#and i feel like im the only one who cares. and i feel like im being a cry bby for saying something but im not gonna fucking let it go

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hello! Ive been binging poly!141 and I keep coming back to your writing for my fix (because by now its basically an addiction😅)

I had this idea that the 141 are together with a civilian reader. And civilian reader works in retail, part time, and is mostly at home. Normally, they would be home by the time their boys came home, welcoming them with open arms, a hot plate of food, and time to rest and relax. But this time, the 141 get home early and realize where reader works: Walmart (or equivalent). Reader has been keeping this a secret cause they know its not cute like a coffee shop or cool. Its just their job. And now the most important men in their life know. Im thinking the 141 found out because they went grocery shopping and happened to come across reader or something similar to that.

I work at Walmart and it sucks🥲 thought that maybe something like this might help😅

Tysm, nonny! So happy to hear you like the writing. I hope this does your idea justice. (Walmart doesn't have stores in the UK, but they own ASDA.)

Also, thank you for my first request! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pure fluff, bad accents (per usual)

Your boys find out you work part-time at ASDA on a random rainy Thursday in March.

You don't really need a job. All four of your lovers are officers with the British army. Prior to you, they all lived in base barracks. Prior to you, they lived fairly Spartan existences. Prior to you, most of their income sat in the bank, quietly accumulating.

They have plenty of money saved up that they love using to spoil you, when you let them. You know that if you asked, they'd give you everything, but you draw the line about asking them for an allowance like some tradwife. You want some pocket money of your own. Thus, the part-time job at the ASDA in town.

You're a people person, good at handling big personalities. You need to be to keep up with your boys. Between John's need for control, Simon's stoic dominance, Johnny's aggressive enthusiasm, and Kyle's blinding charisma, you aren't some shrinking violet. Within a week of your hire, your manager watches how you weather a nasty piece of work trying to demand concessions you aren't permitted to give and immediately puts you in customer service.

You're nearly unflappable in the face of frustrated pensioners and harried parents and entitled young professionals. Over and over, you're the one they call when a customer is going spare. Which is how your boys find out about your job.

They've been deployed for over two weeks, and you have no idea when they'll return. John had originally said they'd be gone for at least a month, so you aren't expecting them home any time soon. However, they'd come home much earlier than anyone thought, and they wanted to surprise you.

You're always so good about making the house feel like a home, with your bright smile and warm laughter, your home cooked food and soft touches in decor. You make them feel like people, not weapons, and they want to return the favor. This last deployment had been hard, and all four of your boys were missing your sweet voice and tender care. They wanted to show you that they loved and cared for you the way you always showed your love and care for them.

It was Johnny's suggestion to prep a meal for you as both a surprise and a thank you. After debrief, they pile into the car and decide to stop at ASDA for everything they need before heading home to surprise you. It's John who causes the code call.

You hear Susan's voice over the store-wide address system. "We could use a little Sunshine in the floral department." That's your cue. You finish with the pensioner at your till as Jacob, your manager, comes over to relieve you.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders. In your experience, a Sunshine call in floral is a man angry the store doesn't have the fancy arrangements listed on the website. You wish the signage on the site would be more clear that the beautiful bouquets are online orders only. It would save you having to explain why the offers in store are so limited.

You hear him before you see him, smokey voice grumbling, "But if they show the bloody thing on the site as available, you should have it hear." You'd recognize the voice anywhere. He's not angry, not really, but Susan doesn't know that. Add in the sheer size of him, and Simon looming over his shoulder, it's no wonder she called for support.

You have never wanted to walk away from a situation as much as you want to right now, but before you can make an escape, Susan notices you over John's shoulder. Her little wave is enough for your men to notice, and they turn as one to see you coming towards them. Immediately their demeanor shifts. Simon's back sags as though his strings were cut, leaving him loose-limbed. John stands a little straighter, chin up as if to impress you. They've both broken out in smiles, though Simon's are only evidenced by the laugh lines you know to look for. It's only as you get close do they zero in on the badge on your shirt.

"I've got this, Susan," you say to your co-worker. "Jacob's on my till. Can you cover?"

Susan wrings her hands. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and-"

"They're nothing I can't handle," you tell her, cutting off her worried rambles. There's a cheeky glint in your eye as you flick your gaze at your men. You clap your hands together and say, "Right, let's get this settled, then."

Susan takes one quick look between you and the now slightly less intimidating men and heads towards the front of the store.

Once she's out of earshot, John's face breaks into a frown. "What're you doing here, love?" He glances at your name on your chest again. "You work here?" He sounds almost hurt by the revelation. You can tell Simon wants to reach for you, and the only thing stopping him is you working.

You hear heavy footfalls behind you as Johnny's Scottish lilt reaches your ears. "Och, Cap! Ye said ye'd only be a moment. Gaz and I had a hell of a time getting the trolley on its lift ta find ye. How hard is it to buy bon..." His question dies on his lips as you turn around. "Bonnie?" He, too, sounds hurt to find you working here.

You can see Kyle over Johnny's shoulder, confusion written across his features. This is not how you wanted your boys to find out about your job, if you ever wanted them to actually find out. You thought maybe you'd surprise them with tickets to Hereford FC's opening game in a few months. And if they asked how you afforded them, you could handle this conversation then, but it's out of your hands now.

And as much as you don't want to have this conversation, especially not in the middle of the floral department, you can't stop the wide grin at seeing your boys again, home and whole.

"Hi, boys," you say, opening your arms. Disappointed he might be about finding you here, Johnny's no fool. He immediately steps into your embrace, and the others quickly follow suit. You're swallowed up by the smell and feel of them. The hug lasts one minute. Then two. Then they all slowly step back.

You can see the questions and cut them off before they get started. "I have another three hours before I'm off. We can talk at home, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

John nods first. He recognizes your tone. You won't let them derail you for answers now, and they would be wasting their breath to try. "You heard the lady, lads. Let's get home."

They start to walk away when you tease, "Captain? Was there a reason you were arguing with Susan about the flowers?"

He halts his steps and turns to you, flush creeping up his neck. He brings his hand up to rub it as he says, "Er, I, we, wanted to get ya something nice, but they don't have the same ones as online."

You melt a little, watching the way your men shift nervously behind their captain. You smile softly and reach over, plucking a bouquet of rainbow poms from the rack. "These are what I usually get for myself when you're away."

John takes them gently from your hand and passes them to Gaz to put in the trolley. "We'll see you at home, love," he murmurs, leaning over briefly to kiss your cheek. Simon kisses the top of your head, fabric brushing your hair. Johnny pulls you in for another bruising hug and kisses your other cheek. Gaz puts his hands on your waist, drinking in the sight of you, before taking your hands in his and kissing your palms.

You watch them leave, wondering how you'll make it through the rest of your shift.

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, you cross the threshold of your shared home to the most delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. After slipping your shoes off next to the piles of boots at the door, you follow your nose back to the kitchen and the spread laid out on the large wood-topped island. There's a roast and mushy peas and mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and battered cod and crisps and spinach all surrounding the flowers you'd suggested, nestled in the vase you love most, the Caithness one Johnny'd bought you on your first trip with them to Scotland.

At the table, your men sit, plates made for everyone, waiting on you. They've changed since you saw them. Gone are any traces of fatigues and tactical gear. Instead they're all in casual civvies, truly home for the first time in nearly three weeks. Simon stands as you come in and pulls out your chair, smile on his scarred lips. "Come sit, doll," he tells you, not quite an order.

You look quickly around. "Let me change," you say, tugging at your uniform top. "I won't be but a minute." You back out of the room before they can stop you. You hurry to your bedroom, pulling your top off as you go. Once behind the door, you slip from your trousers into comfortable leggings and a large jumper, one of Kyle's you think.

By the time you make it back to the kitchen, your men are more than a little antsy. Simon's smile is a little strained, Johnny is fidgeting, Kyle keeps glancing between you and John, and John is staring at you. Your chair is still out. He waves a hand at it, and gently says, "Come sit, love." It's couched as request, but you know a command from your lover when you hear it.

You take your seat at the table. "Listen-" you start, but John cuts you off.

"Are we not providing for ya, love?" You see the hurt in his eyes, how much it bothers him to think he, they, aren't doing enough for you.

"Oh, John, dear, no!" you reply, putting your hand over his on the table. "It's not that at all."

"Then what?" Simon asks.

You look at them all, the expectant faces waiting to hear how they failed you. "I get restless sometimes. I love you, and I love our life. I'm happy to take care of the house and make sure you're all fed after a long day. But I wasn't built for sitting around doing nothing. I like people; being home on my own all day can get lonely. Especially when you're deployed. I also like having my own pocket money."

John opens his mouth, and you know what he's about to say, so you continue. "I know you'd give me any money I need or want, but I like having my money. Money I earned myself." You look around at them, willing them to understand. "It's only part time. Helps me keep a little busy and have a little extra to spoil you and me with."

Johnny is frowning, but you see Kyle, head cocked, looking at you as a puzzle. "I think I understand," he says softly. "You were making you way just fine before us, and you gave up everything for us."

At his words, the crease between John's brow deepens, and you're sure he's remembering the job you had, that you'd somewhat enjoyed, when you'd first met them. You'd been working at RAF Lakenheath, living in a cozy flat in Cambridge, near The Backs, when the 141 had been coming through the base after an op. An injury had put Kyle in the med center for a week, and while he could have been transported to Hereford once stable, Laswell had worked it out for the whole team to have some R&R near the base.

You'd quite literally run into John one day, rushing to your office, after which he suggested lunch as an apology. You quickly became close with all four, smitten with them from the start. In turn, they fell hard for you. They wooed you over the course of several weeks, stopping through Lakenheath on deployments to spend some time with you. Six months in and you were completely gone on all four of them, so when they'd asked you to move to Hereford, you did without ever looking back. But it meant giving up the life you'd led.

Somewhere along the way, your happiness overshadowed all you'd left behind. After a few weeks, being home alone while your men worked started to feel isolating. You liked being a little busy, and there weren't enough projects around the house to keep you busy enough. You'd always been independent, but you didn't want to be stuck in a job with long hours anymore. You wanted to be home for your men. So you'd found the job at ASDA.

Kyle reaches over to where you hand is still on John's. "I'm sorry we didn't ask how you were coping us being gone all day," he says. He looks you in the eye as he continues. "I understand wanting to do something, wanting to be a little busy, and if this makes you happy, then I'm all for it, doll." He gives you a small smile and squeezes your and John's hand.

"Gaz is right," Simon rumbles. "We were so happy to have you here we didn't think about what you did all alone all day." He puts a heavy hand on your thigh, the warmth of him seeping through your thin leggings. "'m glad you have something to keep you from getting lonely."

"Sorry, hen," Johnny murmurs, just above a whisper. "We didnae think a' ye enough." You smile widely at him.

"Johnny, you think of me all the time. This isn't about neglect at all!" You try to catch his eye, but he's looking hard at the table in front of him. "You did nothing wrong, love," you tell him gently.

He looks at you, blue eyes bright. "Ye sure?" You've never seen him this nervous before, and you break a little.

"I'm sure love."

He smiles then, a little smile, but it brightens his face and shifts the mood in the room. You look at John who's been surprisingly quiet this whole time.

He's smiling, but it's a little sad. "I know ya said we didn't do anything wrong, but we feel like we did. We didn't notice you were bored, didn't ask if you were lonely." He flips his hand over under yours and threads your fingers with his. "Yer giving us a gift by not blaming us, and we'd be stupid not to take it, even though it feels like yer giving us an out. Thank you." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

"Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad," you admit.

"Never could make us mad with something like this, hen," Johnny reassures you. "I'm sorry we had to spoil your day is all."

You turn back to look at the food on the island. "You didn't spoil my day. You made it. You're home early, and you made such a lovely spread. I think we should tuck in, yeah?"

Simon chuckles. "Point made, doll," he says, scooping a heaping helping of mash onto his fork. The rest take it as a sign to start eating too.

The room is silent save for the sounds of food savored until John pipes up, "Why'd ya come to florals, love? We might have missed ya altogether if not for that."

You giggle. "The sunshine call, John."

"Yeah?" He clearly doesn't understand.

"It's the shop call for a difficult customer. When I'm on shift, it's my job to handle those." You look at each of your lovers in turn. "Seems I've got a knack for dealing with muppets," you tell them with a smirk.

[glasvera]

Hi not sure if your looking for requests but can you write something like the fic you just posted with punisher and winter smut but this time just winter? (Ps if you want could you add his kraken tentacles bc im are real sucker for those.please and thank you!)

Oh I GOT you-

What You Do To Me

Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader

Description: You've recently acquired a new hero suit, and suddenly, Bucky's performance is suffering. Your obliviousness to his plight is maddening, and eventually something in him is going to snap.

Warnings/Disclaimers: SMUT (18+ only, Minors DNI!!!!), cursing, clothed sex, Bucky's arm tentacles, asphyxiation, rough sex, vaginal sex, tentacle bondage

A/N: Marvel Rivals has been doing a really good job of getting me all hot and bothered for characters I didn't think twice about when they were in the MCU. Godsdamn.

Word Count: 3.2k

“Hey! Barnes! Snap out of it!”

His teammate’s voice finally breaks through to him just in time for him to duck in cover while a sniper’s bullet grazes his organic arm. Bucky winces in pain and shakes his head to clear his mind; this mission hasn’t been his best work by far. He was being reckless. None of his teammates needed to tell him that.

But, then again, you had just begun debuting your new super suit. A skin tight leotard clings to your curves, lifting you in all the right places. Your tights stop at your thighs, leaving the rest of your skin exposed as they squish into the plush of your legs. I mean, could anyone really blame him for ogling?

“Bucky!” he hears your lilting voice call out as you make your way over to him, worry etched into your features.

Oh great. Now he’s never going to get you out of his head.

You slide over to hide behind cover with him, and he instinctively catches you by the waist to halt your momentum. A yelp escapes you when he inadvertently tugs you close to him. His metallic hand is cold, even through the fabric of your suit. You could have sworn it felt like it was trembling. But you don’t have time to think about that when you see the blood soaking into his shirt sleeve. Your hand hovers over it in an instant, your eyes closing shut and muttering the proper words as a cool blue light pours out from your palm, and he groans out his relief even if he shoots you a glare afterwards.

“Don’t worry about me. Get to the rest of the team and do your job.” He hadn’t meant to put so much venom into his voice, but you being this close to him was driving him crazy. He could smell your perfume, feel the curve of your bosom when he pulled you to him, hear the sweet concern in your voice as you uttered your incantations. Being around him right now was dangerous for you, and it wasn’t because of his reckless fighting.

That doesn’t stop him from feeling terrible pangs of guilt when you recoil from him, visibly hurt. “I…”

But this is the battlefield, and there is still truth to his words. You steel yourself and nod briskly. “Right. Of course. Be careful, Soldier,” you respond curtly before taking off back into the fray.

Even with you tending to the rest of the team, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. It was starting to frustrate him endlessly. Frustration, at least, was an emotion he could channel. His attacks get more aggressive, his shots more deadly, and he ensures every enemy who crosses his path feels his pent-up rage. That doesn’t mean he dodges well, however, and as your team finishes off the remaining stragglers, he’s a sweating, bloody, bruised mess. The adrenaline begins to fade, and suddenly it’s much more difficult to stand up straight.

You had followed his orders to the letter, leaving him to his own devices. You trusted Bucky, after all. He had been one of your partners for quite some time now. But now that the battle was over, you knew it was best to check up on him. You’d seen the way he was fighting. With an exasperated sigh, you approach him to help him to the med bay. He stiffens a bit but doesn’t protest when you throw his arm over your shoulder. The two of you stumble over to the make-shift medical center, and you lie him down onto a low table.

“S…Stop fussin’ over… over me,” he mumbles weakly when you place your hands over his wounds. “‘M fine… I swear.”

You let out a deep sigh and shake your head. “If you were fine, I wouldn’t have had to drag you back here. Let me take care of you.”

Bucky doesn’t hear a word of it. His ears are ringing, and his eyes are glued to your lips as you speak. Lips that would look so pretty wrapped around his--fuck. It’s too late, and he can feel the blood beginning to rush south. He lets out a low groan and turns his head away from you. If you were going to heal him no matter what he said, then he would just have to do everything in his power to avoid looking at you.

You take his silence as defeated compliance and continue your work. Your eyes shut tight, and you recite your healing spells while hovering your hand over different parts of his body. With the extent of his injuries, the two of you stayed behind long after all the others had left. That much time leaves far too much of it for Bucky’s mind to wander. Closing his eyes doesn’t help. He can still smell the faint fragrance of your perfume, and occasionally you rest your hands directly atop his body to better channel your magics.

It’s maddening.

And what’s worse is that you’re completely oblivious to the effect you have on him. When he shifts about, you can only assume it’s from the pain. With his mask on, you can’t see the way his face reddens with each escalating fantasy in his mind.

“Ah!”

Your sudden scream yanks him out of his perverted day dreams, and his eyes snap open to find his metal arm having come to life. The plates have withdrawn and tentacles wrap around your wrists, binding them together in front of you.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry!” he apologizes as he reigns himself in and sheathes his eldritch appendages back into his arm. Fuck, when had he…?

You were completely caught off guard, your chest heaving with your quickened breaths. It had happened just as you were finishing tending to the last of his wounds, and it was so sudden you had no chance to react. Of course you had seen Bucky use these in battle to crush his enemies, and so of course for a split second you were absolutely terrified. But they had been surprisingly gentle, looking only to restrain rather than constrict or break. This only left you even more confused.

“I-I… I’m okay,” you reassure him as you stare down at your wrists. When you finally meet his gaze, you can see the way his brow furrows. “Are… are you okay, Bucky?”

Why did you have to look so damn cute when you worry over him? Why did your suit hug your tits so perfectly as you leaned over him? His face feels hot, and he rips off his mask in a desperate attempt to ease his discomfort. It does little to help.

“Can’t… can’t control myself around you,” he mumbles mostly to himself, but with his mask off you’re able to pick up on his words.

“What do you…?” After a few moments, a few glances at his flushed face and blown pupils, you catch on to his meaning. You blush and let out a soft, “Oh.”

Did the Winter Soldier really think about you like that? But then the pieces are falling into place, and all of his behaviors from the last few hours are starting to make a lot more sense. Sure, you were hoping to catch his eye with your new suit. You’d been crushing on him for a while. You never would have expected to have such a strong effect on him, though. Admittedly, you felt empowered by it.

Bucky suddenly sits up then, ready to push himself off of the table. “You did your job. I should be going.”

But you place a hand on his chest, not using much force, but enough that he stays seated and eyes you dangerously.

“Let me go, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.”

Despite his words, he scoots back slightly as you get closer. You rest one knee on the table alongside his hip, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you throw your other leg over him and straddle him. The bare skin of your thighs scrapes along the rough fabric of his cargo pants.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you retort seductively.

His jaw clenches, and he takes in a deep breath. You were going to be the death of him.

“Last warning,” he growls. “I’m not gonna be gentle.”

Oh gods, you don’t want him to be gentle when he talks like that. You settle onto his lap, and his hardness presses up against your core deliciously. You grind against him as your hands grab hold of his vest collar. Strong hands grip your hips, trying to hold you still, but you can see the turmoil in his eyes. It’s taking every ounce of his restraint to keep him from fucking you like an animal.

Well then, you just need to break through that last little bit.

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” you purr as you raise a hand to trace your finger along his jaw.

He jerks his hips up into you then, releasing a staggered breath as his head hangs low. “Shit…”

The pad of your index finger encourages him to lift his chin and look at you again, and it’s at least some consolation to him that your eyes seem just as crazy with desire as he feels. “I’m a healer, Barnes. You can be rough with me.”

That’s it. The final thread snaps. He grabs a handful of your ass and cradles your head with the other, lifting and tossing you so you lie on the table beneath him. His lips crash onto yours. Technique is abandoned for raw desire as a clash of teeth and tongue ensue, but it’s so rough and devouring that you moan low in your throat. He bites and tugs on your lower lip until it’s swollen, tangles his fingers into your hair and pulls until it almost hurts, and his metallic fingers squeeze and fondle your breast through your suit. Your legs wrap around his waist and you desperately try to grind up against him to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back to admire his handiwork as you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes, and immediately attacks your neck. He bites just below your ear and sucks hard on the skin before laving his tongue along the bruise he leaves. 

“Ahn… Bucky…” you moan, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck.

His name on your lips is intoxicating, and he growls against your skin as he grinds his growing bulge against your needy cunt. His hand leaves your breast to tug desperately at the neckline of your leotard and reveal more unmarked skin. At least this suit was made to withstand all sorts of stress and impacts that would destroy normal fabri-

RIIIIIP

It tears like paper in his grip, and you gasp out in surprise when he rips it straight down the middle. The sight of more and more of you bared before him sends him into a frenzy, and you notice the metal plates shifting as though those tentacles of his were begging to break free. This unrestrained side of him shouldn’t turn you on this much, but you can feel the wetness pool in response.

For a split second, a flicker of remorse passes over his face. “Sorry,” he mutters, but just as quickly he returns to pawing at your flesh and fondling your exposed breast.

Your arms leave his neck and you raise them above your head, crossing your wrists.

“I told you not to hold back,” you state simply, looking pointedly at his metallic arm.

He cocks his head to the side and gives you a warning glare. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he argues, but he can’t deny that the thought of it was drawing forth incredibly hot images in his mind.

“What, you think I’m not strong enough for a little bondage?” you accuse, pouting and sticking out your kiss-swollen lips.

“That’s not--fuck,” he stammers, words failing him as he feels the last of his self-control slipping away. “If I hurt you--”

“--I’ll heal it later,” you interrupt him, bringing your hands down to cup his face tenderly. “Bucky, if I didn’t want this, if I didn’t want all of you, I wouldn’t be here.” His movements stop as his attention focuses on your face and your words. You nod your head towards his metallic arm that looks ready to burst at its vibranium seams. “I know you can control it. I trust you. Plus,” you pause, shooting him a flirty smirk as you return your arms to rest above your head, “what kind of girl would I be if I didn’t take advantage of the Winter Soldier’s tentacles?”

A breathy chortle vibrates from his chest. “You’re terrible. And kinky.” He lowers his head just inches away from your lips, capturing your gaze. Metal slides and shrieks as plates shift, and you hear the quiet slithering before you feel tendrils wrapping around your wrists again.

“And it’s fucking sexy,” he finishes before kissing you again.

Those tendrils don’t stop at your wrists. You feel them parting the remaining fabric of your ruined leotard, wrapping around your breasts, curling around your thighs… Bucky ruts into you shamelessly now, grunting animalistically into the kiss as he spears his tongue into your mouth. You fight for dominance but relent quickly as his lips and tongue devour your very essence, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. Resting his weight on a mass of tendrils, he quickly unbuckles his belt and nearly rips the button and zipper off of his pants as he tries to free his cock. The weight of it falls solidly against your stomach, and you whimper at the heat of it against your skin.

“Mm…” you moan between kisses. “Fuck me,” you mutter against his lips.

Oh, that sound was definitely being archived in his memory for later. But you teased him to the breaking point earlier, so it’s only fair that he returns the favor.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, taking himself in hand and stroking it as he nudges the tip teasingly against your clit. You frown up at him and let out a soft mewl. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Bucky,” you keen. “Please…”

“Please what?” he taunts, rubbing the tip up and down your drooling slit. You try to buck up against him, but tentacles wrap around your hips and hold you down.

“Please!” you practically cry out. “Please fuck me!”

“Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

He lets out a triumphant huff before guiding his cock to your entrance. Slick with your juices, he slides in slowly yet easily, only giving you just long enough to accommodate to the stretch before pushing in further. Your head falls back against the table with a soft thud as a low moan drawls from your lips. He fills you perfectly. Once he starts moving in and out, you can feel every delicious draw of his length along your walls.

“Yes, fuck…” you curse as your ankles lock behind his waist. The tentacles on your hips release their grasp, instead traveling upward to wrap around your beautiful neck. You feel Bucky hesitate, but once they squeeze you gently, he can’t miss the way your pussy clenches around his cock in response. Fuck, there was no way he was going to be able to last long with you. Not if you were going to keep being this kinky, this sexy.

You angle your hips up to meet his thrusts as he increases his pace. Immediately your moans increase in pitch as he starts hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside you. His pubic bone hits your clit with every thrust, and your thighs quiver around him as you feel the pleasure building. The tendrils around your neck squeeze harder, leaving you with just enough air to remain conscious, and yet another snakes down your stomach to circle your bundle of nerves. You were in heaven, your eyes going crossed as he fucks you in earnest. He goes harder, faster, grunting as he palms your breast and pinches the nipple between his fingers.

CRACK!

That’s the only warning you have before the table snaps straight down the middle, and both of you go crashing down to the ground. It takes you both by surprise, but Bucky is too far gone to let it affect him for long. Instead, the tentacles wrapped around you lift you and reposition you until you’re on your knees. You’re thankful to still have your tights on as your knees meet rough concrete, but that’s the last sane thought you have before Bucky enters you from behind. The tendrils around your wrists lift your arms up so your back is arched against his chest as he leans over you. His arm wraps around your waist and grips tight, fucking into you like a feral animal and panting desperate growls and grunts into your ear.

Tendrils leave your neck and you gasp for air, and then they’re replaced by Bucky’s firm hand. He doesn’t choke you, instead content to feel the curve of your neck beneath his fingers as his thumb caresses your jawline. Your moans go uninhibited now, singing a song of lust and debauchery for his ears alone.

This angle has him somehow hitting your g-spot even more thoroughly, and the tentacle at your clit flicks and rubs ceaselessly. You can feel yourself getting close, and the way you spasm and clench around his cock drives him closer and closer to the edge himself. Your velvety walls suck him in like they never want him to leave, like his dick was made to be in your pussy.

“Bucky, I-I’m, I… fuck--”

“Me too, Y/N,” he concurs in a gravelly voice.

He fucks you with reckless abandon, bringing you closer, closer, closer--

“Cum for me,” he commands before taking your earlobe between his teeth.

The coil shatters, and a wordless scream leaves your jaw slack as you shudder and convulse around him. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you in its hedonistic warmth. Bucky follows soon after, his thrusts quickening and his groans growing more and more feverish. With a few final thrusts and a guttural roar, he empties himself in your womb. He’s panting, sweating through his clothes, and the two of you collapse sideways onto the cold concrete floor as you catch your breath.

“That was…” you breathe out, not even sure what the rest of the sentence was supposed to be.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, returning his tendrils to the safety of his metallic arm as it shifts back to its original shape. He hugs you close, spooning you and holding you gently. It was a stark contrast to the way he was pounding into you just moments ago. “Stay with me for a while?” he asks you softly.

Yeah, you were definitely going to need to heal yourself after that. But for now? This…

This is nice.

You respond to him by snuggling closer against him, resting your arms over his. You can stay like this for as long as he wants you to.

[illbegottenfaith]

for the rose and the pearl (a I'm Not That Girl inspired fic)

attending Mattheo's wedding with Theo makes you realise you're not the girl he could truly build a happy life with (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n - so my plan to write shorter drabbles backfired spectacularly 😭😭 I'm suchhh a slut for multiple meanings in a theme - I'm not that girl who's just going to cheer you on from the sidelines. I'm not that girl who's pretty/glamorous to be on your arm. IM NOT THAT GIRL WHO STILL KNOWS HOW TO LOVE YOU 😭😭😭😭😭 anyways enjoyyy :)))

tropes/warnings - angst, tw alcohol

word count - 2.6k

taglist - @lorenzozurzolocanruinmylife @anikatcmh @starkeyszn @natbat666 @ebriton @shrekstoesblog @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @thaliashifts

True to his word, Theo let you pay for your dress. And yet, a week before the wedding, you receive a charming set of pearls, courtesy of one Mr. Theodore Nott.

"Thin ice," you say to him as a means of greeting at the wedding. He bends down to kiss your cheek in hello, and when he steps back you see him grinning. His gaze flicks down to the pearls around your neck.

"Whatever for?"

After the quick hello, he's almost immediately pulled away again into his best man duties. You drift around, saying hi to a few familiar faces. In fact, you only find him again while exploring the venue.

You spy the groomsmen gathered near the entrance of the reception hall, a loose circle of dark suits and polished shoes, some fixing their cornflower boutonnieres, others already nursing drinks.

Theo stands in the middle of them, one hand in his pocket, looking effortlessly put together with his crisp sky-blue pocket square - that is, except for the small white rose in his hand, still separate from his lapel. He rolls it between his fingers absently, half-listening to whatever joke Enzo is telling.

You know you shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t notice the way it’s just slightly crumpled from where he’s been holding it for too long, fidgeting with it restlessly, like he hasn’t thought to ask for help, like he’s waiting for someone else to step in.

“Here,” you say anyway, stepping forward before you can think better of it.

Theo barely reacts as you pluck the flower out of his slack grip. He only shifts slightly, angling himself toward you, allowing you to close the space between you as you pin it into place.

You focus on the task at hand, on the fine, expensive fabric beneath your fingers, on making sure the flower is positioned just right. You don’t look at him, and if you feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, you don't show it.

But he looks at you.

You feel it - the weight of his gaze, the way he watches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to be doing this for him, the way you've done it a hundred times before.

And that’s when it appears. That quiet, unwelcome thought.

This isn’t who I am anymore.

Because it’s not just a boutonniere. It’s the way this feels too familiar, too easy - slipping into an old version of yourself, one who smoothed Theo’s collar without thinking, who fixed his tie before he headed out the door, the one who looked after him like it was just second nature.

Years have passed. You thought you had clawed out, escaped, and yet the second he comes running back to you, you’re back here, in his orbit, making sure he looks good for a moment that isn’t even yours.

And the worst part? He anticipates it.

Not in an entitled way. Not because he thinks it’s your job. But because this is how it’s always been. Because he still sees you as that girl. The one who stands beside him, just slightly behind. The one who makes things easier for him. The one who's ready to cheer him on from the sidelines. The one who's agreeable enough to not take up any more space than he could afford.

But that's just it, wasn't it? You weren't ready to give up a life of your own for his. You tolerated it until you started resenting him for it. He hadn't understood it then. He probably didn't understand it now. Either way, it didn't matter. It was too late.

“There.” You finish pinning the boutonniere, stepping away before the moment can stretch too thin.

Theo glances down at it briefly, then back at you. His lips part, like he might say something. But then someone else claps him on the back, congratulating him on something, and just like that, the moment passes.

You slip away, back into the crowd, back into yourself.

You don’t look back.

The wedding is beautiful and the reception is a vivid, lively affair. You run into so many old friends and made so many new ones that you hardly felt the lack of Theo. You rather enjoy the swing band, but now the music is shifting into something slow, sweeping - a song made for moments like this.

Couples drift onto the dance floor, drawn in by the soft pull of violin strings bathed in candlelight. You’re content watching from your seat, half-listening to the slightly obscure conversation at your table until a hand extends into your view.

Theo.

You hadn't seen him since his toast, after which his attention had been demanded by a thousand other people for reasons that had nothing to do with his fame. Even at Hogwarts, people seemed drawn in by his aloof sincerity despite his somewhat reserved demeanour. You didn't mind watching him thrive in his element - you were more than happy in the company of the sparkling liquor at your table and friends-of-friends you'd only heard of.

Now, you blink up at him, a little dazed. Perhaps it would have been wise to stay a little more sober. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a shadow in his dark eyes. A quiet insistence.

“Dance with me.”

It’s not really a question. Your first instinct is to say no, but something in the way he looks at you makes you pause.

So you take his hand.

His palm is warm with a familiar roughness as it guides yours. He leads you onto the dance floor with a practiced ease, slotting a hand against your waist as if this is something you've done a hundred times before. As if this is something you still do.

It shouldn’t feel so effortless. It shouldn’t be this easy, falling into step with him. But it is.

The rest of the room falls away.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence between you isn’t unfamiliar—it’s lived in, worn down by time. But it doesn’t settle the way it used to. There’s something restless underneath, roaming and nervous. You wonder if he can feel it too.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, the smallest of gestures, but it makes something twist deep in your chest.

“People will talk,” you murmur, more to fill the space than anything else.

He doesn’t even glance around. “Let them.”

Easy for him to say. He more than looks the part of someone meant to be here - sharp suit, easy confidence, the kind of presence that draws attention like gravity. He belongs in ways you can only dream of.

Your dress is simple. Pretty, but not remarkable. Not the kind of thing people would take a second look at. And yet, standing beside him, in the center of the dance floor, you can feel the weight of glances which linger too long.

You know what they see.

A girl in borrowed glamour, playing pretend in someone else’s world. A fleeting guest on the arm of someone who’s only ever been untouchable. They’re probably wondering the same thing you are - why he asked you to dance in the first place.

You draw Theo closer, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press your cheek into the crook of his neck. Anything to hide your face from him. For the first time in years, you feel inadequate.

“Relax.” You feel Theo's voice vibrate through his chest, low, almost amused, like he can read every thought passing through your mind.

"I am," you rasp. It's an unconvincing sound even to your own ears. Y

ou begin to wish you hadn't agreed to this. It was a stupid reminder of the trophy wife you never knew how to be.Despite what he might think, you hadn't abandoned your relationship at the first sign of strife. You tried - Merlin, you tried - squeezing yourself into a box to make even more room for him. But eventually, you had to accept that you just weren't that girl - the one who was glamorous yet self-fulfilled enough to be seen on his arm.

He imperceptibly slides his hand up your back. “You look fine.”

It’s a throwaway comment, a dismissive sort of reassurance. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, you feel the familiar sting of something old, something buried, something you promised yourself to forget. A part of you missed this, missed him, so here you were, play-acting at being man and wife.

The music swells, and he turns you effortlessly in time with it. You move like muscle memory, feet gliding through the motions without thinking.

Maybe this is why you said yes - because of the way his hand fits against yours, or the way his gaze softens when he thinks you’re not looking. Because the two of you can't help but work this well together.

You exhale, carefully schooling your expression into something even as you pull back to face him. “I wasn’t asking for your opinion.”

Theo’s mouth lifts at the corner—barely a smirk, but there’s something knowing in it. He doesn’t reply.

The song begins to fade, the final notes melting into the hum of the reception. Theo slows to a stop, fingers loosening around yours, and something flickers in his expression. Like he wants to say something. Like he’s looking at you - really looking, as if for the first time.

But then someone calls his name from across the room. His attention flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough. The moment shifts and dissolves.

Tomorrow you'll wake up in a cold, empty bed with aching feet. The both of you will go back to living your separate lives, but each night you'll wonder if tonight was a dream that never really happened.

You step back, slipping out of his hold before he can do it first. Before the silence between you turns into something else.

“Thanks for the dance,” you say lightly, already turning.

You don’t look back to see if he watches you go. And if your hands still feel warm where he held them, well - that’s nobody’s business but yours.

The reception hall is empty now, save for the two of you. The candles have burned low, wax pooling in their gilded holders, and the last of the champagne sits in your glass, its fizz whispering in the quiet. The music stopped a while ago. So did the dancing, the toasts, and the laughter of people whose love doesn’t come with fine print and hidden clauses.

But you’re still here. And so is Theo.

He’s warm beside you, your shoulder tucked into his as he leans back in his chair, one arm slung lazily across the back of yours. The night has left you both a little drunk, a little drowsy, a little too comfortable in each other’s company. Even with the buzz of the drinks, it's getting harder and harder to ignore the chill creeping up your arms. You don’t remember when you started leaning into him, but he hasn’t moved away. You hope he doesn't anytime soon.

He turns his head, eyeing what's left of the extravagantly lavish cake. "Seven tiers, half of which will go uneaten," Theo mutters, voice threaded with amusement. "It is Mattheo's wedding, after all. Why have enough when you can have far too much?"

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head against his shoulder. "Like you're one to talk about...excesses."

Theo gives a long-suffering sigh.

"Is that what you think of me? Excessive?"

"I think," you say in a tone of faux innocence, "you don't want to know what I think of you."

He groans and throws his head back, eliciting a laugh from you. It's a strangely effective balm, this good-natured ribbing, or maybe it's the alcohol. You swirl the last sip of champagne in your glass. The gold catches the light, shimmering against the crystal, and you think—not for the first time tonight—how easy this is. How easy it always was with him.

Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the quiet. Maybe it’s the fact that the wedding is over, and yet you’re still here, wrapped up in Theo like a memory, like you’ve forgotten that you were just supposed to be his date for the night.

"You’re warm," you murmur, shifting slightly to press closer.

He huffs a laugh. "You’re drunk."

"Just tipsy." You look up at him, eyes heavy-lidded. "Big difference."

The alcohol has made your consciousness deliciously blurry. You become aware of the cold, rigid surface of your shoes pressing against your aching feet. In your mind's eye, you see your slippers melting off your feet, clear as glass, dripping diamonds which promise to wound your feet.

But you're still curled up with Theo, perched on some delicate fence between exes or something more, and even now, years on, you know he won't let you fall - he never did and he never would.

If only things were the same with you.

You were no longer the girl who knew how to love Theo the way you once did, wholly and purely. You wished you were. Tears gather under your eyelashes like crystals, heavy with remorse. You wished you knew how. For the love of God, wouldn't someone tell you how?

He watches you for a beat longer than he should.

And then his hand comes up, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. His knuckles ghost over your jaw, then his fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your face toward his.

You should stop him.

But the champagne is warm in your veins, his bedroom eyes are the worst kind of drug and the way he looks at you—like he still remembers exactly how you take your tea, like he still knows how to make you laugh even when you don’t want to—makes you hesitate just long enough for his lips to brush yours.

It’s not desperate. Not hurried. Just a quiet thing, lingering at the edges of something once lost.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into it.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget.

But then the thought creeps in—quiet, insidious.

I’m not that girl.

Not the girl he wants or the girl he needs.

You pull away before the thought can swallow you whole.

Theo blinks, exhaling like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. It almost sounds like disappointment. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.

You don’t resent him for this. Not anymore.

It’s not his fault you still feel the echoes of something that should have faded years ago.

And it’s not your fault that you know better now.

[yojeongin]

playing dangerous | k.dy

→bff’s stepdad!doyoung x f!reader

genre: smut, semi-angst, some fluff, forbidden affair, semi-character study

synopsis: summers are meant to be spent having fun with your best friend not fooling around with her step father.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! cheating, age gap (not focused between mcs), yearning, power imbalance, massive frued psychosexual theory undertones (that old man won), morally grey characters, alluding to cycle of predation and abuse of power, manipulation, lowkey ageism, doyoung heavy mommy issues (worrying actually), oral (m receiving), cum kiss, fingering, foot play, unprotected sex, creampie, voyeurism.

wc: 15.8k || anthology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3

© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: sorry this took longer than expected, im 3hrs late oops. the corporate lifestyle has been kicking my ass so bad (im so fucking miserable) and i wasn't satisfied with what i was going to post last week anyway so hope this is better (hope).

“Are you sure that’s your step dad and not step brother?”

Disbelief was too soft of a word for what you truly thought. When your friend had given you notice that her mother had married her boyfriend of two years (news to you), you had expected the man to be decrepit and gray haired. Not someone not too much older than what you were. 

Earlier you had confused him with one of the movers who helped bring in your friend’s and her mother’s items into the new home. You went as far as shooting him a flirty smile while making way to your friend who sat peacefully on the porch swing with a glass of cold lemonade to aid her from this horrid summer heat. 

“Yeah…“ she whines, throwing her head back enough to hit herself a tad with the backrest. “He makes her happy. As long as he does, I don’t care how old he is.” She felt judged by your constant questioning. As if she was the one marrying the man. As if she was living through her mother and her decisions to wed someone significantly younger than her. You were the last person she wanted to feel judged by, however could they truly blame your incessant curiosity and shock? Specifically when you never knew her mother was dating. What kind of best friend are you to not be as close as you believed?

Meghan wasn’t the youngest, the woman was sixty and this man looked to be in his late twenties. How could they blame you for your curiosity? 

“So how old is he?” You shift beside her, the swing rocking with every move. “He turned thirty in February. She hasn’t had a partner since I can remember, this is good for her.” Her words attempt to convince her more than you, emphasized by the harsh desperate slurping within the empty glass.

Your friend turned 25 in February too.

“Oh wow, so since he was a kid too?” You joke. It doesn’t land.

“Y/n!” She hits your arm, you laugh in return. “What?!” You whine through laughs, this time purposely rocking the swing. “Come on…” It aches like nails on a chalkboard if she thinks about it. Meghan is her mother, she could easily be Doyoung’s mother as well. She knew Doyoung's mother.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She sighs, hands and glass on her lap. “Yes, the age gap is insane but… they’re old enough.” Your friend frowns, another attempt to convince herself and failing miserably.

Raising your hands in defeat, she smiles, continuing her playful acts of harm. “Want a glass?” She offers, you decline, your mind stuck on the beautiful man standing roughly a few feet away from where you two sat. Your head struggles to not turn his way and gawk like you’ve done earlier. It's difficult, you'll find throughout these months.

You knew you shouldn’t be fawning the way you are. After all, he is now Meghan’s husband. Meghan who has treated you like her own child since Pre-K. But God, you couldn’t help admire the way sweat rolled down his face and the way he wiped it away with the back of his delicate hands. 

At this moment, you’re not too bitter about your summer plans being halted. Not when he’s noticed your covetous glances and sly grins. Perhaps that's what started it all. Your restraint, pulling him step by step to where you sat. Sweat adorning his face and forcing his hair to frame his beautiful features, glistening in this sun.

A tender smile to the public eye but a reciprocative grin to you, “Welcome girls.” He smiles, wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up from the airport.” He turns halfway to look at the movers entering the home. “Duty calls.”

He was cliche with his words, yet smooth enough to make your grin widen. Like a white collar in those vintage Hollywood movies. His voice, softer than imagined. He drew you in the same way you drew him. It was bound to happen.

Tina shook her head, a dismissive and polite smile. She covers her eyes from the sun which did not ambush either. Rather, it was a futile attempt to shield her emotions, easily projected onto her eyes. It’s not resentment she felt towards him. Discomfort and confusion for his decisions is.

Doyoung looks at you briefly, as if to say “I suppose we are not there yet?”, answered by your own polite smile. He dismissed it immediately, shaking his head with a slight chuckle which forced Tina to uncover her eyes, confused.

“Will you be a dear and get me a drink?” He asks when their eyes finally meet. If it means that he won’t read her any longer, Tina nods standing up. She’s out of the picture faster than he had asked without a care that Doyoung took her spot next to you. 

Doyoung smiles your way, his knee bumping into yours while he settles. You return the smile, looking at the contact. Your legs criss-crossed on the swing and his rocking you both. It’s silent besides the movers and Meghan’s music inside the home. Nevertheless, this feels comfortable, scarily so for a first-time meeting.

“I’m sorry for being the reason you two had to cancel your trip.” Doyoung leans over, elbows on his thighs. His back is on full display, wet shirt clinging to the wide muscles that force your lower lip in between your upper teeth.

Your eyes don’t unglue from him, chills running across your body for such a warm day. You sigh, following a streak and bead of sweat from his temple down to his neck. “It's fine, we didn't want to walk around for hours and see old buildings.” You reassure sarcastically, although the tone deadpans.

“No? But Italy is very beauteous. Meghan recounted, you two had been planning on it as an incentive to get through grad school. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Doyoung did not expect to be met with laughter. He was soft spoken, tender, genuinely sorrowful, and a welcoming host. Why must you laugh at him? He’s not too sure.

His quizzical look does not subside, “I was joking, Mr. Kim.” You giggle, wiping at your threatening tears. His eyebrows furrow, yet, folds his handkerchief to a clean corner, doing the task for you. He's so close. So comfortable with being this near to a complete stranger.

“You’re narrowly five years younger than I. Please don't call me that.” He defends petulantly, forgetting about what brought you both to this topic. It sounds insane and dumb to be called that as if he was his father or an old man, he was only thirty.

It is insane and so is marrying a woman who was his current age when he was born.

You hum a response, turning away from him with a slow nod. “Do you always talk like that?” Your voice lures him again, craning his head to look at you. “Like you’re a pretentious liberal arts professor.” It’s lighthearted and mocking at the same time. Your smile slowly forms and he mirrors it.

“My father is a professor. Not for the liberal arts though but perhaps it rubbed off.” “Perhaps.”

He laughs softly in light of your continuing mockery, “Y/n, correct? I fear I haven’t properly introduced myself.” Doyoung shifts in his spot, his body facing you. He extends his hand and you take it. His fingers are nimble and long, his palms clammy but soft, and his grasp is strong but delicate against your own. 

Your smile doesn’t falter, thumb caressing his knuckles, an act he replicates against your own. “Yes… beautiful house by the way. What do you do for a living?" You ask curiously, met by a scolding shriek when Tina and Meghan come out with glasses of lemonade, something you did not want. Lemonade and their interruption, it's interchangeable.

"Y/n those things are not asked!" Meghan scolds, handing Doyoung his glass. He laughs, shaking his head while taking a sip. You watch some of it slip from the corner of his lip. He is such an unfortunate person when it comes to liquids, it seems. Regardless, you wondered what it would be like to clean it off of him…

Someone cleanse you of these thoughts, this is forbidden grounds.

"Why not?" You ask confusedly, looking at the components inside the cup. Nothing but murky pulp-filled sweet water. Your emotions present on your face, perceived wrongly by the only man there who felt it was your response to being scolded. "It's completely fine to ask that now, don't worry." Meghan shoots him a look, irksome at the use of 'now'. She doesn't have to wonder what he meant, only in dissecting his tone.

"I'm an aerodynamicist. Right now we're working on finding a solution to reduce the consumption of fuel." His voice is a pitch higher, tossing that pretentious tone to his words, forgetting his drink while fully turning to everyone as he excitedly gets into the topic. "The main culprit —or so we think— is the wings… let's say the wings of an aircraft. Their shape to be specific contributes to th—" Before he could finish, Meghan hums interrupting. Her words later followed, "Yeah, yeah, sounds fun. Dinner is ready so it's best we stop the chit-chat if we want something warm to eat."

Both you and Tina turn to her mother, a quick glance full of judgment and some surprise. She's never interrupted any of you when passionately speaking about your interests, this was new. Tina doesn't dare look at Doyoung though, she simply walks back inside with her still full drink in hand. Meghan on the other hand waits for him to stand up and follow her. His shoulders slumped and head low, a reassuring smile thrown your way but his dull eyes say otherwise.

"We're glad to have you girls here." Doyoung utters with a nod, turning to follow his wife. "Welcome." The only thing that leaves Meghan's lips. At the time it sounded like that, a welcoming. Now you realize she was responding to the expected devout gratitude for taking you in all those years ago and even now.

What a way to introduce their relationship to you. What a way to cement the reality of the dynamics between all.

There was a foreign air after that fateful day, something you had never expected when it came to spending time with your best friend and her mother. This was stuffy and suffocating. You chopped it to the different location, you will soon find it's the repressed feelings of everyone in this house and of those that lived before.

Meghan tried her best to not show her unwillingness towards her husband, yet it was evident to all that she held animosity for some odd reason. No amount of smiles and reassuring pats could tell any of you otherwise but they satiated him and no one would interfere with that.

Doyoung was doting and sweet. He immersed in conversations to learn more about his guests and later rewarded them with things mentioned in passing. This was his way of showing his affection. It became paternal in a way that you didn't like and in a way that made Tina uncomfortable but which she could understand. Odd, extremely so, considering he could easily be her brother. If she was to voice her dilemmas, Doyoung would fully understand. Yet like you've told her before: "If you don't speak, God won't hear you."

To you, Doyoung was yet another guy that could have been in your college classes. He made sure to act like it when he finally got comfortable and that resulted in joking and lax conversations about his interests and yours, similar to the first day. Giggles and lingering touches, too close at times for two strangers. This way he felt young and correct again.

The downside came the following day, going back to that paternal and reserved front as if he was the same age as his wife and not what he portrayed with you. Treating you and Tina like kids and that's what you both loathed about his time with Meghan. She only seemed to suck the life out of him when night fell.

Doyoung pandered to her and was at her feet with anything she asked, yet she still patronized him and shut him down when he spoke of his career and parents. Meghan never outright spoke of it but she loathed when he brought up his parents. She hated the house, the basement, the attic, the garden, and the greenhouse. She hated that damn greenhouse more than anything.

You couldn't understand where her feelings stood. She had a family, a complete family. A loving and providing husband, a daughter that would always be there for her, and an established and stable home that was all hers for the time being. What more could she ask for?

Despite Meghan's and Tina's inability to feel at home, you found yourself to fit right in in every groove.

Your bare feet are met with soft dewy kisses from the garden's grass as you sprint inside the house towards Doyoung's study. Leaving a trail of dew on the wooden floorboards. Meghan observes you from the kitchen island, pursed lips and raised glasses as you turn the corner and to the hall where those dark panel mahogany double doors greet you, brightening with every knock.

It takes three rhythmic knocks for him to know it's you. Uttering a 'come in' with a light hum. Instinctively, you smile to yourself, hand turning the now golden door knob. Not feeling the grooves of mosaic crystal and cold copper makes you frown. So does the untouched silver tray of breakfast.

You step over it when making your way inside, closing the door behind you and leaning against the cold wood when he does not turn around. Sunlight peaks through the large glass stained bow windows, his desk perfectly curved to fit into the space. The decor on the windows are your favorite.

The greens and pinks perfectly project onto his skin, making him look diaphanous. The lilies and hummingbird paint a story of near-to-death flowers seeking ailment before they perish and like the knights they are, the hummingbirds come to their aid to bring them back to life. He explained it in the way his father had, revealing his mother to be the hummingbird and his father to be the lilies saved from the misery he was in. That explains the devout love his parents had, manifested all throughout the house and the one Doyoung sought.

He now finds the story to be the other way around with no happily ever after. There's no salvation this time.

When he finally turns, he greets you with a tired smile, shoulders slumped and neck aching. He slept on the chaise lounge. The uncomfortable and awfully warm upholstered leather chaise lounge that's too short for his height. He's been there the entire day after last night's argument with Meghan over her trying to clear out his mother's greenhouse and build a shed for her crafts room. She's not content with the basement and she is not content with him giving you your individual room.

"Found you some critters." You open, his smile widens when you pull out the worn paper bag he gave you to put them in. Walking towards him, he takes it from your hands, nimble fingers gracing your drying ones. "Found these stiff on the tomato pots." You point at the caterpillars. "This butterfly was stuck to the tree trunk. Is it acting or actually dead?" Doyoung lets out a sly hum. "No… it does seem like it's near death, though." taking the butterfly out of the bag.

He looks at it for a moment, noticing the lower wings are damaged but covered by the upper wings. "There… clipped." He gently moves the upper wings with the tweezers. "Rather dramatic if you ask me. She is fine to fly but a little caring should not be bad." He stands from his seat, knees cracking to indicate his lack of movement. He places her in the terrarium, it hops around seeking the flowers you've helped him pick.

It's silent for a moment, he hums a melody while scolding the butterfly as he feeds her sugar water. You sit on his desk chair, swiveling while drumming around the taxidermy scalpels — A few of these have left some scratches on your fingers. He makes sure to lock his items inside his desk drawers, Meghan has explained her disdain and disgust for his hobby and in fear of her digging through and tossing them like she's done with the taxidermy decor, he takes extra precautions.

"Why haven't you eaten?"

Your voice makes him turn, closing the door to the terrarium. He leans against the table, crossing his arms across his chest and taking a grasp of his jaw. Rubbing it as if he was thinking of an answer. He can't lie to you though, he knows you're able to see through his lies. At least surface level, it's the small things he grants you.

"I don't like omelettes. She knows that." He confesses. "I don't like black tea and that is what's on the tray." Your leg raises, feet now dry but stained with that yellow-green hue. Your cheek rests against your bruised knee while taking in his words. He watches all your actions, biting the inside of his cheek as punishment for looking at your limbs.

"Want me to make you anything?" There's some innocence in your voice that warms his chest. Interlaced with your desire to please. Please, please, please.

He smiles fondly, eyes fluttering, and a warm feeling in his chest.

"Don't coddle me." "Generosity."

He slowly approaches you, rearranging the scalpels you played with. He looks down, analyzing you like you were one of his dissected butterflies. Pretty, soft, and delicate. Doyoung knows it's wrong to think of you this way. He's allowed Meghan to fuck the thoughts away from him but they cling to his brain while they're at it. It's vile and disgusting. The act to be precise.

"Is she still upset about the room?" You look up at him, resting against the backrest. He takes a closer look at your outfit. Denim high rise shorts, white lace short strap top, and red ribbon in your hair that he wrapped around the strands a while ago and you never got rid of. The same one he uses to decorate bigger taxidermy species like the squirrels the neighborhood cat leaves laying on the porch. You want to think it's metaphoric but you sound stupid trying to find a connection despite the words lingering in the tip of your tongue. Fresh and clear on his mind.

"I don't mind taking the attic, it's nice and cozy. Your dad did a good job decorating it." A reassuring smile that he does not accept. "What are you, Harry Potter? It's your room and it's my house." That first day during dinner, Doyoung expressed his gratitude to you for being part of their family. It did not pertain to him, he believed family deserved their own space.

His actions worked to ease and win Tina over even if it was a tad but Meghan felt a stabbing sense in her lower stomach and a scratch in her brain that made a whirling dark orb manifest. It's the same feeling that brews the longer she stands behind those mahogany doors hoping to hear what is said but the whispered mutters and her aged ear drums hand no aid.

Doyoung pulls his footstool, taking a seat before you. His hands trickle down to your foot, picking off the remaining blades that stain his own hands. He looks up at you when he reaches for a wipe, the green stains cling when the fabric graces the arch of your sole.

"It tickles." You state, he hums. Fingers press harder. "Better?" You nod. He looks at you during the ministration, putting your foot down delicately to do the same with the other. You watch his every move and he receives your gaze with a smile when he meets it. "My mom would do this when I would run around the garden. She hated when I left stains on the floors. Said they wouldn't come off but when I would go to sleep she painted over the footprints and re-stain the floor." He smiles fondly, warming up your skin from the cold, damp wipe. His fond touch doing most of the job.

"It sounds like a prank that turned into preservation. Maybe she liked seeing your growth. Meghan marked our growth on the walls of her apartment. I'm sure the landlord has painted over them now."

He hums, taking in the comparison. It's cute, nice and nostalgic but it highlights the passage of time and how mortal things seem around you and the other two. How mortal things around him can be too.

Doyoung is doting and sweet. Soft and gentle, immersing himself in his actions to not hurt the other. You envy Meghan, you're sure of it now.

"You should really put shoes on, I can't keep cleaning your feet." "You have no obligation."

He looks at you the way Mary Magdalene did when washing Jesus' feet. He looks at you like his savior and redeemer, you're not sure why or you haven't been able to fully understand him yet.

He nods, his growing finger nails pinching below your toes. You wince, confusedly looking at him. "The critters will recognize your pattern and their missing friends. Don't cry when you're pinched," He playfully scolds the way his parents used to do; voice lowering upon seeing a shadow come from under the doors. "I won't be able to kiss the pain away." He raises your foot, the action new but comforting to your taste. His eyes don't tear away when his plush lips come in contact with your newly cleaned feet. It's soft, warm, sort of wet but nice enough for you to let your hand reach for where he touches.

This is wrong, plentiful wrong but Adam (Doyoung) will drag you to take a bite of that forbidden fruit if he keeps going.

Something ate away at Meghan the longer she stood behind those thick doors. The same way ants crawled around the food she had made him earlier. That made her aching worse and if she didn't open those doors now, she won't remain sane.

She takes a few breaths in, noise seizing to come through, making things far more unsettling. Decidedly, she pushes through, opening both doors dramatically, taking in the image of her husband and faux daughter. Her eyes waver as her voice wants to do. Impotence and defeat.

Nothing.

"Must you punish me?" She directly questions. Her eyes fleeting to your lax position on his chair, recognizing the ribbon from the decor she threw out and his proximity to you. "You can't knock?" He turns his attention back to his craft, as if he had not been kneeling before you seconds prior. "Rehydration solution, Y/n."

With a syringe, he injects it onto the body of the second butterfly while you wet a paper towel, taking a beaker of solution to the other side of the room. You don't speak, following the steps he's taught you in the process.

"It's my house." Meghan states. "It's my house." Doyoung corrects.

The older woman glares. If looks could kill, the house would be hers once and for all.

"The ants are eating your breakfast." "Oh good, they'll stay away from the peonies."

He smiles to himself, Meghan can't see it but she's sure of it and that irks her more. She turns to your moving figure, handing him a warmer solution to pour in the container and put the critters in. Taking in the interaction, her eye spasms. The green stains on his slacks and your clean feet. She has no proof nor a concrete case but she knows it was nothing decent. Disturbed by the bond, she swallows her huff but not the irking orb that eats away her love for you.

"Y/n, give us some alone time." She bites, her words laced with the venom of the centipede he's wrapping around stiff caterpillars. "We're not done with this." He tuts. Meghan, appalled by his opposition, allows her jaw to slack. Her emotions are rampant and fiery that he would contradict her. That he found it in himself to not slouch his shoulders and go along with her decisions.

Your gaze flits between them, their glaring not seizing. The tension is palpable, leading you to fumble the cloth holding onto the piping hot beaker. You know how hot glass can be but when you're the magnetic pull that's causing this, it's something you don't focus on.

Your shriek forces them to break their combat, that motherly look Meghan often had returns when she sees your irritated hand and the way you fall back onto his chair the moment the scalding solution splashes over your bare feet.

They rush towards you, watching their step over the broken pieces of glass. While Meghan attempts to question if you're okay, Doyoung is already in the process of rubbing Silvadene over the light burn of your palm. She watches in amazement how delicate he is. His fingers grace over the skin, if it wasn't stinging you'd repeat that it tickles. And if his wife wasn't here, he'd replicate the image of soothing your aching feet with kisses.

With every passing second, Meghan feels that obscure orb grow and grow. Her motherly instinct is consumed by it, disgusted queries plaguing her heart and soul seeing him sit on the foot stool and place your feet over his lap. This is how the stains on his slacks came to be. His nimble digits rubbing the ointment on noticeable ailments and on spots you pointed at with minute pained whimper that she'll take as pleasure.

This isn't right. Meghan no longer feels like a mother to you. And this is only one of many instances her feelings are reassured.

Doyoung didn’t want to argue any longer in the dark depths of his cold bedroom. It was amazing how quickly his marriage was falling apart in the span of a few weeks when the two shared a beautiful —so he’s forcing himself to think— relationship. Now all he can do is whisper his grievances to his wife who finds it disrespectful that he’s rebutting her own arguments due to his age.

Meghan will never say it out loud but she respects Doyoung less and expects him to treat her like his superior for said gap, forgetting they were in a relationship and should both treat each other accordingly and not like mother-son; disgustingly.

Said argument is what led a tired Doyoung to sigh heavily on his way out of the bedroom in hopes of relaxation by either watching something in the media room or basking in the night’s breeze while sitting on the porch swing with a glass of whiskey on the rocks or an ice cold beer.

The latter makes him smile fondly.

Decidedly, Doyoung pads towards the kitchen, his bare feet absorbing the coldness of the wooden floors, ignoring his scolding after you burnt your feet. The closer he got to the large room, the sound of his padding mellowed out compared to the rummaging of items. For a second he feared they'd gotten an infestation of mice. It would not be the first time the house had any.

His inquiries were disposed of once reaching the kitchen when he saw such a pretty image that made him relax. And similar to the mice he once fended against years ago with his father, you sat in front of the fridge, feasting, with a bottle of whipped cream at hand. Allowing the sweet dairy to fall upon a strawberry that you indelicately shoved into your mouth without a care that its juice spilled from the corner of your lips and the dairy followed behind, creating a light pink ribbon to decorate your pretty lips the way those glosses you often smear do.

It oddly reminds him of the first day you two met. He looks at you the same way you looked at him. Lingering and foreign attraction, although it's not so foreign now.

It's not right, but you're closer and closer to taking a bite out of that apple.

You don't bother cleaning the cream off, continuing to push the berries into your mouth. One after another as your stomach yearns for more. You could’ve continued, although halt at his endeared chuckle. You're startled, feeling a cold sweat wash through your entire body. If there was one thing you hated was people catching you eating late at night. More so when you're filling your aching body with self targeted disgust and sweets. Like a child, the one he treats you as when the other two are near but forgotten about when it's just you two.

This is what holds you back, the apple seems so rotten and further at times.

Doyoung doesn't speak, walking towards you with a napkin in hand, taken on his way. He crouches down to your level, making you break out of that frozen state. “I’m sorry…” you whisper, eyes following his, seeking any reaction. “For what?” He questions sweetly, hand cupping your jaw softly. Shooting you a quick glance and smile before continuing his ministration.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come down to eat in secrecy.” You swallow hard, a lump formed in your throat with his touch, unaware of when. “I know she doesn't like it but usually she comes up to tell me dinner was ready and…” You shrug, meek voice making his chest compress, he senses unwarranted guilt. As if it was your fault his wife kept using food as punishment.

Meghan had told him you were asleep, not that she didn't let you know dinner was ready and that disquiets him. His eyebrows furrow, other hand reaches your face, softly wiping the strawberry juice with his thumb. Licking it beforehand. Doyoung is closer and closer with every passing day. Just last night his touch lingered in between your thigh and knee, you imagine he'll reward you and slip his fingers between your lips soon. Whichever ones and you won't be opposed to it like prior times.

Doyoung gives you a semi-scolding look, “I've told you before. It's my house, you can eat whenever and whatever you want, Y/n." He pats your cheek, pecking it for reassurance. The action startles you every time. They never feel soft and innocent. Always intentional but when he pulls back and gives you a reassuring smile, it forces you to ponder how much you want his generosity to be more than that? It's wrong, you're aware of it, always will be.

His touch lingers a little longer, fleeting stares from your own eyes to lips as his pads waltz across your skin until he finally finds it in himself to let go. “Still hungry?” He asks, helping you up. Ready to deny, your stomach rumbles loudly, giving you no time to privy it of its rights for yet another day. Doyoung simply nods with a smile, cocking his head to the entrance.

“Put your shoes on, let's see what's open at this hour.” “It’s very late to eat a big meal, Mr.Kim…”

The smile on his lips attempts not to falter at what you call him. Doyoung hated it with his entire soul. You weren't going to seize as long as he didn't seize treating you like Tina, like you're his stepdaughter too. Although, in this instant it's punishment for making you feel so ill and needy.

You want more, you crave more, but you can't have more.

It's odd to you how both can easily bask in the delicacy of tense intimacy and this… disgusting forced idea of a familial relationship at times. Especially when they would intertwine like it is now. You hate him for it sometimes. 'Coward' is what bounces in your head often when his touch lingers just to treat you like he treats Tina when his sick brain tells him to.

Regardless, Doyoung doesn't get to respond or scold, his bedroom door slams and Meghan has reached the kitchen watching as he crouches over you. She sees the dirtied napkin and your red lips. She sees his hand ghosting over your cheek and the (bitter) smile he had falters when his eyes land on her. While with you it was full of fondness and amusement (she believes), disgust greets her. She's been aware of it for a while now.

"Y/n go to your room." She demands lowly, her hands clinging to her sleeping pants. "No." Doyoung interferes, and like that day in his study, Meghan glares at him, offended by his insistence on speaking back to her like a child disrespecting their elders. "Go to sleep." She grits out, turning to you. You stand up, keeping a distance from Doyoung who immediately speaks. "Go put your shoes on, let's go get you something to eat."

Meghan's lips fall ajar. A scoff and slight cackle hearing his words and the soft look he shoots you. "Are you fucking serious right now?" She asks infuriated, walking closer and slapping his hand off of your arm which aided in stabilizing you when getting up.

"She's hungry, Meghan." Doyoung spits back, disgust building in his gaze. His wife shoots him a response with hers, almost saying "That's not my concern." but the words don't leave her for she knows it will push things further. It's futile, Doyoung scowls and his head slowly shakes the longer he looks at her. There it is, that disgust once again and it eats away at her.

"You told me she was asleep. I didn't take you for someone gluttonous." Meghan could only describe the brewing feeling as embarrassment and pure seething rage. Who did Doyoung think he was to confront her like this? Implication full of disgust and hitting her where he knew it hurt. More so in front of the one causing all the problems. With your faux naivety and innocent looks. With that cunning smile you shoot her when around him. Meghan knows what you are, she knows what men like and she's experiencing it before her eyes. Men are weak.

If you were to peak inside her head and heart, that obscure growing orb was nothing but rotting tar.

"Don't be insolent. Don't bring that up in front of her!" She spits out, "Y/n go to your room!" Disturbed by being undermined by two people she deemed lesser than her. Doyoung attempts to stop you again, his grip a bit harsher than before. You look at where his hand is. This is familiar, revoltingly so. You feel like a child in the middle of their parents' argument. Getting pulled left and right until they tear you apart stitch by stitch. It's painful in all senses and when Meghan opens her mouth to yell at her husband, you screw your eyes, shaking your head and freeing yourself from his grasp.

"I'll go. I'll go… I'll go. Please." You repeat like a mantra, hoping your words will make it all end. The latter begging them to not include you, to leave you alone and forget that your existence is brewing something between them.

You always wonder how Tina is able to sleep through this and not wake up from their screaming. They no longer attempt to hide the potency of their vocal chords nor their words. You know they talk about you when the muffled voices take over or when Doyoung tells her to lower her voice while she laughs maliciously about how much of a vile, disgusting, and infelicitous asshole he is. Otherwise, you know their problems stem from their joint resentment about the power dynamics.

When two people want the same thing at the same time, things are bound to burn over.

Doyoung didn't take long to walk out after she called him those names again. Throwing in his face that he's a pretentious brat with nothing worth fighting for. Meghan has found going against his upbringing to be successful in debilitating him. The only downside is that he loathes her more and more and respects her as much as she does him. Very little to null.

Sleep fleets away. Fear floods you with the idea that Meghan was capable of barging into your room any second now and reproach you for ruining her marriage. She doesn't tell you directly and neither do the other two in the house but her demeanor change is more than clear. Her warm smiles are officially gone, cold and resentful glares replace them. And she no longer cares that they call her out for ignoring you.

Her hugs are foreign to you and her food no longer is edible. That love she once poured into her meals is gone with her motherly instincts. It aches, horribly so. You've known her and Tina since you began your academic career. When your parents couldn't pick you up or take you to school, Meghan was there. Summers were spent with them like this one with the exception that they were the happiest memories.

You have Tina, you know that. She's your sister. Although, you would prefer to not see her argue with her mother about you or see them give each other the cold shoulder after. You don't want her relationship with her mother to worsen, that's the last thing you want but you can't control what people feel. You're aware of that, Meghan isn't.

It's 1:00AM when sleep finally comes back to you and you feel safe enough. The comforter brings you the warmth you're lacking but isn't able to fill your chest. Soft lamentable sighs have left your lips all night over how horrid this summer has turned.

A part of you blames Doyoung. His addition has ruined the balance the three of you had. His cowardice of accepting Meghan's punches and seeking her motherly care during those years blinded him of the bigger picture — it's quite obvious now, confirmation is all you needed.

The other part of you accepts that Meghan is a decrepit insecure woman who seeks power and control of anyone that isn't her and that fills you with both anger and hurt, feeling no immense remorse for threading around Doyoung the way you do. You're allowed to indulge yourself from time to time.

Meghan wants puppets, not family.

Immersed in your pity and vexation, you don't notice when your bedroom window opens. The latch closing is what makes you turn around startled. A dark figure creeping through the shadows, tall and slim. Fright replaces the sleep you felt, manifested in an attempt to scream until your mouth is hastily covered with warm clammy hands that you instantly recognize by the bony nimble fingers. Doyoung.

A finger to his lips, shushes you, he sits on the corner of your bed. You swallow, your head spinning and light front the freight he just caused you. When you relax, you shake your head with a silent laugh. "You scared me," 'Asshole' silently balanced on your tongue. "For a second you made me believe Nosferatu was real." You joke, "But that would mean an old hag has been haunting me for ages, and I just met you." He pats your cheek almost condescendingly without saying sorry but meaning it. At least you think he's sorry.

"Here." He smiles — the most he does to entertain you—, handing you a bag you hadn't noticed earlier. That may explain the sweet smell of warm blueberries waltzing through the room to sedate you and make you more receptive to what he offers. "You didn't have to." You protest, he meets it with a shake of his head and raises a hand letting you know to just be quiet and take it. He does it with a smile on his face and it irritates you but it's also very beautiful that you oblige. "Thank you." You croon, a smile involuntarily creeping on your face. He responds to your words with a caress of your cheek.

"I've told you to not call me Mr. Kim before, haven't I?" His words slow down your movement, smile faltering. "Is that not your name?" You quip, giving him a quick glance while cutting the waffle into squares. It's warm and soft, as he is. Unfortunately if it's left in the open for too long, it will harden and rot. As he will.

There's some tenderness in his gaze, muddled with the same irascibility Meghan looks at him with when he talks back to subvert her. It makes your eyebrows furrow while you slowly chew, it's an odd feeling. Unfortunately for you, he's smart enough to read a person and divert the conversation. It so happens to be that he doesn't do it with Meghan anymore because he enjoys seeing her peeved and red.

He's become so cynical. The things marriage does to you.

"Regardless, please don't call me that, you make me feel old." "You are old." Your teasing makes him gasp, jaw slack with semi-offense before ruffling your hair, destroying the braid. You laugh at his actions, successfully forgetting his earlier look.

"I'm only five years older than you!" He whisper-yells, offense still imprinted onto his being. "Then don't treat me like you're much older." Spoken in between laughs, your words do settle in his mind. Doyoung knows this happens often, it disgusts him but at the same time it keeps him morally sane.

Yes, he touches you more than he should. But he balances it out by indulging your childish attributes that make you act bubbly and younger around him.

Yes, he looks at you with rapidly growing attraction and lust. But he balances it by teaching you step by step on how to maintain perfectly taxidermied insects the way paternal figures do.

He understands and feels that underlying disgust. It's self-punishment for thinking about you when he is married despite loathing the woman. His attraction to you is punishment for that alone.

He should still remain a good man. He is a good man.

Until he learns to enjoy the power trip. He can somewhat understand his wife for that.

Coward.

His smile begins to lose its intensity, nodding while getting comfortable on your bed. He's receptive when you feed him squares here and there, making sure to look directly in your eyes when he takes them into his mouth. Lips wrapping around the black plastic fork and lapping at the syrup hiding between the backside grooves just to watch you immediately replicate his actions. It's a soothing dance, ego indulgent to know you take what he gives.

"Listen," You feed him again. "I'm sorry for earlier." He covers his mouth, "For continuing to put you in those situations, truly sorry." His hand goes up to his chest, his wedding band is gone, causing a warm feeling to brew in your stomach, manifested as an involuntary smile on your lips.

You shrug, nonchalantly as if it didn't matter when you knew it did. "Not my first rodeo." You mutter, feeding him the last bit before placing the tray on the nightstand. He looks at you, taking in your reactions and the stuck sigh that you finally release when he doesn't prod.

You never spoke of your own family. It was always Meghan and Tina this, Meghan and Tina that. At the beginning he wondered if they would be preoccupied knowing you were here, meeting a stranger despite being in safe hands. Yet after a month he noticed the conflicting projected emotions on your face when he spoke about his parents and how loving to each other they've always been. He could tell admiration and resentment were bigger emotions you carried. Now it does not surprise him that you're saying this. More so, it's confirmation.

"How did you even meet her, by the way? I just can't think of a scenario where you'd meet a woman like Meghan."

Curiosity and petulance lace your voice. He smiles to himself, taking your hand into his, reassured he was taking the right steps when you reluctantly relax against his touch. "My mom grew up in a house with four brothers. She always felt the need to prove she was as important as them. You know, rough housing, sports, academics, that sort of thing." He shrugs, "Futile because my grandparents loved and supported her no matter what she did. There truly was no difference in their treatment of the five — very progressive, they were. Kind of holistic— she simply made that rivalry up in her head."

You'd ask what any of this had to do with your question, but Doyoung likes to speak, he likes to speak about his parents. Even if it was a simple redaction.

"So she spent her entire life doing things that would put her far away from those related to housewives. Never learned how to cook, clean, gardening was her only token but that's because she was a botanist. My dad did everything else." He laughs, fond memories of seeing his dad in frilly aprons and pink mittens. He chose them, all the decor was his pick. Doyoung only ever lets you use them when you're in the kitchen.

"This was ten years ago, I was visiting them from college for the summer when I found she had created a crafts room out of this room." His free hand points around the walls of your room, wallpaper in a quilt design explaining it all. "She said she was too old to not know basic things like mending a hole in dad's socks or helping him with dinner. That he was getting old and weak too, it was a job for two to get anything out of the oven."

He hums, gaze on your interlocked hands. "So I drove her daily to these classes at the community center. That's when I first met Meghan, she was there to teach the classes. Nothing went past pleasantries and my mom joking about how I'd look good with Tina."

Selfish you are for letting vile manifest and spread through your chest when hearing those words. Tina… Tina couldn't handle Doyoung. They can't even stand to be in a room together without it being awkward. So selfish of you to make this about yourself, squeezing his hand scolding. He takes it with humor, feigning not noticing for the sake of his ego.

"Of course my mom didn't know Tina's age, when she realized how much younger she was, she stopped the jokes. They became somewhat friends, never seeing each other outside the community center to my knowledge. I didn't see Meghan for years after that but three years ago when my mom's Alzheimer's worsened and she had forgotten the difference between toxic versus non toxic liquids, she ended up poisoning herself by drinking insecticide. Later we found cleaning supplies with her lipstick on the mouth. It's at the funeral that I saw Meghan again and she was there for my dad and I…"

You didn't imagine this would take that turn. He always spoke so fondly of his parents like they were still around somewhere. Never said where but still around. You now realize it's their lingering presence around everything here.

"I'm sorry, Doyoung…" He dismisses you, shaking his head and kissing your hand. He's trying to control his labored breathing, warm and harsh against your skin, his hand clammy.

"Dad felt so guilty for it all. He taught about the development of the human brain, did neuroscience studies for the university and certain labs here and there all his life and he couldn't save his own wife. So… he left me too. He left for a study, who knows where and I haven't heard from him since." He smiles, a sort of bitterness that he didn't want to have for his father. Reluctance to accept that it was perhaps more than a trip. "Lawyers came days after he left, everything left to my name on both their ends. Meghan had been the only one to check in on me besides extended family but they live far away, there's not much they could do."

Guilt floods you. Why couldn't you just push back that desire to belittle Meghan more in your mind. The worst part is that your brain won't stop telling you that she only took advantage of his vulnerability. Sweet, vulnerable Doyoung who lost his parents in a span of weeks left to rot on his own with a huge house, assets, and a desire to give and give to anyone willing to comfort him. Convenient.

Doyoung hums, sitting up. The silence helps him admire you, or simply distract himself from this gushing open wound. The braid he destroyed, cascading over your shoulder. Shoulder covered in a thick light yellow lace strap with matching ribbons on the chest. He smiles noticing the small details, he recalls helping you sneak into Meghan's craft room to make that night gown. Fabric and ribbon he took from his mother's stash.

She would like you, he believes so.

"You've made good use of the marigold dye." Doyoung smiles, his hand reaching to touch the strap. His fingers dance over it, letting them touch your skin. It's cruel and mean but very elating. He's been playing this teasing game and unfortunately, it's you who wants it more. From then on, they inch closer to the ribbon. Fingers jumping on every spot and ending on the bow, delicately admiring it.

Truth be told he kept his touch there to feel the increase of your respiration. Chest moving up and down faster than previously. He smiles to himself, almost mischievously when he notices a new item around your neck. "The roses too… my mother would have been so content with you." He giggles, patting your cheek prior to giving himself the liberty to touch the rose beads that form a necklace.

She would like you, he's sure of it.

"Very ingenious, so good." Doyoung hums, his hand trails to hold your neck. You nod slowly, entranced in your humiliating arousal from just his touch. You feel pubescent, frothing at the mouth from one touch. Stupid. He's just another man… a man that coddles and holds you in secrecy. It's the forbidden excitement laced with guilt at how treacherous the human mind and body can be.

Clearing your throat, you look around, avoiding his gaze. "Yes, well, she has a lovely and fruitful garden… Greenhouse too, I found some purple cabbages from the spring season, they'd make a lovely dye." You divert but his touch doesn't fall, his other hand opts to join on your cheek, cradling it.

Instinctively you lean into it, forcing you to look at him. There's no teasing or patronizing looks on his end and you're thankful for it. It's full blown admiration and desire in those dark orbs that pull you closer to him while he caresses you. They allow themselves to rake your face. Every feature but most of all your lips and eyes, longing to land on your pupils as to bless whatever you see. On your forehead to reassure that he is your safe haven as you are becoming his. It oddly reminds you of the looks he gave when cleaning your feet before the accident. Like Mary Magdalene admiring her savior.

Doyoung thinks he is allowed this indulgence for once. He can punish himself after but he can no longer go without tasting your skin on his lips, he feels so famished. Letting out a shaky breath, he softly rises, bringing your head closer to him. Breath labored with every move and warm against your skin when he's mere centimeters from it. Shutting his eyes and pursing his lips, letting them fall on your eyelids.

Velvet and moist, that's how his lips feel. You sigh in relief, unaware you had been holding your breath. His lip travels to the other eyelid, it's quick unlike prior, for he rushes to kiss your forehead, lingering for as long as he can before letting out a content sigh of his own, and a liberated smile. He wants to laugh at how absurd he is being but that would only keep wasting time.

Doyoung is so close to your lips when he decides it is best to take the full risk, however you both hear the soft knocks against your door and the rattling of the doorknob. He can't describe the feeling as freight, more so irreverent wrath.

"Y/n? Y/n why is the door locked?"

Tina.

The man instantly pulls away. His touch burns you both and guilt manifests itself through blown out pupils — your own, not his. Your lips are ajar when he places his finger up to his own, like the way he entered your room and disappears the same way. He says nothing and neither do you, opening the door when he's not in view.

The doorknob continues to rattle until she feels the weight of your hand on it. You sigh heavily before opening the door, looking at her blankly which she notices but does not mention. She never does.

"I heard voices." "I'm watching a movie."

She hums. She believes you. She believes you. She does…

"Why was the door locked?" She asks, concern on her face. When your eyes divert from hers, she can tell something had gone on. You usually enjoy having her know everything about you. That's what best friends do, yet at the moment you loathe her for it. That's what sisters do. That gnawing disturbance of frustration and impotency. The type she's felt this entire summer break.

You simply hum, she giggles.

"How bad was it now?" She now finds humor in knowing she always sleeps through their arguments. It's not so funny to you. "Nothing special, I was in the kitchen when he stormed out then she followed behind and they went at it after I left." She giggles once more. Unsure now if it's because she actually finds it comedic or she doesn't know how to respond.

This is her mother and her happiness they're talking about. This is you, her best friend and your friendship on the line.

It’s not like you can tell her that her stepfather defending you from her mom for the millionth time isn’t pushing her into deeper hatred. It’s not like you can tell her that her mother purposely starved you for the day out of pure unadulterated jealousy because her husband desires you more than her. No, can you? No. Silence and lies will do.

"Hey, did you know how Meghan and Doyoung met?" You ask, looking at where had laid. Tina shrugs, "She told me they saw each other at a coffee shop from time to time and talked since then. She doesn't like coffee though." She shrugs again.

Oh Tina. Willfully ignorant and avoidant. Perhaps the story is right but you're sure that if Tina fully knew her mother had met doyoung ten years younger with baby fat still on his cheeks and younger than she is, her dilemma would only worsen. Coward.

Unlike Tina, Meghan didn't hesitate in barging in after a few minutes. It leaves you and her daughter dumbfounded when the angry look becomes bewildered and disappointed, like she had expected to find something (or someone) to prove her suspicions.

"Mom?"

Meghan acknowledges it with a sigh, "Go to sleep, it's late." Making you both feel ten again at one of multiple sleepovers during school nights. Tina responds with a nod. You, you look at her for any trace of something. There's worry, that's for sure. And there's also anger. Nothing new.

The front door is slammed downstairs, causing Tina to get a startled look on her face that is reassured when Meghan shakes her head, dismissively. She opens her mouth to calm her daughter when a disgusting thought tells you to do the talking for her. She deserves even this bit.

"It's Doyoung, don't worry."

And it's disturbing to Meghan that you spoke her thoughts, word for word while looking at her.

Meghan has gotten her confirmation for the night.

That night had given some clarity to Doyoung. Arguments with his wife seized for the most part and before they could begin, he was out the door for his nightly runs. That's what she believed at least. He tampered with his smartwatch to mark his steps knowing she would look through it.

Reality is that he crept up the trellis to your room. Spending the nights under the covers with earphones in, door locked, lights off, and a movie lulling you to sleep while getting a few whispered conversations in here and there. His lips or yours pressed against each other's ear. It was the closest to kissing you would get at.

When you do fall asleep, he tucks you in. Caresses your hair and kisses your forehead goodnight before crawling back down the trellis and entering through the front door. To continue his reality of being married to a woman that no longer treats him with the care he sought but at least he can provide it for you and that you've slowly been returning.

Doyoung has taken that into account and rewards you for it. The gifts were small at first, snacks that Meghan wouldn't allow into the house, books in your wish list. They later became more intricate. Your personal taxidermy and diaphonization kits (locked in his study), pendants of the critters utilized, a camera to document your process, and the most recent being two chickens and doves.

The animals irked his wife more than anything. She has spent the past two months arguing about tearing down the greenhouse and it only took you a mention of the excess of caterpillars and worms in there for him to bring in the chickens. You looked after them, sure, however the chickens with free range left their eggs and droppings everywhere. It felt intentional how she found them laying on her clean laundry, pecked her if they saw her, and worse off stained all of her fabric. They abhor her as much as she does them.

At least the bleeding-heart doves are lovely to look at despite their cold shoulder towards her. Tina gets a ruffle of feathers, you and Doyoung some crooning, and spooning among each other when it's you and him peering upon them. It's the small things that drive her deeper into her madness.

Like seeing you sit criss-crossed on the plush bright grass. It's dewy again, much taller now than it was before but he promised to mow soon. Right now he's too busy hammering in old nails onto stained wood and footprints —yours and his— to create a coup for the chickens. Not by her demand, no. He'd never take hers seriously, but yours.

"Diaphonized insects are horrid. They're all brown. I think I should give wet species a chance." Doyoung takes your words in, a simple chuckle looking at your pout. Petulant and spoiled. "Y/n, you're not drying them fast enough." He corrects, you shrug knowing he may be right but working with insects has bored you. "Either way, centipedes and spiders look disgusting in those vials."

The chickens flock around you, pecking the ground. Their clucking became louder, frustrated the longer they weren't able to obtain what they wanted. Doyoung gives them a quick glance, a fastidious kind of melody, one he isn't used to. Neither are you according to the stink eye you give them. It's pleasant to Meghan, leaning against the sink with peering bright eyes, it feels like justice for once.

It's a delicacy. Your desperate attempts to calm them down, Doyoung's hammering exasperating the chickens, and finally… A loud and pained screech from you, pushing away the hen that victoriously clucks as it swallows the culprit of your scream. One of the neighbor's centipedes.

Doyoung drops his tools, rushing to your aid. He watches you tumble, attempting to stand, however the aching sting and burn on your foot doesn't allow it. Meghan watches every movement from you both. Your disgruntled whines and moans, his shushes in an attempt to calm you down. Hands clasping around your feet, soothing the inflamed bump in hopes it did something. It didn't, it irritated the wound further.

"I told you the critters would recognize your feet." He jokes, scolding in the process. The stinging is intense enough that waspishly, you huff, pouting his way. "Nuh-uh." You reply, rolling your eyes when he throws in a glare. He shakes his head, finally sitting, his knees aching. Like the day you burnt your feet, he takes your feet in his lap, looking over the wound while your soles leave stains again.

He smiles to himself, an airy laugh as if he was coming up with something, fingers waltzing over the bite. "I told you to put shoes on, I won't always be here to help you." Smile turns into a grin, teasing as he lets his lips fall over the wound.

It stings. The warmth of his own flesh against the boiling fire of yours, it's not pleasant and you make it known. With the exception that it comes out strangled and pleasured. Much to his delight, making his lips part, tongue gracing the area just to add more pain and more pretty sounds to leave you.

It's an erotic image to anyone who experiences and sees it. Meghan feels the boiling pain in her chest, the same way you do on your foot. The only difference is that Doyoung won't attempt to soothe hers. He won't even acknowledge it.

Doyoung is looking up at you with a curling smile, lips pulling apart from your skin, eyes raking the expanse of your exposed thigh when the dress rode up. " Met with a harsh pull, Meghan reaches both of you, hands on Doyoung who stumbles to stand up. It's hard to decipher what her expressions read, all emotions coursing through like a bad acid trip, colors roaming around in a slew.

Anger, disgust, pain, defeat, resentment. It made no difference, it was all negative.

"How do you plan on defending this now, huh?" She asks, wavering voice when she looks between you two. "What could you possibly say to make this look normal, Doyoung?!" Her voice rose, startling Tina who had been in the entertainment room when she heard your scream. Like usual, she opts to remain where she's at. It's no use involving herself when she's known how this would all end since the beginning.

"Sucking the venom out, Meghan. Fuck me, why do you have to make everything so salacious?" Doyoung grits, a tone she had not fallen for years ago.

His speech and tone has changed within these months. He no longer spoke like a poised character, he spoke like you. He smelt like you and his quirks adapted to yours. Doyoung was no longer Meghan's and that's a fact she's finding difficult to deal with. Similar to how parents aren't able to understand the autonomy of a child as they grow.

Frustratingly so, his response made sense to her. She's seen it in movies, she's read about it — so she thinks. Unfortunately for her, this was only a sting, like a mosquito or a bee sting, something that will subside with ointment just like your burns weeks prior. There was nothing to suck out nor was it recommended.

"How convenient." She scoffs. Meghan hated how upset she was. She knew this was bound to happen and why she kept her relationship hidden from you for the past two years.

Meghan knew your interests, knew your beliefs, and knew you her entire life. She knew how drawn everyone instantly is to you and woefully, she knew Doyoung would be one of those people too. She was proven right the first day when she saw him approach you on that swing and converse so easily. Touch you so easily…

It never got better as the days went by. Why was it so easy for him to cave and give you a room? A room meant for her hobbies. A room meant for hobbies, as his mother had wanted. Why did he allow you into his study without hesitance when she could only remain for five minutes or so? Why did he have to please you by offering dinner? It's been a while since he's taken her out to dinner. Yes, it was wrong of her to privy you of basic needs but earlier in the day she had seen you so content in that stupid greenhouse and understood fully why he kept refusing to tear it down besides grief. You kept it alive just like his mother did.

Her jealousy doesn't outweigh her disdain for being undermined. Like a person working night and day, loyal to one job for years on end and aging throughout them to be replaced like nothing by a new set of fresh meat. A kick to the rear and a big "Fuck you, you're no longer useful and too old for us to care about your opinion." That's how her relationship with Doyoung felt when he met you.

When they started dating, Doyoung sought her sweet reassuring words and pet names. Her gentle touches and pats when he did a good job. Her comforting food and the affection she gave Tina. It was pleasant, she knew what he wanted all along and she was more than willing to give it to him as long as he reciprocated her own desires. Surrendering control and devotion.

Those things no longer belonged to her. His devotion shifted to you —she's witnessed it on multiple accounts— and control is his again. That's one way of looking at things. He moves her and Tina into his home, doesn't let her make any changes and instead rubs it in her face that you adore the house and its quirks. His house and his quirks.

If everything reminded her already of his parents, it now reminds her of you too and how much more power ghosts and a child have rather than her.

Meghan scoffs and huffs every now and then while rebutting his arguments. He mimics them to show her how absurd she is being. It's a never ending cycle they've grown comfortable with but that needs to stop. This isn't what either signed up for when they legally bound their love. If you can even call it that, it's more than clear both were pitifully lonely and disturbed.

"Are you even hearing yourself, seriously?" Doyoung sighs, offended at the implications she kept throwing at him. His thoughts may be vile and depraved when it comes to you but he's punished himself enough. Meghan doesn't seem to understand that while he now recognizes he never did love her, rather sought the affection of a mother, he was bound to honor those vows.

But he was only a man and men are weak.

Meghan has double the years of experience he does and she knows that if you ever stop seeing her with those same eyes Doyoung once saw her with and which Tina is bound to by the universe's request, and gave him free reign, he'd take the opportunity without a thought.

"No, are you hearing yourself? Better yet, do you see what you do?!" She glares, "You enable her to do whatever she wants. Parade around my home as if it was hers. Make a mess of the floorboards, lock herself with you in that stupid study, for what? Your disgusting bugs? Really, Doyoung it's odd how much time you two spend together, you don't even spend that time with your own stepdaughter, neither of you have spent time with Tina. She’s supposed to be Tina’s best friend."

Doyoung felt his frontal lobe develop for the second time in his life. Stepdaughter… Fuck, he was only thirty with a twenty-five year old stepdaughter. Does anyone see how disturbing and odd this fucking is? No, he definitely cannot stay in this for much longer.

"And you know what? Jesus, you're acting like a fucking brat yourself." She scoffs. "The longer you spend with her, the more immature you become. Genuinely, what use was it for your parents to give if you're going to act like a child." She shrugs.

"Don't even bring my parents into this, fuck off." Doyoung disturbed glares at her. "Don't fucking do that. It only seems that way because you hate when anyone is better than you. Smarter and secure than you, get a grip, Meghan. Don’t forget that I’m closer to her age than yours. I’m allowed to be childish, remember that… Don't fucking bring them up ever again."

He was right but that's exactly what she hated most.

"Honestly Meghan," Dumbfounded, Doyoung sighs, hands rubbing upon his face exhausted. "You've known Y/n longer than me. If you don't plan on trusting me, at least trust her. What kind of mother are you if you can't offer her that?"

His tone quickly twisted into condescension, the sheer feeling of being talked down upon by someone who knows nothing about life irking her furthermore and the slight consideration that gnawed at the back of her head was ultimately consumed by that twisted rotten tar in her soul.

"Well she isn't my daughter is she?" Meghan spews without thinking. "She's not my fucking daughter. Not by blood, not metaphorically, nor by law. Tina is my daughter and you know what my daughter doesn't do? Throw herself at my shithead of a husband like any other hussy does!" Her hands meet with his shoulders multiple times, abrasive like every word. No regard that those words were loud and clear for you who remained on the grass and Tina in the entertainment room with the TV on full blast. No longer able to hide and ignore like she's done all along.

Doyoung doesn't mind the contact or the harsh words towards him. What he does mind is her rejection of motherhood. Yes, she's correct to an extent, however how harsh must one be to deny the impact their motherly doting has left on a young and impressionable child? He has fairly understood your restraint and guilt after each encounter is interlaced with your respect towards Meghan and now all he can think about is how that shattering reality will affect you.

Will affect him…

It's disgust and resentment that meets Meghan— she takes it with pride. It's empathy that meets you when he turns to face you. Seeing the instant heartache aflame in your eyes and through the cracks of your chest.

Pity is what you take it as. Disturbed by such, you stand up, the walk of shame towards that stupid greenhouse his wife detests so much. A soft shut is what makes him turn back to Meghan, disdain so palpable that Tina can feel it as she peers through the window. Relenting to the reality she's been trying to avoid these months. It's odd to be a background character in something that affects her directly. She knows there's more to come and when it's done, she'll have two options, only one right answer.

Her mother or her best friend… her sister.

Their words are muffled on the further end of the greenhouse. You imagine this is what Tina would hardly hear in her slumber and it was nice to an extent. You've always admired her discipline. You can't say you admire it now, many of those arguments could have been prevented if she spoke up about her discomfort towards her mother dating a man near her age, a man that sought the affection she was given. A grieving man.

Tina was disciplined but she was also a coward just the way Meghan wanted her to be. The way Meghan wanted all of you to be. Fearing yet adoring her. Devout like a disciple to their God.

Meghan was nowhere near a God. She was closer to a pathetic haggard with no accomplishments in life besides her daughter's, living vicariously through her. She attempted to do the same with Doyoung and it may have worked for a while. She soon realized that she couldn't do such a thing with someone that's always had more opportunities than she's had.

Doyoung had two loving parents his entire life. Just like you.

Regrettably, they weren't able to be near him as much as he would have liked them to be due to their career. Just like you.

However, they provided no matter what — even in the after life — and it showed throughout the house and the love he still holds for them. Their presence is felt in the grooves of doorknobs she replaces, the carvings on the wooden doors she plans on modernizing, the stained windows she'll break, the chips on the kitchen island she will fix, the garden with horrid flamboyant flowers that are eaten away by pests, and that ghastly greenhouse with plants that pretentiously have to mean something.

There's no grasp of control in a house that is meant to exude security, love, and reassurance. No grasp if she's not the one to plant that seed.

Fortunately for you, the house welcomed you in and now you don't care how much you rub it in her face. This was meant for you and if she thought of you as the complete opposite of what she's groomed you into, you'll let the entire world know that Doyoung and everything she wanted to obtain is yours by prophecy.

"How's your foot?" The soft voice that greets you nightly approaches you, his warm fingers taking your shoulder, spinning you around and forcing the pen in your hand to drop. The solemn look on your face and the exaggerated pout makes him sigh, your shrug forcing his touch away. "Better."

Doyoung nods as a response, approaching and taking you in a tight embrace to reassure you that it was all going to be okay, that Meghan was nothing but bitter and defeated.

"I'm sorry…" He whispers against your hair, leaving kisses here and there. Your sigh, tightening his embrace. "It's not you who said it." You expel, burying your head in his chest the way your doves do. He kisses your head again, reward for such a sweet action.

"But it's my fault she did." "It doesn't matter now."

Doyoung peels away as much as he can without breaking the embrace. His eyes search yours for a hint of sadness, however all he can see is fiery anger and vindictiveness.

His hand takes your cheek, both warm and soft. "It does..." He hums, "You know it does." Eyebrows furrowed, concerned with how easily you've given it up. He knew you'd be upset but relent is not what he expected. No, he does not like this.

You pout, grip on his torso tightening to leave the feeling of your touch lingering for as long as it could. "It'll pass."

Doyoung truly didn't know how to fix this on his own, it's not his duty to do so either. Yet, the last thing he wanted was to see you upset over the words of someone so vile who did not deserve any strong emotion conveyed. Prior times he was able to pacify you with his gifts or embraces, nowadays it's been a bit harder.

"Will it?" "It has to. I'll have time to mourn later."

Mourn.

Doyoung thinks about the last time he allowed himself to mourn. He wonders if you'll follow in his footsteps and ignore it, falling in the embrace of a rancid older person who will only take advantage over the loss of a profound relationship. He doesn't want you to do that, you should seek comfort in the arms of someone who can oddly comprehend you despite the hierarchy being completely different.

It should be him.

Decidedly, Doyoung leans in, like that first night in your room. His lips don't linger above your features or your lips like last time. This time he dives in, taking your lips into his in a slow and tender kiss. You reciprocate it instantly, holding onto him for dear life, afraid to be tossed around once more.

Your lips part slightly, seeking air although inviting him further in. Doyoung moans into the kiss when your hands creep under his shirt, they're peculiarly cold for such a hot summer. Alluding to the death that floods you from Meghan's rejection. He can tell you're replaying her words over and over every time your kisses get hungrier. Tongue overlapping his and savoring him further. Fingernails raking his smooth pale back. He'd be glad to parade those pink streaks, it's the least he could do.

He wasn't far off. It's interesting how easy one can hate someone they've loved for so long. All you had in mind was punishing Meghan for what she just said. She's killed you. She's killed that little girl that looked up at her like a mother. Mother's are supposed to be nurturing and kind. But like she's said, she doesn't owe it to you. You're not her daughter, never were.

Cruel, cold, and a bitch she was. You could be that too, you've become aware of it with every cold shoulder and scowl from her. You'll be what she truly sees you as if that'll make her happy.

Men are weak, you've known this too. She's taught it to you. So why not start proving it with her husband? Giving him that chance everyone knew he awaits.

Your hands warm up the longer they roam around his torso, ripping the buttons off his shirt. He doesn't seem to care, not when it's a piece Meghan made him. "Will you make me feel better, Doie? Will you help me forget? I think we both need to forget?" You whisper against his lips, his labored breathing mixing with yours, chasing your lips as a response.

He whines like a pet being denied a treat, teased and laughed at. To satiate him, you peck his lips, nipping them and earning another whine, pleased this time. He nods fervently, his own hands grasping your body, making sure you're here with him.

Swollen lips leave open mouthed kisses along his jaw, trailing to his throat. Nipping softly at the taut skin. He hisses and gasps here and there but he never pushes you away. He takes what you give, just like you.

Thankful for such, it's time you take a bite of that apple, rotten and all.

Doyoung groans when he feels your teeth cling to his Adam's apple, fingers pressing into your own skin. His body is now cold, similar to how your hands were at the beginning, it's infectious but delicious. He needs more of whatever you give him. Greedy, greedy, greedy.

It's easy to read his mind, the way those eyes look at you, ten times more intense than before. Enough to push you into creating a trail down his torso, similar to the stream of sweat that clung to him that first day you met. This felt nice against his cold skin. The warmth of your mouth and delicacy of lust intermingled into making his groin harden. You notice the need, fingers clumsily toying with the belt buckle until it's gone.

You tease here and there, fingers clinging to the hem of his underwear, scratching above his pubic hair and making him hunch over, only stopped by the feeling of your forehead on his exposed torso, purposefully giggling to have your breath tickle his greedy skin.

"It tickles." He utters, looking down at you with blown pupils. You smile, looking up at him with wide eyes, pressing your knuckles into his skin. "Better?" You question, he grins and nods.

You use his shirt as a cushion underneath your knees, it's futile and barely aids but it's better than bare concrete. Seeing there was no use to taunt him any longer, your fingers crawl within his underwear, grasping the phallic in much need of attention. He hisses feeling your grasp, it's soft but firm, tugging him out brusquely on purpose. He liked that.

Doyoung pants, attempting to control his breathing. It's been so long since he's been touched, any time Meghan attempted he was flooded with disgust and self hatred, pushing her off when she aimed to at least kiss him. He could live with it, believing his sex drive had died before you came into the picture. But with you around the house and him 24/7, it was becoming very difficult to do anything about his increased sex drive.

"You're so hard… When's the last time you had any action?" You ask casually, hand rhythmically rocking against his shaft, thumb collecting any drop of pre-come to smear against him. He's reluctant and embarrassed to answer but your sweet smile is so convincing that he responds with a guttural moan.

"I see." You hum, kissing his tip as a reward, eliciting another moan. Masturbating in the shower was not enough. Sometimes Meghan tried to get in there with him and it would make him flaccid immediately. It seemed the only times he could ever relieve himself was in the comfort of his study. His favorite times when you and Tina took advantage of the pool and sun bathed with his research papers in hand. That excited him most, the image of you in a skimpy swimsuit in front of his window and reading his thoughts on a subject you couldn't care for as much but would take just because it was made by him. You took anything he gave you.

The memory alone made him twitch in your hand, a giggle leaving your pretty lips. Like this, he would get so much harder like this. "I get it, Doie. I won't stall any longer." You relent, leaning further to take him in your mouth. The damp and warm cavity force a moan out of his own, holding onto your hair as he throws his head back. Fuck, he's been craving this for so long.

Doyoung feels his ears ring. His own breathing along the squelching of your throat floods them. He thinks this is heaven, although he doubts an act like this would allow any of you in. Right, it wouldn't. Not after you both submit to the temptation of forbidden fruit. But it's better this way, what fun is there in being a garden when you can't have what makes you feel good? Even if it is a sin.

He relishes in the feeling of your mouth around him, head bobbing on its own despite your free hand giving him permission to push as much as he wants. Your tongue swirls around his cock, pressing firmly against the veins and dancing around the rest. It tickles, but he's sure you're aware. It is your favorite game after all.

He looks as pretty as the first day you met him. Beads of sweat rolling down his face, forcing his hair to frame and emphasize those pretty features of his. His ragged moans sound like those of an angel, pushing you further down his cock. It feels suffocating, he's not as girthy but he is long and it makes it much harder to push through. Even so, you want to be good for him, you've always wanted to be. This forces you to push through, gagging a few times but persevering until your nose hits his pubic bone.

Doyoung feels elated at this new found feeling. Your throat is so tight and warm, it feels like a reward for all he's endured. Sadly for him, it's torn apart, gifting him with an image of you teary eyed, gasping for air and a mixture of come and spit threading you both. He couldn't think he could get any more hard but this image alone makes him spurt pre-come onto your chin.

You give him a quick glance, smiling sweetly at him. "Close?" You ask, "You can come in my mouth, Doie." You utter, leaning in to take him in. He closes his eyes feeling your mouth around him again, dizzy and seeing stars. He feels the breeze enter from the windows of the greenhouse, whirling around you both. He finds that his body is no longer cold, it's scorching as yours.

Doyoung didn't think he could be so overstimulated before coming, it may be with the fact that he hasn't been touched for so long or how one of your hands clutches his into your hair, yanking to feel arousal from the sting. He swears can see a bead of your wetness roll down your leg when he looks down at you, cursing and bucking forward.

It hurts, you won't lie but that is exactly what made you keep taking him and pulling back out. The strain against your throat elating until he finally took it within himself to do as you wanted. His jutting forward with a harsh grasp on your hair, fucking your face and forcing you to gag while one of your hands plays with his testicles, only pushing him to go faster. Your other hand pushing aside your soiled panties and playing with your clit. It's a slick sticky mess, uncomfortable at best but the feeling alone does enough for you.

Doyoung mutters curses here and there. Pretty words too which you receive with moans that make him increase the pace. Both of his hands are on your hair when he finally feels himself spill in your mouth. His moan is so loud you wouldn't doubt that anyone outside of the greenhouse could hear him. You squeal, taken by surprise and also feeling yourself suffocate. Even when he's still inside of you, some of his come spills from the sides of your mouth, rushing out like water from a broken dam when he rips himself apart from you.

He feels out of it, trying to calm himself after such an intense orgasm as you are. Head thrown back, gasping for air without spilling any come still in your mouth. When you think you're stable enough, he helps you up. Kissing your soiled cheeks and licking his lips to savor himself. The image makes your pupils dilate. Taking himself in like it was melted ice cream, without a care. No one is as receptive to taste themselves but he was.

You hadn't come yet, and this image only made you want to reach that high more and more. Doyoung cluelessly smiles at you, appreciative of what you've done. It's wiped away when you take his face into your hands, kissing him. Instinctively, his lips part, allowing you to push his own cum into his mouth from yours. He's taken aback but weirdly aroused.

Narcissistic, egocentric, or whatever anyone wants to call it. It does not change the fact that Doyoung immediately hardens at the taste of himself mixed with the taste of your spit. The sweet tones of the lingering chocolate you two ate with the saltiness of his orgasm. Similar to a disgusting and corrupted salted caramel dark chocolate. It's not for everyone but it is meant for you two.

Hastily, he helps you up on the data table. Pulling down your wet panties and rubbing them along his hard and aching cock. He moans into the kiss, ragged and needy while he jerks himself off to increase the feeling. His tongue mingling with yours, swirling his come around both your mouths until it becomes warmer and lesser.

Fingers intertwined in your hair, tugging to hear more of you. Desire to hear more and more leads to shaking nimble fingers to trail the inside of your thighs. He smiles into the kiss feeling the scorching warmth within. Claiming and begging to be touched. He's no cruel man, not all the time at least, so he grants you this reward after all the ones you've given him.

Slowly, his ring and middle finger enter you easily with the slickness he's caused. The intrusion causes you to moan against his mouth this time, giving him the advantage to nip your tongue. It doesn't take Doyoung long to allow his fingers to move within you, pumping relentlessly to hear your pretty sounds. Guttural with the remaining come you two interchange.

You've always thought he had pretty fingers, since you met. Purposefully scraping yourself and staining your feet with grass to have him touch you. Nimble, long, and delicate enough to curl within your walls and cause a shiver down your spine. With the length, it doesn't take him long to reach your sweet spot. His pistoning motion and curl forcing cries and withering beneath him. Doyoung isn't as cruel or sadistic but this… he can understand why sadism exists.

Your legs don't seize to shake, a sheer layer of perspiration coating your body and face. He needs to let you finish, he just has to. It's not long until your body gives out, you need this or you'll probably pass out on this table alone.

But Doyoung allows himself to indulge that sadism he's contemplated for the past few minutes – enjoying his contradiction on cruelty. Halting his moves and ripping his hand away, taking the last drop of remaining come into his mouth to greet you with a cheshire grin as you look at him in surprise and betrayal. Every nerve in your body stings you left and right, punishing and taunting you for the lost glory.

"What the actual fuck?!" You gasp, looking at him, panting harshly with a body ready to explore from heat and desire.

He doesn't respond, letting the come and his spit trickle down to his glowing red cock, slacks and underwear pooled around his ankles. Now that his mouth is free, he chuckles. "Had to save some for lube." He shrugs, positioning himself between your legs. He kisses your cheek reassuringly, rubbing the come around him until he pushes within you. It feels different than his fingers and your mouth for the both of you. Surely, nothing will ever be as good as the actual thing.

Doyoung doesn't move just yet. Allowing you to get comfortable while he contemplates on whether you should leave the red gingham dress on. It's too pretty and he was there when you made it. Meghan had hated when you told her he allowed you to use his mother's machine and fabric. She hated that you were taking over her on her own craft.

Hm… yes, just for that he'll let you keep it on.

"Come on, Doie… Fuck me as hard as you can." You lean in, whispering against his ear, biting his earlobe. That was enough incentive for Doyoung to begin thrusting. It's slow but hard at first, setting the pace. It doesn't take long for him to quicken it, increasing your moans with it. You hold onto him tightly as he pounds into you. So deep into the pleasure of being full again that neither of you speak.

Legs pushed wide open against the table, his glute muscles flexing with every hard stroke. He kisses you here and there, licking away the beads of sweat from your neck like a starved animal in need of more.

The taste of your skin drives him insane, nipping and licking until he reaches your breasts. Pushing down the fabric of the dress to take one into his mouth. Engulfing it, harsh suction that leaves you wanting more. His teeth aren't as kind to your nipples but you don't mind as long as he is well fed. As long as you're able to please him.

"You feel so good, Y/n… I won't ever be able to get enough of you." He pants, thrusts hardening, hips swiveling to get closer to you, enough that his pubic bone creates friction against your needy clit. That intensifies the feeling that pushes you further into an orgasm. Doyoung feels it when you squeeze around him and moan his name like a mantra, pulling at his hair like he's done to yours.

"Please… I've been good. Please, let me come, Doie." You beg, implore. You couldn't handle it any longer. He's come once before, when this is finished, he'll have two orgasms. Yet all you have is aching, an overdue orgasm that will knock you out soon if you don't release it.

Pretending to ponder your prayer as he harshly pounds into you, lips consuming yours. Tongue gracing yours in search for a sliver of his come's taste still lingering within you. It's not as evident as before but he eventually finds it, smiling into the kiss and nodding.

"Let it go, baby." He croons, shushes leaving his lips as he keeps fucking you. His permission setting your body free that each thrust makes you feel so sensitive and it's not until he reverts back to those initial harsh and deep thrusts that you squeal and moan loudly. Clinging to his body for dear life while your legs spasm and come around him. The image sends him into his own orgasm. Feeling your body tremble against his while you cry out in pleasure from something he's caused. It's beautiful and if possible, he'd have you as the main piece with those pretty red ribbons you love so much on your hair, surrounded by his taxidermy as the main attraction because you're precious enough to preserve.

The thought peeves him but he won't dwell, not when you still feel so warm and good around his spent cock.

"Has she ever made you come this much?" You ask between giggles, looking at the pool of cum seeping into the wooden table and dripping onto the concrete floor. Doyoung groans remembering his reality. "No. I don't even touch her, why do you think there's so much?" He glowers, shaking his head in the process. "I don't want to think about her. Not now… with you so pretty and open for me." He grins, leaning in for a kiss.

You hum against his lips, wrapping your arms around him. "All this come for me?" You question sweetly, faking naivety, he nods, a light chuckle. "Only you have made me feel so alive and hot." He utters, burying his face in your chest, kissing your tits slowly.

A content sigh leaves you, eyelids fluttering, a malicious grin when you look forward.

There she is, five feet away with a dull and dead look on her face, Meghan.

"I bet." 

taglist: @ant-onie @cookydream @luv4rj @bacons-thighs @ilikekpop-c @valentinetown @bluedbliss @shiningnono @parkitonandy @the-universe-in-you-jjh @slut4hee @yukisroom97 @ddolbyong @bananinhazz @weiweific @sugaringgcaramel @sweetdreamczennie @revlada @shadysnoopyy @neostraytiny @suhwife @the-divine-femme-fatale @flaminghotyourmom @fatbixchwithanopinion @mi1kteaa @deny4l4 @aliexsblog

cant tag: @junmyeonssushi @moonlitmousee @ks1ut @kyungsooislifeu @hwangful @toodleeee @squishysweetricecake @numberoneprincessenthusiast

feel free to join the immoral tales taglist, form in anthology masterlist! ☆

[fclsebnnyodair]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . loser stiles and his out-of-his-league pretty girlfriend.

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader.

summary: when stiles finally asks you to be his girlfriend and you say yes, he can’t believe it —and he’s not the only one. you two come in very different fonts. but, you’re so quick to prove him and his self-deprecation that you like him, fully and shamelessly.

warnings: used of y/n… im sorry. a little fluff? reader being a menace and the end of stiles life (in a good way).

a/n: i tried my best to be funny and make it a little longer. a mother needs to feed her kids. based on this req <3

stiles stilinski had spent a solid seven-teen years being a complete and utter dork. a nerd. a disaster in human form. the kind of guy who could tell you, unprompted, that the fear of long words is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia but somehow still couldn’t spell “necessary” on the first try.

he was the guy who tripped over air, made obscure pop culture references no one asked for, and had a deeply unhealthy relationship with sarcasm.

so, naturally, when you—actual goddess, the prettiest face in beacon hills, social butterfly extraordinaire—agreed to date him, stiles was convinced he was being pranked.

“she said yes,” he had told scott the night it happened, voice shaking, hands gripping his best friend’s shoulders like he was trying to transfer the shock through sheer physical contact. “she said yes. to me. like, willingly. no coercion. no hostage situation. just… yes.”

scott, ever the supportive best friend, blinked at him. “huh.”

“what do you mean huh?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too amused. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but… dude, that’s y/n.”

exactly.

you weren’t just popular. you are the cool kind of popular. the kind that made people want to be around you instead of just tolerating your presence because of high school hierarchy rules.

you had this effortless confidence, this ability to make everyone feel like they belonged—even stiles, who had spent most of his life on the outskirts of social normalcy.

you are the type of person who could go from hanging out with the lacrosse team and his girlfriends to sitting with the theater kids in the same day, and everyone would be happy to have you there. people gravitated towards you.

meanwhile, stiles had spent most of freshman year trying to convince people that his name was, in fact, not short for “stilton” like the cheese.

It didn’t make sense. and yet, somehow, here they were.

dating you was like winning the lottery, except instead of money, stiles got the incomprehensible love and affection of a literal angel.

which was great.

except for the fact that he had no idea how to be cool enough to keep up with you.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him one day as you sat in your car, legs propped up on the dashboard.

“I always overthink it,” stiles replied. “It’s literally my defining trait.”

you laughed, and god, that laugh. It was the kind of sound that made people pause, made them turn their heads just to see what could possibly be so funny.

“okay, fine,” you said. “then tell me. what’s running through that giant brain of yours right now?”

stiles exhaled dramatically. “alright, let’s start with the obvious. I am a disaster. you are not a disaster. explain.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

“see what?”

you smirked, leaning in a little closer. “you’re kind of amazing, stiles.”

he blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“you make me laugh,” you continued, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview. “like, really laugh. you make things interesting. and you care so much about the people around you. I like that.”

stiles stared at you, brain officially malfunctioning. “uh. are you… are you sure you’re not under some kind of supernatural influence?”

you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “just shut up?”

and just like that, he realized something insane. you actually liked him.

not just in a “haha, he’s fun to have around” way. not in a “pity date” way. not even in a “this is a temporary thing before I move on to someone more worthy” way.

you liked him. dorkiness, sarcasm, ADHD-riddled brain and all.

maybe he wasn’t as out of your league as he thought.

still, he spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual disbelief.

he kept waiting for the moment where you would realize you had made a grave mistake and move on to someone who, well… had the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over absolutely nothing.

but you didn’t.

In fact, you made it very clear that you were, for some ungodly reason, into him.

like, full-on, public displays of affection into him.

which was insane.

because now, not only did stiles have to deal with his own confusion, but also the confusion of literally everyone else at beacon hills high.

It started with a completely normal lunch. stiles, scott, lydia, and you were all sitting together, as usual, while he rattled off some extremely important information about why the original ‘star wars’ trilogy was superior to the prequels.

“you just have to accept that Jar Jar Binks was a crime against cinema,” stiles was saying, mid-rant, when he felt a hand casually slip into his.

he froze.

the table went silent.

you, completely unbothered, just kept eating your fries, fingers lazily intertwined with his.

scott immediately stopped chewing. lydia raised an eyebrow. somewhere behind them, he was pretty sure he heard jackson choke on his drink.

stiles, being the mature and composed individual that he was, blurted out, “are you—did you—was that on purpose?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “no, stiles, my hand just accidentally fell into yours.”

scott made a choked sound that was very unhelpful.

“I just—” stiles floundered. “you’re—you want to hold my hand? In front of people?”

you smirked. “what, do you want me to sign a permission slip first?”

lydia rolled her eyes. “stiles, stop acting like you just won the lottery.”

“but I did,” he said, eyes still wide. “this is like if someone found bigfoot, but instead of running away, bigfoot started dating them.”

you snorted and leaned closer, whispering, “you’re an idiot.”

and then—just to completely obliterate stiles’s ability to function—you kissed his cheek.

the cafeteria erupted.

all right, maybe “erupted” was an exaggeration. but scott definitely lost all ability to contain himself, because he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clapping stiles on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into his lunch tray.

jackson muttered something about how the world was officially broken.

and lydia? lydia just sipped her drink and said, “honestly, this might be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

stiles, meanwhile, was still sitting there, trying to process the fact that you had just kissed him in front of the entire student body.

“okay,” he breathed. “alright. cool. totally fine.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re so lucky I can keep up with you.”

“I strongly agree.”

scott shook his head, grinning. “dude. just take the win.”

yeah.

maybe he should.

now stiles had zero business being on the lacrosse team. he was only there because coach finstock occasionally needed a warm body to throw onto the field, and also because scott insisted that he “needed to be included in the team dynamic.”

that was stupid, because stiles was about as useful on the field as a drunk giraffe.

still, here he was, suited up, trying his best to not die.

you were sitting in the stands, chatting with some of the other girls on the cheer squad, but every so often, he caught you watching him.

why on earth would you be looking at him when there were actual athletes running around?

at some point, coach finstock (in a moment of pure insanity) decided to sub stiles in.

naturally, it went horribly.

he got knocked over in under a minute.

hard.

like, wind knocked out of him, stars in his vision hard.

by the time he sat up, still gasping for breath, he vaguely registered that someone was calling his name.

then, suddenly, you were there, pushing past some of the other students on the sidelines, crouching next to him.

“oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, eyes scanning him for any visible injuries.

“you,” stiles wheezed. “just—taking a quick—dirt nap.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you really shouldn’t be allowed to play this sport.”

“tell that to coach crazy over there,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, then—without warning—cupped his face and kissed him.

right there.

on the field.

In front of everyone.

stiles was pretty sure his soul left his body.

by the time you pulled away, he was definitely malfunctioning.

“god,” he managed.

you smirked, brushing some dirt off his jersey. “maybe if I keep doing that, you’ll actually start scoring points.”

scott, who had jogged over at some point, burst out laughing, —again.

“please don’t encourage him,” he told you.

you just shrugged, standing up. “what can I say? I like an underdog.”

stiles, still staring into the middle distance, finally processed what had just happened.

then, very calmly, he said:

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

stiles finally gets it. he gets you. 

It took three months of dating before stiles finally stopped expecting you to give up on him.

because the truth was, you could.

but for some ridiculous, unexplainable reason—

you didn’t want to.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the best part of all.

stiles stilinski had exactly one defense mechanism when faced with overwhelming emotional stimuli:

panic.

pure, unfiltered, high-octane panic.

and you?

you loved it.

you lived for it.

In fact, stiles was about 80% sure that her actual favorite hobby—above reading, music, and being generally awesome—was finding new and creative ways to make him short-circuit.

your weapon of choice?

kissing him.

at random.

without warning.

In the most inconvenient and socially inappropriate moments possible.

stiles was already having a rough day.

coach had made him run extra laps for “being a distraction” (which was not fair, because technically speaking, it was danny who had laughed first).

so there he was, post-practice, dripping in sweat, hair a mess, brain still recovering from almost getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball, when you materialized out of nowhere.

“hey, loser,” you greeted, leaning against the locker next to his.

stiles jumped about a foot in the air. “jesus—you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

you, completely ignoring him, hummed thoughtfully. “you look cute when you’re sweaty.”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—what—who?”

and before his brain could fully reboot, you leaned in and kissed him.

right there.

In the locker room.

With scott and half the team still standing right there.

stiles froze.

his brain immediately short-circuited.

somewhere in the background, he could hear the distinct sounds of his teammates reacting.

jackson made a disgusted noise.

“seriously? right here?”

danny, ever the neutral observer, just snorted. “I mean, props to her, I do love watching stilinski suffer.”

scott, instead of helping, just shook his head fondly. “dude. just accept it.”

you, for your part, just smirked against stiles’s lips, completely unbothered, and pulled away with a satisfied little hum.

stiles, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

mouth slightly open.

face burning red.

brain? completely fried.

“did I break you?” you teased, poking his cheek.

stiles let out a strangled sound.

jackson groaned. “oh god, get a room.”

you turned to him, smirking. “jealous?”

jackson scoffed. “not even remotely.”

you shrugged, looping your arm through stiles’s. “good. because I’m not sharing.”

and then you walked off, dragging stiles with you—leaving the entire locker room howling in laughter.

stiles had one sacred rule in life:

the library is a safe space.

the library was for quiet and learning and pretending to do your homework while actually texting scott about supernatural nonsense.

the library was not for being publicly humiliated by your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

unfortunately, you did not respect the sanctity of anything.

stiles was sitting at his usual spot—textbook open, pen in hand, pretending to study—when you slid into the chair next to him.

“hey,” you greeted, voice suspiciously sweet.

stiles narrowed his eyes. “you’re up to something.”

you smiled, all innocent. “me? never.”

he squinted harder. “what do you want?”

you tilted your head. “can’t I just want to spend time with my adorable boyfriend?”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—you—stop that.”

“stop what?”

“being cute,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

you grinned. “make me.”

before stiles could formulate a response, you very casually leaned forward and kissed him.

and not just a quick kiss.

oh, no.

this was a calculated attack.

a slow, lingering kiss, tongue and all—just long enough to completely fry his brain, but not long enough for him to actually do anything about it.

by the time you pulled away, stiles was bright red, gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

“why?” he gasped out.

you shrugged. “felt like it.”

stiles gaped. “we are in library.”

you smiled sweetly. “uh-huh.”

“In a library.”

“yup.”

“where people can see us.”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I know.”

stiles let out an undignified squeak.

and that was the exact moment lydia martin—who had apparently been sitting three tables away—very loudly shut her book and said, “I’m going home. this is disgusting.”

you just laughed.

stiles, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

—

now, there were rules when it came to dating in front of parents.

rule #1: no PDA.

rule #2: seriously, no PDA.

rule #3: do not test sheriff stilinski’s patience.

you had no regard for any of these rules.

stiles had just walked you to the door, ready to say a very normal, appropriate, and respectful goodbye, when you suddenly grabbed his hoodie, pulled him way too close, and kissed him stupid.

right there.

In his driveway.

where his father could definitely see.

and as if that wasn’t bad enough—

the front door creaked open.

sheriff stilinski cleared his throat.

you pulled away completely unbothered, turned to the sheriff, and grinned.

“good afternoon, mr. stilinski.”

stiles, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.

the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “you trying to kill my son?”

you smirked. “not today.”

and then she smiled—like a menace—patted stiles on the chest, and walked off, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

the sheriff stared at him.

stiles stared back.

after a long, painful silence, his dad just shook his head and muttered, “unbelievable.”

then, he walked inside—chuckling to himself.

stiles, still standing frozen on the porch, groaned.

you were going to be the death of him.

and, honestly?

he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Ok. I work on a floor with 2 bunsen burners and a flamible/combustible liquids cabnet. Last week, I realized I didn't know where the fire extinguisher was (despite frequently using an open flame). Turns out it is out the door and down the hall. About as far from the fire hazards as possible. And I can't stop thinking abt it. Like. That feels fucking crazy right? I ask bc I seem to be the only person who cares. I told my advisor that I think we should have more fire extinguishers and he looked at me blank faced (despite the fact that he had to actively wander around the whole floor bc he also didn't kno where it was). And like yeah, in 20 years they haven't had a fire and maybe they never will but this feels like a fucking common sense preventative measure? It's just tempting fate. The hubris of not putting a fire extinguisher next to a bunsen burner is driving me crazy?? It's not even in the same god damn room! You would have to run out the room, sprint down the hall, open the case, and sprint back to use it! Why am I the only one who cares???

[jabathegut]

If you didn't stop gaining, what do you think your life would be like now?

Rn Ive totally reversed my pre-diabetes and Im out of the woods!! my blood pressure and all of the health concerns I had are diminishing substantially. Im about 265lbs ish.. I feel great. Now that being said I felt super confident at 330lbs. Because yall fueled my confidence. Buh every in real life are now my new hype gang. So its fun i mean Im get respect irl so it helps me mentally. I feel wonderful, my body feels amazing! That being said I do miss being super fat! I really do. The pain and fatness was apart of it all..

If i didn’t make changes I would have full blown type 2 and I would still be single because dating in the Fetish is futile. I would be 325-340lbs.. I would still be in debt because door dashing every meal is not economically sustainable… in addition to type 2 i would have extremely high blood pressure and my body would continue to start failing. The hard truth is you’re gonna become addicted to these billion dollar companies who have engineered food to be extremely addicting and then when your body starts to break down then they’re gonna feed you a bunch of pills and medication so that big Pharma can continue make money on the second half of your life. The unfortunate thing is that this is not a sustainable lifestyle unless you really really want it and you really really want to be a diehard. For me I just don’t wanna do that alone. What’s the point? Life meant to be be with a partner and friends.. 

All my friends are extremely fit, and I only have a couple of fat friends in real life so that being said it’s quite a lonely life outside of the fetish kink that I have ya know. So balance and being a “small fat” is easier and more economically viable and news flash you live longer.. what is the point in being a 450lbs person with no body to care for you? Yall sayin DO IT FOR YOURSELF.. yet non of you are here when I broke my couch and need to drop $3000 on a new one.😬😬😬 any ways thats how I know my life would look like.

[quarterlifekitty]

wifey here again with stepdad!Nik, so I think SD would insist on finishing college since she only has like a year left anyway and because she feels like she'll be able to get a job easier with a degree, she doesn't wanna be a burden. Nikolai ofc lets her finish college, it keeps her busy while at home, settling in nicely to their house. He takes care of her every need, and slowly starts to convince her that she doesn't owe him anything, she's his wife now, or soon to be at the very least. All she needs to do is stay home and worry about their little one. Anytime she has doubts about how much he wants her and wants to provide for her she gets reminded thoroughly. It's when SD's bump is getting noticeable that Nik really steps it up. "What if we both miss the important moments?" and SD eventually is like "yeah, okay, but if it ever becomes a burden I'll get a job" and Nik is real proud of himself. SD also becomes very needy, in just the way Nik loves, she wants to be with him as much as possible and needs help a lot because hormones are fucking with her. And she definitely thanks him plenty for his help whenever she can. Bonus NikPrice x SD reader John decides to visit Nik and his new bird since on their last mission Nikolai wouldn't shut up about her and he immediately gets why when he sees SD, she's so sweet and nurturing and she looks gorgeous all round with Nik's kid, stays a few nights and gets drunk one night and jokingly (sorta) tells Nik he'd love to put the next one in her and Nikolai just hums with a smile "why not?" and reader is suddenly being flirted with by her fiance/husband's friend. Is real worried about it cause she likes it and guility goes to Nik who is 1. Very pleased by her honesty and 2. reassures her and tells her that he's okay with it if she is. (Totally wasn't his plan to get his two favorite people together so he could have them both, nope, that's totally not why he raved about her to John and not one other soul. Mmhm)

Also im really sorry if once again this doesn't make sense, stress has got me by a chokehold lately and its making my brain bad lol

Ooooooh wifey you are killing me. Isn’t that the perfect solution, though? You’re so worried about being a burden, let’s bring in another source of income!!

You know. Maybe it’s kinda degrading. But I totally imagine Nik comes up with little tasks for her. Let’s be real, it’s so easy— he saw what her mother was like, he can see how starved she is for approval, it practically blinds her. Things like “I want us to get a new car with some more space before the baby comes— can you research what models are best for family? You have a better mind for things like that than me,” he says with an almost sheepish smile. You’re practically wagging your tail with excitement— and you just look so happy when you present all of your work and he seems so pleased with you.

Also, in a bit of darker move, I can imagine if you’re not as into John as all that— they come up with a story. They say that John wants to have a baby of his own, but he’s not married, and he wants to have a kid before he’s too old and his career gets in the way of romance. So he would love for you to be like a surrogate for him. You’ve done so well with this first pregnancy, and you’re still so young— plus! John would be willing to pay, so it’d be like you’ve got your own income to help out!

The only thing is that John believes in natural conception. And he wants to live with you both during the pregnancy to help out. And he doesn’t actually plan on leaving once you have his kid. And Nik knows how sensitive and caring you are— when you confess to him your doubts about giving the baby up for good once it’s born, he comforts you. Of course he’ll talk to John about it, milaya, he’s sure they can come to an agreement.

[vigilxntesht]

𝙠𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙤-𝙚𝙪𝙡 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 — “let me take care of you.”

ִ𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — kang no-eul (guard) x female reader (player)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 — this is my first fanfic ever and english isn’t my first language so please forgive me if isn’t perfect

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 — 2k

𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚

she’s been watching you—observing you. she’s intrigued by you, drawn to you. and now, she’s ready to make you hers.

you sit on your bunk bed silently. the soft, warm glow of the lights only makes the harsh reality of what you just witnessed feel more surreal. the deadly game of ‘red light, green light’ still echoes through your mind—the brutal violence of each person caught moving, shot right on the spot. you are alive only because a man called gi-hun had guided you, giving you instructions that helped you stay still. apparently, he has played these games before. despite the help, you’re deeply shocked. you have no idea what to do. how on earth had you ended up here?

you stare at the dry, hard sandwich in front of you, the nausea twisting your stomach so tightly that taking a bite feels impossible. your tracksuit was covered in a few spatters of blood here and there, each drop a cruel reminder of everything that just happened.

you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but instead, the faces of countless innocent lives lost only hours ago invade your mind. after a while, you give up, settling on the edge of the bed, the silence heavy and suffocating. you wait for the night to crawl by and for the next brutal game to begin.

the other players around you begin to quiet down, drifting into an uneasy sleep. some, like you, remain awake. your gaze catches the man from earlier. what was his name again? oh, right—gi-hun. he meets your eyes and offers a smile, but the smile is hollow, full of terror. you give a slight smile in return, then quickly redirect your attention, focusing on the cold, hard floor instead. you can’t afford to get attached in here. not with the dangers lurking around you.

two hours of heavy silence strike by. most of the others, including gi-hun, have drifted off into a restless sleep, but not you. you’re exhausted, sure, but sleep refuses to come. that’s when you suddenly feel it—someone’s watching you. you turn around instinctively, but there’s no one there. a cold shiver runs down your spine, an eerie feeling begins to settle in your chest. what if someone’s sizing you up, thinking you’re an easy target? you frown and shake off the thought. it’s nothing. probably.

still, that feeling lingers, creeping under your skin. it’s as if someone’s eyes are boring into you, watching your every move. you turn around, but—again—there’s no one in sight. just as you’re about to brush it off, a deep, cold voice cuts through the silence.

“eat. you need the strength.”

your heart stops. the words hang in the air, making your breath catch in your throat.

immediately, you turn around, scrambling to the far side of the bed when you spot the pink guard standing at the foot of it. what the hell?

“who the fuck are you?” you snap, voice thick with defiance. “what do you want from me?”

the guard seems unbothered. she doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t react at all, actually. she just stands there, cold and silent. her silence feels heavier than any threat you’ve felt in here.

you frown, frustration bubbling up, before you remember the question she asked before.

“….im not hungry.” you mutter, your voice tight.

“too bad,” she replies, her tone sharp and demanding. “i wasn’t asking.”

you don’t know why she came up to you, but given the fact she’s the one holding a gun, you reluctantly take a bite of the sandwich and swallow it. you look at the guard, your lips twitching slightly as you feel your stomach already starting to reject the food.

“happy now?”

she doesn’t answer, walking away without a word, returning to her position by the door. but your impulsive thoughts take over, and you call out, stopping her.

“hey, wait!”

her fast pace slows to a stop, but she doesn’t turn to face you.

“the guards are not allowed to talk to the players.” she says flatly.

you frown, the words sparking up more curiousity in you.

“then why did you come up to me?”

there’s a flicker— a barely noticeable flinch— and for a moment, she’s silent, the weight of her hesitation hanging in the air. finally, she speaks, her voice cool and neutral.

“…because you seemed lost.”

the words catch you off guard. she doesn’t say anything else as she turns away and walks back to her position, leaving you with a knot in your chest and a dozen questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. you’re left in the silence, trying to make sense of it, but she doesn’t seem like she’s about to come back and explain.

with a sigh, you follow her advice and finish the sandwich. you finally manage to close your eyes, drifting into an anxious, uneasy sleep.

the next morning, as soon as you wake up, you’re eyes dart around the room, searching for the mysterious guard from last night—but she’s nowhere to be found. before you can dwell on it, a sudden need to pee takes over. you head to the women’s bathroom, knowing the guards don’t let anyone in outside of bathroom hours. so when your knocks go unanswered, you’re not surprised.

just as turn your head back to your bunk, a soft click breaks the silence. the door behind you unlocks.

“player 241. come in.”

as you turn around, the strange sensation from last night washes over you again. you can’t see her face, but somehow, you just know—it’s her. the guard.

without a word, you step inside the bathroom, offering a subtle nod as a thanks. she says nothing. the silence affects you more than it should.

after finishing your business, you walk over to the sink to wash your hands, but the moment the door clicks shut and locks, your body freezes. slowly, you glance to the side. she’s standing by the door, watching you.

your pulse quickens. a lump forms in your throat.

“what do you want from me?” your voice wavers. “please… don’t kill me.”

she scoffs, a quiet, almost amused sound, before taking a step closer.

“kill you?” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “now, why would i want to do that?”

confusion swirls you. who is she? why won’t she leave you alone?

the woman steps closer, backing you into a corner. you search for an escape, but there’s nowhere to go—and nothing to say. she extends her hand, offering yet another dry, unappetizing sandwich. you sigh out in frustration.

“i don’t want this! i’m not hungry and they’re disgusting—”

“there’s a clue for the next game inside.” she interrupts dryly.

you fall silent and your breath catches.

“eat it,” she continues, unwavering. “you’ll find a slip of paper hidden inside. you can thank me later.”

you stare at the sandwich, your mind racing. a clue? the guard turns to leave again, but this time, you’re faster. you step in front of her, blocking her way.

“no, wait! you don’t just get to walk away. i want answers.”

your voice is firm, but there’s a tremble beneath it—partly from irritation, partly from the submachine gun slung across her chest.

she stops, tilting her head slightly. “answers, about what?” her tone is flat, unreadable.

“about… this. about why you’re helping me. about who you are.”

silence stretches between you. for a moment, you think she won’t answer. then, without warning, her hand moves to her mask.

she pulls it off.

deep brown eyes meet yours—sharp, intense. pale skin, dusted with freckles, is flawed by a fresh cut along her cheek. her lips are cracked and swollen, as if she’s been biting them too much. despite everything, she’s… beautiful. breathtaking, even. she exhales, running a hand through her damp, sweat-matted hair. then, locking eyes with you, she speaks.

“kang no-eul.” she says boldly.

“what?” you’re still struggling to process everything happening right now.

she sighs in slight irritation. “my name. you asked for my name. it’s kang no-eul.”

to your embarrassment, the sound of her low, steady voice sends a warm blush creeping up your cheeks.

“oh. um, my name is—”

“i know.” she cuts you off smoothly, a small smirk playing on her lips. “i know who you are. i’ve been observing you.”

you take a hesitant step back. “…observing me?”

her expression doesn’t change. “the way you shut yourself off from others. the way you always seem to be lost in thoughts. the way you‘re constantly one step ahead of the other players. you’re intelligent, aren’t you?”

there’s something unnerving about her tone—half admiration, half something else. something colder.

“but.. you’re a guard.”

you meet her gaze, and instantly regret it when you feel your cheeks flaming up again. god, get it together!

a barely-there chuckle escapes her lips. “good observation.” she doesn’t look away. her eyes, dark and mysterious, shimmer with something you can’t quite place.

you lean against the cold bathroom wall, burying your face in your hands.

“what the hell is going on..” you whisper to yourself.

the guard—kang no-eul—takes a step closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. her expression remains neutral, but there’s something in her eyes. a glimmer of something almost… affectionate?

“hey. don’t be like that. you’re underestimating yourself.”

you lift your head, shooting her a glare. “you don’t even know me.”

she laughs. it’s not the reaction you expect, and the sound sends a chill down your spine. it’s confident. unbothered. she’s not intimidated by you in the slightest.

“maybe,” she says, smirking. “but i do know this—you should stop whining and get it together. because no matter how smart you are, crying won’t get you anywhere.” her words sting more than they should. you slap her hand off your shoulder, your anger taking over.

“leave me alone.”

within seconds, she grabs your wrists again, tighter this time. not just firmly, but demanding.

“listen to me,” she hisses, her voice sharp and low. “i’m risking my life to help you. so you better do as i say before i end up scraping your corpse off the game room floor.”

you freeze. her grip is solid, her words slicing through the air like a blade. for the first time, real fear creeps in.

she notices. the tension in her hands shifts, and just as suddenly as she grabbed you, she releases your wrists. slowly, her fingers trail up to your face, brushing against your cheek. it’s a stark contrast—gentle, almost.. tender.

you don’t understand what’s happening. you don’t understand her. but the second her touch meets your skin, something stirs deep inside your stomach. butterflies.

your gaze flickers to hers. your eyes linger on the fresh cut along her cheek. how did she get that?

“do you think you can do that?” she asks, voice softer now. “listen to me?”

you hesitate, unsure. her hand moves again, this time gripping your chin, tilting your head until your eyes lock onto hers. her hold is firm.

“i’m talking to you.”

you swallow hard and nod.

“use your words.”

you don’t know why you’re listening to her, why you’re obeying so easily— but you do. something about her presence, her voice, leaves no room for resistance.

after a brief pause, you whisper: “yes. i’ll listen to you, kang no-eul.”

she smiles, slow and satisfied. “good girl.”

you shiver as she speaks those words. you barely know her, yet something about her pulls you in, an invisible force you can’t resist. it’s dangerous. it’s intoxicating.

but she doesn’t give you time to process it.

before you can react, she leans in, pressing her lips to yours— soft at first, almost teasing. but then the kiss deepens, growing more urgent, more possessive with each passing second. at first, you’re too stunned to move, frozen under her touch. but then, instinct takes over. you melt into her, kissing her back passionately, your hands finding their way to her arms, her shoulders.

she hums softly against your lips, her slim fingers threading through your hair as if she’s known you forever. as if you already belong to her.

“just like that, darling.” she murmurs, her voice a breathy promise.

“let me take care of you.”

[miumura]

MY GENIUS LILIIII OH GOSHHH THIS FIC WAS AMAZINGGG 😖😖 !! i wrote this reblog with fuzzy feeling by grentperez on loop so.. i was double feeling the lovesick energy over here <3 i haven’t read a long fic in a hot minute so this was a great way to get back into it AAAA

and because her writing is soso awesome, i NEEDDD to talk about parts of the fic ( i have a lot of ss…. i was hooked okay… ) SO SPOILERS AHEAD, PLEASE READ MY GIRL’S FIC FIRST — IT’S WORTH READING <3

okay this was absolutely CRAZY. MARBLES. “you’ll have to let me kiss you anytime” OKAYYYYYYYY HAN DONGMIN I SEE YOU. YOU SMOOTHHH FREAKER . even had y/n in shock unable to refute his points like…. oh he knew what he was doing.

he was already having me freaked out at the beginning like why is he fine already… it’s the lili effect help….

THE NECKLACE PART HAD ME GIGGLING!!! lili had graced me with a spoiler of her fic THAT HAD ME EXCITEDDDD so when i located it in the fic and the way she brought up the necklace again AJAKKA IM GIGGLINGGG AGAINNNN AS I TYPE THIS OMGOGM

and not him knowing y/n’s favorite things… guys… GUYS…. choco pie is so bomb guys LILI KNOWS WHATS UPPPPPP AND ANTON PASSING IT??? Like ouhhh taesan URE CRAZYYYY FOR THISSSS ( hot . )

TAESAN COMING TO THE RESCUEEEE ugh i just love how their rivalry relationship is still like present??? like yes call him stupid ( he’s going to be your stupid boyfie ) BECAUSEEE like lili acc incorporated it so well that whenever taesan came back in the picture, it just like… so what are we 😜 like guys… this made me realize why i’m LOWK a sucker for fake dating trope…

IS THIS A LEGALLY BLOND REFERENCE 🤞🤞🤞🤞 ( i never watched it… should i…. )

DENIAL DENIAL DENIALLLLL had my girl doubting everything when she’s there wearing his jersey… this is so real though i’d force myself into thinking its all pretend because… THATS LIKE THE ONLY THOUGHT ID HAVE SO I GET HER 😣

DARLIGNGGGGG GKILL MEEEEEE LILI WAS SICK FOR THAT OFHTMFKOFVK . YEAH THAT HEART BETTER BE BEATING CAUSE MINES WAS . envisioning taesan going up to her w a big grin on his face AND A HUG AT RHAT… bro i’d hit the floor before we could even lock eyes again r u kidding….

WE LOVE WHEN READER STANDS UP FOR HERSELF 🙌🙌 like yes know your worth bae !!! CUT THAT MF OFFFFFFFFF

B B B B B BOYYYYY DONT PLAY W ME RNNNNN ik he was giggling in his head about calling y/n his girlfriend…. trying to keep it smooth while inside he’s geeking and is like… “that’s my girlfriend 😍😍😍😍” (completely disregarding its fake dating and savoring the moment) BUT AAA THAT WAS CUTE SKKSKSS Yes take my hand.

HAD ME GAGGEDDDDD. THE WAY MY SMILE GREW WIDER WHEN TAESAN REPLIED TO WHAT HE SAID LIKE GOODNESSS TAESAN PLEASEEEEEE . this is becoming too much to handle Bue lili how did you survive writing this .

okay now i’m going to reach the pic limit on moblie so im going to stop with the pics here… MY COMMENTARY DOESNT END HERE!!!!

CONTINUING.

when taesan stepped in whenever anton had his hands on reader… 😍 like yes protective man GO GET YOUR GFFFFFFF . “don’t touch her” okay so stomach flipped over 360 and then did some breakdancing before it went back to its normal state.

hes literally so caring like . like ure giving me snacks ur jersey ur scarf and now a warm drink and heat pack …? What else does this man unable to give her . he’d literally give the whole world . this only solidifies my love for this even more bc

GUYS IM ACC A SUCKER FOR ONE SIDED RIVALS…. so when taesan was the one who really didn’t hate y/n I FREAKING CHEERED???? i lablhablahalahaj that. “how he cant stop himself from falling in love with you” PACK IT UPPPP TAESANNNNNOMG HES SUCH A LOVESICK FOOL . the way he describes the way y/n makes him feel its just like. Chefs kiss Quite literally.

like the way it gets harder for taesan to hold everything in and then y/n slowly BUT SURELY feeling the same way is just so UGHHHHHH “what if… i told you im not too sure i can pretend much longer?” TAESAN SHUTUOPPSUIDUROSIDODKD boy he shouldve just confessed there but lili is like poor edger lord over here and gave us the awk BUT CUTE FEELINGS THAT COME AFTER SAYING THATA AJSJJSJS I labh that.

like yes i need them two completely clueless about what to do next even though the feeling inside them is GNAWING them inside…. and lili delivered on that.

AND THE WAY ANTON KEPT APPEARING LIKE OMG???? BAE ILY BUT U WERE ON IT IN THIS FIC 😕😕😕. LET HER GOOOO GEEZ HES SO PERSISTENT. and the way taesan came to rescue her again ( need a taesan ) AND THE WAY HE HELD HIMSELF BACK PLEASEESTOPPPPPP THAT WAS EVILLLL OMG . MR FLIRT OVER HERE PLEASE SPIT IT OUT 🫵🫵🫵

as much as i did not like anton in this fic, i’d say he hsd a contribution of getting these baes together and y/n to finally REALIZE REALIZE SHES FALLINGGGG . like the way she slowly starts off noticing things about him to finally BOOM recognizing it all and piecing it together… LIKE I CHEERED ACTUALLY WHEN I SAW “You like him. You like Han Taesan” LIKE YES YOU DOOOO BAEEE 😭😭😭😭😭

and ANSNDN THEY FINALLY TELL EACH OTHER LIKE UESSSSS YESSSSSS PLEASEEE THIS WAS WHAT I WAS CRAVING FORRRRRRR .

oh gosh the part when yunjin says are theg dating and y/n says “no” while taesan says “yes” LIKE UGHHHH IK HE WANTED TO SAY RHAT SO BADLYYTT LIKE FRFR CONFIRM IT. i just love how their teasing aspects of the relationship overall was still there .

LIKE THEY ACTUALLY ARE BOYFIE GIRLFIE!!!!! like ohhh u thought i was done w giving ss ?? NOPE. SAVING BEST FOR LAST .

THE WAY HE WANTED TO HEAR IT AGAIN AGAIAJSNN AND THEN SAID IT HMSELF / AGREED TO IT. OHHH THIS IS SUCH A WINNNN. THEY LOVE ESCH OTHER!!!!!!!!!

and then taesan adjusting the H.D. pendant for her IH MY GOSHHHH YES LLEASE . its so subtle but reading that had me like wanting to take actual laps . A marathon even . AND THENNN THE WAY HE WAS complimenting her sayinf she looks good everyday like PLUEHAHS .

and the way he remembers like sm about her…. like wdym u still rmbr that 🤭 hes so sweet this is sickening . LIKE HE EVEN REMEMBERED THAT WISH LIKE OKAYYY bro was plotting since the get go.

WHEN THEY FREKAING KISSED OH HMKGODDDDDD a string of curse words flew out of my mouth that i will not be typing here . KIKE YESYEYSYSYS I WAS WAIITNGGFF AND RHATS LIKE SUCH A CUTE WAY TO BRING RHAT UP??? like okay taesan rizzler over here …

the way he wants that as his wish like please thats ur GIRLFRIEND !!! he’s so down bad like sir we see that blush even if u try to play it off . ITS SUCH A NEEDSDDD

WISH GRANTEDDDDD . THAT WAS RHE BEST ENDING I COULDVE EVER GOTTEN MY HEARY IS CONTENT . my heart is filled with taeyn moments i love it so much. lili granted My wish for providing such an amazing fic for us like GOODNESSSS this will be my bedtime story for the time being.

THE END OF MY SUPER LONG REBLOG!! ♡ i feel bad for my girl lili…. but this truly was wonders 😵‍💫 !!! I AWAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE HEHE ><

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ NOT THAT I CARE OR ANYTHING　　────　ᅠ ( han taesan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your ex, seemingly sweet anton, spreads malicious rumours about you that could potentially ruin your entire academic weapon career, so you have to take desperate measures𑁋and that includes a fake-dating contract and the bane of your existence, han taesan.

　　　ᅠ 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 13k ⠀ genre college au fluff angst if you squint one sided rivals to lovers academic weapon x campus crush ⠀ contains mentions of food vulgar words skinship pet names ⠀ note i’m sorry if this fic is.. all over the place a bit coz,, yea!! but this fic is highly.. self-indulgent.. heheh! and i originally wanted to make this more angsty but i’m already sad and single so, No! anyways, enjoy reading ^_^ ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

“ALRIGHT. Let’s do it.”

As you gaze into Taesan’s determined eyes, the entire series of events flashes through your mind. 

It was back in your first year of university—early winter, the day of the first snowfall. You were walking towards the three-floor library, the cold wind stinging your eyes. You rushed inside, grateful for the gush of artificial warm air that greeted you as soon as the doors closed behind you. The library was quite packed for some reason, and you could barely spot any empty seats.

You walked towards the edge of the library, a corner with the largest window of the level. There it was—one of the only empty seats in the entire library—but that seat was next to a boy, heavily occupied with his studies. Your pace slowed down as you hesitated. The boy had a focused blank look on his face, his headphones on, and several papers and notebooks were scattered on the table around him.

You felt like you wanted to just leave and go back to your room, but remembering how cold it was outside, you decided against it. 

After taking a deep breath, you approached him. With a shaky smile, you tapped the boy’s shoulder, muttering a silent prayer. 

“Excuse me,” you said as he lowered his headphones to his neck. “May I sit here? I-I mean, if it’s cool with you..”

He simply nodded. “Sure.”

You had sat down next to the mysterious boy for the entire day, not knowing that, in the present, he would be the bane of your existence. 

In this moment, you’re brought back to the present, startled at how you’re standing in front of him. The mysterious boy that you had sat next to turned out to be Han “Taesan” Dongmin—KOZ School of Law’s campus crush. There’s almost nothing “bad” that you’re heard of him, yet, when you find yourself walking towards him with a fiery determination in your eyes—you immediately know that you’re about to get hit with something you’d never expect. 

“A-are you sure?” you say, surprised to even find yourself stuttering. You’ve held yourself to such a high reputation—being your school’s academic weapon—you’ve worked hard to keep yourself true to that name. 

Well, to be fair, you didn’t expect Taesan to even say yes to your ridiculous plan—given that all that’s he’s ever done for you is say everything that will get on your nerves.

Taesan gives you a smirk. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Being the boyfriend of KOZ Academy’s academic weapon isn’t something you get to do everyday.”

The way he presses the emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend’ makes you flinch. It reminds you of your stupid plan; who in their right mind would offer Han Taesan—your rival—a fake dating deal just to make rumours about themselves go away?

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I think we need to enforce some guidelines and boundaries regarding this… set-up.”

Taesan shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight to let himself stand more comfortably. The smirk still on his face, he replies, “alright. Hit me with all of ‘em.”

You whip your phone out, quickly showing him a document that you spent an entire night typing out—complete with every single thing he needed to do for you. 

“Here,” you say, frustrated at how Taesan’s smug smirk just never falters. 

Taesan runs a hand through his hair before leaning down to read through the document displayed on your phone. He finishes reading it quickly, taking a step closer to you after. He doesn’t say anything for a while, only to startle you by abruptly saying, “I agree.”

“What–?” you blurt out, surprised once again. You thought that Taesan would be more picky than– 

“Your terms are easy for me to do. However,” you narrow your eyes at the boy who’s towering in front of you. Of course he’s picky—he’s Taesan. “I’d like you to agree to my conditions as well. If I have to do some things for you, you’d have to do some things for me too.”

You sigh before nodding. How hard could it be? Besides, this whole ‘relationship’ you’re having with Taesan is merely a fake dating set-up. 

“Okay.”

Taesan whips out a full-blown smug smirk, making you roll your eyes. He pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, holding out two fingers. 

“First, you have to also put in the effort to make things real. Like, wearing my jersey when I have basketball games, and wearing my initials ‘round your neck,” he pushes his middle finger down, the smug grin still plastered on his face, “and secondly, you’ll have to let me kiss you anytime.”

The moment the word ‘kiss’ escapes his mouth, you choke on thin air. 

Why is my plan backfiring on me? 

“What? No–”

Taesan shrugs. “Basically, physical contact is allowed to be done anytime.”

You feel your face flush, immediately recalling the third condition that you showed Taesan. No physical affection unless needed. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that—it’s clashing with my third term.”

“But your first term: ‘the other party must always do his utmost best to make the relationship seem real’ exists, am I right?” Taesan objects relaxedly. “Then, my second term doesn’t clash with that. And I also do believe that that first term of yours comes before the rest. Am I right?”

You grit your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. How could you forget? Taesan will always work to have the last word—be that in court or in conversations. 

Plus, he’s not entirely wrong. 

Though, you’ve never been someone who lets Taesan win willingly. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, your heart twisting in detest at the way Taesan’s face lights up with a smirk again. 

“Then, we have a deal?” Taesan asks. 

You stare into his dark brown eyes once again, registering what you’re about to commit yourself to. All just to get rid of your ex and the rumour he’s pulled you into. 

You hold out your hand, Taesan gladly reciprocating. 

“Deal.”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

IT didn’t hit you that you’re officially Han Taesan’s girlfriend that night. However, the next morning, right after the two of you signed the document at the coffee shop you always study at—it hit you like a million bricks from the sky. 

You’re in a “relationship” with the person you loathed the most for the past year. The exact same man who everyone adores, who’s called the it-boy, the campus crush—is now your most “beloved”. Freshman you would rather jump off a cliff than to offer her nemesis a fake-dating pact. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I guess. 

“Here,” Taesan hands you a velvet box—one that obviously contains jewellery of some sort. 

Of course. Han Taesan’s always prepared. 

You let out a deep sigh, knowing what’s inside. Despite that, you ask, “what’s this?”

Taesan gives you a grin, one that you always see him don during the countable times that he beats you in quizzes. “Open it—I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You run your fingers around the edges of the velvety box, sceptical at Taesan’s sudden soft tone. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. 

Taesan, instead of immediately throwing a scoff in your face, simply leans back into his seat with a chuckle. 

Not waiting for whatever reply he’s preparing to throw to you, you open the box. Your eyes lay upon a beautiful, dainty necklace with a “H.D” pendant, nested elegantly in the box. You bite back a gasp, though you’re unable to hide your surprise. The silver necklace is one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you’ve yet to lay your eyes upon—it’s dainty and simple, yet it screams elegance in the best way possible. 

You look up at Taesan, obviously bug-eyed. “What- I’m- thank you?”

Taesan throws his head back, laughing. He perches an eyebrow up, clearly amused. “What am I supposed to answer? ‘You’re welcome’?”

Oh. It’s part of his terms. 

You glare at him. 

Not missing a beat, Taesan says with a big grin on his face, “what is your lazy ass waiting for? Put it on—or do you need me to help with that?”

You massage your temples, tempted to stick your tongue out at him, hissing the obvious at him—that you do not want to wear his initials around your neck. 

“I don’t need your help,” you say between gritted teeth, harshly yanking the necklace from the box. You swiftly clasp the necklace around your neck, secretly surprised that you’re able to do so. 

Maintaining a glare, you retort, “I’m only wearing this stupid necklace because it’s part of your terms.”

You throw your gaze elsewhere, Taesan laughing his stomach out in the background. Why is he finding your irritated state so funny? 

The pendant feels cold against your skin, sending tingles. You gulp, feeling odd. You hadn’t announced your ‘relationship’ to your friends yet—but seeing you with Taesan’s initials could certainly start rumours. 

A part of you is jumping with triumph—your plan is starting to set its course, while another part of you is afraid of it all. What if you’re finally not good at something, no matter how much you try—pretending you’re in love with your rival, the bane of your existence?

“We’ll start slow,” you hear Taesan say, pulling you back into reality. You quickly morph into your stoic expression—one that you find yourself often putting up around people. “Like everyone else does. Soft launch.”

“Ah,” you manage, nodding. “Sounds good.”

“Even though that necklace certainly is a big jump for a soft launch,” Taesan voices, chuckling. His words cause you to narrow your eyes at him, hyper aware of the cold metal against your skin—a mark that Taesan managed to place on you. 

It’s all fake, you chant to yourself. Once Anton gets the message, it’ll all be over. 

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE past few weeks had been a blur. Nothing was out of the ordinary—you attended classes, performed mootings and sent in assignments like usual. Though, only one thing that was out of the routine.

Taesan no longer felt like a thorn to your side. 

You still hate him—you despise the way he carries himself, so proud and confident. You wish you could punch his face for the way he’s so smooth with his words, the way that his charm works on everyone so well. You absolutely hate the way a handsome idiot like him had the potential to beat you in every single subject if you slacked for even a minute. 

Yet, to the public, he’s your boyfriend. 

A cliche: rivals to lovers, they say. 

Despite being the one proposing the whole fake dating plan, you had been the one following Taesan’s itinerary so far. The two of you had finally exchanged phone numbers, and at night, Taesan would always send a list of ideas on how to make the soft launch more obvious day by day. 

The first week, you found yourself wearing tops that highlighted the H.D pendant, styling your hair to make it more noticeable—you even went as far as attending Taesan’s birthday celebration to top the chances of people noticing the pendant. And Taesan didn’t inform you of this one, but you often found him telling his friends, yours, or random coursemates to pass you drinks and snacks. You had no idea how Taesan had gotten the list of all your favourite things to munch on, but you secretly did enjoy the free flow of snacks. Anton had passed you a snack from Taesan too—five packs of your favourite Choco Pie. You couldn’t forget the bewildered face Anton had as he passed them to you, eyes filled with question and a hint of jealousy.  

“What’s up with Han?” he asked.

You shoved the Choco Pies into your shoulder bag, biting back a smile. Who wouldn’t be jolly after getting five of their favourite tidbits? 

“How would I know?” you replied bitterly. You quickly turn away from Anton, the uncomfortable feeling of being around him overpowering the bubbly feeling you had from getting snacks. 

“Well, those Choco Pies are from him,” Anton repeated for the second time. “And I don’t recall him being anything but hostile to you.”

You suppress a scoff. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart? His brain is probably tired of coming up with things to try and outsmart me,” you muttered. As if. 

“Well, if anything—if that asshole tries to do anything to you, I’ll… be here for you, Y/N,” Anton said, taking a step closer. Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. You quickly finished packing your bag up, swinging it over your shoulders. 

You said that last time, too. 

“Don’t talk to me, Anton,” you responded as monotony as possible before running out of the lecture hall, not giving Anton even a glance. 

The following weeks, Taesan was hanging out with you even more than the previous week. He wasn’t being too obvious, but to you, him walking slightly behind you and not throwing a loud sarcastic remark was already an apparent sign that would show everyone that your dynamics had changed. 

Anton had found yet another chance to corner you after a Public International Law lecture. You stayed back in the hall to reread your theoretical essay before sending it in. Behind you, Taesan was packing up his things, busy scrolling through something in his phone. 

“Hi, Y/N,” you froze when Anton’s voice reached your ear drums. 

You look up at him with a glare. “What do you want?”

Anton flashed his usual pitiful, soft smile. “Nothing. Just a meal with you—this week has been quite stressful for you, right? I heard that last Monday’s mooting was rough.”

“You’re not even a law student, Anton,” you seethed. The KOZ School of Business student ID card hanging on Anton’s neck looked extremely out of place amongst the ocean of law students. “Please kindly get lost, go back to the Business building.”

“My course mates are boring. Besides, you’re more fun to be around,” Anton replied. “I know we… haven’t been on good terms, but give me a chance to fix it all?”

You gritted your teeth, your hands beginning to shake. 

The audacity of this boy… where is my stupid fake boyfriend when I need him–?

“I think she clearly said for you to get lost, bud.”

You fought back a grin. Finally. 

“Han?” Anton tilted his head. “Wait– who are you to tell me that?”

Taesan stood next to you, his backpack dangling from one shoulder. His height towered significantly above you, making you standing right below his shoulders—enough to match Anton. “Who do you think I am?”

Anton’s eyes darted towards the pendant on your décolletage, his eyes bulging. “What the…” you heard him mutter under his breath. 

Taesan seemed to notice this too, and he swiftly pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, get it now? Get lost, Lee, and give your ex some space. An ex is an ex for a reason.”

Anton then left with a fuming expression, leaving you in fits of relieved laughter after. You thanked Taesan, who simply responded with a polite smile. 

“By the end of this, don’t forget the wish, yeah?” he said, before walking out of the lecture hall. 

You stood there, blinking profusely. You had completely forgotten the last clause of your agreement with Taesan—once you were satisfied with his service, you had to grant him one wish. Anything that he wanted. 

You face palmed yourself. Why didn’t you think twice before typing that down? You mentally made a note to yourself to prepare your wallet for the outrageous request that the thorn in your side would make later on. 

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“ARE you and Taesan dating?” 

Sophia’s question makes you almost spit your lunch through your nose. 

“What?”

“Girl, don’t you dare pretend not,” Yunjin interrupts, pointing her spoon at you. “You literally have his initials as a necklace that you never take off! H.D., which means Han Dongmin, right? Isn’t that his real name?”

“It’s not like–”

“No, no. It’s so obvious! Taesan’s around you more now, and he even gave you a birthday present!”

Sophia smiles, “he looks at you so differently now!” 

Yunjin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, that too, I guess,” she then looks at you, directly in the eyes, “I guess Han Taesan and Y/N L/N have finally begun their lovers era, huh?”

You feel your cheeks warming up, and guilt fills your chest. You draw a sharp inhale before telling the girls the full story. And subconsciously, your fingers find the pendant, playing with it. 

“It’s fake,” you sigh, “I mean, not the necklace—he’s just pretending. I’m pretending, too. None of this is… real.”

Sophia gasps and Yunjin frowns. 

“Are you… sure? What for?” Sophia asks.

Yunjin nods in agreement. “I’ve always thought that dude had feelings for you, but I… I didn’t realise it’s actually wrong and my deductions were totally off.”

You scoff, though Yunjin’s words left you wondering. “Taesan doesn’t like me—have you girls seen how he treats me?”

“He treats you well,” Yunjin states plainly, shoving a spoonful of rice into her mouth. 

“No,” you immediately shake your head, “he hates seeing me happy! He always finds a way to stick his annoying nose into my life, mocking me. He’s like always, always there to only laugh at my face.” 

“Then why did he agree?” Sophia asks. 

“To what?”

“To fake date you,” she continues, taking a sip of her yakult. “Well, I’m sure you have a plan—a contract and all—don’t you?”

Your eyes widen. How do these two girls know you so well? 

“Yeah. I do. I’m doing all this because of Anton,” the look on your friends’ faces makes you feel a little relieved, “I need him to shut up about me.”

You recall the ridiculous rumour you’ve heard about you from Yunjin, that’s been going around like crazy—the rumour that you used to date Anton because he’s rich and that you used him as a bribe to get outstanding grades. Those close to you knew that is and would never become true—yet people are always jealous of others who have certain things better than them. 

It may seem like a small matter to some, but to you, it’s a matter of reputation. Your whole image and potentially, your graduation is at risk. What if the rumour reaches some professor and they report you? You couldn’t risk the huge amount of money and time you spent, only to be scrapped off the dean’s list due to some rumour. 

Yunjin herself had recorded proof of Anton trying to turn her against you, using that rumour. If she hadn’t shown you the recording, you wouldn’t have believed that sweet, kind Anton was the one who spread those malicious whispers about you.

Now, you’ve got to end it all. One way or another.

You continue finishing your lunch, Taesan somehow in mind. By the end of your lunch, you’re convinced that this is truly all an act—it’s nothing real, and in the end, you’re both just people who hate each other and use each other for selfish, personal reasons.

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“DO I really have to wear your ugly varsity jacket?” Dongmin hears you grunt through the call. He stifles a laugh, tossing a ball up and down. 

“Obviously, you dimwit,” he replies, “you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

Dongmin lets himself smile. The word rolls off his tongue like a simple melody—it feels natural for him to say. He finds it odd, yet entertaining—your reaction is worth it all. Besides, it’s quite refreshing to take a break from hating you, sometimes. 

“Besides, your ex is going to be there,” Dongmin reminds, his voice more throaty than expected. “He’s on the team as well, remember?”

“Yeah,” he catches your quiet answer.  

“Anyway, how do you even have time for all this?” you question from the other end of the line. 

“Hmm,” Dongmin hums, “I do have time.” 

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you hiss. “You’re in law school, Han Taesan.”

“What? Like it’s hard?”

Dongmin lets out a hearty laugh as he hears you gasp—one of the loudest and most genuine expressions he’s gotten out of you yet. 

“I’m so done with you,” you huff. Dongmin hears you shuffle through your closet, most likely finding something to wear. 

“You say that everytime,” Dongmin whispers to himself softly. 

“Anyway,” you announce loudly, “you better have some food for me once I arrive—I’m wearing your stupid varsity jacket.”

“Alright, sweetheart, anything for you,” Dongmin jests in a sing -song voice.

He hears you yelp in disgust, chuckling. “Yuck! Fuck off, Taesan!”

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IT’S a friendly match, nothing serious, Taesan had said; yet you’re here amongst other significant others, to watch him and his team play against another school’s team. 

At the bleachers, you feel called out, and insanely out of place. Everyone looks so in love—girlfriends wearing jerseys with their boyfriends’ numbers and names on the back, painted their faces accordingly, and even cheering for them with their hearts; mothers and siblings gathering together to support their sons and brothers.

Everyone looks so genuinely in love, and you’re the only one who’s there just because you have to. You arrived only two minutes before the match started, too, because you obviously don’t love Taesan enough to be rescheduling your work shift to see him play.

You fidget with the edges of the varsity jacket you’re wearing, oddly feeling how it’s perfectly oversized on you. 

Earlier, Taesan had spotted you sitting awkwardly on the bleachers. He ran over to you, quickly handing you a quesadilla and a cup of bubble tea, before jogging back to the basketball court to warm up. He didn’t say anything, nor did you—but the gesture made you feel weirdly fuzzy. 

Taesan did actually get you some food, even though you grumpily yelled at him to do so. You thought he wouldn’t, just so that he could get on your nerves, just like he always does. 

You watch him and the team warm up, pumping up positive energy with each other. You take a bite of your quesadilla, trying to ease your heart—yet you just can’t forget the real reason why you’re here. 

Jersey number 35.

The whistle blows, indicating the start of the game, and you catch Anton’s glance at you. He gives you a wide smile, winking twice—a sign that he made up, thanking you for coming, just like the old days. You grimace, turning away.

The mission is to make it seem like I’m in love with Taesan. 

You intently watch Taesan play in the arena, his moves sharp and powerful. He slips through the opposition’s defense flawlessly, scoring goals smoothly. Every time he throws the ball, it gets into the hoop—people erupt in cheers and he’s surrounded by his teammates. 

And every time, Taesan looks up at you, flashing his signature smirk. His grin sparkles, lighting up the room—it makes you feel like you’re the only one in the huge arena. 

It makes you feel odd. 

Like there’s so much more under that grin he flashes to you every time he scores. 

You touch the pendant on your décolletage, the cold metal stinging against your skin. Your fingers trace the letters—the initials of Taesan’s birth name—reminding you this is all a set-up. You’re supposed to pretend, and Taesan is pretending too. 

He must be.

Taking a deep breath, you tug the varsity jacket closer to your body, shoving your hands into its pockets. The weight of Taesan’s name and number lay heavy on your back, yet you don a bright smile—trying your best to show your support for him. 

Right now, you’re Han Taesan’s girlfriend. Player number 11’s girlfriend.

The match ends with Anton’s final goal, and KOZ Academy’s team wins 115-113. The entire gym erupts in waves of cheer and heartfelt hugs, every attending person feeling proud of their team, losing or not. You jog down the stairs, heading towards Taesan, whose height stands out in the crowd. 

When you reach the end of the stairs, you notice Anton’s gaze on you. You glance at him, the weight of past memories dragging you down. At the end of these exact same stairs, you used to run straight to Anton, engulfing him in a hug after a match. You used to kiss his cheek, congratulating him for a successful game. You used to feel like your entire world revolved around him, and that you would be happy with him. 

But that was in the past. Now, you can look at Anton with nothing in your heart. You feel nothing but plain resentment—damning him for the things he did to you. You had thought he was the love of your life, that you’d grow old with him—but Anton had other plans, and another girl that he prioritised more than you. 

You turn your head away, directing your gaze towards Taesan. He’s talking to his friends, his hair wet from the sweat. He’s grinning proudly, talking about something that’s interesting to boys. 

You sigh. Hopefully this whole set-up works—Anton leaves you alone, the rumours die down, and you can go back to bashing Taesan’s head. 

And hopefully, you can move on, too. Once and for all.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Anton take a step towards you. Though, what you don’t see is that Taesan is faster. He waves at you, calling your name with a big grin, before running to give you a hug. 

Your eyes widen upon the impact, and it’s like everything is in slow motion. 

Taesan pulls away, ruffling your hair. His eyes crinkle with his grin. “Are you proud of me, darling?”

Darling. 

You gulp. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

You give him a laugh, trying your best to not make it sound staged. Your nose crinkles at the smell of sweaty boys. Taesan notices, of course, and he chuckles. 

“Sorry, I must smell bad. I’ll be sure to spray on some more deodorant next time.”

You gaze into Taesan’s eyes, his arms still around your waist. There’s some kind of softness behind his teasing look—something that you’ve never seen before. 

A small smile forms on your lips, one that you’re unable to hold back. “Good job, Taesan.”

“Yeah?” Taesan laughs, his eyes forming crescent moons. “Thanks, Y/N.”

He then leans in to whisper, “that’s the first time I’ve heard that from you.”

You push him away, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off, Taesan. I’ll be waiting at the bus stop.”

Taesan laughs loudly as you stomp away. “By the way,” he yells, “you look good wearing my number, sweetheart!”

You lower your head, biting your lips to fight two things—the urge to flash the middle finger to the jolly Taesan behind you, and the weird fluttering feeling that erupts in your stomach every time he calls you ‘sweetheart’.

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“Y/N,” you turn around, finding a panting Anton in front of you. 

You’re standing in line outside one of the most famous pasta restaurants in the heart of the KOZ School of Medicine square, waiting to buy this one pasta dish you’ve been craving for the entire month. You didn’t tell anyone you’d be here—not even Taesan or the girls—so you’re weirded out by the fact that your ex found you here.

“...Anton,” you curtly acknowledge. 

“Is it true?” he asks. 

You force your eyes close for a second, wishing that it wasn’t wrong to beat someone up. “What?”

“That you’re dating Han Taesan. I saw him kissing your cheek last time.”

Your heart almost stops beating for a second. Almost two months have passed, and almost everyone in the entire campus of KOZ Academy knows that you and Taesan are finally getting tired of fighting each other—falling in love instead. 

Your plan has passed the soft launch phase, and now, you’re having your nemesis call you sweet, adoring nicknames out in public. 

“Yes,” you answer, managing a deadpan expression. “What about it?”

“Do you love him?” 

You narrow your eyes at Anton, feeling like if he keeps on shooting questions like this, he’d go home with a black eye. “Why does it matter if I love him or not?”

“Because,” Anton starts, his voice beginning to waver with every following word, “you used to love me.”

His words hang in the air, thick with a known, cursed history. You could hear your heart stutter for a split second, but you shake your head, quickly suppressing the feeling. You take in a sharp breath, feeling the heat of old anger rise in your chest. You force yourself to look at Anton, eyes hardening.

“That was two years ago, Anton,” you say, your voice detached. “And you made sure to end it, remember?”

Anton’s face flickers with something—guilt, regret, maybe even a hint of fear—but you’re not interested in seeing it. You’re sick of it—too familiar with the way he can spin his words to make himself seem like the victim.

“You don’t get to do this,” you continued, lips tightening into a thin line. “You don’t get to just show up and act like we can pick up where we left off, after what you did with Mina."

Anton’s face darkens the moment your old best friend’s name leaves your mouth, but you hold his gaze without flinching. Anton opens his mouth, probably to throw another lame and poorly explained excuse that you’ve heard before, but you’re faster than he is. 

“Save it,” you snap. “You don’t have any right to ask me if I love Taesan after what you did. You lost that right the moment you lied to me and slept with her.”

Anton looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected you to bring that up, but obviously, you don’t care. You’ve held your feelings in for so long—leaving them behind quietly to try and move on without a commotion. You’ve spent enough time letting him walk all over you in the past—you’re not about to let him do it again.

For a moment, Anton looks like he’s about to say something more, but you don’t give him a chance. You turn away, taking a small step back as you glance briefly at the line in front of you. “I’m done with this conversation, Anton. You should be, too.”

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THE next morning, after your first class of the day, you sigh as you find yourself waiting outside of a rather packed coffee shop—allegedly Taesan’s favourite one—bundled up in Taesan’s scarf. Autumn is starting to give way to winter, and as it’s doing so, the winds and temperatures are getting crazier. You bury your face further into the softness of Taesan’s scarf, letting the mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, and sugar vanilla attack your senses. It’s disturbing, once the fact that the scarf that’s warming you up belongs to Taesan registers in your head; however, you had no choice. Freezing your nose off was the only other option. 

“Hey,” you hear Taesan’s voice, turning instantly towards him. 

“Apple pie latte?” he says, handing you a warm cup of said coffee. Grabbing it from him, you perk your eyebrows up. 

“How did you know?” you say, pushing the scarf down. Taesan shrugs, sipping his own drink. You glance at the sticker on his cup: cinnamon maple latte.

“Instincts.”

You snicker at his reply, rolling your eyes. “Cut me some slack.”

The two of you then walk back towards the law school complex, where both of your classes will be held next. The winds begin to blow, and you find yourself hiding half your face behind Taesan’s scarf. You squint your eyes, blinking harshly as the stray strands of hair sting them. 

“I love autumn, but not this kind,” you mumble. 

Taesan glances at you, and in one swift motion, he grabs your free hand and shoves it into the pocket of his coat. He interlaces his hand with yours, letting his body warmth transfer to you. 

Your eyes widen, your brain slow at processing the situation. You whip your head towards the tall man walking with you, his expression relaxed as ever. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull away. 

Taesan gives you a look that yells ‘really, Y/N?’. “Keeping you warm?”

“I don’t need your help,” you retort, yanking your hand away. 

Taesan grabs it back, shoving it into his pocket. This time, his grip on your hand is firmer than before. “I don’t need my girlfriend to freeze to death—it’s going to ruin my reputation.”

Realisation hits you, again, like a ton of bricks right at the face. 

Oh. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, letting him do his thing. You look away, deciding to admire the surrounding golden trees. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of how this whole ‘thing’ with Taesan is temporary—and having a personal heat packet isn’t too bad. 

Once the two of you reach the lecture hall together, people begin to clearly spectate. You pull your hand away from him, rushing to your usual seat. Taesan, his expression calm as he always is, walks over to his usual seat as well—directly behind you. 

Then, two minutes before the lecture starts, the person you truly hated comes into view, and decides to sit at the empty seat next to you. 

“Hi, Y/N,” your ex, Anton, greets you with the biggest smile on his face. You mentally sob—already dreading the three hours to come.

You turn away, scooting as far as you could. The memories rush like a flood you can’t stop—reminding you of the heart-tearing pain the boy sitting next to you caused. 

“Y/N? You alright? You look pale,” Anton says, probing further.

“It’s the weather,” you reply dully, your lips downturned. You unravel Taesan’s scarf from your neck, placing it on your lap. Your eyes fixed onto the lecture, you ignore Anton’s attempts to get you conversing with him. 

“Y/N, are you free after class?” Anton whispers, twenty minutes into the lecture. 

“No.” You give him a side glance.

“And you don’t even take IT,” you fake a smile, “so I don’t think you should even be here. With due respect, get lost, yeah?”

“I’m honoured,” Anton whispers back. The soft smile on his face makes you gag. “You still remember things about me.”

“Oh, please,” you grimace, anger beginning to bubble up inside of you. “I’d rather make out with Taesan than remember even the tiniest bit of–”

You suck in your breath sharply, your cheeks flushing at an alarming rate. You had blurted your words out too fast to even register the fact that you’re actually wearing the said person’s initials in a necklace ‘round your neck. 

“You’d rather what now, sweetheart?” 

Hearing Taesan’s voice, you can almost see his smug smirk decorating that annoyingly attractive face of his. 

Your eyes widen. 

I did not just admit that.

You turn to Taesan for a moment, flashing him a sheepish smile. You quickly spin back to face the lecture, forcing yourself to focus. 

After the lecture concluded, you find yourself stuck in a sticky situation—Anton just can’t let you go out. 

“Do you want to go and grab lunch together? It’s pretty late for lunch, and I know your stomach gets upset easily if you don’t eat,” you wince upon hearing his soft tone. 

You frown, hating the fact that Anton knows almost a lot of things about you. “No, Anton, I’m sure I said–”

“She said no, Lee, I’m sure even a stupid motherfucker can understand.”

Seeing Anton’s eyes almost pop out at the sight of Taesan next to you, you’re sure that you look the same. You turn sharply towards Taesan, who has his hand perfectly placed on your back. The look on his face is fierce and scary, like he’s about to completely destroy Anton exactly where he’s standing.  

“Han,” Anton addresses him curtly. “I didn’t know that you’re on… good terms with Y/N.”

You fidget with the charm on your décolletage, collecting every bit of energy you have to maintain a stoic expression. 

Taesan flashes a sly smirk, pride radiating from his eyes as the corners of Anton’s lips twitch. “Why? Is it important to you who I’m close to?”

“No, but given your history with Y/N—I don’t want her to get hurt,” Anton blathers, “so I’m gladly asking you to–”

“What? Fuck off?” Taesan scoffs. Your eyes bulge, somehow not expecting Taesan’s choice of words to be so vulgar. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do, Lee.”

“Y/N,” Anton says, desperation vivid in his voice. He grabs your wrist, and you instinctively step back. “C’mon, let’s go. I know you don’t like this stupid asshole here–”

Before you could even act, Taesan steps in front of you, shoving Anton to the floor. The students who are still lingering around stop to look. You couldn’t hold in your gasp—Taesan looks extremely angry, you swear you could see fire in his eyes. 

A thought clicks into your head. 

Taesan is the it-boy, of course he’s good at acting.

You take a step back, weirded by the heavy feeling of disappointment that begins to cloud your heart as soon as you remember the arrangement. 

It’s just acting, Y/N. Get it together. 

“Don’t touch her, bastard,” you hear Taesan hiss before he turns to you. Anger still lingering around, you watch with silence as Taesan relaxes the tension in his jaw. In a mirroring silence, he gestures for you to follow him out. You nod.

As you turn on your heel, Anton calls out, visibly irritated. 

“Y/N,” he says, “what’s going on?”

You give him a mocking smile. You swing Taesan’s scarf around your neck. “I don’t think I owe you an explanation, Anton.”

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AS you and Taesan walk out of the lecture hall, you can’t ignore the heavy weight settling in your chest. It keeps replaying in your mind: the way Taesan stepped in, fiercely protective—it’s all an act, right? You sneak a glance at Taesan, but his face is unreadable, his jaw still slightly clenched from the encounter.

“Taesan… you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble, playing with the hem of his scarf.

Taesan exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he then adds under his breath, “fucking bastard.”

You blink, unintentionally slowing your steps. That’s… different from what you expected.

“Taesan,” you try again, but he shoves his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace.

You know you should just let it go, but the air between the two of you feels heavier than it was before. Was it just an act? Maybe it was—and that Taesan’s acting skills are as good as the rom-com actors—but something about the way he had looked at Anton; like he was seconds away from doing more than just shoving him to the ground. 

It feels too… real.

A sudden gust of wind cuts through your coat, making you shiver. Instantly, Taesan grabs your wrist and pulls you into a nearby convenience store.

“Sit,” he orders, disappearing for a moment. You watch him move through the aisles, confusion twisting in your chest. You take a seat exactly where he ordered you to, your head fuzzy from the mixture of confusing, unnamed emotions.

When he returns, he kneels slightly, pressing a warm drink and a heat pack into her hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

“You’re hopeless,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “First my scarf, now this.”

You gasp dramatically, rolling your eyes as your lips twitch, your heart knocking against your ribs. “You’re the one who keeps giving me things.”

Taesan just hums in response, his gaze locking onto yours. His usual unreadable expression softens, something almost unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Your grip tightens on the cup, trying to shake off the way your body reacts to his warmth. This whole thing with Taesan was supposed to be temporary. So why did it feel like something had changed?

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DONGMIN takes several deep breaths, his eyes shut. The jazz music plays in the background, and the buzz of the cafe calms him down. 

No wonder Y/N likes this place. 

Dongmin opens his eyes, finding himself staring at you ordering drinks and some food for the two of you. You had dragged him here as soon as you finished your drink at the convenience store, repeating that you needed to treat him to some food. Your voice rings in his head, telling him that he needed to follow you to the coffee shop, to cool off his steam. 

“Do you like apple pie?” you ask, setting a plate of two slices of said dessert, accompanied by two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

“Why do you even ask if you’ve already gotten it? Seems like my preference doesn’t matter,” Dongmin replies, putting on the usual smirk. 

Your eyes widen and he chuckles. 

“Well,” you huff, “I like apple pie—and it’s impossible to find someone who doesn’t.”

“Alright,” Dongmin laughs, and it hits. His laughter dies down as the realisation sinks in—watching you devour your slice of apple pie like it’s the only food you’ll eat until the end of time. 

Dongmin, as he puts a bite of his food into his mouth, realises how messed up he is. He realises how often a hearty laugh escapes him when he’s with you—how a flustered, frustrated mess you make him. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” Dongmin asks. He pokes his fork absentmindedly into the crust of the apple pie, second guessing his question the moment it leaves him. 

You and he had always, always been rivals—a pair that’s never meant to get along. He’d always find you muttering curses and throwing glares in his direction; and he’d always find himself trying his best to reciprocate your disdain for him. 

Dongmin does hate you, too. 

He hates how you’re so confident, so diligent, so talented. He despises how hard you work, how determined you are, how you seem to always effortlessly bring him down and defeat him in academics. He feels the most intense dislike for you—whenever you walk in the room, he feels like the world is about to explode, along with his sanity. 

Dongmin hates, with a burning passion, how he can’t stop himself from falling in love with you. He absolutely loathes the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and the way you look at him—with such fiery determination that’s enough to knock him off his feet. He completely hates the way that he has to keep his tongue sharp, and his attitude insufferable, for you to give him a sliver of your attention. He perfectly hates the way it’s impossible for him to let you know that he doesn’t hate you, at all. 

Dongmin watches you open your mouth to reply, yet you don’t for a few moments. You return his gaze, uncertainty playing around in her eyes. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. “We’re just eating apple pie, Taesan,” you laugh sheepishly. 

For the first time, Dongmin doesn’t have an immediate answer. He swallows the bite of apple pie in his mouth, unsure of what he should say next. His smirk fades and hesitation engulfs him.

You notice this, of course, and your frown deepens. Though, before you could do anything, Jaehyun—Dongmin’s friend, suddenly appears.

He greets Dongmin, patting his shoulder. “Yo, Taesan, long time no see! Wait–” he pauses, laying his eyes on you. “Wait, am I dreaming? You two? Sitting together? Laughing? Are pigs flying now?”

You immediately shake your head, laughing along with Jaehyun. Dongmin, on the other hand, is dazed. He stays silent, still unsure of what to say. He’s finding everything peculiar—the way he’s unable to say anything, the way that his heart is thumping loudly against his chest at the mention of you as his girlfriend. 

He watches you politely say goodbye to Jaehyun, gaining certainty with every beat of his heart. 

His little crush on you is resurfacing, after two years of pushing it down with faked hatred. 

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AFTER Jaehyun leaves, you let yourself sneak a glance at Taesan, who’s absentmindedly poking holes in his already destroyed pie crust, avoiding your gaze. You notice his oddly quiet state—the Taesan you know would never miss the chance to throw in a witty remark. 

You throw him a glare, slightly hoping it’d make him knock out of his trance. You set your fork down with an audible clink. “You’re being weird. I mean, you always are insufferably weird, but this is even weirder.”

Taesan scoffs, lifting his drink to his lips. “And you’re being annoying. Paranoid.”

You cross your arms, an annoyed grimace forming on your face. “Am I?”

Taesan holds your gaze for a moment too long, something flickering in his eyes before he looks away. “Maybe not.”

Oh.

You lean back, sighing dramatically. “Fine. I don’t get what you being weird has with me being paranoid, but yeah, I’m totally being paranoid. Definitely imagining things,” you scoff sarcastically.

Taesan hums in agreement. “You do that a lot.”

You choke on air. Glaring at Taesan, you retort, “you’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are, sharing dessert with me,” Taesan smirks, tilting his head. 

You pause, blinking profusely.

That… is a valid point. How did you even get here? You and Taesan are supposed to be rivals. Aren’t you supposed to hate each other?

Your stomach twists, and suddenly, you find it difficult to swallow your final bites of apple pie.

After moments of deafening silence, you say, your voice slightly wavering, “you’re unbelievably good at dodging questions, Taesan.”

You bring your drink to your lips, hoping that you sounded casual. 

Taesan looks up from his finished plate of apple pie, smirking as he leans back. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever considered that you’re too good at asking too many questions, and it’s insufferable?”

Your eyes widen slightly, flickering to the way that his eyes glare vaguely at you. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly, “but you’re dodging the real ones.”

Taesan’s smirk falters a little bit, just for a second, and there’s something unrecognisable in his eyes. Something you can’t put a name on. 

Maybe a shift in the air. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Or maybe it’s because your heart is racing just a little too fast.

You’re so focused on trying to read Taesan’s expressions that you don’t notice the way your voice softens. “So… if this whole thing is an act, why do I keep feeling like you actually care?”

You mentally hit yourself. That isn’t what you meant to say—and it’s certainly not what you would say in front of Taesan.

Though, it’s out before you can stop yourself. The words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain.

Taesan freezes, his eyes widening with a vulnerability for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly as it came, his guard comes back up. “Like we’ve discussed before, it’s an act. Nothing more.”

His voice is stern and plain, and his expression is stoic, but you catch the tremble in his hand as he’s fiddling with his fork. 

That, somehow, doesn’t sit right with you. 

You learn forward, the pendant swinging against your décolletage, your expression more serious now. “Then why do you care so much?”

You watch him closely, catching the tightening in his jaw and the way his hand proceeds to rest on the table, fingers anxiously tapping against the wood. Taesan doesn’t answer immediately, and instead, he looks away to drift his gaze to the window.

Your chest suddenly tightens. He’s acting like this is nothing, but you certainly feel it—the crack in the walls you’ve both constructed carefully against each other. It’s a tug at the back of your mind, a repeating whisper you’ve been trying so hard to push away.

And yet, the silence between you feels louder than ever.

Minutes pass by and the silence gets louder and louder. You’re lost in your own thoughts—realising just how much you’re affected by Taesan; just how much more you’re feeling than you want to admit. In the silence, you’re wondering, are you just imagining all this? Maybe it’s just you, maybe it’s the fact that you’re finding something more from this fake relationship you have with Taesan, your nemesis. 

Though, there’s something that you can’t deny: the fact that your chest tightens with fluttering butterflies every time he gets too close, every time his words shift to something softer than usual, it’s something that makes your heart trip in your chest.

“Y/N,” Taesan calls, his voice softer than anticipated, and you’re pulled out of your train of thought. You look at him slowly, uncertain and afraid of what’s to come. He pauses, as if he’s unsure of what to say next. “What if… I told you I’m not sure if I can pretend much longer?” 

His gaze finally meets yours, and for a moment, there’s no mask—just the raw sincerity in his eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You open your mouth, trying to say something—but nothing comes out. The evident truth in his words hits you like an ocean wave on a sunny day, and you can’t help but feel something is shifting between you both.

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THE next few weeks pass by like a ridiculously large time-skip in a movie. You’re doing things like you usually do—attend classes, do mootings, send in assignments, study for exams. Though, there’s one big thing in your life that you can’t ignore—Taesan, your fake-dating arrangement, and the lingering, unspoken tension between the two of you. The first week after the coffee shop episode, you couldn’t sleep even a wink—your mind kept on replaying the scenes over and over again, the way you caught Taesan’s guard almost falling down. You’re sure you felt it too, the cracks in the walls you’ve built against him—even for a short moment. 

At school, you’re hyper aware and extra distracted by Taesan. He’s doing his part of the agreement well, acting like he agreed he would. Every glance from him feels like a load of unspoken words, and the air between you two feels heavy. Every day you ponder, unsure of what to do with the new, fragile tension that’s settled between you and Taesan.

Today is the same—everything passes in a blur of lectures, assignments, and studying. You drag your heavy footsteps out of the room, your head spinning at the thought of the many assignments waiting for you. You look up, and the moment you step into the hallway, you see Taesan leaning against the wall, phone in hand, looking as calm as ever. 

You walk near him, and your eyes meet—you see a flicker of something there—a tension, a question neither of you have the answer to. 

“Y/N,” Taesan greets you with a casual, unreadable smile. You pause in your steps, turning to face him.

“Hi,” you reply quite timidly. You’re trying to sound casual, but you can hear the slight hitch in your voice. There’s no pretending this isn’t different now. There’s no pretending you didn’t almost cross a line last time. 

Taesan takes a final glance at his phone before shoving it into his pocket. “Still pretending this is just an act?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft but laced with something familiar, almost teasing.

You pause, your breath stuck in your throat. Your heart, yet again, skips a beat, and you try to brush it off by laughing nervously. “Me? Pretending? I’m not pretending,” you say, and it’s directed more towards yourself than to him.

You’re not sure who’s trying to convince who anymore.

Taesan looks taken aback. He blinks profusely before putting his usual, calm expression back on. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You watch him walk away, heart twisting in the weirdest way. 

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DONGMIN hates the way everything is now. Why can’t he just tell you everything? Why can’t he just tell you that he isn’t pretending, that he actually cares?

He wants to stop everything–going back to shoving insults at your face might be the safest option of them all. Yet, Dongmin finds himself caring for you in the little ways—wrapping his scarf around your neck, adjusting the placement of your bangs with a simple ruffle, placing a tin of coffee and bread in front of you whenever you seem exhausted with studying, sliding post-its to you with his handwriting reminding you to take breaks when needed. He still finds his heart racing upon seeing you; the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought, the way you smile and laugh so adorably upon hearing a funny joke from your friends, the way you’re still so cute even when frustrated. 

As he walks away, Dongmin fights with his own heart. Why was he acting like this? It’s so clear that you’re expecting something more, but why is he pushing you away? 

Dongmin takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s scared. He’s afraid that maybe it’s all in his head, maybe you’re the one acting so well and it’s just gotten to him. 

Dongmin swears to get himself together, but it looks like he’s going to need more than just mental affirmations. 

The next day, he misses his alarm, for the first time in forever, and is running late to his 9 AM lecture. He’s speed walking through students, dodging them with a bag hanging on one shoulder and his hair still partially wet. Just as he’s about to near the entrance of the Law building, he hears raised voices nearby. He puts his hood up, his first instinct is to ignore it all—he’s got no time to eavesdrop on people’s business. However, he recognises one of the two quarrelling voices—yours. 

Dongmin’s steps come to a halt, and he turns to face you. His eyes slightly widen and his shoulders begin to tense as he sees you and Anton standing a few feet away, locked in an argument. He’s a bit too far away to hear the full conversation, yet he catches some bits of it.

You’re standing at your full height, stiffly in front of Anton, arms crossed and eyes blazing with fury. Anton, on the opposite side of you, no longer has that sickening, innocent smile—instead, he’s flashing you a mocking smirk. 

The argument is already reaching its peak, yet Dongmin is quick to analyse the situation just by picking up a few bits. 

“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” Anton taunts.

You scoff. Dongmin could tell you’re offended, yet the mask you put on really makes a difference. “At least I don’t have to put other people down to feel important.”

Anton scoffs back, “please. You act like you’re above all this, but you’re just as desperate for attention as everyone else.”

Dongmin clenches his jaw, watching the argument unfold as his fingers begin to twitch. 

You give Anton a mocking laugh, stepping forward. “I don’t care what you think, Anton Lee. I don’t care if you think I don’t love Taesan, because what matters is my own feelings, not yours. And I’m done wasting my time on you.”

Before you could turn away and enter the building, Anton grabs your wrist. 

It’s not aggressive, but it’s enough. Enough to make Dongmin see red.

Everything’s a blur—one second later, he’s towering in front of Anton, his eyes glaring daggers. 

“Let her go,” his voice is low and threatening, as sharp as a blade. 

Anton looks up, initially startled, but as soon as he sees Dongmin, he rolls his eyes. His hand still around your wrist, he says with a sneer, “look who’s here, Y/N’s knight in shining armour! Oh, so great, always the hero.”

Dongmin is too busy counting down the ways he could destroy Anton’s life to be noticing how immediate the warmth creeps up your cheeks. Dongmin, in one fluid motion, steps closer, standing between you and Anton. 

“Did you hear me?” his voice drops deadly lower than before, his posture relaxed yet his eyes are dangerous. “Let. Go.”

Anton huffs, roughly letting go of your hand. He shakes his head. “You two are seriously something else,” he mutters before storming away. 

You and Dongmin stand next to each other, cautiously eyeing Anton until he disappears from sight. For that moment, none of you say anything.

“What was that for?” you say suddenly, crossing your arms. “I didn’t need you to step in.”

Dongmin shoves his hood down to his neck, raising his eyebrow. Feeling slightly irritated, he scorns. “Yeah? Looked like you were having a great time.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but something pinches Dongmin’s heart as he notices there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m fine—I had it all handled.”

Silence. 

Dongmin exhales sharply, words shooting out of his mouth without second thought. “I know. It’s just–” 

He stops, his eyes landing on your wrist. Closes his mouth. 

You wait for a few moments, before warily asking. “What? Just what?”

Dongmin hesitates. Suddenly, it’s all he can push out of his throat. He’s already there, halfway crossing the line he’s put between you and him for the past two years. 

And then, it just… slips out. 

“I just can’t stand it, okay?”

Your frown deepens, confused. “Stand… what?”

Dongmin lets out a frustrated breath, turning sharply to completely face you. “I can’t stand seeing you with people like that fucking bastard. I can’t stand watching you get into these stupid situations. And I really, really can’t stand how much I—”

His eyes widen, and his words stumble upon a stop. Dongmin stammers, realising what he was just about to say. 

“Taesan,” you call, gently, hope suddenly shimmering in your eyes. “How much you what?”

Dongmin freezes. He’s silent, tongue frozen, unable to utter another word.

He can’t say it. 

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. 

“You know what?” 

“Taesan–”

“Next time,” he says quickly, in a softer voice, “don’t… waste your time on a guy like him.”

Your eye contact is still intact, you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Your eyes widen for a split second—as if you’re catching on to the feelings displayed, unknowingly, on Dongmin’s face. 

His concern is real.

“W-we should go,” you stammer instead, gesturing to the Law building. 

Dongmin nods. He grabs your backpack from you, signalling for you to walk in first. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

You force yourself to walk as swiftly as possible to the lecture hall, heart pounding, mind racing. Behind you, Dongmin’s entire body is tense. He’s finally realising he can’t keep his feelings for you hidden forever.

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THE next day, you can’t stop thinking about Taesan—and whatever he was about to say to you. Your mind races with a million different thoughts throughout the day. What if he actually feels the same? What if you’re not the only one looking for something more in this fake arrangement?

However, given that exams are looming closer, you’re only given a short amount of time to dwell on your thoughts. After your last class of the day, you find yourself cooped up in the library, studying the rest of the day away. Several of your friends join you, too. 

The study group grows, joined by both your friends and Taesan’s—though, you didn’t even realise that Taesan is sitting across you the entire day, until everyone starts leaving one by one. 

By midnight, it’s only you and him. You don’t look up, but you can feel your heart thumping faster than usual. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings—how close he is, how his scent feels comforting yet intimidating, and how his presence is reminding you of something that you’re too afraid to admit. 

“Y/N,” you open your eyes to someone gently shaking your shoulder, the reality of things crashing onto you all at once. You lift your head up, realising that you fell asleep in the middle of reviewing a past paper. Your eyes meet with Taesan’s concerned gaze. 

His voice is low and soft, as if it’s only for you. “Let’s take a break. You’ve been snoozing off way too many times.”

Your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but you agree. Taesan’s request seems too casual, and he looks like he needs a break too. 

You follow his lead, walking a little bit behind him to the convenience store that’s still open in campus grounds. He’s silent, observing you and letting you pick anything you want before paying for both your things and his. 

“Go sit,” he says, holding your instant tteokbokki package in hand, along with his instant noodles. “I’ll heat these up.”

Taesan quickly moves to the microwave before you can say anything in retaliation, a sign that you take seriously. He’s not in the mood for any fights. 

You take a seat, and soon after, Taesan joins you. He puts your instant meal in front of you, breaking your chopsticks for you. 

“Here,” he says, his voice quiet. “Careful, the tteok is still hot.”

He then slips his coat around you before turning back to his own beverages. 

You find yourself staring at him, long after he’s handed you your things. You watch him, peacefully releasing his tension—running a hand through his hair, chugging down a cup of coffee. 

Everything around you looks like it has a blurred filter on, yet one thing is crystal clear: Taesan, and his evident care for you. The longer you stare at him, the more you realise.

He’s always been the one. He’s always been there. 

It hits you harder than any bad grade has ever done. 

Taesan has always been like this—quietly looking out for you, quietly caring for you. 

All this while, all the banter, the little arguments, moments, and glances—it’s not just rivalry. It’s not just the fact that he always finds a way to make you all grumbly and irritated. It’s not just the fact that, even back when you were with Anton, he’d always find a way to show his care for you. 

It’s not just the fact that you enjoy his company, even if he makes you feel like you want to bang your head against the wall. 

You like him. 

You like Han Taesan. 

You quickly turn your head away, blood rushing to your head as soon as the realisation hits you. You stuff a few bites of instant tteokbokki into your mouth, wanting to quickly get rid of whatever this warm, refreshing feeling is. 

“Can you stop looking at me like that, L/N?” 

You cough, shocked at how his sudden comment breaks through the almost comforting silence. All the past moments you’ve had with him—the banter, the insults, the arguments—run through your head as soon as your last name, what Taesan had always called you, reaches your ears.

“Like what?” emboldened by the awakening of your feelings, you retort, your tone more challenging than you intended. 

Taesan snaps, pushing his chair back, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“Like I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

“What?” you’re confused, not expecting that out of his mouth. “What are you–”

“Like you’re waiting for me to say something that I know I can’t take back.”

“Say it, then.”

You say, challenging him. It feels sentimental—like the old days, where all you did when you met Taesan was throw taunting words at him. But at the same time, the words come out of your mouth without realising—daring the two of you to finally cross the line. 

“I like you, okay? I probably love you at this point, I don’t know. I don’t know when it started, but I do. And I—” He exhales sharply, his voice softer. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t.”

The world stops spinning and you stare at him, blank. 

Your tongue feels numb, your heart racing at a million miles per hour. 

You feel the same, you’re sure, but you don’t know how to respond. Do you smile and say it back? Do you tease him, calling him an idiot like you always do? 

“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you catch Taesan muttering. 

You smile. “Me too,” you say softly. 

Taesan lifts his head immediately, sharply turning to you with widened eyes. “... pardon?”

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THE next few days feel like a refreshing spring breeze in the peak of winter, yet the air is filled with a cute awkwardness. After the confession, neither of you explicitly announce to one another that the two of you are a real couple now—yet your interactions feel new and unscripted, but no one exactly is making the first move. 

Of course, your friends notice before the two of you do. 

You’re sitting at the food hall together with Yunjin and Sophia, eating breakfast. You’re halfway through your pancakes, and Taesan—or Dongmin, as you call him now—suddenly takes a seat next to you. 

“Mind if I join, girls?” he asks, a charming grin on his face. He’s asking the table, yet his gaze is directed to you. You bite your lip shyly, nodding.  

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Yunjin says, her words laced with teasing. She watches with eagle eyes as Dongmin puts all of the sliced bananas from his serving of pancakes onto yours, knowing that you especially enjoy them with your breakfast pancakes. She snorts at the obvious look of love in Dongmin’s eyes, more evident now that he isn’t shoving insults at your face. “So, you two are really dating now?”

You choke on your bite of pancake, immediately blurting out,

“No!”

“Yes.”

You sharply turn to Dongmin, who has a smug look on his face. It’s the one look on his face that you’re used to, yet there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. The edge of his smirk twitches, threatening to form into a cute, lovesick smile. 

“...I see,” Sophia interrupts your awkward eye contact, sighing dramatically. 

“We’re dating?” you ask Dongmin acutely, your brows connecting in an embarrassed frown. 

“I don’t know,” Dongmin shrugs casually, the look in his eyes teasing. “Are we?”

The blush that instantly creeps up your cheeks tells you the answer. You look away, suddenly focused on the way you’re cutting your pancakes. Dongmin’s laugh echoes to your left, and your friends’ send you teasing looks. 

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A few months later, on the first week back after winter break, you go on a walk around campus with your boyfriend, Han Dongmin. It feels weird, calling him yours now. Just almost half a year ago, you were fighting your ego to have your nemesis fake-date you in order to intimidate your ex into leaving you and your life alone. Now, that same thorn in your side has become the light of your life, the apple of your eye. Now, the two of you are in something that’s not written on a flimsy contract.

Dongmin had also helped clear out the rumours surrounding you—in the most annoying, Han Taesan way—announcing the truth about Anton by spreading it like a rumour to everyone. You still get second-hand embarrassment remembering that day, bombarded by questions and apologies from acquaintances and people you’ve only seen around. 

“You know,” you say dreamily, distracted by your train of thought, “you’re so annoying—but I love you.”

Dongmin freezes, his steps coming to an immediate halt. You, too, freeze in your steps as you realise you’re a few steps ahead of him now. You turn around, eyebrows perked up. “What’s wrong, Dongmin?”

Dongmin. 

The sound of your voice calling his birth name repeats in his mind, like a favourite song on loop. He stares, unable to say anything. His eyes fall on the pendant dangling from your neck, one that you started wearing due to the fake-dating arrangement. He remembered insisting that you take it off, so that he can buy you a new one later, but you said that it’s special so you won’t take it off. 

I love you. 

Dongmin feels a smile slowly bloom on his face. 

She said it. She didn’t even hesitate. It’s like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

His face softens, jogging up to you. He gives you a cheeky smile. 

“Say that again.”

You frown. “What again?”

“The first part.”

“What–” you pause, eyes widening as you get what he’s talking about. Heat rushes up your cheeks, warming your face despite Dongmin’s scarf wrapped around it. “I–”

“Yeah,” Dongmin says, smirking as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Me too.”

You bury yourself into the familiar scent of Dongmin’s scarf as he kisses your cheek. 

“Fuck you, Han Dongmin,” you grumble, ignoring the obvious butterflies in your stomach. 

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THAT weekend, you and Dongmin are eating lunch together at your favourite coffee shop. Dongmin had said that the vibes there makes him sleepy, and tried to bring you to eat at one of the more famous restaurants near the KOZ School of Engineering, yet the plan backfires on him when the line is certainly too long. 

Now, the two of you are back at your favourite coffee shop, sipping warm cinnamon lattes. 

“See?” you tease, smiling cheekily. “I told you this place is the best.”

Dongmin rolls his eyes, taking a big spoonful of the chocolate cinnamon roll on your plate. “I want to eat some real food, like kimchi jjigae, not these sweet chocolate desserts,” he complains, though he can’t hide the fact that he secretly loves it. 

“Yet you’re the one finishing my cinnamon roll,” you retort, letting him subconsciously finish your dessert. You’re familiar with his love for chocolate.

Dongmin flashes you an innocent smile, shrugging. “Not my fault.”

Comfortable silence engulfs the two of you, letting you bask in each other’s presence. Suddenly, Dongmin leans closer, adjusting the place of the H.D pendant on your décolletage. Frozen, you watch him lean back into his seat, smiling as he admires you. 

“You look good today,” he murmurs, “actually, you look good everyday.”

An undeniable tint of pink colours your face. “I’m literally wearing a black turtleneck sweater, Dongmin.”

His gaze softens. “Like the first time you sat next to me, three years ago, during our foundation year.”

Your eyes widen, your mind replaying the memory, fresh like it happened yesterday. “You… remember?” 

“Of course,” Dongmin replies, his smile delicate. 

“I even remember the day you walked up to me, confident and all. I thought you were going to brag to my face that you won first place for the quiz we had the day before, but then you told me to fake date you.”

You almost spit out the coffee from your mouth. “Han Dongmin!” you hiss. “Don’t remind me… it was so stupid.”

“Stupid?” Dongmin asks, tilting his head. The signature cocky smirk is back on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah…” you sigh, “I mean, I could’ve resolved the matter by myself, you know–”

“But you know that I’m the best option,” Dongmin cuts you off, smug. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, though,” he continues, his expression softer. More… raw. “To be honest, I think I was ecstatic that you walked up to me that day.”

“Why?” you ask croakily. 

“‘Cause I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I always have. I just don’t understand where things went wrong—maybe it’s the way I thought teasing you would gain me your attention at first. It did. But then, you became used to my teasing and thought of me as a threat—maybe ‘cause I’m smart as hell, too—but yeah. I don’t know how to say it but, all of that hatred was… pretend.”

You blink at him, too shocked to process his words. You try to reply, but mere stuttering comes out, and your face turns bright red. 

Dongmin notices this, of course, and he turns on his shameless, impudent grin. “Besides, you said you’re going to grant me any wish that I have, right?”

Oh. 

You inhale sharply. How could you forget? You immediately bring out your phone, checking the balance in your bank account. It’s quite a luxury, due to you working a few part time jobs during your break and whenever you can—but you certainly don’t think it’s fit for whatever grand wish Dongmin is about to demand from you. 

“Fine,” you huff, “only because it’s part of our… old contract.”

“Old contract, huh?” Dongmin wheezes, already laughing hard. You frown, fighting back a smile. 

“Why are you always laughing whenever I speak, dumbass?”

“Hey,” Dongmin pauses his laughter, flicking your forehead gently. It doesn’t even hurt, but you gasp dramatically, and he laughs it off. “It’s babe for you, sweet girl. And, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just admiring how cute and funny you are.”

Babe, huh?

You snort, hiding a smile. “Fine.”

“Anyway, speaking of the old contract,” Dongmin grins, “what’s the new one, then?”

“You haven’t even told me what sort of dumb, overpriced thing you want for your wish,” you say, lips set in a grim line. “And now you want another one?”

“My wish, huh?”

The unreadable look on his face makes you brace yourself and your wallet.

“Then, my darling, this is my wish.”

Dongmin leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. It’s subtle, short and sweet, but significant enough for you to realise it all—the reality of your feelings and his. He lingers for a while before sitting back in his chair. 

“So,” he says coolly, ignoring the plain blush streaked across his face. “Can you grant me the wish? To kiss you anytime, and anywhere I want?”

“Basically, physical affection can be done anytime?” you say, quoting what this man in front of you said months ago, when both of you first agreed on the fake-dating situation. The whole absurd set-up that brought the two of you to where you are, today. 

Dongmin laughs, clearly impressed. “Yeah,” he nods. 

You give him a warm smile, glad that you’re finally able to follow your heart’s desires, and to not put up a wall of defense around him anymore. 

“Wish granted.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[tumblebagel]

FOR ALL TRANS PEOPLE IN FLORIDA

Hi. I've been meaning to make a post like this for quite a long time now. As a person who's been trans in this state for... a while, I felt like I could be helpful by posting my catalogue of knowledge.

I also need to apologize in advance. I need to give you the facts and the current policies before I can give you the hope that you're looking for. I promise, there is hope. I swear it. But being well informed is my first priority for you right now, because it's the only thing I can do to make sure that you, the reader, stay safe. Okay?

Do me a favor and take a deep breath before you hit “Keep Reading,” alright?

The Facts.

Florida's bathroom laws are fucked. If you hear the term "Safety in Private Spaces Act" that is the exact law fucking trans people over. It was passed in 2023, and people are not afraid to use it. It only DIRECTLY applies to public state-owned buildings. If you attempt to enter a bathroom that does not match your sex, and you are at:

A public school

A state owned library

A state owned govt building (city hall, etc.)

Then you can, and likely WILL be arrested.

If you are in ANY restroom on the aforementioned properties, and are presenting as gender nonconforming, OR you're presenting as a gender that doesn't match the restroom you entered, you may still face harassment, and the police being contact anyways, although they won't have grounds for arrest. It's very much a lose-lose situation.

As someone who's worked at a public library in Florida for the past 5 years now, you can take all of the information above as a first hand reference.

While the "Safety in Private Spaces Act" is only DIRECTLY targeted at state owned & public buildings, private property needs to be taken at a case-by-case basis. People can still call the police, and if you're not certain that the people who own the location will defend you, it can be quite risky. Here's a list of common stores & restaurants and stuff that have protection policies in place for trans people using the restroom there (AKA, the GOOD ones).

Target

Starbucks

Barnes & Noble

Chipotle

Sears

Whole Foods

There's also this site: https://www.refugerestrooms.org where you plug in your address, and it lets you know if there are safe restrooms nearby. I believe it also has an app? I've heard some concerns about how often it's updated, but a resource is a resource. Also ALWAYS be careful when inputting your data (including your location) online. Be sure that the site is secure, and trusted by other members of the community to, you know, not be shipping off your data to corporations or the current government.

You can also look for businesses with "family restrooms" which people might give you a weird look if you leave one alone, but more often than not they'll just assume whatever happened was simply too embarrassing for a public stall. Disney property is also surprisingly quite good at those with their "companion restrooms" you'll sometimes see.

On the exact opposite end of the spectrum, I've made plenty of use of shiiiiiiiiiiiiiitty gas stations in my day. As in gas stations so tiny and run down in the middle of nowhere that they simply CANNOT AFFORD a second stall. It ain't hygienic by any stretch of the imagination, but neither is the back of a police cruiser.

Last resort, and I mean LAST resort, is personal bathrooms in the houses of allies. If you have a trusted support group, and their addresses, congratulations, consider that your gender-neutral bathroom map. They're almost assuredly not convenient, but some days they're the ONLY comfortable places to go.

Trans people are twice as likely to get a UTI in their life as cis people, simply from trying not to use a restroom. So first and foremost, please please please stay safe out there.

Second order of note is HRT.

I feel the need to very explicitly say DIY HORMONES CAN BE VERY DANGEROUS. You need consistent bloodwork done to make sure your body is handling the treatment properly. In addition, improper dosage can lead to a bunch of awful symptoms, including tolerance to the medication. Please, work with a physician who can make sure you stay safe, don't do DIY unless it's your absolute last resort.

ITS ALSO VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE, that if you're a minor, you cannot begin gender affirming care in Florida, and if you are caught with it, Florida authorities have grounds to revoke your parents' custody. That is shit. I know that is shit. I was very recently a minor tearing my hair out trying to get HRT. While I'm now legally considered """an adult""", I still very very very much feel that pain. Comments are open if you'd like to scream a bit.

For people over 18, there are a bunch of additional restrictions in place for setting up care. First of all, with the informed consent model, you need to sign all of the paperwork *in-person* with the prescribing physician, which completely cuts out any Telehealth options. You'll also be pretty hard pressed to FIND a clinic willing to prescribe it.

I can't personally recommend Plume. I was on a several month long waiting list, only to have my appointment cancelled because a bill went into effect the week before I was supposed to go sign the informed consent paperwork. That being said, I know too many trans people here who LOVE Plume to denounce it. The pricing and services it offers sounds almost too good. The organization has helped a lot of people, so the most I can say is:

1: Do your research.

2: Don't feel tied down if it doesn't work out.

If you want to know how I, personally, started my care, I think it's now time to switch over from the Facts to the Hope.

The Hope.

Planned Parenthood.

I made my first appointment in South Carolina to try and circumvent that law that cancelled my Plume appointment. You'll want to do your research on what Planned Parenthood location you're going to, because not all of them provide the same services. That being said... worse case scenario... South Carolina really ain't too far away, as long as you've got a free weekend for a road trip there and back.

I'm getting off track, Planned Parenthood is amazing. The people there are REALLY nice. My physician very much has an "OH MY GOD YOU'RE GONNA LOVE IT" energy about her.

I scheduled my first appointment just a week out, though timing may vary now that a lot more pressure is being put on them. Hours after my first appointment I had both estradiol and spironolactone physically in my hands, and the biggest dorky grin on my face.

In terms of access, this is probably one of the BEST options at your disposal. Please be sure to do some research beforehand about appointment costs, and medication costs, especially since insurance REALLY isn't going to want to cover it.

Once you're ready, mentally and financially, the power to get GAHT is in your hands.

Also, now when I take their post-appointment survey, I can say "yes, I would recommend this location to someone else" :D

A lot of public universities have been implementing more gender neutral bathrooms, and can potentially even provide you a map of where they are on campus if you ask.

Name change forms are also easily accessible for most schools if you ask, both for social recognition with teachers, and digital changes in academic portals and websites.

While LGBTQ+ oppression hasn’t gone down, neither has our fighting. You’ll see more pride pins and flags than ever, especially in the cities.

If you need mental/emotional help or support, I can't recommend anyone more than the Trevor Project:

https://www.thetrevorproject.org

Their help hotline is entirely confidential. Life as a trans person is hella stressful, and living in Florida can make that a lot worse. Whatever you're going through right now, I can tell you that there are people ready and willing to accept you and care for you.

I've also gotten glowing reviews from my sibling about the Orlando Youth Alliance. If you're a trans minor in Florida, you may not be able to get HRT... but you can occasionally get a trip to Disney World.

https://orlandoyouthalliance.org

Lastly, if you're out and about in Florida, and you see a girl in a black-grey hoodie, a big chunky heart necklace, and 1/2 peach colored hair dye, feel free to go up to her and tell her "I like your shoelaces," and you can get a free hug, no questions asked.

Keeping Tabs.

I'm gonna do my best to keep updating this post as much as I can. I've assuredly forgotten something. News details and policy updates will be my main focus. If you think of something important you'd like me to add, please don't hesitate to let me know

[northwestcomixcollective]

post epilogue au bill jerry mandi schizoposting delirium whatever hte fuck Context here im quoting comic books and literature no one on tumblrs ever heard of its mostly for archive purposes and the people that care at least a little bit

i sort of picture bills homosexuality as sort of like a thing he would never admit to or act upon and especially with jerry being the only guy who's ever tried to reach out to him and be kind to him to touch him to reach out etc etc being deprived of human touch for 10 years i definitely think they're gay i picture him as a bukowski or crumb bu,t in the way they objectify and degrade women and not the sort of intellectual type and at the same time bwing q repressed homosexual virgin in his late twenties is something i really want to explore

sex isnt everythinf but seeing how important it is for them and how significative and how women are sexual objects and all i think it definitely affects his view on himselg

i think there's this underlying animalistic urge to be close and be together theyve been around eachother since they were kids they really have no one else that's been through what they've been through and even though jerry wants to let go bill is still stuck on it which is why he's so clingy to jerry he's the only thing he has left really the only person that reached out the only guy that somewhat cares i wouldnt be talking about bill clinging on like a koala ofherwise he really does """"love"""" jerry jn the sense he let him stay he touches his shoulder he gave him a change of clothes despite everything that hapoened see gif below

i definitely want there to be a scene of bill breaking down and being liek Jerry....... i like men.......... and just like crying geeking and jerry holding him close and putting his cold nose on his neck and telling him it's all finewhile holding him he caresses him blalallaa whatever for the first time in like 30 something years he feels appreciated loved and held jerry doesnt even know what he's doing holding this piece of shit garbage scum that said the most obscene garbage to his girlfriend who is in the next room ten years ago i think for jerry its also nice to hold him because his parents never really did it which is sort of shown in the pilot where he holds himself when he's excited or nervous as a self soothing method and he feels like hes giving the love he never really received as a child See picture below

in his mind bill really could change. Because he really could change he just needed the right people around him. the resentment he feels towards bill fluctuates he resents him for everything that happened at comic-con he resents him for never treating him well when they were younger he resents him for waltzing into his house drenched in snot rain and tears and taking up space in what was supposed to be a place he could be comfortable and at peace in

billjer i wanted to compare it to ralf könig's "swiss bliss" but bills friends aren't nearly as tolerant of gays as the guys friends who tell him he isnt gay and he's not like that and they dont believe it theyd straigjt up just exile him i think it's more like "maybe ... maybe not" again by ralf könig picture attached below jerry would never make a move first i think bills vulnerable situation and lack of human contact and sort of praise and appreciation he has for jerry for housing him would sort of bring him to do it i think if they ever got to kiss or make out like this styleit would be during a heated argument or while they're drunk they wouldnt be able to stop thems3lves but if it ever escalates i think jerry could easily let bill go and let him slam his head against something and just go into another room and start pacing fucking freaking out see picture below,

if anyone wants to jump me for shipping bill and mandi its3now or never SCREAM ID YOU LOVE BILL AND MANDI

although i asked dorkin and he already told me it isnt true i still want to explore mandi being the same girl that walked into joe's comic book store in "this monster, this fan" because of the character dynamics i could explore and thoughts and interpretations i dont givea fuck im schizoposting about bill blowing jerry im basically doing whatever i wajt with the already existing comic thog dont care i think they both remember the day really clearly but since bill is so so focused on jerry he barely even glances at her because she was basically violated by like. what 15 men in a comic book store including grown men taking a picture of her like thats vile bill doesnt want to think about it he doesn't want to confront her or say anything ever because the humiliation of already being in someone else's house eating their food taking up space is too much

see earlier mention of crumb

the way crumb depicts women as something divine unachievable incomprehensible and as sex objects and puts them in the strangest most violent situations where is definitely something i see bill in especially in the epilogue where he and the rest just start babbling about how the female cosplayers are too ugly fat or arent white and dont fit their standards the way they're always depicted reading smut pornography or just looking at pinups of women (sometimes in violent situations as well) and the interaction he had at joe's all formed and turned his mindset into something utterly vile negative and disgustifn

see previous mention of bukowski

in this book the narrator is always pointing out faults in women i definitely see him as bill in the sense of being so negative hateful and even when in love he still manages to criticize his potential lover it could be bill and mandi but their relationship is much more complex to me since neither of them actually love eqchpther they just carnally need one another the way he's just really pathetic drunk and all just reminds me of bill as well mandi hates bill for being a man she's attracted to him because he's so fucking pathetic and gross it's exciting bill is attracted to mandi because she's a woman he detests her for being a stupid cunt who speaks her mind and is independent theyre both secretly having an affair one is slightly homoerotic the other one is just straight up abusive bill doesnt like to talk to anyone in the house he's extremely embarrassed and ashamed not only because he's in his friends house living there with his girlfriend who he hates but because he had the balls to reach out for help especially from a guy who beat the shit out of him last time they ever saw eachother mandi tries to talk it out but bill is so unbelievably childish he doesn't speak to anyone or do anything he's just silent i love them because they beat the shit out of eachofher and bill is a sexist pig and mandi is a woman they're all having an affair with eachother if any of them find out the other one is dating everything will go down genuinely but it wont since they're all too busyv hiding something from the other

i definitely think he would crash out on her but in the most like. formal way possible because he doesnt want to get kicked out and its shown he sort of knows when it's appropriate to shut up unlike josh who just starts geeking

+ jerry & mandi sketch im not finishing to get a glimpse into what i picture them both to be. healthy happy and everything good

[proud-cloud]

Three Cheers for sweet revenge plot song by song according to me

My credentials are that uhmm ive listened to this album like weekly since i was like 12 and uhm im taking english A-Level (crime and tragedy) sooooo

Full disclaimer i could do a line by line analysis on pretty much all of these songs but then this would be stupidly long so im just touching on the points or lyrics i think are most important for the plot! Oh and i cant spell and im trieddd of writing academic essays so im kinda yapping ngl

HELENA

honestly i barely have anything to say here but i imagine its the demo woman’s funeral (yes ik its abt Gerard ways grandma but let me cook) kind of setting the tone and exploring his grief, creating the circumstances for his deal with the devil - especially in the bridge.

GIVE EM HELL KID

Ok so here!! Is where i start to have more to say!! So in my head the man (im just gonna call them tje man and the woman or like he/she from here on) has accepted the deal with satan to kill 1000 evil men and is basically on a killing spree? So from my immense medical knowledge of watching house im preity sure epidrene is a steroid, which like gives him energy (interestingly ive been on them a few times for asthma and they have a long list of mental side effects such as uhhh mania (fall out boy whooo) anxiety and depression which maybe foreshadows his sorta insanity towards the end as his guilt haunts him) acting as a symbol of his immense motivation to see his wife again, so verse one especially is before his downfall where hes like yippee killing people to see my wife again!! The chorus i imagine is sang by both him and the woman in heaven as they both long for each other uhm and later on in the song it does seem as if hes begining to kind of loose it a bit due to his grief? kind of foreshadowing his well everything later on in the album. In the bridge i imagine hes kind of mocking their teenage selves (linking to im not okay later on) especially in the line “we are young and we dont care” criticicing their hopefullness by comparing it to their current circumstance - ironic as it only gets worse from here.

TO THE END

Now i know this is based on a rose for emily (i tried to read it and there were a LOT of slurs from what i remeber so that was yeah) but for the sake of my silly little narrative were kinda just not gonna touch on that. So here i believe the man has been set to kill this couple, just to find the wife has killed her husband (with the “cyanide you drank” i assume) which drives him into a sort of crisis, questioning if this was what would have happened to him and his wife if she had lived and they had stayed married for this long (fueling his sexuality crisis in prison). I could go so much further into this, especially language wise but for the sake of everyones sanity ill leave it here :)

YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DO TO GUYS LIKE US IN PRISION

so hes literally in the middle of a gunfight in the centre of a resturant and the police come and theyre like come with ur arms raised high and ok so!!! Theres many people who could explain this better than me but the man gets arrested for killing all these people and gets sent to jailllll. Ive heard some people talk about it as an allegory for SA in prison and others who talk abt it as him realising his gay/bi ect and honestly i can see both. I really like the line “too much to late or just not enough of this, pain in my heart for your dying wish, i kiss your lips again!” Which, running with the latter intrepretation, suggests hes feeling regret for all the murdering hes done and is questioning if he ever did love his wife this much, and if he should move on and fix his mistakes. So to make a long story short he has a sexuality crisis in prision! Toward the end, he escapes prision and with his “friends” from jail, lilely from setting it on “fire” (i got the friends bit from the lyric “but ill go down with my friends”) escaping jail but at the cost of further loosing his sanity and grasp on morality.

IM NOT OKAY (I PROMISE)

for conveniences sake he either gets knocked out (the giggles at the end of prision i guess beinf from a concussion or something?) or just like goes to sleep somehwhere after the prison break with the other ex inmates and has a flashback to his time in high school, when he fell in love with his wife. As an audienve were kinds like dude she did not like you back then calm down which makes us question the morality of his mission, but for him it reminds him of what hes fighting for and erases the doubt he had in their love in to the end and prison. I will say im kinda pidgenholing this in with the flashback but uhm yeah!

THE GHOST OF YOU

This song acts as a continuation of his grief, back in the present day after im not okay made him remember what he was doing this all for. This basically confirms his belief that killing all these people is right because he needs to see her again. He battles with his morality knowing that she should be “never coming home” cause shes dead but then considering the deal with satan and its morality asking himself “could i? Should i?”. Towards the end, it seems like he decides killing the men to bring her back is the right thing to do. the line “If i fall, down” seems to show his commitment to her regardless of morality, hes willing to ‘fall down’ to hell if it means he gets more time with her which is ironic as he later does go to hell, but never gets to see her again.

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU

and hes back to killing again!! I think “her killing jar” is a metaphor for his fixation on his wife and the things its driving him to do. Hes trapped as if he was in a jar by the deal he made with satan for her. Its kind of difficult to explain but essentially hes assuring himself that hes doing it all for her and its all worth it as his sanity slowly dissipates, which i believe is demonstrated through the lyric “pull the plug” kinda symbolising hes giving up on himself and dedicating everything to her. Now this is obviously unhealthily obsessive and is the point where we definately start to question if what hes doing is right - is he not essentially playing god now? Should one man act as judge, jury and executioner?

INTERLUDE

ok its literally just the interlude but here i beleive he is praying for god, the “saints”, to “protect” his wife in heaven further showing his like motive? For all of his murders - his love for her however dangerously codependant.

THANK YOU FOR THE VENOM

HE KILLS MORE PEOPLE 🔥🔥 its almost like he has to kill 1000 evil men damn. BUT now hes starting to loose his grip on reality and is killing innocent people. I like to think he goes to the church he married his wife in and starts killing people - hence the line “sister im not much a poet but a criminal” - hes changed completely from the man he once was. They try to convince him to like stop saying its not what his wife would have wanted but he does not listen - in the lyric “preach all you want but whos gonna save me” - and continues to spiral into a life of crime and implied addiction (when in the chorus he says “give me all your posion and give me all your pills”)

HANG EM HIGH

THIS!! This is the one i can never fully figure out despite it being so good 🙏🙏 it feels like a cop out to say he suddenly becomes a cowboy or idk has to kill a cowboy but any other way i can interpret it is just the same old back to mourning his wife and dedicating his life to her so uhm yeah take any of those 3 or your own and run with it (please tell me if you know how to make this fit better than me)

ITS NOT A FASHION STATEMENT ITS A FUCKING DEATHWISH

Hes now so deep into his mission he cant quit despite the regret he feels. This kind of links back to his mocking of their younger selves in give em hell through the lyric “do you remeber back there when we met you told me this gets harder, well it did!”. Hes kind of pondering how his life got this bad wishing it didnt have to be this way. however he believes they will soon be reunited - evidenced through lines such as “im coming back from the dead” and the repeated references to resserection and him finding his wife, “your running out of places, to hide from me”. At the end, he says “i lost my fear of falling, i will be with you”, further showing he thinks he will soon see his wife again and simmilarly to the ghost of you shows hes willing to sacrafice his soul just to see her again

CEMETERY DRIVE

trust me the fake music video in my head for this goes HARD. So he visits the cemetary where his wife is buried to kinda tell her in a way? That hes almost finished and he’ll see her soon. And in my like the cool cinemetic imaganary music video he dances with her ghost but uhm plot wise hes kinda lamenting how much he misses here as the chorus goes “i miss you, so far”. Now theres some confusion as to how she died as here it says “and they found you on the bathroom floor” but in i never told you it says “they gave us two shots to the back of the head” so i imagine he got caught up in some like bad stuff and they killed her in their home - the bathroom - which does add some depth to his grief as he feels responsable for her death hence why he wants to bring her back so bad. His dedication to her is reinforced through the lyric “so i wont stop lying wont stop dying” which as ive said a lottt shows his like questionably large levels of motivation in this mission from satan. The repetition of “way down” at the end foreshadows the twist in the next song - that he's going to hell - and this idea has been building up throughout the narrative but its reaching its peak now and we begin to see it as a serious possibility considering the innocent people he has killed alongside the guilty ones.

I NEVER TOLD YOU WHAT I DO FOR A LIVING

Aaaaand im realising ive made it all the way through this without even having to check the tracklist which shows that i lack a life! But anyways this song communicates the concept so well and i genuienly could line by line delve into it but for the sake of conciceness as i have been i will just cover the basic concept

OK SO! Hes metholodically getting through this list (im inferring he has a list from the line “i keep a book of the names”) kind of rushing through them, seen through the fast pace of the first verse, in my head it resembles a video montage of the murder of multiple people off of the list. This is further evidenced through the lyric “another knife in my hands” showing this has somehow become his everyday life as hes become so detached from normalicy in his grief. NOW NOW NOW the lyric “a stain that never comes off the sheets” is an allusion to lady Macbeth (I FREAKING LOVE SHAKESPEARE) (im a hamlet girl tho honestly) where she couldnt wash the blood off of her hands which is a common literary symbol for guilt showing his mission has taken a massive toll on him mentally if we did not already realise this. “It aint the money and it sure as hell aint just for the fame” implies he does not enjoy killing these people despite the fact hes killed probably over a thousand people which againnnn shows his dedication to his wife. Now i know ive said that about a billion times but thats important to consider when we take into account that he does not get to see her again - everything he did was essentially worthless, in fact if anything everything he did just sealed his fate. Therefore, if we view him as a tragic hero (i can go so much more into this but thats for another day) then his hamartia is his love for her, his loyalty which kinda gave him tunnel vision meaning he could not see the flaws his plan and the way he was being exploited by satan.

now theres so much symbolism in the lyrics i could discuss (I LOVE THIS SONG) but i will refrain and kinda skip forward to the bridge/the end. I like to think he turns the last page in his book of names to just see his own name and then begins to spiral - this is where the song goes “and we all fall down”. Im preitty sure gerard ways like screams say “i tried” which like furthers this breakdown as he comes to understand all the wrong he has done and his inevatatable damnation. After a large moral debate he thinks it would have been better if they were both killed together originally “never again / they gave us two shots to the back of the head” and he shoots himself in the hope he will eventually be with her in the afterlife, and if not then a life without her is not a life worth living anyways. It ends with the lyric “were all dead now” (which they are) which reminds me of the rhyme/ game from when i was a kid ring a rosies (which i swear is about the plauge) and how that ends by saying “we all fall down” kinda showing the corruption he brought into the world and that everything must come to an end. This is typical of a tragic hero - his anagorisis (realisation of his flaw / mistake) and then his death - which is why i personally do veiw this album as mostly conforming to troupes of traditional greek tragedy :).

aaaaand thats it!! I dont count bury me in black or desert song as part of the album plot uhhh if anyone else does id love to hear how that sounds so cool but yeah!!! Oh and sorry again for any typos and spelling errors i cannot spell for the life of me uhmm this could be so incoherent for all i know (if so sorry!!) but i hope not 😛

lmk if you’d actualy wanna hear the full yap poetry annotation style for a song cause i love nothing more if not talking i might do the same for danger days if i feel like it so watch out 🔥🔥

[rynzie]

Cosmo Has More Personality Than the Fandom Gives Him Credit For

Cosmo! My favourite, and one of the most overlooked characters. I can genuinely not think of any other character that has been done so dirty by both the fandom and creators in Dandy's World and Im not even just being biased. So, in an attempt to clear these mischaracterizations and shed some light on Cosmo's true nature and character, I am making a Tumblr post. Yes it is 3 am and I'm too tired to do anything else. Cosmo... Is a very self-sacrificial person and it is so insanely obvious I am bewildered nobody is talking about this, but not really. Because it's so clear, just nobody has bothered to look into it or even comment on it. Nobody notices because they don't care to think about his character. Cosmo uses his own FLESH. His own flesh and blood- or I guess Ichor- to heal the other toons. He never worries about him being endangered or even if the other toons might waste his heal, instead he remains timid and unsure, worried about his own incompetency.

He doesn't even feel good or confident in his healing, all of his ability dialogues but a single one ending in '...' and Cosmo feeling as if he did something wrong. He's also a considerate person, his dialogue with Flutter, Astro, Finn, Ginger, showing that he takes the time to think about the other toon's and their situations. My favourite and the most obvious one being the Flutter dialogue. Not to mention his laughably gullible character that often gets overlooked because god forbid a cartoon non-human male carry feminine AND sensitive traits! Poor Finn, I bet he and Cosmo stood in awkward silence that whole elevator ride.

Another obvious and interesting fact about Cosmo is that he loves stars and space! It's been confirmed by Qwel that he enjoys to stargaze but it's not really shocking considering his name comes from COSMIC- yk, like SPACE? and STARS? And he literally has star freckles like c'mon it's right there in our faces. It's so glaringly evident and yes I'm running out of synonyms for obvious because I can't believe nobody knows this stuff! Yk why? Because people don't give two shits about a common toon that only exists to be a tool for Sprout, whether they mischaracterize him to be some uwu boy who can't do anything without his big strawberry boy or they make him into some big manly man with a moustache that has no issues at all with being confident and making snarky jokes.

Do you see the problem? God, I have to tag this with fruitcake otherwise nobody will care.

[mommyownsmee]

Id just love to go to town with you, in a short skirt with no panties. So you can always check if im wet, if not you’ll just start rubbing and fucking me until i cum, no matter where and no matter who’s watching. Mommy wouldn’t care a bit

The city pulses around us, electric with life. Neon signs flicker above storefronts, bathing the sidewalks in shifting hues of red, blue, and gold. The scent of street food lingers—grilled meat sizzling on open flames, the buttery sweetness of pastries fresh from the oven, a faint wisp of something smoky from a distant bonfire. The air is crisp, the kind of autumn night that carries a sharp bite, but even that does nothing to cool the heat simmering between us.

You walk ahead of me just slightly, leading me through the shifting crowd, but every step you take is deliberate. That skirt—the one you knew would drive me insane—is barely more than a whisper of fabric, fluttering against the tops of your thighs with every movement. Your bare legs catch the glow of passing headlights, skin illuminated in flashes of warmth and shadow. You know exactly what you’re doing, and I know exactly what you’re waiting for.

The crosswalk signal blinks red, halting us at the curb, and I take the opportunity to step closer, pressing in just behind you. The night air swirls around us, but all I feel is the warmth radiating from your body, the anticipation thrumming beneath your skin like a live wire.

My hand ghosts over the small of your back, tracing down, slipping lower, skimming over the hem of your skirt. It would be so easy—so fucking easy—to lift it just slightly, to remind you of exactly what you left yourself open for tonight.

You inhale sharply.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” I murmur, my voice low, smooth, meant only for you, meant to slip beneath your skin and settle deep. “Are you wet for me already, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer—not with words. But I feel the way your thighs clench, the way your breath catches for just a second, how your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse like you need something to hold onto.

The light turns green.

I let you go—just for a moment, just long enough for you to take a shaky step forward, as if you actually think I’m done with you.

You don’t make it two steps before my hand is on you again, sliding beneath your skirt, fingers dragging up the inside of your bare thigh. The crowd moves around us, bodies brushing past in waves, conversations buzzing in the air, but you?

You go rigid, body locking up as my fingers brush higher, teasing over your heat.

“Spread your legs for me.”

It’s not a question.

You hesitate, your body taut with the thrill of it, the risk, the knowledge that at any moment, someone could look over and see exactly how fucking desperate you are for me.

I chuckle darkly. “Don’t make me ask again.”

A soft, shuddering breath escapes you as you shift your weight, just enough to give me access, just enough for my fingers to slip where I want them.

And fuck, you’re soaked.

I hum approvingly, dragging my fingers over you, slow and teasing. “Mmm… such a good little slut for me,” I murmur, my voice nothing but silk and heat. “Walking around like this, bare under your skirt, knowing I’d check. Did you get wet just thinking about it?”

You let out a quiet, broken sound—somewhere between a whimper and a plea.

I grin.

“You love being this desperate, don’t you?”

You nod quickly, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, struggling to keep from making a noise.

The street is crowded, but no one is paying us any attention. Cars pass, groups of friends laugh and stumble over sidewalks, costumed couples pose for pictures near a decorated storefront.

You’re trembling beneath my touch, caught between wanting more and knowing that we’re not nearly hidden enough for what I plan to do to you.

I drag my fingers over you again, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk slightly. Your breath stutters, and you grab onto my wrist—not to stop me, no, you wouldn’t dare—but as if grounding yourself, as if holding onto control that you already lost the moment we left the house.

“Think you can cum for me right here?” I ask, my voice dark with amusement. “Or should I keep teasing you until you’re begging?”

You let out a desperate little whimper, your thighs trembling, your fingers gripping my arm so tightly I almost feel bad for you.

Almost.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” I coo, my fingers pressing just a little harder, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you. “Do you want to cum?”

You nod frantically, barely whispering, “Please.”

I lean in close, my lips brushing against your jaw, my voice a velvet whisper in your ear.

“Then take it.”

The hum of the city fades. The crowd moves around us, oblivious, unaware of just how fucking wrecked you are for me in this moment.

The hum of the city surrounds us—the distant chatter of people passing by, the soft clink of glasses from a nearby café, the low hum of jazz drifting from an open window. The warm glow of streetlights flickers against your skin, painting you in golden hues, making you look even more irresistible.

But you’re not thinking about any of that, are you?

No. You’re thinking about my hand, the one teasing at the hem of your skirt, barely brushing your inner thigh, so light, so deliberate. You’re thinking about how reckless you were, walking out of the house without panties, knowing exactly what you were inviting.

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, my voice smooth, commanding. “You wanted to be bold, baby. So take it.”

Your body shudders slightly, torn between pressing into my touch and holding still like a good girl. I don’t give you the satisfaction yet—not until I’ve had my fun.

The café beside us is packed with people. Friends laughing over their drinks, couples leaning close, murmuring sweet nothings, the occasional distracted soul scrolling through their phone. They have no idea how weak you are under my touch, how I have you trembling in the middle of it all, barely keeping yourself together.

“Hold still,” I murmur, my lips just barely grazing your skin. “Unless you want them to know how desperate you are for me.”

You tense, your thighs squeezing together instinctively, but I click my tongue, slipping an arm around your waist, keeping you exactly where I want you. “No, no, sweetheart,” I chide, the amusement thick in my voice. “You wanted to play. So be good for me.”

I watch you struggle, your chest rising and falling a little too quickly, your fingers gripping the strap of your purse, your breath coming in short, shaky exhales.

“You’re blushing,” I tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your neck. “Are you feeling shy now?”

You shake your head, but I know better. I see the way your hands tremble slightly, the way your body reacts to every tiny movement I make.

I smirk. “Mm, I think you like this. The thrill of it. The way you never know when I’ll touch you next.”

You exhale sharply, and I let my fingers drift higher—just a whisper of a touch, enough to have you squirming, enough to remind you exactly who you belong to.

The world moves around us, unaware. The streetlights flicker, the night deepens, and still, you’re here, helpless under my hands, waiting, aching, desperate for whatever I decide to give you next.

I lean in, lips just below your ear, my voice a low whisper. “Tell me,” I purr. “Do you want me to stop?”

You barely manage to shake your head, your voice soft, breathless. “No, Mommy.”

I smirk, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, my grip tightening around your waist. “Good girl,” I murmur. “Then behave.”

And just like that, I pull away.

My hands slip back into my coat pocket, my expression unreadable, as if nothing had ever happened. The heat of my touch lingers, ghosting over your skin, leaving you on edge, your breath unsteady, your body still thrumming with need.

You stand frozen for a second, trying to compose yourself, frustration flashing in your eyes, but I only smile.

“Let’s go,” I say smoothly, already turning toward the next shop window, acting as if I haven’t just ruined you in the middle of the street.

You hesitate, still catching up, but then you follow, your steps quick, eager, falling right back into place beside me.

I chuckle under my breath.

The night is far from over.

[uncannydevotion]

So I was going through this account and your old account (loved you and your writing since foreverr), and I kind of saw how Liu/Sully are characterized as overprotective (I don’t know if that’s the proper term or if I’m even reading the character right lmao), but like…lowkey what would happen if theres a relationship and they become too suffocating and the s/o tries to break it off? Would they crash out? 😭 (in a possible yandere way?)

squeezing you affectionately i wasnt gonna write today i really wasnt but but but this got sent in and i just. here. here. take this.

warnings: written in one sitting and not proofread, yandere content, unhealthy relationships, dependency, stalking, overprotective behavior, behavior that can be considered obsessive, sully points a gun at you im sorry, implied kidnapping.

wc: 1.4k words.

Liu wasn't a bad guy.

You knew this intimately. Liu was far from a horrible guy. From the moment you met him, he was nothing but kind and understanding. He has his flaws, sure, but so does every other person. And those flaws never took away from how... nice he was.

It was easy falling in love with him, really. He never tried forcing anything on you, he always listened, he remembered everything you told him, even things that most people would consider minor. Honestly, you were shocked to learn that he wasn't already dating someone.

And Sully... well, he's not as nice as Liu.

It took you time to get used to him when he introduced himself to you. Unlike Liu, Sully didn't seem to really... care about people. He was selfish, and was the type to just do things without thinking much about how it could harm others. He never actively tried hurting others, but he never cared if he did either.

So when you found yourself falling in love with Sully as well, it left you feeling a bit... guilty, to be honest. Not only because Sully was... well... Sully, but also because you were already in love with Liu, so isn't it weird being in love with someone else too? But it didn't feel wrong loving them both.

To be honest, when you did start dating them, nothing changed. Liu was as kind as ever, if not a bit more openly affectionate, and Sully was still pretty mean at times, but he was less mean when you were around so... you'll take what you can get.

But it was perfect. You, and your two boyfriends in one body.

When Liu started becoming protective, you hadn't thought much of it. He'd freak out a bit over some small injuries you'd get. Small burns when you'd cook, the occasional time you'd trip over yourself and hit the ground. It was cute, honestly.

You understood that due to his past, he was deeply terrified of losing people. It's a fear of his that you tried your best to help him through, and it wasn't one that you ever thought could get out of hand.

Sure, Sully wouldn't sometimes stare at you for a few moments too long before sighing and saying something like, 'We should just lock you up.' but... he's always had a weird sense of humor, so you never let it get to you.

But... the longer you dated them, the more... suffocating they'd started to become. With Liu, if you were out and didn't update him on your wellbeing every few hours, he'd call you until you answered. He used to not stay the night all that often, but now he insists on staying with you every night, to ensure your safety.

If you went out with friends, he'd basically interrogate you about them. Who are they? Where do they work? How did you meet? Would you trust them to keep you safe? How do you know you can trust them?

And Sully wasn't any better. He would basically stalk you whenever you went out, and he wasn't shy about it either. Whenever you'd try talking to him about it, he'd just shrug and say something along the lines of, 'I'm just making sure you don't die.'

You're fairly certain he's even gone through your phone a few times, but you never brought it up because you didn't want to accuse him, either of them, of something if they didn't do it.

It hurt you to even have this conversation with them, but enough was enough.

"We should break up."

The words sounded wrong, but you refused to swallow them. Your heart was racing and you felt sick but you knew this was for the best. They were far too protective, and Liu seemed unhealthily dependent on you at times. Like he'd simply stop functioning if you disappeared. He needed help, help that you can't give him.

There's an expression of confusion, followed quickly by something akin to anguish when he registers your words. Liu seemed to struggle to speak for a moment, lips opening and closing for a few moments before he finally manages a small, "Why?"

And you explained it to him. You told him about how his protective behavior was starting to feel suffocating, how your friends were starting to distance themselves from you because he (of which you can only assume to be Sully) always glares at them whenever they're around, how your privacy felt nonexistent most days with them around.

It almost seemed as if he was going to accept that this was happening, but then there was a shift. His expression smoothed out for a moment before he looked at you like you were the crazy one here.

"No."

And it didn't take a genius for you to realize you were speaking with Sully now, from the way he seemed completely apathetic to your concerns.

"No? You can't just say no to someone breaking up with you, that's not how this works."

But your words didn't seem to reach him. That, or he was just choosing to ignore him because he just sweetly smiles in such a way that it makes your blood run cold, "I said no, angel." And his usual affectionate name for you sounding mocking rather than loving, something that put you on edge.

In the time that you've known Sully, you've never felt in danger around him. He went out of his way to make you feel comfortable, honestly, but now... now, you're reminded that this man wouldn't hesitate to kill another. What's stopping him from killing you?

"...You should leave. Now, please."

But Sully didn't move. He just stared, and it felt like he was looking right into your very soul, and it made you feel really sick.

"Fine, if you aren't going to leave, then I will," You huff, but you couldn't even stand up before he was pushing you back down on the couch, practically straddling you, and you could feel cool metal pressing against your forehead.

He... he just pulled a fucking gun on you. A mixture of shock and betrayal outweighs any fear you felt as you look up at Sully, half expecting him to just shoot you.

But he'd never do that, no.

Sully would never hurt you. Could never hurt you. He just needs you to behave, that's all.

"Don't look so distraught," He coos, his free hand coming up to lovingly cup your cheek and wipe away tears you hadn't realized were falling, "You know I can't let you leave. Liu needs you," He pauses, a look of consideration before he softly admits, "I need you."

The admission would've been romantic. He'd never really verbally expressed his love for you before, but now it just... it makes you feel wrong.

"We can just consider this a lover's quarrel, yeah? Make up and move on,"

It didn't seem like Sully had any plans on listening to a single word from your mouth unless it's something he wanted to hear, but you shake your head nonetheless, "I don't want to 'make up and move on'. You're aiming a fucking gun at me for crying out loud! How can I possibly move on from that?!"

And he rolls his eyes at your words, as if you were being dramatic over something you had every right to be angry about. It almost seemed as if he wanted to say something, but his gaze unfocused, and when he blinked, that annoyance was gone.

Instead, he looked mortified, lowering the gun against your head.

And for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope. If you can't convince Sully to let you leave, then surely you can convince Liu, right?

But he didn't pull the gun away. He wasn't aiming it at you, but it was there, and that told you everything you needed to know. Liu wasn't going to let you leave either.

"I'm sorry," He whispers over and over again, and there's tears in his eyes as he rests his forehead against your shoulder. As if forcing you to stay with him was painful to him.

And maybe it was, but...

This world is simply far too dangerous. How is he supposed to keep you safe when you want to go out all the time? It's... it's for the best, he thinks, to take you away. Somewhere where no one can find you, that way you'll be safe. The thought makes Liu sick, guilt eating at him, but... nothing can take you from him.

He and Sully will keep you safe, always. Even if you hate them for it.