#LIKE EXCUSE ME UNIVERSE WHAT ARE YOU DOING

[fangdokja]

Some truths are better left buried.

❤︎ Synopsis. A charming façade hides a mind unraveling, as jealousy sinks its claws into a man obsessed with the untouchable "Ice Queen," her mysterious past igniting a sinister need to claim what was never his to own.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ex-Boyfriend x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Friction & Fire - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,000

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances

♡ A/N. Not me only realizing recently that this was a FINISHED work that I never posted. My drafts in Tumblr are a mess I tell you. It's like the various requests, fandoms, and works in general are mixing wahaha. YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE???? It's like I'm universe hopping in the multiverse, going to different fandoms and worlds to bring the content you all want. And, just like someone with multiple jobs and side hustles; if it's not recorded or arranged right, it gets lost to the void I tell you. wahhhhh

The office was silent except for the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard and the faint hum of the air conditioning. The morning sun bled through the blinds in fractured slivers, painting your desk in a dull, sterile glow. You sat across from him, your shoulders squared, your focus unyielding as you combed through line after line of data.

And yet, despite the quiet, he could feel the tension lingering between you like a living thing.

It was still on his mind.

He wasn’t the type to fixate—hell, he prided himself on letting things roll off his back—but this? The thought of your first kiss, of the strange, detached way you spoke about it last night, had lodged itself in his brain like a splinter.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg lazily draped over the other as he watched you with sharp, predatory focus. On the surface, he looked relaxed, his usual cocky nonchalance on full display. But beneath it, his mind was a storm.

“You know,” he began, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife, “last night got me thinking.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. Your fingers danced across the keys, swift and precise, as though you hadn’t heard him at all.

He smiled, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on the table. “For someone who’s so good at everything, you sure don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

Still, you gave him nothing. Not a word. Not a glance.

He didn’t let it deter him. If anything, your silence only spurred him on.

“So, first kiss,” he said, his tone as light as a feather, casual enough to sound innocent. “When was it? And don’t give me that ‘transaction’ excuse. I want details.”

Your fingers paused for half a second—so brief it was barely noticeable—but it was enough to make his grin widen.

“I’m working,” you said flatly, your voice like steel.

“And I’m curious,” he shot back smoothly, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “Come on, indulge me a little. Was it some rich heir your parents set you up with? Or…” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Was it someone you actually liked?”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze still fixed on your screen. “Drop it.”

“Oh, I would,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, more insidious tone. “But it’s kind of hard to stop wondering when you’re so damn mysterious about everything. I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for state secrets here. Just a name. Or a story. Something.”

Your fingers hit the keys a little harder now, your movements growing sharper, but you still refused to look at him.

He leaned back again, tapping his pen idly against the table, his expression deceptively calm. “Okay, fine. Let’s broaden the topic. Ever had any other boyfriends? Or am I the only one lucky enough to deal with your charming personality?”

The sarcasm in his tone was sharp, but it wasn’t enough to mask the strange, simmering edge beneath it.

“Work,” you said simply, not bothering to look at him.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” He leaned forward again, his voice growing louder, though his grin remained firmly in place. “You’re like a damn iron wall. It’s impressive, really. But also kind of annoying.”

You finally paused, your hands hovering above the keyboard as you turned to meet his gaze. Your expression was calm, cold, and utterly unreadable. “If I don’t answer,” you said, your voice low and measured, “will you stop asking?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his grin widening into something wolfish.

You sighed, turning back to your screen. “Then keep asking. It won’t change anything.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something else there now, something darker and more insistent, coiling tightly in his chest.

He didn’t know why this mattered so much. Why the thought of someone else—someone before him—made his jaw clench and his stomach churn. But the idea wouldn’t let him go.

“Fair enough,” he said finally, his voice dropping into a softer, almost dangerous tone. “But don’t think I’m letting this go. Sooner or later, princess, I’ll get you to crack.”

Your silence was answer enough. But the faint flicker of annoyance in your eyes as you typed? That was all the encouragement he needed.

———

The late afternoon sun filtered through the office windows, casting long, golden streaks across the sterile desks. Papers and coffee cups littered the space, evidence of a day stretched too long. You sat at your desk, immersed in another report, your brow furrowed in concentration. The tension that had gripped you for days had finally loosened, and though your posture remained rigid, there was an air of calm about you now.

It was a calm he intended to disrupt.

He stretched lazily from his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips as he sauntered over to your side. His steps were slow, deliberate, the kind of gait that was both casual and predatory. Leaning down just slightly, he peered over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

"Still working, huh? You're really setting a new standard for the term 'workaholic.' Should I be worried you're cheating on me with a spreadsheet?" His voice was light, teasing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

You didn’t even glance his way. "Your jokes are terrible."

"Terrible? Wow, you wound me," he said, clutching at his chest as if your words had pierced his heart. But his grin didn’t waver. Instead, he slid closer, resting a hand casually on the back of your chair. "Seriously, though. You’re in a much better mood now. My charm’s working, isn’t it?"

"Or maybe I’m just ignoring you," you replied dryly, typing without pause.

He chuckled, his laughter rich and low. "Ignoring me? Oh, sweetheart, if you were ignoring me, you wouldn’t have responded at all."

You sighed, still refusing to meet his gaze. He watched you intently, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the subtle movements of your lips as you murmured something under your breath. For a moment, he was silent, caught in the strange, unfamiliar pull of wanting to touch you—not for show, not as part of this ridiculous transactional arrangement, but because he wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath his hands.

So, he acted.

Before you could react, his arms were around you, pulling you into a firm, almost possessive embrace. He buried his face against your hair, his lips brushing against your temple in a gesture that was disarmingly tender.

You stiffened but didn’t pull away. Not yet.

"Not in public," you said flatly, your tone devoid of emotion.

He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "We’re in an office. No one’s here but us. Doesn’t count."

You sighed, finally turning your head just enough to give him a withering look. "Still. Stop."

"Stop what?" he teased, his grin widening. He tilted his head, pressing his lips to your cheek in a playful kiss, lingering just enough to make your expression harden. "I’m just fulfilling my boyfriend duties. What, you don’t want me to be affectionate?"

"This isn’t affection. It’s a distraction," you retorted, your voice sharp but your body strangely still in his hold.

"Oh, so you do know what affection is. I was beginning to think you were allergic to it," he quipped, his arms tightening slightly as if daring you to push him away.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

His gaze drifted down to your lips again, unbidden memories of last night creeping into his mind. The way you’d slapped him, the way you’d rubbed at your mouth as if scrubbing him off—it had stung. More than he wanted to admit. And then you’d dropped that bomb about it not being your first kiss. That knowledge sat heavy in his chest now, simmering with something dark and ugly.

Jealousy.

He hated the word, hated the feeling even more. But there it was, coiled tight around his thoughts, tainting everything.

"Hey," he said suddenly, his voice softer, almost coaxing. "You never did tell me about your first kiss."

"Drop it," you said firmly, shifting in his hold.

"Come on," he pressed, his tone still light but his grip on you unyielding. "It’s not like I’m going to judge. I’m just… curious."

"I said drop it." This time, your voice had an edge to it, and you finally moved to shrug him off.

But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression carefully masked with that infuriating grin. "Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. For now."

You narrowed your eyes at him but said nothing, turning back to your work.

Still, his hands lingered, his fingers brushing over your arm in a way that felt deliberate. He smiled to himself, his mind churning with thoughts he didn’t want to dissect too closely.

Transactional or not, he was still your boyfriend. Your first boyfriend. The only one you had now.

And that? That was enough. For now.

────────────

The garage hummed with a low din: the scrape of pool cues against felt, the occasional clink of beer bottles, and the raucous laughter of his friends echoing off the cement walls. The air reeked of oil, sweat, and cheap cologne, a heady cocktail that somehow felt like home. He leaned against the pool table, a cue stick balanced lazily in one hand as his gaze drifted—unfocused, distant, and entirely unlike him.

“You good, man?” One of the guys leaned in, squinting at him. “You’ve been off all night. Usually, you’re the one running your mouth the loudest. What gives?”

He blinked, snapping out of his trance, and a lazy grin slid across his face. “What? I’m just letting you losers have your moment. Can’t have me wiping the floor with you every game.”

The group laughed, though the scrutiny didn’t ease. Someone else chimed in, gesturing toward him with a beer bottle. “Nah, nah, there’s something going on. You’ve been staring off into space like you’re in some indie movie montage. What’s eating you?”

He rolled his eyes, straightening up and spinning the cue stick in his hand. “Nothing’s eating me. You guys are just too boring to hold my attention.”

The teasing jabs came quick after that, each more ridiculous than the last. “Oh, I know what it is,” one of the guys said, smirking. “It’s that ice queen of his. What’s her name again? Miss ‘I’m too good for this world’?”

A chorus of laughter erupted, and he smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You mean my girlfriend?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, you wish you could land someone like her. Don’t be jealous just ’cause I’ve got taste.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Another guy leaned in, grinning. “Man, you’ve never been serious about anyone in your life. What’s the deal? She finally melt that big ‘I don’t care about anything’ heart of yours?”

He snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive. “As if. It’s a transactional thing, remember? Don’t go reading any Nicholas Sparks nonsense into it.” He paused, spinning the cue stick once more before adding, almost offhandedly, “Though she did mention something interesting.”

That got their attention. “Oh?” one of them said, his tone dripping with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“She’s got a past,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Romantic history or whatever.”

There was a beat of stunned silence before the room erupted into laughter again.

“Her? No way!” one of them wheezed, slapping his knee. “You’re telling me the Ice Queen actually let someone get close to her? Hell, I thought she’d freeze anyone who tried.”

“Right? She barely tolerates him,” another joked, pointing at him with a pool cue. “And he’s the boyfriend! Can you imagine anyone else even standing a chance?”

He shrugged, the grin on his face sharp and self-assured, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “Hey, I’m just as shocked as you guys. But yeah, apparently she’s kissed someone before. Wild, right?”

“Pfft, no way,” someone scoffed. “She’s probably messing with you. Bet she said it just to get under your skin.”

“Yeah, no offense, but she doesn’t exactly scream ‘romantic whirlwind.’ What, did she date a robot?”

The laughter rolled on, but he didn’t join in. Instead, he leaned back against the pool table, his grip tightening on the cue stick. He kept his expression light, easygoing, but inside, something coiled tighter and tighter, a venomous knot of jealousy and something he couldn’t quite name.

“Maybe she did,” he said finally, his voice smooth but edged with something razor-thin. “Or maybe she just has good taste and doesn’t fall for losers like you.”

The guys hooted and hollered, taking his words as another well-timed joke, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his mind lingered on the thought of her—her cool, distant demeanor, the way she brushed him off like he was nothing. And yet… someone else had touched her first.

The idea churned in his gut, hot and nauseating.

Transactional or not, she was his now. Wasn’t she?

———

The laughter around him ebbed and flowed, but it barely registered. He leaned against the edge of the pool table, staring blankly at the neon beer sign on the wall. The buzz of their voices blurred into a distant hum, and his mind gnawed at the frayed edges of the conversation like a dog with a bone.

“Yo, you’re spacing out again,” one of the guys said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “What’s the deal, man? You look like someone ran over your dog.”

He smirked, forcing himself back into the moment. “Please, like I’d ever let that happen. You guys know me—cool as a cucumber.”

“Cucumber, my ass,” someone quipped. “You’ve been weird ever since you brought up her romantic history. What’s the matter, hotshot? Jealous someone else got to her first?”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jealous? Him? Of course not. He was the picture of casual detachment, the poster boy for not giving a damn. It wasn’t like they were in love. The relationship was an agreement, a mutually beneficial arrangement. It wasn’t supposed to be messy. It wasn’t supposed to matter.

But it did.

“Jealous? Me?” He barked out a laugh, the sound a little too sharp. “C’mon, you think I care about some guy who’s probably ancient history? If anything, I’m curious. What kind of guy would even catch her eye? She’s not exactly handing out free passes.”

“Curious, huh?” One of the guys grinned, leaning against his pool cue. “Sure, let’s call it that. I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever been the possessive type.”

The comment was met with a wave of snickers, and he rolled his eyes, his grin widening. “Exactly. I’m chill. Relaxed. Totally unbothered.” He emphasized the last word, slapping the pool table for effect, but the laughter around him only grew louder.

“Yeah, sure you are,” another guy chimed in, taking a swig from his beer. “That’s why you’ve been stewing over this for, what, ten minutes now?”

He forced another laugh, but inside, the knot in his chest tightened. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t like him. He’d had plenty of relationships—flings, hookups, even a couple that could loosely be called serious—and he’d never felt like this. Never felt this gnawing, restless ache that made him want to punch a wall and pull her closer at the same time.

It wasn’t even logical. So what if she’d had someone before him? It wasn’t like he owned her. She was her own person, icy and untouchable as she was. And yet…

And yet.

The image of her brushing off his kiss the night before crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The way she’d wiped her sleeve across her mouth, the way her voice had been sharp, cutting, when she’d told him it wasn’t her first kiss.

The thought burned.

He clenched his jaw, spinning his pool cue in his hands like a restless fidget. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He wasn’t the jealous type. He wasn’t the possessive type. He was laid-back, easygoing, always ready with a joke or a grin. That was who he was. That was what made him so good at this kind of thing.

So why did the thought of her with someone else make him feel like he was coming apart at the seams?

“Alright, spill it,” one of the guys said, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. “Who was it, huh? Some prince charming? Some straight-laced business major who knows how to schmooze parents?”

He scoffed, the sound automatic. “Please. Like I’d even know. She didn’t exactly give me a play-by-play.”

“Bet it was some boring, pencil-pushing nerd,” another guy chimed in. “She seems like the type to go for someone... predictable.”

Predictable. The word grated against his nerves. Predictable wasn’t him. It wasn’t them. Their relationship, transactional as it was, wasn’t supposed to fit into neat little boxes. It was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to be different.

But here he was, sitting in a dingy garage with his friends, trying to rationalize the irrational. Trying to figure out why he cared so much about a past that wasn’t supposed to matter.

“You guys are way off,” he said finally, his tone light but his grip on the cue stick betraying him. “If she did have someone before me, they weren’t memorable. She’s with me now, isn’t she? That’s all that counts.”

“Spoken like a true charmer,” one of them teased, and he smirked, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Yeah, she was with him now. That was all that mattered.

So why didn’t it feel like enough?

———

The ribbing didn’t stop. If anything, it picked up speed like a train without brakes, and he was tied to the tracks.

“You’re really off your game tonight, man,” one of them said, chalking the tip of his cue stick. “You keep spacing out, missing shots, and letting us win? That’s not you. You’re usually the one handing us our asses.”

Another chimed in, leaning against the edge of the table with a sly grin. “Seriously, you’ve got this whole garage thinking. Is the great charmer finally losing his touch? That what’s bugging you?”

He twirled his cue with exaggerated nonchalance, plastering a smirk across his face even as his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles. “Please. Like I’d ever lose my touch. I could charm the rust off a bolt if I wanted to. I’m just... keeping things interesting. Letting you guys feel like you’ve got a shot for once.”

The laughter was immediate, loud, and thoroughly unconvinced. One of them even doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“Yeah, right. You’ve been distracted all night. And don’t think we didn’t catch the little bombshell you dropped earlier. The Ice Queen has a romantic history?”

“Shocking, right?” another piped up, voice dripping with mock astonishment. “I mean, no offense, but she doesn’t seem like the type to go for you. Or anyone, really.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt, knowing that trying to stop them would only make it worse. He’d been here before—well, not exactly here, but close enough to know the best way out was to wait until they got bored.

Too bad that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“I mean, think about it,” one of them continued, his tone growing more amused by the second. “She’s this cold, untouchable, straight-laced type. Always looks like she’s got a stick up her—”

“Careful,” he interrupted, his tone light but the edge unmistakable. The shift in the air was subtle but palpable, like the faint scent of ozone before a storm.

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. My bad. I was just saying—she’s not exactly your usual type. And you’re definitely not hers.”

“Yeah,” another added with a smirk. “She probably goes for, like, bookworm types. You know, the quiet, nerdy guys who read poetry and bring her tea while she’s working. The ones who wouldn’t dare try anything until they’ve written a formal letter asking for permission.”

That earned a round of chuckles, and his smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Not that anyone else noticed—they were too busy piling on.

“Yeah, man, face it. You’re too loud, too flashy. She probably thinks you’re just a walking ego trip. All charm, no substance.”

“Exactly,” someone else added. “It’s probably why your charm doesn’t work on her. She’s immune. Bet she’s only with you because it’s convenient or something.”

The words hit harder than they should have, slipping under his skin and sticking there like splinters. He forced out a laugh, sharp and just a little too loud. “Convenient? Yeah, right. She’s lucky to have me. I’m the full package: brains, brawn, and a personality that makes life interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” another guy said, raising an eyebrow. “Or annoying? Pretty sure those are interchangeable in your case.”

“Hey, she hasn’t dumped me yet,” he shot back, deflecting with practiced ease. “That’s gotta count for something.”

But even as he spoke, the words rang hollow. His usual bravado felt like a thin shell, barely holding together under the weight of something he didn’t want to name. Something ugly, and burning, and clawing at the edges of his chest.

Jealousy.

He hated admitting it, even to himself. But the idea of her with some quiet, bookish type—the kind of guy who might actually understand her silences and match her calm, reclusive nature—was like sandpaper against his nerves.

And worse, the idea that she might prefer someone like that...

He clenched his jaw, his smirk freezing into something sharper.

“You know,” one of them said, breaking into his thoughts, “it’s kinda funny. For all your talk, you’re acting a lot like a guy who’s got something to prove. Like you actually care what she thinks.”

“I don’t,” he lied smoothly, his voice as light as air. “Why would I? It’s not like this is anything serious.”

The words tasted bitter, but he swallowed them down, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” someone said, shaking their head. “But you might want to figure it out before she realizes you’re not as cool as you think you are.”

The garage erupted into laughter again, and he joined in, the sound loud and hollow.

But later, when he was alone, the laughter would fade, leaving only the burning question that wouldn’t let him rest:

Why did it matter so damn much?

────────────

The stars above the city burned cold, distant, and sharp as needles. The private balcony was far enough from the glittering chaos of the gala to offer a semblance of quiet, though the muffled hum of music and laughter still seeped through the glass doors. The cold air bit at your skin, but it was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the crowd.

He leaned against the balustrade, a champagne flute dangling from his fingers, the liquid untouched and shimmering like pale gold in the faint light. His tailored suit clung to his frame, the picture of nonchalance, but his eyes betrayed him—glinting with something predatory, something calculating.

“So,” he began, his voice smooth and edged with a teasing lilt. “I was thinking.”

You didn’t bother to turn from the view of the sprawling city below. “That’s dangerous.”

He chuckled, soft and low, but there was a weight to it that made your spine stiffen. He tilted his head, watching you like a hawk sizing up its prey. “Funny. No, really, I’ve been thinking about us.”

“Us,” you echoed flatly. “The contract is clear. There’s nothing to think about.”

“Sure,” he said, pushing off the railing and stepping closer. His presence was like a shadow swallowing light, oppressive and impossible to ignore. “But I’ve been reviewing it, and I think we’ve overlooked some... fine print.”

“Fine print,” you repeated, finally turning to face him, your expression impassive. “There is no fine print. You drafted it yourself, remember?”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Which means I have the right to amend it if I see fit. And I’ve noticed a few areas that could use... adjustment.”

You crossed your arms, your gaze narrowing. “Such as?”

He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the crisp night air. His tone was light, almost playful, but there was an undercurrent of something darker, something that coiled around his words like smoke.

“For one,” he began, “I think we need to establish clearer boundaries about third-party interactions. You know, to avoid misunderstandings.”

Your brow twitched. “There haven’t been any misunderstandings.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, his voice soft and coaxing, like a blade hidden in velvet. “But let’s be proactive. For instance, we should clarify what kind of behavior is acceptable when interacting with... other men.”

You stared at him, your expression as unyielding as stone. “That’s unnecessary.”

“Is it?” he countered, his grin sharpening. “You don’t think it’s wise to define expectations? After all, appearances are everything. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us.”

“People already know what this is,” you said coolly. “A performance. There’s no need to complicate it.”

“But isn’t the whole point of a performance to make it convincing?” he asked, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. “And for that, we need consistency. Unity. Which is why I propose we add a clause about exclusive proximity.”

“Exclusive proximity,” you echoed, your voice flat. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” he asked, tilting his head. “Think about it. If we’re seen with too many... distractions, it undermines the whole charade. It’s just common sense.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already pressing on, his words smooth and relentless.

———

The air seemed to thin as his words settled between you, the kind of silence that carried a weight far heavier than sound. He leaned closer, bracing himself against the railing with the kind of ease that betrayed the sharpness lurking beneath his carefully curated mask of charm. The city glittered below, but its brilliance felt muted compared to the fire smoldering in his gaze.

“Let me break it down,” he said, his voice silken, the edges just sharp enough to catch. “Exclusivity isn’t just about proximity. It’s about cohesion. A story without holes. Every moment you’re with someone else—a colleague, a stranger, hell, even a waiter—it opens a crack in the facade.”

Your eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “You’re reaching.”

He smiled—a wolfish, predatory thing. “Am I? Think about it. Someone catches sight of you laughing with some random nobody, and suddenly, the gossip mill is running wild. The illusion cracks. We lose credibility. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s losing.”

The venomous certainty in his tone made your stomach twist, though your face remained unreadable. “So what exactly are you proposing?”

He straightened, his shadow looming over you as if it carried a weight beyond the physical. “Ground rules. For both of us. Simple ones. For example…” He tapped a finger against the champagne flute, the ring of the glass echoing faintly. “No private conversations with anyone of interest. No one-on-one meetings without prior notice. And no touching—intentional or otherwise—unless absolutely necessary.”

Your brow arched, your lips tightening. “No touching. That’s… excessive.”

“Is it?” he shot back smoothly, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “Think about it. Even the smallest gesture—a hand on the shoulder, a brush of fingers—can be misconstrued. Especially when it’s you.” His gaze flickered, a flash of something unspoken. “People notice you. They watch. And they talk.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly against the balcony rail. “Fine. But if we’re establishing rules, they go both ways. You don’t exactly have a reputation for restraint.”

His grin widened, amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes. “Touché. Consider it mutual, then. No unnecessary interaction, no inappropriate proximity. Strictly business.”

“And why now?” you asked, your voice measured, almost detached. “Why bring this up tonight?”

For a moment, something flickered across his face—an almost imperceptible crack in the facade. But he recovered quickly, his grin sharpening. “Call it foresight. With the families involved, things get messier. More eyes, more pressure. We can’t afford to slip.”

You studied him, your silence stretching just long enough to make his fingers twitch against the railing. Finally, you inclined your head. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to keep this convincing, I’ll play along.”

He exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh but carried none of the humor. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.” He lifted his champagne glass in a mock toast, the liquid catching the starlight like liquid fire. “To flawless performances.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to the city below. The cold bit deeper now, but you didn’t shiver. Behind you, his gaze lingered, heavy and unrelenting.

The ground rules were set, the game clearly defined. But as the night pressed on, the sense of control he so carefully clung to felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

And it wasn’t the rules that haunted him—it was why he felt the need to create them in the first place.

———

He leaned casually against the railing, but his posture was deceptively loose, the sharp intelligence in his eyes betraying his calculated intent. The champagne glass in his hand caught the faint glow of the city below, though he hadn’t touched a drop.

“So,” he began, his tone laced with a playful edge, “while we’re ironing out the details, there’s another area I think we should revisit. Physical affection.”

Your eyes snapped to his, cold and narrowed. “What about it?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as though considering his words carefully. “Let’s be honest. Right now, the way things are? We’re convincing, sure—but just barely. The hand-holding, the occasional arm around the waist? It’s surface-level. Anyone with half a brain can see through it.”

“That’s the point,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “It’s enough to maintain appearances without crossing unnecessary lines.”

His grin widened, but there was an almost imperceptible edge to it, a flicker of something darker in his expression. “Enough for who? The nosy old ladies at brunch? Sure. But for the vultures at this level? Not a chance. They smell weakness. And right now, what they see screams ‘contractual convenience,’ not passion. We need to up our game.”

You folded your arms across your chest, your stance unmoving. “Define ‘up our game.’”

“Well,” he said smoothly, setting the untouched glass on the railing, “kisses, for one. Not just the casual kind. Something real. Convincing. Hell, even a few heated moments in public wouldn’t hurt. And behind closed doors?” He gave a mock shrug, his grin turning teasing. “Who knows? Maybe even a little noise for the sake of appearances.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall from your skull. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” he replied, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “Think about it. The way things are now, people will start talking. Rumors of a weak marriage. Arranged out of convenience, not love. And with you being... well, you—” his gaze flicked over you, deliberate and lingering— “it won’t take long for people to start circling. People like to test boundaries when they think they can get away with it.”

“People already talk,” you shot back. “That’s inevitable. But none of this changes the fact that this is fake. I’m not pretending that far.”

“Why not?” he countered, his grin sharpening. “You’ve already agreed to exclusivity. This is just the logical next step.”

“It’s unnecessary,” you said flatly. “The exclusivity rules make sense. This? This is overreach.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost coaxing tone. “Is it, though? Think about it. If we don’t convince them, it undermines everything we’ve built. You don’t want to spend the rest of this arrangement fending off speculation and propositions, do you?”

“Speculation is manageable,” you said, your voice cool and steady. “And propositions are irrelevant. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense. “But why should you have to? Why not just nip it in the bud? Make it clear to everyone that you’re untouchable.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your patience fraying. “I already am untouchable.”

His grin didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—jealousy, sharp and bitter. “Sure. But people don’t see that. What they see is opportunity. The kind that comes from a woman who’s too beautiful, too brilliant, and too unattainable for her own good.”

The words were teasing, but the way he said them made your skin prickle. There was something possessive lurking beneath the surface, something he tried to bury beneath layers of logic and charm but couldn’t entirely hide.

“This isn’t about logic,” you said, your voice steady but edged with steel. “It’s about control. And I’m not giving you that.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin turning mischievous. “Touché. But hey, I’m just saying—when the rumors start flying and the vultures start circling, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You turned back to the city, dismissing him with a sharp glance. “Noted. But the answer is still no.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. “Fair enough. For now.”

———

The cold of the night pressed against your skin, biting and relentless, but his body, wrapped tightly around yours, was an oppressive heat you couldn’t shake. The weight of his arms on your shoulders felt heavier than it should, his fingers grazing your arms with a possessive slowness. He leaned into you, his chest firm against your back, his breath warm and invasive against your ear.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone as smooth as the glassy city lights below, “this hesitation of yours—it’s fascinating. Almost charming, in its own way. But... I can’t help but wonder.” His voice dipped lower, a silken purr laced with something darker. “What’s got you so hesitant? People do this all the time, don’t they? Even when it doesn’t mean anything.”

You stiffened, your gaze locked on the sprawling cityscape, refusing to turn. Your neutrality was a fortress, built brick by brick to withstand his probing. But his persistence was a battering ram. Slowly, deliberately, he dipped his head closer, inhaling deeply near the curve of your neck, the action intimate enough to send a shiver rippling through your body.

“Unless,” he mused, his lips curving into a smirk you couldn’t see but could feel like a knife at your throat, “it’s because of them. You know, the one who got that first kiss of yours. Was it them?”

The question hung in the air, venomous and cutting. For a fraction of a second, the apathy on your face cracked—a millisecond’s slip in the armor you wore so flawlessly. Your hand twitched, and your lips parted as though to respond, but no words came. Instead, your expression hardened once more, a glacial mask snapping back into place. Silent. Untouchable.

But he had seen it.

That brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability had told him more than you ever could. And though his smile remained, it was stretched too tight, his teeth bared in something that wasn’t amusement. His fingers dug into your shoulders, just a little too hard, before softening as if to mask the momentary lapse in control.

“Ah,” he said, the word slipping out in a low exhale, almost inaudible. He pressed closer, the air between you suffocating. “So it was them. That explains so much.”

His tone was still light, teasing, but the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable, coiling tighter and tighter beneath his practiced facade. His lips ghosted near your temple, the proximity a calculated weapon, and his fingers trailed down your arms, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

“You know,” he continued, his voice honeyed but sickly sweet, “whoever they were... they must have left quite the impression to make you this way. But I’m curious—did it mean anything to you? Or was it just... a moment?”

Your silence was deafening, a dagger plunged into the space between you.

He chuckled softly, though the sound was hollow. “Not that it matters, of course. You’re here now, with me. That’s all that really counts, isn’t it?”

But his grip tightened imperceptibly, his smile curving into something dangerous, something that betrayed the storm raging just beneath the surface. He didn’t let go. If anything, his hold on you became stronger, his presence more invasive.

And though he kept his composure, the truth was a venomous whisper in his mind, sinking its fangs deep and twisting.

Not fucking happy at all.

────────────

He didn't bring it up again. Any of it, anymore.

But, the room still felt colder than it should have. The air conditioning hummed low, but the chill that seeped into your skin wasn’t mechanical. It was the kind of cold that came from within, from the way your fingers gripped the edge of the desk too tightly, from the rigidity in your spine as you pretended not to notice the man leaning against the corner with the practiced ease of someone who could read you too well.

He’d been watching you for too long now, his gaze like a scalpel, peeling away layers you’d tried so hard to keep intact. He shifted, breaking the stillness with a deliberate, exaggerated sigh.

“You know,” he began, his voice carrying that maddeningly playful lilt, “if looks could kill, that desk would be in pieces by now. What’d it ever do to you, baby?”

You didn’t answer. Of course, you didn’t.

He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the sterile air. The sound of his footsteps was soft but deliberate, a hunter’s tread. “Still giving me the silent treatment? Harsh. I’m starting to think you don’t appreciate my charming company.”

“Go away,” you said, your voice clipped, devoid of emotion. Your fingers tightened on the desk, a small tell he didn’t miss.

“Aw, come on,” he said, his grin audible in his voice. “Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to help. You know, as your incredibly dedicated, selfless boyfriend.” He leaned closer, his hand resting on the back of your chair. “And let’s face it, I’m the only person who’d put up with you when you’re like this.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look at him. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Seriously,” he continued, his tone shifting to something softer but no less teasing. “What’s going on? You’re more wound up than usual, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m fine,” you said, the words flat, a wall slamming down between you.

“Sure you are,” he said, circling around to lean on the desk beside you. He crossed his arms, his smirk unwavering. “You know, for someone so icy, you’re terrible at hiding when something’s bothering you.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your tone sharper now.

“And I said I don’t believe you,” he shot back, his voice light but with an edge of persistence. “C’mon, Ice Queen. What’s eating at you? Work? Family? Or did someone finally dare to make eye contact for more than three seconds?”

You ignored him, your focus locked on the papers in front of you, but he wasn’t deterred. He crouched slightly, putting himself in your line of sight.

“Look, I get it,” he said, his tone almost mockingly serious. “You’re all about the whole ‘strong, independent, untouchable’ thing. Very admirable. But newsflash, sweetheart: nobody’s that stoic all the time. Except maybe statues. And even they crack eventually.”

You pushed back from the desk abruptly, rising to your feet, but he didn’t give you space. Instead, he moved closer, his hand brushing your arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really not gonna tell me, huh?” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Not even a hint? A clue? C’mon, I’m dying here.”

You stiffened, stepping away, but he followed, his persistence like a shadow clinging to your every move. His hand caught yours this time, his grip firm but not forceful.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head with a smirk that was all sharp edges, “this whole ‘bottling it up’ thing you do? It’s kinda cute. Annoying, but cute. But it’s also not healthy. So spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” you snapped, finally turning to face him. Your eyes were cold, your voice even colder, but he wasn’t fazed.

“Liar,” he said simply, his grin widening. “You’re terrible at it, by the way. And you know I’m not going anywhere until you give me something.”

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but he just leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your arm. “Is it work? Someone bothering you? Or—” His tone shifted, sly and teasing now. “Wait, don’t tell me. Is it me? Did I finally get under your skin?”

“Always,” you muttered, pulling your hand free and turning away.

He laughed, the sound warm but with a sharpness that didn’t quite match. “Good. Means I’m doing my job right. But seriously, baby girl, if someone’s bothering you—besides me, obviously—you’d tell me, right?”

You didn’t answer, and for a moment, the teasing dropped from his voice entirely. He straightened, his gaze darkening as he watched you retreat to the far side of the room.

“You don’t tell anyone anything, do you?” he said softly, almost to himself. The words weren’t a question; they were a statement, heavy with an emotion he refused to name.

You paused, your back to him, but didn’t turn.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, his usual bravado snapping back into place like armor. He grinned, stepping toward you again. “Keep your secrets. But just so you know, sweetheart, I’m very good at getting what I want. And you? You’re not as unreadable as you think.”

The way he said it—soft, teasing, but with an undercurrent of something darker—sent a shiver down your spine. But you didn’t respond, and he didn’t push further. Not yet.

────────────

The glow of his laptop bathed the dim room in cold, blue light. The muffled sounds of the city filtered through the cracked window—a distant hum of engines, the occasional wail of a siren. But none of it reached him. His focus was absolute, his fingers ghosting over the keyboard with a precision that bordered on surgical.

Lines of text blurred and refreshed, tabs multiplied, searches refined. It was nothing. It was nothing. Just... research. A precaution, really. Something any diligent professional would do in his field.

"Due diligence." The phrase rolled through his mind like a soothing mantra as he adjusted his search parameters. Business students did this all the time, didn’t they? Gathering information on potential clients, tracking leads. It wasn’t unethical—it was smart. Practical. Just like he was.

His brow furrowed as the screen refreshed again, yielding nothing new. No personal social media accounts. No tagged photos. Everything you had out there was airtight—pristine. Your LinkedIn was polished to perfection, clinical and devoid of any personal flair. Your work email was meticulously professional. No footprints, no cracks.

You were a fortress, an enigma wrapped in ice, and it was maddening.

"Not even a stupid Instagram," he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand through his hair. His other hand hovered over the touchpad, fingers twitching with a restless energy he couldn’t quite contain. He hated how good you were at this, at keeping the world at arm's length. It was infuriating.

And yet, it only made him more determined.

Because how else was he supposed to help you? Protect you? It wasn’t like you’d talk to him, let alone open up. You were a steel door slammed shut, your apathy the lock, and your sharp, biting tongue the key he could never quite reach.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t stalking,” he murmured, as if saying it aloud could make it true. “This is... protecting my investment.”

He winced at the word. It felt wrong somehow, but logical. The contract between you two was the foundation of your relationship, after all. If you didn’t want to share your problems with him, fine—but he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. That wasn’t who he was.

“People research celebrities all the time,” he reasoned, his voice low and even, the rhythm of his own words calming. “Background checks, public records... It’s normal. It’s not like I’m invading her privacy. This is just... strategy.”

But even as he said it, a part of him bristled.

It wasn’t just strategy. And he knew it.

The truth was, it gnawed at him—the not knowing. The mystery of you was a drug he couldn’t quit, the unanswered questions keeping him awake at night. Who was the person who kissed you first? Why did your walls feel so much higher, so much thicker, lately? What the hell was going on in that brilliant, maddening head of yours?

He leaned forward again, fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed purpose. If he couldn’t ask you, he’d find out on his own. He told himself it wasn’t because he needed to know, wasn’t because the thought of anyone else touching you—or knowing you—made his stomach twist with something cold and acidic.

No, it wasn’t jealousy again. It was logic. Rationality.

But as the hours ticked by and the search grew colder, that logic began to crack.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen—one of the boys from the garage had sent a message, probably another joke about his “domestication.” He ignored it, returning his gaze to the screen.

Nothing. Again.

“Damn it,” he hissed, slamming the laptop shut with more force than necessary. He sat back, running both hands through his hair, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

You were impossible. And that impossibility—it thrilled him. Infuriated him. Tore at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out.

But he wouldn’t stop. Not until he had answers.

Because protecting you wasn’t just part of the job anymore.

It was everything.

────────────

♡ Masterlist. If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

♡ Tag List. “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[lowkeyerror]

Help With The Curriculum pt 5

Agathario x Reader

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: Requested, smut, car sex, fingering, strap-on sex, oral on strap, cunnilingus, blindfold, tied hands, 1 face slap, jealousy, lmk if there's more bc it's more than the rest haha

Summary: There’s a new professor in the English department who has taken a special interest in Agatha. You and Rio have to remind Agatha that she's already spoken for.

An: I thought it was over, but someone request another part so this is what I came up with, enjoy it.

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Things have fleshed out for your relationship with Rio and Agatha over the year. Originally there was uncertainty of what was to become of your encounters with the other professors, but now you had none. The three of you had made your relationship official, at least to each other.

The students and faculty of the university were none the wiser. Besides it wasn’t their business anyway. Unfortunately not being out publicly did have a few disadvantages. One of them being that some of the other faculty members would be flirty with the three of you.

Currently, both Rio and yourself had a problem with one of the English professors and how eager she seemed to interact with Agatha. There was no reason for her to ask for Agatha’s help or advice yet, that did not stop her.

Agatha brushed off your concerns stating that the professor was new, and just being friendly. Neither you or Rio bought that excuse.

Rio was a little more hotheaded than you when it came to the topic of Wanda. She’d roll her eyes, say something under breath, and even glare shamelessly at the auburn haired woman.

You on the other hand tried to keep your anger down. However, you couldn’t help how the new professor made you twitch with anger. Your hands, your jaw, and Rio had even caught your eye twitch once when Agatha mentioned the other woman.

“How did your kids do on the exam?”

“They did alright, the class average was like a high C. I’m thinking of curving it a little,” you respond to Rio as the two of make your way to Agatha’s classroom.

“Same, I think there were a few questions that were worded a little weird. I might just make them extra credit and remove them from the base test,” she agrees.

The two of you keep talking about your classes until you arrive at Agatha’s. You know she shouldn’t have a class at the moment, so you thought you’d go chat. Partially about the test grades and in part about dinner plans for the night.

When you enter the class, your conversation stops in its tracks. The pair of you are shocked to see Wanda already here, talking to Agatha.

The woman is leaning over Agatha’s desk, giving her the perfect view of her cleavage. You can see her biting her lip as she speaks lowly to your girlfriend. She’s clearly flirting with the woman as she chuckles when Agatha mutters something to her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Rio says under her breath.

You simply glare at the scene in front of you. You try to stay calm, but you only feel your anger intensify as you see Wanda leaning over even further so her hand could rest on Agatha’s.

“Professor Harkness,” your voice calls out with authority.

It causes all three women in the room to startle. It’s not often that you use this tone of voice. There’s a subtle irritation in it, hidden under the lower than usual octave, and the professional air you present.

“Professor L/n, Professor Vidal, what can I do for you?”

“We need to go over the exam scores and possibly the exam itself. Professor Vidal thinks some of the questions are unfair, we need to think about restructuring the test for next semester,” you keep your focus solely on Agatha.

“Isn’t that something you should talk to the head of the department about?” Wanda jumps into the conversation.

“I am head of the department,” Rio answers with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Oh, well in that case I’ll be on my way. I just wanted to ask you, Professor Harkness, if you maybe had some time after your last class to help me with some of my curriculum?”

Rio couldn’t hold her tongue any longer, “Aren’t you an English professor? What could she possibly help with better than anyone in your department?”

Wanda begins to stutter, “There’s actually quite a bit o-of overlap and-”

“Maybe you should talk to your department head, if you’re lost,” you add on.

“I actually have plans tonight, Wanda sorry. Professor Vidal and L/n are right. I'm sure someone in your department, like Professor Romanoff, can help you craft your curriculum,” Agatha answers the woman kindly.

The English professor nods to herself dejectedly, “Thank you Professors.”

She makes her exit after that. When the door closes behind her the room stays silent.

“That little slut was all over you Agatha,” Rio begins her tangent. “Her tits were practically in your face, she was just waiting on you to lean forward some more.”

“Would you relax it’s not like that.”

Rio’s jaw drops slightly and her eyebrows raise, “Oh, it’s not like that? Then why is she, an English professor, repeatedly asking you, a history professor, for your help.”

“She’s just new to being a professor, it’s not like-”

“No, she didn’t ask you for tips on being a professor. She asked you to help her with the curriculum and we of all people know what that really means. We’re nearly halfway into the semester, the fuck does she need help for?” Rio does not let Agatha finish.

“Y/n would you tell her that she's overreacting?” Agatha looks to you for help.

Your expression hardens, “She was touching you.”

“It was a friendly-"

“Rio and myself are the only ones allowed to touch you like that,” you hold her gaze.

“You can’t be serious?”

You walk around the desk to stand next to her, “And you can't be this naïve. You know that whore likes you, and you're letting her take up your time, touch you, and flirt with you? Do you need a reminder of who you belong to?”

You see her squirm under your words, “Y/n.”

“Rio and I will show you tonight. You're going to take what we give you.”

You don't say anything else turning on your heel. Rio gives Agatha a small teasing smile before walking out behind you.

“So, what's the plan?”

You smirk at the older woman, “You’re in charge tonight.”

Rio stops walking, and her eyes widen, “I’m what?”

You chuckle at her, checking the hall for prying eyes before you kiss her on the cheek, “You’ve earned it. I’m following your lead.”

“I have some ideas.”

Your smile only grows, “I’m all ears baby.”

Rio shares them with you eagerly. It’s nothing too crazy, but you find yourself falling in love with the way she thinks. You can tell she’s wanted to do this for a long time. By the time she’s gone over the main things, you can’t ignore how wet you are.

“Rio,” you say her name tentatively.

She hums in response.

“When’s your next class?”

“Half hour, why?”

You don't elaborate, instead quickening your pace walking towards the parking garage. When you get to your car, you climb in the backseat. You tug Rio in after you.

She falls on top of you, your lips find hers eagerly. She surprised by your actions, but falls into them with no problem.

You take her hand and slip it into your pants, she gasps at your wetness.

“Your dirty little ideas got me so hot baby. I need you,” you breathe out against her lips.

“Fuck, you’re drenched,” she slips 2 fingers inside of you.

You help her slide your pants down around your ankles so she’s able to thrust inside of you. You could hear her breathing into your ear, her lips ever so lightly grazing your earlobe.

“I love the way your fingers curl into me. I love your weight on me. I love it when you’re in control baby, so giving,” you breathe out.

She begins to pump faster, sucking on your neck. Her thumb begins to play with your clit, knowing that you were on limited time.

“Cum for me. Please, show me how good I make you feel.”

You cum on her fingers and she helps you ride it out. You kiss her passionately not wanting to go back to the campus. Rio is the one to break the kiss.

She reaches over to the small towels that you'd taken to keeping in the car. She cleans you deliberately.

“Let’s just cancel class,��� you play with hairs on the back of her neck.

“You know I can't do that,” Rio kisses your nose.

You find yourself whining a bit, “Family emergency, please. Let’s just go home, get a head start on the activities.”

Rio bites her lip, “You’re whining.”

“I’m begging,” you correct her. You can see her about to crack. Your hand cups her face gently, “Please, I need more of you. I want to make you feel good too.”

“Y/n,” she pleads.

“Fine, I guess we can go back to class,” you frown.

Rio puts her hand on your chest, keeping you down. You hardly beg, the submissive needy nature that you’re exhibiting does something to Rio. She’s usually the one who’s the neediest of the bunch, but today it doesn’t seem that way.

“You’re going to make it worth my while, pretty girl?”

You blush at the nickname, a singular word spoken softly from your lips, “Yes.”

“You better.”

The two of you maneuver so that you’re sitting up. Both sending out an email canceling the rest of your classes for the day.

Rio gives you a quick kiss, and exits your car, “I’ll see you at home.”

You all took separate cars to work, partially because you all had different schedules, but also in part to keep the school out of your business.

You hop in the driver’s seat, trying to calm yourself before you drive away. While you called it home, technically it was Agatha’s place. Rio and yourself kept your residences, but you spent most of time at Agatha’s.

Somehow Rio manages to beat you home. You’re eager to get inside. When you do, it’s eerily quiet. You head straight to the bedroom.

When you go in, Rio stands with her back facing the door. She’s already naked. You shut the door softly behind you. She still doesn’t look your way. You strip off your clothes before wrapping your arms around her middle.

You begin placing a trail of kisses on her shoulders, up the side of her neck. Her eyes are blown when they meet yours. You shudder under her gaze. You try to kiss her, but she pulls away slightly.

“I know we talked about what we were going to do to Agatha, but…”

Your eyebrows crease, “But what baby?”

“Can I fuck you?”

You feel your face heat up without your permission.

“With the strap?” You ask her for clarification.

“It’s ok, if you aren't comfortable, but-"

You kiss her eagerly. The sound of your lips smacking against each other, fills the room.

“Baby, I’ll ride you so nasty,” you giggle lowly against her lips.

Now it’s Rio who is blushing . She doesn’t say anything as you help her into the harness. Once the strap is attached to the base, she lays on the middle of the bed.

You’re still slick from her fingering you in the car. You see her reaching for the lube, but you grab her hand.

“I want to get it wet,” you tell her.

You spit in your hand before you begin to stroke the fake cock. It’s not too long after that your lips replace your hand and you begin to slowly bob your head up and down the cock.

“Oh my god,” Rio is intoxicated by the image.

She has truly never pictured seeing you in such a way. She’s hesitant, but her hand tangles itself in your hair. You can hear her breathing become shaky.

“L-look at me,” you hear her stutter.

You look through your lashes to find her staring at you lustfully. Not breaking contact, you go down to the base of the toy. She holds you there until you’re gagging on the rubber piece.

When you come off of it, you’re teary eyed, but you continue to lick her cock. You press kisses against the shaft.

“I need you inside of me.”

You straddle her waist. The way she looks so enamored has you feeling really hot. She can hardly speak as she watches you.

“Speechless baby?”

Rio swallows hard, “You’re just so pretty worshipping my cock. I just want to watch you.”

“Then watch me.”

You don’t remember the last time you had something fill you up this way. Slowly you lower yourself onto the saliva covered cock. You moan as you take it all. Rio’s hands place themselves on your hips.

It takes a moment for you to adjust. Your hands rest in the middle of her chest as you find a rhythm riding her.

“Holy shit,” your eyes roll back as you pick up the pace. “Rio, please baby, I need you t-to fuck me.”

Your words seem to pull her out of her trance. Her hips start snapping up to meet you as you bounce on her cock. Her hands travel from your waist to your breasts. She massages the mounds in her hand before playing with your nipples.

Rio sits up abruptly, pulling you closer against her. Her tongue glides over your nipple, sucking gently.

“Oh fuck,” you yelp in surprise as she lifts you just to lay you flat on the bed.

She begins to bury herself into your cunt at a rapid speed. The sound of her impaling your sloshing cunt paired with her guttural breathing sends you into a frenzy.

“You take me so good sweetheart. I could watch your hole swallow my cock forever. I can feel your hole sucking me in. You’re so soaked, I keep thinking it’s just going to slip out of you.”

You lock your legs around her, making sure she stays inside of you, “I’m going to cum.”

Rio fucks you even harder, nails digging into your hips, “Cum on my cock.”

You fall apart at her command. Her thrust slow before she gingerly pulls out of you, making you whimper at the loss fullness.

She cuddles up into your arms. It causes you to chuckle a bit as you run your fingers through her hair.

“You’re such a softie baby,” you kiss her forehead.

“Shut up, I didn't think you'd take it like that is all. You had me in awe,” Rio admits looking up at you.

Her fingers draw patterns on your skin.

“It made me feel really hot, so caught up in the way I looked with you inside of me, could barely even speak,” your hand falls from her head down her back.

“I’ll do better next time,” she mumbles.

You tilt her head up to look at you, a seriousness in your eyes, “I loved the way you fucked me baby, and if you can keep being my good girl, I’ll let you do it again.”

“Your good girl?”

You nod, “My good girl, since Agatha is so preoccupied with the English department.”

“I’m going to be rougher with her,” Rio says it as a statement.

“As rough as you want. We’re going to make sure everyone at that place knows she’s taken,” your fingers play with Rio’s harness. “In the meantime though, I think it’s time I gave you a reward for fucking me so sweetly.”

You undo the harness to expose Rio’s pussy.

“Yes, please.”

That's how the two of you spent your time waiting for Agatha. Some fucking, some talking, and then more fucking. When Agatha did come home, she was welcomed by the sound of Rio loudly moaning your name.

She takes her time going to the bedroom. When she gets there, she hears the sound of your soft laughter. Going through the door she sees your head resting on Rio’s thigh. You have a small smile on your lips as the other woman scratches your head with her free hand.

“So this is why you both decided to play hooky today?” Agatha makes her presence known.

The air in the room shifts when you both lay eyes on her. She freezes in place under the weight of the gaze.

“Tonight, you have a lesson to learn,” you say standing.

Rio follows suit, her eyes shamelessly dragging over Agatha’s body.

Agatha scoffs, “Wanda is just-”

“We don’t care. She has a thing for you, and you haven't deterred her enough. Tomorrow you're going to let her know you’re taken,” you rebut.

Rio shakes her head, “She won't have to tell her, she’ll figure it out on her own. She should pick up the… context clues, English professor and all.”

“Fine, do your worst, I suppose,” Agatha gives in.

Rio smiles holding up the silk bands for Agatha to see. The smug look drops from her lips. Rio passes you one of the ribbons while she takes the other.

Rio careful covers Agatha’s eyes, tying the ribbon behind her head. The woman then removes the top half of Agatha’s clothing. You pull her wrist out in front of her tying them together.

You and Rio lead her to the chair in her room, helping her sit down. Rio takes a seat on Agatha’s lap while you stand behind the chair.

“Agatha, you look so perfect tied up like this,” Rio’s thumb cascades across Agatha’s sharp jaw, before pulling at her bottom lip. “Suck,” the tone she uses is a complete 180 from the way she was speaking to you.

Agatha complies taking Rio’s thumb into her mouth.

“You’ve been behaving like an attention whore. Reveling in any ounce that that red headed skank has been giving you. Do we not give you enough attention?”

Your hands plant themselves on her shoulders, massaging them. Rio feels Agatha’s mouth vibrate around her thumb. She pulls it out of the woman’s mouth.

“She asked you a question?”

“You give me more than enough attention.”

Rio hums, then leans forward so her lips are touching Agatha’s ear. “Then why are you letting other bitches touch you?”

Rio gets out of Agatha’s lap and you remove your hands from her shoulders. The lack of contact makes the woman want to stand.

“Sit still,” you command, which causes her to stop all her squirming.

While Agatha sits, you and Rio prepare yourselves. The two of you stand in the middle of the room, stroking your fake cocks. You can see Agatha begin to lose her composure as she waits for something else to happen.

“Alright, come to the middle of the room and get on your knees,” Rio gives the directions.

It’s a bit of a challenge with her hands tied and the blindfold, but she manages it fine. You turn her so that she’s facing the two of you.

“Open wide, we’re going to shove our cocks down your throat,” you grab a fistful of her hair.

She listens, even making a show of sticking her tongue out. You guide her with a firm grip, making her take Rio first.

“That’s it, relax that throat for me,” Rio begins thrusting into the woman’s mouth.

Her grip replaces yours and you watch Agatha struggle with Rio’s building pace. Rio is rough with Agatha, holding her head down until the full length is in her mouth. She keeps her there until a few harsh coughs leave her, causing her to come completely off of the dick.

She takes a few deep breaths, but you don’t allow her to catch many more, before you shove your cock in her mouth.

“If you want attention, you got it baby.”

You don’t fuck her as hard as Rio, but you guide her more. You control the way her head bobs with an iron like grip. The saliva pooling down her chin and onto her chest drives you insane. It’s the power of it all, seeing her in this position turn you on tremendously. You push her head off of your dick, watching her chest heave up and down.

She’s not in the floor for much longer as Rio yanks her up and practically throws her on the bed. Rio doesn’t let up as her lips attach to the side of Agatha’s neck sucking harshly.

You join in, bombarding the other side of Agatha’s neck. The woman in between begins to pant at the sensation. Rio begins to play with Agatha’s nipples as she assaults the woman’s neck. This causes her back to arch slightly off of the bed.

You meet Rio in the middle of Agatha’s throat. The two of you remove yourselves from Agatha to see the full necklace of hickeys that you’ve created around the woman’s neck and collarbone.

“Now everyone will know that you’re taken,” your finger runs the path of the dark purple bruising.

You don’t say anything else as Rio pulls you into a sloppy kiss. The two of you are hovering over Agatha. The woman on her back mewl at the sounds she’s hearing. She can’t help, but fight against the restraints, wanting to touch the two of you so badly.

When the kissing stops, you decide to rid Agatha of the bottom portion of her clothing. You can't resist her leaky pussy. You look briefly to Rio, almost as if asking permission, and she nods.

Agatha withers as she feels your breath against her cunt. You see her hole clenching around nothing.

“Please,” she cries out.

You give her a teasing lick that makes a desperate wail escape her lips.

“Beg some more,” Rio instructs her.

Her voice is unsteady as she attempts to plead, “Y/n, Rio please. Someone, I’m sorry I- I let her touch me. I don't want anyone to touch me that's not you, please just. I need you, pl-”

Her sentence is cut off by a high pitch yelp as you begin sucking on her clit. While you get consumed with her drooling pussy, Rio begins to suckle off her. Her teeth playfully nip at Agatha’s tits before nursing from them like a baby.

The simultaneous stimulation has Agatha’s brain turning to mush. She doesn’t know what sounds to make or words to say, it all just becomes gibberish. She can feel herself getting close and you can tell by the way her cunt tries to take your tongue.

Instantly you’re removing your lips from he and Rio is doing the same. It causes Agatha to sit straight up in bed. She’s looking and moving frantically.

“No! Please, I need to cum. Let me cum, don’t leave me like this. I was being a stupid slut, I won’t do it again. You own me, you both own please. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

You can tell by the wet spot on the blindfold and the tearstain on her cheeks that she’s crying.

“Stomach flat on the bed, ass in the air,” Rio’s words have Agatha scrambling to comply.

You take the time to remove your harness and sit in front of Agatha with your legs open. Rio straddles her legs rubbing the tip of the strap through Agatha’s messy folds. The woman responds by sticking her ass higher on the air.

Rio gives it a harsh smack, “I’ve been waiting so long for this.” She wraps Agatha’s hair around her fist yanking the woman partially up right. “Now eat her out while your pussy swallows my cock.”

She shoves Agatha’s face down right into your pussy, which the woman starts licking and sucking ravenously. You almost come off of the bed at her carnivorous speed.

“Oh fuck,” you lament.

That’s when Rio decides to slip herself fully into Agatha. Her body shakes and her mouth stops working on you as she tries to recompose herself.

“Keep eating or I’ll pull out,” Rio threatens.

Agatha’s face buries itself between your legs. She can't worry about her nose or the mess on her face all she knows is that she wants Rio to move. Your taste quenches a part of her greed, but she needs more.

Rio begins to pound Agatha’s pussy. Unable to stop herself from slapping the woman’s ass as she drives deep inside of the woman.

“I’m going to cum,” you murmur, reaching behind Agatha’s head to untie the blindfold. When it falls from over her eyes you lift her head just enough to meet your gaze. “Look at me while you make me cum.”

You slap her firmly across the face, like she had asked for last time, having looked a little more into the practice. The long grunt she let out into your cunt sent you over the edge.

“Now who do you belong to,” you move some hair out of her face .

Her words are unintelligible as she fails to answer you. The bliss she feels with Rio fucking into her nearly too much to handle. Rio’s arm locks Agatha in a semi choke hold, raising her body at a new angle. It’s just enough so she can speak into Agatha’s ear as she rams into her.

“Who owns you, Aggie?” Rio whisper, biting Agatha's ear lobe.

“You own me, you own me , you own me,” she keeps repeating it until she nearly screaming.

You swipe your fingers through your folds before pushing them into her mouth, “Ssshhhh. That whore will never fuck you like we can. She can’t have you like this. Don’t ever let her fucking touch you again.”

She nods her head as best she can in her position.

“R-rio please,” she whimpers, with your fingers still in her mouth.

The begging, mixed with the way Agatha was desperately pushing herself back to meet the thrusts, has Rio cumming.

“Make a mess for me, Agatha,” her hold on the woman’s throat tightens.

It sends her over the edge. You quickly take your fingers out of her mouth, to catch the woman as she slumps forward. Her head leans on your shoulder with her mouth open. You don’t care about the saliva that begins to pool on your skin.

Agatha winces slightly as Rio gently pulls out of her. She discards the harness, wrapping her arms around Agatha’s middle. Her head rest against Agatha’s back. You all silently attempt to catch your breaths.

You untie Agatha’s wrists and she sighs in content. The first thing she does is place one hand on your cheek and the other on Rio’s thigh.

“Jealousy is so hot on you two,” Agatha breaks the silence.

You both laugh, but you're the next one to speak, “Seriously though if she doesn't back off after this, I'm going to snap.”

“Me too, you’re ours Agatha, “ Rio adds on, placing a gentle kiss on Agatha’s back.

She nods lazily against your shoulder, “I’m yours.”

“Damn right,” you kiss her forehead.

“I’m exhausted,” Rio moves to fully lay on the bed.

You agree with her, “We’ve been fucking since we walked through the door, I could sleep for 3 days.” Your stomach growls causing you to speak again, “Some food wouldn't hurt either.”

Agatha is the one to get out of the bed and throw on a robe. You and Rio watch in amusement as she struggles to walk. Her legs tremble with every step.

“Where you going love?”

She doesn’t look back, “To the kitchen, I’ll cook us something. It’s the least I could do after using Wanda to make you jealous.”

“I fucking knew it,” Rio calls out.

“Don’t be too mad. You finally got to fuck me, my good girl,” Agatha responds.

Rio tries not to, but she melts at Agatha’s words.

“That sweet talk won’t work with me,” you call out to her.

“Are you sure about that daddy?” She annunciates the last word in a teasing tone.

You fluster at her words, “Not fair, Harkness.”

“All is fair in love and war Professor L/n.”

Rio takes your hand in hers, “She always wins banter pretty girl, you’ll get used to it.”

You don’t concede yet, taking one more shot at Agatha, “Well in that case, I guess it’s only fair to tell you that your good girl fucked me with the strap earlier.”

Rio can’t hide the tint in her cheeks as she smacks you lightly on the arm. You fail to hold back your laughter as you see Agatha hobble back into the doorway.

“She did not,” Agatha says incredulously.

You kiss the top of Rio’s head, “She did, and I loved every second of it.”

“So when do I get to?” Agatha complains.

You shrug, “Considering you purposefully made us jealous, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“Y/n,” she drags out your name when she whines.

Rio interjects, “I think you'll have to… earn it.”

“Precisely.”

Agatha pouts, “I’m going back to the kitchen.”

“Wait,” you stand up pulling Rio with you.

You peck Agatha’s lips, “ Thank you for cooking , love.”

Rio does the same, “We love you.”

She smiles shooing you both away, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, love you too. I’ll call you when it’s ready."

While Agatha cooks, the two of you straighten up the room, before getting cleaned up, with fresh clothes on. You can’t help but smile, thinking about this little life you cultivated with Rio and Agatha. It feels like a personal slice of heaven. If you knew this is what would come of Agatha asking for help with the curriculum, maybe you would’ve asked her first.

[pencil-n-pen]

hii! i hope you are doing well. i love your overworked series so much. it's very relatable to me on what the circumstances the reader is in and all i do eat the series all up(munch munch) how about like a study date for them? that would be cute

Hello honey !! Thank you so much for this request, I was so excited to write it <3 Hope you enjoy!

STUDY OR DATE

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄ ౨ৎ ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠄⠂

summary: you ask Leon to go on a study date with you at a coffee shop. Things don’t go as planned, but work out just fine in the end.

cw: i think this qualifies as a drabble not a oneshot it’s short :( but sweet :) sorry some angst slipped in there, one of Leon’s ex friends says some kind of mean things about you but Leon comes to your defense, honestly that’s it this is pretty fluffy

a/n: i just know leon absolutley slams those frou frou coffee drinks. i say this as a frou frou coffee drink enjoyer

no the Baby I'm Yours reference was not intentional

masterlist | previous (not actually a SERIES series, just takes place in the same universe)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was you who proposed the idea of a study date.

"I think it might be nice," You'd said, staring at your shoes and shuffling in place as people file out of the last class of your day- the one you share with Leon. "I usually study by myself, but I think it would be good to... get out of my room, for a bit. Um. And then we could study together?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

This is one of his current favorite sentences. "Training you to stand your ground, princess. Nothing bad is gonna happen when you do."

You squeeze the strap of your backpack. "Telling...? But also asking, because I don't know if you're free."

"Even if I did have plans I would cancel them. Where were thinking of going?"

A burst of heat rises to your face. "That cafe? Near the east side of campus?"

He leans down, giving you a quick peck on the nose. "I think that's a great idea."

The walk to the cozy cafe isn't too long, but it is cold. You shamelessly use the winter chill as an excuse to cuddle up to Leon.

"As if you need one," He mumbles, squeezing you close to him.

When you arrive to the shop, the bell dinging signifying your entrance, Leon tugs at the backpack on your shoulder.

"Gimme that. I'll snag us a table that has outlets. Order something for me?"

You don’t have to look to know the hand in front of you has his credit card in it. And you know better than to refuse. He likes spending money on you, for whatever reason. You’re not complaining, really, it just eats at you a little bit. Just a little.

But it’s also really, really, really sweet. The kindness tends to override the guilt, in his case.

For yourself, you order exactly what you want- Leon has a second sense for when you order something that's for the sake of preserving money rather than what you actually want. You'd asked him once where his seemingly never-ending supply of money came from, but he'd just kissed you on the forehead and told you not to worry about it. You kind of still worry about it, but never enough for him to notice.

For Leon, you order exactly what he wants but will never admit to liking- an iced caramel macchiato. The way coffee shops like Starbucks make them, not the traditional way. More milk and sugar than coffee. It's funny watching him slug his way through black coffee with a splash of milk when you know for a fact the milky, sugary coffee drinks never last longer than about five minutes when they're in front of him.

The cafe isn't that crowded, so it doesn't take long for your drinks to be ready. You take them from the bar with a thanks, then slide into the table Leon snagged for you.

His eyes catch on the drink.

"What is that?"

"An iced caramel macchiato."

"And why, exactly, did you order that for me?"

"Because you like them."

"No I-"

"Don't even pretend."

He takes the drink with a grumble, but reaches across the table and squeezes your hand once, a quiet thank you.

You take a sip of your own drink, then take your supplies out of your backpack and get to work.

You work fairly quietly, Leon occasionally sliding random snacks he, apparently, just keeps with him across the table to you. At one point, he gets up and returns with a plate that has a few of the pastries you were eyeing earlier on it. How he even knew exactly which ones you wanted is a mystery to you.

An hour or so after he gets the pastries, the bell dings, signifying someone's entrance.

"No way! Leon, is that you?"

Leon's face twists into something sour and angry, and a small stab of apprehension slices through your chest as the voice is accompanied by approaching feet.

"Josh," Leon says evenly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "Haven't seen you in awhile. On purpose."

You turn, eyeing the man that's standing behind you, a few other guys standing a little ways behind him, all leering for a glance.

The Josh in question just laughs. "Oh, whatever Leon," His gaze catches on your face and his eyes widen.

"No way. Are you seriously here with the pretentious--"

"You mean my girlfriend?" Leon leans forward in his seat, his jaw set and his fists clenched where they rest on the table. "Be very careful about your next words."

Girlfriend?

Josh blinks. "I meant nothing by it, man. I'm just surprised to see you here with her, is all."

Leon looks absolutely murderous. "And why would that be?"

"Just because, you know. We always talked about how annoying her attitude was. And that rivalry thing you guys had."

"I remember ditching you guys when you started ragging on her, yeah. Fuck off, Josh."

Josh raises his hands. "Jeez, okay man. I was just surprised. You're seriously choosing that girl over us?"

"This woman, yes. We were never friends like that. Forgive me if I prefer being with someone who doesn't make me consider the legality of finishing a college degree in prison."

Josh seems upset by Leon's statement, but Leon holds his ground. He jerks his head towards the rest of the gaggle. "Go."

Josh scampers away, metaphorical tail between his legs.

Leon immediately turns to you, brows furrowed in concern and body un-tensing. "Are you okay? Did he upset you? Do I need to kill him?"

You blurt out the first and only thing you got from that entire exchange.

"I'm your girlfriend?"

He re-tenses.

"Do you... not want to be?"

"No!" You shout, a little too loudly, because Josh and his friends look back over, but the ensuing glare from you and Leon is enough for them to look away so quickly you think you hear Josh’s neck pop.

"No," you say quietly, "I um. I'd really like to be your girlfriend. I just. I didn't know what we were."

He gets that fond look in his eyes again. The one he gets before he says something sappy.

"Baby," He says, reaching across the table and grabbing your hand. "I"m yours. I mean that. I didn't formally ask you out because I figured you wanted to take things slow."

"I did. At first."

He smiles. "Then princess, my princess, may I please be your boyfriend?"

You can't help the giddy giggle the escapes your mouth. "Yes."

"Oh thank god," He says, wiping fake sweat off his brow. "It would've been awkward to have a heart attack and die in this cafe."

"That seems a bit extreme."

"Not really. Have you seen my girlfriend? Cardiac events are a normal reaction, I assure you."

You don't get much studying done for the rest of the day.

--

After that, there is a noticeable increase in study dates and date-dates. Leon is weirdly good at picking date spots and ideas.

The first time he introduces you as his girlfriend at a party, Ada shouts so loudly you think she might burst someone's eardrum. Your roommates all squeal with excitement when you tell them.

Chris, being Chris, says "Weren't you already dating?" when Leon tells him the news. That seems to be the general consensus.

You're on another study date right now, Leon's face doing that cute little scrunch thing when he's thinking about a math problem, and you set your pencil down just to stare at him.

He's your boyfriend.

You're his girlfriend.

He looks up at you, chewing on the end of his pencil. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No," You say, a little breathless. "M' just looking at my boyfriend."

He grins, leaning across the table to give you a kiss, soft and slow.

You're normally not one for PDA.

But maybe you'll allow it. For your boyfriend.

ᯓ✦

[imujings]

you make my dreams hall & oates and seungkwan :)))

what i've got's full stock of thoughts and dreams that scatter then you pull them all together, and how i can't explain

wc <1k. warnings cursing, talk about Growing UpTM. jay’s musings i’m going to rip my hair out this req is so CUTE pls and it fits boo so well :(( also just gives vibes of growing up in love :( also. this is a Formal Apology to everyone who read my bsk birthday angst. please receive it well LOL

“You only got one?”

Seungkwan juts his bottom lip out in a pout when you plop down next to him on the scorching hot patio. The mango Melona you unwrapped inside is already melting, sticking to your fingers with sweet syrupy goodness.

“I only have one, dumbass. Told you this before I went in to get it.”

A cicada buzzes somewhere in the vicinity behind Seungkwan and he yelps, hands flying to your arm for security. You scoff as the cream popsicle almost tumbles off its stick.

“Yah, be careful of where you’re putting your hands, ‘Kwan,” you complain.

The boy mumbles a sorry, slowly releasing your forearm. Even though a heatwave’s currently raging on in your city, there’s a slight pang in your heart at his touch disappearing, like you’ve lost part of him you can’t get back.

To compensate for the loss, you offer him the rest of the Melona, watching in amusement as he side eyes you before taking it in his nimble fingers.

The unbearable high temperatures have left you and your bestfriend bored, to say the least. Air conditioning in your area only worked so well, leaving the two of you having to escape outside as a last resort and hope the breeze was enough to fan your faces. You’re sporting your thinnest tee; Seungkwan his most revealing tank.

You lazily crack a smile at him when he finishes the popsicle without needing to be told twice. Silence swallows you two, not unlike the summer heat—but in contrast, the lull is tolerable. Welcomed, even.

As much as you adored talking about senseless things and the boy next to you adored shaming you for said senseless things, these comfortable moments of quiet were some of your favorites. It was incredibly (albeit surprisingly) easy to relax around Seungkwan. While others might preach that it’s hard to let walls down once built, you aren’t even sure if you laid down a foundation for your bestfriend, letting him into your life like it was second nature.

Sometimes, people squeeze into your life to take up space in the missing cracks that leak emptiness. Other times, they slot in perfectly like the space was personally hand-crafted for them to take up.

You like to think Seungkwan fits the latter description pretty nicely.

The sun beats down mercilessly on your face. You close your eyes, praying to whatever higher up power there is for even a hint of wind.

“How many more times d’ya think we’re gonna get to do this?” Seungkwan suddenly asks.

His question has your eyes fluttering open to look at him. Seungkwan’s hair sticks to his forehead, his cheeks rosy from the humidity. His lips, slightly shiny from ice cream residue, are pursed in thought. The briefest, fleeting idea of swiping the glossiness away with your thumb takes root in your mind.

You dig it up and throw the seedling away.

Your name being said startles you, and you blink hurriedly. “Hm?”

“Were you even listening to me?” Seungkwan whines in exasperation. “You’re such a fake friend.”

“Excuse me, who just shared their last mango Melona with you?”

“That’s besides the point!”

Your laughter is as bright as the beaming sun. Seungkwan’s breath hitches from beside you and you bump his shoulder with a giggle.

“Why’re you asking that like we’re gonna die in the next few days?” you tease. “It’s not like the world is ending or something.”

Your bestfriend hesitates. Inches his fingers closer to yours on the patio. “I mean like, college is starting soon. We’re going to different universities. We won’t have time for each other anymore. How many more moments are we gonna get like this where the only thing we’re worried about is feeling cool?”

“I’m always cool,” you wryly grin. Seungkwan hits your shoulder and you fake a wail.

“You are so childish.”

Ah. There it is. The underlying, nervous chatter in his voice that makes you want to swaddle him in your arms until his breath steadies. Sitting up straighter, you rest your hands in your lap, picking at a scab you had gotten a few days back from wandering in the woods with Seungkwan. A soft hum escapes you.

“I don’t think anything will change,” you reassure solemnly.

You can tell the boy is biting the inside of his cheek from how the side of his face slightly sucks in on itself. “How can you tell?”

“Easy,” you reach over and tap the threaded bracelet Seungkwan wears on his right wrist; it’s woven together with little glass beads that remind you of his eyes in the light. “Does your bracelet break every time you wear it out?”

He looks at you weirdly. You only smile.

“I’m with you, no matter if I’m a little damp from a shower or a little worn out from a harsh outing. It’s like how water is wet and grass is green. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west and I’m your bestfriend.”

You reach over again, this time taking a hold of his hand. He entwines your fingers together with no hesitation.

“I guess you’re right,” Seungkwan swings your hands back and forth to the beat in his head—his fingers are a little clammy from the heat, but you don’t mind. “But bracelets can still be broken if tugged on hard enough.”

His hand slides downwards, taking interest in the matching bracelet that wraps around your own wrist. You grin at him once more.

“Well, they can always be remade, yeah? Who says you can’t create something all over again, as long as you put equal parts effort and love into it?”

The sun’s rays catch the glass beads just right, twinkling like stars, and Seungkwan’s lips twitch upwards into a wide smile.

wanna queue a song?

[artisanscribbles]

Some Oathbound Thoughts

There's a larger post regarding the Order that's still percolating in my head but while I was drafting that post, something occurred to me:

We have very little in text proof that the Shadowborn are as big as a problem as the Order makes them out to be- But do you know where they seem to gather and most attacks happen: The 4 Legendborn Chapters.

This made me start made me start to think about what we know about magic in universe, and also what we know about the Shadowborn.

The Order makes the Shadowborn out to be this huge problem, but Valechez, Patricia and every Rootcrafter we meet treat them as a problem and certainly something to be cautious about, but a known factor.

And none of the Rootcrafters spend their lives at battle-ready mode waiting for the next attack. It's just the Order that does that. But everyone else acts like the Order is the much bigger problem and danger of the two.

But Scions and Squires have been being called ever since the Order's inception to handle all these demon attacks? And we see there is truth to this: The Shadowborn are Undeniably Attacking the Legendborn.

Which begs the question: Why the Order and not the other magic users?

And then it hit me.

The Order of the Roundtable has been around for at minimum, per William, at least 60 Generations. Like with Vera, the spell is somehow bound to the bloodlines. But Vera's bargain is tied to The Shadow King - He cast the Mark and as far we can tell he's been maintaining the Magic required for it to Work. With me so far?

So this begs with question: With Merlin (as far as the text informs us) 100% Dead

WHAT'S POWERING THE SPELL OF ETERNITY?

IT CAN'T BE ARTHUR. EVEN IF MERLIN ANCHORED THE SPELL TO HIM ORIGINALLY LIKE THE CHARM BRACELET (AND WE DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW THIS BTW, EVERYONE IN THE ORDER THINKS ITS THE CASE AND EVERYTHING THE ORDER THINKS IS IMMEDIATELY SUS) CANONICALLY ARTHUR PENDRAGON DOESN'T HAVE ACCESS TO THE MAGIC TO KEEP IT GOING BECAUSE HE CANNOT WORK AETHER (proven by that scene in BloodMarked)

Arthur Pendragon can use the abilities gifted to him by Excalibur and Merlin's original spell, but he can't power it himself. But SOMETHING must be- because as per Sel, aetheric workings can only last so long as the caster can maintain them and live, as as per Valchez and Patricia, all that Power has to be coming from SOMEWHERE EX.1 Bree's whole existence.

Which brings me back to the Shadowborn and the Shadow King's whole deal:

I think Merlin's spell wasn't supposed to last past the OG Table's death. Not originally anyway. Arthur and the Knights were supposed to win decisively and then the portals would be closed forever. And Bree's Bloodwalks seem to support this.

But then, The Table Captures the Shadow King's Crown, and we now Know that is an extremely Powerful Object- but we don't know what happened to it.

Just before Bloodmark's final kicks off, we get the last Arthuriana themed lore drop of the novel- And that is that the last place we saw the Crown was in the OG Table's possession- but not broken and destroyed. IN fact the text seems to support they couldn't destroy it- SO WHERE IS IT? NO ONE IN ORDER HAS EVER HINTED AT SOMETHING LIKE THIS EXISTING- IT'S VALCHEZ THAT FIRST TELLS US ABOUT THE SHADOW COURT TO BEGIN WITH.

And then we remember Morgaine Had A Plan to use the Crown somehow. Now, of course, we don't get to hear exactly what that was because Bree had some shit to work out, but I think its important that we know about that it because it provides a reason for the concentrated Shadowborn attacks on the Legendborn and also a reason for the King to still be kicking around. The Shadowborn harry the Order so hard because the original War never stopped, it just changed.

The King seems to a bit like Sauron - separated from his Crown, he's a shadow of himself (excuse my bad pun), still powerful, but limited in scope. There's no reason for a long game otherwise. But if he were trying to get his Crown back? Because the Order STILL HAD IT?

Well, that would re-contextualize a few things, wouldn't it?

[circular-jerkular]

Little Is A Dumb Word Anyways

The old man in this case is syscourse. I do not want to start shit with the individual linked here, but I think it's vitally important to discuss how atrocious these sources are, particularly as others have been in agreement with them. Here's a link to the post. Content warning for SA, as it's not tagged. This post isn't here to bitch about the user who posted this, however -- it's to dismantle the ideas they're presenting, which they keep presenting. Do not, for the love of God, fucking contact the user with this. It is blatantly obvious they do not want to hear it, and they've already received enough harassment at this point. They will not be convinced out of their misinformation by harassment, and I am very disappointed in everyone who chose to go after them. You are worse than the misinformation being spread.

I am not writing this for you, OP, and genuinely, if you happen to read this, I hope you (and your thumb, I saw about your hospital visit) are doing alright.

But I figure the general syscourse community needs to be able to discern real information from... what you posted. Because you're trying to pass your opinion off as fact using illegitimate sources that don't actually support what you're saying. And that's something that does need addressed.

TW for, well uh, trauma discussions, lol. Also, please excuse the color coding -- it's needed for me to process just what on Earth I'm writing.

STEP ONE: SOURCE REVIEW

So, let's talk about the sources OP uses here first!

Source One: The Mighty

To start, their first source is from The Mighty, which is a newletter opinion article website dedicated to mental health. This particular article is someone discussing "every type of alter role," though they only actually depict 10. What a lovely article this is, which:

Assumes every system has a host

Discusses types of alters but not really "roles" as depicted in medical literature (such as "animal," "dead," and "demonic," as well as little, as none of those re actually 'roles')

States that demonic alters "come about by the host blaming the abuse on a supernatural being or the abuser using it as a reason to hurt the child." This is not universal and is not even the case for most demonic alters I see.

Uses the term fictive, which is not a medical term for the role. Also doesn't mention factual introjects, which used to be one of the most common types of introjects in systems (or at least were cited as that at one point, I distinctly recall that).

Assumes every system has gatekeepers

Simply put, this is all the opinion of one system, based on their own experiences. They have no sources, they have no claims beyond their own ideas, and while what they say is perfectly valid for their system, it doesn't fit mine. For instance: My demonic alters did not form from supernatural beliefs and have their own actual roles beyond being demonic, I have no host and no gatekeepers, and I have no fictives but I do have fictional introjects (I do not use the term fictive). This article is almost entirely useless to understand my system.

So, what do they say about littles? "Unlike biological children, they can usually understand very complex concepts." So littles are not biological children and can understand complex concepts (yknow, like consent). "They commonly speak and act like children." Commonly, but not always. "They can be a version of the host as a child, the child that was wanted, or just a trauma-free version of the host." None of these options actually describe my littles in the slightest. And the rest of the description is entirely personal information about their own system.

In general, this source is entirely based on personal information and what the individual has gleaned from their experiences with systemhood. I could just as easily post my own "10 types of alters in systems" and include my dreamway part and the two created alters, along with "elf alters," since I have one. I could also depict littles as my own are represented, which would be something like "Unlike biological children, they usually understand very complex concepts. They rarely speak like actual children or act like actual children. They're sometimes younger versions of various parts in the system, or are meant to hold the trauma of maturity. Part of their healing is reclaiming childhood, but part of it is reclaiming the sexual freedom that was stolen from them." Cause, well, that's my experiences.

Source Two: The Dissociative System Fandom Wiki

Their next source is the... fandom... wikipedia for Dissociative Systems. I did not even realize they made a fandom page for my disorder.

Interesting choices all around.

Anyways, I don't think I need to explain how inaccurate a wikipedia page can be. This is not a scholarly source; there aren't any references to back up the ideas presented in this very short article, and the edit history could be literally anyone with internet access. A little themselves could've written this article.

So, what does this source say? "A little is a type of alter that takes on characteristics of a child." Vague, but I suppose that works. "They may appear younger in the innerworld and often act like a little kid." May appear younger, but not necessarily will appear younger. Often act like a little kid, but not always. "Each system's littles are different in what they can and cannot do. Some littles may be able to drive or work while others cannot." Oh. Okay, so every system works differently, and some littles may do adult tasks. "It is important to treat each little differently depending on what they need." Oh, awesome, so this article acknowledges that some littles will need something different. My littles require sexual things in order to heal, so that's awesome that this article acknowledges those cases! "A little often is a traumatized young part that hold onto the memories of abuse the system suffered during that age, but not always." Yep, my littles are not that. Actually, it's mostly me (Rice) who holds onto that! So nice that this article shows that. "A little tends to be between the ages of 0-10 years old, but different systems may use a different age scale to define who is a little in their system." That's the last bit -- acknowledgement that different sysems define littles differently than just 0-10 -- which is nice, since we count our ageslider who is usually 21 when he fronts now, and our 12 (13?) year old.

So, overall, this article can be summarized with, "Every system is different, so treat littles the way they need to be treated for each individual system."

Source Three: Trauma Dissociation Dot Com

Finally, a fairly decent source. At the very least, this website cites the information it provides, which is a damn step up from the last two. Unfortunately, I cannot find much information about the site managers, but I can find that the aim of this website is, essentially, summarizing information from medical sources. Not bad! I would love if someone with more free time could dig into this one a little bit!

The linked article is long. And of course, with any long piece of DID information, I definitely disagree with some of what it posits. For instance: "All the alters together make up the person's whole personality." This idea, presented with this wording, can be incredibly confusing for systems -- this information was presented to me to mean that we all had to fuse together in order to be a true person, when really, it simply means each alter in the system as a whole is responsible for the outward personality presented to others. I do wish it were rephrased!

To keep a long article short, let's see what this says about littles:

"Often nicknamed "littles" or "little ones" are a common type of alter. Several child alters exist in most people with DID." So far, so good; many DID systems experience having littles in their system. "Child alters often talk in a child-like way, but unlike a biological child they can normally understand abstract concepts and long words." Mm, abstract concepts, such as consent. They are unlike biological children. "They are often found to hold memories of child abuse which occurred at around the age the child alter feels he/she is. [7]:18" Often, but not always. Mine do not have those experiences! "Some may have the speech or appearance of a very young child, the youngest being unable to talk, read or write. [7]:18" Glad none of mine are like that, and that it acknowledges that only some child alters are like this. "Child alters may gradually age of may remain the same age. Some child parts may hold feelings of terror and pain, while others may be playful and fun-living and have only positive memories. [16]:60 A child alter may also be an idealized representation of the "perfect child" from the "perfect" family, for example the "good boy". [7]:18" (Emphasis mine). So, repeatedly, this article also acknowledges that all of this is subjective to the specific system's experience. It's an overview and nothing more.

TL;DR: Each article acknowledges that sometimes, littles can understand abstract or mature concepts, beyond what is expected of biological children. The first article shares that littles understand complex concepts. The second article determines that every system's little requires different things. The final article describes common aspects of littles while also acknowledging they are not the same as biological children.

None of these sources agree with OP's assertion that littles cannot consent and must act like children.

Your own sources disagree with you. Each of them suggest that littles do not have to act childlike, and even says most of them do not think like biological children.

STEP TWO: RESEARCH

However satisfying it is to get a good debunk out there, it's also important to correct misinformation by providing new information to fill that void. And, to be frank, two-thirds of those sources were garbage anyways, regardless on if they agree with OP's opinion or not. So, what does the research actually say about littles?

Unfortunately, I do not have the free-time I once did. Even with the grace of delays and snow days that I have received from Mother Nature recently, and the hard work I put in at work to get all my grades completed fully this past month, I just cannot put in the time to find all the various articles on littles and child parts. So why don't I just toss out the big guns?

Source: Therapeutic Hazards of Treating Child Alters as Real Children in Dissociative Identity Disorder

This paper was published in the Journal of Trauma and Dissociation, volume five, and was written by Shielagh R. Shusta-Hochberg, a clinical psychologist who worked in NY at the time of publishing. She now has a private practice in Naples, Florida. The article focuses on the treatment of littles in therapeutic settings.

The article opens up with a basic description of how DID forms, as well as the dangers of misdiagnosis and mistreatment. It's a lovely review of the horrors of having this disorder. The author also mentions how therapists need to be gentle while also setting firm boundaries -- something I've seen echoed frequently in treatment guidelines.

Then, we get to the parts about child alters.

"These child alters can be identified by any or all of the following: childlike vocal tone and pitch, sing-song or stilted speech cadence, simple or naïve vocabulary, body language and posture including widely open eyes with raised brows, frankness or timidity, brief attention span and rapidly shifting focus, behavior such as playing with office objects, and childish affective tone." Shockingly, even though I do not experience littles who act like children, my littles do fall into some of these categories. They do use more childlike vocals, and they do have open eyes and body language that is different from the adult parts of me. Notably, the author does not say a little must be these things to be classified as a little; only that they can be identified in this way. She continues, "Putnam (1989) has observed, “Child personalities may be easily recognized by their nervous fidgeting, movement overflow, and childlike gestures (e.g., rubbing the nose with the back of the hand)” (p. 122)." I have to disagree with Putnam here, however, as more often, my adult parts display these traits -- due to our autistic tendencies. Which, could open up a very interesting conversation about how autistic adults are treated like children, just like littles are... anyways. "Child alters are so common in cases of DID that that every clinician treating the disorder, however briefly, is likely to have encountered them. Child and infant personality states often outnumber the adult aspects of a patient’s system." Mmm, I would love a source on that. Unfortunately, there is none -- poor authorship there imo.

I like what she includes next, though, so much that I'll include the entire paragraph in full: "It is important to remember that the patient is an adult, despite the childlike ego-states. These parts are not actual children. I am in agreement with Ross (1997) who is of the opinion that “child alters are not packets of childness retained in a surrounding sea of adult psyche. They are stylized packets of adult psyche. . . . I hold the child alters responsible for their behavior in the same way as the adult host personality”(p. 147)." Once again, as everyone has been saying for the past day, littles in adult bodies are still adults. They are not actual children! Ross treats littles with the expectation of adult responsibility, and I think that's really important.

The article continues with how to explain DID to various parts and have the patient accept the diagnosis, as that's a common struggle. It doesn't hold much bearing on this conversation, so I'll skip it for brevity, but I do so love the technique this article describes of window blinds. But then. The author goes in a wild left turn, one that honestly I think my therapist could benefit from hearing. Essentially, she posits that, since child parts are often seen as so different from the system -- oftentimes with childlike mannerisms, for instance -- then, "The clinician unbends and reacts to the “child” in familiar ways, responding with more warmth and simpler speech. Thus, child self-states elicit and reinforce nurturing and care-taking responses on the part of therapists." Basically, treating them like children makes the therapy less effective.

The case studies (as in, true experiences of DID systems) she presents where therapy has been made less effective -- or even completely denied and impossible for the patient -- are horrifying to me, from an outside perspective. She describes cases wherein:

A patient stormed out because a new therapist would not hold her child parts when they fronted, insisting that her old therapist would do so.

A patient breaks down at the suggestion from a friend that they go watch an animated cartoon movie that has monsters in it, as her child parts cannot handle that.

A patient completely socially isolates because she spends so much money on her littles that she cannot afford her rent, and she lies to her friends about who the toys are for.

A therapist throws a child-part party for her DID patients, because it's "repairative" for the childhood that was lost. Despite the adult parts of the patients feeling disturbed by this, they go along with it, retreating deeper into the consciousness to avoid the situation. Then the littles are upset that the experience turns into a therapy session, rather than a fun party.

And, lastly, a description of a woman who falls prey to SA due to an older gentleman emotionally manipulating her younger parts.

All of these occur because the system (or even the therapist) is treating their littles like actual children.

This is horrific to me as someone who did have parts who we treated exactly like this. Our littles -- yes, the ones we frequently talk about being adults and having sexual desires and who do adult things -- used to be child parts through and through. Sie could not function as an adult when we were in high school, and she only started to get there when we were in college. Which... okay, when we were in high school, we weren't even an adult. So that makes some sense.

But Sie absolutely was 100% the type of child part that is frequently described by those who isolate littles and treat them like children. And the fact is, isolating littles and treating them exactly the same as children is harmful to many systems, and can prove to be a barrier to healing.

OUGH! STILL MORE TO READ. Speedrunning it now, the next section discusses treating littles like, well, part of a system. "The work may involve bringing the patient around toward a more family systems approach toward the DID (Chu, 1998), stressing that the safety of the “children” is ultimately in the domain of the patient herself, and not that of her therapist, psychiatrist, parents, partner, employer or friends. The fact that there is only one body despite feelings to the contrary is sometimes a very difficult truth to accept for DID patients." I repeat: It is the job of the patient, and not anyone else, to ensure the safety of littles.

The next section of the article discusses real-world safety concerns with littles, which I feel like are discussed frequently already, but really hones in on the fact that it is the system's responsibility (and nobody elses) to be responsible for taking care of their system. Examples include:

Switching while driving to a child part who cannot drive

A child part forcing a patient to go to an appointment, which worsened physical pain

A patient (it doesn't specify a child part, but I can assume that based on the topic of this article) suffers bad falls from the littles attempting things beyond their capabilities

Not an example, but she also mentions medication issues and how it might be needed to have a medication manager.

The author of the article specifically calls out that adult parts should be in control for difficult tasks that require them, and I fully agree. Until a child part is capable of handling adult tasks, then adult parts should be the ones handling things.

Next, she discusses re-parenting, and frankly, I fully agree here too. The parenting has to come from within, not from a therapist -- and definitely not strangers online dictating what littles should do. The article does push toward fusion (in this case, labeling it integration) of parts, and she addresses that many systems view this as a sort of death. "The host may misinterpret integration as death, saying something such as, “We love the kids. We’re never going to integrate. It’s not fair that they have to die.”" Treating littles like children would definitely contribute to that fear.

And then.... Fuck, man, the article rips my heart out by including a statement from littles within a patient's own system -- a patient whose child parts were repeatedly treated as children, over and over again. Here's the whole quote.

"It’s hard for the bigger parts to take us seriously. It’s hard to be out in a grownup body, especially in the early days of awareness of the DID. The protectors want to protect us too much now from reality, and we can deal with it now. They are overprotective and there’s no need to be. We are as much a part of the whole system as the other parts and want to be equal. As the walls come down, we can share our childlike joy with those (older parts) and they won’t close us out. We can tolerate their seriousness. And we’re able to comfort them, not only them comforting us. They can hold us but we can comfort them, because they need to be loved, comforted, or forgiven. Barriers are coming down. It’s mutual.”

I fully suggest reading that full article.

TL;DR: Treating littles as children in a system can be incredibly harmful for the patient, in many different ways. In the end, it is up to the individual system to reparent themselves, and it is not anyone else's job -- and, really, no one else's right -- to speak over that system's functions.

STEP THREE: PERSONAL REMARKS

As much as I would have loved to find more, discuss more, and go deep in depth with this research, I just... can't. I don't have the time anymore. And genuinely, I don't expect others to.

What I do expect is that others don't try to pass off their opinions as fact. And the thing is, regardless of how many times you post "It's just an opinion," that does not negate that you then attempted to back up that opinion as if it was supported by medical literature. You attempted to say that your opinion was supported by medical facts. And the fact is, the medical literature disagrees with your opinion, with sources to back it up.

I want to address some of the common things I see from systems who try to dictate how other littles act.

"But your littles are vulnerable." One, not all littles, according to medical studies. Two, isn't the goal to heal and make it so that my littles are not so vulnerable as to be a danger/dysfunction for me? Isn't the goal to make them less vulnerable? How do you propose we do that without also engaging with safe risk?

"But your littles aren't safe." One, that is for every single system to decide for themselves. Two, the Dignity of Risk is in effect here, in that it's okay if someone else gets hurt. Yes, even badly hurt. It's not the concern of anyone but the system if they get hurt.

"But my littles/my friend's littles-" Stop. Regardless of any trauma you or your friend may have, it does not impact anyone else. Your trauma is not my trauma. It is vastly, vastly different.

"If your partner fucks your littles, they're a pedophile." Pedophilia is specifically attraction to a child's body. I will not be posting any pictures of my body on here for fear of the Ban Hammer, but you have to understand that I am not a child. Even if my littles were to fuck my partner, my partner would be attracted to an adult body. At most you could say my partner would be interested in... IDK, a higher pitched voice??? (Side note, because I've never actually mentioned this: My partner has absolutely 0 interest in fucking my littles and we've discussed at length how they'd be a little weirded out by it.) Side side note: as a victim of CSA and whose parents used their disorders to try to make them feel incapable of love, stop fucking boiling the term pedophile down to "someone who has sex with someone I deem too childlike to have sex." I'm tired of my trauma being dismissed so you can use a buzzword loudly.

"Letting your littles consent makes you a predator." So, when I was 13-16 and [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and [REDACTED] because I thought I could consent, does that make me a predator? Are CSA victims predators because they thought they could consent? How am I being a predator to myself? My littles are me. Your arguments make absolutely no sense and are wildly offensive to CSA survivors.

"I'm going to judge you for it." K. Do you make it a regular habit to judge people's recoveries? Cause like. I highly suggest you take a class in Not Giving A Shit, perhaps a gardening class so grass could be caressed by your tender hands, and maybe, just maybe, consider either therapy or self help for your own issues, if you haven't yet. You should really concern yourself more with YOU than with judging other people.

"I'm going to report you for hurting yourself."

I am a 27 year old queer individual. I am a person who has a loving spouse. We have sex. Do you regularly report (and to whom?) adults who have sex? Do you regularly look at people and say, "Actually, your relationship is going to cause you harm because I said it is, so I'm reporting you for your safety!"

In that case, I should be reporting every single syscourser, because syscourse harmed me, so clearly everyone who is in the tags must be self-harming, right?

I think that's the funniest part of all of this. In a dark humor kinda way. See, letting my littles access sexual content -- letting Sie write smut, and letting LED embrace sexuality, and letting Gazi (whom we are now comfortable talking about after doing good good therapy about it) enjoy and take pleasure in her sexual desires -- has let us heal from our CSA and feelings of insecurity.

Without letting them have that, we would have continued to hold resentment for myself. For who I am. For "what I am because of what they did to us."

You are trying to tell me that my recovery is secretly harming me, and that the medical world agrees with you. And frankly, you have no right to lie to me like that.

... But then you look at the syscourse thing and go, "Yeah, no, it's totally normal and okay and up to the individual if they're harming themselves."

Pick your lane and stay in it!!!

Ough. Thank you for reading, if you got that far. Two very long nights and a very, very patient partner who is waiting for me upstairs. I'm ending the post here, with a reminder to everyone to please be respectful. Respect other systems privacy. Respect their rights to dignity and risk. Respect them as people. And for fucks sake, let littlecourse end. (It's a dumb word anyways).

[vanpalmerenthusiast]

hiiiii I just saw ur post abt being deathly bored and wanting asks

was wondering if u have any university! yellowjackets headcanons? literally anything, i’m trying to project my uni experience onto them lol

I LOVE THIS OMG, doing it assuming everyone survives, no plane crash au, this is also the main seven :)

jackie- rutgers baddie, she definitely finally found her way to lesbianism in college and shes majoring in like business or whatever (i have no idea what she would want to be as an adult and that scares me) i read this amazing fic where she moved in with nat instead of going to college and she ended up becoming like the girl version of a handyman or whatever like i don’t remember all the details but i lowkey see that futch transformation for her in her college years

shauna- she went to brown x but she probably she went to europe for a gap year at some point or did an abroad program idk how she did it but she dated french people and had extremely messy breakups x she passed her classes with flying colors by some grace of god x she will be holding onto the jackie ordeal no matter how many europeans she slept with at uni xoxoxox

tai- her uni experience went exactly how she described it in the show; first string on the soccer team, graduating from law school with honors, so so many hot girlfriends 💋 she want it she got it like i have no notes. she is a HARD WORKER and she EARNS HER SHITTT, somehow is managing all that while still partying like crazy. college taissa turner you sly dog you are so so loved

van- our little film major, she is 100% making a bunch of mini movies in college for various film classes. in another life she was a director and that’s what i see for her path at university. tell me she wouldn’t be an amazing director, the way she analyzes movies and shit. van is also the type of person to leave a boring class making a REALLY stupid excuse. you also can’t tell me she was not getting around in college. she was.

misty- this one stumped me so hard but like then i got to thinking she probably could have gotten into a really good school because she’s the type of weird girl who has really good grades, and then she ends up developing a caffeine addiction and being that person who signs up for all the early morning classes and she’s like one of three people who did, misty you are just as much of a silly freak in college and we love you for it!!

nat- i feel like she wouldn’t be going to uni bc i feel like that’s not really her scene, but if she did she would def somehow find out about every party that happens on campus and always be in attendance no matter what. like it’s not even her friend group, but she’s trying to make the dj play grunge music at the sorority pledge party or whateverthefuck. not trying to reduce nat to the whole “she’s just an alcoholic party girl” thing, i just geniunely think that’s something that would definitely be happening unexplainably.

lottie- she’s going to college on another CONTINENT, like my girl is not trying to stay in new jersey. she’s going to school somewhere rich and prestigious (if you’ve got the benefits, use em!!) in like the most random place. japan, ireland, australia, the list could go on forever but i just know she is not staying anywhere near her parents or new jersey. lottie is also getting around in college, no questions asked. jackie is not the only one discovering her lesbianism x

this one made me THINKKKK, never stop sending me these kat i’m obsessed

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 3

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1200

Masterlist

———————————————————————

15 days later, while I was driving, my phone rang.

"Hey beautiful, I just wanted to see how your day went? I had to stay out all day for the Guijarro site, sorry!"

“Don’t worry, Alexia, everything went fine. I’m just about to head to the worst part of my day: Cruella’s site visit, a.k.a. the Mayor.”

“Oh, stop! She can be really pleasant—well, at least with me! No jokes, alright? Remember, if she’s happy, it means more projects lined up!”

I shrugged, knowing she was right. I was in for an hour of pure joy!

I arrived at the site, in a neighborhood near the city center, bordered by a forest of oaks. The house was a large, single-story structure with massive windows in a very modern style. Since the interior didn’t suit Madam’s taste, she had decided to have everything redone—or rather, have us redo it all. We had redesigned the entire layout with her and selected decorative items, from furniture down to the smallest trinkets. More choices would be made over the coming weeks. She was very involved in this project. Many clients let us handle the bulk, just approving or glancing briefly at the project’s progress. Lucy Bronze was involved from start to finish.

It was 7 p.m., so I took a moment to chat with the guys on the site who had been working there for 15 days. I’d visited several times, but so far, it was mostly demolition work.

She arrived at 8 p.m., in a sharp gray suit and a white silk blouse. Very attractive, I thought immediately, which made up for her being half an hour late.  

She approached me, looking stern.

“Hello, it’s a mess here, isn’t it?”

This woman was unbelievable. She arrived half an hour late and had the nerve to make a remark as her greeting.  

I tried to keep my composure and replied with a small smile:

“Well, it’s a construction site; the guys are tearing down the walls you didn’t want, breaking up the tiles, removing the wallpaper… If you insist, I’ll roll out a red carpet next time!”

I wasn’t sure if she appreciated the humor, seeing how her lips tightened. I continued, giving her a brief update on the progress and the next steps. Then we reviewed various options for living room furniture, which we hadn’t finalized yet. She criticized my lack of selection for the furniture choices.

“Excuse me,” I replied, “you made this list with Alexia and approved it. I only added that piece there.”

“Yes, not the most tasteful addition!” she retorted with a mocking laugh.

My blood boiled. I simply couldn’t stand her. When I told my friends about our first encounter, they told me she was well-liked in town for her professionalism and empathy. Empathy? She must be a great actress or just have a real grudge against me. I couldn’t keep putting up with her sarcasm.

“Excuse me, do you have a problem with me? I mean, personally?”

“And why would I have a problem?” she replied, with a big, provocative smile.

That smile completely threw me off. I regained my composure.

“Maybe because I was on the opposition list a few years ago, in the municipal elections, for instance.”

“Hmmm, really? No memory of that!” she replied, that smile still glued to her face.

She exasperated me to no end. Of course, she knew who I was; I could feel it, especially since that first meeting when she threw that slogan at me. There was no way it was a coincidence.

“Oh, wait,” she continued, staring at me. “The little brunette in the back of the room, on the supporting list, that was you?”

The comment was meant to be dismissive.

“That’s a bit vague, but yes, it might have been me. And with the slogan as a goodbye, you knew who I was!”

“I had my suspicions, yes, some memory of a tense brunette. I see that hasn’t changed much.”

What a provocateur she was—I had to calm down and regain control of the situation. I continued.

“Alright, I just wanted to clarify: I wasn’t particularly against you, but I was supporting the opposing candidate, who’s a longtime friend…”

“I’ll stop you right there; I couldn’t care less. That you supported that incompetent man who spread countless lies about me is your problem. My finding myself here with you is another matter entirely; it’s nothing personal. I just want you to do your job, if that’s alright with you.”

I was fuming, unsure how to respond to that jab. I merely replied, “Of course.” But I was clearly on edge. And I couldn’t stand up to her the way I would with anyone else—she was a client, and a major one. Alexia was counting on me. But my impulsive nature was bound to get me in trouble if things continued like this. She was trying to provoke me, I could see that. She wasn’t like this with Alexia at all, so why? Election grudges? Or just a chronic incompatibility? In any case, I wasn’t going to let myself be walked over. I’d keep calm but wouldn’t hesitate to respond to provocations!

The end of our meeting turned out to be less tense; we joined the workers and all talked together. She immediately became more relaxed and warmer. I couldn’t believe it. She even treated us to some wine she’d brought from Portugal. The workers left, and as I helped her tidy up, my phone rang. It was a message from Alessia, my ex, asking what I was doing tonight. Friday night. Free as a bird, badly needing to unwind and end up in her arms. I smiled at the thought.

“Is that your personal life calling?” Lucy’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“In a way, yes,” I mumbled.

“Still with your friend, the surgeon?”

I was speechless. How did she know that? My stunned look amused her, and she continued:

“It was highlighted quite a bit, your sexual orientation, by your former candidate. He didn’t hesitate to mention having a lesbian on his team, who was dating a surgeon!”

“I… I never tried to flaunt that, though I certainly don’t hide it!”

“I never said you did, Ona.” It was the first time she’d used my first name. “I was talking about your candidate, and it’s irrelevant in the end, though I don’t find it to be an interesting electoral argument. I think it’s entirely natural to have both heterosexuals and homosexuals without it needing to be highlighted every time…”

“Well, it can still help break old political codes and encourage others to get involved!” I replied with a challenging look.

“That’s certainly up for debate!”

I had no desire to discuss this with her, at that moment, at this point in my day. I gathered my things and took my leave from Lucy, politely.  

The handshake was firm, and she said, “I hope I didn’t destabilize you too much; that wasn’t the intention. See you in 15 days, same time!”

Of course, that was the intention, Lucy—to provoke and destabilize me. But there was no way I’d let her get away with it.

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[bubaboos]

not me joining chan's live just as someone commented smth like "hey i'm 25 and i still haven't found my path and it's kinda weighting me down sometimes" 👁👄👁

[scribe-of-hael]

You screamed the stars into seeing us

So, tell me young one Who. Are. You?

-----

The one, the only, the bastard himself. Skybound Human! Starscream. Complete with a shit eating grin~ gee I sure how he hasn't committed any war crimes-

But this was a challenge for me! I wanted aomthing between 70's and 80's vibe. For his hair I wanted it to be fluffy and a bit long. The kind that can get soaked in blood and dramatically slicks his hair back - (then you wonder GURL EW WHY???)

He has a leather bomber jacket, the insgina on his sleeves but I also wnates to give him medals of sorts in his jacket!

alt colors below!!

Spoilers for later comic issues !!!

Bastard got one eye no legs and is STILL BEING A DEMANDING LIL WHINER (I hate him/aff) I had to put a hole in his head it was needed. He doenst want an eye patch and he will just wear these scars. I also wanted to scar him up to hell and back.

He has slashes on his neck , face, back, everywhere. He is just covered in battle scars.

His dog tags also have certain names on them. (If ya knowwww ya knowwww) They aren't his own and are usually tucked inside his jacket. Away from questioning eyes.

But now we get to Pre trauma bomb Starscream when he was a lil Ultchar

Dawwwwww who knew this face would be a maniac? Probably Megatron let's be real.

I wanted to give him shirt hair, a rounder face bigger eyes filled with wonder and not tainted by death and the horror of war. He's just a baby here.

[marsupials-of-mars]

.

[imperatorcopia]

i know im stupid and you will think so too but. my most fav guy texted me after 8 months and i replied

[arnold-layne]

i hate that finding a good job this day always requires networking. what about us antisocial bitches that say more words to an npc than to a human in a day. i really should be able to get a decent job with skills alone, not through someone i happen to know, because i don’t know that many people.

[fiddleabout]

didn't think it was possible to experience a more egregious level of Smart-Person Stupid than when dealing with doctors a work, but now. now. now, there are coders. god save me from smart people who couldn't find their ass without going around their elbow because i am about to kill a bitch.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

finished helluva boss and now i have Thoughts