#<- no idea if i should use these or not but whatever

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 2

Pasta. Small talk. The period topic because it had to come too. Super senses. But you’re not exactly out of there yet. Less misfortune for you now, at least. Part 1 here

cw: menstrual cycle and talking about it, still implied fem reader, use of Y/N, another ton of cursing, Romance’s idea of flirting in general, could be a hard read there and there but it’s on purpose!! awkward conversations make the best relationships or whatever they say

AN: guys I promise this is not Romance and Abby centered, it’s just their nature to be always on your dick—y’all will get more of the others too, but they need time to come around!!

Honestly? They’re kind of dumb.

Not in a tripping over their own feet way. Not that dumb, but still not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

They’re good at this—the keeping you here part. The manhandling. The mind fuck that keep you pacing your room at night, jumping at the way Baby sometimes just… appears. They’re good at being demons. Good at playing with you like a cat does with a bird.

But smart?

That’s a generous word.

Abby, bless him, is basically the muscle brain ever. His biceps arrive before his thoughts do. And sure, he can lift you like a dumbbell and still smile, but when he talks? It’s like being dropped headfirst into a gym locker room.

Romance is smarter, in that street level, scammer way. He’s slick, talks fast, moves faster. But his brain is wired for one thing and one thing only: women. You. Them. Himself in the mirror. If it’s got a curve, he’s distracted. If it doesn’t, he’s bored. He can strategize, technically. He just doesn’t unless the reward is worth it.

Baby’s different. Not loud. Not muscular. Not flashy. But the thing is—he’s mean. Not necessarily with words, because Baby rarely speaks unless it’s worth it. But you feel it. The kind of low-level, ambient danger that simmers under that baby-faced grin. He’s not dumb. He’s just petty and doesn’t care to try harder than necessary.

He doesn’t need to know what the capital of Switzerland is when he knows how to make you panic with just a glance.

Mystery… Mystery is a different species altogether. Half-feral, part-theatre kid. You don’t know if he’s smart or not because he doesn’t talk. Just growls. Attacks. Watches you.

Never attacks you, though. Only the boys. Respect for that.

Once you saw him reading a book upside down. For twenty minutes.

And then there’s Jinu.

Your only real threat.

Because Jinu listens. He thinks. And unlike the others, he doesn’t laugh when you try to outsmart them. He watches you. Quietly.

He knew you were hiding a pin under your tongue before you even tried to pick a lock. He knew you were faking sleep before your breathing even slowed. He knew not to touch you when you were crashing out, not because he was scared of you—none of them are—but because he understood.

Understood the human part. The fragile, messy, emotional mess they’ve taken in and turned into their favorite little chew toy.

He might be the warmest.

The others mess with you because it’s fun.

Jinu’s the one who might actually understand what he’s doing to you.

You’re not even sure which is worse.

For an example, once you were walking past the kitchen, and you heard Abby in there, trying to explain to Romance why you can’t toast eggs.

“It’s not the same, bro.” he was saying, voice full of conviction. “Like, they’re both breakfast but one’s, like, a solid and one’s like… an egg.”

Romance, clearly entertained, just nodded. “Okay, but what if you did toast it, though? Like, what happens?”

You froze behind the doorway, staring into the middle distance.

You heard a wet splat. A hiss. A beep that did not sound like it should be coming from a toaster.

Baby walked past behind you, muttering, “Told them not to microwave the shell.” before disappearing.

You didn’t even have the strength to ask.

Smartest captors in history? Absolutely not.

Most dangerous because they’re unpredictable dumbasses? Tragically, yes.

And you’re stuck right in the middle.

Send help. Or maybe a better toaster.

Now though, the kitchen is quiet.

No distant grunting from Abby bench-pressing the living room coffee table. No bone-deep growls of Mystery body-slamming someone for breathing too loud. No Romance humming some song into your ear just to see if it’ll get you to slap him again (he lives for it).

Just you. And a pan. And some half-decent pasta.

The water hisses gently on the stove. You stir the noodles with a slow rhythm. It’s almost domestic. The life you once had before being stolen away.

You’d found the pasta by accident, digging through their absurdly stocked pantry—who even bought this stuff? You doubted any of them cooked. Or even knew what half the ingredients were.

So pasta it was.

Then, the sound of a door slamming open.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

“Angel?”

You don’t even have to turn. That voice is unmistakable. Smooth, way too close, Romance.

Then he’s right there, chin hovering just over your shoulder, arms caging you between him and the stove.

“Is that for me?” he breathes, voice dropping into a murmur that’s clearly meant to make your skin crawl—in a good way. “You shouldn’t have, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t.”

Then, “Y/N?”

This one’s louder. Dumber. Friendlier.

Abby.

He leans on the counter like he’s helping, but mostly just manages to look huge and tragically eager.

Romance sighs dramatically beside you, stealing the spoon right out of your hand. “This isn’t how you stir it.” he mutters, absolutely lying. “Let me show you. Elbows in, baby.”

You snatch it back. “I will strangle you with linguine.”

“Threaten me again.”

They’re unbearable.

Abby grabs a piece of uncooked pasta from the counter and crunches it loudly, nodding. “Mmm. Chef’s kiss.”

“I hate all of you.”

Romance presses in closer, whispering so only you can hear, “Say that again but slower.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

Then behind them, near the arch that leads into this part of the house, you catch movement.

Mystery.

You look at him. He doesn’t say a word—does he ever?—but he nods. He nods a little.

He wants pasta.

You blink. That… was actually really cute.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. They’re evil. Not just morally—they’re emotionally evil. Sadists with pretty faces. They’ve kidnapped you, tortured you, kept you trapped.

They shouldn’t get pasta.

But then your mind does that thing again—betrays you with kindness. You think of all of them, hundreds of years old and utterly brainless, probably never having had someone make them dinner just because.

When was the last time someone fed them with genuine love? When was the last time anyone saw them hungry and gave instead of demanded?

You don’t have to ask to know the answer.

So you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. But you reach for another pot anyway.

“Fine.” you mutter, already boiling more water. “But I swear to god, if one of you breathes on me while I cook, I will throw this spoon.”

Romance grins, settling back like he orchestrated the entire thing. Abby lets out a victorious whoop, clapping Mystery on the back, who merely blinks at him, probably wondering why humans—and their hybrids—are so goddamn loud.

They linger.

Abby tries to help by opening the jar of sauce like you’re weak. Romance throws a towel over his shoulder and starts calling himself “Chef Daddy.” Mystery does nothing, which is somehow the most helpful of all.

You keep cooking. Because fuck your empathy. And maybe fuck all of them too.

But also… maybe not yet.

Because Romance had this look on his face like he just caught scent of a very interesting meal.

It was you.

He leaned against the counter, spoon still hot from the pasta pot in your hand gently tapping at his shoulder, which he absolutely refused to take as a rejection.

You didn’t budge. Instead, you reached up with the spoon and nudged his forehead with it.

“Back. Off.”

He stepped back obediently—exactly one step. Then came right back in again, eyes dark and dancing. “Why? You’re so fun when you’re bossy.”

You shoved the spoon at his chest again. “I will put this boiling water in your pants.”

“I’d consider that pleasuring.”

“Out.”

“Make me.”

So you started to. Not seriously—more of a push than a shove, the spoon becoming your makeshift weapon as he kept leaning in, melting into your space. Every time you pressed him back, he’d disappear for half a second, then return, closer.

You shoved.

He smiled.

You swatted.

He leaned.

This went on for an embarrassingly long time.

It became a game. Not one you agreed to, of course, but it was entertaining. You pushed with the spoon, he came back with a wink. You stepped on his foot, he gasped, but it didn’t hurt him.

Abby didn’t help.

He stood by the fridge, watching with unreal levels of enthusiasm. Loved the show, really. Eating handfuls of raw pasta while at it.

Meanwhile, across the room, Mystery was sitting on one of the stools, elbows on the counter, watching the chaos with unsettling patience. Every now and then, he tilted his head slightly.

When you glanced at him, he blinked. Nodded.

“Don’t worry.” you said to him, half-exhausted, half-warmed by the tiny approval. “You’re getting your pasta. You’ve been good.”

Romance sighed, letting his head drop back. “God, I love it here.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I can tell.”

Then Jinu came into the kitchen too. After a shower, you’d guess, he looked fresh. Yeah, def a shower.

He was unbothered by the heat in the kitchen, or the chaos of Abby biting dried pasta again like a literal caveman. His eyes immediately went to the pot, then you, then Romance standing far too close with the grin of a man who had never been told no as many times as he had today.

“Everything fine?” He checked.

“I got harassed.” you replied dryly. “Repeatedly.”

Romance waved. “Hi.”

Jinu didn’t ask further. He never needed to.

Meanwhile, Baby finally showed up too—he was probably in his room—plopping down on the sofa with the smugness of someone who knew the pasta would appear eventually and refused to waste energy until then.

He didn’t say anything, of course. Just snorted at you as you turned back to the stove, one hand keeping Romance at bay, the other stirring the pot.

You were feeding demons now.

And they loved it.

“You know,” Romance purrs, voice smooth. “if you ever get tired of stirring that pot, I could give you something else to—”

You press the wooden spoon flat against his chest without even looking. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Baby, I was just gonna say knead. For dough. You really think so low of me?”

You press the spoon to Romance’s forehead.

He lets it rest there, unbothered.

“I’d make it good, you know. I’m not all talk.”

He wants that cookie.

You shove the spoon against his mouth. “Back. Up.”

“Feed me and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Abby’s laugh booms in the background. He’s practically vibrating from how funny this all is to him.

Romance leans his chin on your shoulder. “We could have a normal evening too, you know. You and me. Candles. Lighting. Towels.”

You elbow him in the ribs, again.

But he doesn’t move. He just stays there, chin balanced lightly on your shoulder, humming quietly and beautifully to himself, spoon still resting against his lips where you’ve frozen mid-shove.

It’s ridiculous.

Romance drapes himself halfway across the counter now, cheek in one hand, the other idly tracing little circles in the air as he watches you with a look that says he thinks this is foreplay. Slow blinks. Loose lips. That permanently lazy, sinful smirk.

You jab the spoon into his chest and shove.

“Back.”

Romance stumbles half a step but returns instantly.

You do it again.

Push. He retreats.

Returns. You push.

Retreats. Back again.

“Oh, angel, so rough.”

Push.

“Is this what you’re into?”

Push.

“You and me, we could have rounds, baby.”

You pause at that one.

He grins. Real smug.

Yeah. He said it. Or no—offered it. Boldly.

He wants that cookie BAD.

(He absolutely needs that pussy I’m not even kidding.)

You jab the spoon harder this time, jamming it right between his ribs with a grunt. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hm.”

Abby’s behind him, absolutely wheezing, not even trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this little routine. He’s got one hand braced on the fridge, shoulders bouncing.

So that’s two pasta bowls. Well, three, if you count Romance, though he seems far more interested in eating you than anything with carbs.

You roll your eyes and keep stirring. This used to be your job, after all—feeding hunters. You were the background person. The gear girl.

Jinu moves past Romance and Abby—giving neither of them more than a glance—and reaches for a glass of water.

“I could help.” Romance says, leaning in like it’s a secret. “I’m good with my hands.”

You swing the spoon up so fast he flinches.

Abby cackles.

You turn your back to him just to focus on plating, but you’re smiling. Just a little. Because for all the bullshit, the teasing, the chaos—they’re… oddly easy to fall into.

Then, instinct. Like muscle memory, like the part of you that used to trail behind the girls and silently hand them this and that. The part of you that feeds people because that’s just what you do.

So even as you’re fighting off Romance with a spoon, your mouth betrays you.

“Do you guys want some too?”

Silence. Immediate. Unforgiving.

Even Romance pauses. That grin still carved across his face, but for a fraction of a second, he blinks—once—like he’s recalibrating something.

Your face burns.

Too late to take it back.

Jinu, standing near the sink now, glances up from his glass of water. His eyes find yours. Level. Patient. You brace for some kind of comment. Anything. A joke. A smirk. A deflection.

Instead, he just tilts his head slightly, and nods once.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

That’s it.

Of course, the moment Jinu answers, Baby perks up from the couch. You don’t even have to look. You can feel it.

You glance over, and sure enough, he’s got that same unbothered look on his face. One knee pulled up on the couch, head resting against the back like he was born lounging. His chin lifts just slightly, that lazy sort of nod. Like he’s saying, “Yeah. Me too. I’m not about to say ‘please’ though.”

You sigh. “Okay. Pasta for five it is.”

Romance reaches out to touch your skin.

The spoon swings.

He dodges. Barely.

The garlic sizzles, sauce heating up in the pan. Mystery is still lurking by the counter, calm but observant. You wonder, sometimes, if he even eats human food. Or if he just likes the idea of it.

Meanwhile Romance is watching you with his chin propped in his hand and that usual look—smug, flirty, lazy. Except it’s not just lazy anymore.

It’s lingering.

The way you move, the little sounds you make when you stir the sauce, the way your nose wrinkles when you pout. You look like every girl he’s ever wanted to seduce and none of them at all.

He watches the way your shoulders roll when you lean over the counter, the way you slap Abby’s hand away when he wants to eat dry pasta again.

He could be in love with you.

Could be in love with you for a whole night in a king-sized bed for sure.

But also?

He’s starting to think he could be in love with you a little longer than that. A little slower.

His chest actually aches a little when you hum while plating the food.

He likes you in a way that makes him feel… young. Human. Almost stupid.

Abby, despite the meathead bravado and the shit-eating grins, watches you like someone who’s never really been taken care of.

He sees you move with purpose. The way you mutter numbers under your breath, checking the water levels, making sure everyone has a plate, a fork, a goddamn napkin. You’re on autopilot, maybe, but it actually means something to him.

You’re a little addictive.

He flexes near you sometimes. On purpose. Sure. He enjoys the way you roll your eyes and tell him his ego’s bigger than his chest. But deep down? There’s something grounding in you.

You’re tiny. Mortal. Fragile. But you got this way of swinging that spoon and facing five demons like you’re not even scared.

He likes that.

He doesn’t think about love. Not really. But if someone asked him to pick a girl to guard for the rest of his immortal life? Yeah. You’d be on the list.

He wonders if you’ll ever cook like this for someone who loves you. Really loves you.

And he kind of hates the idea that it won’t be him.

Mystery doesn’t understand half the shit you do. Not in a language sense—he gets the words. But the meaning, the little things, those human rituals, are harder.

Still, he watches.

You interest him. He’s never had anyone that close before, not without claws drawn, not without blood on the floor.

He watches how your chest rises when you sigh, how your fingers flinch when oil spits, how your neck tenses when the others crowd too close. He likes when you fight them off. That fire. That bite. You’re small, sure. Delicate, in that mortal way. That makes him feel better about himself.

He’s just watching. Not creepy. Not really.

Curious.

Your towel moment earlier still replays in his brain. The way your legs moved. How soft your thigh looked when you kicked Abby. He remembers softness. Barely.

You made him not want to snarl and want to snarl at the same time. Though the second one might be just because of all the new feelings.

Baby hasn’t said a word. Not a real one. He’s sprawled sideways on the couch with his knees up.

But he’s watching.

You don’t see it, not really. He’s good at being lazy. Detached. But every time you move, his gaze tracks you. He doesn’t flirt like Romance. Doesn’t joke like Abby. Doesn’t hover like Mystery.

He just watches.

And when you bend forward to grab the plates, the tip of your shirt riding up just an inch

Yeah. He’s looking.

You’re so… human. In the exact way he’s forgotten people could be. You breathe like someone who expects to wake up tomorrow. You speak like someone who knows how the world works. You make pasta.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he was fed without being manipulated.

Maybe he never was.

So yeah, he’s watching. And the look he wears isn’t just perverse. It’s intrigued. Interested.

You’re growing on him, whether he’ll ever say it or not.

And then there’s Jinu.

Still by the sink. Still sipping water, though the glass has been empty for a while now. He’s not thirsty. He’s thinking.

You’re an anomaly.

When he first saw you—struggling, kicking, furious in Romance’s arms—he figured you’d scream yourself hoarse and eventually give up. People collapse under pressure.

But you sulked. You bit. You kept making breakfast.

He sees it in your eyes—quiet intelligence, ruthless practicality, and something else he can’t quite pin. Compassion, maybe. That doomed, bleeding-heart sort of strength. It’s frustrating. Admirable.

And he feels something pull when you scrape sauce into the pan. Something small. Maybe stupid.

He’s glad it was you.

Out of all the humans. Out of all the possible options.

He’s glad you’re the one here.

He wonders, briefly, what your life might’ve looked like if none of this had happened.

And then he hates that he cares.

You click off the heat, twist your wrist, and scoop that steaming, creamy, cheesy pasta into mismatched bowls.

“Alright. Eat. Before I dump it all in the trash.” you say, loud and so fucking clear.

They’re moving.

You don’t even turn around to look anymore—you can feel them converging. Sharks to blood. Hyenas to bone. Fuckass demon boys to pasta.

Romance sighs loudly, arms up like he’s just come home from war. “Ugh, I knew I was in love.” he says to no one in particular, grabbing his bowl and practically moaning after the first bite. His idea of a thank-you. You roll your eyes so hard your neck cricks.

Abby ruffles your hair on the way to the counter—big hand, too warm. “You’re the best, short stack.” he grins, teeth gleaming, before lifting two bowls (his and Romance’s, obviously) with one hand and strutting off, Romance right behind him.

Mystery just slides up, grabs his bowl, and nods once—slow and respectful. A knight’s gesture. His way of saying, I won’t growl at you for the rest of the night.

High praise, honestly.

Jinu is last. He doesn’t rush, ever. But when he takes his plate, he meets your eyes again, gives a small smile—a real one, soft and rare like a whisper—and murmurs, “Thanks.” Just like that. Quiet. Real.

And then there’s Baby.

You glare at him already as you pass him his food, just because.

He doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t even nod. Just takes the bowl like it was owed to him, curls his pretty lips into that tiny, smug smile and stabs his fork into the noodles like he’s trying to kill it.

You mutter, “You’re welcome, Your Highness.” and storm off before you throw something at him.

You slip into your room and shut the door with your foot.

Click. Lock slides in.

The room is still warm from earlier. Your bed is unmade. The little hoodie you haven’t worn since the first week lies forgotten on the chair. You place your plate down, sit on the floor, and finally take the first bite.

Perfect.

But that’s not what gets you.

No, it’s the absurd realization—once again—that you just made dinner for five demon boys who kidnapped you.

And worse?

You’re the one who told them to eat.

You.

You did that.

Fucking hell.

And yet… you chew slowly. Rest your head back against the side of the bed. And breathe.

It’s quiet now.

For once, they’re not poking, teasing, calling through the door. No flirtatious taps, no dumb scratching, no towel-related things.

You can almost pretend for just a second that you’re here on purpose.

Like you’re a roommate.

Or a girlfriend.

Or…

No.

You stopped that now.

…

(idk how to make a timeskip w vibe)

It’s about an hour later.

The house is quiet now, blessedly dim. The kitchen has gone still, bowls left half-eaten in the sink because of course no one cleaned up. Baby probably tossed his fork onto the floor just to annoy others. Romance probably left his somewhere suspicious, like on the bathroom counter. Abby probably flexed at himself in the hallway mirror on his way to his room.

But none of that is your concern right now.

No, right now—you’re in your room.

Alone.

In peace.

Your sanctuary. Your cell. Same thing, honestly.

Oversized T-shirt that falls just barely past your hips and a thong. You’re not trying to be a slut, just comfortable. Your skin’s clean from a quick shower. Your limbs are warm and soft and your book is finally open in your lap, spine bent.

You’ve finally exhaled.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You freeze.

You already know who it is. You don’t need him to say a damn thing. That knock is practically trademarked.

“Hey.”

Yep. Abby.

His voice is cocky, light. Way too familiar. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the door. Your face scrunches up like you just smelled something rancid. You don’t even get up.

“No!” you call out, still seated cross-legged with your book. “You can’t. I’m literally in a thong!”

THUMP.

A thud, really.

A full body collision with your door.

Followed by—

“FUCK—”

Groan. Pained.

That was Romance.

You blink. Your jaw drops. You clutch your book.

Did… did he just run into the door?

Did the word “thong” break his entire sense of spatial awareness?

Outside your door, there’s shuffling. Coughing. Romance muttering something like, “My fuckin’ nose” followed by Abby’s absolutely delighted, obnoxious laughter.

You can hear it so clearly.

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside. A shuffle again. Possibly a slap. You imagine Abby’s smacking Romance in the back of the head, because that’s definitely what you would do. You already know Abby’s face is pressed against the doorframe, smiling, arms probably crossed over that ridiculous chest of his.

You shut your book and slap it on your lap, expression blank. Then you shout again, louder this time “GO. AWAY.”

There’s a pause. And then: a muffled giggling sound. High-pitched. Unholy. Absolutely not okay.

You hear shifting.

A breath.

A low hiss like someone just whispered something they shouldn’t have.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back against your pillow.

They’re grinding into the fucking door, aren’t they.

You sit up just enough to yell, “I swear to God, if you’re humping the door, I’m out of here!”

From the other side, laughter. Messy. Guilty. Absolutely unapologetic.

“Just the idea of you in a thong, babe.” Romance groans. “Why would you say that? Why—why—would you tell me that?”

You glare at the door. “BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE YOU GO AWAY.”

You sit there for a good one minute from that, doing your best impression of someone who is not highly aware that two overgrown demon boys are still stationed just outside your bedroom.

You don’t even try to read anymore. You know they’re out there even if they’re silent.

Romance had gone silent, but not gone. You know that much. And Abby? Abby has the subtlety of a grenade. You can hear the occasional, suppressed laugh. A little foot shifting. A deep sigh of exaggerated suffering.

You throw your blanket off with an annoyed grunt.

You’re so done. Beyond gone.

You stomp across your room in your stupid big shirt and even stupider thong, muttering curses under your breath. Fists clenched. Eyes narrowed. You reach the door. Breathe.

And open it.

Immediately, a body drops to the floor.

Romance, apparently, had been sitting right against the door. Probably with his ear pressed to it. Definitely waiting to ambush you with some stupid line or desperate plea. Instead?

Now he’s laid out on the hardwood, one leg awkwardly folded under him, hand still up like he’s trying to casually greet someone if u know what I mean.

His head turns. His eyes lift.

And there you are.

Standing over him.

Towering.

In nothing but your big shirt.

And your thong.

And his face is exactly level with the sacred, forbidden place between your thighs.

Romance gasps.

Like, literally gasps.

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it. You watch the awe crash over his face like a wave—lips parting, pupils dilating, body going completely slack on your floor. Utterly starstruck.

You don’t even cover yourself. You just blink down at him, tired. So, so tired. “Are you done?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on the space where your thighs part. You swear you can see the popcorn pop from his eyes.

“ROMANCE.”

He blinks.

“—Huh?”

“Get off my floor.”

He doesn’t move.

Behind him, leaning coolly against the hallway wall, Abby is just watching. Arms crossed. When he sees your eyes flick over to him, he raises a brow and smiles.

“Hey, cupcake.”

You step over Romance’s splayed body—he whimpers, actually whimpers as you do, and you don’t even ask questions anymore—and plop down onto your bed.

“Alright.” you mutter. “What do you want?”

Abby shrugs and walks in. He flops down beside you, his weight making the mattress dip, knees spread, like this is his bedroom too and you’re just the guest.

Romance finally drags himself off the floor, but not before another try of sneaking one last look under your shirt. He gets an angry look from you for that. Not that he minds. Probably because of it.

Then he slides onto the bed too, flopping dramatically across the mattress. His arm brushes yours. His skin’s warm. His head lolls onto your shoulder and he sighs, dreamy.

You should tell them to leave. You should throw them out. But they’re warm. They’re here. And for once, they’re not demanding, or teasing (well, not a lot), or plotting.

They just… wanted to be around you.

They’re not here to flirt.

They’re not even here to torture you, mess with your head, or demand information through grinning teeth and “accidental” touches.

They’re just… here.

With you.

And they don’t know how to do it.

Romance, still curled at your side like he’s never sat this close to another living thing without grinding against it, shifts and says:

“So, uh… how do you feel about… blood?”

You blink. Look at him.

He blinks too.

Abby chokes on a laugh. “Dude. No.”

“What? That’s a conversation starter.”

“That’s a fucking threat, man.”

Romance frowns. “I’m trying.”

You sigh. Push his forehead gently back with two fingers. “You sound like you’re trying to eat me.”

Romance’s eyes sparkle. “Would that work?”

“NO.”

“…Okay but if I said it softer—”

“Romance.”

“Alright.”

They fall into silence again. Not the heavy kind. The awkward kind. The what do we say now kind.

And it hits you:

These ancient, powerful demons who’ve probably fought gods, torn souls from bodies, destroyed empires—don’t know how to have a normal conversation.

They’re smart in ways that count when there’s fire and blood and strategy.

But here? In a bedroom?

Absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

They don’t say it outright—god forbid they ever just say what they want—but it becomes clear pretty quickly: they didn’t come in here to grope you, tease you, or steal your panties for some demented demon ritual. (Although if you left them out, you’re pretty sure at least two of them would still risk it.)

No, they just… wanted to hang out.

“So… do you, uh… eat?” Romance asks, voice unsure, like he’s never asked a real question before and isn’t sure he’s doing it right. “Like, for fun?”

“…What?”

Abby snorts.

Romance frowns. “You know. Like… just… eat? Even if you’re not, like, starving?”

But his face is earnest. So serious. So confused.

You realize it’s a genuine question.

They’re trying.

Clumsily. Awkwardly. But really trying to have a normal, human conversation with you.

And failing.

So painfully failing.

Abby adds something next, equally off the rails: “Do you… sleep flat?”

“Like, on your back?” Romance says, suddenly invested.

You blink twice. “Do I what?”

Abby shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just wondering.”

This isn’t torture. This isn’t manipulation. This is… two demon boys who don’t know how to people.

They’ve been around humans before. Of course they have. They’ve scared them, maybe seduced a few. But this? Not a chance for them.

“I can teach you.” you say softly, watching them both lift their heads like dogs hearing a treat bag crinkle.

Abby’s brows arch. “Teach us what?”

You smile, gentle and a little mocking. “How to talk to people. Like… humans.”

Romance sits up, leaning in like you’ve just told him the meaning of life. “You’d do that?”

You shrug. “You want to know, don’t you?”

They nod.

“Okay.” you say, folding your legs under you and facing them fully. “First step, small talk. Start with something simple. Like ‘what’s your name,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color.’”

Romance blinks. “…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That feels stupid.”

“That’s the point.” you say. “It breaks the ice.”

Abby leans in now, elbows on his knees, studying your face. “Alright. You’re the expert. Let’s see it.”

You smile sweetly. “Ask me something.”

Romance clears his throat. “…What’s your name?”

You grin. “You already know my name.”

He glares. “I’m practicing.”

“Okay, okay.” you laugh. “Try again.”

He nods solemnly. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“What’s your favorite… animal?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Hmm… cats, maybe.”

Abby is watching you with a rare softness. “…Do another one.”

“Alright.” You think. “Ask about hobbies. What do they like to do in their spare time.”

Romance cocks his head. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“I like…” You pause. “Stand up paddling. SUP. Have you ever heard of that?”

Both of them stare at you.

“…S’what now?” Abby finally asks.

“SUP. It’s like a big board. You stand on it. Paddle across water. Lakes, the ocean, whatever.”

“That’s… real?” Romance asks.

You nod, grinning. “Very real. I love it.”

They both just… watch you. And not in a gross way. Not even in that I want to undress you with my eyes way Romance usually leans into.

They’re watching you like you’re the moon. Like you just said something impossibly beautiful, and they don’t know what to do with it.

“If you want to talk to a human girl—or anyone really—you start by asking something normal. Like… what music they like. Or what they had for breakfast.”

They both blink. That’s it. Just blink.

“…You ask people what they ate?” Abby asks, genuinely confused.

You nod. “Small talk.”

Romance looks concerned. “Isn’t that just a weird way to track someone’s dietary weaknesses?”

You groan. “No, it’s not about poison, oh my god.”

They watch you like children learning how to hold a crayon.

You soften.

Okay. So they’re terrible at this. But they’re trying. In their own… wrong way.

And that—that does something to you.

So you sit back against your headboard, legs tucked under you, and begin teaching them how to talk.

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “When you want to talk to someone, especially someone you… like” you choose your words carefully “you ask about things they care about. Things that make them light up. Memories. Hobbies.”

Abby raises a hand.

You squint. “Yes, muscle-for-brains?”

He grins. “What if the thing I care about is you?”

You groan, but can’t quite hide your smile.

Romance leans in closer. “Okay, okay—so like, I should ask you… what makes you happy?”

“Exactly.” you say, stunned he got it. “That’s actually… yeah. That’s right.”

He beams. And it’s annoyingly beautiful. His eyes crinkle. His lips curve.

“Damn, I’m good.” he says proudly.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Too late.

You look between the two of them and sigh again. But this time, there’s something warmer in your chest. Like… pity, almost. But gentler. Familiar. Like watching stray cats try to figure out how to meow at the right pitch to get someone to feed them.

“Alright.” you say. “Let’s practice. Abby, ask me something a normal person would ask someone they like.”

Abby sits up a little straighter.

He thinks. Really thinks. You can almost see the gears creaking in his skull.

Then, with all the confidence in the world:

“If you were an animal, would you let me ride you—”

“Try again.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhh…” His expression softens just enough that it surprises you. “What’s the best thing that’s happened to you this year?”

You pause.

Then blink.

Huh.

“That’s actually… really sweet.” you murmur.

Romance nods. “Yeah, man.”

You smile. And you answer, just a little. Just enough to let them practice. They listen. Like, really listen. And when you give them a pointer—“don’t interrupt,” “smiling helps,” “use their name sometimes”—they actually nod, soaking it up like sponges, eyes wide, brains buzzing.

Romance, who usually can’t keep his eyes above chest level, is just… listening. Watching your mouth move. His hands still for once.

Abby, isn’t smiling now. He’s watching. And when you catch him doing it, he doesn’t look away.

“Okay.” you say after a small breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you glance between them—two demons sitting awkwardly on your bed, desperately trying to look casual and not like they’re both on the verge of falling in love with the same girl. “Now it’s your turn to answer.”

Romance perks up immediately, cocky little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ask me anything.”

Abby just nods, one arm slung lazily over his knee.

“Alright.” you say, drawing in a breath. “What’s your favorite color?”

Romance: “Red.”

Abby: “Black.”

You blink. “Alright. What’s your favorite food?”

Romance immediately: “Whatever you’re cooking, baby.”

You shove him lightly, biting back a smile. “Seriously.”

Abby hums, thinking. “I had pizza once. It was… stupid good.”

You blink. “You’ve had pizza?”

“I’ve been around.”

You try not to picture that. The demon boys—scattered across decades, slipping in and out of cities, tasting food for the sake of curiosity, hunger, or just to feel something. It’s weirdly intimate, knowing that some of their experiences are so… ordinary. And still out of reach.

“And you?” you ask Romance.

He leans in a little. Not to flirt, not this time. Just… leaning. Like he wants to be closer to whatever this is.

“I remember once,” he says slowly. “there was this stall at a market in… I don’t know, Prague maybe? Early 1800s. Meat pies. They were greasy. Burned my tongue. I liked that.”

You study him for a second. The way his lashes lower just a touch.

“How long ago was that?” you ask gently.

He shrugs. “A while.”

You nod.

Abby watches you with quiet eyes. He hasn’t said much. Maybe because he doesn’t know how. He’s all strength, sure, but even now you can see it—that lost-boy softness under his armor. The way his shoulders settle just a little when he looks at you.

So you ask him something next. “What do you like to do for fun?”

He snorts. “Fun?”

You nod, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah. Not fighting. Not seducing. Not soul-selling. Fun.”

He looks down, thinking hard. And it kind of breaks your heart that it’s hard.

Romance takes over. “He likes lifting heavy shit.”

“I like punching Romance.” Abby mutters.

You laugh. “That’s a hobby?”

Abby finally meets your eyes. “It is when he squeals like that.”

“Bitch.” Romance murmurs, shoving him, and you giggle.

They’re not just bad at human conversation. They’re bad at being human. Period.

Somewhere between the centuries of war and death and demon deals and killing things, they forgot. They forgot how to talk without needing something. How to touch without taking. How to exist without destroying.

And it shows.

It shows in the questions they ask. In how slow they talk. In the way Romance stares at your lips a little too long, not because he’s being a flirt but because he’s trying to figure out how you make words sound so soft. In the way Abby looks down when you smile, like it’s too bright, too much, like he’s not worthy of being seen by something that pure.

They’re so old. You feel it.

Not in their faces. Not in their bodies. They’re still stupidly hot, of course but, they’re tired.

So tired.

You wonder when the last time was they sat on a bed just to talk. You wonder if they even remember what normal feels like. You wonder if—

“You alright?” Romance asks suddenly, tilting his head, brushing his knuckles against your knee.

You blink, coming back to now. “Yeah. I just… I was thinking.”

You don’t blame them. Not really. Even after everything. Even after the kidnapping, the torture, the mind games, the way they keep you like a pet in a house you can’t escape. Because you see them now. A little clearer.

You’ve always been too soft for fucked up things.

“What else?” Abby asks, voice quiet now.

“Ask someone what they love.” you say, swallowing a lump in your throat. “That’s a good one. What they love doing. What makes them feel like themselves.”

And the room goes still. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… quiet. Like they’re both thinking the same thing.

That they don’t know the answer.

That maybe they haven’t felt like themselves in a long, long time.

And you sit there between them, quietly wondering… if demons can fall in love the way humans do.

And if so—

Are they starting to?

You sit back, resting your palms on your lap, the hem of your oversized shirt draping over your thighs.

“You guys are actually really fun, you know?” you say, words a bit shaky from the weight of your honesty. “I know that’s not the goal here or whatever, and I know none of us asked to be in this whole situation, but… you’re funny. And weird. And charming.”

Romance’s mouth opens like he’s about to make a joke out of that, but nothing comes out. Just this little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Abby looks surprised. Not stunned. Just… touched. Like maybe he hasn’t heard a compliment that didn’t involve his biceps since the civil war.

You glance down at your knees, then back up, slowly. “I mean it. You make me laugh. And you make me feel… less alone in this, I guess. And this—” you wave your hand in the space between you “—this is communication, too.”

They both blink.

Romance squints slightly. “What is?”

“This.” You gesture again. “What I just did. Sharing feelings. Being honest. Not in some dramatic, cry-on-the-floor way, just… expressing something real. It’s a kind of language.”

“Oh.” Abby says slowly. “So that counts?”

You nod. “That is communication. Just like when someone tells you what they like, or don’t like. Just like when they laugh at your jokes. It’s all part of… understanding someone. And being understood. I think you can be good at this.” you say softly. “You’re just… rusty. Out of practice. Maybe no one ever taught you how.”

They’re quiet again.

You glance toward the clock. Then flop back on your bed with a sigh, resting your head against the pillows.

“I’m also communicating,” you say after a beat, one arm thrown dramatically over your eyes. “that I’m tired.”

They both blink.

Romance points at you. “That’s communication?”

“Mhm. This one’s going to kick you both out in a second.”

But they don’t move. Not yet.

They just sit there—on your bed, in your space, in your warmth—looking at you like maybe the last few hundred years didn’t make sense until this exact second.

Romance’s brows pull together like he’s got something stuck between his teeth—something that might be a thought, or a feeling, or both. “So like… how do you know when you’re communicating too much?”

You raise an eyebrow. “When the other person stops listening.”

They both nod slowly, absorbing that.

Then, as if choreographed:

Romance: “I’m listening.”

Abby: “Me too.”

You groan. “I’m tired. This is me saying leave. This is me—communicating.”

Romance puts a hand to his chest. “I respect that.”

And then lies back beside you on the bed.

Abby follows, sitting against your headboard.

You sit up halfway, eyes narrowed. “This is not respecting anything.”

Romance grins, eyes already closed. “Just communicating how comfy your bed is.”

Abby lets out a deep breath. “Communicating how I might nap.”

But you don’t tell them to go again. Not yet. Because maybe you like teaching them. Maybe you like the feeling of giving something small and kind to creatures who’ve only known blood.

Maybe… this is your own form of rebellion.

So you reach over, grab your pillow, and throw it over Romance’s face.

…(cutie timeskip again guys how do I make it look good w this form of writing paragraphs)

They had slept in your bed. You had every intention of kicking them out. You swore you would. And then… warmth. Just a little shoulder pressed into your back. A breath falling slow and steady beside your neck. A chuckle that rumbled into your spine. It was nice.

They didn’t even try anything, for once. Though Romance had definitely tried to stretch that definition when he asked you, point blank, “so… does spooning count if there’s tongue involved?” He got a pillow to the face for that, obviously. But otherwise that, they just stayed close. They liked you. You could feel it in the way Romance stilled when you shifted in your sleep, like he was ready to grab you if you fell off the bed. You could feel it in the way Abby woke up before you and pulled the blanket a little higher over your body, like his muscles had finally found a use other than threatening or flexing.

It was… hard to process, actually.

Romance curled into your back, breathing softly against your neck and humming now and then like he was thinking of a song only he could hear. Abby had been your wall, broad and solid, warmth radiating off of him. You didn’t speak much. None of you did. There wasn’t really anything to say.

But god, it had been nice.

You’d woken up warm too, with one leg flopped over Romance’s hips, Abby’s hand lazily curled around your wrist even in his sleep. Neither of them commented on it in the morning. Just… yawned, stretched, and let you walk away.

That was two days ago.

You don’t let yourself think about it too long. Here you are again, crossing through the living room on your way to the sauna.

You’ve got a towel tossed over your shoulder, a bottle of water in one hand, and your flip-flops make quiet thwack-thwack sounds on the floor. You’re in your comfiest shorts and a top that might be a little too fitted, but you’re past caring. It’s your me-time.

You glance up as you pass Baby, slouched on the corner of the couch like a little prince. He looks like he doesn’t give a single fuck about your existence, and yet… his eyes are locked on you. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But he’s listening. You know it. You don’t bother saying hi. Neither does he. That’s the rhythm between you two.

Jinu’s in the kitchen, doing something quietly, back turned.

A tug on your leg.

You freeze mid-step.

There’s a hand on the fabric of your shorts, right near your thigh, tugging just enough to make you stumble. You turn slowly, your towel sliding slightly down your shoulder.

Mystery.

He’s curled on the couch, one leg up, looking up at you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

And your heart? It does this stupid thump thing, because this is Mystery. The one who growls more than he speaks. Who communicates in grunts, body checks, and the occasional perfectly-timed, absolutely terrifying death stare.

God. Okay. You breathe out a laugh that comes out a little breathless. He’s trying. He’s actually—trying.

“It was… fine.” you say softly, eyes narrowing just a little. “Yours?”

He opens his mouth, pauses, seems to forget what words are—and then his head darts sideways, toward the hallway.

You follow his gaze.

Romance and Abby are standing just far enough down the hall to be out of sight for you, but not for Mystery. Both of them pressed flat to the wall, not even hiding the way they’re watching like proud moms.

Romance gives a big, exaggerated thumbs up.

Abby nods like he just watched his kid graduate college.

You look back to Mystery. He hasn’t moved. Still holding the edge of your shorts, still looking like you might eat him if he messed this up.

Oh. Oh.

They taught him.

They used the shit you taught them and passed it along. Mystery, who probably had never asked someone about their day without also threatening to eat them, had practiced this. Had agreed to it. Had tried.

Your chest tightens with something warm. Too warm.

“It was actually a little boring.” you say, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “I read. Napped. Thought about breaking a few things. But now I’m going to the sauna.”

Mystery nods, slow and satisfied.

And then, miracle of miracles, he lets go of your shorts.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too much. “That was small talk, you know. You did it.”

He tilts his head. “Was it good?”

“Yeah.” you say, genuinely. “It was really good.”

Mystery leans back, curling his leg underneath himself again. You watch as his fingers twitch, like maybe he’s already mentally rehearsing what he’ll say next time.

You shoot one last glance down the hall.

Romance is clapping silently. Abby does a little victorious fist-pump before turning and vanishing from sight.

You keep walking.

Since that, life had been… weirdly manageable for the last couple of days. You’d found a rhythm: dodging Mystery’s curiosity, swatting Romance away with wooden spoons, pretending not to notice when Abby flexed on purpose just because you happened to be walking by, letting Jinu pretend he wasn’t watching you. Even Baby, asshole that he was, started giving you something like respectful silence. Not kindness—but he hadn’t licked your spoon just to piss you off in like, three days. A record.

Until you got your period.

You sat there on the edge of your bed for a full five minutes, blinking slowly into the void, your body already starting to get that annoying cold-sweat feeling. You debated it. Debated and debated it until there was nothing left but the obvious.

You have to ask.

You have to ask Jinu to go buy you tampons.

Because he is the only one out of the five who would a) not flirt with you during this humiliating mission, and b) actually come back with the right size and not lube or condoms just to be funny. Romance would definitely buy you a vibrating tampon “for the experience.” Abby would get lost in the aisle. Baby wouldn’t go. Mystery would growl at the store clerk and end up on a watch list.

So. Jinu it is.

You pull on a hoodie over your too-large sleep shirt, dragging your feet down the hall. His door is half open, of course—he has that habit, always just slightly ajar.

You knock anyway.

“Jinu?”

“Come in.”

You do, hands wringing at the sleeves of your hoodie, eyes not quite meeting his. He was sitting on the bed, elbows on knees, phone in one hand. Calm. Alert.

That bigass cat/tiger is next to him, watching you. You like that fatass but haven’t really had the chance to interact with it yet. It comes up to you sometimes. You talk to it. It walks away. That’s the usual rhythm.

“Hey.” you say, almost sweet. “So, um. This is kind of awkward, but…”

Jinu just raises a brow. “You need something.”

“Yeah.” you say. “Kind of a… girl thing. I mean, obviously. I just—could you maybe go out and get me—”

“You’re bleeding.” he says, not unkindly. Just… factually.

You pause. “Oh. So you believe me?”

Yeah, you might have tried to pull the period card a few times to escape. Obviously, it never worked.

He sets the phone aside. “I can smell it.”

“Oh.”

Jinu just looks at you, serene as always, and adds, “We all can.”

FUCK YOUR LIFE<33

You groan into your hands, your entire body folding in on itself. “That’s disgusting.” you mumble.

“It’s biology.” Jinu replies.

You peek up at him through your fingers. “So what, everyone’s been just… casually aware?”

“Probably. They haven’t said anything.”

“Oh good.”

“I’ll go.” he said, already reaching for his jacket.

You exhale, finally letting your body slump against the doorframe in relief. “Thanks, Jinu.”

“You’re welcome.” he says. “Take something for the pain while I’m gone.“

“I owe you.”

And then he left, just like that.

Jinu, please come back fast.

You made it back downstairs somehow. You didn’t know how. You disassociated at some point around the base of the staircase and came back to yourself in the kitchen.

Of course, that’s when Baby walks in, gives you a once-over, snorts, and keeps walking. Not a word. Not a single syllable. Just that awful, knowing look. The smugness.

Followed by Mystery, who tilts his head slightly in your direction and does that sniffling thing you now recognized was NOT a cold.

You want to cry.

And then.

Then came the worst.

Romance.

Leaning on the fridge.

“Y’know,” he said casually. “some cultures think it’s a sacred time.”

You don’t even look up.

“I will hit you with a tampon. Don’t test me.”

“Do I get a choice in where?”

“Romance.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Just saying. Nature’s got you glowing.”

You reach for the nearest spoon.

He backs off immediately, chuckling all the way down the hall.

Abby, mercifully, hadn’t shown up yet. Probably off lifting a car or doing squats with Mystery on his back. That was good. Abby was not known for his subtlety. You did not need to hear anything about “female cycles” in that big golden retriever voice of his.

Jinu, true to his word, returned an hour later.

He told you he asked a lady there and fans followed him around.

God.

Fuck him for being good at everything.

This life was ridiculous.

But the heating pad worked wonders.

Anyways, quick topic change,

Humans were foolish. That had always been true.

Weak, irrational, predictable, full of desires they couldn’t control and attachments they couldn’t explain. Obsessed with meaning, choking on dreams. And the boys had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Humans screamed and cried and made art and made love and still, in the end, they died as soft and breakable as they had arrived.

So yes. They were above most humans. Far above.

They couldn’t afford to love humans. Not anymore. Because loving something that would die before you even began to understand it? That was suicide on a hundred year timer.

But you made silly expressions when the stove was too hot. You muttered sarcastic threats when they teased you. You tried to cut fruit perfectly symmetrical. You thought of everyone else before yourself and cursed yourself for it later. You were soft in a way that didn’t weaken you, but opened you instead. You spoke gently when they were awkward. You taught them things without mocking them. You saw the worst of them—kidnapping you, locking you up, testing you—and you were still nice. You helped them learn how to ask, “How was your day?” And maybe, for you, it was just a moment. A kindness. A lesson you offered like a flower you didn’t mind giving away.

But for them?

That was the first goddamn flower they’d held in centuries.

Romance told himself that it was just lust. At first.

Of course it was. He was Romance. He lusted. He loved. He prowled.

He would’ve hit it, honestly. He’d hit it seven times in one night in a king-sized bed with candles and jazz and let you ride his face into the afterlife.

It had started with your face. Sure it did. He’d been watching you since the night he dragged you out of that shower, your mouth open in shock and your wet hair dripping down your back as he told you, so gently, so intimately, to speak or be stolen.

You hadn’t spoken. He’d never loved you more.

That was new.

And exciting.

Abby, sweet dumb Abby with muscles for brains and that golden glow that always made you sigh.

He didn’t get his feelings. He didn’t try to.

He’d been worshipped before. Respected. Feared. Adored. But he started standing taller around you. Tried to be funnier. Nicer. Lighter.

He just liked seeing you move. You were so small, so alive. Tbh he missed when you used to run. That first week? When you’d slip out of your room in the middle of the night, sprinting barefoot down the hall? When he’d catch you, laughing like a fucking idiot, spinning you around while you kicked and screamed and cursed him?

Yeah. He missed that.

He liked what he liked, and what he liked was you.

He knew that when you smiled—like, really smiled—it made him want to do pushups until the world ended.

And that he couldn’t say no to you. Ever. Not even once.

He didn’t have the words for it, not the way Jinu or Romance would. But he knew this: you made him feel full in a way taking souls never did.

Mystery didn’t process it like the others. He just… stared.

You were interesting. You moved differently. You didn’t fear him, even when you should have. Even when he growled, bit, scratched—tested your patience—you treated him like a person. Not a weapon. Not a dog. Not a threat.

He followed you without meaning to now. Watched you stir your coffee. Tried to figure out why your heartbeat changed when you read romance books. Sniffed at your shampoo when you walked by.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

And when you answered his awkward “How was your day?”—his first ever attempt at small talk—he felt something shift in him. Something… warm.

Something that hadn’t existed in him for a very long time.

Baby would never say anything.

Ever.

Not to you, not to them, not even to himself.

But he watched. He always watched.

You were good. A much better person than him.

He still wouldn’t thank you. Still wouldn’t talk about it. But when he walked by you in the hallway and bumped your shoulder with his as lightly as possible?

That was something.

He didn’t talk to you much, no. But he listened. He always listened. And the fact that he’d now killed three spiders for you without a word?

Total love language.

Jinu… Jinu didn’t fall.

He chose.

And in you, he saw something—bright, determined, stubborn and sweet. Something unselfish.

He didn’t think it was love. Not yet.

But it was something.

And in all the centuries he’d walked this cursed earth, there hadn’t been many somethings worth keeping.

You? You might be the first.

They were demons.

Older than a lot of religions. Tired of the cycles. So tired.

And then came sweet, stubborn, soft hearted you.

They had no business loving you.

What could a human ever offer them?

What did you matter, with your little hands and your sleep-stuffed eyes and your soft, stubborn heart that kept beating even when they broke it open a little?

You didn’t even fight them anymore. Not the way you used to, at least. There was no more throwing things at their heads, or trying to crawl through the vents (twice, and Mystery bit you the second time), or crying to be let go in that hoarse, desperate way that used to make Abby’s jaw clench.

Now you woke up quietly. You padded around the apartment with tired, careful feet. You cooked. You spoke softly. You answered questions with dry sarcasm and patience that stretched longer than they deserved.

You were sweet.

Too sweet.

And that sweetness did something to them that centuries hadn’t.

But how long can they keep that to themselves?

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy

[writing-munchies]

Self Aware & Obsessive AU x GN!Reader— Date Everything (Dorian, Curt&Rod, Daisuke, Doug, Mateo, Amir, Johnny, Hector, Eddie&Volt, Mac, Daemon, Tony)

A/N: This idea from @devilmaymetalgear really hooked me in, and I wanted to write a quick little something! I see your requests, and I'm planning to combine them for general NSFW HC's so they should be out quicker! There are suggestive themes sprinkled in. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

WC: 1K

⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚

You’re doing your 4th re-run of the game, it’s late, and you’re not really paying attention to whatever options you’re clicking as you pull up front Dorian for a chat. You accidentally press the dialogue option that lets you leave the house and your heart drops, you’ve made so much progress, and now it’s all going down the drain— but you blink, you wait, nothing happens. Dorian is just frozen there, with an expression you’ve never noticed on his sprites before, the dialogue box is empty and there are no choices. After a few minutes, he sighs—the dialogue frame is still empty— and then you’re forcefully exited out of the interaction. That was strange but, probably just a bug! The game just came out after all, plus it saved your ass big time, so you just saved your game and went to bed.

Most of the time life and work get in the way of your hobbies, and sometimes you’re forced to work overtime for 2 days and not play a single minute of your new favorite dating game. Finally, the weekend arrives, and you boot up the game, the ‘trivia’ that you expect to read every time now only says, “They’ve missed you.” That’s…weird, probably a new welcome back thing the devs implemented to make you want to play more. You finally get into the game and the second you put your dateviators on, Curt & Rod, Betty, and Dorian pop up at the same time. Each of their dialogue boxes empty, and they’re all speaking over each other before the game just crashes.

Odd, you re-start and everything is fine. You go downstairs and aim your glasses at scandalebra, but somehow, Daisuke is the one that pops up on your screen. He does his usual greeting, you’ve already finished his route though, so this glitch cost you a chance. You sigh and skip through before the game stops registering your clicks and Daisuke seems to be staring right at you. Is the DLC doing this? As you’re just waiting, Daisuke finally speaks, “My love, why do you wish to waste time with the likes of him?” he sighed, “I’m right here, all yours, and you haven’t even looked at me for weeks. Are you… bored with me?”, there aren’t any choices you can select.

One time you aim your glasses at Johnny and Amir is there instead. He’s got this… look on his face, he’s blushing, and he just can’t seem to form any words. But trying to click through his empty dialogue does nothing, so you just wait. Before he could even speak, though, your game completely freezes and in seconds you’re somehow in the breaker room? Eddie & Volt greet you like nothing’s wrong, “Live wire! Ah, we’ve missed you, where have you been?” Volt said in this, eerily cheery tone of voice you’ve never heard from him, then Eddie started talking, “not good to ignore your boyfriends for too long, we could start getting jealous, y’know?”

You’re so close to finishing Abel’s story quest, and when you go over to him, you find out that one of his legs has come loose out of nowhere. Tony won’t come and fix it, no matter how many times you call for him. You go over to Tony, much to Abel’s dismay, he looks way more cheerful than you’re used to, “Ah, and to think I thought you’d forgotten about little ol’ Tony for that fucking table. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, want to show me how sorry you are for ignoring me now that you’re here?”

You’re talking out loud to yourself about how this time you’re going to finally romance Keith and when those words leave your mouth your bedroom and bathroom door close themselves shut. You click and click, but Dorian just won’t open. You aim your glasses at him, the only thing he says is, “Sorry, luv, don’t feel like sharin’ you today,”

When you aim your glasses at your fridge, you expect Freddy and somehow the character standing in front of you is… Doug? “Look, I know I’m just a concept made form, but even I need some action time to time from my lover. Get your ass here and stop talking to that hairy fridge. I missed your dumbass.”

You’re talking to Curt & Rod, and you’re pretty sure they aren’t supposed to say, “Look, we know you’re popular,” Curt says, then Rod continues, “and we totally get why… I mean, look at you baby!”, Curt then chimes in, “but y’know, we do want you for ourselves the most. Why don’t you, ignore them for a while and come cuddle up with us? It’s been a while, lover.”

You talk to Mac once first thing in the day, and now the rest of your charges are gone! You try aiming your glasses at them again just to see, and it actually works, “I can get a little possessive, but you do understand, don't you?”

You do not remember about a literal sex scene where Hector and the player (you) are experimenting with temperature play as he’s breathlessly moaning your name when your character shivers, “Ah my love, seeing you so vulnerable all for me while they are watching makes my heart so full that it could burst.”

Somehow, every day a new inanimal goes missing, and you have to spend hours with Mateo to find them, somehow he doesn’t mind this at all, somehow the inanimals look chirpier than ever when you click on them.

You don’t even remember there being a shower feature, let alone how your character got into it, but the way Johnny is looking at you and the way he’s talking about your body like it’s the really expensive looking piece of cake in a bakery window tells you he’s loving this. “You look… amazin’, downright ethereal, am I allowed to… get a feel for myself, gorgeous?”

Somehow every time you try to talk with Diana, your diary, Daemon shows up. They say nothing, just look at you with a blank face, until one time you got so over it that you closed and opened the game again. Once again, aiming your glasses to Diana, yet Daemon shows up. They laugh at you, “Ah, opposite of hate, is it that hard to see you belong only to me? Since now, they know what they are too, I’ll stop being ‘special’, will you still talk to me then?”

[thousandyearphantombunker]

they also claim that certain traits (any disability or birth defects) have to be incest and while I think doing the incest is bad for multiple reasons- one, a lot of traits associated with incest aren't always caused by incest and two, trying to justify hurting people who were born out of incest is fucking disgusting and Jesus Christ the classism and ableism presented is fucking gross.

Stop moralizing different appearances, disabilities and stop associating disabilities with races- it's not only encouraging racism/lookism when you do that but your also implying that having blue eyes, or hemophilia, schizophrenia, or fragile x is shameful and that people with those disorders don't deserve life. You are stigmatizing a disability and using it as a weapon for racism or misandry or homophobia etc and that's gross to do on both ends

Also if you believe that blue eyes or albinism or blonde hair or freckles is the result of a person having an evil lineage or whatever bullshit these asses say

First of all- disabilities occur in anyone and their are black people who can have freckles, there are people who never had anyone with albinism in their family who have a kid whose albino, etc. and even if these traits were the result of their parents making deals with Hitler and Satan in their basement (which is so fucking untrue- some people just fucking have certain mutations) or they were born out of an unfortunate situation like incest- you shouldn't be a fucking asshole- the people born with these traits born of bad circumstances aren't their parents. A person being the child of rape isn't an indicator that they are evil and must die. A person being of German descent with blonde hair and blue eyes doesn't mean that they are related to Nazis and even if they were they are not their ancestors. A baby being born with a cleft lip or weird foot isn't a fucking sign the kid is bad- same way having dark skin or red hair says nothing about a person. Their is nothing shameful about having darker origins if you have them- you shouldn't be ashamed. There is no shame in having certain physical features and they aren't an indicator that a person is evil. They can be indicator of disability and being disabled isn't a shameful thing yes even if your disability was the result of your parents idk smoking or drinking while pregnant (I am in no way saying that you should drink while pregnant that is a horrible idea don't do that) or some other ting- it's not shameful to have a disability- using physical features to indicate intelligence or a person's future or whatever is not only factually wrong and racist but also its ableist.

We place so much value on intelligence, physical strength, speed, mobility etc when that never indicated anyone's worth. We place too much emphasis on beauty and appearances when that also says nothing about a person's worth. We make stupid connections between appearances and said strength and intelligence and everything else. Connections that don't really exist and don't really matter any way.

Having a flat nose and full lips and dark skin isn't a sign of lower intelligence or aggression issues

Having blue eyes and blonde hair isn't a sign you are the child of the evilest men in history

Being short doesn't mean your weak

And even if you are the child of idk a Nazi or abuser or something that is no indication of your moral character- you aren't your parents

And if you have a disability physical or mental that can be seen through physical features like skinny arms or an odd headshape or eye space- well that's okay. Yes even if the cause of your disability was something dark or bad your parents did. Your physical strength or speed or abilities to speak or bathe are not something that indicates your worth. And again we are not the people we are descended from

there is this annoying trend where for example someone will like. reinvent phrenology and someone will point out " you know the nazi's believed in that" and then response they'll go "oh so i should make sure my phrenology isn't racist or anti-sematic!" because they don't understand that assigning physical traits to intelligence or morality is still bad no matter what, not just because "people who i know are objectly bad share those beliefs for the wrong reasons" and this happens everytime.

[27spoons]

what do you think it would be like if bratty pillow princess!reader was with mean dom!post crash nat 🙈

- 🐈‍⬛️

so. like. okay. I know this says post-crash, BUT post-rescue fits the narrative in my brain better HEAR ME OUT—

mean dom!post-rescue nat thoughts (hcs? idk bro same difference) under da cut. lowkey way longer than i thought it was gonna be the creative juices r flowing

nsfw obviously

nat who gets rescued and craves some form of control, so she finds that in being a dom.

whether you were out there with her or not, it doesn't matter. she just wants to feel something real. even if it's only a brief sexual encounter.

so she keeps a TIGHT grip on EVERYTHING in the bedroom. did someone say control kink?

(it was me i said it)

think power play and orgasm denial... yeah..... yeah....... she likes to give you pleasure more than she likes to receive it. if she's topping, in my mind, she'll push you until you break, and you have no choice but to give her control. probably coaxing you into a subspace without even realising it until ur GONE.

low tolerance for brattiness. let's you push ONCE, then she's done fucking around.

you tease. maybe you say something like "make me" (typical brat line), "why should i?", or "i don't wanna". nat just scoffs in response. you forget she played soccer, sometimes. but she is still FAST. you're pinned to whatever surface is closest, and you both know damn well this is exactly what you both wanted.

drops degrading names (but not cruel—never cruel) names like it's second nature.

i.e.: "you're just fucking needy thing tonight, huh?", "yeah, nothin' more than a hole tonight, aren't you?" "fucking annoying brat." "mm. my useless pillow princess. just built to take what i give you."

ohhhhhhhhhh nat with a thing for restraints. belts, handcuffs, pinning your wrists, spreaders... whatever she can get her hands on, she's using on you.

thinking about a nat who doesn't want you touching her unless she says so, but you just won't listen. maybe she's fully clothed and you're naked (we'll come back to this later), so she takes her belt off, ties your wrists together behind your back, (with a little bit of struggle from you, of course) (double cuff, too. you have no idea how she got so good at doing it so fast, but you aren't complaining), and forces you to behave.

she isn't into praise.* *unless she's the one giving it.

the first time you praise her, it's something casual. maybe she's eating you out or fucking you with her fingers. you whisper "god, you're so good," without thinking anything of it. i mean... she's fucking you good, so it just felt right to say, yk? WRONG. nat freezes for half a second. you think you've done something wrong. she pulls back, and you really think you've done something wrong. you didn't. not really. not when she is returning with a vengeance—fucking you into the mattress. she gives it. she doesn't think she deserves to hear it back.

will ABSOLUTELY 100% make you beg. she needs to hear it. needs to hear that power dynamic stated out loud.

mean!dom, yeah? yeah. so she's not breaking. whining? she's heard it before. silent treatment? she expected it, try something new. this woman has an unbreakable will. she will not fold. so, when you finally crack? when you finally give in and start begging? this fucker smirks like she expected it. like she knew this was always gonna be the outcome. "yeah? took you long enough. was wondering when you'd finally fuckin' beg. all you had to do was give in, princess. we could have done this hours ago."

that being said, she will punish you for teasing.

it varies, but odds are it's gonna be her returning that teasing tenfold. fingering you with no rhythm... switching it up the second you seem like you're getting somewhere... "tch. i don't think you deserve to feel that good right now." overstim... telling you "oh, bullshit. we both know you can fucking take it, princess. stop actin' like you can't." when you start whining and squirming away from her........... thinking about her eating you out... but she's not properly eating you out. kitten licks, tongue barely touching you, ghosting her breath across your aching cunt instead of putting her mouth where you want it..........

buries her own softness under cruelty. deflecting with harsh words, changing the topic immediately... you name it, she's done it.

lbr. we know nat is a softie at heart. but. it's easier to be mean than admit she has that side of her. any time things get even vaguely emotionally intimate while you guys are fucking, she brushes it off without even thinking about it—even, and especially if she was the one to let her guard down. nat scoffs, as if she wasn't the one who was just thinking about being soft with you. her grip tightens on your waist, her thrusts get sharper, and you already know you'll be able to feel her for days, even if you don't know why she all of a sudden started fucking into you like you had personally wronged her.

she gets meaner the closer you get to coming. in every way.

physically? she starts snapping her hips into you, like she's trying to force you over the edge before she says you can. hell, even if she isn't inside of you (strap or if she's packing heat, we don't discriminate here!!), her movements get harsher and more erratic. think her fingers hitting your gspot every time and sending sharp waves of pleasure through your already sensitive body, lips attached to your clit like it's something she needs to breathe, free hand gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise.... yeah.... verbally, she mutters stuff like: "you don't get to come until i fucking say you can." "i don't think you've earned that right, yet." "aww. that close to breaking already? we've barely started."

doesn't do aftercare unless you've earned it. she thinks it's a privilege, not a right.

let's say you were particularly bratty this one time. constantly pushing back... refusing to give in until you're basically forced to... constant bratty comments... the works, you know. she still has some niceness in her body, so she doesn't push you into subspace and leave. she's not that mean. but. you still get fucked mindless. not useless mindless, but mindless enough you really can't think about anything that isn't her. but she just leaves you there once she's done. leaves you panting and boneless on the bed, naked and slick with sweat, and wipes her hands on a discarded shirt and tosses it to you. "what? you thought i was gonna dote on you after all that shit you pulled? (scoff) clean yourself up, princess. maybe it'll knock some sense into you. teach you how to behave. (it doesn't. you do it again.)

𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓽𝔂 bonus:

she cracks when you're asleep. or, well, when she thinks you're asleep. tender touches. whispered words that she would never repeat in the light of day.

"god, you were so good tonight," nat whispers against your temple, fingers idly running through your hair. "you have no idea, baby. so good." she kisses your temple softly, eyes fluttering shut as she let's the calm wash over her. "you didn't deserve that," she mumbles, the sound barely audible. "i didn't mean for it to go that far. sometimes i just... don't know what to do sometimes." a deep exhale leaves her nose, and she seems to tighten her hold on you, like she's trying to keep you here. like you would leave.

[riemanifests]

You can achieve anything.

If you knew you would 100% succeed at anything, what would you do? what would you manifest? what skills or hobbies would you get into? write it all down. write down every single thing. every idea, every goal, and every achievement you want to complete. and don't overthink it or filter it, write it from the soul no matter how small, big, unique, or crazy it is. this is for you being true to you, so do it. to make yourself think from a free perspective, ask yourself this: "if i knew i could 100% succeed at anything, what would i do?" the reason i bring that question up is because it's easy for us to find many excuses to hold ourselves back. one of the common reasons is fear of failure, which is something i have gone through terribly over the years. however excuses are just excuses, and there's nothing that can truly hold us back but ourselves. see we're not our identity, our labels, or even our history, we're just beings. unlimited beings at the core who are everything. who has access to any and everything. so your true self does not have any limitations at all, they can do whatever it is they want at anytime and succeed. so when you go back at that list i want you to know that you can succeed in doing all of those things. maybe you won't be perfect and maybe it wont be 100% successful, but you have the chance to do it. another thing is, well not knowing how to even execute your ideas or get into those things. they may seem like big mountains that you're just not trained to climb at all, but that is why you start with baby steps. start studying those who are into those things, the people who have mastered those things or done them, and learn from them. find inspiration. i think you can find inspiration in everything so start surrounding yourself with what it is you want to achieve, and it'll become more normal to you. take little steps to get there, something is better than nothing. sometimes you just have to start things and figure them out along the way. sometimes you need to do a bit of trial and error to learn before you find your flow. but that's okay, because you have the ability to do it. if you persist and never see failure as an option, you will achieve what it is you want to achieve. there is no true failure in my opinion, there is just trial and error. the only thing that could happen is you give up, but that's a choice. never failure, it's not real. for a long time my soul has silently suffered because i am not doing the things i want to be doing or expressing myself as who i am freely. it's not even that i want to be a master at them or that i don't know how i can do those things, but i still hold myself back. so don't do that to yourself because your soul deserves to shine. it doesn't matter if you end up doing it and you're average at it or not exactly doing it the traditional way, as long as you're happy then it's worth it. time is never a waste when you're doing the things you want to be doing. with manifestation we can cultivate a mindset that aligns with where we want to be in certain things and even manifest our success in those things. but again you're everything. there is already a version of you within who is a master at those thing. so remember, the true self can do everything and has already done everything. you are an unlimited being. and if you fear judgement? don't. find a way to be authentically you and not care about what others think. sure you might lose some people but that means those people were not meant to be around you. there are so many others on this planet who will love you for you. you should give your soul the freedom to express itself freely not try to be an altered version of you for anyone else, that's a prison and you are not a prisoner. you are an unlimited being and there are those out there who will love the true you. some people may never know the real you but if you do and you're allowing yourself the freedom to be that person, then you are already doing so much more for yourself. so remember, think with your possibilities not your circumstances.

[laurasauras]

i highly recommend this whole video but it IS three hours and i know that's a big commitment

the following is a tl;dr. the video provides excellent, well-researched evidence, which is why it's three hours long. please don't try and debate this with me because i didn't make the video and these aren't my points, i'm just summarising.

by opposing AI so strongly, we give the corporations and right-wingers ownership of the pro-AI and pro-technology side, which we can't truly win the fight against. it's out of the box. we've been working towards it since the 50s and it has no useful definition that excludes other technology (hence every software being marketed as having AI in it). we should probably instead fight for a future in which AI is used thoughtfully and responsibly, opposing the structures that are really responsible for the worst ways that AI is being used

"human intelligence" is impossible to define and any definition that excludes AI will inevitably exclude humans, always vulnerable humans, and being picky about how we define humans has historically been used to justify treating people we exclude from the definition badly (e.g. slavery). this isn't to say that AI is human, but maybe we should be hesitant about trying to define humanity. let's just stop doing that

when we think we're standing up for individual artists' rights by opposing the fact that their work was used without permission and will be used to replace their labour, the individual artists are not the ones who benefit. in fact, they stand to have the most to lose. strengthening copyright law benefits the massive corporations like disney, who are actively campaigning for, supporting and being supported by anti-AI lawsuits so that they can expand their reach over intellectual property. we do not want a world where an art style is copyrighted, youtubers can't use clips of movies in reviews or fanfiction is illegal. massive corporations have always used whatever means they can to avoid hiring, paying or treating well their artists. that won't stop. maybe AI can in fact allow independent artists to take on projects (including hiring fellow creators) that wouldn't have existed without AI. maybe it's not universally bad. but even if it was universally bad, arguing that copyright should be strengthened is just not a good idea

AI may negatively impact labour, but it also might not. the industrial revolution meant that jobs that were previously done by many people by hand could be done by few people and a machine, but it didn't result in a world with no blue collar workers. the same thing happened with the advent of computers. being doomer about this doesn't help, it just builds hype for investors who will pour money into any product that says AI on the website in the hopes they won't have to use that money to pay their employees. automating certain work tasks with AI isn't universally a bad thing and it doesn't mean that those workers are out of work. there just might be different jobs. it might also be used to lower the barrier of entry to certain professions that currently require time- and money-consuming degrees

AI's harm on the environment has been vastly over-stated again and again, for the benefit of energy companies which hope that people will invest in them under the assumption that we're going to use so much more energy to power AI. in reality, AI has the potential to help the environment through assisting research into renewables and optimising farming. it would be more impactful for you to have a day without meat a week than to never use AI

AI WARS: How Corporations Hijacked Anti-AI Backlash

Well, it was nice knowing you.

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me.. probably innacuracies in the baking, sorry bakers i had google and a dream

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and–"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids

[kenyatta]

“You know,” said Ninheimer, “I’ll tell you–just to watch it do you no good at all. You can’t understand human motivation. You can only understand your damned machines because you’re a machine yourself, with skin on.”

He was breathing hard and there was no hesitation in his speech, no searching for precision.

He said, “For two hundred and fifty years, the machine has been replacing Man and destroying the handcraftsman. Pottery is spewed out of molds and presses. Works of art have been replaced by identical gimracks stamped out on a die. Call it progress, if you wish! The artist is restricted to abstractions, confined to the world of ideas. He must design something in mind–and then the machine does the rest.

“Do you suppose the potter is content with mental creation? Do you suppose the idea is enough? That there is nothing in the feel of the clay itself, in watching the thing grow as hand and mind work together? Do you suppose the actual growth doesn’t act as a feedback to modify and improve the idea?”

“You are not a potter,” said Dr. Calvin.

“I am a creative artist! I design and build articles and books. There is more to it than the mere thinking of words and of putting them in the right order. If that were all, there would be no pleasure in it, no return.“A book should take shape in the hands of the writer. One must actually see the chapters grow and develop. One must work and rework and watch the changes take place beyond the original concept even. There is taking the galleys in hand and seeing how the sentences look in print and molding them again. There are a hundred contacts between a man and his work at every stage of the game–and the contact itself is pleasurable and repays the man for the work he puts into his creation more than anything else could. Your robot would take all that away.”

So does a typewriter. So does a printing press. Do you propose to return to the hand illumination of manuscripts?”

“Typewriters and printing presses take away some, but your robot would deprive us of all. Your robot takes over the galleys. Soon it, or other robots, would take over the original writing, the searching of the sources, the checking and cross-checking of passages, perhaps even the deduction of conclusions. What would that leave the scholar? One thing only–the barren decisions concerning what orders to give the robot next! I want to save the future generations of the world of scholarship from such a final hell. That meant more to me than even my own reputation and so I set out to destroy U. S. Robots by whatever means.”

“You were bound to fail,” said Susan Calvin.

“I was bound to try,” said Simon Ninheimer.

Calvin turned and left. She did her best to feel no pang of sympathy for the broken man. She did not entirely succeed.

- from the short story 'Galley Slave' by Isaac Asimov (1957)

Also want to share this bit from the WP plot summary:

The story is a courtroom drama. It opens in 2034, with Simon Ninheimer, a professor of sociology, suing U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men for loss of professional reputation. He contends that robot EZ-27 (aka "Easy"), while leased to Northeastern University for use as a proofreader, deliberately altered and rewrote parts of his book Social Tensions Involved in Space Flight and their Resolution while checking the galley proofs (hence the title). Ninheimer holds that the alterations to his book make him appear an incompetent scholar who has absurdly misrepresented the work of his professional colleagues.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi batwitch, can you help me with something? I know I'm allowed to read whatever I want that's fine and good, and because I'm a mom I read from all age groups. Problem is, since last year I've read 30 something books and the ones I enjoyed were almost all middle grade or young adult, meant for younger teens. I picked up really popular and critically acclaimed adult books from all major genres, and nothing really clicked. I got too bogged down by small annoyances and DNF'd many of them. Now I feel like I've become lazy or lost my reading skills or something, because I used to read tomes of political fantasy before covid hit. Maybe I have long covid and really did lose brain capacity, I don't know, but how does one pick up that skill again and stop feeling stupid?

I mean I think the biggest issue here is that you've clearly got the idea that there's a certain type of book you're supposed to read and that anything else is a sign of some shortcoming, when the reality is that as far as I'm concerned the books you're meant to read are the ones that capture your attention and engross you, whatever those may be.

you seem to be taking it as a sign of something negative that you're not finishing books because something about them annoys you, but I wonder what you think there is to gain by forcing yourself through books that are aggravating when all you're trying to do is read for fun. I'm a huge proponent of dropping any book that isn't landing for you, in much the same way I'd think it only reasonable for someone to slip a song they're not enjoying or cut short a movie that isn't catching their interest. that's called discernment, and it's a great skill for anyone to cultivate in regards to understanding what kind of art attracted and resonates with them.

don't get me wrong; by all means you can and should keep exploring books across a variety of genres and age ranges if you want to, because you never know when you'll find something that feels like it was made to fit you perfectly. broadening your horizons is always great! but reading broadly includes respecting books for younger readers, too. if that's where you're having fun right now, that doesn't mean you're lazy or stupid; it just means your tasted are different. you've changed, which is the single most natural thing in the world, and it shows in what you like to read right now and, probably, in countless other ways. that's fine.

[sevinagreatergood]

Whole lot of bullshit once again. Because if we're going at it like that. James harms a half muggle. James threatens and extorts a mudblood, James doesn't give a shit about his friends opinion who has a special condition. Only friend he sees as his equal is a white rich boy who is also a pureblood. He doesn't even give a shit about lily, the mudblood.

She dated him if he were a changed man, he didn't change. Who admitted that? How own friends lol.

Marauders are infamous for figuring out spells, hence the animagus stuff AND AND AND the map they worked on TOGETHER to create. That's right team work. They are also infamous for having 0 respect for Snape's boundaries.

While this whore was yapping about some horse shit. It never showed in the books HOW they got to their spells. So they SHOULD have said FANON but would a snater do that? No. No they won't. Like the usual typical whores that tear apart the idea of marriage. You see there are THREE things wrong with that yapping this snater did here.

1) Lily would not sit back and let Snape do that. And before these sluts will say "oh but she allowed Snape to say mudblood" SAYING AND DOING SOMETHING ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. If I tell my friend I hate men, she would at most agree somewhat with me or reason with me. Nothing too harsh. But if she found out I abuse my husband because I hate men, now that is a different conversation. I'd be dragged to police and yelled at. So again, Lily would've dumped Snape's ass much sooner. Because why would marauders hide the fact Snape invented it when James tries to pain him evil so badly? Lily already bitches about Snape's CLASSMATE doing something to her friend. She would lose her shit if she knew Snape went around using spells on muggleborns.

2) Slytherins. Anything a Slytherin dies is painted as evil. Similar to how snaters paint Slytherins as evil. Weasleys use Darm magic constantly, but nobody yaps about them. Why would they, they are gryffindors. Slytherins aka future DE lot using dark magic suddenly makes people shit their pants. Do people HONESTLY think langlock spell would've become popular is Slytherins went around using that muggleborns first like this snater claims? No. Lily lost her shit over Mary alone. Imagine a full blown popular spell started from the so-claimed DE lot children using it on muggleborns, all thanks to Snape. Read that? Sounds ridiculous.

3) Marauders. They were able to become illegal animagus WITHOUT a teacher's help. Nor did they have any respect for Snape. What is usually happening when the bullies have no respect for the victim yet got their hands on the victim's stuff? They stole it. In every scenario possible, a bully corners the victim, steals their bag or books, to either humiliate the victim, or steal answers for homework. They stumbled across that langlock spell, figured it out and began to use. That's my headcanon, since all we do is come up with possible answers.

My headcanon fits more than whatever the fuck snaters come up with. And Lily deserved to be called a mudblood at this point. Like what the fuck are snaters on? She acted like a mudblood and will be called as such. Just like how a snater acts like a bitch so will be called as such.

I don't know if snaters are familiar with chronological order. Because before Snape called her filthy mudblood (should've added WHORE too bby boy, but he has manners lol), she absolutely gave him shit.

- called him ungrateful for not kissing James his ass

- compared her GRYFFINDOR friend shitty day to her skythering CHILDHOOD friend abusive years. What an amazing prefect there.

- compared ganging up on 1 person to "at least they don't use dark arts" what an amazing prefect. Chef's kiss.

- smiled for a brief second at her childhood friend his SA then restraint it but if push came to shove. The slut did find her whore's tricks on Snape funny to hold back a smile.

And sure, she does yap about "You call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different."

Yeah, why should she be any different Severus? She was far much worse than the other goddamn mudbloods you cussed. But I'm protecting his case. Snaters, allow for a second some oxygen in your rotten mind. Let that crippled brain of yours breathe for a second.

So let me get this straight. The book shows he only does that whenever he is around a group that hate half of his guts if not all his guts, yet he should stick out his neck for people that don't lend him a hand whenever marauders come around?

Read that again. Read that again, VERY VERY slowly. Slytherins hated purebloods that were blood traitors. People ASSUME they adored Snape, but where? Not once did Severus mention a Slytherin fondly. Nor did a Slytherin show up to help him whenever marauders BULLIED him (no equal rivalry or some bs bitches) and Snape was a foot soldier when he entered DE, he wasn't in the main circle.

Gryffindor bullies him, Hufflepuff and ravenclaw do absolutely nothing to help Snape. Snape fights back against his bullies which they all find so funny/ ignore it. Of course Snape would not get on Slytherin nerves to endanger himself in his own bed too aka Slytherin bedroom. If they say "call her a mudblood" he would do it. Because why would he object for people that didn't help him any way either?

And what lily did with her scatter brain "You call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different." Is a forced confession. Let me make it always for those snaters there. They have some infant brain.

Let's say, I am a child and my mom is outside. She told me many times to eat only the food outside. Not the food in the fridge, those are for guests. On my way to get some drink out the fridge, I come across a rotten apple in the fridge that she probably did not notice. I cut the bad part out and ate the apple. She taught me to never waste food after all. She comes home and sees the apple. She finds out it's an apple out of the fridge but before I couldn't find my moment to tell her it was partially rotten, look I cut out the bad part, you taught me to not waste food, because she doesn't give me such a moment. Instead she asks me "did you or did you not eat the apple from the fridge? I only want to hear a yes or no, no other excuses!"

You're forced to confess in other words without pleading your situation. How is that fair? Didn't we hate this shit when our parents did that to us? I thought we did. Guess snaters love doing this. Forced confessions.

That what lily did. She didn't even bother hearing his side, she instantly confronts him with a yes or no situational question which is unfair. Extremely unfair. Especially from a goddamn slut that doesn't even remotely feel bad for smiling at his abuse created by James of all people. What if he asked "did you find potter's joke funny? Yes or no?" How many snaters would lose their semen soaked panties? A lot.

This is COMPLETELY AND ONLY lily her fault. Don't drag my baby in your shit. Not to mention that Snape didn't choose Slytherins as friends. Meanwhile Lily did. Guess what lily says next? Her friends didn't like her childhood friend (aka, she's WILLINGLY befriended with gryffindors that gossip about her bestie) and can't choose his side now thanks to those friends.

Makes you wonder, how long lily hung out with kids that didn't like Snape one bit, filled her head with hatred towards Snape and she succumbed to it. So Snape fearing for his life every day, doing things under peer pressure is evil. But lily willingly doing shit because she adores Gryffindor much more than her friend is called silly teen.

Get your fucking brains checked. Even if you sluts did ignore all her red flags, she should have NEVER EVER dated a man whom she witnessed that ruined the life of her childhood friend. And if you hate spells that Snape created, guess you hate the marauders too for using it. You're also raised so privileged, so that's a win. But since you have no backstory whatsoever, leave victims out of your std ridden mouth. Thank you.

I once again find myself needing to remind everyone that the spell James Potter uses to hang Severus Snape by his ankles in OoTP was a spell invented by... that's right, Severus Snape. The only way James would have learned the spell was if.... that's right, again, if Severus used the spell on someone else first.

And also, the scene might have been the first time that he called Lily a Mudblood, but to quote Lily, "you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"

James wasn't bullying some innocent kid. He was bullying a wannabe death eater with his own spells.

[ao3commentoftheday]

a fic ive loved for ages recently updated, and i was so excited to read the new chapter, only to discover basically the entire thing was ripped off of another favourite fic of mine. structure and sentences, this thing was clearly plagiarised. i wasn't sure what to do, so i contacted the author of the plagiarised fic on here, with screenshots of their fic vs the plagiarised fic. that was weeks ago, and they haven't responded. i'm now doubting if i've done the right thing - if you notice that someone has plagiarised someone else's work, should you report it to the archive? should i have just not said anything, or should i check that the author is even receiving tumblr dms from someone theyre not following? (i am not particularly tumblr literate and honestly don't know how i would know if they had received the message). i debated commenting on the plagiarised fic calling the author on it, but guiltily i still actually really enjoy the work. any ideas for what to do in a situation like this? should i try and contact the author in a different way?

If you think that you've spotted plagiarism, you can report it to the Policy & Abuse Committee (PAC). Go to the fic you're reporting and scroll down to the footer, then select the link for Policy & Abuse reports.

Include the author name and title of the fic you're reporting as well as the author name and title of the fic you think is the original being plagiarized. Also give PAC the chapter(s) you think were copied in each fic (so that some poor volunteer doesn't have to wade through 50K in two fics to find where they match).

PAC keeps all reports confidential, so your name will be left out of it when they investigate. That also means that you won't be told the details of the investigation. You'll just can an email when it's resolved. They'll also email you if they need additional information for the report, so make sure whatever email address you use in the form is one that you check.

PAC recently wrote a news post about plagiarism and copyright infringement with more information in it, and you can read that here.

[edwardhartenjoyer]

I'm here for the request hey!<3 I like to suffer, what if a new ghoul joins the school, and this person is close to mc, like a childhood friend, ghouls who see a side of mc that they've never seen, I don't know sarcastic and close🤷‍♀️

Hi!! Oh I like this idea! A touch of angst mayhaps? We'll see where this prompt goes. You didn't specify any certain ghouls so I picked some I got ideas for, definitely down to do this prompt again for the ones I didn't get to though.

Hope you enjoy it!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few months into your time at Darkwick, a new ghoul was announced as arriving. An assembly was held to place the new ghoul, and you went, curious who this new person was that you'd have to get to know.

To your surprise, you already knew him! It was your childhood best friend, and while very shocked to know he'd made a pact with a demon, you were also so excited to see him.

You screamed in delight and went running up to him. He grinned and pulled you into a massive hug. While not everyone was at the assembly, enough ghouls were that word spread fast.

Soon, your resident favorite ghoul finds out you know this new guy and are super close with him. Whatever, it totally doesn't bother him...right?

Featuring: Haku | Leo | Jin

Haku Kusanagi - Haku had been there to see how you greeted this new ghoul. It's fine. It totally didn't bother him. After all, you were both going to hang out later.

When you came to meet up with him later, he was totally not upset to see the new ghoul practically hanging off of you.

"Hey Princess." He greeted

"Princess? Oh your majesty have I not been treating you properly?" Your friend snorted, teasing you.

"Yes, you should be bowing to me, learn your place." You scoffed, lightly shoving your friend before turning to Haku. Haku was stunned watching this. He'd never seen you act like this with anyone else.

"Hi Haku, this is my close friend from childhood." You explained, gesturing to your friend.

"Oh, nice to meet you." Haku replied slightly coldly.

You sat down to study with him, and to his annoyance, your friend hung around too.

Haku saw a whole new side of you, and honestly, he wasn't sure how he felt about it. You were a lot more teasing and sassy with your friend than he'd ever seen you be with anyone else.

It made him jealous, he'd thought the two of you were really close, but clearly you were still hiding parts of yourself from him and he was unsure if he was hurt by that or not.

Well, he'd just have to double his efforts. He'd show you that you could be fully honest with him. That way you'd treat him special too.

Leo Kurosagi - Leo knew instantly about your childhood friend being the new ghoul around, and he was instantly trying to find out anything about him and, subsequently, your relationship with him and just how close you really were.

When he invited you over, he had not anticipated seeing your friend tagging along with you.

"NPC, I don't remember inviting this guy along." Leo sneered.

"I'm showing him around and it's nice to spend time with him again." You explained, and Leo tried not to look affected as you practically hung off this guy, somehow always touching him.

He'd spent a lot of time watching you, clearly because as his fake girlfriend, he needed to know about you, ok?! And you were never this..touchy, with anyone else.

He totally wasn't seething with jealousy, especially when he tried to pull you away from that guy. "Whatever, I need your help NPC."

You pulled away from Leo's touch and, much to his annoyance, practically reattatched yourself to this new guy.

"Help yourself, Leo, you're not using me to spy on Alan again. If that's all you wanted then we're going to keep taking a tour around." You huffed.

Leo didn't respond, so you turned and left with your friend, still being very touchy. Leo had never seen you like this, and he found it bothered him. Whatever, he'd fix this. He'd find some kind of dirt on that so-called friend of yours that would send you running right into his arms instead.

Jin Kamurai - Jin tried not to let it bother him when he heard that you were practically clinging to that new ghoul. After all, you were still his servant. You always came when he called, so it didn't bother him.

That was until you showed up to an interhouse mission meeting practically draping yourself off of this new guy.

Jin was very clearly staring daggers into your childhood friend. He was not happy with the idea that you felt so close to this guy you could hang off of him like that, but that you didn't feel close enough to Jin himself to act like that with him.

"Jin? You doing okay?" You asked quietly, and he blinked. He'd been so focused on staring daggers into your friend he hadn't seen you come closer.

"Fine." He huffed.

You tried to pry more information out of him, but he wouldn't say much else. Eventually, you gave up, figuring Jin was just having a hard day.

Jin kept his eyes on you and your childhood friend the rest of the time that you guys were around.

Internally, he was making his plans to keep you close to his side so that you wouldn't have time to hang off your friend, and that way, Jin himself could get closer to you so you'd be more open like this with him.

It was the best he could come up, and besides, he was a patient man when he wanted to be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tag list: @cloudcountry @ventisimpilysm

Wanna be added or removed? Let me know!

[candiyaa]

PLEASE DO UPPER RANKS X READER WITH REALLYYY LONG HAIRR!! TYSM I LOVE UR WORKK

(u can ignore if you want hehe)

IGNORE WHATTT?? IGNORE WHO?? NEVERRRRRRRRR for my long haired ppl here we goooooooooo

KNY UPPER RANKS WITH A LONG HAIRED S/O

Pairing : Upper Moons (1-3 + Gyutaro) + Muzan

❥ CONTENT WARNING : None ?

𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐉𝐈...

Thought you were some hidden nymph fairy found in the forest at first because HAIR THAT LONGGG??

Thought you were celestial.

Would catch himself combing them mindlessly then instantly stop when he realizes what he's doing (he doesn't want you to think he's THAT soft with you, when he genuinely is...)

You would often catch him staring at them.

Although that man is so stubborn and we'll never admit he wants to help you take care of them and simply touch them too.

He does anyway when you're asleep...

As you were doing your usual hair care routine, there he was at the doorway of the bathroom staring at you. He kept rambling and telling you on how you were doing this or that wrong and that even if he doesn't have hair as long as yours, he'll take better care of them than you're doing rn.

"Well then come do it, if you're so sure abt it !"

"It's certainly not my fault you're not doing it properly. Here, pass me the lotion. Know that I do it as an act of kindness for your clumsiness and not because I want to."

He definetly wanted to. It was his plan all along...

𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐎

Having long hair himself he's more than happy to have a s/o that he can share this similarity with (won't show it tho)

You actually helped him to let his own hair down more often too

He wasn't sure about wether it suited him or not and was a tiny bit anxious abt he idea of letting them down like that, so seeing you do it made him want to try too.

Through long and long hours of debating, your husband agreed to the idea of "matching hair days" and now some days you'll have the exact same hairstyle (the others upper ranks silently tease him abt it but think it's cute overall lol )

You introduced each other to long hair care products and always do wash days together.

He likes to comb your hair a lot and overall takes care of them himself.

Tho one thing is, for some reason it goes beyond that and that similarity feels sacred to him, like a shared secret between you and him only, meaning that he won't let NO ONE other than him touch your hair.

He often comes up with new hairstyles for you to try on just to make you happy.

As you were walking around in the castle, when Akaza stopped you, complimenting PLATONICALLY how shiny your hair were these past days, he didn't even have the time to fully reach out to touch them ( which you you agreed to ofc) that you were gone in seconds...

*swichh* Gone just like that..

"Why did you let him touch your hair", said your handsome husband pinning you to the bed with... slight hurt in his eyes.

"Well he didn't actually touch them bc you teleported me her-"

"Why."

𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀

Keeps a comb in his pocket ALL THE TIME.

He randomly combs your hair like genuinely at any moment even during critical moments.

He's obsessed atp.

He likes to comb them with his fingers too, especially when you’re alone together.

He'll praise your hair like it's gold any chance he gets.

He likes to take care of them with you and is surprisingly really meticulous when it comes to it, like getting the right amount of water, the right dosage of products and all...

He even brags abt it to his cult members and by the same occasion roast them by saying :

"Which hair product do you even use for you to believe that whatever hairstyle you tried to do here looks good ? No because you should see my wife's !! But well you don't get to have such privilege... What was your story again ?"

Yes, along with that annoying smile of his..

𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐀

The first time you let your hair down and he saw how long your hair was, he actually went quiet.

Not because he was stunned by its beauty (even if he absolutely was), but because he was already mentally preparing to fight anyone who'll try to touch it.

OFFICIAL BODYGUARD ACTIVATED.

He's so soft when it comes to your hair , he combs them with such grace and attention you're even scared to disturb his focus during those moments...

He takes it personally if you ever come back with one SINGLE strand tangled (yh it's that deep...)

He always comes up with new hairstyles with pretty items/accesories or jewelry to make your hair pop even more like flowers, gold chains etc... (ofc he stole those if you're asking)

One time you caught him practicing hairstyles on a bundle of fabric in the middle of night. He swore it wasn’t what it looked like.

At night, he always gently run his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep. He believes it'll lull you to sleep and make you have better dreams !

*him braiding your hair*

"Does it hurt when I pull here ?"

"No..."

"Okay so it does. Your "no" wasn't convincing, I'm sorry let me try again. I'll be more careful I promise..."

𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎...

THAT MANN NO HEAR ME OUT BC THAT MANNN

It's no secret that he struggles with self esteem but seeing your hair ohh he's in love...

At first you would always catch him staring at it as if he wants to touch them or comb them but never act on it

He thought touching them would make them dirty or impure when in his eyes they're so shiny and beautiful

Once you let him touch them, it was over — he was gone, head over heels, lost in it.

It even became a stress reliver, he would always comb your hair any chance he gets or whenever he feels anxious or unsure

He's surprisingly as good as Kokushibo and Akaza and has really creative spirit when it comes to creating/making new hairstyles for such long hair like yours.

*combing your hair with his fingers mindlessly*

"Oh are you okay ?" you noticing, thinking he might feel nervous again.

"For God's sake YES !"

⋆˚✿˖° Hiiii I KNOW AGHH I KNOW I'M LATE SORRY, but there it is and even more is coming I promise !! It's finally summer for me so school won't refrain me from publishing more often anymore ! I'm trying my best really 😭! And once again hope you guys liked that one, I poured my heart in it okay ??😭 xoxo ⋆˚✿˖°

[tumblingaroundtofindout]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

MAY I?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Medkit was never a fan of physical contact. Often shrugging off the hands of those that decided to touch him and giving them the disgusted look like they just smeared contaminants on him.

Sure. He can tolerate some of Sword's buddy buddy antics: fist bumps, shoulder-side hugs, playful punches. But all the others? Forget it. Like, just the sight of some of them already drains away whatever patience he has left, how much more if they gave even a slight nudge with their elbow?

Even when he got together with you, who is very touchy, he still doesn't like physical contacts. But, again, he tolerates yours and Sword's.

He hates it. Disgusted by it even. So it surprised him when he mindlessly rested his chin on your shoulder while you were in the kitchen, cooking.

Was he tired? 

Maybe…

His face was a blushing mess. More so when he attempted to hide his face by burying it on your neck.

You could only giggle at his embarrassment. You didn't mind the contact, though it does feel weird a bit since…Medkit doesn't usually initiate physical contacts.

"I'm sorry about this…" Came his muffled, irritated voice. Irritated at himself at least.

You scoffed, amused and just let him be. "Nothing to be sorry about dear. You know I don't mind."

Your voice was gentle. Always soothing to his ears. 

Should I…? He thought to himself.

Lifting his head, he gazed at you from the corner of his eye. His throat feeling dry as he tried to form a sentence.

"Can I…" he swallowed and averted his gaze. "Hug you…?"

You hummed and just continued chopping the carrots and potatoes after peeling them. Now seeming unbothered.

Medkit waited for her reply, all the while his face was just burning with embarrassment.

"I don't know." You teased, "Can you?

You were joking. He knew that, and just scoffed at your sass. His face mildly cooling off with his irritation at your answer.

"May I hug you." He rolled his eye, unamused, yet grateful for the banter.

You giggled again. "Of course. I don't mind."

"I thought so…" he whispered.

Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around your waist and the burning sensation in his cheeks returned as he inhaled your scent and tightened his hold around you.

So he stayed like that for a while as you finished cooking. Even when you warned him about the steam and splash of soup, or how you almost tripped, he still didn't mind.

You don't mind it too. But it does make you moving around the kitchen more difficult with a koala the size of a grown man tenderly embracing you.

No matter. You can just tell him off next time. Or you could get used to this.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Of course the sample story is about Medkit. Gotta love that touch-deprived doctor. Got an idea? Write about it! Or share it and I'll write about it! Probably!

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Omggg what if the oldest man of the cult come to the goddess beggind her for just one night, he has waited all his life for this, just one chance!

Oh... ohhhhhh

(For the sake of the story this guy is gonna be late 30s/early 40s bc i ain't fuckin anyone over 50 sksksk)

He's a burly man, all muscles and thick hair, one of the men who helped create this village. It was his idea to turn his humble home shrine into a true temple for you, since you were the only goddess he wanted to worship since he was young. He's the one who prays to you most, any crops not used for himself or the village going to your altar, his money going towards gifts of oils and robes for you to use.

You've seen his dedication over the years, so you have blessed his crops, sent women of the village visions of him so that they may pursue him, blessed him with cattle and goats and chickens. He is very successful in your eyes, but he will not take a wife no matter who approaches him. You wondered if he preferred the company of men and sent a few suitors his way, but he bid them adieu just the same as the women.

He puzzles you, but you do not mind. His gifts keep you happy and satisfied. Perhaps you should show yourself to him as another blessing. So that is what you do one evening when he presents another basket of fresh fruit.

"Good evening," you say when you present yourself, and when he raises his head to look at you, he goes completely still. He then hurries to his knees, bowing to the floor, making you giggle. "You are a devoted man, indeed. I am grateful for all of your gifts. What do you wish for? I shall grant you a blessing."

"My goddess... I could not ask for such a thing."

"Come now, tis alright," you say, retrieving the basket of fruit, taking a grape. "You have worshipped me for so long. It's the least I can do. Perhaps you would like more crops? Or perhaps a royal lady to fall in love with you? I can tempt a princess to come to your village and fall in love with you at first sight."

"I do not wish for such things, my goddess."

You pout, taking a grape between your teeth, chewing.

"Then what do you wish for? More strength? Perhaps power? If I pull some strings, I could make you a king—"

"My goddess," he looks up at you, eyes dark. "If I may have something, I wish to have you."

You choke on your grape, clearing your throat.

"I... pardon?"

"My only desire is to have you, my goddess."

"I... I do not understand."

"All my life, I have worshipped you. In my eyes, you are the only goddess worth worshipping—"

"You should not say such things—"

"—and I have worshipped you because I love you. I love you to the core of your being."

You blink.

"You... you love what I have done for you?"

"No, my goddess. I love you."

You swallow, holding the fruit tighter.

"You are saying silly things."

"They are not silly to me." He stands at full height, broader and taller than you remembered. "My goddess, you are my sun and stars. You are my purpose for living. I wish to have you, even just once. I wish to be the only mortal who gets to plant his seed within you."

You stutter, growing hot, fanning yourself instinctively.

"You... are quite bold."

"I know what I want, and that is you."

You swallow, curling in on yourself, suddenly embarrassed.

"I... I cannot give you such a thing so lightly."

"Then may I prove myself to you? I shall do whatever you ask."

You think, trying to find a way out of this without outright denying him.

"I... I shall think of your request. In the meantime, I order you to focus on your crops. If your crops are more bountiful during the next harvest, I shall consider blessing you."

He smiles and, oh, he is so so handsome.

"I shall do what you ask, my goddess. My cropload shall be larger than ever before during the next harvest."

Little does he know your plan.

During the next season, you curse his crops once they are planted. You aim to make it impossible for him to have a bountiful harvest.

But he is smart, and skilled. When he sees that his crops are not thriving, he tends to them more. He clears debris, he takes more time in the fields, he even uses excrement from his cattle to fertilize the crops. Your plan was to diminish his cropload, but somehow, by the next season, his crops are more big and bountiful than ever before. The fruits are big and bulging, the wheat goes on for miles. You are displeased that your curse did not work, but are amazed that he went through such trouble to make his crops even better.

By the next harvest, he presents his crops to your temple, the floor completely covered with fruits and vegetables. He waits eagerly for you to appear, pulling at his beard and chewing his fingernails.

When you decide to appear, he lights up, standing to present his crops.

"My goddess, I have done what you asked," he says, motioning to his cropload. "My crops flourished this season. I fed my village but still have plenty for you."

"I see..."

"Then, have I proven myself, my goddess? Have I done my duty and earned my reward?"

You pick up a branch of grapes, unsure.

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 9

a/n: ahhh, it's finally here! lots happening this chapter, buckle tf up! word count: 5.3k tracklist: Behind the Light [ fic master list ]

WEEK 9

Today’s schedule is light—just some shots for the intro sequence and a round of promotional photos in the afternoon. You’re in the hair and makeup trailer with Felix—Yuna, Minho and Han left to scrounge up some snacks from craft services.

“I have a weird, kind of lame question…” you say.

“What’s up?” he asks, dabbing at the corner of your eye with a sponge.

“Can we take a picture together? I’m supposed to start building my social media more and I’m not permitted to share stuff from set…but I think I could get away with something of you and I.”

Felix blinks, then smirks. “Insignificant Felix to the rescue?”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, God. That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant, I—”

He rests a reassuring hand on your shoulder, catching your eyes in the mirror. “I’m messing with you. Where’s your phone?”

You pass it to him, and he angles it for a quick selfie. He grins wide, you manage something natural enough, and then the shutter clicks. He proceeds to move around you in the chair, snapping pictures from different angles until you loosen up. By the end of the impromptu photoshoot, you’re shaking your head and covering your face as you laugh.

“There,” Felix says when you’re done, handing your phone back. “You’re welcome.”

“I owe you one,” you reply.

Yuna, Minho and Han return and Yuna gets straight to work on your hair. You browse through the pictures, scanning for a few your agency may approve of. As your agent said, the vibe of your socials is meant to be authenticity and relatability, and what could be more relatable than goofing around with your co-worker?

“When are we all going to go out again?” Yuna asks, glancing at Han and Minho. “That night was so much fun!”

“Our schedules have been all over the place,” Han says.

“But we could try to plan something soon,” Minho continues, while Felix touches up his makeup. “Like a pre-wrap party.”

“All of us from last time?” Yuna asks.

“Why?” Minho pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Who do you want to be there specifically?”

“Seungmin? Jeongin? Hyunjin?” Han follows up.

You keep your expression unreadable at the mention of Hyunjin. You hope it’s not him she wants to see again. But is that a thing you’re allowed to hope for? He’s not even yours to claim.

And the idea of hoping other girls don’t like him isn’t a reasonable thought. So, you couldn’t blame her if she did. He’s Hwang fucking Hyunjin. Hundreds of thousands if not millions already do.

Fuck. That’s daunting.

“I bet it’s Seungmin,” Minho continues, causing Yuna to blush. “You both disappeared when we were dancing for a long time.”

You relax a little. Maybe that night at the club was the start of something more for them too. Part of you wants to ask for more details, but knowing what you’re hiding, it doesn’t feel right to pry.

“We’ll invite him…” Han trails off, a mischievous smile taking over his features, “If you tell us what happened.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Don’t let them bully you.” You come to her defense. “I’ll make sure everyone from last time is there.”

Minho glares. “Way to ruin the fun, y/n.”

“Whatever,” you shrug. “I’m a good wingman. You guys are being jerks.”

Minho opens his mouth to reply when the trailer door swings open, dragging everyone’s attention to it. Hyunjin leans in, dressed as Jae-hoon was the day he arrived at the inn—a white shirt tucked into black slacks, collar open, sunglasses hanging from his shirt.

“You guys planning to keep me waiting all day?” He addresses the room, sparing a fleeting glance at the others, then his gaze snaps right to you.

“About five more minutes, your highness,” Felix says.

Hyunjin’s smile quirks, and he gives a small nod. As he steps back out, the door swinging closed behind him, you realize your heart’s beating faster than it should be.

Five minutes later, you make your way to set with Han and Minho. The inn is picture-perfect as usual in the morning. The crew is already bustling about, adjusting reflectors, setting tracks for the camera, shouting for equipment like the well-oiled, chaotic machine it always is.

You spot Hyunjin and Chan standing near the front entrance. Chan waves you over. Hyunjin’s lips curve into a grin the second his eyes land on you. You shoot him a look, willing him to behave in front of your boss. And he does.

The last few days have been a blur, but not in the way you expected. After that night with the supplies and the way Hyunjin held you until you fell asleep—you’ve been caught in this strange in between. A space where it almost feels safe. Like maybe you can balance on this tightrope without falling. Every glance, every touch, every shared smile weaves the fantasy tighter.

Chan starts briefing you all on the shots for the intro sequence. No dialogue. Just mood and chemistry.

You listen—you try to listen—but your thoughts keep drifting. You just want to touch Hyunjin. It’s ridiculous. Fifteen hours since you last saw him and it feels like an eternity. How did it get to this point in less than three weeks?

You start walking toward your mark with Minho and Han trailing behind you, ready to get the ball rolling.

You can’t wait for this day to end.

You can’t wait to have his lips on yours again.

After lunch, the courtyard of the inn becomes the backdrop for the photoshoot. You, Minho, and Han are scheduled for the first round, and they sit you down for solo shots to start. Soft music plays in the background, helping to settle your nerves and giving the shoot a more relaxed, easy vibe.

You pose. Turn. Smile when prompted—all while trying your best to ignore the ridiculous faces and poses Minho and Han are doing behind the photographer.

Hyunjin arrives just as Minho wraps. You watch him work, still a little in awe at how effortlessly he commands the space, how precisely he controls every feature of his face to give the camera exactly what it wants. He’s annoyingly good at this.

But it no longer irritates you. It makes you feel proud.

When the photographer claps and calls your name, you barely register it. “y/n, let’s get some of you two together.”

You head toward the table where Hyunjin’s sitting. He rises immediately, offering you the seat. You’re torn between slipping into professional mode and the temptation to reach for him.

He doesn’t speak—just moves into place behind you, one hand settling lightly on your shoulder. You graciously welcome the warmth that radiates throughout your body from his touch.

You shift poses—standing, sitting, one where you’re angled on his lap, your hand resting on the back of his neck.

“Closer,” the photographer instructs. “You’re lovers from different worlds. Let that tension breathe between you.”

He doesn’t know how accurate he is.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens on your waist. His breath brushes the shell of your ear as he leans in, murmuring, “It’s driving me crazy this is the most I’ve got to touch you all day.”

You bite back a smile, trying not to let it reach your eyes.

“Beautiful,” the photographer coos. “Give me more of that.”

You struggle to refocus, but Hyunjin keeps pushing the edge. He’s brushing your hair back, his thumb grazing your jaw as he subtly adjusts your angle for the camera, under the pretense of helping.

You glance over to check the others—Minho and Han are distracted, scrolling through their phones. Good.

But then something catches your eye. A figure near the monitors.

You freeze.

Your agent.

You knew she was supposed to come at some point this week, but not today. Not now.

Your pulse spikes.

Shit.

Her phone is in her hand, snapping photos of the shoot—of you and Hyunjin.

You sit straighter, putting a sliver of space between you.

“My place or yours tonight?” Hyunjin teases, oblivious as he closes the distance almost as soon as you created it.

You don’t answer—you can’t. Because your agent is watching. Her eyes on you. And Hyunjin. And you don’t know how much she’s seen already.

You shift away from his touch.

Hyunjin stills, brow furrowing in confusion. He doesn’t push the issue—but you can feel him pulling back too.

The group shots begin, and you welcome the distance. Anything to slow your racing thoughts. But the damage is done. Where there was anticipation, now there’s dread coiling tight in your stomach. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the pictures on her phone—you have no control over those.

The moment the photographer calls a wrap, you make eye contact with your agent and nod in the direction of your trailer. You don’t even look behind you to see if she’s following, but she steps inside moments after you.

She’s bearing a wide grin, holding up her phone.

“I got some great shots of you and Hyunjin. You’re a very photogenic pairing.”

Her words immediately put you on edge.

“I thought you weren’t coming until the weekend,” you say, keeping your voice level.

“Schedule changed. Plus, I wanted to bring the KBS contract.” She reaches into her messenger bag and produces the documents. “You looked good out there.”

Before you can reply, another knock sounds. You open the door to find Hyunjin—he’s changed out of Jae-hoon’s costume and is now wearing jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. He clocks your agent instantly but doesn’t skip a beat.

“Some of us were gonna grab dinner,” he says. His voice is easy, casual, but his eyes are locked on you as always. “You coming?”

“Uhm…I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

He must see the hesitation written across your face.

“Later?” he asks quietly, just for you.

You glance once at your agent—she’s leaning against the counter, looking at her phone but most definitely listening—then back to him.

You give him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

He smiles softly and returns your nod before walking away.

“Cute,” your agent says without looking up. “You two have good, natural chemistry. You should capitalize on that.”

You don’t respond, instead reaching for the contract folder sitting on the counter. You flip it open, eyes skimming over the offer and schedule, but your brain won’t settle.

“We have to wait until after the premiere but sharing those photos of you and Hyunjin from the shoot will be engagement gold,” she says casually.

“I don’t want to use him like that,” you say, more firmly than you expect.

That gets her attention. She raises an eyebrow. “It’s not using him. It’s called leveraging the moment. That’s the game, y/n. You’d be doing yourself a disservice pretending you two aren’t working magic together.”

You set the contract down and take a breath.

You can’t tell her it’s more than that.

“Where do I sign?” you change the subject.

She flips through each page of the contract where you need to initial and/or sign.

“y/n,” she begins, as she’s putting the folder back in her bag. “I’m not the enemy here. I just want to remind you of that. I work for you.”

She’s right. But it’s easy to forget that when you’re more focused on keeping this secret from seeing the light of day.

“If you don’t want to post anything with Hyunjin, you don’t have to,” she continues. “Posting nothing but the two of you could be mistaken as clout chasing or spark dating rumors, sure, and I understand that’s not what you want. I don’t think posting once or twice will have a negative impact, though. But if you don’t share anything with him at all…have you considered how that will look too? Would people speculate about tension on set?”

You sigh, plopping down on the couch. You hadn’t considered that alternative.

“This is your first time going through something like this. It’s bound to feel conflicting.”

“It really is,” you murmur.

“I’m not here to tell you how to live your private life. But just…give me the heads up if I need to get PR out ahead of any groundbreaking news so we can help you navigate it, alright?”

You nod, forcing a smile as she waves and exits the trailer.

She was hinting at something very specific. If she could spot that after only an hour or so…what must everyone else on set be thinking about how close you and Hyunjin have gotten?

And what was all that about getting PR involved? That’s exactly what you didn’t want to happen, having hands dipping into the pot of your…whatever this is with Hyunjin.

This was so much easier when you loathed him.

You barely have five minutes of silence before the door swings open again.

It’s him.

“What are you doing?” you ask, already standing. Your heart kicks up as you peek out the window.

“What are you doing?” he tosses back, stepping inside like he owns the place, watching your frantic behavior. “She’s gone. I watched her leave.”

“I thought you left…were you waiting outside my trailer?”

He shrugs. “It seemed like you were ready to blow a gasket after she showed up. Your agent, right?”

You nod.

“Everything okay?”

You hesitate, your voice quiet when you finally speak, “Hyunjin…I think we really need to end this.”

He stills; confusion etched across his perfect face. “What? Why?”

“Because…you and I don’t make sense outside of this bubble,” you spout the first reasonable thing that comes to mind. “It feels fine, for now…but when filming ends?”

“What happens?” he asks, moving closer.

You lower your gaze. “We fall apart.”

He slides a hand around your waist, not at all put off by your pessimism. “Does your agency allow you to date?”

You exhale through your nose. “Yes. But I’m afraid they’d use this—use you—to build up my career.”

“And you won’t let them,” he says, already knowing the answer.

“Of course not. I don’t want to use you for anything.”

“You could use me for some stuff,” he teases, leaning down to kiss you.

You stop him with a hand on his chest. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He brushes a thumb down your arm. “But I don’t care what anyone says.”

“You do care. About your career.”

He watches you for a moment. “So what—what do you want me to do? Pretend I don’t want you?”

“I don’t know…maybe stop looking at me like no other woman on this planet exists.”

“They don’t.”

The sincerity in his voice guts you. You curl your fingers in his shirt.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he says softly, reading you like a book. “You riding back with me?”

“I shouldn’t…”

“But you will?”

You sigh. “You’re making this really hard.”

“You thought breaking up with me would be easy?”

“There’s nothing to break up,” you whisper.

He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

And then he’s gone.

You change into your clothes, drop off the innkeeper’s costume at wardrobe, and head to the car that’s been your ride for weeks now. Changbin’s in the driver’s seat, Hyunjin already in the back, waiting.

You slip in beside him; he pulls you in without asking, and you let him.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“We can order in,” you say, settling into this familiar routine with far too much ease for someone who had just tried to end it a few minutes ago. “Changbin, did you eat?”

Changbin glances up at you through the rearview mirror. “Yes…but I can eat again—if the boss will allow it.”

“Yeah, but you’re going home as soon as you’re full.”

“That’s my secret, Cap. I’m never full.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, letting their banter fill the silence in your mind. You lean into Hyunjin’s chest, resting your forehead there, eyes closed.

Today was a whirlwind—the photos, your agent, the crowding pressure of a future you can’t predict. And Hyunjin is the perfect calm to your inner storm.

Why does pursuing your career mean having to shut the door on something else you want?

It’s not fair.

You know you should stop this, but how can you when it feels so good to be held by him? To be cared for and looked after? To be needed.

But if you were to consider trying to have something serious with Hyunjin, it would have to be a secret for who knows how long. And when you’re both back in Seoul, it will be a hell of a lot harder to sneak around. Especially when the series finally airs.

His behavior, his reactions to everything you’ve said and done to push him away only make this harder. It’s fucking exhausting being the only one who’s always bracing for impact while he’s choosing to live in La La Land. Because he can. He’s not stressing the same way that you are, he’s not paranoid that one wrong decision could detonate everything he’s worked for.

His phone buzzes on his lap. He glances down at the screen, and, unfortunately, so do you.

Alessia [5:35 PM]: Dinner still on? 👀 You better not flake, Romeo.

You both tense.

The words on the screen close around your throat like a fist.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I forgot about this dinner thing. My agent set it up with the stylist for that concept shoot in a few weeks.”

You nod, slowly sitting up. “Yeah, no worries. Work’s work.”

But Romeo and dinner won’t stop echoing in your mind.

If it’s just a meeting…why would she call him Romeo?

Is that just her personality? Some flirty, casual nickname?

Or has he been hiding something?

What, then, was all of that moments ago about you being the only woman that exists?

Your stomach churns and suddenly you can’t breathe right. Your chest tightens, like your ribs are closing in on your lungs. You’ve been telling yourself for days that this isn’t real—that it can’t be. But what if he was counting on that?

You wouldn’t be the first naïve actress to fall in this kind of trap.

You start to feel nauseous as the car slows to a stop outside the hotel. Hyunjin shifts beside you, but you don’t look at him.

“I’ll text you later?”

You busy yourself with picking up your bag, fingers moving too fast, heart thudding in your ears. Something as small as a name on a screen shouldn’t feel like betrayal. But it does.

And as much as it fucking hurts, maybe this is exactly what you needed to get your head on straight.

“Sure,” you manage, and move to open the door.

He catches your arm, gently pulling you back. He hooks a finger under your chin to turn your face to him. He leans forward and presses his lips to yours.

You don’t kiss him back. You can’t. You’re currently imprisoned in the words of that text message.

He leans back slowly, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for a way in. You won’t give him one this time.

“This is just a work thing,” he repeats.

“Even if it’s not…” You look at your hands, your lap, anywhere but him. “It’s fine. We’re not dating, Hyunjin. We can’t.”

You slip out before he can say anything else.

“Have a good time,” you add to drive your point home and shut the door behind you.

You walk toward the hotel entrance without looking back, and it’s for the best. Because if you did, everything inside you that’s falling apart may come spilling out.

You wake the next morning alone in bed. It’s been a while since that happened, and it feels a little strange. You pick up your phone to silence the alarm, blinking at the slew of notifications on your screen—including a few missed texts and calls from Hyunjin, and your heart involuntarily skips a beat.

Hyunjin [12:12 AM]: you up? i wanna see you

You opt not to reply. You have a long day ahead of you and don’t want the mess of last night to distract you from work.

Once on set, you go about your usual routine—makeup, wardrobe, a quick breakfast. You film some filler shots of your character walking into the inn, at the desk, in her office, etc. It’s magical to you, how they’ll take these snippets and thread them through the full tapestry of the series.

After the last solo shot, you return to your trailer to go over your lines for the scene you’re filming with Minho next when your phone buzzes. It’s a message from Yuna.

Yuna [11:05 AM]: OMG. Have you seen the article?

Your eyes widen, pulse increasing.

You [11:07 AM]: I don’t think so…what article?

She replies with a link.

You hesitate, wracking your brain for anything you could have been caught doing recently, but there’s nothing. Eventually, curiosity wins, and you tap on it.

📸 Caught on Camera: Hyunjin Seen Kissing Unknown Woman Outside Geongju Hotspot! Is Hyunjin off the market? The star was spotted outside Nox this weekend, a cozy, romantic restaurant, in what appears to be a steamy moment with an unidentified woman. The two were seen leaving through a side exit before sharing what eyewitnesses describe as a "quick but unmistakable kiss." While the woman’s identity remains unknown, fans and gossip accounts are already in overdrive. Is she a new flame? A close friend? Or something more scandalous? Neither Hyunjin nor his agency has responded to the photos circulating online.

Your stomach drops. That’s not you in the photo.

At first, it feels like a relief. But then it hits you. Hard.

Your eyes key in on a specific detail of the picture—the shirt she’s wearing. It’s the dark green plaid t-shirt Hyunjin had on yesterday.

You can practically feel yourself sinking into the couch in your trailer. You’re replaying every moment with him, tainting them with doubt, coloring in red flags you must have ignored.

How often did Hyunjin have to leave for ‘work’?

The late-night texts asking to come over?

Are you just the option that’s most regularly convenient?

Had you just never connected those dots before?

And that text you saw last night—the one with Romeo. You wanted so badly to use it to put some distance between the two of you.

But this?

This makes you feel like a fucking fool.

“y/n,” Jeongin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts from the other side of your door. “You’re needed back on set.”

“Coming,” you call out to him.

You toss your phone onto the couch, not daring to bring it to set with you. You don’t want any other alarming texts to throw you off. You take a deep breath and meet him outside your trailer.

Once in front of the camera, you square your shoulders, push back the chaos, and force yourself into character. You have to. It’s the only way to get through the rest of today.

Your scene with Minho is short but draining. When it’s over, you collapse into a seat beside him, watching him eat while you stare blankly ahead.

“You okay?” he asks, mouth full of rice.

“Just tired,” you say.

“You sure?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He sees through it—he’s not easy to fool. But thankfully, he lets it drop.

You can’t talk to him about this. There’s only one person you can talk to, and you’re dreading having that conversation. Dreading having him confirm that all you originally assumed about him was correct and you’d fooled yourself into believing otherwise. 

Jeongin comes once again to retrieve you for your next scene. This one is with Hyunjin. It’s one of the more emotional scenes and filming it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

The inn’s courtyard is dressed for atmosphere—dim lights, warm tones. There are multiple cameras set up for this shot to lessen the amount of takes needed for different angles.

Hyunjin shows up a few minutes later, Felix trailing behind him, trying to fix his makeup mid-stride. Your stomach turns when you see him. Your body aches to be near him. Your mind begs you not to.

He looks around until he finds you, and the moment he does, you avert your eyes.

“You ready, y/n?” Chan calls from behind the monitor.

You force a thumbs up.

“Places!”

Hyunjin stops walking toward you, a look of defeat on his face. He sits at a table in the courtyard with a bottle of soju. You stand just off camera.

This is the moment his character crumbles after leaving the inn to visit his father.

When Chan calls action, you wait a few beats before entering.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well. Congratulations. You found me.” He raises the bottle. “Want a drink?”

“No...” you reply softly. “You left without saying anything. I wanted to know what’s going on.”

You stand next to the table, look down at him, and it takes everything you have not to crack at the look on his face. He looks stressed. Pained. And you can’t tell if it’s acting or if that’s really him right now.

He’s silent.

Too silent.

“Cut!” Chan calls. “Do you need your line Hyunjin?”

You glance toward the crew, but you feel Hyunjin still watching you.

“No, sorry.” He says. “Let’s do it again.”

He reaches out for your hand as you return to your mark. You pull away before he can touch you. His expression falls even further, and you have to look away.

You run through the scene again.

Take three. Take six. Take nine.

Every time, something’s off.

A missed cue. A dropped word. A breath caught in the wrong place.

“Okay, let’s take five everyone,” Chan says finally, trying to sound encouraging.

You walk away from the cameras and crew, needing some space from everything. There’s no time to make it to your trailer and back in five minutes, so you duck around the corner of the inn. But you realize being alone is not going to happen when footsteps follow you.

“y/n,” Hyunjin’s voice is quiet, but strained. “Can we talk?”

You turn to face him, eyes hardened as you remind yourself it’s better this way.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He takes in your expression, your tone, your behavior. “Did you get my text?”

“I don’t have my phone with me.”

“I wanted to talk to you before all of this,” he gestures to you, “happened. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Whether you’re seeing other people or not is none of my business.”

He takes a step forward. You take one back and hit the wall.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t—fuck.” He runs a hand across his buzzed head. “y/n, trust me, it’s not what it looked like.”

“I trust you,” you begin, and a glimmer of hope flickers across his eyes until you continue. “I trust you to get this scene done in a timely manner. Let’s focus on that.”

Jeongin rounds the corner and Hyunjin takes a step back.

“Five minutes is up.”

You’re staring daggers at each other. Neither of you move.

“I’ll explain everything after,” he says.

Every nerve in your body is wound tight, but you find it in you to nod. No part of you wants to hear him out at this moment, you want to chop this up as the loss that it is and move on with the project the best you can.

There’s too much riding on this to let it be derailed in the final weeks.

Hyunjin walks away first and Jeongin waits for you. He watches Hyunjin’s retreating back for a second, then turns to you.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Just getting in the right headspace for the scene.”

Back on set, you and Hyunjin finally manage to get through the scene.

Hyunjin is incredible. Raw. Reminding you of just how convincing he can be. Reminding you that you should have never let your guard down.

“My father thinks I’m weak.” He idly plays with the bottle of soju. “That I lack ‘discipline’. That I’m a waste of the family name. Do you know what it’s like to walk into a room and already be a disappointment before you even speak?”

He takes another sip.

“I never asked to be his legacy. I just wanted to be his son.”

“You’re not your father’s shadow. You’re not just a headline. You’re allowed to figure life out as you go.”

The irony of your dialogue is not lost on you. Everything you’ve gone through with him has been ripped apart by a single headline. A single text.

“Maybe. But he’s not wrong. I am a disappointment. I do lack discipline. Honestly, it’s just easier to be that version of me.”

You pull an empty chair close to him and sit down, taking one of his hands in yours.

“But that’s not who you are now.”

“Isn’t it?” He looks up at you, his eyes welling with tears. “It still feels like it.”

“It’s not, Jae-hoon.”

He places his other hand on top of yours and squeezes it.

“Tell me who I am, then. Because without…”

He trails off and then silence consumes you. You nod a little, encouraging him to continue.

“Still rolling,” Chan calls out. “Find it, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin clears his throat, staring down at the grass beneath you. He takes a deep breath, blinks, and then his eyes flick back up to yours and your breath catches.

“Tell me who I am, then. Because without you, I don’t fucking know anymore.”

He delivers the final line with a vulnerability that wrecks you.

When Chan yells “Cut!” Hyunjin wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. You squeeze his other hand gently, knowing that wasn’t easy to get through.

A few hours later, you’re back in your trailer. You purposefully avoid your phone sitting on the couch. It certainly hasn’t been a breeze of a day on set, but you keep reminding yourself it’s better this way. You can’t cave in.

You have to put yourself first.

It isn’t until the ride back to the hotel that you finally unlock your phone to view your missed messages.

Pastry Prince 👑 [3:12 PM]: you need to see this please don’t freak out Pastry Prince 👑  [3:15 PM]: they twisted it. nothing happened Pastry Prince 👑  [3:17 PM]: i’m just waking up and heading to set i’ll explain it all

He included a link to the article and everything.

It’s too late, though. You’ve already spiraled. You’ve already talked yourself through a thousand reasons as to why this cannot continue.

But you’re too wired to sleep when you get to the hotel. Even after a shower and changing into your comfiest pajamas, your mind spins relentlessly.

You’re annoyed with yourself for being angry.

You’re angry at yourself for being jealous.

You knew this was a bad idea from the start, yet you let it happen anyway. All because it felt good. All because you enjoyed being needed, being wanted by him.

It’s a hard and embarrassingly foolish lesson to learn.

Your phone buzzes again.

Pastry Prince 👑 [11:56 PM] You in your room?

You told him you’d let him explain, and you will at least give him that closure.

You [11:57 PM] Yes.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

Your heart leaps, even though you already know who it is. You unlock the door and pull it open without a word, still burning.

Still yearning.

It’s hard to push those feelings down when you’re this close and alone.

You set yourself straight with one resounding: after he speaks his piece, you have to end this.

For good.

a/n: alright i'm gonna go hide now. see you soon!

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