured it out, and you have no idea how long he’s been doing this. How long he’s been waiting for you to slip up.

“Don’t look so surprised,” your father growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know everything that happens under my roof.” He steps closer, his breath hot against your face. “And you think you can get away with seeing that boy? With disrespecting me like this?”

Before you can respond, he raises his hand, the sharp sting of the slap hitting you so fast you barely register it. The force of it throws you off balance, and you stumble backward, your cheek burning. It’s not the first time he’s hit you, but this time it feels different—harder, more violent. There’s no restraint in his movements, no attempt to mask his anger.

“You’re nothing,” he spits. “You think you’re special because of that boy? You’re just a child who doesn’t know what’s best for her. I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

The sting of the slap is still raw, but something inside you snaps. You’ve been living under his thumb for too long, and you’re finally done with it. You’re tired of being controlled, tired of being used as a pawn in his game. Your heart races as you take a step back, your voice trembling with fury.

“You don’t get to control me anymore,” you say, the words forced out through clenched teeth. “You’re not my world anymore.”

His eyes widen in shock for a split second, and for the briefest moment, you think you might have gotten through to him. But then, the anger in his face deepens. “You think you’re leaving me? You think you’re just going to run off with that boy and everything will be fine?”

He steps forward, slamming you against the wall with surprising force. The wind is knocked out of you, but you refuse to let him see your pain. He leans down so his face is inches from yours, and his voice is low, almost a hiss. “I’ll make sure you never see him again. You won’t run away from me. Not while you live under my roof.”

You struggle to breathe, but your voice is steady. “You can’t keep me here. You can’t control me forever.”

For a moment, you think he might strike again, but then his expression hardens. “You’re nothing without me,” he snarls, before shoving you aside roughly.

You stumble, catching yourself before you fall. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest, you can barely hear anything except the blood rushing in your ears. The anger and fear mix into a cocktail of adrenaline, for the first time in your life, you feel like you’re not bound by his rules anymore.

And then, you do the only thing you can think of: you get up and run. You bolt for the door, your hands shaking as you open it, and you’re out in the night air before you even realize it.

The cool night wind hits your face like a slap, but it’s not painful. It’s a relief. For the first time in your life, you feel like you can breathe. You don’t look back, not even once. You know your father is behind you, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting away from him, getting away from the cage he’s built for you.

And then, you see him—Heeseung, on his motorcycle, just about to drive off.

He sees you before you see him, and the moment you meet his gaze, something inside you shifts. The fight, the anger, the fear—all of it fades into the background, replaced with something softer, something more freeing. Heeseung doesn’t say a word as you run toward him, but you can feel the weight of his presence, his arms opening to you like a lifeline.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice steady and comforting. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t hesitate.

You don’t need to say anything either. Heeseung reaches out and pulls you onto the motorcycle, his hands warm against your skin. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’ve made the right choice.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice breathless, but there’s a hint of hope in it now.

“Anywhere but here,” Heeseung replies, revving the engine.

And as the motorcycle roars to life, you realize that for the first time in your life, you’re free.

The wind rushes through your hair, wild and free, like the feeling that blooms in your chest as you cling to Heeseung’s torso. The motorcycle hums beneath you, a low, steady rhythm that mirrors the quickening beat of your heart. You had never felt more alive than this—riding through the streets with Heeseung, feeling his warmth seep through the fabric of your clothes, his presence anchoring you to the moment.

Heeseung’s grip tightens on the handlebars as you weave through the traffic, but there’s a tenderness to it, like he’s holding onto more than just the bike. He’s holding onto you, your smile, your laughter, the promise of something better beyond the confines of your sheltered life. The city streets blur around you, but you don’t care. You’re not worried about what’s ahead. In this moment, it’s just you and Heeseung—two souls, drifting free, away from the expectations, away from everything.

“You look like you’re enjoying this too much,” Heeseung teases, glancing over his shoulder at you with that half-smirk of his. His eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint, and you feel a flutter in her stomach, a heat spreading through your cheeks.

You grin back, letting the wind whip your face. “It’s perfect,” you breathe, the words carried away by the wind, but he hears them. You can tell by the way his shoulders relax, how his grip loosens slightly. The tension that had always hung between you is fading, replaced by something new, something tender.

Heeseung leans into the turn, expertly guiding the motorcycle down the winding road, and you can’t help but laugh. It’s carefree, light, a laugh that rings with happiness. You hadn’t known you were capable of this kind of joy, the kind that comes with complete abandon, no thought of tomorrow, no fear, no judgment. Only the present. Only Heeseung.

As you ride along the road, the city falls away. The skyline recedes into the distance, replaced by the open road and endless possibilities. Heeseung’s face is alight with the same feeling you’re starting to recognize—the feeling of freedom. The feeling of no longer being bound by the past, of letting go of the weight that’s always pressed on your chest. For once, you’re not weighed down by expectations. You’re not a daughter, a prize to be controlled. You’re just yourself.

You lean your head against his back, your heart light, breath shallow from the exhilaration. "This is amazing," you whisper, half to yourself, half to him. You don’t need to say more. He feels it too.

Heeseung’s laughter bubbles up, rich and full. "Glad you think so," he says, his voice warm in your ear. "I told you I’d show you the world outside that cage."

The words make you pause, a small pang of something—maybe guilt, maybe fear—lurching inside of you. But it’s fleeting, gone before it can take root. This moment is too perfect to ruin with worries about what comes next. You push the thought aside, clinging to him tighter, as if holding on could stop time itself.

And for a moment, it does. Time slows to a crawl. The world around you blurs, fading away. There’s just you, Heeseung, and the road.

But then, the moment shatters.

A bright light flashes in the distance, too bright, too sudden. It cuts through the night like a knife, an unexpected surge of blinding brilliance that makes you freeze, makes your stomach drop in terror. You don’t have time to react, don’t have time to scream before everything changes. The world tilts, the motorcycle jerks violently, and you’re thrown from it, your body flying through the air as if it’s weightless, detached from the reality you know. Heeseung’s scream echoes in your ears, but it’s distant, muffled by the rush of air and the sharp sting of panic.

Then, nothing. Silence. Blackness. Cold.

It’s as if the world has swallowed you whole, and you disappear into its depths, the darkness taking over.

The sharp beeping of the machines pulls Heeseung from the blackness, pulling him back to reality, to the pain. His eyes flutter open, his head heavy, his body aching in places he didn’t know could hurt. His hands are bound to the bed with medical wires, IVs running through his arm, and for a moment, he’s disoriented, unsure of where he is. His mind feels foggy, and his thoughts scatter like smoke, each one slipping away before he can grasp it.

But then, it hits him.

You.

His heart lurches painfully in his chest, the panic setting in like a cold wave crashing over him. He jerks in bed, ripping the wires from his arm, his breath quickening, every movement frantic as he struggles to sit up. His eyes dart around the sterile hospital room, searching, begging for an answer. He sees nothing but white walls, the dull hum of medical equipment, the sound of the air conditioning kicking on.

"Where is she?" he gasps, his voice raw, desperate.

His mind races, but the silence in the room is deafening. There’s no one here, no one to tell him what happened, no one to answer his questions. His fingers tremble as they reach for the button to call the nurse, but his hand falters. His thoughts are racing so fast now that he can barely breathe.

Suddenly, the door opens, and a nurse walks in, her expression neutral, professional. Heeseung barely registers her presence, his focus solely on the question burning in his chest.

"She’s here, right?" he asks, his voice shaky, his eyes wide with fear.

The nurse’s face hardens, and she looks away. She doesn’t speak for a moment, but her silence is enough.

Heeseung’s stomach drops.

"Where is she?" he demands again, louder this time, his hands shaking with anxiety.

"I’m sorry, but you need to calm down," the nurse says softly, but the words feel like a punch to the gut. "I’ll get the doctor."

And then she leaves, disappearing as quickly as she came, leaving Heeseung alone in his confusion, in his pain.

He doesn’t have time to wait. He needs to see you. Needs to know you’re okay.

Heeseung struggles to stand, his body fighting against him, but the only thought in his head is you. You. You.

He bursts into the hallway, ignoring the startled glances of the hospital staff. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he looks around frantically, searching for any sign of you. But all he sees are doctors, nurses, patients—none of them are you.

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. His legs carry him forward with a mind of their own, driven by the fear that tightens in his chest with every step.

Then, as if fate had a cruel sense of timing, Heeseung rounds the corner and comes face to face with your parents.

Your father is pacing, his face twisted in frustration and worry. Your mother is standing by the door, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her expression unreadable but tight, as if she’s holding something in. When they see Heeseung, their eyes narrow, and there’s an immediate shift in the air, an undeniable tension that hangs between them.

Heeseung feels the blood drain from his face. He stops in his tracks, but his heart races faster. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His voice is caught somewhere deep in his chest, lodged there by the suffocating weight of their gaze.

Your father is the first to speak, his voice hard and accusatory. "What are you doing here?" he demands, his tone like a slap in the face. "You’re the reason she’s in there in the first place. If you hadn’t been so reckless—"

Heeseung flinches, as if the words are physical blows. But the pain is nothing compared to the guilt that surges through him. He wants to scream, to deny it, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he never meant for this to happen. But the words are stuck in his throat, choked by the weight of everything.

"She got hurt," your mother says, her voice quiet but sharp, laced with anger and fear. "This is your fault."

Heeseung’s eyes burn with unshed tears. His heart feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest. They’re blaming him. They’re blaming him for everything. And maybe they’re right. Maybe it is his fault. If he hadn’t taken you on that ride, if he hadn’t been so careless, if he hadn’t been so—

"Enough," Heeseung finally forces out, his voice raw, cracking under the pressure. "Enough."

He takes a step toward them, his chest heaving, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He’s shaking, his legs unsteady, but his anger fuels him. He feels like he’s on the edge of something, about to shatter.

"None of this would have happened if you had treated her like your daughter instead of your personal trophy!" he snaps, his voice rising with every word. "She’s not some prize you can mold and control. She’s a person. You never saw her. You never saw what she was going through, what she needed. All you ever saw was your image, your status—"

Your father steps forward, his face red with rage, but Heeseung doesn’t back down. He doesn’t care anymore. He’s past caring.

"You don’t know anything!" your father yells, his voice booming in the hallway. "You’re just some boy who thought he could save her. You don’t even know what she was really like. What we had to do to make her who she is—"

"You made her a prisoner!" Heeseung screams, the words coming out in a flood of emotion. "You trapped her. And now she’s like this because all she wanted was to escape the pain and torture you had her endure for all her life!!"

There’s a long, heavy silence between them. Heeseung’s chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, his body trembling with the aftermath of the outburst. He feels exposed, as if every fragile part of him has been laid bare for them to see.

He takes a step toward them, his fists clenched at his sides. "This isn’t helping. Blaming me won’t change anything."

Your father scoffs, his expression twisted in disdain. "It won’t bring her back, will it? Nothing will fix what you’ve done."

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Heeseung’s voice breaks as his eyes glaze over with the sting of unshed tears. "You think I don’t know that? You think I’m not hating myself for what happened? But she’s still there. I’m not going to give up on her, not like you did."

Your father flinches as if the words cut deeper than any physical wound. Your mother finally looks up, but her gaze is colder than Heeseung has ever seen it. It’s the same expression she’s always had—detached, cold, distant. Heeseung feels like he’s being suffocated by the weight of her disapproval.

"I don’t know what kind of person you are, but I know one thing," your mother says, her voice low but sharp. "You should have just stayed away from her."

Heeseung feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. The words cut deep, deeper than any of the harsh words your father has thrown at him. His body trembles as he fights the tears that burn in his eyes. He wants to scream, to tell them they’re wrong, to say that if anyone is to blame, it’s him. He’s the one who drove you into this situation. He’s the one who—

"I’m sorry," Heeseung whispers, his voice barely audible, but it’s enough to stop the conversation. "I’m sorry. I wish it had been me."

Your parents stand in silence, their expressions unreadable. It’s like they’ve turned to stone, frozen in time, unable to comprehend what’s happening.

And then, from the corner of the room, a voice breaks the silence.

"Her condition has not improved."

Heeseung turns to see the doctor approach, his face filled with the same grim expression as the others. The words he’s about to speak feel like a physical punch to Heeseung’s gut, and it’s as if the floor has dropped out from under him. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart thunders in his chest.

"She’s on life support," the doctor continues, his voice heavy with sorrow. "We’ve done everything we can, but her brain activity remains minimal. We’re not seeing any signs of recovery. It’s too soon to say anything for certain, but..." The doctor falters, searching for the right words. "We’re looking at a very difficult decision in the coming days."

Heeseung doesn’t hear the rest of the doctor’s words. They’re muffled, distorted, like he’s underwater. All he can focus on is the heaviness in his chest, the fact that you might never wake up. He might never see your smile again, never hear your laugh, never hold you close.

His hands shake, his body numb with disbelief. "No... no, there has to be something more you can do," he mutters, his voice raw with emotion. His heart cracks as reality begins to settle in, each word breaking him more. He can’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything you’ve been through.

Your father’s voice breaks through the fog, harsh and accusatory. "It’s your fault."

Heeseung recoils as if struck, the sting of his words worse than any slap. The anger surges in him again, but it’s swallowed by a deeper, more suffocating grief. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. All he can see is the cold, sterile hallway, the sound of working machines, and your parents standing there, as if waiting for him to give up and leave.

But he can’t. He won’t.

"I’m not giving up on her," Heeseung says through gritted teeth, his voice shaking but filled with determination. "Not now. Not ever."

The words echo in the cold silence that follows, heavy and final. His heart aches, but he knows one thing for certain—he’s not walking away. He’ll stay here, by your side, until the end.

Your parents don’t say anything more. They just stand there, their faces twisted with grief, with regret, and with an anger that Heeseung can feel but doesn’t fully understand. He feels like he’s sinking, drowning in his own guilt and helplessness.

But he refuses to give up. He can’t. He won’t leave your side, not now. Not when there’s still a chance, no matter how small.

The soft hum of machines, the steady beeping of the monitors—these sounds are the background music to the bleak reality he faces every day. He doesn’t mind it though. In fact, he’s grown to find a strange sense of peace in the routine. It’s something familiar, something that keeps him tethered to you, even though you were not here in the way he needs you to be.

Heeseung’s routine starts the same way every day: he wakes up early, dragging his exhausted body out of bed with no real motivation other than the thought of seeing you, even if you can’t respond. He’s been doing it for a week now, visiting you every day without fail, even though every visit feels like a painful reminder of how fragile and fleeting your time together was.

But he needs this. He needs you.

Each day, he brings something new, something small to keep the connection alive between the two of you. Something that makes him feel like you were still there with him.

The first thing Heeseung does when he walks into the room is place a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table beside your bed. A familiar bouquet of wildflowers, just like the ones you two used to pick together by the riverbank. It’s a gesture that feels almost foolish, but it’s one that gives him a sense of normalcy, like you two were still living in a world where everything isn’t falling apart.

“Hey, Butterfly,” he whispers as he arranges the flowers carefully, his fingers brushing the soft petals. His voice cracks slightly, but he pushes through it. “You always liked these, didn’t you? I almost had to fight the florist to get you freshly cut ones.”

He stands there for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the vase. His gaze moves slowly over you, tracing the lines of your face. You look so peaceful, so still. But it’s not the kind of peace he wants for you. It’s the kind of peace that only exists in a place between life and death, in a space where there’s no room for movement, no room for growth. No room for him.

Heeseung can’t help but let his fingers gently caress the edge of your hand, still warm, but lifeless in its stillness. He wants to believe you’re still there, somewhere deep down, that the girl he loves is just waiting for the right moment to wake up.

But he’s learned not to get his hopes up too much. Every day feels like the last time. Every conversation, every touch, feels like a goodbye.

“I think you’d have laughed at how hard I had to work for something so simple,” Heeseung continues, his voice tinged with an emotion you can’t quite name. “You always had to have the best of everything, right? But I swear, I’m doing okay without you...”

His words trail off, leaving the space between you thick with the weight of all the things he can’t say, all the things he doesn’t need to say. You know. You always knew.

He’s been bringing you food, too. Anything he can think of to keep some semblance of your life together intact. Today, it’s tteokbokki, a dish you used to eat on late nights when you would run to the corner shop for some snacks. You would sit together on the curb, laughing and sharing the spicy, chewy rice cakes. Heeseung smiles as he places the container of warm tteokbokki beside you, just like he’s done a hundred times before.

“I bet you’d complain about the spice so I made sure to get the mild one today,” Heeseung says, his voice soft, the familiar teasing tone in his words bringing a small ache to his chest. “You know how you’d always whine about how I get the tteokbokki way too spicy for you. Well, this time I actually listened. See? I’m improving,” he forces a chuckle out.

His smile fades as he watches your face, hoping, praying, for some flicker of recognition. He’s not sure why he keeps doing this—bringing food, talking to you, pretending that everything is normal when nothing is. But that's all he can do. It’s all he has left.

He chuckles softly to himself, a bitter sound that mixes with the tears threatening to spill. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to eat all of this myself. Don’t tell anyone though, okay? I know how you are about sharing. If you wake up now, you might still be able to stop me.”

He picks up one of the rice cakes and takes a bite, savoring the familiar flavor that used to bring him comfort. He wonders if you can hear him. He wonders if you’re even aware of his presence, if you could even feel that he’s here. But the thought is fleeting, drowned out by the weight of everything that’s happened. The weight of what’s not happening.

The most difficult part about these visits was the talking. Heeseung doesn’t know what to say most of the time. He can’t bring himself to speak about the things he’s feeling, the overwhelming grief that sits heavy on his chest. Instead, he talks about the little things. The stupid things. Anything to fill the silence. He wishes he could take your hand and tell you how much he loves you, how sorry he is, how much he needs you back.

But instead, he shares his day with you.

“Jake did something stupid today. You would’ve laughed,” he says, his voice coming out with a soft chuckle despite himself. “He got stuck in the vending machine trying to grab a bag of chips. Can you believe that? He tried to push it and got his hand stuck, and I had to help him out. I swear, sometimes I think he’s a walking disaster.”

Heeseung chuckles to himself, remembering the ridiculousness of the situation. His heart aches as the sound of his own laugh echoes in the empty room. It feels so hollow, so lonely without you responding.

“I got it on video,” he continues, his smile faltering as the thought crosses his mind. “Remind me to show it to you when you wake up, okay? I’m sure you’ll love it. You always used to say how much you loved it when I filmed any of the stupid moments the guys do. You’d laugh so hard at him.”

He sets the phone down on the table beside you, showing you the video. It’s ridiculous, really—showing you a video of Jake being an idiot when you were just lying there, unresponsive. But it’s the only thing he can do to keep the illusion alive, to make it feel like everything is normal. Like everything was still the same.

The video plays in silence, the laughter in the background a stark contrast to the stillness of the room. Heeseung’s eyes drift back to your face, to the steady rhythm of your breath as you remain unmoving. Oh, the things he would do to hear your laugh once more. His heart breaks again, but he swallows it down, shoving his feelings aside to keep going.

“Please wake up,” he whispers softly, voice breaking as his eyes well up, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead. “Please.”

But nothing changes. You don’t move. It makes him look down, holding your hand as he tries to stop the tears. The machines beep steadily, like a cruel reminder of the things he’s lost.

The days drag on like this—each one heavier than the last. But Heeseung keeps coming back. He keeps bringing the flowers, the food, the small moments of humor and normalcy that keep him grounded. He tells you about his day, about the boys’ latest antics, about how much he misses your smile. Every time, hoping against hope that one day, you’ll hear him, that one day, you’ll open your eyes and smile again.

But he’s not sure if he’s waiting for you to wake up or if he’s waiting for himself to wake up from this nightmare.

Either way, he’s here. He won’t leave. He can’t leave.

Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance.

Was there still a chance? The room feels colder today. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, but there’s something else—something heavier, like the weight of the decision that looms over you both. Heeseung walks into the room, carrying the familiar bouquet of flowers. The ones that smell of freshly cut stems, a small comfort in this place that’s so full of emptiness.

He doesn’t smile anymore. There was a time, not so long ago, when his visits were full of laughter, of teasing remarks, of warmth. Now, it’s all silence between the two of you, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, suffocating and hollow. The only sound is the soft beeping of the heart monitor, marking the time that continues to pass without you.

Heeseung places the flowers gently on the table beside your bed. His hands tremble, a subtle shake that betrays the strength he tries so hard to show. He stands there for a moment, just staring at you—at your still form, your unmoving chest. His eyes are red-rimmed from exhaustion, from the constant worry that clings to him like a shadow.

“Hey, Butterfly,” he whispers, his voice strained, cracking at the edges. “It’s been a month now. Please come back. Please wake up. I can’t do this without you.”

His words are desperate, but they hold a raw honesty that cuts through the silence. He’s said these words a hundred times before, each one heavier than the last, but they never seem to make a difference. You still lie there, unresponsive, unable to hear him, unable to answer.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I just want you back, Y/N. I need you. Please…”

There’s a small pause, a quiet stillness that stretches on. Heeseung doesn’t move. He simply stands there, his hand gripping the edge of the bed as though holding on for dear life. His tears fall, one by one, dripping onto the floor like raindrops on a quiet afternoon.

And then the door opens.

Your parents enter, their faces expressionless. They’ve been distant ever since the accident, as though they’ve been trapped in a state of disbelief, unable to accept what’s happened. But now, as they walked into the room, he could feel the tension between them. There’s something fragile in their gaze, something that has begun to crack under the pressure of their grief.

The doctor follows them into the room, his steps hesitant, his presence heavy. He speaks gently, but his words still manage to cut through the air.

“It’s been a month now,” he says softly, looking at the machines keeping you alive. “And there have been no improvements. The signs are clear. The brain activity… it’s just not there.”

Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks up at the doctor, his expression raw with fear. “What does that mean?” His voice shakes, but he forces the words out. “What… what are you saying?”

The doctor hesitates for a moment before continuing, as though unsure of how to phrase it, unsure of how to say something so final. “I’m sorry, but it means that Y/N isn’t waking up. The chances of recovery are practically nonexistent. The machines you see around her are the only things keeping her body alive.”

Your parents exchange glances, and he can see the conflict in their eyes. They don’t want to let go. They can’t. They’ve spent years expecting their daughter to be their perfect little trophy, a reflection of their success. Letting you go would mean acknowledging that everything they’ve built their lives around is falling apart.

“We can’t make this decision,” your mother says quietly, her voice trembling. “We can’t just let her go. Maybe we should wait longer. There’s still a chance, isn’t there?”

Your father nods, his expression a mixture of frustration and sorrow. “We’ve waited this long. We can’t give up now.”

Heeseung watches them, his heart breaking as he listens to them speak. The words feel so distant, so detached from the reality of what you’re going through. He knows what needs to be done, but how does he say it? How does he tell them that holding on any longer would only prolong your suffering?

He steps forward slowly, his feet heavy as though every step is another burden he has to bear. He stands beside your bed, looking down at your motionless form. His hands shake as he reaches for yours, taking it gently in his own. His thumb brushes over your fingers, a small comfort in this moment of anguish.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I can’t watch her suffer like this. We’ve been waiting, but we’re not helping her. We’re just keeping her trapped here.”

He turns to face your parents, his eyes meeting theirs with a quiet intensity that makes them flinch. “Have you ever thought about how she felt? What she wanted?”

Her parents open their mouths to speak, but Heeseung doesn’t let them. His voice rises, sharper now, filled with a mixture of pain and frustration.

“She wasn’t happy,” he says, his eyes never leaving theirs. “She was hurting. Every day. She hated what you made her become, hated how you treated her like some… trophy. And now she’s like this, unable to escape, unable to speak for herself. Do you really think this is what she would’ve wanted?”

Your mother’s face crumbles, tears streaming down her cheeks as the reality of Heeseung’s words sinks in. Your father looks away, his expression haunted with guilt and regret.

“She didn’t deserve this,” Heeseung continues, his voice breaking. “She didn’t deserve any of it. But we have a chance to give her something—freedom. If we don’t let her go, she’ll stay like this forever. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? This isn’t living. It’s just surviving.”

Heeseung’s grip on your hand tightens, his knuckles turning white. “She deserves more than this. We owe it to her to set her free.”

Your parents stare at each other, their faces crumpling under the weight of their decision. They wanted to keep you with them, to hold on to the idea of their perfect daughter, but they see now that they’ve been selfish. They were blinded by their own need for control, and now they’re faced with the truth that it’s too late.

They begin to cry, their sobs filling the room with the heavy sound of regret. It’s too late for apologies. Too late for redemption. They failed you, and they know it.

Heeseung doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. His silence speaks louder than any words could. He moves to the side, his back stiff, as the doctor begins to adjust the machines.

The moment is unbearable. The quiet beeping of the monitors becomes a countdown, a reminder of how much time has passed, and how much of it you’ve already lost. Heeseung leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, as if trying to share a final moment with you, even if you can’t feel it.

The machines click, the rhythm of life slowing as the doctor presses a button, and then…

Silence.

Heeseung grips your hand tighter, his body shaking as he leans in closer. Tears fall from his eyes as he whispers, “You’re finally free, Butterfly,” he kisses your forehead for the last time.

The room is still, the weight of the moment sinking in. The hardest thing he’s ever had to do, the last thing he could give you, was to let you go.

And so, you fly free.

It’s been weeks since the funeral. The day is gray and overcast, the kind of day that mirrors the heaviness in Heeseung’s chest. The pain still lingers, a quiet ache that never seems to fade, no matter how much time passes. He doesn’t know if it ever will.

Today, like every other day, he finds himself at the cemetery. The place feels different now—distant, foreign, and yet, somehow familiar. It's where you rest, where the world keeps turning, but without you. Without the one person who had made him feel alive, the one person who had brought him comfort when the world felt too overwhelming.

He kneels in front of your grave, the earth freshly disturbed, a constant reminder of the hole that’s been left in his life. A bouquet of white lilies rests in his hands, their soft petals a stark contrast to the sorrow he feels. He places them gently on the grave, his fingers brushing the cold stone.

“Hey, Butterfly,” he says quietly, his voice shaky as he talks to you, though he knows you can’t hear him. "I’m here again. I know it’s been a while since I last came, but I still think about you. Every single day."

His words catch in his throat, and for a moment, he can’t speak. He forces himself to take a deep breath, wiping the tears that have begun to fall.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he confesses softly, his voice breaking. “I thought I could keep going. I thought I could keep pretending like everything was fine, like I was okay... but I’m not, Y/N. I’m really not.”

He stares at the gravestone, his hand trembling as it rests beside the flowers. His eyes drift to the small inscription etched into the stone—your name, your birthdate, and the date you were taken from him. He wishes it could all be a dream, a nightmare he could wake up from. But this is real. You’re gone, and no amount of wishing will bring you back.

“I keep thinking about all the things I never told you, all the moments we never got to share,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “We were supposed to be together. You were supposed to be here with me, laughing, living… everything we talked about. I keep replaying it all in my head—the way you smiled when we were together, the way you’d look at me like I was the only person in the world that mattered.”

A sob catches in his throat, and he covers his face with one hand, trying to hold it all in. His chest aches as the realization sets in—he’ll never get to see you again. Never get to hear your voice or feel your touch.

"I wish it had been me instead," he whispers, his voice so soft it’s barely a breath. "I wish I could’ve taken your place. I wish I could’ve protected you. I should have… I should’ve been there. But I wasn’t. And now you’re gone."

The words hang in the air, an apology he’ll never be able to deliver to you, no matter how many times he says them. Heeseung can’t help but feel like he failed you. He should’ve done more. He should’ve protected you better.

But the truth is, he never thought he’d lose you. You were supposed to be his forever.

“You finally spread your wings, huh?” he says with a small, broken smile, his eyes looking upward to the gray sky. "You always wanted freedom. You wanted to fly away from everything that held you back. I didn’t understand it then, but now... I get it. I understand why you needed to go, why you couldn’t stay here anymore. I just wish I could’ve been the one to give that to you."

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around him. It’s almost as if it’s answering him, a soft breeze that wraps around his shoulders, offering him a fleeting moment of comfort. He closes his eyes, breathing in the air, letting the gentle breeze brush across his face.

A tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He doesn’t try to hide it anymore. The grief is raw and overwhelming, but there’s something cathartic about letting it out—letting it all go in this moment, with you.

Heeseung stands, his knees protesting as he slowly pushes himself up. He takes one last look at your grave, the bouquet of white lilies resting in front of it, a symbol of the purity and fragility of the love you shared. His heart aches, but there’s a faint sense of peace that settles over him, something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“I’ll never forget you,” he whispers, his voice a soft promise. “I’ll carry you with me every day, in everything I do. You’ll always be my Butterfly.”

With that, he turns and walks away, his footsteps heavy but determined. The wind continues to blow, and for a brief moment, it feels like you’re still there, watching over him. The world keeps turning, and though he knows it will never be the same without you, Heeseung holds onto the love you gave him, a love that will never fade, a love that will stay with him for as long as he lives.

And as he walks away, the wind seems to carry one last whisper. It’s quiet but unmistakable, like your voice on the breeze.

“Fly high, my Butterfly.”

And in that moment, Heeseung smiles through his tears. He knows you're free now. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be waiting for him on the other side when his time comes.

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp @ode2soob @laylasbunbunny If you want to be tagged in all of my fics or change what groups to be tagged in, go here to be added to my permanent taglist.

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: Another enhypen fic mweehehe, the angst agenda is back once again. This might be one of my faves so far, I hope it makes your eyes sweat like it did for me. It's been a while since I wrote this long again (other than red poppies cuz that was prepped for a while already) and this is the longest one i've written so far!! I might’ve projected a bit from real life experiences so it kinda hits home 😔🤚 As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

[chronologically-challenged]

Siffrin's pronouns are kinda fascinating as a character detail for a variety of reasons. Firstly, they haven't Changed. They've thought about it, but haven't bothered for one reason or another. It isn't the loops that they even let themself consider wanting to Change. Even then, he doesn't put too much thought that to it because he has other things to deal with.

That being said, while pronouns aren't indicative of gender, Siffrin still PICKED he/they at one point. He's still non-binary. Something not!cis is happening here, and yet Siffrin doesn't consider themself Changed.

This could be cultural. We don't know what gender even looks like on the Forgotten Country. Adding onto that, Vaugardian isn't his first language. We also have ZERO clue on how you would refer to yourself in the Forgotten Country or if there were any pronouns at all in that language. For all we know, Siffrin chose he/they because it was the closest equivalent to how they actually referred to themself in his own language.

This brings me to the conclusion that Siffrin, in a newly blank state after losing their memories, likely chose pronouns closest to what felt most correct to them at the time. Whether this means they Changed before memory wipe (or whatever the Island equivalent would have been), other countries gender presentation influenced their eventual choice, if the closest equivalent to whatever pronouns Siffrin used on the Island translated to he/they, and/or something else like that, well, we will never know.

(And Siffrin likely wouldn't ever know either).

[artisiumstudios]

Stanley goes through extreme head trauma that causes him to either suffer extreme mental trauma and/or even cause him physical trauma. For example age regression or now being unable to speak properly (maybe unable to read) has to relearn how to do that, basically he has brain damage. Now this could go both ways.

(also TW for suicidal thoughts)

Either ford is called in and is told that his brother has been in an accident and when he gets there to the hospital he is told that Stan now requires full time supervision and needs to relearn how to talk, walk, basically everything, ford still wants to hold onto the grudges and be mad for the past. He tries to reinforce this by thinking "oh yeah of course now that im getting settled in now of all times he decides to be hurt. Now that im finally succeeding he has to barge into my life and make ME have to deal with the consequences of his actions." (he thinks while anxiety bubbles up in the pit of his stomach a voice in the back of his head praying that his brother is okay."

But the moment he sees Stan bandaged up, with tubes and wires wrapping around and inside him, keeping alive, all he feels is guilt, he’s scared. Stanley once so strong and lively now silently laying on a cold hard hospital as machines keep his body alive. Its a slow grueling process, first off having to relocate Stanley to Gravity Falls and then having to reteach him how to speak, motor skills, how to read, how to walk, how to live. Not to mention the mental trauma. The exhaustion for both twins, ford having to make time to go with stan to his physical and mental therapy appointments, and Stan having to actually go through with both of those. It only gets worse as Stan regains some of his memories both from his time from the street and the the worse one, the night at the gym leading to him getting kicked out.

he already felt like dead weight for having to rely on Ford all the time, but now with those memories his self hatred and guilt comes back to him full force and all he wishes is that he would've died upon impact. Maybe that way he'd finally stop being a burden.

Alternatively, ford doesn’t find out and Stan is left to relearn everything on his own (when his memory gets better he has some “sense” to ditch the hospital since he won’t be able to pay.) Unfortunately that means he now walks funny and is practically unable to run, his eyes become far too sensitive to light, he’s can't properly talk (he decides to just not say anything at all, after all what’s talking ever done to him but get him in more trouble) and mentally speaking he’s just worse off then before (mood swings, extreme anxiety, and paranoia).

When Ford calls for him it takes a bit longer for him to get there, and when he finally arrives, Ford is worse than in canon, much more irritable, tired, swaying on his feet. Not to mention he has foggy brain which makes it harder to pay attention to anything, to his brother.

Ford gets pissed thinking Stanley is drunk or high, the few words he has spoken are slurred, he’s wearing sunglasses inside the house for Moses sake! Not to mention that he’s literally tripping over himself and that he went from crying because of the crossbow (although Ford is a bit more sympathetic on that one, it would be weird not to panic at a weapon being pointed at you. But even then, t's odd his brother is crying-) to huffing and puffing like a child, to looking extremely fidgety and anxious in the last 40 minutes. Ford gets even more pissed when he tries to tell him about the portal only to find Stanley messing with something else.

He yells at him that he’s irresponsible to show up drunk and continue wasting his time, that he has shown to be untrustworthy once again. Stanley stays silent and unfortunately Ford can’t see the way tears swell in Stan’s eyes once more, he can’t say the way the glaze over as Stanley begins to dissociate. Ford lets Stanley stay the night, saying tomorrow he must leave. In the morning Ford finds Stanley whimpering in pain, his sunglasses are thrown across the room as his brother hit his palms over his head over and over again. Ford panics trying to understand what’s going on, he tries to pry Stan’s hands but he can’t seem to, his eyes are squeezed shut tears flowing down his cheeks.

Before he knows it Stan is dry heaving, Ford quickly finds a bucket and hands it over. When he asks Stan if he’s hungover Stan just stares at him weakly, his speech slurred he mutters the words bright and hurts. Ford catches on bring Stan’s sunglasses over. It takes moment, Stanley's shaky uncoordinated hands place the glasses over his eyes. He finally sighing in relief, his breathing more calm. Ford looks around the room spotting where sunlight creeps through the wood he hand hung earlier that week, the sun shines bright, the snow probably not helping. Ford looks at Stanley close noticing a jagged line that reaches from the bottom of his neck up to the back of his head, guilt creeps into his bones.

Without thinking he reaches out, brushing his hair tracing the line up til he reaches the lower part of his partial bone. Looking at Stanley once more, he notes the small scars that litter his face and hands, the way he seems uncoordinated, confused, unable to speak. Like he's-

Oh no.

[chrissturnsfav]

Can u do one of rapper chris getting drunk at an influencer party and kinda like an angst between them but fluff towards the end

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader in an argument

the bass is so loud you can feel it in your chest. chris is beside you, and even though you’re surrounded by a crowd of influencers, you still feel chris’ hand on the small of your back.

chris is barely holding it together. he’s laughing loud, joking around with nick and matt, but he’s already had a little too much to drink. you also know he’s done a line of coke earlier, and you can tell he’s not as “on” as he usually is, like he’s in some kind of buzzed haze.

you’re standing near the bar when you feel someone’s eyes on you. you don’t even look, but chris does. you don’t know who it is—some guy in the corner, probably just checking out the crowd—but suddenly, chris goes tense next to you. you look up at him, his face a little darker than usual, the playful edge in his voice gone.

“yo,” he says, low and rough, “you see that? that guy? starin’ at you?”

you roll your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “you’re being dramatic, baby,” i mutter, trying to deflect.

chris is not having it. “nah, nah. that shit ain’t cool,” he slurs, his protective streak kicking in full force. “you lookin’ like that—wearing that skirt, and he’s starin’ at you like that? nah, not today. fuck that.”

“chris, relax,” you say, trying to keep it cool. “he’s just looking, it’s no big deal.”

but that only makes it worse. he leans in close, his breath on your ear. “don’t tell me to relax, kid. ion want random dudes eye fuckin’ my girl. shit’s disrespectful as fuck.”

you can feel his hand gripping your waist a little tighter now, and something inside you snaps. “don’t talk to me like that, chris,” you say, voice a little louder than you mean for it to be. “i’m not some fucking toy or thing that’s owned by you, alright?”

chris’ eyes flash with something dark, but you’re too drunk and too pissed to care. “the fuck? you know i jus’—”

“you just what?” you interrupt, voice trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. “you think i can’t take care of myself?”

the air between you both feels thick, and you can feel all eyes on you two now. the anxiety is building up in your chest, but you refuse to back down.

“you’re fucking overreacting,” you mutter, crossing your arms, trying to stop the shaking in your hands.

there’s a moment of silence where neither of you speak, and it feels like time has stopped. you hate fighting with him, especially when you know it’s because he’s drunk. you know he doesn’t mean to be like this, but the longer this goes on, the worse it feels.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, chris steps closer to you, his voice quieter but still intense. “fuck...m’sorry,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, the tension easing. “i jus’, like, i can’t stand the thought of someone thinkin’ they can touch you ’n shit, makes me feel fuckin’ sick.”

you can feel the softness in his tone now, and it makes your heart soften too. “i’m not gonna let anyone get close to me if i don’t want them to, chris,” i say, my voice barely above a whisper.

he nods, looking you in the eye, his gaze so sincere now. “i know. i jus’ can’t help it sometimes. m’sorry.”

you take a deep breath, the anxiety starting to lift as you look at him. “i get it. but you gotta trust me more than that, okay?”

chris grins, and you swear it’s like the whole room brightens when he does. “aight. i’ll try. as long as mothafuckers don’t start touchin’ you. ’cause then m’done.”

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully, but you can’t help but smile back. “you just get jealous, i get it,” i tease cheekily.

chris huffs out a laugh, pulling you into him, his arms wrapping around you tight. “hell yeah, i get jealous. have you fuckin’ seen yourself?” he mumbles, smirking down at you, eyes raking over your pretty face and then down to your body

“whatever, chris,” you mutter, but you're grinning, feeling the weight of the argument fall away as he kisses the top of your head.

“i mean c’mooon,” he says, his voice soft now, teasing. “you too fine for your own good.”

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind , @mattsleftball , @softhyunieeee

@chrissturnsfav ™

[thezombieprostitute]

The Prey

A/N: Follow up to The Hunt. Entirely written on my phone.

A/N2: Reader is big, tall and female.

Warnings: Implied smut, Implied violence, Self-deprecation, Stalking. Please let me know if I missed any.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It feels like you've been on edge the entire week. Like you're being stalked, but every time you look, there's no one there. Figuring you could use a break you decide to eat at your favorite place for dinner. You're sitting in a booth at the pub, reading a book and eating some dinner when a man you don't know sits across from you.

"Damn you're cute," he says.

"No I'm not. And I really don't appreciate lying."

He gives you a confused look, "what do you mean?"

"I am, objectively speaking, unattractive. The way you said I was cute indicates a feeling of attraction and, let's be honest, that's not possible."

"You don't even know me but you really think I'm that shallow?"

"Look, it's not your fault society dictates attractiveness. Maybe it's just not something you ever had to deal with because you are very much an ideal. You've got beautiful eyes, a physique that is tall, muscular and healthy. And it just makes me wonder what's wrong with you that you're not already taken and you're slumming it with someone like me."

"Slumming it?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes," you nod. "All my curves are disproportionate to each other, too much here, too little there. I've got chin hairs and regularly get acne. My eyes are, at best, normal and boring. And let's not even get started on my hair. It's also a fact that men do not care for women as tall or taller than them. I am, objectively, physically unattractive. So when you call me cute, I have to believe you're lying."

"You are very weird," he shakes his head.

"I am," you agree. "Then again, you're the one who interrupted my dinner."

"Just trying to give you a compliment," he groans as he gets up.

"And all you accomplished was interrupting my reading."

You pick your book back up and pretend to read. Your eyes follow him as he heads back to his buddies. Your suspicions are confirmed when you see him hand some cash over to one of his buddies.

It's not the first time bets have been placed at your expense and it won't be the last. It's always a game of getting the ugly girl's hopes up. String her along and then break her heart while leaving her with the tab.

Maybe you'd have been nicer about it if you hadn't been so on edge lately.

Across the bar you don't notice Kraven watching you. It took all of his strength to not step in and punch the bastard so hard he'd never breathe right again. And when you kept talking down about yourself he quietly growled with rage. When you're his mate, he'll make sure you never feel less than gorgeous.

And you will be his mate. He's been following you, trying to find flaws, reasons to walk away, but he can't. You've picked up on him following you, indicating an alertness beyond most humans. Despite obviously being upset, you still helped anyone and everyone at the library without them even guessing you weren't feeling well, indicating your suitability for raising offspring.

And when you tried to release some of that stress in the privacy of your apartment? He breathed in the scent the next day when he broke into your apartment. It was all over your panties that now reside near his bed. It isn't quite "bitch-in-heat" but it still gets him going.

But first, he's going to follow those assholes who messed with you and make sure they never do so again.

Soon he'll have everything needed for your new home. He's determined to show his quality as a mate, as a provider, by building you a dream den. It'll have everything you've ever wanted and needed. Perfect for raising your children.

The only thing you might not like is his rule about no outside contact. At least not until you're fully his. But he's sure it won't take long. You're incredibly smart, kind and you'll know it's meant to be.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @delicatebarness ; @hederasgarden @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

[the-interplay-of-sex-and-violins]

Okay, I'll bite.

Kelyn, in his lucid moments, TRIED to be a good brother. He only joined the Bhaalists after a lifetime (120ish years) in Menzoberranzan, with one older sister who did love him: he had some kind of model of a normal sibling relationship. He was trying to fight Bhaal's will, and it was easy to project a lot of things on Orin: to feel a sort of brotherly affection and obligation to her, to want to protect her even while he knows she's a seasoned killer who delights in it. But is that her fault, part of her nature...or just how she was forced to be?

I think Orin simultaneously loathed his "weakness" while also craving the only kindness and love without a catch that anyone had ever shown her. She was also grown when they met, or nearly so; so there's layers of her being set in her ways and this fucker sweeping in suddenly and taking her de facto spot as The Favorite in the temple.

Then throw in Kelyn's relationship with Yurissa: in Orin's eyes, this dude just shows up and is demonstrably Daddy's Favorite Child, and he himself has his own daughter...who he is explicitly not raising in the cult, and in fact keeping her as far from it as possible. Kelyn is too weak, too soft, but when he kills his work is beautiful, divinely inspired...and he keeps trying to deny his obvious nature despite it? To the point of keeping his "daughter" out of the church...and why? If she's no use as a killer, then she could be used as a sacrifice, but he denies Yurissa both those things. To kill her or teach her to kill is the only way a Bhaalist can show love, isn't it? So what, then, is this?

It must be a weakness...because if Orin has to consider that it's just love, that that kind of love is real and is possible for a Bhaalist, for Bhaal's favorite, and most perfect creation to show a child, then she has to wonder: why did she never get it? It's easy to rationalize her life as simple fact, as what is done when you're a Bhaalist raising a child properly, but when Kelyn is flagrantly proving that isn't true...

If he could love this little girl and not treat her at all how Orin herself was treated, if he could try to extend that same ungodly kindness to her simply because she's his sister and not because there's any hidden catch or terrible expectation...

How could he possibly be Bhaal's favorite? How could he ever be worthy? Why wasn't she ever shown any kindness, when it's possible?

So she had to kill him. That's what their kind does anyway, and she can't handle him being what he is, so she has to remove him, and prove she's the better child in doing so. Then she doesn't have to deal with him being better, more favored, more loved, doesn't have to deal with watching him struggle again and again and again against their father's will when she knows it's futile, and she doesn't have to think about Kelyn, Bhaal's favorite, still being capable of kindness and love that doesn't involve a knife (because that would mean all of them are capable of that too, and chose otherwise; that would mean everything done to her was a choice, not an inevitability).

But killing him is also a blessing, and he doesn't deserve it. What greater insult is there for Bhaalists than to deem someone, especially a rival, unworthy of murder? (Besides, he once threatened to kill her far from Bhaal's altar, to declare her so unworthy of it that she would be forgotten entirely. What's sweeter than to turn that threat back on him?)

(And maybe, just maybe, if he lives despite it all...maybe he'll never come back. Maybe he'll be right. Maybe there was a way out, for one of them. Maybe the girl who craved his affection without knowing what to do with it, maybe the one who saw him try to be a loving father to Yurissa and wondered what that would have been like if she could have had it...maybe that girl also wants him to escape, to be away from this place, to be away from Bhaal.)

idont care if your durge was having crazy eroguro sex with gorty can you get them to put some pants on and tell me about their sibling relationship with orin. please.

[a2remedy]

Ride or Die and Beyond

Jason Todd, at 15, panicked and tired, didn't know what to make of the situation he was in.

Jason Todd, at 13, was oblivious to his best friend, who was, by all means, just as much of a medical professional as Leslie. That totally wasn't concerning.

Oblivious to how he'd always have a copy of Pride and Prejudice on hand whenever Jason was feeling stressed. Oblivious to dancing shadows and tricks of the light that lead him to hidden clues at crime scenes. But he was aware of the promise to be each other's ride or die when they had to beat up older Gotham Academy students that tried bashing them for not being from rich families.

Jason Todd, at 15, was aware that changed when it was his turn to tend to his friend who got a high fever. He had Alfred rush them to Leslie's and stuck by his side because he knew his friend was afraid of hospitals and needles. He held his friend's hand tight and squeezed to remind him that he was there.

They made jokes about how they couldn't avoid each other even in death. That's when it becomes Ride or Die and Beyond. Then he died. Screaming for his friend and for his dad. Jason Todd, at 15, has never failed to grasp that he couldn't get rid of his friend even if he wanted to. It was fucking annoying... and endearing.

----

Danny Fen Nightingale, at 15, never thought he'd be fighting back an assassin lady with a shovel in front of his best friend's grave. He's been feeling off for months. His grief over his friend felt... wrong? Something was happening. No, something was bound to happen. He couldn't explain it until a green sticky note told him to take a little walk down memory lane within Gotham. He dug up some flowers he was growing and stopped by a tool shop to get a bigger shovel to get the flowers closer to his best friend. As close as they could. But someone beat him there. Someone new? No, he knew this feeling. The unknown, the feeling that someone was watching whenever he visited. He failed to crack her upside the head for attending without flowers. But he felt the shift, somethi- time, time decided to set things right. ---- Talia was caught between a sense of shock and pride that the friend of her beloved's ward nearly got the jump on her. She wouldn't deny that it was within her expectation, though. The boy's steps were so light, she would've been hit if he wielded with less drag, something lighter. With the way the boy dodged and weave from her blows, she was ecstatic to see a dagger in his hands. Is this how the boy felt when he slipped out of here mentioning a 2 for one deal? It was only after her beloved's ward crawled out of his grave that the boy let his guard down so slightly while blocking her off from him. The boy lasted without her training. She was sure he had training of some kind, and yet his form was lax. So nimble, so adaptable.

Of course, she made quick work of the two and covered their tracks before making her escape.

Were her maternal instincts activating again? ----

She wasn't sure how to define her relationship with Danyal. The boy has finally seen the effort to correct her and Damien as pointless after months of being here. Yet, he's displayed a strength she hasn't seen in knocking down her father and dragging him through a brighter glowing Lazarus pit for "paperwork". She may not be sure of what or where her father was, but Danyal has ensured his good health with a devilish grin and that he never laid another hand on him. She was positive he was being tortured in a way the soft-hearted boy deemed fitting. But was he another son? He didn't seem opposed to the idea after her insistence to be trained and grimaced at being in a room with them for too long as he said they stink. He visits 3-4 times a week to ensure her beloved's war- Jason was good in his recovery.

She found herself agreeing with Jason less and less as the boy began turning red after they shared the night he was first back in his right mind crying and holding the other close. But Jason assures her that he's just his best friend... Maybe Danyal couldn't be her son. But he could be her son-in-law.

She wasn't against that.

She also wasn't against the glances she shared more often with Damien as two interacted. They grew closer in discussion of how Danyal fell first, but Jason was falling harder. Then there was this Roy character she's been hearing about more. She couldn't wait to take pleasure in Jason's reaction of his love interests assassinating the so-called Prince of Crime. It warmed her heart that they involved her in strategizing and cleaning up. They also seemed to be reaching a similar affection.

Now she and Damien just need to get Jason to realize he has two boyfriends. Oh, the struggle of motherhood.

[onyxmango]

Unfashionably late

A seunghyun x reader fic

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions and descriptions of throwing up/puking, reader becomes a mom, seunghyun becomes a dad, sprinkle of angst, reader blames themselves for a second in here, tooth rotting fluff and comfort, husband seunghyun.

It's 1 pm when you're home. Your husband is practicing for a performance, and you lounging out around the house with some of your mutual friends. The first one being Daesung who's on the couch scrolling on his phone doing who knows what, and Ji-yong who's just playing with his rings at the moment.

"You guys wanna watch a movie?" You suggest. For a few days the boys had been talking about wanting to see a new action movie that recently came out, and it sounded like a good way to brighten the mood and pass time.

So here you are, sitting on the far left of your plush cream colored couch watching a sci-fi action film. At this point you are halfway through it, and the boys are speaking up with their commentary, and you are just listening not really minding. But you feel weird. You can't help but shake the feeling that something isn't right. Which caused you to start zoning out and thinking to yourself, not hearing Ji-yong call out your name. So, he said it again a little louder to finally catch your attention.

"hm?" You replied, slowly coming out of your anxious trance.

"We've been calling you, are you okay?" Ji-yong asked while Daesung was looking at you with a worried expression. Whenever you had days like this, you were always attentive, or interested in what was happening around you, and the boys have been watching that slip for the past five minutes.

"I'm okay, I just feel weird." You replied trying to de-escalate. To you, it wasn't a big deal. It was probably nothing right? Not to them. They were worried about you. You seemed so out of it, and they have never seen you like that.

"What do you mean you feel weird, just like emotionally, or something physically?" Dae asked.

"Just physically. I don't know why though, but it doesn't seem to be going away." You replied. As soon as you look up from saying that, all you see is Daesung and Ji-yong staring at you.

"Well have you eaten to-" you couldn't even hear Ji-yong finish his sentence before you were jumping off the couch to rush to the bathroom. You felt so sick, and started to throw up. Everything that came out of you hitting inside the bowl, and the two boys outside the bathroom to make sure you're okay.

"hey hey hey, are you okay?" You hear Daesung ask from outside the half closed bathroom door, all you can do is let out a strangled no before your puking up more stomach acid along with the food from breakfast. It's all coming up out of your throat leaving a bitter acidic taste that you don't like. The taste is horrible, and you can't stand it.

"I- I need water" you manage to say. After those words leave your mouth all you can hear before your head is by the toilet bowl again is Ji-yong practically running to the kitchen, and Daesung telling him to hurry.

In that moment you are so thankful for these boys, but you're also trying to get everything out of you. You don't like puking up, because who does? But you know your body clearly wants it out, so you rest there, waiting for water, and staying there just in case you suddenly have more vomit coming up your throat that needs to be released. As you press your hand against the floor to stop the dizzy spinning of your head all you turn around to see is Ji-yong crouching down beside you to gently hand you a glass of water. You take it, thankful he got it so quickly, and bring your lips to the rim of the glass.

"Don't drink it too fast or take too big of sips, it'll make it worse" you heard him say to you as you took a small sip, making sure to not get too much but enough to quench the thirst that built in you as you threw up what your system processed from earlier in the day

"Thank you ji, I appreciate it.." you say quietly due to the raspiness of your throat still being dry even after the water you just consumed. But you see the small smile peak through the worried exterior, as he softly pats your back.

After about 10 minutes of sitting in the bathroom without puking anything up again, you start to stand up, and almost trip on a rug due to the dizziness in your head alone, and start apologizing over everything.

"Guys I'm so sorry I don't know what that was, I felt so terrible and so dizzy out of nowhere..." You start slightly tearing up thinking about how you guys were having fun watching the movie together and you ruined it for everyone. But they weren't having that. Ji-Yong shook his head not accepting the apology, and Daesung was looking at you like you killed his whole bloodline.

"What are you apologizing for!? It's not your fault you got sick out of nowhere, therefore no apology needed! We are here for you, and to hang out with you!" Daesung said, using exaggerated hand motions because he was so passionate about the fact you shouldn't apologize. The hand motions came naturally as he spoke, something that normally only happened behind closed doors due to it being seen as unprofessional on camera. But in his eyes, how dare you!!! How dare you apologize for something that wasn't your fault. Like you were some peasant at his feet. He'll be damned!! You need to take care of yourself before you worry about anyone else especially since THEY are in your house!!! He is 119% advocating for you to rest on the couch the rest of their stay. And Ji-yong agrees.

"You should take it easy, and do you have any idea why that might have happened?" You hear Ji-yong ask from the side of you. And then you start to think about it, you have been feeling a bit more emotional lately, dizzy, slightly more hungry for sweet and salty things, needing more blankets and body heat throughout the day, and that's when it hits you. You haven't had your period for a bit over a month.

The realization flashing in your eyes wasn't recognized for what it was, but Ji-Yong and Daesung did give you a puzzled expression wondering what it was that you pieced together.

"I-i'm late..." You stammered out. The thought bringing you to tears. At first, Ji-Yong and Daesung are confused, seeing the tears form in your eyes and about your statement about being late. You didn't have anywhere to go today. That's what you had said earlier as you led them into the house to relax and lounge! And then it was brought together. Ji-Yong being the first to realize.

"Wait, like, late as in?" He asked lowly, and with a look of 'you know?' and all you did was nod. Ji-Yong slightly gasped, his mouth slightly open still, not knowing what to think right now, and his brain processing. Daesung still catching up or trying at least is still confused. Then the light bulb in his head turns on. He slowly looks at you, then your stomach, then you again. Almost asking for confirmation without saying anything. So when you nod, all he can do is cover his mouth with his hands.

15 minutes later and you're at the store inside standing beside Ji-Yong and Daesung wearing face masks to hide their face while you pick out a pregnancy test. You grab a small box off the shelf and start heading towards the check-out counter, the two following behind you. You ring up the test at a self checkout, not wanting the look from a cashier at the moment, and then walk out and back to the car with Ji and Dae.

A few minutes later and you're in the car driving down the road at a decent speed trying to get home. Ji-yong driving, Dae-sung in the passenger seat with you in the backseat. Your minding your own business looking out the window at the scenery when you hear A ringtone from inside the car. Your husband was calling Ji-yong right now. Ji-yong obviously answers and is met with a confused Seunghyun.

"Hey, where is everyone? I just got home." He asked

"Um, we had to run to the store and grab something real quick but we are on the way right now." Ji-yong replied trying to keep a flat tone, not wanting to give anything away.

"Oh, what did y'all need? I'm sure I could have picked it up on my way here" your husband asked, curiosity lacing his tone heavily.

"A Pregnancy test" Daesung blurted out.

"Daesung!" You cried out.

"What!? I'm sorry I couldn't keep it in!" Daesung argued. You and him going back and forth for a moment before hearing your husband's deep voice rumble through the car speakers.

"I might be a dad?" He almost whispered, but due to him being close to his phone you all heard.

"Yea..." You replied.

Then you arrived back at your house, pulling into the driveway. Once you get out of the car, and walk inside all you see is Seunghyun sitting on the couch tearing up. He could be a father? He's so happy right now, but also so scared.

"Jagiya, come here" he said trying to not let the tears spill from his eyes, and holding his arms open for you. You approach him, getting close to his chest, and letting yourself feel the way his arms slowly close around you and hold you tight. Slightly rocking you back and forth.

"No matter what, I'll love you, and we will get through it okay?" He says as he softly kisses the top of your head and releases you. You then grab the pregnancy test off the counter and head for the bathroom saying you'll be back with it soon. As you head to the bathroom all you can hear is there voicing fading out as their conversation began.

"I'm so scared right now." He started to say, his hand going up to his face to wipe away tears threatening to fall.

"Hey man, it's okay, everything will be okay." Ji-yong said slowly walking towards seunghyun to wrap his arm around him while seunghyun slowly started to cry in his own hand. He was a mess. The thought of possibly being a father making him so happy, but the possibility he wasn't and was getting excited for nothing making him feel incredibly sad at the same time. He didn't know what to do, all it seemed he could do was wait for you to come back with the results. And that's what two of his best friends silently agreed with as well as they wrapped their arms around him, comforting him in your absence.

Now your in the bathroom, you've done what you needed to, and in thirty seconds you'll find out if your going to be a mother or not. 29 while you start thinking about raising a baby boy or girl with your sweet and caring husband. 28 while you start thinking of all the fun things you could do with your child around the town you live in. 27 while you think of them seeing their father perform on stage for the first time. 26 while your mind starts to think of names of both genders for the child. 25 while you start thinking of a building a nursery with your husband throughout the pregnancy. All the thoughts flashing through your mind as the seconds slowly tick down until the result is finally on the test. The thing that makes you look up first being a singular tear falling down you cheek as you thought about all the good things that could happen with you and your husband throughout the pregnancy and once your baby was here, and now it's causing you to look down to see the result.

Two lines. Your pregnant.

.

.

.

.

As you process the result you grab the test and run out to hug your husband, all the tears you've been silently holding back flooding your vision as you reach him, feeling his warm arms welcome you back to him making it worse. Your violent sobbing starting to scare him a bit until you hold up the positive pregnancy test with a broken smile on your face as you look up at his shocked expression, watching it slowly turn into one of joy.

"I'm gonna be a dad..." He whispered, then as you nodded he completely announced it loudly, and you both started crying, the two other boys in the room also starting to slightly tear up. They were gonna be uncles soon, how could they not be happy?

5 years later...

It's quiet in the house when you come in, too quiet for your liking. Ever since you had your baby handed to you and your husband seunghyun after her birth, she's been inseparable from your husband. Causing chaos everywhere it was allowed, even places it wasn't sometimes, but she was a well-behaved child. So how did you end up in a quiet house at 3 pm in. The afternoon with a toddler, and a quietly chaotic husband, and not know what they were up to?

You had no idea. But as you set your stuff down on the counter all you saw was a sprinkle of flour on the floor below you. Oh no. You start walking to the kitchen slowly giving them a chance to hear your footsteps to cease whatever they were doing, but nothing. As you got closer, you could hear the slightly louder giggles of your daughter bounce off the walls and spread out to your ears.

As you got closer, you slowly began to see your husband holding up your daughter by a metal bowl with a whisk in hand, and your daughter sitting on the counter helping with the whisk as she sat. Neither of them having noticed you yet, you witnessed them over stir the mixture of whatever they were making at the moment, and flour flying into the air. Painting your daughters fave and clothes white, along with Seunghyun's.

"What are my two pretty babies doing in here?" You coo, announcing yourself in the room.

"Eomma!! We're making you a cake!!!" Your daughter spoke up, flour still apparent on her face as she smiled brightly at you, her small hands in the air to welcome you back home, as your husband shyly smiled at you as you made eye-contact.

"How thoughtful and sweet! How did you know it was my birthday sweet girl?" You asked her with a similar smile. Seunghyun's own widening as he saw it again. Your smile. The one your daughter had an exact replica of. It was so sweet and adorable to him to see your kid have the exact same smile as you. Your daughter had his eyes, but man did she have your smile. It drove him insane with how cute it was on his sweet daughter, and it drove him crazy when it was playful on you. Now he gets double-teamed? He might not survive.

"Appa told me!!! And I said we should make you a cake!" Your daughter replied to you, her hands making grabby motions for you to come to her. So you walked around the counter to her and your husband, seeing the cake mixture almost made other than the flour not being mixed in with the wet ingredients completely yet.

"hm, it doesn't look completely done yet, wanna help eomma whisk baby girl?" You asked your daughter, looking over to see her nod her head and her hand slowly making it's way over to sit on-top of yours as you started to slowly whisk, so her hand could keep up. And you just continued and your daughter started to giggle again. And all Seunghyun could think about was how lucky he was to have both of his girls. What would he do without you two? You both were his world, and he wouldn't give you two up for anything. He loved being a father, especially to your daughter, his daughter. It was the best feeling in the world to have you as a wife, and her as a daughter.

TAGLIST: @thanosscross @petersasteria

[classfiedyapper]

LADS MEN WITH DESI GIRL HCs.

Alright ladies its my first time making any post on my own on Tumblr, its 3 in the morning and I am on my leuteal phase so, yeah, the grammar in this sucks cuz if you haven't guessed it already, English isn't my first language, also this isn't proof read either. I just had my phone and messy ADHD brain filled with ideas. Anyways, THIS IS FOR MY DESI GIRLS AROUND THE WORLD. Seriously tho I made this because every time I read any headcanon it was hard to relate with most of the things, so I took matter into my own hand with encouragement from @syluskiwifeyyy so enjoy my Desi babies.(under the cut)

Xavier:

This boy is enthralled by you, its not just the golden tan of your skin that gets him, its those deep dark eye and luscious thick hair too.

Xavier is a foodie I can totally see him loving the Desi meal you both cook together (well you cook and he stands their holding your utensils for you, maybe pass the spices, will pout after handing the wrong one)

I see him as being a gol Gappay fan boy

Xavier will sit quietly and hear you talk about your people.

Also about the shenanigans of your relatives.

If you show him any nakhre, he will be confused at first but do his best to make you happy and fulfill your demands (and you will melt in an instant because...look at him!)

He strikes me as the guy to deeply appreciate the culture, and will actively try to learn more about it.

He will also be the kind that your parents will approve off, sweet kind caring, with government job and oh so innocent looking (but only we know the real deal hehe)

Xavier is also respecting of religion so if it comes down to it he will wait till marriage (tho I bet all boys will since they are respectful, and understanding and oh so very patient, So i won't be adding this point in the rest).

Xavier will partake in all your traditional festivities, and since your parents love him he will be there following you while holding your anchal (catch him glaring at the relatives who did you wrong lol).

Huge fan of saree's, will get you beautiful waist chains to wear over them with his initial on them (because of course he will).

Will give you nothing less then queen treatment because a that is what you deserve.

Will wakeup early just to see the the morning sun make your skin glow.

Xavier will sweep you of your feet so fast your own parents will push you towards the marriage, not to let a gem like him slip

Xavier loves when you put henna on your hand. He finds it so alluring.

I can see him holding your hand and lovingly trace the pretty patterns on it and then kiss the palm. And when he sees his name artistically hidden in the design, he.will.melt.

All blushy and giggly like the love sick fool he is.

"So does that mean we are now together forever my little star"

Rafayel.

Now this man will love the way you will dress, the vibrant colors and intricate designs of your clothing that sets you apart from the others.

He love LOVES that you wear your culture with pride.

Will buy you the fanciest of Bengals and most expensive jhumkas.

Will paint you in them, especially in the golden hours.

Sharara is his favorite because it makes you look like a princess in his eyes.

May or may not use your duppata to wear as his own (he wants to match with you come on)

Like Xavier will also hear you ramble about your relatives, but will not be quiet about it nu huh.

He WILL have a thing or two to say to them if they meet him ( but one glare from you and he is sat)

You parents do like him, yes, but most of the time they are like ???? While interacting with him.

Oh and if you show him nakhre, he will show YOU nakhre. (But you will win the contest ofcourseeee)

Rafayel not only respect culture he cherishes it. I see him integrating few things into his daily lives.

Also he will draw the most beautiful henna design on your hand, not just on occasions but anytime he feel like it, or you ask for it. (might do it on your whole body you never know)

He will share some of his lemurian culture with you too

And you both will end creating a mix of the two and make personal family tradition that will be followed with ages to come.

I feel like once you get to the point of marriage, Rafayel will make it such a beautiful and soulful day. He will be pulling all stops to make the dreamiest wedding come true, after all you are his beloved bride *sigh*

Zayne.

Congratulations you are your parent's second favorite now.

And you will be marrying him.

If zayne is not every Desi parents dream son-in-law idk what he is. (Tall, handsome and DOCTOR)

Now for zayne he loves you, so much. Everything about you is enticing to him. But damn it girl why are you getting dizzy every time you stand up.

Best believe he is going to take Care of your anemic ass.

Will ask for kheer whenever you feel like spoiling him and ask him what he wants you to cook for him.

Zayne is a shalwar qameez enthusiast I don't make the rules.

Its elegant, its classy, its comfy, hell he wears the men one whenever he can.

Especially with floral print and/or embroidery.

Will handle your nakhre like a pro, the fire is extinguished before it could even burn.

And he does it like its an honor for him, his sweet gentle smile and those loving eyes.

Yep zayne loves that he is the one...maintaining you (ykwim)

Brings you gajray almost everyday after work. He loves to see you wear them.

Zayne is the kind of guy will encourage you to embrace your feminity.(is thats what you want of course)

Loves your long hair, no matter the type but he seems like wavy hair kinda guy.

Will put flowers in your braids, jasmine specifically.

Zayne will also be the kind to listen and only speaking when you specially ask him too, he is a rock. The most reliable guy to have with you.

During family events he will socialize to show he is willing to be the part of, not just the family but the whole damn village (cuz you know we Desi have bi as fuck families.)

Zayne will come home to see you doing your thing weather it be work or reading or cleaning he just comes behind you and hug. "It was long day with out you meri Jan" (siiwskjsoshs).

Also also also after you are married he is the type to call you "begum" (I am throwing myself off a cliff aisisisiwow)

Sylus

Someone posted something along the lines that you will make this guy go back to his dragon roots the moment he sees you in a shiny lehnga and gold jewelry

Don't be surprised if you find yourself in a cave being hoarded away by him lol.

But no seriously he loves that you like gold or wear gold because now he has a reason to spoil you with the most expensive accessories money could buy

Now sylus is also a Saree guy but will also appreciate a lehnga too, specially when you do the twirl in them.

"Its for the culture darling" he says "the girls in Desi culture wear gold ear rings straight out of the womb" you have no idea who told him that, he just knows.

Loves it when you show him nakhre, cuz now he has a reason to spoil you rotten.

Your snobby relatives just don't exist any more lmao (jk jk...or am I?)

Sylus is also a foodie so whenever you make something for him he would be over the moon delighted, and will compliment with every bite.

This happens every single time no matter how long you two have been together.

Sylus will go above and beyond for traditional festivals. Will be doing the most honestly.

No you do not need that many pathakay, this isn't some kind turf war damn it sy.

Oh yeah your parents love him too he is so charming, suave and successful fruit seller. (They don't care where the money is coming from their daughter is now rich!)

Also out of all the guys I can only see him being a fan of cricket honestly so if you like that then you two will be having a blast watching it together.

Will stop you from throwing the TV when your team looses lol.

Sylus will always be there for not just you but your entire family, your Lil sibling got in trouble with the wrong crowd, Luke and Kieran are there to kick their ass.

Everyone's favorite damad jee.

And boy oh boy when you get to the wedding stage, yeah, this man is putting ambani to shame, mhm mhm.

Sylus will indulge in everything you ever wanted to do, will do everything your parents never let you do. He will heal that inner child of tours without even knowing.

Caleb

Cooking dates, cooking dates COOKING DATES AAAAARGH.

doesn't matter if you hate cooking, you will be sitting their like the pretty girl you are as he works around the kitchen cooking up the most banging chicken Tika biryani and all you have to do is keep your pretty brown eyes on him.

Caleb is a pilot of course your parents Love him duh.

Caleb is very possessive man so yes you will be accompanied by him where ever you are going. He just might the your duppata with his watch on purpose.

Caleb is more on the side of indo-western. He Loves you in Kurti and jeans and outfits like that but damn it you look good in everything how is he suppose to choose.

"Now we are stuck together for good pips"

Teases you about your nakhre, but will be bending over backwards to keep you happy.

Oh and you are only allowed to show him those nakhre, do it in front of any other male specie and he will be huffing and puffing and all up and over you.

"Pips let me do it for you, tell me what is it that you want?"

You two are getting Desi street food all the time even if he complains his cooking is better he will do it for you.

Caleb will occasionally snitch on you to your parents behind your back tho, but not to get you in trouble but to make sure his parents will trust him more to take care of you (hey in this house we like our men a little crazy)

What can I say he is just looking out for you.

You and Caleb will always be fighting for your lives during ludo and you will flip the board cause why is winning again and again, its YOUR game for fucks sake.

But if you want to short circuit his brain just put those pretty tanned legs of your on display, even tiny bit. He is gone. Caleb exe has stopped working.

When he confesses to you he does it in the mist sharukh khan way possible (ifykyk)

Is pretty sappy and romantic. On your anniversary he will learn and okay the song "suraj huwa Madham" on his guitar (ajwhwusjs)

Every time you bicker he makes it up with gajray as well.

[currentfandomkick]

Ok so how do we want this to start? With the court set up or begin with Jason being found by another ghost (maybe let Johnny and Kitty spot Jason and deal with being chased after and possibly assaulted by Batman while they are trying to get emergency treatment to Civilian Jason Todd as they clocked the core instability verging on collapse?)

Have it move to jason in the IR with The Unstoppable Mail Man helping escort him to the emergency room as a package. Kitty and Johnny run off to tattle to the IR Legal Systems about being attacked by another liminal for saving a dying corrupted halfa.

Dani is there helping get items she liberated from ‘haunt stealing mortals’ to get them to their proper homes in the realms. She has negative issues asking if any other groups knew about it and asks for a formal investigation to be launched into that particular dimension and timeline’s treatment of the halfa and the relationship between the Aggressive Liminal.

The findings are public record, and Dani keeps seeing Vlad Assumed Hero with everything she learns about this Bruce/Batman and how no one holds him accountable for what he does to his various liminal kids and clear lack of emotional boundaries—something deeply dangerous for liminals and halfas.

While Danny will be the judge, Dani makes a point to sit with Jason and bond with him as she’s been in his shoes. Someone who you think is good doesn’t see you as who you are, but who they want you to be and will do anything to force you into that mold, or have you die trying to force you into that mold.

Jason and Dani? Have a strange mentorship where Dani is mentoring Jason. He’s Her frightmate. Johnny, Kitty and Shadow have gained extended frightmate rights and also visit, helping stabilize the revenant-wraith-Justice-For-Ignored/ForgottenVictims-Seeker’s core bonds by being there as the rotting one to Bruce is surgically removed for Jason’s health.

There are debates over what to do with his other living frightmates—many who read as victims of Bruce’s emotional dependence on them since their childhood.

Those charges are to be handled later, especially the youngest born liminal with a child-brother-protection bond to Jason.

Meanwhile Danny is informed there’s a crime against a halfa and as the ‘head of the halfa clan’ he is expected to judge it. He is not allowed to know anything about the case until investigation and charges are settled on.

Sam volunteers to play security with Cujo for emotional support.

Tucker calls dibs on court scribe in part as he likes that job (he is letting on his babies do the work) and because he knows Danny will need him grounding him directly should these asshats try something.

Jazz is informed it is either her or another liminal allowed to take on the case. She meets with Jason and sees too much of the Dannies to not agree once he’s told what happened to him are Major Crimes in the IR and the trial is unavoidable. A failure to press charges in a trial would mean that halfas are the lesser beings that a chunk of the IR loves to throw back at the Dannies. That they will become like Vlad—a man driven by his own obsession to the point of trying to destroy the world when the object of his affections rejected him, as did the child of hers he deemed ‘perfect step child material’.

Jason agreed to press the charges. Not just against Bruce, but the whole JL. He knows they let Bruce grt away with a lot when it came to Dick, to him and even Tim and Stephanie. He can at least get Damian somewhere safer or force wellness checks by people Bruce won’t be able to bribe. Especially since the kid admitted to him he doesn’t want to be a vigilante like his dad. He wants to be a doctor and is trying to workout how to balance his volunteer hours, school and vigilante time.

Justice league judged through the eyes of a child.

Justice league, Dark Justice stood in a very, very large courtroom in the infinite realm.

The Young Justice and Teen Titans were in the front row seat with the Ghostly audience and as witnesses.

The court was in session for the Justice League and Dark Justice crime of Neglection and abuse of a Revenant close to collapsing due to a serious infestation of heavy tainted ectoplasm also known as Jason Todd also known as Red hood.

Jason, after he had gotten the proper care and cleansing blob ghosts weeks before to manifested shift in a proper halfa state sat on the other court side.

In ghost form, sat a 18 years old jason todd, in a reversed color palette robin suit that hasn't been seen since that very night.

The judge was a little boy with glowing white hair, neon green eyes with a DP hazmat suit, the court session being written by a modern looking pharaoh, the security were a lady who was similar to poison ivy except with black and purple hair and purple eyes with a giant glowing green dog.

The lawyer on Jason side was Jazz Fenton, and on the Justice League side was Dinah Lance.

And when someone were to ask why a Ghost king as a child was the judge afterward. There is nothing more honest than being judged through the eyes of a child.

[valkyriexo]

When You Start Getting Distant Because You’re in a Relationship | Maknae Line

ᑉ³pairing; Friend! OT8 x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Headcannon, angst

ᑉ³warnings; none I think!

ᑉ³authors note; You guys seemed to like the hyung line! Here is the Maknae Version Hyung Line

╰┈➤ Han

Tries to act like nothing’s wrong, but it’s so obvious something is. He still jokes around, still sends you funny messages—but there’s hesitation now, a nervousness in his texts that wasn’t there before.

Overthinks everything. Did he say something weird? Is he being annoying? Are you ignoring him on purpose? His brain runs in circles, making up worst-case scenarios.

Writes songs about it. Instead of telling you how he feels, he pours it all into lyrics....verses full of confessions, frustration, and so much longing.

Tries to distract himself with food and games, but nothing feels the same. Even his favorite snacks taste bland when you’re not there to steal a bite. His high scores don’t feel like victories when you’re not there to celebrate.

Gets weirdly competitive with your S/O—even if they don’t know it. If they post a funny joke, he has to post something funnier. If they do something romantic, he mutters, “I could’ve done it better.”

Has a hard time Dealing with his emotions. Emotions and Han Jisung don’t mix well...so it explodes out of him all at once.

"You’re really just gonna leave me behind like this?"

The words come out sharper than he intended, but he can’t stop them. His usual playfulness is gone.

"I mean, seriously—what happened? One second, we’re fine, and the next, I barely exist to you."

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t text first anymore. You cancel plans. And every time I try to talk to you, it’s like you’re already halfway out the door."

You try to explain, but he just throws his hands up.

"I get it, okay? You have someone now. But did that mean I had to lose you completely?"

His voice is quieter now, but his eyes, usually so full of light, are clouded with something else.

"I was supposed to be that person."

His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

"You think I didn’t notice? The way I felt whenever you were around? The way I’d drop everything just to see you smile?" He laughs bitterly. "I knew it before I even admitted it to myself."

Then, finally, his voice barely above a whisper—

"But I guess I was too late, huh?"

And for once, Jisung has no joke to cover up the pain.

╰┈➤ Felix

Tries to be supportive, even when it hurts. He forces a smile, tells you he’s happy for you, and pretends like his heart isn’t sinking every time you mention your S/O.

Still checks up on you, even if you don’t check up on him. Sends you little “Did you eat?” or “Get home safe” texts, even when you stop replying as fast as you used to.

Bakes way too much. His kitchen turns into an emotional war zone....cookies, brownies, cakes, anything to keep himself busy. But no matter how many sweets he makes, nothing takes away the bitter feeling in his chest.

Tries to keep up his usual affection, but it feels… different. He hesitates before reaching for a hug, pulls away too quickly, laughs a little softer when you ruffle his hair.

Plays video games as an escape. But even when he wins, it doesn’t feel as satisfying when you’re not there to celebrate with him.

Finally breaks when he realizes you’re truly slipping away. He wanted to be patient, wanted to be the good friend, but that didnt go as planned.

"You don’t need me anymore, do you?"

Felix’s voice is quiet, almost trembling, but his eyes are locked onto yours...searching, begging for an answer he’s afraid to hear.

"I mean… I get it," he laughs weakly, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You have someone now. You’re happy. That’s all I ever wanted."

He pauses, swallows hard.

"But… was I ever that important to you?"

Your breath catches, and he takes a shaky step back, hands clenching at his sides.

"Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore." His voice wavers, his deep tone softer than ever. "I’m still here, you know? I still—" He stops himself, letting out a quiet sigh.

Then, almost too soft to hear—

"I still love you."

It’s out before he can take it back, and when he sees your eyes widen, he lets out a small, sad chuckle.

"I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was enough just to be near you. But then you started pulling away, and suddenly, I wasn’t even part of your life anymore."

His voice cracks, and he shakes his head, looking down.

"I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I?"

When he looks back up, his usual warmth is dimmer.

"But it’s too late now, isn’t it?"

╰┈➤ Seungmin

Acts like he doesn’t care—but oh, he cares. His usual teasing gets a little sharper, his sarcasm a little more pointed. He pretends everything is normal, but his eyes tell a different story.

Stops reaching out first. If you want to talk to him, you can text him. (Except he still waits for your messages, still checks his phone way too often, still hopes.)

Gets quieter around you. Normally, he always has a witty remark, a playful jab...but now, there are more pauses, more silences that stretch a little too long.

Starts staying late at practice, distracting himself with work. If he can’t talk to you, he’ll at least be productive about it.

Refuses to admit he’s jealous, even when it’s painfully obvious. If someone points it out, he scoffs, “Jealous? Of what? Please.” (Meanwhile, his grip on his water bottle tightens.)

Finally breaks when he catches you actively avoiding him. He was fine with being second place.....until he realizes he’s not even in the running anymore.

"Are you serious?"

Seungmin’s voice is steady.....too steady. He stares at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something burning behind his eyes.

"So this is how it is now?" He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You don’t even bother pretending anymore, huh?"

You shift uncomfortably, and he shakes his head, jaw clenching.

"You didn’t even notice, did you?" His tone is sharp, but there’s something underneath it...something fragile, something aching.

"I stopped texting first. I stopped calling. I stopped everything just to see if you’d even care. And guess what?" He exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before meeting your gaze again.

"You didn’t."

The words hang in the air, heavier than either of you expected.

For a second, he looks like he wants to stop himself. Like he wants to shove the words back down. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Do you even know how stupid I feel?" His voice drops lower, quieter. "Standing here, saying all this, when I already know how it ends?"

Then, almost as if the confession is being dragged out of him—

"I liked you, you know."

A bitter smile tugs at his lips.

"Maybe I still do."

His fingers curl into fists at his sides, but his voice stays painfully steady.

"But I’m not going to beg for your attention."

With one last glance...one that lingers just a second too long...he steps back.

"So if you’re going to keep pushing me away, then fine. I’ll stop trying."

╰┈➤ Jeongin

Tries to play it cool but completely fails. He acts like everything is fine, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

Laughs less around you. Normally, he lights up when you’re near, but now, his laughter feels forced...like he’s just going through the motions.

Overthinks everything. Did he do something wrong? Did he annoy you? Or are you just done with him? His thoughts spiral, but he never asks, too scared of the answer.

Becomes awkwardly formal. Where he used to call you cute nicknames or casually tease you, now it’s just “Oh, hey,” and “Yeah, sure.” Like he’s putting up a wall between you.

Starts avoiding you, even though you’re the one pulling away. If you don’t need him, maybe it’s better if he keeps his distance too. But it hurts more than he thought it would.

He sees you with your S/O and realizes he’s not the person you run to anymore. He wasn’t going to say anything, but his heart doesn’t listen.

"Do you even miss me?"

The question slips out before Jeongin can stop it, and when you turn to look at him, his lips press together like he already regrets saying it.

"Because it really doesn’t feel like you do."

His voice is soft, but there’s a rawness to it....like he’s been holding this in for way too long.

"I get it," he says, forcing a smile. "You’re happy. You have someone now. But..." His voice trails off, and he lets out a small, bitter laugh. "I guess I just didn’t think I’d lose you completely."

You start to say something, but he shakes his head.

"I used to be the one you told everything to. The one who could make you laugh even on your worst days." He swallows hard, voice growing quieter. "Now, I’m just someone you used to be close with, huh?"

He looks away, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to keep himself together.

"I really liked you, you know."

The confession is barely above a whisper, like he doesn’t even want to hear himself say it.

"But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?"

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

ઇଓ networks

@skzstarnet @supernovanetwork @k-labels @straykidsland

ઇଓ Taglist

@stayceebs97 @everythingboutkpop @velvetmoonlght @ririwhiskers @ch4nn13luv

@stellasays45 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @changbiddies0325 @ayyonoona @mellhwang

@bowsnbang @jisungsbff01 @miin17 @lyracarvahall@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@sunoosfavsposts @kayleefriedchicken @yougottobekittenme @jaiuneamesolitaiire

@intrikatie @chrizzztopherbang @catlove83 @vernorica123@pixie-felix

Want to be removed? send me an ask<3

[pwnyta]

Okay first: Absolutely love your Stobotnik art. It's so expressive & lovely. I can't stop coming back to look at it 💕

Second, the movie vs. game au got me thinking, how would the progression of game!Stone from basically kidnapped to loyal henchmen go? I mean, movie!Stone presumably had a fair bit of time working with his Doctor as a government asset before they went AWOL. So how would this Stone deal with basically being dropped into the villainous deep end?

I imagine game!Eggman is doing his best to convince him to stay but like, how would he do that without seeming too invested? How would he give him enough room to get comfortable without risking him escaping? I mean, Stone is a government agent. And a capable one at that.

Also, what does Stone think of this? I imagine he knows Stockholm syndrome isn't real (he's way smarter than he lets on, otherwise he & the Doc wouldn't get along so well) so how does he rationalize that he's slowly getting attached? When do his loyalties shift? When does he finally admit to himself that it's not just admiration or a crush? That he wants to stay, for as long as the Doctor will let him?

Sorry for the long ask, my brain just latched on & the speculation got away from me 😅

One of the reasons Im not a writer is because I just dont think things through like that. I just go with w/e idea pops into my head and just leave it to everyone else to decide the rest.

HMM. Its a good question though! I sorta implied Stone knew of the Doctor before hand so maybe hes just a fan of his work to begin with so he has that soft spot and Ivo can just casually show him all the tech hes working on cuz he sees Stone get all starry eyed over it almost like Movie!Stone looked at him. Just wooing Game!Stone with cool tech and Game!Stone being very open to it.

I did do some more with Movie!Stone and Game!Ivo its not relevant to this but ya know... Just to say I also enjoy the AU. I enjoy more cartoony designs rather than trying to make a design myself that looks kinda like the actor but not all the way cuz I think its kinda creepy ya know? LMAO

Anyways have a very rough doodle

[witherby]

Hiya

Hiya El!! Just have a few questions if you don't mind. Sorry it seems s long and you'll probably not answer a lot of them but these are mostly just things I was curious about and I didn't want to send them one by one.

For Mouse:

~How were they when they started teething

~How did they come up with the Truce Juice concept in the first place? Like what inspired them?

~Can or will they murder someone if they hurt the batfam badly? Like the opponent was way too op and Mouse had to kill them to protect their family and home? Kinda like this ---> https://youtube.com/shorts/AP9izD4XWXQ?si=lGQ2qfK3VXB2JPXh where they dont regret or feel good about it, they're just...tired..

For Punchline:

~Would she like Sundrop/Moondrop from FNAF? What about Laughing Jack from Creepypasta? Pennywise from IT? Basically all the clowns/jesters from different fandoms, murderous or not, how does she feel about them? I feel like she'll vibe with Sundrop/Moondrop for some reason-

~Punchline meeting Ronald McDonald for the first time. How she feeling about him?

-🍨

Sundae, I love the influx of questions! I'm happy to answer them for you.

Littlest Wayne inquiries:

1. How was Flittermouse when they started teething?

Irritable! As an infant they were pretty quiet. Very little to complain about in their eyes — food, clean diapers, lots of arms to snuggle into, shiny toys to play with, etc. — so the sudden crying and lack of willingness to eat normally was a shock to the entire family. They figured out pretty fast that Mouse was teething, though, and adjusted accordingly.

Everybody except Bruce, who did not super enjoy being their sentient teething ring. He put up with it, though, because seeing you cry was worse than dealing with tiny teeth marks in his ankles.

You can read more about Mouse's mouth shenanigans in Teething, and Air Jail, and First Steps!

2. How did Flittermouse come up with the idea for Truce Juice?

During a hostage situation! They were representing the Wayne family for a charity auction when Penguin and his men crashed the event to rob the wealthy benefactors. Mouse overheard a couple of Penguin's long-time henchmen complaining about having to threaten restaurant owners in order to be served food and lamenting the days when they could just stroll into places like civilians. The wheels started turning then, and they confirmed the need for a "villain-friendly" eatery when getting held up in another hostage situation a month later by the Riddler, who muttered something about how much he missed getting breakfast bagels he didn't have to make himself.

A year, several cooking classes, and a very long and tedious hiring process later, they had a business!

3. Would Flittermouse ever take a life to save their family?

Fantastic question. If they had to, I think so! I can't think of a situation in which they would need to do that, or be put in a position that required taking a life to save someone else at the moment!

I think it would really, deeply, terribly fuck them up if they did, though. They would be forever changed as a person, and I don't think they'd come out of the shadows for a very long time afterwards.

Punchline inquiries:

1. Would she like the Sundrop/Moondrop daycare attendants?

Yeah!! Sunny is a performer, whose entire purpose is to entertain and amuse his charges! Punchline is a performer, whose entire purpose is to entertain and amuse her father! They're both clown/circus-themed, too! I think they'd get along extremely well, with the only clashing points being Punchline's tendency to get a laugh through violent means.

Moondrop, to the best of my knowledge, though he is another circus-themed unit and literally part of Sunny, wouldn't get along so well with her. Punchline only sleeps when her body shuts down and succumbs to exhaustion, and Moony's job as the nighttime/nap-time attendant is to put children to sleep. She would be very resistant to a nap, and he, famously, does not respond well to disobedience!

2. How would Punchline feel interacting with Laughing Jack, Pennywise, or IT?

Not great!

Punchline can respect a jester theme! That's not the issue! She's just not super big on murdering children or secretly being dark Eldritch abominations who instill terror and fear into the hearts of all. Clowns are supposed to be funny! If you're not getting a laugh, why are you dressed like a clown? She doesn't find them entertaining, which is a death sentence to her father.

3. How does Punchline feel about Ronald McDonald?

This clown is everywhere but he just sells happy meals! Not a single joke in the repertoire? What a capitalist loser! Take the clown shoes off if you aren't gonna work for them!! Say something funny!!!!