#and ive been shaming quiet

[rainbowbeanstyles]

if dan and phil live streamed i'd watch them for hours

[secretlyofthefeywild]

said the sentence "i love who i am" outloud today and realized that for perhaps the first time, i actually meant it. so that was wild

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[ronearoundblindly]

Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior. 

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.” 

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock. 

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?” 

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

when the party’s over

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: it was only a matter of time until this conversation came up. Jaehyun only wishes he were better at putting his feelings into words before the conversation went down

word count: 4.2k

warnings: profanity, angst, fuckboy behavior, slut shaming I think, hurt, not too much comfort, anxiety attack mention

a/n: you all asked and I answered, this was very unintentionally inspired by Slim Pickins by miss Sabrina Carpenter, your feedback is very much appreciated! Not to worry, there will be a part 2 because Jae and Sweets are my babies <33

This fic is a part of my fratboy!jaehyun universe but can be read as a stand alone fic!

Timeline wise this happens before women in male fields and before Sweets and Jae are an official couple. I kind of cleared up the timeline in more detail, here!

dividers from adornedwithlight <3

taglist! @chriscentric @mmjhh1998 @jayhoonvroom @yowmaman @completelyjae @hollxe1 @cryingforjae @bluedbliss @choizzn @wonuziex @urlocalbeaner5 @cigarettesafterjae @naturallycomplicated @ive-cool @blckorchidd

The more time you spent around Jung Jaehyun, the more you grew to like him. How could you not? He was kind, he was funny, handsome, he made you feel like the most special girl in the room! In a quiet library you could always look up from your notes to find his eyes on you. During a crowded party you were always at his side and he made sure you were included in whatever was going on around the both of you. 

After four months of being together, you were sure that you were falling in love with Jung Jaehyun. Every time he looked at you with those sweet dimples in his cheeks, every time you woke up in his arms, every time he kissed you, every time the both of you get tangled in the sheets in the throes of passion. Hell, you’d spent nearly your whole summer attached to your phone talking with him when you could have easily been spending time with your family. You want to tell him that you’re falling in love with him.

You want to tell him so badly… but what was holding you back? Well, for one, you’re not his girlfriend. He’s not your boyfriend and he’s made that quite clear. He doesn’t introduce you as anything other than a “very close friend” when he does feel like giving you a title and not just saying your name. He doesn’t like when you call your situation what it is— a situationship. He says that what the two of you have is a lot deeper than that, not a relationship but more than a situationship. He cares for you and “assholes in situationships don’t give a shit about how they make those girls feel.” He cares about your feelings! The whole situationship thing had been a point of contention between the two of you, so you didn’t address it, at least not with him. With Ari and Kira you could vent to your heart's content, but after four months you knew which lines not to cross.

With that being said, you weren't even sure where the huge downward spiral had exactly begun. Had it just been building and building until it all boiled over? Your day hadn’t been all that different than usual, nothing out of the ordinary. You woke up, you went to your classes, you came to the frat house, and you hung out with Jaehyun. Then, you’d go back to your dorm and you and Kira and Ari would continue watching your drama. It was an extremely normal day. 

You were scrolling on your phone when you got a text from one of your friends from high school, giggling to yourself as you read her message. He pokes your side as if to ask what made you laugh. Four months of knowing him and you should know by now that he’s got a bit of FOMO, especially around you. You think it’s part of the reason why he makes sure you’re always included and introduced to everyone he knows so you don’t get the same feeling. He can be so considerate. 

You clear your throat as you read the message out for him to hear, “one of my friends is coming out to visit next week and is so excited to meet my boyfriend. Do you think you’ll be free next weekend?”

You’re too busy typing back a response so you can’t see how Jaehyun’s face has morphed from one of curiosity to one of uneasiness. He clears his throat, “uh, is that what you tell people? That I’m your boyfriend.”

Jaehyun wasn’t sure how to broach this topic, how to voice the anxiety that had been bubbling in his veins for weeks now. How could he tell you, this amazing, kindhearted, absolute sweetheart that he was having doubts? Not doubts about you, no, never you. Rather, doubts about himself. The longer you two were together, the more the nerves just ate him alive. He couldn’t be with you alone without feeling a knot in his throat, always on edge that some day it was all going to blow up right in his face.

Jaehyun would be the first to admit that had his more dim moments, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that he wasn’t being the best partner by acting like a boyfriend and refusing to give you the matching title. If anyone was more deserving of being his girlfriend— well there wasn’t anyone beside you! He knew you were it for him, but damn, a guy can freak out, alright! 

He’d just spent two years of his life living just about every college guy’s fucking fantasy! He could pull any girl he wanted because they were practically lining up at his door just to catch a glimpse of him. Every week was another girl who didn’t care to be in a relationship simple because they wanted to be with him. He didn’t have to worry about breaking hearts, having titles, meeting friends, planning dates. No, the only worries on his mind were when the condoms ran out and he waited for the nurses at the clinic to call and tell him he was clean. 

But you weren’t like that, you were the opposite and he really fucking loved liked it. He tried to be the best version of himself for you. He tried so fucking hard for you, but it was difficult. Not in the “oh fuck, it’s been two weeks since I got my dick wet” kind of way, but rather in the “I need to communicate how I’m feeling so my actions don’t hurt you but it’s hard” kind of way. But old habits and anxieties snuck in. It had been so long since he had been committed to anyone. It had been so long since he had actually been with someone he wanted to be committed to. Is that something he knew how to do? Had he ruined himself with all his pointless sleeping around? Did he want to be a boyfriend? Fuck, he felt like he was going to be sick.

You giggle softly, clearly not understanding that this is a point of discomfort for Jaehyun, “well, you basically are. I mean, we post each other all the time, we kiss, we have sex, we go on dates. It’s just easier to let people think that you’re my boyfriend than to explain that we’re in an exclusive not-relationship.” You knew it was a topic that made him uncomfortable, but honestly you didn’t really see the big deal. You didn’t want to be like the girls you saw on TikTok who complained about their situationships. You and Jaehyun were different! He was different! He was a good guy. You loved him and you weren’t naive enough to fall in love with someone who didn’t care about you.

“Right,” Jaehyun nods to himself, his voice trailing off. The knot in his throat was getting harder and harder to keep down. Why couldn’t he just say what he wanted to say?! Why was his mouth not working with his brain right now?!

You turn to look at him, your thumbs frozen over the screen of your phone, “why did you say it like that? Is there a problem?”

“I just don’t know how comfortable I am with you letting people think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.” Fuck, that didn’t come out right. Okay, Jae fix this, take a breath and say what you actually mean—

“I let people think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend? Jae, anyone who doesn't know us would think that. What’s the issue with that?” Too late.

“We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. That’s the issue.” There’s no going back now.

You sit up now, locking your phone and setting it aside, “but we will be someday.” He stays silent, he’s not looking at you. You feel your panic rising, “Jaehyun, tell me we will be someday.”

“I can’t—” Jaehyun starts, “I can’t tell you that.” God, he could hear the tension just flood the room. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. This wasn’t going to be good. He knew that, anybody with eyes and ears would be able to tell. 

Your mouth dries out, heart pounding so loud it’s the only sound you can hear. “Well, why not?”

He’s pacing now, his hand running through his hair nervously, forcing himself to get his storm of anxiety into actual words, “I can’t— I haven’t been a boyfriend in a long time, Sweetheart.”

“Because of Hana, I know,” you nod, “but Jaehyun, it’s been four months. You told me you really like me.”

“And I do, but I can’t promise that this, us will ever become more than what it is.” No, that’s not right. Fuck! Why is his stupid ass mouth just spouting lies?! Is this some kind of protection mechanism that all reformed fuckboys just activate in moments of high stress? He doesn’t want it, but he just can’t stop it.

You stand now, in the opposite corner of the room from Jaehyun, your eyes hard, “Well, what is so bad about being my boyfriend?!”

“I haven't been a boyfriend in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever want to be a boyfriend again!”

You feel your throat tighten, “you don’t know if you want to be a boyfriend or be my boyfriend?” Your heart is pounding in your chest, face burning as you attempt to keep yourself calm, try to stop yourself from just breaking down into an emotional wreck.

“Sweetheart, what’s the difference? I’m trying to be honest and communicate with you here.”

“The difference is that on one hand you miss fucking around and getting your dick wet with random women and on the other hand you’ve just wasted four months of my life!” There goes your defense mechanism. It’s not your best choice of words and you know it, but in a moment of hurt you acted out in anger. You couldn’t deny that Jaehyun’s reputation had always been something that made you insecure. He could have any girl, he has had any girl he wanted, yet he chose you. You who didn’t sleep with him the first time he asked you to. You who made him work for it. You who didn’t even know who he was when you first saw him. You who always wondered what was so special about you for him to be exclusive with. What was so special about you?

“A waste?” He parrots, “that’s messed up, Sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that!” You exclaim passionately, throwing your hands up, “what makes you think it’s okay for you to lead me on when you don’t even know if it’s ever going to progress to anything else?” How had he ruined one of the words that you used to love hearing from his mouth? It sounded condescending and disdainful coming from his lips now. The word that had once made you feel happy and warm, now made you feel grimy— like he was saying Sweetheart just to keep you calm, not because he meant it.

“I’m not leading you on,” Jaehyun replies far too calmly for the words that have just left his lips. 

It feels patronizing. It feels like he’s trying to gaslight and manipulate you into thinking in the same fucked up way that he thinks. How could spending four months of exclusive hang outs without the promise of becoming anything more than a “very close friend” not be leading you on? What kind of girl would willingly choose to stay in that situation if she didn’t have hope for her guy? And you had hope, you had mountains of hope for Jaehyun. You’d seen the changes, felt them, heard about them. You were doing good, but this wasn’t the Jaehyun you were getting to know. You didn't know who you were talking to right now. 

“Yes, you have! Who tells a girl they really like them? Who tells a girl that she’s the only girl for them? Who tells a girl that she brings out a side of them that they missed? You told me you were serious about me!” You scream weakly, your voice cracking as tears begin to prick at the back of your eyes. It’s getting harder to breathe now, even as you take deep breaths you know it isn’t nearly enough air to calm yourself down. The room feels like it’s getting both smaller and hotter the longer this conversation goes on.

Jaehyun shakes his head, leaning back to stare at the plain white ceiling of his room before responding with a tired sigh, “and then I started to think about us when you called me your boyfriend and now I’m not sure.”

“What the hell is so horrible about the idea of me being your girlfriend? What is so bad about me?” You feel helpless as the question leaves your lips. Whatever he says you know you’re not going to like, but you need to know. Even if it breaks you.

“I just… I haven’t been in a committed relationship for such a long time. I didn’t have time to adjust from being free to being tied down to someone,” he explains with another sigh, this time of frustration.

And you snap, because what the hell is so frustrating about being with you? You who let this bitch ass fratboy lead you on for four months? You who taught this adult man how to wash his fucking bed sheets. You who taught him how to use separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You who taught this college student how to study. Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him. What does he even mean being fucking free?! As if you stopped him from doing fucking anything besides sticking his dick in anything warm with a pulse. “Being free? In what ways do I hinder you from doing anything you didn’t do before you met me?” You ask with your arms now crossed across your chest. 

“You mean besides the obvious?” He asks with a quirk of his brow. Fuck, wrong move! Damn, his fratboy fuckboy instincts. This is getting ugly and messy and horrible fast. Much faster than he wanted. Fuck!

It’s a knife to your chest. The obvious. The obvious fact that no one seems to let you forget. The fact that he’s not sleeping around anymore. You’re so glad he can read your mind. You’re so glad you spent four months of your life giving this man every opportunity to read your quirks and pick up on what you were thinking. You used to love how in sync you both were, but now? Now you fucking hate it. You clear your throat, forcing the knot in your throat to stay down, if he wants to be an asshole then so will you. “I didn’t realize there was anyone on campus left for you to sleep around with.” You state coldly, your glare icy. Defense mode activated. All the way fucking activated. Attack, attack, attack so he can’t see your hurt. You can’t let him see how your hurt. Fight fire with fire and just deal with the burnt mess later.

“Just you, Sweetheart,” Jaehyun spits back smugly, “but wait… I got you didn’t I? I’ll admit it took a while but here you are, you still decided to stick around. I wonder now… what the fuck makes you think you’re so special if according to you, you’re just one out of the hundreds of girls on campus?” 

The air is sucked out of the room. The tension is so thick that even a knife or a sword wouldn’t be able to cut through it. The room is silent, eerily so. To a random bystander walking by, they might just think this room was empty. Jaehyun didn’t want to say that! Fuck, no! He has never, ever thought of you as just some body to warm his bed. Why the fuck would he say that?! He hated the way that his past made you insecure, though. He hated the way you talked about his past and the way you looked down on him for doing something that didn’t hurt anyone. But you had gone low so he went lower. Now, he feels like he’s actually about to throw up because in the silence of his room he can hear how your breath catches and hear how your heart breaks. 

He’s never seen anyone look so hurt, so fucking destroyed by anything in his life. He feels like a piece of shit. Then there go your tears, making the eyes he loves water and shine like the stars in the sky. Your voice is thick with your tears and with your pain as you force out weak, “Fuck you, Jaehyun.” 

He wishes he could take it all back. He wants to cross the room right now and just hold you against his chest, hold you and kiss you until the only thing you remember about him is how much he cares about you, how strongly he feels for you. He wishes he could time travel. He wishes he had just bitten back his anxiety and said, ‘Yeah, I’d love to meet your friend! Have her come to the party!’ He wishes that instead of acting out of hurt and anxiety that maybe he had just taken the time to think— fucking think about how he was feeling and said something! 

When had you ever made him feel like he couldn’t talk to you?! Never! That was just one of the millions of things he loved liked about you! Fuck, he was so fucking stupid! But he can’t do any of that. It’s like his body is refusing to work with his brain. It’s like he’s watching this whole mess go down from outside his body. He’s watching this shell of himself act in a way he should never ever treat you. He doesn’t even register his mouth moving, but he hears himself say, “Sweetheart, you already have.”

You don’t stop the tears then, you don’t say anything else as you gather your things and try to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. You can’t see anything, just a mess of colors through your tears as you grab your backpack and your phone. You can’t breathe either, it’s like your body is in fight or flight mode. You’ve given all the fight you have left to give and now you need to get the fuck away from here. 

Jaehyun stands as still as a statue, watching how your shaky hands gather everything you brought with you like you’ll die if you don’t get out of here in a minute. He’s screaming at himself to move, to apologize, to say something— anything! He can’t fucking lose you! But he doesn’t and he hates himself for it. The slam of his bedroom door is what seems to snap him out of it. He immediately clutches at his chest, running a hand through his hair as tears of despair fill his eyes. He can’t breathe. “What the fuck did I just do?” He whispers to himself. 

You’re running down the hall, hiccuping as you try to breathe and just get as far away from this hell hole as you can. The house is quiet, as quiet as you’ve ever heard it and you know the guys are home. They heard everything and that fills you with a whole different kind of pain. A pain of anxiety and nerves, knowing that they were all just witnessed to your heart not just being broken but stomped on, that they heard how you were completely eviscerated and treated like some cheap piece of ass, and how they also heard you speak to one of their own in a way that you had ever talked to anybody before.

You stumble down the last steps, watching helplessly as your phone and backpack clutter to the floor as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Just what you needed, perfect. You’re a mess now, on the brink of an anxiety attack as you gather your pens and pencils and back while your mind is on the brink of just shutting down completely. You haven’t felt this helpless in a long time, since you tried to do some hairstyle on yourself as a girl and just couldn’t get it right. But it hurts worse, it hurts so much fucking worse because you know that this is something that is going to stick with you for a long time. 

You want to curl up on the dirty, sticky floor, sob and lay here until Mother Nature does her thing and this is just a memory long forgotten, but you refuse to stay stagnant. Get out, get out, get out.

You cough, hating the way that your own tears are starting to choke you. Why can’t you fucking breathe?! Why isn’t the zipper closing? Why do you have so many god damn pens? Why is your phone so far away? Just— why?

And then there’s another pair of hands. Then two pairs. Then three. One pair of hands gathers the pens, the other zips your bag closed, the other helps you to your feet. And then all hands embrace you. A warm embrace that is just what you need to break down completely. Your tears the soft cotton of Johnny’s favorite t-shirt, Taeyong’s soft and gentle hands use a tissue to soak up your tears, and Haechan hugs your back tightly, knowing that you need the pressure to ground you. You want to be far, far away from this frat house right now, but you don’t want them to leave you alone. 

You can’t tell who’s speaking over your sobs or the racing of your heart in your own ears, but you hear, “you’re alright.”

You hear, “breathe with me.”

You hear your friends, though a by-product of your former not-relationship with Jaehyun, care for you. It’s just what you need. Johnny kisses your forehead in much of the same matter that your mom would when you were younger, Taeyong rubs your back, and Haechan cries with you. 

When your sobs have calmed to sniffles and a steady somewhat stream of tears, you peel yourself off Johnny’s chest with a stuffy apology. You wipe away the tears with shaking hands, “thanks, guys. I should go now, though.”

“I called Ari and Kira, so at least wait until they get here. We don’t want you leaving in this state alone,” Haechan tells you quietly, like he’s afraid that speaking any louder will break you even further. 

You shake your head fervently in response, responding in a broken voice, “I can’t be here any longer.”

Taeyong nods, leading you to the door. For a second you feel your heart break all over again, he’s kicking you out. One of the closest friends you’ve made in the frat is kicking you out. But he answers with a simple, “we can wait outside on the porch then. The fresh air will be good for all of us.”

You sit on the brick steps of the house, taking deep breaths that Johnny guides you through with Haechan’s hand in yours while Taeyong brushes your hair away from your face. You’re thankful for them. Thankful that even though this house has brought you heartbreak, it has also brought you love in all forms. Your backpack is planted beside you, a warm wind breezing against your heated skin. The air is sweet with a breeze all too warm for this point in the year, but your body needs it. 

You hear Ari and Kira before you see them. Ari’s high pitched yell, “where is that bastard?! I’ll kill him!”

Kira hisses out, “shut the fuck up! She doesn’t need this right now!”

Both girls engulf you in a warm hug that has your chest heaving all over again, wanting to just get all the bitter pain out of your body. Ari takes your bag, helping you up to your feet while Kira takes your hand in hers giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

You turn to your fratboy friends, feeling more tears, not because of Jaehyun, but because you know you won’t see them as much. They have loyalties to Jaehyun that you won’t impede on, a literal brotherhood, but you hate that in losing Jaehyun you have also lost your good friends. 

You clear your throat, “Thanks for helping me out, I guess I’ll see you guys around.” Your voice breaks, “I’m going to miss you guys and I'm really sorry about what you heard—”

“Don’t talk like that, Sweets, and don’t apologize. We’re not going anywhere— we’re still your friends. You girls get home safe, we’ll see you,” Taeyong smiles sweetly.

Johnny embraces you one more time, a tight squeeze with a swift peck to your temple, “everything will work itself out, I know it.”

You nod, thanking him in a quiet whisper before accepting a hug from Taeyong. You turn to Haechan, expecting his hug, but he rolls his eyes, “the fuck, Sweets? I’m coming with you girls.”

You wave goodbye to the Nu Chi Theta president and vice president one last time, letting your eyes wander over the exterior of the house you’d been a frequent visitor of for four months. With one last glance and a reluctant glance at the third window on the far right, you leave. 

a/n: feedback would be very, very appreciated! Thank you for reading this far! I don't have an exact date for part 2 so please don't rush, I'm not leaving them off on a bad note! :)

Part 2 here!

[ekkkkey]

there will be games! (chapter V)

A short chapter I wanted to post pretty much right after ch.4, but sadly real life got in the way *sigh*

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex...

warnings: 18+ minors dni, this is dark, noncon, violence, blood, possession, degradation, caracalla is a deranged little freak, geta is mean too

word count: ~1k

chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor's curiosity.»

-Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ☼ ⋆

She waits for someone to summon her. Waits as if for death—though even that would be kinder. There is no life in her, no flicker of the hope she once held. Her husband is most likely dead. She is disgraced.

In a final desperate gesture, Cassandra clasps her cold, trembling hands together in prayer, pleading with the gods. Let them show mercy. Let them grant her freedom, release. Let them protect her family. She forces herself not to think of her father and sisters—dwelling on them would only push her deeper into despair.

But the Gods do not hear her. No. Not this time. Not ever.

The Praetorians seize her by the arms, leading her through the dark, empty halls of the palace. A flicker of shameful relief stirs in her chest—at least, for now, there is no one to witness her disgrace. But she quickly scolds herself. Her trial will be public. The doors will be thrown open for all to see. Anyone who wishes may come and witness the spectacle.

And of one thing, she is certain—Emperor Caracalla will make sure it’s a grand one.

"Caesar," a Praetorian reports curtly, shoving her forward before stepping away.

She knows where she is. These are the emperor’s private quarters—only they could have halls like these. Gold gleams from every surface. Silk, fine fabrics, statues, endless bowls and vases clutter the space. Once, she might have been awed. Now, it means nothing.

Yet, she is slightly surprised when she sees not Caracalla but his brother. He is still dressed only in a robe, barefoot, disheveled. Thoughtfully, even theatrically, he looks out onto the balcony leading to the garden. She remembers, it was from there that Geta witnessed her shame.

"Expected my brother?"

His dark eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he turns to face her, studying the way she trembles before him. His gaze lingers on her tangled hair. Oh, he sees it all. The tear-streaked cheeks. The bruises blooming on her wrists where the Praetorians had held her too tightly.

He leans forward, fingers steepled, his voice dripping with false concern.

"My dear, you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament, haven’t you? Your husband, that foolish man, wanted us killed. And yet, here you are. And he…"

Geta paused meaningfully.

"…and he is dead, little bird."

A hand—someone else’s—lands just below her throat, burning and possessive. It slides up, slow and deliberate, past her neck, wrenching her chin back. Her breath catches. Her eyes lock with his.

So little blue in his gaze. Just black. Endless, hungry black.

Caracalla had crept up silently, unseen, and now held her firmly, not letting her turn away. His hand was hot—hotter than usual.

Then she felt the moisture.

Her eyes flicked downward without moving her head.

And then she screamed.

His hands, pale, soft hands, usually adorned with rings, had chosen a different ornament this time.

Red.

Blood covered his delicate hand up to the wrist, staining her face, her neck, branding her skin with crimson streaks. The scent of iron fills her nostrils, thick and suffocating. Her stomach churns.

"Shh, shh," he whispers. "No one will interrupt us anymore. You’re a widow now—congratulations."

His lips pressed against her neck, right where the blood stains her skin.

"I promise, this night won’t count in court," he adds with a foolish giggle, clearly delighted by her stunned reaction.

She doesn’t want to think about whose blood it is, but deep down, she knows.

"And oh, that’s not all!"

He releases her, and yet she remains still.

"A gift!"

He claps his hands, and a carved chest is brought into the room. She doesn’t want to know what’s inside.

But Caracalla, his face alight with childish joy, flings it open, proudly displaying its contents. The emperor smiles, but his eyes remain cold, watching her eagerly, waiting for her reaction.

In horror, she recoils, her scream tearing through the hall. Her legs give way, and she collapses to the floor, gasping for breath.

Caracalla is pleased.

Without a flicker of disgust, he reaches into the chest, grabs its contents, and tosses them toward her as if they were nothing more than a mere trinket. But it’s not.

A pale, lifeless hand, severed at the wrist, lands on the marble floor before her.

She recognizes it instantly by the ring on its finger. Her husband’s hand.

To seal the horror on her face, Caracalla lifts the severed hand and waves it at her, grinning.

"I wanted to bring the head, but Geta stopped me," he chuckles. "You should thank him."

"Take it away," Geta grimaces, ordering the slaves to remove the chest and the hand.

As a final touch, Caracalla slides the ring off the dead hand and slips it onto his own thumb. His hands are small, nothing like her husband’s—the ring wouldn’t fit any other finger.

Since their time in the throne room, the young emperor has tidied himself up, trading his sheet for a silk golden robe. His hair remains wild and unkempt, but a small gold earring glints in his ear.

How charming that for this meeting, full of horror, fear, and humiliation, he had dressed up for her.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, still staring at the ring—her husband’s ring—the one she placed on his finger on their wedding day. She never imagined it would end like this.

Unconsciously, she reaches for her own ring—the one her husband had given her—only to remember. It is gone.

Geta took it.

Caracalla’s gaze flicks to her fingers, immediately recognizing his brother’s ring.

"Where did you get that?" His smile fades, his eyes darting to the other emperor, noting her golden ring on Geta’s hand.

"I won," Geta drawls smugly. "Won our little bet." He’s clearly pleased with himself, his lips curling into something like a smirk—but his eyes remain narrowed, watching, waiting. He’s wary of his brother’s reaction, she realizes.

In the short time Cassandra has known them, she’s learned that despite his innocent appearance, Caracalla is the one to fear. Geta knows this too—though he holds far more privileges, he doesn’t dare to gloat too openly.

A shiver runs down her spine.

A bet? They were betting? On her?

Caracalla’s expression darkens.

"You’re always like this! You must have cheated, didn’t you?" he snaps, frustration clear in his tone as he shoots a suspicious glance at his brother. But he doesn’t approach Geta. Instead, he moves toward her, still sitting on the floor.

"And you… One disappointment after another. Did you really want to upset me? Have you forgotten who you belong to?"

"Yours…" she whispers, her eyes glued to the ground.

"No, this time you won’t get away so easily." His fingers tighten in her hair, yanking her to her feet. "You’ll remember. You might cheat on that fool of a husband, but not me. Never me!"

"I didn’t…" she begins, her voice breaking, but no one is listening.

He drags her toward the massive bed, shoving her onto the silks and furs. Again? Will he force himself on her again?

Geta watches with interest, tilting his head—just like that time on the balcony. But this time, the emperor stands very close.

Caracalla steps back for a moment, only to return, looming over her, his breath hot against her skin. She trembles so violently that at first, she doesn’t even notice the cold steel pressing against her collarbone.

"Don’t kill her," Geta warns, sitting on the edge of the bed, making no move to intervene. "She has a trial to face, remember?"

"I don’t need your reminders," Caracalla snaps, glaring at his brother before turning his focus back to her, a lazy smile curling on his lips. "You forgot your place, didn’t you? Who do you think you are? You think you can play with my brother?"

The dagger in his hand makes her breath hitch. With a quick, sharp motion, he bares her chest, ripping her clothes apart—but it isn’t lust driving him. Or at least, not only that.

What did her body matter when terror shone so clearly in her eyes?

Her fear excites him far more. She can see it. She can feel it, his hardness pressing against her. The blade slides lightly between her collarbones, and she flinches, trying to twist away.

"Hold her."

And Geta does.

Obediently, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head against the bed. His grip is so tight it makes her want to cry.

Cassandra meets his gaze, searching, pleading—

But the emperor is indifferent. Amused. Cold. He will allow his brother anything.

Mockingly, he brushes his thumb against her cheek, wiping away her tears. Then, just like that, he hands her over to Caracalla's mercy.

Caracalla is pleased, exhilarated. This time, the blade pressed harder, and she felt the sharp sting of pain.

When he moved lower, just above her right breast, she screamed, and his left hand covered her mouth. Geta still held her wrists as Caracalla began to carve intricate symbols into her pale skin with the tip of the dagger.

"I’ll reward you, brand you with your emperor’s name," he whispered, breathing heavily, biting his lower lip. "Now you won’t forget."

She whimpered into his hand, crying, her skin blazing like fire, shame and embarrassment consumed by the burn.

He carves with care, a craftsman at his art, then pulls back, licking his lips, admiring his work. She catches him touching himself beneath the robe, cheeks flushed with feverish red.

"Up—now," he commanded, and Geta yanked her by her numb arms, giving her no time to think, dragging her off the bed and forcing her to her knees.

The spot below her collarbone throbbed, as did her stiff arms, but none of that mattered now. Caracalla was marking her, asserting his claim. No one would save her; she was completely at his mercy. With a low, guttural moan, he reached his peak, using only his hand, never once touching her body. His seed desecrated her face as he gripped her hair tightly. Oh, the young emperor had always been inventive, and this time, he’d found yet another way to break her.

Tear-streaked and branded with his bleeding name, his seed staining her face, she was completely shattered. Geta looked on with disdain, Caracalla with lazy boredom. Yet, he didn’t look away, showing no intention of discarding her like he usually did.

"When’s the trial?" The tip of his tongue traced his red lips, his eyes burning with feverish anticipation.

"Tomorrow morning," his brother replied hoarsely, sounding almost intrigued, a quiet observer of her humiliation.

"Then we have time," Caracalla said, playfully picking up the dagger and running his thumb along its sharp edge. His hands were already stained with her husband’s blood. "The trial tomorrow is for those foolish senators. But yours… yours starts now."

There was no mercy in his voice, no remorse. The gods had already passed their judgment. Cassandra shut her eyes.

⋆ ☼ ⋆

Hey friends, we’re almost at the finish line—the next chapter’s gonna be the last one, and it’s kinda massive! Thanks so much for all your support, I really appreciate it! 🙂‍↕️

[strwberri-milk]

Could you please give headcanons on how LAD men would react if MC is non-jealous? Like they got hit on but MC isn't bothered or phased just stand there n watch the whole thing unfold (you can say Mc is amused at the attempt or smug about it cuz it shows that she had good taste in men) sry if my english is bad

im assuming that this is what youre referring too so ive put them both into one request lol

Zayne doesn't really mind it. He likes that you aren't jealous because he wants to be with someone who's secure in his relationship considering how late his hours are and how he can't be around as often as he would like to be. Knowing that you're more than fine with him focusing on work those days where he really has to focus and can't see you.

He doesn't get hit on too often because of the slightly chilly demeanor he has. People tend to leave him alone, especially with how obvious he makes it that you're dating him by the way he holds you. However, whenever people do try it he's glad that you don't mind it. He doesn't want you to think that he has eyes for anybody but you, even if a very very small part of him his curious to see what your protective side might be like when it comes to him.

When someone starts to insult you is when he starts shutting things down. He's telling them to stop saying things like that because there's no way he'd fall for their weak attempts at manipulation and will honestly start trying to walk away. If you stop minding your own business and start paying attention to him he'll try to guide you away to prevent you from hearing something nasty being said about you.

You gently shush him, smiling to yourself as you listen to the person rant at you. You know that Zayne doesn't want you to draw attention to the two of you so you let them complain before asking them if they think behaving like a child is really how you find a man that's as accomplished and sophisticated as Zayne. You don't really need to say much anyway because they can see how Zayne looks at them with a mild irritation for how they've interrupted your day before simply bidding them a goodbye. They're stuck trying to figure out how to reply to your words, forced to confront their childish actions.

If they decide to continue, following you around and shouting obscenities at you then you simply tell them that they look pathetic begging for him like this and that everybody around you is laughing at them. Public shame is a strong deterrent and they're forced to leave you alone. Zayne doesn't say anything but he does press a soft kiss to your cheek, not wanting to be too affectionate in public with how many eyes are on you but he's also very proud of how you can easily stand your ground.

Xavier likes knowing that he's yours but he also doesn't care too much for giant overt displays. He likes the subtle ways you show your his and he can show others that he's yours. It shows in the subtle way the two of you speak of how intertwined your lives are, just how casual the two of you are with each other. There's this implicit understanding that's shared between the two of you that just makes it seem like you two have been married for thirty years.

He doesn't mind that you aren't jealous over him but he also sometimes wants to see you being possessive over him. He likes seeing how your eyes flash and how you slide yourself next to him. You'll kiss his cheek and smile at him before asking who his new friend is. He typically doesn't entertain conversations with people who aren't you but he's much more subtle about it. People don't notice that he's not checked into the conversation until they suddenly realise he's quiet not because he's listening, but because he's fully just on his phone or started to leave when they looked away from him.

He doesn't get hit on often but when he does it's because people see him as an easy target. They think that he's chill and would be receptive to getting their number when it's totally the opposite. He doesn't even look at people who try to flirt with him, immediately pulling out his phone to text you to come find him faster because people are trying to get his number.

You show up quickly as soon as you hear them telling him how clearly, you don't care about him if you've just abandoned him like that. They're claiming that if you really loved him as much as he says he does then you wouldn't have left him alone like that. They start going on and on as you approach, tapping their shoulder as you gently push them aside to perch yourself on Xavier's lap. He doesn't expect it but he welcomes in anyway, happily returning the soft kiss you give him.

You totally ignore the person flirting with him, rolling your eyes as you tell them that Xavier hates it when people just prattle on and on about nothing like the way they're doing right now. You don't even let them get another word in as you tell him that you're tired and wanna go home now - your day was ruined by them and you didn't feel like staying out anymore.

He likes how you basically just totally shut them down without a second though, standing up with him and taking his hand. The two of you just fully ignore them, heading home as Xavier tells you he likes it when you do things like that.

Rafayel loves being obvious about how much he loves you. He's constantly hit on at parties and generally when he's in an okay mood he won't be as openly hostile about rejecting advances if Thomas begs him not to. He feels bad for the guy sometimes, knowing how difficult he can be to work with but not bad enough to actually be fully nice to everyone at events.

He wishes you were more openly jealous around him, recounting some stories specifically in hopes of getting a rise out of you. He doesn't want to like, actually hurt your feelings but he does want to see you pout and get a little clingy if possible. You know that that's his goal whenever he tells you about another socialite hitting on him and you entertain him by being dramatic in response, Rafayel lightly pouting at how you aren't taking him seriously but he also knows you're doing that because you love him.

When someone is genuinely trying to flirt with him and tells him that you aren't even rich or famous enough to be around him your first response is to just let him deal with it. He's very good at rejecting people but you feel bad when he meets your gaze from across the room, a pleading look on his face as he tries to convince you to come and rescue him. You decide to take pity on him and head over, trying to tell the socialite to back off. They just start to get in your face, telling you that you have no business acting the way you do, going off on you.

You just sigh and tell them that it doesn't matter how much they beg Rafayel doesn't like them and has personally told you himself how much he can't stand these parties because of people like them. You make it quite pointed that Rafayel hates these events and that if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here especially with them. Rafayel doesn't even need to say anything as he just stands behind you, arms around your waist as he just nods in agreement with your words, giving you a kiss as the other person finally gives up and fully leaves the party, embarrassed as everybody started staring at the argument that the two of you were having. The confident demeanor you have while Rafayel drapes himself off of you has everyone chuckling to themselves at how shameless the other party is, unfortunately staining their reputation as someone desperate to climb the social ladder.

Rafayel basks in the attention you showered him in and how hot he thinks it is that you made it so obvious you're his. You never left his side for the rest of the evening and he had fun introducing you to literally everyone. He'll ask you to do it more often if you can, totally obsessed with how you handled the situation so easily.

Sylus is pretty okay about the fact that you don't show any jealousy when he's flirted with. People are usually too scared of him to flirt with him anyway. Internally though, he also does want to see how you'd react when jealous. He doesn't do anything to trigger it but clearly, he doesn't really have to. Sometimes, he might make light jokes about how you don't get jealous because you know he has nothing on his mind but you. You don't have the heart to admit the fact that you know he's obsessed with you, but you also love knowing that he is. He makes it so obvious but he isn't even aware of how obvious he is about loving you, constantly spoiling you in every way.

He doesn't often attend events but he had to this one time, leading to people falling all over themselves to try and get his attention. You know that he can take care of himself but you also can't help the possessive streak that you feel at someone trying to take away something that's yours. He was having the time of his life /s avoiding everyone or making snide remarks as people try to steal his attention from you. You were trying to socialise with some people on his behalf, wanting to be friendly when you saw just how crowded he was with people trying to flirt with him.

His eyes follow you as you come to him, beginning to tell people off for acting so desperate around him. You remind them that Sylus chooses only the best and unfortunately for them, that so happens to be you. He doesn't say anything to you as you continue to tell people off, watching you with amusement in his eyes. You don't even feel his gaze as people weakly try to retaliate against your points, leading to you proving how wrapped around your finger you have him. He barely registers what's happening until he's delivering a plate of food to you, gazing at you with a soft expression that nobody's ever seen on him before. It makes it pretty clear that he won't ever see anybody that isn't you and shuts them up - if their egos aren't already decimated by how crude you were in calling out the desperate behaviour.

He'll tell you later as the two of you are getting ready for bed how flattered he was to have all of your attention on reminding people how much you love him. That overt display of affection is one he wants, obsessed with being shown in definitive ways just how much you love him.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

🧠 THE MANNEQUIN WITH POWERS — Why Character Comes Before Plot or Die in the Void A Blacksite Literature™ Transmission (If your protagonist couldn’t grip a reader’s soul in a blank room, you already failed.)

I. THE VOID YOU'RE WRITING INTO

Let’s get this out of the way first:

If your character can’t speak ��� not literally, but viscerally — to the reader’s insides without the crutch of explosions, lore dumps, or a “cool” outfit…

You are not writing a character. You’re dressing a mannequin. And no one gives a fuck what a mannequin does.

II. IF THEY FEEL NOTHING, YOU BUILT NOTHING

Who cares what city’s under attack? Who cares if they’re the Chosen One? Who cares about your twist, your map, your seven-act structure?

If the protagonist you’ve built:

Has no secret

Carries no weight

Evokes no response from a quiet, tired reader on a Tuesday night—

Then you wrote into the void.

Your reader wasn’t “dumb” or “impatient.” They felt nothing. And they left.

III. THE LIE OF “PLOT FIRST”

You’ve been sold a lie:

“Just make the story exciting and the characters will follow.”

No. Never. Backwards.

Character always precedes plot. Character is the plot.

Because if I don’t care who it’s happening to — Then nothing happening will ever matter.

A reader can forgive:

A slow start

A clunky scene

A cliché trope

But they will never forgive the crime of hollow company.

You gave them someone to follow —

And that someone had no soul.

IV. THE MANNEQUIN WITH POWERS

Let’s define the threat.

The Mannequin:

Has abilities

Has trauma

Has a goal

Has quips

Has a backstory

But no voice.

No contradiction. No shame. No private thing they would die to protect, not because it’s powerful — but because it’s theirs.

This mannequin does things. Big things. High stakes.

And no one cares. Because nothing human is bleeding through the plastic.

V. ESCAPISM ISN’T A LICENSE TO LIE

Yes, readers want to escape. But not from humanity.

They want to escape into:

A place where flawed people matter.

A place where pain has context, not just screen time.

A place where characters don’t just “get better” — they get known.

Escape into fantasy all you want. But if you’re escaping the imperfections of the human condition, then you’re not writing fantasy. You’re writing propaganda for emotional disconnection.

And your reader knows it. Even if they don’t say it. Even if they reblog it. Even if they finish it.

They know.

VI. THE SECRET THEY DON’T BRAG ABOUT

Let me give you the fix.

Give your character one thing:

A secret they don’t brag about.

Something they hide not because it’s cool — but because it’s raw, vulnerable, humiliating, or sacred.

Examples:

She used to believe in God, and now she can’t even say “grace” over her food.

He kept a voicemail from his brother the day before he overdosed.

She has two daughters, and hasn’t seen them since the custody ruling.

He talks shit to villains but goes home and reads old love letters he never responded to.

Do not announce it. Do not reward it. Do not let them monologue it.

Let it live. Quietly. And watch your readers form emotional attachments like animals recognizing kin.

VII. PLOT WILL NEVER SAVE YOU

You can worldbuild forever. You can twist the timelines, deepen the lore, expand the pantheon.

But if your central figure could be replaced by anyone and the story still works?

You didn’t build a character. You built scenery in a cape.

Plot is what happens.

Character is who we blame, who we mourn, who we root for in spite of ourselves.

And if you skip that? You skip the anchor. You leave your reader floating — no matter how pretty the setting is.

VIII. THE READER DOESN’T OWE YOU A DAMN THING

Let’s be brutally honest:

Your reader doesn’t care how much time you spent.

They don’t care how much of your soul you “poured in.” They don’t care how important your themes are.

If they can’t connect to a being — not a puppet — then they leave.

Because they’re not in your head. They’re alone. Reading. Tired. Wanting to feel something.

And if your protagonist doesn’t show up with emotional currency in hand?

They’re gone.

IX. THE ONLY TEST THAT MATTERS

Write this down:

If your main character was in a blank white room for five pages — with no plot, no action, no powers — would I want to hear what they think?

If the answer is no?

Start over.

Not from page one. From soul one. You didn’t give them a person. You gave them a vessel to carry your story — and no one wants to be ferried by a stranger.

X. THE REALITY YOU’RE TOO SCARED TO ADMIT

You’re not scared of writing bad plots.

You’re scared of putting real, flawed, mirrored, shameful, holy you into your character — because if it fails, it’ll feel like you failed.

So you keep them clean. You keep them plastic. You keep them “relatable” in all the ways that mean nothing.

But the only thing that ever makes a reader stay?

Is the feeling that this character was carved from a place they weren’t supposed to see.

That’s what creates emotional loyalty. That’s what earns tears. That’s what builds cult followings, not just fandoms.

XI. SO FIX IT.

Kill the mannequin.

Bury the empty badass. Silence the sarcastic automaton. Throw the trauma plot in the fire.

Build a person. A person with shame. A person with weight. A person who reminds the reader of a truth they’ve never told anyone.

Then throw that person into your plot.

And watch the story ignite.

XII. CONCLUSION: YOU'RE NOT WRITING STORIES. YOU'RE WRITING PEOPLE.

You think you’re writing entertainment. You think you’re building scenes. You think you’re plotting arcs.

But you’re not.

You’re introducing human souls to strangers. And the ones who do it well? They become immortal.

Every good story is just a person you didn’t want to say goodbye to.

If you don’t have that?

Then what the fuck are we doing here. </div>

📌 If this made your spine straighten mid-sentence — reblog it. 🧠 If it exposed a hollow character you once thought was “done” — save it. ✍️ If it reminded you why we write at all — read it again.

And if it hurt? That means it’s time to start over.

Bonus:

🧠 FREE WRITING LESSON — THE MOST POWERFUL CHARACTER DEPTH TRICK YOU’LL EVER READ.

[juletheghoul]

father figure IV

a/n: I know we’re all in our Joel feels, but Clint has me by the throat so 🤷🏻‍♀️ Hope you guys enjoy the drama! 💕xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, Clint's POV, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence (Clint's knuckles getting a pretty gnarly infection--medical talk), allusions to the daddy kink, not so secret relationship, **angst** Hurt/comfort, period piece - takes place in 1987, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 4.7k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

---

He’s really fucked it up this time. 

His hand aches, sharp and deep–that shithead's tooth had broken off in his knuckle. Serves him right for speaking to her like that. Clint shakes his head, angry all over again only this time it’s coloured with shame. A bone-deep embarrassment that he’d let his anger get the better of him. The fear in her face is burned into his retinas. He sees it every time he blinks, hears her choking sobs as she pushed him out her door. 

His apartment is quiet, too quiet. His ears ring with the finality of it.

Louis meows as he moves towards the bathroom, the motion of grabbing his first aid kit from under the sink is practiced, too practiced but it is what it is. It’s not the first time he’s had to patch himself up. He fucking hates that he knows it won’t be the last. 

He wishes she was here, he wishes so badly that she was the one tending to him, gently washing his hand with that pretty smile on her face. He sighs again, how could he be so fucking stupid?

He bites his cheek, the sting is nothing new but it still fucking hurts. He curses loudly when he finally gets it out, the broken chunk of tooth falls into the sink, goes down the drain in a swirl of red. He wonders idly what she’s thinking at that very moment, how angry and hurt and disgusted… how terrified she must be of him. The shame burns through him much hotter than the anger. 

The shower steams while he strips, he does his best to keep his hand out of the spray, and his mind off of her skin but he fails at both. There’s none of that softness that overflows in him for her left for himself. He scrubs himself raw, replays the incident over and over again and the frustration almost makes him laugh. How quickly it all went to shit, how quickly he ruined his chances with her, and if by some miracle he hadn’t–it's clear to him that this whole thing was a mistake. 

He settles into his bed, hand bandaged and aching but the pain falls short compared to the stab of regret at smelling her within his sheets. 

He dreams about her, and when he wakes with the taste of her still fresh on his tongue, he doesn’t know if it’s better, or worse.

-

He picks up the phone at least a dozen times before noon. It’s a compulsion, her phone number itching in the tip of his finger, begging to be dialed but he stops himself. He shouldn’t call. He should just cut his losses, hope he didn’t do any long term damage to her confidence. 

He barely tastes the food he made, barely feels the wind whipping around his balcony while he smokes. The ache in his bruised, swollen knuckles makes him wince whenever he flexes but it’s become a grounding point, self-flagellation. His mother would laugh at that—she’d been Catholic while she was alive. He wishes they could have met. 

He shakes his head, crushes out the cigarette, crushes out that train of thought and heads back in to stew some more. 

Louis knows there’s something wrong, his meows sound almost comforting, his purrs seem extra loud. The cat plops onto his lap, a rare yet welcome occurrence. 

“I know buddy, I miss her too.” 

-

The phone rings on the third day out, he rushes out of the shower but doesn’t make it in time. Her voice comes through and it freezes the air in his lungs like a snowstorm.

“Clint? Clint what is happening? I expected you to be here, I expected to see you waiting for me after my shift, or call me or I don’t know, show up and talk to me about this? Aren’t you going to apologize? My dads fine by the way—not that you’ve bothered to ask about that either, and spare me the rationale behind this whole thing, I’m not expecting you to apologize to him but I was expecting my boyfriend to be here, to maybe not leave me stuck with paying for the ER visit. Call me, come see me, anything, and give Louis some love for me. Bye.”

There’s a bruise in his chest, something in his bones at the sound of her voice. There’s an anger there that he cannot blame her for, competing with disappointment. He wanted to go, but it wasn’t a good idea. He knew this, or at least, he kept trying to remind himself. It was doomed from the start, he wasn’t the one for her. She would move on, she would find someone closer to her age, someone appropriate. The thought of some young dumbass all over her makes his skin crawl. 

He flexes his knuckles, focuses on the pain, leaves the phone on the hook and goes to get dressed. 

The phone rings again a few hours later, this time he lets the machine get it on purpose. 

“Clint—This isn’t funny anymore. What is happening? Can you please just call me back? I’m getting really annoyed now—I’m about to leave for my shift, I finish at nine-thirty, can you please pick me up so we can talk about this? Bye.” 

He sighs, flexing his hand again. It’s going to scar with the way he keeps breaking the skin open but it helps. It takes the hand of god for him not to rush over to the video store, to catch her before she walks in and beg her to forgive him. Deep down he knows he won’t though. He has to let her go, let her forget him.

His skin prickles with a nervous edge as the evening progresses, makes him pace and smoke and eventually he can’t take it anymore. With an angry grunt he storms out, gets on his bike and rides way too fast. It helps with the adrenaline, but it fucks up his knuckles even more. The skin of his hand is red and he knows he should have someone take a look. 

By the time he gets home his whole body hurts, the tightness in his muscles, the pain of the injury,

The machine is beeping and he already knows. The time on his watch says 11:21pm.

“So it was all bullshit then. Everything you said to me, about your feelings, about wanting me in your life. Partner, boyfriend…none of it was real…are you in the fucking hospital? Are you okay? Why are you ignoring me? How could you be so sweet, and then pretend I don’t exist? I cannot be invisible to you, Clint, please—please talk to me.”

Her words cut him deeper than her dads tooth, deeper than the knife that had scarred his face. He should eat, but he can’t. He feeds the cat, turns off the lights and gets into bed. 

-

The phone rings again a couple of days later, and the temptation is almost irresistible. He can hear the tears, hear the heartache he’s caused with his actions, with his silence. He hates himself. 

Her anger has swelled, fed and watered by her tears, by his abandonment of her. She asks what she did wrong, she asks why he won’t speak to her, if he’d even deign to answer the door if she came to his apartment and he wonders what he’d do if it came to that. Could he stand to hear the buzzing and do nothing? He hopes she won’t test him like that. He hopes she will. 

He disconnects the phone, he unplugs his answering machine. He sits with the silence, sits in his own cowardice while his knuckles get worse. He focuses on reorganizing his things, curses to himself when he finds the tapes he hasn’t returned. The girl on the cover��her doppelganger stares at him, the smile that had caught his attention because of their resemblance was now a taunt, accusatory and angry. He cannot return them now, she might be there. 

Thursday, he thinks. He’ll go on her day off, stop by the clinic on the way to get his hand checked out, pick up some meds and look for work. 

-

Thursday comes, and the clinic is rammed. There’s a mother rocking a sick child, an older couple sitting together. There are a few teenage girls all huddled together, he can vaguely hear them rehearsing their lines, how to ask for birth control, how to ask to get tested without raising the alarm. 

Clint remembers his introduction to puberty. It hadn’t been a slow bloom for him, it hadn’t been gentle, nothing in his life had. It had been violent, splinters in his bones and fitful sleep, beatings from his dad from how much he’d needed to eat. The hunger had gotten him in so much trouble, and had cost his mother more than money. 

“Clint Flood–” The nurse calls him, and he rises, leaves the painful memories behind and follows her into the examination room. 

“Doctor will be with you shortly.” He nods at her, sits in silence when she closes the door behind her. Diplomas line the walls, certificates too. Alongside those same boring watercolours and inspirational posters that seem to live in every doctor's office. There’s a comfort in getting lost in that landscape, safe, quiet, empty. 

It startles Clint a bit when the doctor opens the door with what he knows is his chart clutched in the man's hands. He can only imagine the laundry list of injuries in there. 

“What seems to be the problem Mr. Flood?” The doctor sits, smiling benignly. 

“My hand–” He pulls the bandage away, hissing at the pain. The gasp the doctor lets out doesn’t inspire confidence. 

“May I?” Competent, yet delicate hands reach for him and he nods. The doctor frowns, reaches for the glasses in his shirt pocket to see the injury clearer. 

“This looks nasty, I’m imagining it hurts very much.” 

“You aren’t kidding.” Clint huffs out a breath, clenching his jaw while the man squeezes his hand a tad. 

“Can you tell me what happened? Is this an animal bite?” 

“No, it was… an altercation. I pulled a piece of tooth out of it a few days ago.” The doctor's eyebrows raise into his receding hairline. 

“A human mouth did this?” He lets it go, moving back to grab some gloves as well as a syringe and a vial from a cabinet. 

“Yes. I got into a fight.” 

“I am terrified to imagine what the other guy looks like. Well, the human mouth is a nasty cesspit. Not surprised at how infected it is. I do wish you would have come in sooner, could have avoided this.” He fills the syringe with a clear fluid. 

“Is it really bad?” Clint knows it is, the shooting pains, the swollen, purple-red skin tells him it is. 

“It’s not good. I’m going to give you a shot, and then start you on a course of pretty aggressive antibiotics. Just to clear it all up. Luckily it looks like it didn’t hit a bone or a nerve or it would be really bad.” He gives Clint no warning, and injects a few different points of his hand. He grits his teeth because it fucking sucks. 

“Okay, that should help with the swelling and the pain, and then I’m going to prescribe some pills, please don’t skip any doses, and come back if it gets worse. If you see the skin turning black, or the redness spreading then go straight to the hospital.” The used needle goes into the yellow sharps container, his hand gets flushed with some saline, and then a fresh bandage wraps the whole thing up. 

“There we go, all taken care of. I’ll give you some more gauze–”

“I have some at home, got a first aid kit.” Clint rises, the doctor nods. With a quick unreadable scribble he’s free to go with his prescription. 

-

The video store is empty of customers, but his stomach drops when their eyes lock. She looks upset, she looks like she hasn’t slept, she looks like she hasn’t stopped crying and instantly his heart cracks in half at how her eyes water. 

“I’m sorry–” He tries to back away, but her eyes harden and he’s stuck in his spot.

“You’re sorry?” 

He takes a slight step back, cowering under her gaze. 

“So you thought to come and return your fucking tapes when you thought I’d be off? Is that it? Are you such a fucking coward Clint?” She isn’t yelling but he almost wishes she was. Her every word is an icicle, and it’s so much worse. 

“No, I–I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s better this way.” He clenches his jaw, flexes his hand and winces. 

“Better? For who?” She scoffs, fire blazing in her expression–he sees her on that first night, that same anger she’d directed at her father for the heat having been shut off. Even now, with her ire so accurately directed at him, he cannot help but want her. He cannot help his need to comfort and protect her, even if that meant from himself.

Her boss clears his throat, they’re causing a scene for the couple of customers milling about the place. 

She catches him off guard when she pulls him by the sleeve. He is helpless, a lamb being led away for slaughter. He sighs to himself when she shoves him into the backroom. 

“What the fuck is your problem? What did I do wrong?” She still doesn’t scream. 

“Nothing! You did nothing.” He takes a deep breath, lets out a deep sigh. 

“I’m the one who ruined this. I forgot myself, I forgot that I’m not the man for you, I’m a mess and angry and violent and you don’t deserve that–”

“Oh please, I know exactly who you are and I’m not afraid of you.” She crosses her arms, annoyed scowl firmly in place. 

“I scared you the other night, I could have killed your dad–probably would have if you hadn’t pulled me away.”

“I’m not happy you did that, at least; I shouldn’t be because despite him being a piece of shit, despite him deserving it I don’t want anyone to get hurt. That being said, what I deserve is for you to fucking face me like a man.” 

He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing and repeats all the reasons he’s come up with for why he should end things now. She sighs, he can see the mental cogs turning, that tentative reign she has on her patience.

“What I deserve is for you to let me make the choice of whether I want you in my life or not. What I deserve is an apology and some grovelling. I want the person I care about back. Where’s he?”

She searches his face for a glimpse of who he’s been with her and he’s there, on the surface, it’s in him to beg for her forgiveness but he has to think about the consequences. Her age, his past, his damage.

“You deserve better—“ He tries to soften himself, make her understand but she lets out an angry, guttural sound.

“Stop that! I’m not a fucking child! Just because I call you daddy when you fuck me doesn’t mean you get to make decisions for me. It doesn’t mean you know better.” It burns clean through him, that authority she’s trusted him with, all of the intimacy she’s given him, the trust; his resolve crumbles for a moment.

“Clint, why did you say all those things? Why did you want me only to throw me away? Please don’t do this—please don’t leave me behind.” Her eyes shine now, fat, shiny tears collect in her lashes, she blinks them away and they fall down her pretty face. He’s cracking in two, his heart aches, words fail him.

“Apologize, beg me to come back. I’ll do it, I’ll follow you—I just need to know you’re sorry, that you want me—“ She moves towards him and it’s an agony not to gather her up in his arms. Her delicate fingers touch his face, cup his cheeks, trace the scar. He wants to talk some sense into her. He wants to take her home and fuck her raw. He wants to cry into the soft skin of her neck. 

“What if you hate me for it?” He asks her. He’s terrified to know, he’s dying to know.

“I know who you are, I know what you’ve done, let me make the decision.”

He sighs, presses his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, breathes in the ghost of the smell that’s faded from his sheets.

—

The early shift is done a few hours after the confrontation, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s disappeared again but he’s there; parked right in front of the store, eyes already on you. You almost smile, the joy of him being there is almost enough to forgive the glaring absence of him. Almost.

He’s out and opening the door for you before you’ve made it to the car, you do smile then. A hot, sweet coffee is pressed into your hands, a small wordless apology. It’s not enough, you know it, he knows it, but it’s definitely a start. 

“Where are we going?” 

“To my place. I made dinner.” Tentatively, he takes your hand in his bandaged one. You’d noticed it back at the store, but you were too mad to ask him about it then. 

“Is it bad? Your hand?” You touch the thick gauze, devastated to imagine that he might be hurting.

“No.” He frowns, a lie.

“Tell me the truth.” He looks over at you for a moment when you stop at a red light. 

“Yes, the doctor patched me up though.” He kisses your hand, and you want to cry. It feels like you’ve been apart for months, it feels like he’s shut you out of so much. The hospital had been so fucking busy on that night, and you’d had to take your father alone, you’d had to listen to his bullshit for hours. He should have been there with you, he should have turned right around and come back, helped and taken you away. 

You say nothing, but let him hold your hand anyway. There’s a tension that fills the car, building, swelling, heightening your anger and your hurt and your grief–grief? It is grief isn’t it? Mourning the death of something. Maybe not an actual death, but for a week he’d let you think what you had together–what you have together–had died. Being stuck in that house with your dad, being stuck in that suffocating silence, that colossal loneliness had been almost too much to bear.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is tense, everything is. 

Louis chirps happily when you walk in, winding through your legs, pawing at them to be picked up. His purrs are so loud, so soothing. 

“You want to eat now? Or in a little bit?” Clint takes your things, hangs them up while you reacquaint yourself with Louis.

“After.” You walk past him, settle onto the couch and cuddle the cat for a few more minutes, until he gets tired of it and jumps out of your lap. 

It’s so hard not to crawl onto Clint's lap when he sits beside you. It’s so fucking difficult not to just break down and cry into his neck, beg him never to leave you again but you cannot do that, you cannot bypass this whole thing. He runs his uninjured hand through his hair, fidgets with his bandage before finally looking you square in the eye. 

“I’m sorry.” He lets it out like a breath he’s been holding. You let him continue.

“I lost control of myself, I got so fucking mad that he said those things to you, that he thought it was his right to hurt you like that.” His head dips, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I know you know what I do, what I am…but I also know you definitely didn’t sign up for that and I’m sorry but I need you to know that I would never hurt you.” You frown, but he shakes his head, continuing on. “Baby, you have to believe me, I would never hurt you. I have never hit a woman in my life, I have never–would never do anything like that.”  

You scoff. He doesn’t even know why you’re angry, he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

“I know that.” You sigh, eyes flitting around his apartment. Annoyingly, the peace is still there, it’s still infused throughout every inch of the place. Clint shakes his head, continues on.

“I saw the look on your face. I saw how scared you were, I saw the tears. I can’t imagine what you thought about me in that moment.” He clenches his eyes, no doubt reliving the moment, no doubt seeing the expression you’d worn. 

“Yes, you saw it, but you clearly have no idea what I was thinking, and you clearly didn’t listen to any of my messages. You imagined that I saw you give my asshole dad a beat down he deserved and that I automatically thought you’d turn around and knock my tooth out next.” The tone is much more cruel than you mean it to be. 

“I did listen, how much I hurt you–”

“You heard me asking for you to speak to me, to not leave me behind. Clint I’m not angry that you punched my dad, I’m angry that you fucking abandoned me.” The tears are there again but you blink them away. 

“All my life I’ve been abandoned. My mom didn’t want me, my dad doesn’t give a shit about me unless I’m making money and–” your voice breaks and you stop, take a deep breath, gather your thoughts under his gaze, “and right after telling me that you want me in your life, that you’re my partner or boyfriend or whatever the fuck, you left me high and dry.” His eyes widen and you know he gets it.

“I like you Clint, I love being with you, I love how you make me feel and how you treat me but I can’t live in fear that you’ll leave me too.” The tears fall for real now, all that silence, all those unanswered phone calls, that glaring absence of him waiting for you after a shift, the uncertainty catches up. 

He pulls you to him and you fall apart. That smell you’ve fucking ached for in the crook of his neck makes you cry even harder. 

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry.” His arms wrap around you so tight you can barely breathe but it feels like warmth after a blizzard, like a blazing fire in a frozen wasteland. “I want you with me, I want you here–move in with me.” He presses kisses to your tear-stained face, the suggestion pulls a laugh out of you. A watery smile, blubbering laughter.

“I’m serious, come and live here with me.” You can see the sincerity in his expression, his eyes water a bit too. You smile, trace the scar and don’t respond. Your thumbs caress his cheeks, one hand moves to comb his hair back. 

“It was torture not to pick the phone when you called, it was torture not to go and see you at the store.” He presses his face into your neck, breathes you in deep. “Forgive me.”

You don’t say anything, there’s nothing to say. You already know he means it, you already know there’s no way you’re saying goodbye.

You pull his face up and press your lips to his, soft and sweet.

-

Dinner is good, but you can’t eat much. All of the stress has put a huge weight in your stomach and despite feeling a bit lighter, it’s difficult to just let it go.

He doesn't eat much either. The both of you just sort of dance around each other, tidying up and putting most of the food away. You wash dishes despite his objections, you suspect his injured hand is the only reason he lets you continue. 

The TV plays once the kitchen is spotless and the silence turns into a tight embrace on the sofa. You soak in the shape of one another, relearn his skin, like braille. Silent, comfortable, slow. His kisses are full of apologies, the purest form of begging, and it doesn’t end, until eventually you have to leave. Tomorrow's shift is early, and you have none of your things. 

He doesn’t argue, simply grabs his keys and together you walk to his car. 

Your dad scoffs when you walk through the door, but it’s tempered with a healthy, valid fear of the man that walks behind you. You almost want to laugh at how pathetic he looks. His face is still swollen and his front tooth is cracked in half. There’s a freedom in what little respect you have for him now, he’s never been the father you deserve, and he’s taken every single opportunity to prove to you that he never will be. 

“Got a lot of nerve coming into my house again.” Your dad speaks directly to Clint, who only sighs in his direction. 

“Enough, dad. He’s leaving now.” You hang your purse, roll your eyes. 

“No, you’re leaving now.” He raises his voice, “I’ll not accept some–” Clint raises his eyebrows, almost daring your dad to continue but he rethinks things, takes a deep breath. 

“You’re an adult, go live your life. Not in my house.” He crosses his arms, a petulant, ungrateful child. You want to argue with him, you want to remind him just how much of your money has gone into his house. How you paid the mortgage with your savings for almost six months when he lost his job. How you used the last little bit when he fucked around last year, how you’re the one who usually keeps the fridge stocked and the house clean. 

“Baby, let’s go pack your things.” Clint's hand lands softly onto your shoulder, and all at once all of the fight goes out of you. There is no point in arguing. With a tired, defeated sigh you let him lead you up the stairs. 

Silently, you pull your big suitcase out from under your bed and begin to empty your drawers. Clint opens your closet, asks softly what you’d like to take with you. The suitcase fills up, your duffel too. A plastic bin is filled with everything you can fit from your bathroom. The books, the movies, everything that isn’t essential will have to stay behind until you can come back. 

Clint grabs your bin in one hand, rolls your suitcase behind him and tosses your duffel over his shoulder. He ignores your attempts to help and tells you to grab whatever else you need. An old teddy bear, your favourite pillow and your walkman make their way down in your arms. 

You grab your jacket, your purse, and the sweatshirt hanging on the back of the sofa. 

Your dad mumbles something about cleaning out the room but Clint is there, stepping close enough that you can see sweat beading on your dads face. 

“We’ll be back to empty the rest of her things tomorrow night. God help you if you touch a single fucking thing in that room. You understand me?” His voice is soft, almost bedroom-low. It sends a shiver up your spine. He turns after making his point, and guides you softly, but firmly out the door. 

-

He puts your things in his bedroom, and instantly goes to work clearing space for you in his closet. There’s a numbness in your movements, a finality to the whole thing. The rollercoaster has finally stopped, but your stomach is teetering between relief and a debilitating nausea. 

You hang your things in the space he’s made, separate your clothes into different piles, smile when he clears out a few drawers in his dresser. 

“We’ll get another one this week, one just for you. We can get some shelves for your books, and whatever else you want to make it feel more like home.” He sits on the bed, pulls the rest of your things out of the suitcase to fold and organize. You smile, but stay quiet. It’s too much for one day, all catching up at once, you’re exhausted. He sees right through it. 

“Baby, I’m sorry.” He pulls you into his orbit, presses his face into your belly. Your hands thread through his hair. 

“I know.” 

---

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[moonstruckme]

Heyyyy so i was hoping maybe you could write some james or poly marauders x fem reader with really intense ocd and compulsions? Ive just been struggling lately and i feel like the boys might help. If not its totally fine i understand certain things are hard to write! Youre doing great! Much love 🩷

Hi, thank you for requesting angel!

cw: depictions of ocd, specifically hand washing compulsions and obsessive thoughts/seeking reassurance, I know ocd is different for every person and I'm not sure what constitutes "intense" for you or anyone else but I based this on some of the experiences of someone I know with ocd so I hope it's alright <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

“You’re getting hands like an old woman’s,” Sirius chides, taking his time as he smooths lotion into the crevices of your palm and the spaces between your fingers. You’re facing each other on the couch, your legs crossed underneath you while Remus reads in the armchair beside. “You’re going to be looking like my old bird soon.”

“Mean,” you murmur teasingly, doing your best to ignore the growing anxiety in your chest. 

“I’ve never said I didn’t like older women,” he hums. You laugh, and Sirius grins, his goal achieved. “You’re still gorgeous, all of you.” 

You want to be flattered, but your heart twinges in distress when he lifts your moisturized fingers to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. 

“What?” Sirius asks, though you can tell by his face that he has a sense of what you’re thinking—that you know, you know, you’ve only just washed your hands, but you’re terrified now he’s going to catch something because of you. “I can kiss my girl, can’t I?” He keeps his voice light, but his eyes are soft. “Can I?”

You nod, shoving the worst of your worries down as Sirius leans closer. He presses a pillowy soft kiss to your lips. 

“Everything’s just fine,” he murmurs. “I love you, you know that?” 

You try to let your thoughts go all soft and melty, but they keep solidifying, crystal clear and insistent and at the very front of your consciousness. 

“I love you, too,” you tell him. “Um, Sirius?” 

“Yeah, sweetness.” 

“Did you wash your hands when you came home yesterday?” 

Sirius hesitates. 

You hear a quiet rustling, and look over to see Remus lowering his book. “Dove,” he says, “we agreed we’d only tell you the first time you asked. Sirius already answered your question yesterday.” 

“I know.” You look down at your hands. “Sorry, I’m just not sure if I’m remembering it right. You did, right?” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Remus says gently, again avoiding giving you an answer. “We just don’t want to make things worse for you.” 

You push out a breath. “Yeah. I’m sorry,” you tell Sirius, “I trust you.” 

The tension melts from his expression. He tsks at you, bumping your knee with his. “Would you stop that? What’d he just say?” Your lips give a little tug, and Sirius gives you a soft look. “I know you do, gorgeous. It’s not really you talking, is it?” 

He means your disorder. Sirius likes to talk about it the same way he talks about Remus’ pain, as though they’re things separate from you that just like to loiter around and bully his loved ones. It’s comforting, knowing he never holds your compulsions against you because he doesn’t think of them as you at all. You try to give him a better smile, but Sirius sees right through it. Gray eyes narrow on yours. 

“What is it?” 

“I feel like I need to wash them again,” you confess. 

He frowns, lips pulling to one side. “You don’t, though, baby.” 

“I know,” you say, agonized. 

“Try not to, okay?” 

“It’s hurting you to do it so often, sweetheart,” Remus reasons. “Don’t your hands feel raw?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. But the feeling of griminess is worse. You tuck your lip between your teeth, face hot with emotion and shame. 

“Take a breath.” Remus’ voice is soothing. “We’re all okay, aren’t we? Everything’s going to be fine.” 

“How do you know?” you ask, your frustration with yourself spilling over into frustration with your boyfriends. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ tone isn’t chastising but imploring. He smooths his hands over yours, and you manage not to pull them away for fear of contaminating him. “What if we have a hug instead, yeah?” 

You take the offer, feeling conflicted and all wrong but desperate for comfort. You’re extremely conscious of his hands where they come to rest on your lower and mid back and yours so near his face where your arms are wrapped around his neck, but Sirius somehow knows what you need, squeezing you tight until the worst of your worries squish out of you. They’re eclipsed by the feeling of being cared for.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know this is hard for you, but we’re only trying to help. You know we love you, right?” 

You breathe out. “Yeah.��� 

Sirius gives you a little squeeze, teasing now. “You sure? It doesn’t feel like you do. Remus, do you think she gets it?” 

“I think she might know that we love her,” Remus says placidly, turning his page, “but likely not how much.” 

“Mm. Hear that?” One hand sneaks to your side, and the next squeeze makes you gasp out a laugh, ticklish. “You don’t get it.” 

“No, I do! I do!” 

“S’not your fault, dove.” Remus is watching you from the corner of his eye, smiling faintly. “It’s more love than most people could conceptualize.” 

“Oh.” You’re giggling now. “So you guys are just extra special? I love you way more than—ah!”

“Cruel, unfounded claims,” Sirius accuses, digging his clever fingers into your side. 

You reach for his hand, but you’re too weak with laughter to wrestle it away. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Couldn’t let you finish,” he says simply. “Sounded like the beginnings of blasphemy.” 

“Good lord,” says James. You didn’t hear him come in, but he’s sweaty and breathing hard from having just finished his run. “By the screaming coming from in here I thought we were under attack.” 

“What would you have done if we were?” Remus asks curiously. 

“Well, I…I was running in here to see what happened. I’d have fought them off, I suppose.” 

Remus smiles down at his book, and Sirius pats James’ midsection fondly. “Good thing it’s never come to that, darling.” 

James stares at him. “And how am I meant to take that?” 

“I think you’d do very well in a fight, Jamie,” you say, taking the opportunity to slip out of Sirius’ grasp. 

James turns to you, a smile spreading over his face. “I think so, too. Thanks, lovie.” He bends towards you. You think to take his face in your hands, but remember your fears at the last second, bringing them down to your sides. If any of the boys notice, they don’t mention. 

“Have they victimized you, my lovely girl?” James asks between kisses. “No one’s ever as nice to you when I’m gone, are they?” 

“I resent that.” Sirius pokes your side, making you giggle and bend away from him. “Ever thought that maybe she likes when I’m not nice to her?” 

“Not really, no,” says James, flopping down onto the couch. 

You’re holding your hands away from you, hesitant to touch the couch or your skin or anything until you feel like they’re clean. Sirius really had managed to distract you for a while, but now your anxiety is back in full force, your heart in your throat and dread a swirling mass in your gut. 

When you look up, Remus is watching you. 

“Maybe we should get out of the house,” he suggests. “We could go for a walk. Does that sound okay?” 

“Um…” It makes your heartbeat ratchet just to think about, the barrier of time and physical space between you and the next time you’ll actually be able to wash your hands. But you know that’s the point. 

“That’s a great idea.” James catches on quickly, more than familiar with your compulsions. He takes your hand in his easily, encouraging you up from the couch. “It’s a beautiful day out. Lots of leaves on the ground, you’ll love it.” 

You smile. You think that you must be easy to please, because leaves to crunch underneath your shoes does make the idea of a walk sound more enticing. 

“But you only just got in,” you say. 

“I could use a cooldown,” James says easily. “I came in here thinking my sweethearts were under attack, my heart rate hasn’t had a chance to come down.” 

“I feel like it’s important to note,” says Sirius, grabbing his scarf and your hat from the coat closet, “that there were two other men here in the house when we were under this alleged attack. You weren’t our only hope.” 

“I feel like it’s important to note that that’s sexist,” you say.

“Very,” James agrees, swiping your hat from Sirius and putting it on for you. “I’d think our best defenders would be the ones who spend the most time working out.” 

“Mm. Not Sirius, then.” 

“Certainly not.” 

A hand fists in the back of your shirt, and you choke on a gasp as Sirius yanks you back to his side. He wraps an arm securely around your waist. “Remus,” he says smoothly, “did y/n look like she was having a very easy time fighting me off a couple of minutes ago?” 

“I’m staying out of this one,” Remus says as he shrugs on his coat, but his tongue is poking into his cheek. You find you can’t help smiling, either.

[writeriguess]

hi, i hope you're doing well !! ive been reading through your blog lately and decided i might as well drop off a request. something w/hawks where the reader used to SH by cutting their inner thighs because it was less noticeable, but when making out goes further than just that, the reader sorta freezes up. either it ends up with praising/gentle comfort sex (in which case i ask for afab reader), or they just cuddle to sleep, whichever you prefer :] of course ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable, no pressure at all<33

Safe Space

The warmth of his hands against your hips is comforting, grounding. Hawks—Keigo—has always had this way of making you feel weightless, like the world is just a little less heavy when he's around. His lips move against yours with an unhurried sort of intensity, teasing but not demanding, coaxing rather than claiming.

You’re pressed up against his couch, his wings curled around you both, enclosing you in a world of rust-colored feathers and the soft scent of his cologne. He kisses you slow, deep, like he has all the time in the world. And maybe he does. With Keigo, there’s never any rush.

His hands trail up your sides, slipping beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist. It sends a pleasant shiver through you, but when one of his hands drifts lower, brushing over your thigh, a different kind of shiver takes hold.

It’s not fear, not exactly. More like a warning siren blaring in the back of your mind. Your body locks up before you can even think about stopping it, and suddenly, it’s like you’re not here anymore. Not on his couch, not in his arms, not tangled up in the soft glow of city lights filtering through the windows.

You’re somewhere else. Somewhen else.

A blade in your hand. Skin parting beneath it. The quiet sting before the burn. The shame afterward.

Keigo notices immediately. He always does. His lips, which had been leaving slow kisses along your jaw, stop. His hand, the one that had just barely grazed your thigh, retracts instantly.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, careful. He pulls back just enough to look at you, golden eyes searching. “You with me?”

You try to answer, but your throat is dry, and your pulse is loud in your ears. You nod instead, but it’s shaky, unsure.

Keigo doesn’t push. He never does. Instead, he leans back, putting a bit more space between you both, his wings shifting to give you air. He reaches for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it in slow, soothing circles.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Your breath stutters. You don’t want to tell him. You want to pretend this isn’t happening. That you aren’t trembling under his touch. But Keigo isn’t just anyone. He isn’t someone you can just brush off with a forced smile and a “nothing, I’m fine.”

Because he sees you.

You swallow hard. “It’s—” Your voice cracks, so you try again. “It’s not you.”

His expression softens. “I know.” He squeezes your hand, just for a second. “Still wanna know what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, though.”

You glance away, staring down at the place where your thighs are pressed together, hidden beneath your clothes. It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid.

You take a shaky breath. “I used to… do things. To myself.” You hesitate, then force the words out before you lose your nerve. “Cut. On my thighs.”

Keigo doesn’t react the way you fear he will. He doesn’t gasp, doesn’t look at you with pity or horror. He doesn’t even flinch. He just… listens.

You exhale, staring at your lap. “It was easier to hide. No one really looks there, you know?” Your laugh is brittle, humorless. “Guess I got used to keeping it a secret.”

Keigo is silent for a moment, then he moves. Slowly. Gently. He shifts so that he’s not caging you in anymore, giving you space, letting you breathe. One of his hands comes up, fingers brushing over your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he murmurs.

You blink, caught off guard. “…That’s it?”

His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smirk. “What else d’you want me to say, baby?” He cocks his head. “You want me to tell you you’re broken? That you’re messed up?” His voice is warm, light, teasing—but only just. He sobers, fingers trailing down to cup your jaw. “Because I won’t. I don’t think that, and I sure as hell won’t say it.”

Your throat tightens. “I just—I don’t know, I thought you’d… react differently.”

Keigo hums, considering. Then, without warning, he shifts, scooping you up effortlessly and pulling you into his lap. You let out a surprised noise, hands instinctively grabbing at his shoulders.

“There we go,” he murmurs, settling you against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “That’s better.”

Your face heats. “Keigo—”

He hushes you by pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Listen,” he says, voice softer now. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not about this. Not about anything.” His arms tighten around you, a quiet promise. “I don’t care what your body’s been through. What you’ve done to it, what scars you’ve got. Doesn’t change the fact that I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Something in your chest aches. It’s too much, and yet not enough.

You don’t say anything for a long time, just sit there, curled up against him, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. Eventually, you relax, the tension melting from your shoulders.

Keigo notices. He always does.

His fingers trace slow, lazy patterns against your back. “You good?”

You nod against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

His lips brush against the top of your head. “You wanna sleep like this?”

You hesitate. Then nod again. “Yeah.”

Keigo chuckles, low and warm. “Yeah,” he echoes. “Me too.”

And just like that, the world feels a little less heavy.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Loving Arms (4)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part IV: Changes must be made

|| Loving Arms Masterlist ||

A/N: There were so many ways that I wanted this chapter to go, but I think this was as good as I was going to get it. Please leave a comment and let me know what y'all thought. 😊

BTW: I have tagged everyone that asked, but some weren't working for some reason

For quite some time, Aegon was used to being harshly woken in the morning and dragged to different lessons or things that he absolutely despised attending because it was the expectation. Curtains would be pulled open quickly, further bothering his morning as light would seep into his eyes and making his head pound with pulsing pain from drinking quite a bit the night before.

His mother, grandfather, or perhaps the septa would harshly pull him from his bed, tell him off for his previous behavior and that he was shaming not just himself, but his family by his actions. It was all things that he had heard and experienced more times than he could count.

A routine that he had lived for so many years that he had lost track at what point did it begin.

So it was certainly a complete shock to wake up slowly one morning, the soft feeling of someone playing with his hair was what had stirred his sleep addled mind. His room was still fairly dark, the curtains had not been drawn and there were no servants or other attendants milling about his room. His bleary eyes slowly focused in to see that his lovely muña was the only one in the room.

"Did you sleep well, sweet boy?" she asked softly while combing her fingers through his hair. "I figured that we might try a different way of going about your morning since I heard that you imbibed quite a bit."

She sat on the edge of his bed and had such a tender look of affection as she stared at him that it overwhelmed Aegon to see it. Instead of answering, he hid his face in her skirts and gripped the fabric of her dress between his hands. Kneading the material in his hands and whimpering softly.

There was no reproach from his sweet muña and she shushed him softly, petting his tangled locks.

"Oh Aegon," she whispered. "I am sure that your head hurts, but we must start the day. There is quite a bit that must be done."

He snuggled into her lap and peeked an eye to look at her, "Must I?"

She laughed gently, "Yes, you must."

She turned to the side table by his bed and carefully picked up the teapot that was placed there by the servants to pour some tea into his teacup. "Here, sit up a little."

Begrudgingly Aegon sat up against the headboard of his bed and pushed back his hair away from his face, rubbing at his eyes in exhaustion.

"I made sure to add a bit of honey to your tea this time," she smiled. "I thought a bit of sweetness would be a nice way to start the day before we break fast."

"Thank you," he whispered. He took his light purple teacup with gentle care and blew softly on the steaming liquid, humming in delight when he managed a small sip. "It tastes better, thank you muña."

"You are welcome," she said as she picked up her own teacup and drank her tea silently beside him.

It was quiet.

Aegon wasn't used to soft mornings like this one.

To hear the distant clatter of life outside the walls of the Keep.

The gentle birdsong as they also greeted a new day.

The quiet hums of his muña, whose smile hadn't left despite the fact that he wasn't even ready for his lessons.

Even with his hesitance to become too comfortable, Aegon hoped that he could more mornings like this one.

"Muña?" he called out softly. "It is not that I don't appreciate this change of pace, but what stirred all of this?"

"I heard amongst the grapevine that your mornings were quite the chaotic events" she said gently. "That it was quite the spectacle to be present when the eldest prince was put in his place or so I had heard."

His face burned in shame and he looked at the dregs left at the bottom of his cup. Because even though he appeared aloof and uncaring to others, it was humiliating to go through it.

He just didn't know how to change what he was doing, when every day felt like a burden.

When his limbs felt like lead, his head would hurt from all the letters that would swim on the page, and as if his heart would pound out of his chest as nothing that his tutors said made any sense to him.

"It seemed to me," she said quietly and carefully lifted his chin to look her in the eye. "It seemed that everyone around you had failed to help you. Or was I mistaken?"

Tears pooled in his lavender eyes and shook his head, swallowing the lump that was stuck in his throat.

"I know there will be quite a bit of backlash, but I have relieved all of your current tutors from service and have sent word to a few that we will see if they fare any better" she said. "Would that be alright with you? Trying things a little differently?"

He quickly but carefully set his teacup beside him, practically leaping into her lap and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His sobs wracked his body and made it difficult to speak.

"H - how? H - how is it that y - you can s - see ME?!" he cried. "H - how? When my own m -mother cannot?"

She only held him tighter and rubbed his back softly, "Because I know what it is like to go through life never being seen by those we cry out to the most."

He could only cry.

And she held him in her arms for quite some time, letting him cry even when his nose ran and stained her dress. It took a long time until his breaths merely shuddered as the last of his tears dried and he let himself be held.

Slowly he sat up and wiped at his nose, "I think that I would like a bath now."

"I will have someone come up and draw the water for you," she said wiping his stray tears away. "I have someone that I need to speak with soon, go and look for your siblings. Spend some time together, I have made the arrangements so that you are not interrupted."

With that she leisurely stood up and brushed her skirts from any wrinkles. He sat back on his bed and watched her.

"Where will you be going, muña? May we come along?"

"No Aegon, it is probably best that you and your siblings not come with me today. I do not think it would be appropriate for you all to witness me stir up more trouble than is necessary."

"Trouble?" he tilted his head confused.

"Heaps of trouble and hopefully I will not need any help getting out of it" she laughed. "But knowing my big mouth, there will be times that I cross the line."

"I don't know if I like where this will go" he said. "Please take care, muña."

"I will do my best, Aegon" she said. "But do not worry and I will be back as soon as I am able."

---------------------

"My lady, I must tell you once again that the King does not wish to have any visitors at this time," the guard said with his gaze forward.

"And I will tell YOU again Ser, that if you do not tell the King that I wish to speak to him about an urgent matter, that you are stripped of your post and tongue" she smiled.

The guard trembled in his place but remained firm in keeping his gaze forward.

"My lady, please -"

"What seems to be going on here?"

Their gazes darted to King Viserys standing by his partially opened door, he looked between them expectantly.

"Good brother, how lovely to see you" she said with a saccharine smile. "I was telling this kind ser that I needed a word with you, but it seems that you were preocuppied."

"Nonsense, I have time to speak with my good sister. Come in (Y/N), don't dawdle by the door."

Walking by the guard, she curtsied sarcastically and followed Viserys into the room, only to stand by the door itself as her gaze looked over the massively detailed city that he was constructing.

"This is.... quite the project that you have here, Viserys."

"I have been making it for a long time, I would hope that it looks impressive for all the effort that I put into it" he chuckled, while working on another portion of the city. "But tell me, what brought you here that needed you to threaten that poor young man?"

"I will be blunt Viserys, were you in a drunken stupor when you agreed that Aegon and Halaena should be married? This kingdom follows the faith of the Seven and despite the brutish ways of your ancestors, they should not be married."

His expression hardened and he stopped what he was doing.

"Your Father and Alicent made quite a few points and I saw no harm in them," he said. "If you have any qualms bring it up to either of them."

"But you are King," she stated. "A decision like this cannot be made without your say, so yes there is a few things that you could do to make sure that this marriage doesn't happen."

"We must all do things that are our duty even if we are not fond of them, I am sure that with time they will find it agreeable" he waved it off.

"And you are the speaker of such things?" she scoffed. "Here you hide away from your own children and wife, it is hypocritical to say that they will one day find it agreeable when you can't stand to be in their presence."

"That isn't true!"

"Then explain it to me Viserys! You say that we must all do things that we are not fond of and because of duty, but those children are suffering because of it!" she yelled. "You wanted an heir! Now you have plenty and cannot even spare them a moment of your time or care!"

"My children want for nothing! They are princes and princess of this realm, they have never gone hungry and more things than they could ever want!" he argued. "In time they will learn to grin and bear it, because there are others that would love to be in their place!"

"With parents like theirs, it is punishment enough!"

"Silence! You have said enough!"

"No Viserys, I haven't!" she rushed forward and stood toe to toe with the man. "If I must forfeit my life here, I will do all in my power to ensure that those children have someone fight on their behalf!"

Viserys was practically shaking in anger, but her eyes had a look in them that made the man turn away. "See yourself out, (Y/N)."

"No."

He looked at her in disbelief, "No?"

"No" she echoed. "Until you concede, I will not."

"I am King, I could have you thrown in a cell for this insolence!"

"All I see is a weak man, there is no King here."

It was unnerving how she stared at him, Viserys was used to grown men trembling at his word and groveling for forgiveness at his feet. People pleading that he would find mercy in his heart for them and not following through with his threats.

Yet his good sister refused to back down

His legs shook as he sat down and tried to keep his gaze on her.

"What would you have me do? I have already agreed."

"Allow me to find good matches for the children and that I may have say in what must be done for them" she said simply.

"That is asking for too much, (Y/N)."

"Oh it is merely the start, Viserys."

"What else is there?" he asked.

"We will have many more things to discuss," she smiled. "I hope you are comfortable because changes must be made."

[medullamindset]

STEB HEADCANONS :>

Uhhhm YEAH a few headcanons ive collected since act 3 came out in november 😸 enjoy Stebnation, or dont idk

This is very short and boring but its easier to write him in an actual scenario so TRUST IN ME MY UPCOMING STUFF WILL BE BETTER 😿

Content warnings: Established relationship w Reader, miiiild mention of knifeplay but its easily looked past. My opinion on his race.

NSFW marked this pink!

• He cannot be any older than 30. I'd bet hes like 23-27. Idk how old u have to be to be a field medic/enforcer??

• Hes around 6'4.. Tall guy. ♥︎‿♥︎

• His frill thingies seem to lie flat to his face with "down" emotions, such as shame/guilt and sadness. But they point straight out with more intense emotions, like suspense, anger, exitement, worry. I love the way they flutter sometimes, as a subtle reaction. Like when they saw the Zaunites walking over the bridge to aid in the war, his frills were like "oh, wow.."

But also how they shot straight out with suspense when Ambessa wanted Caitlyn to b commander and everyone was banging their chests and stuff.

• I'd like to imagine his frills flutter a few times in a row when he orgasms, like the shockwaves of pleasure, but also post-orgasm. Maybe they go hand in hand with his nervous system kinda?

• His tip is the same color as his eyelids. His nails seem to be beige too.

• He CAN talk he just chooses not to if he feels he doesnt need to. Short sentences if he has to, small nods and shakes of his head, LOOKS. his face is VERY expressive, but thats more of a fact than a hc. body language is a key communication of his.

• Hes def always been the quiet type, ever since he was six he hasn't been big on speaking.

But sometimes you cheat the system.. Having your back turned to him when you ask him a question just so you can hear his voice, even just to get a little "mhm" from him <3

• On the rare occasion that he does speak his voice is kinda hoarse and gravelly from lack of use UGHHHH *squirts everywhere*

• hes a bit of a "bland" person, hes not boring.. Just a very simple man. He reads practically anything, carries your bags when you're out shopping, he literally just goes wherever you wanna go. He hangs over your shoulders when you do ur makeup, cooks breakfast most mornings, cleans when he feels its needed cuz he doesn't like messes, he'll have music on in the background tho and it's usually one of your vinyls that's playing, makes him feel closer to you <3

Simple things man. deeply emotional and caring too. Hes so kind and eager to help ugh MY SHAYLAA.

• hes a bit socially awkward, he doesnt have social anxiety, hes just kinda stiff and quiet around people.

• what the fuck does he do all day, really?

• I feel like he'd like dancing with his lover but he thinks hes bad at it so hes a bit awkward <333 put his hands around ur waist for him tho and he'd turn into even more speechless mush, everytime.

• Has a gummy smile thats really evident when he laughs so he tries not too, might let a grin slip in private tho c: and close mouthed chuckling/snickers.

• Loves being carressed, hold his face in your hands and trace his cheekbones with ur thumbs? FOLDS. Running your fingers up and down the fins at the back of his head when his face is in your neck? PUTTY.

• Speaking of fins, they continue down to to his lower back, shorter at the bottom but longest between his shoulderblades. He also has darker spots(scales?) Like the other fishfolk in Arcane on his outer arms and thighs. See this post of mine for a ref :)

• he drinks alot of water, like ALOT. his throat get dry easily cuz hes.. Yk, fish.. Atleast half-fish. He'll remind his partner to do the same, no matter your race cuz its good for u, he'll nudge u with a glass in hand and a small tug at his lips, or simply just leave it beside u as a silent reminder.

• Loves holding hands. like, he just LOVES it. He'll act nonchalant abt it but on the inside his heart is just blossoming 💗

Like imagine you're at a café or a bar or a diner WHATEVER and ur just sitting infront of him yapping abt ur day or smth ur planning while holding his hand over the table, and he'll just be buzzing with love, rubbing your soft skin with his thumb, feeling lucky his blush doesnt show (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)

• ABSOLUTELY ADORES kisses. He just finds them so sweet and intimate (cuz they are. But i mean like, he doesn't ever NOT think about it after kissing you, hes always locked on target y'know, he only sees you. He only feels you when kissing your lips, he'll kiss u like its the end of the world.. even if hes just getting up to go to the bathroom or something.)

• he just loves you so much, please kiss him, everywhere. Theres not a single spot of him you could kiss that wouldn't make him shiver (the good way).

• Steb is not much for hardcore kinks in bed. He doesnt "fuck", he makes love. In his eyes there truly isnt any purer form of intimacy than sharing something like that, giving away a piece of yourself to this person, your souls spiritually intertwined and yadiyadayada (it's true tho)

• He will go harder if you ask him to, hes not afraid to make you scream with pleasure. Also, bite him and hes a goner. Omg if hes like treating u so nicely in the sack you gotta bite down on something to contain yourself, pls let it be his shoulder, please leave pretty imprints of you canines all over his neck and chest. And hickeys too HNNGHH

Makes him groan so deliciously. Hips snapping into yours just a liiiittle more harshly than intended.

He'll bite you back carnally if you'll let him, Steb gets so lost in it sometimes..

• Hes open to experimentation tho, like if theres something you reallyreallyreally wanna try he'll be like 'euuughgghggggrhggh okay yk what fine', as long as he doesn't have to hurt you, not too much anyway. The idea of inflicting pain-pain on the person he loves makes him queasy.

• But if hes really fucking horny at some point, watching you take the front seat and play around w his gills, scratch at his chest, put a hand around his neck or.. Idk drag a knife gently across his skin while topping he'll literally whine, digging his dull nails into your sides, holding on for dear life.

• He loves being called petnames. Serious and silly ones. His favorites have gotta be Love, Darling, Baby and pretty boy.. All the sappy stuff. One time you called him 'Gorgeous' and his frills shot straight out for a solid three seconds.. If he already didn't speak, he'd be speechless then. CUZ HES A GORGEOUS MAN.

Or that one time you called him 'fishface' and he just slumped in defeat when he heard you giggle, knowing that one was gonna stick around.

You'll enter the kitchen where hes making something to eat and just go "Hey, Fishface! So--!" Continuing to yap and he just rolls his eyes with a lopsided, lovesick grin u cant see from behind him. From anybody else it'd piss him off, but it's you, So he lets it slide.

• he has the warmest and weirdly softest fuckin hands ever. They're never clammy or sticky, just nice and toasty, perfect.

• is the type to grab your hands in the winter and rub them if theyre cold, trying to transfer his warmth over, even if hes also freezing. breathing hotly onto them.

• speaking of winter he probably HATES IT. He gets SO cold SO easy, hes shaking in his boots fr. A frozen fishstick fr. Like jesus. But the palms of his hands stay warm for some reason..

adding to that hes def a sweater fiend.. He LOVES knitted sweaters and hoodies and TURTLENECKS. HE'D LOOK SO GOOD IN A TURTLENECK. TELL ME IM WRONG. LIKE A BIG, FAT, KNITTED ONE THAT GOES UP TO HIS JAW. Even better if you knit/crocheted them for him <33

• I headcanon that his dad is a human and his mom is a fish person cuz he has hair and rounded teeth which other fishfolk we see don't. We don't see any other fishfolk from piltover tho.. So maybe hes just slapped on a wig, peel-off eyebrows and filed his teeth down (which is INSANELY painful btw) to look "socially acceptable". I HEAVILY doubt that, when i rascism like that ever shown in Arcane, Piltover specifically? 🤔 Im not even gonna get into that whole Vastaya thing cuz i dont know enough.. I heard they can decide how many animal features they show as they please and that they're like deeply connected to magic and live really long.. But that isn't mentioned or even nodded to in Arcane so im just gonna pretend that doesnt exist lol sorry

• but ya he adopted alot of his moms fishy features but also human-ish hair and teeth from his dad.

•speaking of his parents, i do feel like Steb was raised kinda strictly? Idk i just feel like his parents would be very uptight and that stuck with him all the way into adulthood, he stands super upright and is well proper while on the job because thats just what hes been taught.

hes alot more relaxed at home tho, where he knows he doesn't have to be or look presentable for anyone, especially not you. he knows you'll love him even while standing by the fridge in pj's, with a fist full of grated cheese ready to be devoured at circa 2 AM.

• He was raised in a small village on the outskirts, right beside the ocean. Hence he still adores it and loves to go swimming with you, reminds him of his childhood yk c:

• He kinda gives only child vibes to me? Idk the thought of him with an older sibling is kinda cute tho,, i imagine they'd be like complete opposites. They hardly see eachother,, I don't feel like his family lives in Piltover. He had a "Mom, Dad.. I'm 18 now..! I'm moving to the big city. And there is nothing you can do to stop me." Moment, exept in a less verbal way maybe, moving to the city of progress and begining medical and tactical training, to help people. On both sides.

• Hes really good at origami, sometimes when hes at work and droning at his desk with nothing better to do he'll just grab a random paper and fold a little swan together. You've found multiple critters like that scattered around the house, some with faces drawn on, just two inky dots and a derpy smile like this : )

Once he made one of your favorite animal and left it on your nightstand before heading to work, you picked it up and examined it, smile growing even wider when you found the hidden lovenote that was written on it <3

It's now glued neatly into your shared scrapbook/journal along with many more, surrounded by dried flowers and red hearts <33

Uhhhhhhhhhhhrghhhhhhhhhh yeah ❗️🚮 i just debated wether or not this is even worth posting for like twenty minutes.

Pls dont bash me for my opinions now *gulp*

Also heres a lil reminder that im taking requests 💗💗 i love writing i just never have good or original ideas :'o(

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII / ACT VIII

Chapters: 2 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

ACT II.

The office was a battlefield, and I was the only one unarmed.

Every day felt like a fresh assault. Tina’s barbs were sharper, her voice dripping with fake sympathy as she leaned over my desk. “Oh, Y/N, are you sure you’re comfortable in that chair? It looks like it’s a little… snug.”

I tried to ignore her, my cheeks burning as I focused on the mock-up on my screen. She’d been relentless all week, and every comment felt like a jab to my already low self-esteem. I was keeping quiet, minding my own business but the bullying never seemed to stop. I wanted to be the bigger person, the mature person who doesn't take things to heart. And it seemed like it from outside, but from the inside I was suffering. 

Across the room, Yoongi wasn’t much better. His criticisms were less direct, but no less cutting. He had a way of making me feel incompetent without ever raising his voice. “Y/N, these designs lack creativity,” he’d say, his tone calm but loaded with judgment. “Maybe it’s time you considered a role that’s more… fitting for your skill set. Like data entry.”

I bit my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of them.

Jungkook, however, was the worst of all. Every glance he threw my way felt like a judgment, every word like a blow.

“You’re moving too slow,” he snapped one afternoon, slamming a stack of papers onto my desk, leaning over to my face whilst his dark eyes burned into my soul. “Do you even understand deadlines? Or is thinking that fast too much for you?”

The team laughed quietly, but the sound roared in my ears. I felt my hands tremble. I wanted to open my mouth, I wanted to shout and say that I quit this god forsaken place, but I couldn't. Call me weak, call me pushover or whatever, but this job was important to me and I wanted to keep proving my worth.

By the end of the day, I was drained of course. My confidence was in shreds, my energy spent. But the worst moments came when I was alone at home, sitting in my small one-bedroom flat with my dog curled up at my feet and tears streaming down my face.

-

That evening, I sat at the kitchen table, staring at a cold cup of tea in my hands. Hades, my dog, whimpered, sensing my distress, and I reached down to stroke his soft fur.

“I’m fine,” I whispered in a shaky voice, wiping my tears away. It has been like this for weeks. I was at work, bullied, mocked at, then came home and cried my eyes out the entire evening. And then when I opened my eyes in the next morning, the cycle repeated itself.

I thought of my parents, so far away and unaware of the chaos in my life. I couldn’t burden them with this. I thought of my brother in prison, the shame my family carried, and the weight of holding everything together by myself.

And yet, I knew I couldn’t give up. If I lost this job, I’d lose everything. My apartment, my independence, my sense of self. I had to keep going, no matter how much it hurt.

-

The next morning, I dragged myself into the office, my body heavy with exhaustion and my eyes burning from all the crying and lack of sleep. 

The morning passed in a blur of emails, revisions, and pointed comments from Yoongi and Tina which I ignored, I was too lost in thoughts to even listen to them anymore. By lunchtime, my head was pounding, but I pushed through, forcing myself to finish the latest round of edits.

“You look terrible,” Tina said as she passed my desk, her voice dripping with mocking concern. “Maybe you should take a break. But then again, even when you take a break you'd do a shitty job afterward yet again.”

I ignored her, focusing on the screen in front of me. My surroundings were like a blurr. Somewhat, I lost sense of my emotions the moment I focused on my design as this was the only thing helping me out in this moment. 

By the end of the day, my vision was blurring. My body felt like it was on autopilot, moving through tasks without really comprehending what I was doing. Of course I did fuck up a few times, stumbling in my tasks and that did not go unnoticed by my boss.

“Y/N, are you listening?” Jungkook’s voice snapped me out of my daze.

I blinked, realizing I had been staring at my screen without hearing a word of the conversation happening around me.

“Yeah. . . I am listening," I lied lowly, refusing to meet his eyes.

I could practically hear him scoff and probably roll his eyes. “You’re useless. Why are you even here?”

The words hit me like a slap, but I couldn’t muster the strength to respond.

-

It happened that evening at the end of my workday, just as I was finishing the last of my assignments. I stood up from my desk, the world tilting around me and my legs went weak. My vision blurred, and before I could catch myself, everything went black.

-

When I came to my senses, I was lying on the floor, a small crowd gathered around me. Rya’s worried face was the first thing I saw, her hands gently patting my cheeks.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” she asked, her voice filled with panic. "Should we call an ambulance?"

I groaned, my body aching as I tried to sit up. “N-no, i-it's fine. What happened?” I was pulled up gently by Rya as the other colleagues slowly walked away because they saw Rya's murderous glance. This girl was doing everything to protect me and she had no clue how grateful and appreciative I was to her for that.

“You fainted,” Rya said, helping me up. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.” I was also not eating at all, because their jokes about how I looked finally had gotten to me. 

Hoseok appeared, holding a bottle of water. “You need to take care of yourself, Y/N,” he said gently. “This job isn’t worth destroying your health over.”

I felt tears prick at my eyes, but I forced them back, nodding weakly. “I’m fine,” I said, though my voice shook. “I’ll be fine.” I saw Hoseok and Rya look at each other and then back at me. From the corner of my eye I saw Tina stand not too far away, arms crossed against her chest. She huffed and headed down the hallway. This was a lost cause, wasn't it? Working at such a big company, getting paid well, just to be treated like trash...

Deep down, I knew that me saying I was fine was far from the truth. Something had to change soon—because if it didn’t, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

-

I didn’t expect the knock on my door that Saturday morning. Weekends were my time to recharge, to hide from the world and the constant judgment I faced at work. I would spend the weekends curled in bed, eating my emotions away and watching crime documentaries while Hades was curled by my side. But when I opened the door and saw whoever was standing there, a small smile on his face and a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands, my heart skipped a beat.

“Taehyung?” I blinked, caught off guard by the sight of my childhood best friend. It had been months since we’d last seen each other, though we’d kept in touch through our parents.

“Surprise,” he said warmly, holding out the flowers. “Thought I’d stop by and say hello. You’re not busy, are you?”

I shook my head, taking the flowers with a smile. “Not at all. Come in!”

He stepped inside, taking in the small space. Hades barked excitedly at the newcomer, running in circles around Taehyung’s legs.

“Hades,” I said with a laugh, scooping up my little dog. “Be nice. This is Taehyung.”

Taehyung grinned, scratching behind Hades’ ears. “You have a dog now? I should’ve brought treats.” "It's okay, he shouldn't eat much or else he'd become pudgy." "But pudgy is cute." he muttered and I giggled. His aura and presense somehow made me feel safe and at ease. I forgot how much of a kind hearted man Tae was. And here he was, dressed casually, hair a cute mess and a lazy smile gracing his features.

We spent a few minutes catching up before Taehyung suggested we take a walk. “It’s been ages since we’ve just hung out,” he said. “Let’s go to the park. Get some fresh air.”

The park was peaceful, the late morning sun casting a golden glow over the trees. We walked along the path, Hades trotting happily beside us on his leash. The park was not filled with many people this early in the morning and I was grateful for that. Somehow a lot of people made me anxious.

“So,” Taehyung said, breaking the comfortable silence, “how’s life in the big city? Still doing graphic design?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. “It’s… a lot. But I’m managing.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Managing, huh? That doesn’t sound like the Y/N I know. You used to dream big. What happened to that spark of yours?”

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Life happened, I guess.”

Taehyung frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he changed the subject. “Have you heard from your parents recently? My mom mentioned they were planning to visit soon.”

I nodded. “We talk every week. They’re good, keeping busy.”

“And your brother?”

I hesitated, the mention of my brother a sensitive topic, of course. I didn't talk to anyone about him and my parents seemed to be good at avoiding the topic for my own brother as well. They acted as if he was a shame to our family. “He’s… okay. Still in prison, but we’re hopeful he’ll be out sooner than expected. He’s trying to stay positive.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you’ll let me know, right? My firm handles cases like his all the time.” Taehyung was a successful lawyer here, he even owned his own law firm and I was so happy for him. Ever since he was a child he was determined and a smooth talker, convincing people with ease. He was also smart and selfless which was one of the things I liked about him.

I smiled, touched by his offer. “Thanks, Tae. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As we continued walking, Taehyung talked about his work and how many weird cases he has been working on recently.

“I still can’t believe you run your own firm,” I said, shaking my head. “You make it sound so easy.”

He laughed. “It’s anything but easy, trust me. But I love what I do. And it doesn’t hurt that my parents are proud of me for once.”

“They’ve always been proud of you,” I said, nudging him playfully. “You’re their golden child.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone teasing. “But I’ve always cared more about what you thought of me.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his words. Before I could respond, Hades barked, pulling at the leash.

I glanced up to see what had caught his attention—and froze.

My boss was leaning against a dark Mercedez Benz and a cigarette dangled between his lips. He looked so casual. And also there was a man who had his back on me but it did not take me long to realize this was Yoongi.  I was staring for too long. Jungkook's gaze flickered on me and I saw a glint of surprise which made Yoongi turn around as well. My heart stopped.

For a moment, neither of us moved. It was as if the world had stopped, the air thick with tension.

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s voice broke the spell, and I tore my gaze away from Jungkook, my heart pounding.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “What were you saying?”

Taehyung followed my gaze, his brow furrowing as he took in both men's figures. “Is that Jeon Jungkook?” he asked surprised.

I shook my head, the knot in my stomach tightening. “Y-yeah. ” I mumbled and Tae hummed.  "So he is your boss?" I nodded. "Does he give you a hard time? I can give him a piece of my mind." I could hear the annoyance on Taehyung's voice as he spoke about Jungkook. I shook my head and my eyes shifted back on Tae.  "It's fine.Let's just go."

Taehyung didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, steering the conversation back to lighter topics as we slowly walked away.

But even as we continued walking, laughing and reminiscing, I couldn’t shake the image of Jungkook’s piercing gaze—or the way it had made me feel like he could see right through me.

-

Monday arrived far too quickly, and as I walked into the office, I could already feel the tension in the air. The weekend spent with Taehyung had been a rare reprieve, a reminder of the warmth of genuine friendship. But as soon as I entered the workspace, the cruel reality of my job hit me like a cold slap.

The whispers started almost immediately.

“Did you see her at the park?” Tina’s voice carried from the nearby break area, intentionally loud enough for me to hear.

“Oh, yeah,” Yoongi drawled, smirking as he leaned against the counter. “Who’d she pay to walk beside her like that?”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and I kept my eyes fixed on my desk, willing myself to ignore them.

“Maybe he’s her personal trainer,” Tina continued with a sneer. “Though, let’s be honest, she doesn’t seem like the type who actually listens to advice.”

I gripped the edge of my desk, my knuckles turning white as I fought to keep my composure.

Jungkook’s voice joined the fray, sharp and mocking. “He probably felt bad for her. Sympathy date, maybe.”

Laughter erupted around me, the sound cutting deeper than I cared to admit.

“Morning, Y/N!” Tina’s fake tone made my stomach churn as she approached my desk, her heels clicking against the floor. “Had a good weekend? You seemed… busy.”

I forced a smile, keeping my voice even. “It was fine, thanks.”

Her eyes sparkled with faux curiosity. “Oh, come on, you can tell us. Who was that guy? Friend? Cousin? You’re not seriously trying to say he’s your boyfriend, are you?”

The heat rose to my cheeks, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “Just an old friend.”

Tina’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, that makes sense. Because, you know, someone like him... with someone like you? Not exactly believable.”

The laughter started up again, and I clenched my fists under the desk, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping back. I shot her a glare however and she did see it. That errupted a chuckle from her and she walked away with graceful steps, shaking her hips because she knew Jungkook was there.  Pathetic bitch.

-

The hours dragged on, each task feeling heavier under the weight of the relentless mockery. By lunchtime, I felt like I was suffocating, the walls of the office closing in around me. I haven't felt like this since I was in damn high school.

“Y/N, you okay?” Rya’s voice was a lifeline, her genuine concern cutting through the fog of humiliation.

I glanced up to see her and Hoseok standing by my desk, their expressions sympathetic.

“Yeah,” I lied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Let’s grab lunch,” Hoseok suggested. “Get out of here for a bit.”

I hesitated, but the idea of escaping the toxic atmosphere, even for a little while, was too tempting to pass up.

As we sat in a small café a few blocks away, I felt the tension slowly begin to ease. The warm, comforting smells of coffee and pastries wrapped around me like a blanket, and for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“They’re absolute trash,” Rya said bluntly, stirring her latte. “Tina, Yoongi, Jungkook—all of them.”

Hoseok nodded, his eyes serious. “You’re better than all of them combined, Y/N.”

I shrugged, poking at my sandwich with a fork. “It’s just... exhausting. I try to ignore them, but it’s like they go out of their way to tear me down.”

“They’re jealous,” Rya said firmly. “That’s all it is. You have talent, Y/N. They see that, and it scares them.”

I gave her a doubtful look. “They don’t seem scared to me.”

“Well, screw them,” Hoseok said, his tone unusually sharp. “You’ve got people who believe in you, Y/N.” I wish I could believe his words, but deep down I didn't. I was too absorbed in my inner pain to even think someone was believing in me. I wasn't believing in myself in the first place.

-

As I stepped through the doors, Yoongi’s voice rang out, loud and mocking.

“Back from lunch with your friends?” he said, smirking as he leaned against his desk arms crossed against his chest.

The others laughed, their eyes gleaming with amusement as they watched me walk past.

I didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him. But inside, I was crumbling, each cruel word chipping away at the walls I’d built to protect myself.

How much longer could I keep this up? How much more could I take before I broke completely?The answer lingered in the back of my mind, terrifying and inevitable.

-

The rest of the day passed in a haze of barely contained emotions. I kept my head down, focusing on the screen in front of me, even as whispers and snickers floated through the air like poison. Even my team was just as disgusting except Hoseok and Rya. What was wrong with adults acting like children? 

By the time 4 PM rolled around, I was hanging on by a thread. But of course, Tina wasn’t about to let me leave without one final jab.

She sauntered over to my desk, her heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to my inevitable implosion. Today she wore a bright blue pencil skirt, a white blouse that had too much buttons popped off. I could see her cleveage clearly. This was definitely not job appropriate but I knew who she was doing this for.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your designs. They’re… fine, I guess. For someone who clearly hasn’t seen the inside of a fashion magazine in, what, years?”

Her laugh was joined by Yoongi’s low chuckle from across the room, and my chest tightened.

“Not everyone can have an eye for detail like I do,” Tina continued, her voice rising so the whole office could hear. “But don’t worry. Maybe if you spent less time stuffing your face with food and more time paying attention to trends, you might actually produce something worth presenting to a client.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on me. My hands trembled, my nails digging into the edge of my desk.

“Enough,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel the rage bubbling up from deep inside of me. It was getting hard to control myself at this point. All these weeks of bullying and me being silent had to come to an end.

“What was that?” Tina leaned closer, a smug smile tugging at her lips.

“I said enough!” I stood up so quickly my chair toppled over, the loud clatter startling everyone. Tina's expression changed, I could see her blue eyes grow wide as she took a slight step back and her hands fell down her sides.

Tina blinked, clearly not expecting a reaction from me. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me,” I said, my voice shaking but growing stronger with every word. “I’ve had it with your constant shitty bullying. Every day, you find some new way to tear me down, and for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re better than me?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic.” she tried to look disinterested but I could see the surprise in her eyes from my outburst. Somehow I couldn't keep my mouth shut anymore. The words kept spilling out.

“Dramatic?” I laughed bitterly. “You’ve been treating me like garbage since the day I got here. Mocking my work, my weight, the way I dress, the way I look. And for what? Because you’re insecure? Because you can’t stand the idea of someone else succeeding? Someone else that is plain looking? Or should I say, someone that is different looking?”

The color drained from her face, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“And let’s not even start on the way you constantly throw yourself at the boss, who mind you, is just as shitty as you are.” I added, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “The way you bat your lashes, lean into him, practically cling to his arm whenever he’s in the room... everyone sees it, Jungkook especially. And guess what, he is not interested. Pathetic, isn't it?” I took a step toward her. She was taller than me wearing those heels, but I didn't gave a fuck. I was full with rage.

Gasps rippled through the office, and Tina’s cheeks turned crimson. From the corner of my eyes I could see Yoongi lean back on his chair and stare at us in pure silence.

“You want to act like you’re above me, Tina? Fine. But don’t think for a second we don’t all see how desperate you are to get his attention—and how he couldn’t care less. And you trying to bring me down by being a shitty Direct Manager does nothing to make the boss notice you.”

Her jaw dropped, her confidence visibly crumbling. “You—”

“What?” I snapped, cutting her off. “You don’t like hearing the truth? He doesn’t want you. He never will. So maybe, instead of tearing other people down to make yourself feel important, you should take a good, long look in the mirror.”

The room was deathly quiet, every pair of eyes glued to the unfolding scene.

“I-I will have you fired for this!" she stuttered, her face red with embarrassment.

I stared at her, my chest heaving, and for the first time, I saw her for what she really was: small, scared, and desperately clinging to the illusion of power.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady. “Do it, maybe I will finally get the mental break I deserve.”

Without another word, I grabbed my bag and walked out of the office, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the silence.

I didn’t make it far before the tears started falling. I ducked into the stairwell, sinking onto the cold concrete steps as the weight of the confrontation hit me. My shoulders shook with sobs, the release of weeks—months—of pent-up frustration and pain. Fucking hell, was I going to get fired for this? Fuck fuck fuck.

The door creaked open, and I looked up to see Rya standing there, her expression a mix of concern and pride.

“That was epic,” she said, sitting down beside me.

I laughed weakly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “It didn’t feel epic. It felt terrifying.”

“Well, it needed to be said,” she said firmly. “And you said it. You stood up for yourself, Y/N. That takes a lot of guts.”

I nodded, my tears slowing as her words sank in. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a spark of something I hadn’t felt in a long time: pride.

“Thanks, Rya,” I said softly.

She smiled, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime. And just so you know, you’re not alone in this. We’ve got your back. And don't worry about getting fired, Jungkook can't afford to look for another candidate right now besides, deep down he knows you are brilliant at what you do and that you are a hard worker.”

Her words were like a balm to my wounded spirit, and as I sat there with her, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I was stronger than I thought.

-

The office was buzzing with murmurs in the aftermath of my confrontation with Tina, but I tried to focus on my work. My chest was still tight, my emotions raw, but I felt an odd sense of relief. Standing up for myself had been terrifying, yet it also felt strangely empowering.

I barely had time to process the relief before a sharp voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Y/N,” Jungkook called from the doorway of his office, his tone clipped. “My office. Now.”

Every pair of eyes in the room shot to me, their gazes heavy with curiosity and judgment. My stomach sank, but I refused to let the anxiety show. With my head held high, I pushed back from my desk and walked toward him, determined not to let him intimidate me anymore.

The door clicked shut behind me, and the room suddenly felt much smaller. Jungkook stood by his desk, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattooed forearms, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. I saw him wearing a dark suit. However, his jacket was gone and he had his shirt on, black slacks and his tattoos complimented him perfectly. If he wasn't such an ass, I'd have been secretly attracted to him. 

“What’s this I hear about you causing a scene?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He was definitely annoyed with me.

I crossed my arms, meeting his gaze head-on. “You mean standing up for myself? Sorry if that doesn’t fit your idea of acceptable behavior.”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, the space between us shrinking. “This isn’t about acceptable behavior. It’s about keeping your head down and doing your job without making a spectacle of yourself.”

A laugh escaped me, bitter and unrestrained. “Oh, you mean like the way you and your little entourage make a spectacle out of humiliating me every chance you get?”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the tension in the room shifted, charged with something electric and unspoken.

“Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

I took a step closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. And his cologne intoxicated me. “And you know what? I don’t care anymore. I’ve had enough of your condescending remarks, your bullying, and your constant need to remind me that I don’t fit into your little world.”

His gaze flicked to my lips, just for a second, but it was enough to make my heart race.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice rough."I have done no such thing. It was to push you so you can get better."

“Are you kidding me?!” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger. “I see the way you look at me, Jungkook. The way you go out of your way to make my life miserable. What is it? Does it make you feel powerful? Or are you just trying to cover up whatever it is you’re really feeling?”

His hand flexed at his side, and for a moment, I thought he might reach for me. But instead, he took a step back, his expression unreadable.

“You’re crossing a line,” he said, his voice tight.

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m finally drawing one.”

The room was silent except for the sound of my own breathing, ragged and uneven. I could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and unrelenting, but I refused to back down.

“Is that all, Mr. Jeon?” I asked, my voice cold and formal.

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Get out.”

I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, my heart pounding in my chest. As the door closed behind me, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of triumph and dread.

Whatever was brewing between Jungkook and me, it was far from over. And something told me it was only going to get more complicated.

I left Jungkook’s office with my heart pounding and my hands trembling. I didn’t know if I felt victorious or terrified, but I couldn’t afford to overanalyze it right now. I just needed to keep my head down and survive the rest of the day.

-

On my way back to my desk after my lunch break, I ducked into the break room to grab a glass of water. I needed at least a second to breathe before I faced the curious stares of my coworkers.

That’s when I heard voices drifting in from the slightly ajar door from one of the closest meeting rooms.

“Man, she really snapped at Tina...” Yoongi’s familiar voice was laced with amusement.

I froze.

“She didn’t just snap,” Yoongi continued with a low chuckle. “She obliterated her. And the best part? She called out Tina’s ridiculous crush on you. In front of everyone. Priceless.”

“Shut up, Yoongi,” Jungkook snapped, his tone sharp.

“Why? It’s true.” Yoongi’s voice grew more teasing. “I’ve never seen Tina look so humiliated. It was a masterpiece, honestly. Someone had to put her in her place eventually.”

“She was out of line,” Jungkook growled.

I inched closer to the door, my heart racing. Were they talking about me?

“Out of line?” Yoongi scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? Tina’s been terrorizing her for weeks. Y/N finally decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. Honestly, I respect her for it.”

“It’s not her job to cause scenes in the office, besides, you have terrorizing her as well.” Jungkook shot back, his tone cold.

Yoongi laughed, the sound dry and mocking. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re mad about the professionalism or whatever excuse you’re clinging to. You’re mad because she stood up to you too. Admit it, Jeon—she caught you off guard. And you hate not being in control. And you also terrorized her. Is that apropriate for a CEO to do?”

There was a brief silence, and then Jungkook’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Careful, Yoongi.”

“Why?” Yoongi said, unfazed. “Let’s be real, Jungkook. You’ve been riding her harder than anyone else in this office. And for what? Because she’s not your type? Because she’s not like the other girls who throw themselves at you? Or because she is fat?” Fat. This word made my hands shake. I hated it so much. It was a reminder.

“That’s enough,” Jungkook growled, the edge in his voice enough to make me hold my breath.

“Or maybe,” Yoongi continued, clearly enjoying pushing Jungkook’s buttons, “it’s because she doesn’t give a damn about you? She doesn’t hang on your every word or bat her lashes at you like Tina. She’s not afraid to tell you off, and it’s driving you crazy. She is not attractive at all and you cannot comprehend how come someone who is not pretty not into you?”

“I said that’s enough!” Jungkook’s voice echoed through the room, loud and commanding.

The sudden outburst made me flinch, and I stepped back, my foot scuffing against the floor.

The noise was subtle, but in the silence that followed Jungkook’s shout, it was loud enough to draw attention.

“What was that?” Jungkook’s voice was sharp.

I turned and bolted before either of them could investigate, my heart racing as I slipped back into the main office.

My mind was spinning, replaying the conversation I’d just overheard. Yoongi’s words lingered in my mind, poking at emotions I wasn’t ready to confront.

Jungkook wasn’t mad about professionalism. He wasn’t mad about Tina. He was mad about me.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

-

A few hours after overhearing the heated conversation between Jungkook and Yoongi, my head was a whirlwind of emotions. I couldn't focus on my work at all. I needed air—fresh, cool air that wasn’t tainted by the stifling tension of the office.

The rooftop seemed like the perfect escape. I’d been there once before during lunch, and it was usually deserted.

Pushing open the heavy door, I stepped out into the open, letting the crisp breeze wash over me. The city stretched out in every direction, its sounds muted by the height.

But my solitude was short-lived.

A familiar figure leaned against the railing, a cigarette between his fingers. Yoongi.

He glanced at me over his shoulder, one brow quirking in surprise. “Didn’t think you’d be the rooftop type.”

I crossed my arms, irritation bubbling to the surface. “And I didn’t think you’d be the smoking type. Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

He smirked, taking a long drag of his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke into the air. “Touché. So, what brings you up here? Trying to escape the circus downstairs?”

I took a few steps closer, my frustration from earlier finding a new target. “If by circus you mean you and Jungkook, then yeah. Congratulations, you two are the ringleaders.”

Yoongi let out a low chuckle, the sound grating against my nerves. “Ah, so you heard us.”

“Hard not to when you’re practically shouting,” I snapped. “Though I’m sure you both figured no one would dare eavesdrop on the great CEO and his sidekick.”

He turned to face me fully, leaning back against the railing. His sharp features were illuminated by the city lights, giving him an almost ethereal, dangerous look. “Careful, Y/N. You’re sounding pretty bold for someone who usually keeps her head down.”

I took another step closer, my anger pushing me forward. “Bold? You think this is bold? No, Yoongi. Bold is bullying someone for no good reason. Bold is turning the office into a soap opera just because you can’t act like an adult.”

His smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of something darker. He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us.

“You don’t know me,” he said, his voice low and cutting.

“And I don’t care to,” I shot back, though my voice wavered slightly.

We were close now, too close. The air between us was charged, a volatile mix of anger and something unspoken. His gaze locked onto mine, unyielding and intense, and I refused to back down.

“Let me guess,” I continued, my voice shaking with both rage and nerves. “You’re just another overgrown man-child who thinks the world owes him something. Smoking on the rooftop, making snarky comments—what’s next? Brooding poetry about how misunderstood you are?”

He tilted his head, his smirk returning, though it carried a dangerous edge. “You’ve got a mouth on you, Y/N. Didn’t think you had it in you to snap twice in one day.”

“Yeah, well, you and your buddy Jungkook seem to bring out the worst in me,” I bit out.

Yoongi stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But don’t think for a second that you can figure me out with your little insults. You should look at yourself in the mirror.”

“Figure you out?” I laughed bitterly. “I don’t want to figure you out, Yoongi. Trust me, I know who I am, I look at myself in the mirror everyday. What about you? Do you know who you are?" there was a pause." Leave me the hell alone.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Then why are you still standing here?”

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and taunting. I hated the way he got under my skin, the way his presence seemed to pull at something deep and unwanted inside me.

“Because someone needs to tell you off as well,” I said finally, though my voice lacked the conviction it had moments ago.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re cute when you’re mad, Y/N. But if you think you can scare me off, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

I glared at him, refusing to let him see how his words affected me. “Enjoy your rooftop melodrama.”

I turned on my heel, marching back toward the door. But as I reached for the handle, his voice stopped me.

“Y/N.”

I glanced back, my hand hovering over the door.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his tone softer, almost contemplative.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing. Instead, I pushed open the door and walked back into the stairwell, his words following me like a shadow.

[betterthana-six]

| MUSIC TO MY EARS - [ABBY ANDERSON] - CHAPTER ONE |

PAIRINGS: stoic!rugby player abby x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and your new(ish) roommate, Abby Anderson, have gotten into an argument. about what? unclear at the moment. but it's got Abby in a fit of shame. until late one night she hears you outside with someone whose voice she doesn't recognize and listens in.

WARNINGS: this is my first story ive ever published here. please be kind! i am fragile lol. this is definitely a slow burn, but lots of pining, yearning, and, yes, smut to come. TRUST. so, mdni. there are a lot of flashbacks between now and when they met so we get the full story eventually. this is more of a light hearted story but it does deal with coming to terms with sexuality (and who best to help you along that journey but rugby playing and stoic Abby Anderson?). anyways, i hope that the five people who might read this like it. I've proofread but, like, nobody's perfect. if people like this and want it as a series, ill make a more personalized playlist for it.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Music To My Ears: Chapter 1

Abby is in your dorm room stretched out in bed with a book in her hands when she hears voices coming from outside. She watches the shadows dance in the light that extends under the door and into the room. It’s late. Abby hasn’t seen you all day. 

She tries to go back to reading, but her eyes glaze over the words almost immediately. Someone is leaning on the door, off and on making the hinge jingle in a way that is most times ignorable. Drunk students came through all the time, lingering in the hallways and leaning on the doors. But it isn’t ignorable now, not for Abby. 

The voices are muffled. They sound like they’re… giggling. One giggle is definitely yours. Abby could spot it from a mile away. The other’s is unfamiliar. Abby’s been reading the same passage over and over again and doesn’t even realize it.

It goes quiet outside and this time Abby closes the book, suddenly over-aware of her surroundings. She looks up at the reading light hanging from the headboard and instinctively switches it off. But she doesn’t want it to look like she turned it off because of them? She turns it on again without thinking and turns it off again, quickly entertaining the idea of faking sleep and listening in. With her hand on the switch Abby stops, realizing that they might start noticing the light going on and off and think she’s trying to signal something. She shakes her head at herself with embarrassment. She covers her face with both her hands. So stupid… she says under her breath. 

It’s been quiet for so long out there. But the shadows are still there. Abby lays down in bed and forfeits to her desire to eavesdrop. As icky as it makes her feel.

Your voice comes through finally. 

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Don’t look at me like that.” An unfamiliar voice chimes in. It’s a woman’s voice. Abby couldn’t tell if she was feigning some sort of annoyance with you or if it was genuine.

“Like what?” 

A silence passes.

You sigh loudly. “Well, what’d you think of what I sent you? That wasn’t a cheap effort, you know. Full body mirror in the ladies’ locker room. Not too shabby.”

“You have to stop…” The other voice says, with a playful twinge that makes Abby’s curiosity perk up like dog ears. 

“Stop what? I can’t send you photos?” Your voice tells Abby you were in some daze, in the same way she could sometimes hear singers smile through their lyrics. Just thinking about you out there in the hall hanging onto the door and onto each of her words, shining your big green eyes at her. It sends a shiver down Abby’s spine.

“Not anymore,” the stranger says casually. “It was really good seeing you tonight but I have a boyfriend, remember? And I’ve told him about…us. High school. He knows… is the thing. He thinks I’m studying for midterms right now.” 

You laugh at that. In a sweet way, though. “Right,” you say and you sigh, seemingly unaffected by the reminder. “Jeremy?”

“Jeremiah,” the woman corrects.

“God, that’s even worse.” 

Abby snorts, basically smashing her lips shut with her hand, and then rages at herself silently in the dark for fear they may have heard her.

 “Did you… even look at them?” you ask. God, are you drunk? Abby has now given up on the book entirely, laying up on one elbow to stare at the door, imagining the conversation visually. 

A laugh from the woman. Mumbling now, feigning sheepishness, “Yeah.”

“And?”

“And…I think…about them, about you. Of course.” Abby’s hands are clasped together, tightening around one another at this.

“Yeah…?” you draw out the stranger’s words seductively with your own. Abby imagines you in the long, maroon dress you typically wear for special occasions. Was this a special occasion? She nearly has the impulse to check your closet just to be sure, but that’s crazy and much more invasive that what she was already doing. Her knuckles are turning white.

“And I think in another universe, maybe. Not this one. I can’t. You know why,” the stranger says sheepishly. “You’re so sweet.” And, in Abby’s imagination, there’s a dainty, gloved hand reaching out to caress your face condescendingly. The illusion entrances her to near paralysis.

A long pause from you. Abby listens hard, completely unable to stop herself from paying close attention now. In the near silence, Abby could sense your breath faltering through the door. Despite how the two of you left things, she didn’t want to see you hurting like that. Say something… Abby thinks.

When Abby hears you speak again, the sweetness in your voice has vanished. She nearly doesn’t recognize the sound. 

“Fuck…” There’s a lump in your throat, Abby could tell just from your voice when you were smiling and, just as easily, she could hear when you were about to burst into tears. “Why… why did you invite me out tonight then?” 

No answer.

“You have a boyfriend…” you continue in a matter-of-factly tone, raising your voice a bit, to Abby’s surprise. “Jeremy…yeah, so you’ve explained. Great guy, great future. So, you have the boyfriend, the good job lined up, you’re almost done with college. Man, you’re doing fucking great.” Abby’s mouth was left agape, her heart cheering with unwarranted pride for you, urging you on to read this stranger to filth. “Why start texting me again?” You ask.

“You’re here,” the woman clarifies indignantly, like it should be obvious. “I wanted to see you. I didn’t know you transf-”

 “That’s not what I’m ask- why’d you ask me out tonight?” You cut her off. “Purely to fuck with me?”

“No…”

“No, what? I’m just- I’ve always just been here at your disposal. Ever since we were teens. Chasing my tail around like a dumb dog, waiting for her master to one day be unashamed to be seen with me.” Abby’s hand travels to her mouth now in delight. She’s smirking like a clown, fully impressed with you. But, you were in tears at this point. Abby knew by now that, only drunk, would you show your tears like that. “Abby was right,” you mutter. Abby almost didn’t hear you.

“I’m gonna go,” the woman said. “It was good seeing you tonight.” It sounded like more of a question than a genuine statement. And then the sound of footsteps, a shadow moving away and then out of sight.

“Yeah. Go, for fuck’s…” You say messily. You were definitely not sober. And then Abby hears your body thud against the door one last time and senses you sliding down to the floor. She hears the tears. Abby instinctively began to get up, feeling the need to see you, talk to you, hold you. 

But she stopped herself. You wouldn’t even talk to her a few hours ago, why would you want her comfort now?

***

At that point in time, you and Abby were seasoned roommates. Well, not seasoned. You guys were in that awkward in-between stage of knowing each other where you’d half-memorized each other's schedules but there wasn’t any synchronicity to your dynamic yet. Changing clothes in the same room was still very touch-and-go.

However, when you first met there was immediate tension. It was winter then, and transferring colleges midway through sophomore year meant knowing absolutely no one. At least, you thought, you would have a roommate. But, when you first met, Abby was so much… harder. And, she was stoic and casual in a way that threw you off entirely.

“Are you looking through my shit?”

“No!” You said stiffly, whipping your head around to catch sight of the figure in the door. But, there you were. You stood fixed on her side of the room, where you just had your eyes deeply focused on the engraved rugby medals hanging on the shelf, her shelf. You were caught red handed and the lie came out of your mouth readily and in a panic. Abby was already smirking. 

“Yes,” you corrected yourself. “Sorry. I don’t know why I lied. But I’m just looking. I’m not going through it, per say, I promise.” 

Abby laughed and rolled her eyes. “Calm down. It’s fine.”

You smile and take five awkward steps over to your side where your bed was just a bare, blue mattress and your luggage rested waiting to be unpacked. It was a stark comparison between our sides of the room even still. Her bed was military neat, with perfectly tucked in covers and a single pillow centered at the head. The medals were all lined up but in a way that didn’t look too showy. Some polaroids were tucked into the creases between her window and the sill. Your suitcases were patterned and scuffed badly on the corners. Littered across them all were stickers you had found from anywhere you could find them. Your clothes made you look avant garde compared to Abby and you had a sudden knot in your stomach that told you to feel self-conscious. 

“They didn’t tell you who was moving in here, did they?” you asked.

“Ah. Typical administration shit. I didn’t even know someone was moving in today,” she explained, throwing her gym bag down onto her bed and then turning to you with an open hand to shake. “Abby.”

You shook her hand, returning her name with yours. You noticed the way Abby looked deeply into your eyes for a long second, too long for a first introduction. And the way she smirked at you while she did it confounded you; it was the same way someone held out their hand to a stray cat. To be fair, that was an accurate analogy. You were clad in winter jackets with a flushed face whereas she was radiating heat, skin almost steaming under her gym clothes. Her hands were rugged, you noticed.

“Well,” Abby said, turning to her bed and unzipping her gym bag. “I’ve been told I’m a good roommate. By no one actually. You’re the first roommate I’ve had since the first half of my freshman year. Uh…I keep to myself. I need quiet most nights because I get up early, so no boyfriends over on weekdays.”

You nodded along when she turned to you and sat on the edge of her bed wearing a slight grimace at that last idea. “But if you do, do me a favor and just text me beforehand. Don’t want to be walking in on any man butt.” You laughed a bit loudly at that. You just shook your head.

“No. That won’t be a problem,” you said. Abby caught your eye suspiciously and cracked a small and crooked smile.

“Okay,” Abby said. She turned back around, grabbed a towel from her drawers, and threw it on the bed. Then, she casually lifted her sweaty wife beater up over her head and it’s only then that you look at Abby long enough to notice her size and shape. She was severe, and you’d been so caught up in meeting her, you didn’t necessarily take in her physical appearance. But now that she faced away you could see the sheer definition of her body, starting at the dimples on her lower back trailing up to her massive shoulders. All of it glistening with a polished coat of sweat.  And the rest… it would take a few more interactions to even comprehend all of her.

She must have sensed the eyes on her back because she turned around. You looked away quickly, trying busy yourself with the things around you, but there was nothing. 

“Sorry,” your cheeks flushed red. But Abby was full frontal, positioned now with her messy hair unbraided, sprawled around her shoulders, grinning at you. She paused for a moment, maintaining eye contact, with only a towel around her waist.

But then she just shrugged, grabbed her toiletries, and said, “Later.”

You watched her leave. Watched her with wide eyes as she opened the door with one hand and used the other one to lazily cover her chest as she headed towards the showers. You even heard her say “sup” to someone on her way.

Alone, you felt the rush of the moment channel directly to your stomach and burst like flames across your face. 

***

That was just the beginning. Abby thinks of it now.

Now, face up on her bed, contemplating her next move, Abby recalls you as you were. She was immediately taken with you, that first day. Your wide eyes and timidity around her. Abby's own stupid, casual arrogance. Obviously, as Abby quickly learned later, that first impression of you was not at all fully representative of the truth. 

Maybe if she had stopped then, stopped the teasing, stopped what she intended to be light, meaningless flirting, Abby wouldn’t be hesitating to open the door. Perhaps she would be opening the door to find you in tears, take your face in her hands and tell you everything she’d been aching to say for three months now.

Abby gets up off her bed and walks to the door. She squeezes the handle, takes a breath, and then turns it slowly.

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Chapter 2

[bugflies00]

OKAY so what ive been thinking about for ages is ctommy and being soft vs quiet . because i feel like it's one of those things in his fandom characterisation that sparks the most debate and in my opinion theres a huge difference between the two but i keep seeing people mix them together.

ctommy is soft but he's not quiet, and to disregard either of those things is what makes him less believable in fanworks imo

because on one hand, of course he's not quiet, that's the most obvious and i think one of the most commonly accepted qualms that we have with general fan interpretations of him. he doesn't just lie down and take shit, he's always committed to being an annoying shit, he's straight up rude so often, and even just. vocally. man's loud as fuck. i think that's pretty easy to establish .

but then what i find is that sometimes we veer into the other opposite, by completely denying that ctommy is also very soft sometimes. and by this i don't mean he turns into strawberry shortcake or starts being polite or whatever, but it's the fact that he's not just crass and rude. he's very considerate a lot of the time, he just shows it. uh. in his Own Way let's say. he cares for animals so so much, he's always so apologetic when he thinks he's hurt one of them, for fuck's sake he sung to the FLOWERS. he's very soft with nature, with things he's attached to, with things he perceives as weaker than him and needing protection.

the complexity of ctommy and what makes him so hard to grasp is that he's loud, he's brash, he is NOT a perfect quiet victim who suffers in silence, he asks for help, he's rude, he steals stuff, he's annoying as shit; but he's also soft, and incredibly empathetic, and he has no shame in showing that softness for animals or nature or his friends.

ctommy, and this is very much because cctommy himself acts like that a lot, is constantly vacillating between someone with the maturity of a thirteen year old boy who shouts and swears and pretends not to give a shit, and a boy who will stop everything he's doing to look at the sky or a flower or an animal (which does contrast his stereotypical rude teenager persona, because lots of aforementioned thirteen year old boys Would be embarrassed or whatever to do that).

he does BOTH. he's not just quiet and nice and sad and lonely; but he's not just rude and loud and """uncaring""" (if there is one thing ctommy is not i think we can all agree its UNCARING).

and i think this is why a lot of debates around "woobifying" ctommy (who remembers the july 2021 trenches . the butterfly clips.) tend to point any ctommy design that portrays him as soft, cozy, or even leaning into his feminine side as the be-all end-all of reducing his character.

in reality i think that misses the mark a bit because while there IS something to be said for sure about people turning ctommy into Blonde Anime Child #249824 and stripping him of his Very Vibrant character, i don't think that putting him in butterfly clips and skirts erases him in the same way. i think he could very much lean into that kind of thing . as long as he's still flipping off the camera we're all good

TLDR : fans strip ctommy of his loud-and-annoying persona but in avoiding that some forget that he's a character who's not afraid to be soft