#at the end of the day everyone is gonna do what they want
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GUILTY AS SIN | JK
"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."
→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader
→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut
→ W.C 17. 32k
→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again
→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?
→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕
P.S: cross posted on wattpad.
It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love.
For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.
That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.
You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.
He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.
The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.
A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.
Jungkook.
Now, Jeon Jungkook.
You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.
The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.
Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.
An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.
But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.
Minho, though, was spiraling.
He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.
Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.
Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.
Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”
And he was one to keep his promises.
You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.
It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.
You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.
At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.
You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.
“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”
Relationship happened; Friends parted.
You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.
"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."
"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."
"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."
"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"
You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.
Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.
Until you didn't.
Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.
The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.
Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.
The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.
Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.
Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.
You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.
You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.
You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.
Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.
By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.
You weren’t.
And then he was gone.
With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.
The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.
The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.
2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.
Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.
Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.
Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.
You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.
But your heart wasn’t in it.
Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.
2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.
2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.
2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.
“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”
You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”
“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.
“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”
The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”
“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.
But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.
Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.
The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.
And then you saw him.
“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.
You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.
His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”
For a moment, the world tilted.
You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.
You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.
And the last.
The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.
Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.
It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.
“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.
The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.
Silence followed.
Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.
He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.
"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.
"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.
"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.
Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”
He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"
“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.
You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”
His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.
"So?”
“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”
You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.
The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.
The drive started in silence.
It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.
You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.
“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.
“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”
Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.
Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.
Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?
When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.
“This isn’t the way to my place.”
“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."
You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.
"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.
The house was still the same.
That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.
The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.
You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.
Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.
Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.
But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.
A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"
"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.
You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.
Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.
The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.
You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.
"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.
Hours later, sleep had yet to come.
You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.
There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.
The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.
At some point, you gave up.
Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.
Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Tattoos.
They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.
Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.
He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.
You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.
Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.
“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.
“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.
If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.
Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.
You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.
But Jungkook spoke again.
"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"
You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"
“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”
The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct��left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.
“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”
“And what do you want?”
To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.
But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.
“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”
You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.
“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.
He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.
You didn't got any sleep that night.
8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.
It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.
With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.
“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.
“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.
Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.
Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.
Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.
“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”
You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.
“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.
The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.
The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.
“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”
The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”
“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”
You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.
“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”
There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”
Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”
You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."
"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”
You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.
8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.
You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.
The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.
Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.
But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.
You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.
“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.
You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.
“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.
She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”
Was it that obvious?
“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”
Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”
You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.
“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”
“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”
Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”
You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"
“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."
“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”
Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?
“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”
Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.
You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”
Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”
"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."
She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”
If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.
“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”
You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.
Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.
And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.
It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.
As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.
The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.
But he wasn’t here.
With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.
The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.
You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.
When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.
He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.
To you.
You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.
His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.
The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.
What would you look like?
The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.
Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.
And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.
The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.
“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”
What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.
He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”
You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.
You—who weren’t his to look at this way.
He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.
Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.
Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.
He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.
But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.
It wasn’t.
Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.
Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.
When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.
Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.
And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.
But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.
Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.
“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.
“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.
“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.
He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"
You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.
He settled for opening the car door for you.
“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”
His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.
"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."
He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.
For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.
It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.
But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.
So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.
Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.
“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.
“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.
The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.
A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.
The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.
"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.
You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?
You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.
“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.
You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.
“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”
“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”
You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.
“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.
You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”
“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"
“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”
Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.
There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”
"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.
You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.
Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.
"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
Shit.
Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.
"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.
"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.
Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”
But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.
He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.
The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.
You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.
The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.
Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.
You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.
You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.
Free food always making things better.
“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.
A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.
“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."
“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.
"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.
“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.
Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.
"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.
“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.
“He just wanted a treat.”
Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”
There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.
You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.
You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.
"That's her, isn't she?"
“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”
“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”
The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.
A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”
You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.
You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.
Breathe. You reminded yourself.
One: Find your breath.
Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.
Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.
But weightless wasn’t the right word.
“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”
You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.
You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”
The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”
“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”
The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.
“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.
“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”
Stupid old hags with no life of their own!
You kept that to yourself.
Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.
The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.
You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.
People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.
You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.
And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.
You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.
A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.
Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”
He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"
“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.
The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.
You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.
One: Inhale.
Two: Exhale.
Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.
But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.
Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.
You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?
Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.
Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.
You shouldn’t have come here.
You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.
Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.
Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.
But you didn’t.
You couldn’t.
Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.
You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.
Just you.
It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.
“Y/N.”
It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.
You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.
He had followed you.
“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.
"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.
"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.
“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”
You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.
“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”
Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.
"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"
“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."
“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.
Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.
You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.
For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.
You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.
The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.
You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.
“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.
His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."
The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.
But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.
“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”
His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.
"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."
His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."
The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.
But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.
“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”
His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.
"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath, and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."
Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.
Your first instinct was disbelief.
This can't mean what you think it does.
This can’t mean what you think it does!
The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.
He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.
But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.
From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.
“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”
“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"
“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”
And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.
“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."
I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.
He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.
Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.
He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.
“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.
And so does his. "I know."
Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.
Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.
He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.
Fuck it.
Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.
He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?
When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.
His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.
"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.
You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.
This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.
It's not so bad. His lips feel good.
But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.
"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.
"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.
Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.
Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.
"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.
"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.
Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.
You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.
For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.
You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.
"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.
The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.
Before you could respond, he moved.
His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.
You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.
When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.
Audacious, you were.
Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.
You didn’t.
Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.
Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.
And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.
You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.
It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.
The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.
But he still wore it.
He still wore it.
Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.
And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.
He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.
"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."
The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.
You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.
You had missed that sound. You had missed him.
And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.
"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.
It had been so long.
Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.
You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.
"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.
A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.
"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."
You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.
You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.
Then again, he was all about surprising you today.
Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.
The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.
Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.
"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.
And so he did.
Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.
"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.
He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.
A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.
This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.
"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.
Oh.
Oh.
It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.
He would never be the same again.
That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.
It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.
"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.
A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.
"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.
Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.
"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.
You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.
He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.
How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?
How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?
You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.
"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.
"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.
It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.
He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.
Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.
Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.
"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.
"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.
"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.
But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.
"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.
But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.
"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.
He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.
It’s been so long.
The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.
"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.
An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.
His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.
Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.
He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.
“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.
Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.
"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.
And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.
And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.
“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."
All you could possibly do was feel him.
He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.
“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.
He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.
"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.
Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.
He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.
"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.
"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.
You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.
"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.
"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.
"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.
"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.
And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.
You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.
He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.
You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.
You were ruined by him.
There was no going back from this. You knew that.
What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.
You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.
Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.
Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”
You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."
You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."
It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.
#jungkook fanfic#jungkook scenarios#jungkook imagine#jungkook oneshot#bts jungkook#bts fanfic#bts au#jungkook#bts scenarios#jeon jungkook#bts namjoon#bts seokjin#bts yoongi#bts jhope#bts jimin#bts taehyung#jungkook smut#jungkook ff#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#jk#fyp tumblr#jeon jungkoooook#bangtan#bangtan fic#bts#bts x reader
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“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲”
𝐘𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 noticed you in the crowd cheering for him, while everyone else was mostly cheering for either Otoya, Karasu, Kaiser, or whoever else, and couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous you were in his jersey. He made a mental note to find you after the game… but unfortunately, lost you.
He saw you again a couple days later at the bar across from the stadium, where he and a few of the guys usually hung out after a gruesome day.
He casually watched as you chatted and laughed with your girl friends at a booth. “You know her?” One of the guys asked him, noticing how his gaze kept wandering back over to where you were. “Not yet.” He answered confidently, fixing his hair in the reflection of his glasses before getting up and making his way over to you. Normally, he was the cocky type that wouldn’t even give someone a second glance. But yet… he’s been thinking about you for days; the one that got away from him before he could even say a word to you.
“Can I refill your drink?” He leans against the side of your booth, smiling down at you. Your girl friends gushed and giggled, quickly taking the hint and leaving you two alone. “You don’t have to-” You smiled back up at him, trying to protest. God you were pretty. He sat down in the empty seat beside you, waving the waiter over. “I want to.” He ordered a refill of whatever you were drinking, and a beer for him. “You were at last weekend’s game, right?” He asks. “I was, yes. Your dribbling was impressive! And then that goal you made! I felt like I was gonna lose my voice from screaming your name!” You chuckled. Screaming his name huh? He had to actually pinch his thigh under the table to snap himself out of it. He chuckled and took a drink of the beer that the waiter dropped off. You quickly shut your mouth and sipped on your fruity little cocktail, the heat rising to your cheeks at how much of a fangirl you must’ve sounded like. He just smirked at your flustered state, finding it cute. “Relax, I don’t mind.” He leaned into you, so that only you could hear him. “I quite like the sound of you screaming my name.” You couldn’t help but blush. Was… Kenyu Yukimiya hitting on you right now?! “Kenyu!” You playfully tapped his arm. He smirked again, his eyes glistening a little as he moved in even closer. “I was looking for you after the game y’know… but you were nowhere to be found…” He whispered lowly, tilting his head to the side so that his lips were nearly brushing the side of your neck. “Oh really? I’m sorry…” You looked down at your glass. “It’s like you just, I don’t know, disappeared.” He chuckled, continuing, “Like something out of a Cinderella movie.” He moved a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, making you suddenly feel shy. He grins mischievously, “I don’t bite…”
He later ate his words that night, after sharing a few more drinks with you.
He did, in fact, bite… more than once…
“Hnngh! K-Ken! Jusss like that!” You moaned, slurring a bit. “Here? Right here?” He grunted, angling his hips up to where the tip of his dick was rubbing against your sweet spot. He picked up his pace, holding onto your waist and fucking into you like you were his personal fleshlight. He was making the same face he does when he’s trying to score a goal. The look of determination. He was determined to make you cum. He watched as your tits bounced in sync with his thrusts, the view riling him up more. He moved a hand to grab one, and lightly pinched your hard nub, making you clench around him. “Fu- … d-don’t do that… n-not yet…” He groaned. Your pussy felt like heaven. “I wanna make this last a little longer!” He looked down at you and smiled a goofy, drunken smile, licking his lips hungrily. He leaned forward to swirl his tongue around the nipple he was just pinching. He ended up throwing his glasses somewhere on the floor, due to them starting to fog up. “What if you- Ah! S-Step on them?!” You whimpered. He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it… I’ll j-just buy another pair.” He panted, capturing your lips in a sweet, but desperate, kiss.
“Just focus on me.”
The next morning, you awoke to the heavy feeling of an arm wrapped around you. You forgot where you were for a minute, blinking until your vision cleared. There was a framed soccer jersey on the wall, that had Yukimiya’s name on it.
Ah, so it wasn’t a dream…
You slowly and gently shifted around to face him; his arms pulling you closer against his chest in his sleep. He was so warm. You couldn’t help but curl into him, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.
Should you really be this comfortable? You guys barely even know each other…
Yukimiya could feel the subtle changes in your movements as you turned to face him. He also felt you settle in the crook of his neck. He smiled to himself, still groggy. “Hey…” He mumbled, eyes still closed. “…Don’t worry… I’ll be out of your hair in an hour…” You mumbled against his neck, “Just let me wake up…” He pulled you closer to his chest and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, “An hour?” He repeated as his hand moved up and down your back. “Don’t you even think for a second that I’ll let you leave that soon.”
You were slightly surprised that he actually wanted you to stay. “W-Why…” He shifted around, turning over on his back and pulling you up and over to straddle him. His hands slid up your body, and came to rest at your hips; eyes watching you carefully. He tilted his head curiously at your question, “Why do I want you to stay?” “…Yeah…” You sheepishly covered up your exposed breasts, as if he wasn’t literally all over them last night. He let out a small huff of amusement, reaching up to gently grab your wrists; pulling them away from your chest and pinning them down on either side of his head. “If this is about what we did last night…” He paused, his eyes slowly raking down your body to linger at the bite marks and hickeys that were scattered along your skin. “I don’t regret a moment of it.” “I’m surprised you remember at all.” You chuckled softly. He smiled, pulling you down more so that your chest was pressed against his; your lips were only a few centimeters apart. “Oh, trust me… I remember every. single. moment.” He emphasized every word, his tone laced with desire. His hand landed on your ass, earning a jolt and yelp from you. He chuckled from below as he felt you jerk against him, looking up at your adorable reaction with pure delight. Asshole. He smirked and spanked you again. “What, you thought I was gonna keep the spanks limited to just last night?” “Yukimiya!!” You squirmed, rolling off of him and moving to sit back over on your side of the bed. “Sh-Shouldn’t you be getting ready for practice this morning?” You tried averting the subject. He snickered, pushing himself up so that he was sitting up against the headboard, and looked over at you with an amused expression. “Nahh, practice isn’t for at least another few hours. So there’s no rush.” He reached out and grabbed a small lock of your hair, twirling it around with his finger. “Which gives me plenty of more time with you.” “Sorry, but I have work...” You pouted. He let your hair go as his face mimicked your pout. He wasn’t expecting this. Most girls would be begging to stay. He really thought he had you on lock. “You’re seriously already trying to get out of here?” He asked, his eyes narrowing at you slightly. “I’ll call you.” You got up, letting the sheets fall from your naked body as you searched for your clothing on the floor. He watched shamelessly, as your naked body moved around in front of him. He was trying his best not to pull you back into bed and have his way with you again. “You better…” He mumbled as his gaze stayed fixed on your ass. “Miss me already eh? I haven’t even left yet.” You joked, giggling as he threw a pillow at you. You definitely knew what you were doing. He just huffed, sitting there, pouting while you began to get dressed.
He couldn’t help but think about how last night was actually the hottest sex he’s ever had…
He shook those thoughts away, and sighed in defeat as you put your shoes on. He got up and made his way towards you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You turned around in his arms and placed his glasses, that you picked up off the floor, back onto his handsome face. He smiled warmly as he watched your actions; feeling his chest flutter just a bit as you tended to him so gently.
He was feeling oddly soft this morning… but he would deny ANY and ALL accusations of this fact.
He leaned down, so that his forehead was resting against yours as he muttered out, “So, you said you’re gonna call me… right?” “If that’s what you want?” You caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch; his tongue darting out to moisten his lips before answering your question, “Of course that’s what I want.” “Then I’ll call.” You said in a playful tone, before turning around to walk towards the door. He stood there and watched as you walked away, his eyes fixed on the way your hips swayed as you walked.
He flopped back in bed once you were out the door and stared up at the ceiling. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him…
You guys never exchanged numbers.
He quickly ran out the front door to see if he could still catch up to you… but yet again… he lost you.
“Damn bro… she really smashed and dashed. How does it feel?” Karasu teases him later that day at practice.
“I’ll find her again. Bet on it.”
© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.
Join my tag list here!
Note: It’s implied that all characters in this oneshot are of drinking age!🍻
#kenyu yukimiya#kenyu yukimiya smut#blue lock#ella’s delulu thoughts#dividers by adornedwithlight#yukimiya kenyu#yukimiya smut#bllk yukimiya#kenyu yukimiya blue lock#blue lock yukimiya#yukimiya fluff#yukimiya blue lock#yukimiya x you#yukimiya x reader#yukimiya x y/n#kenyu yukimiya x reader#kenyu yukimiya x you#kenyu yukimiya x y/n#kenyu yukimiya x female reader#blue lock x female reader#blue lock smut#bllk smut#blue lock fluff#blue lock x you#blue lock x reader#bllk fluff#bllk x you#bllk x female reader#kaiser smut#bllk smau
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꒰୨୧◞ 。some in-ho hcs⠀.ᐟ
~~how he acts when he like you~~
slight nsfw, minors don’t read past the warning
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sfw:
⟢ absolutely insane when it comes to you, has to stop himself from killing off every guy who looks at you the wrong way
⟢ always grabs you by the shoulders when you’re panicking— “listen to me, alright? you’re fine. you’re gonna be okay. get up and get ready for the next game, yeah?”
⟢ he will not let you die, lets all the guards know about his special attachment to you
⟢ always making direct eye contact with you, it’s so intense you have to look away sometimes
⟢ he’s extremely bold and will tell you exactly what he wants without being shy
⟢ you’ve never seen him blush, he just doesn’t get nervous like that…
⟢ …because he will get what he wants and he’s not having it any other way
⟢ always gives you his food “take it, you need it more than me. you know you can’t refuse this.”
⟢ you find it hard to resist anything he does, as you’re completely smitten with him and he’s just so intense you’re also a littleeee scared of him
⟢ always looking at you, studies your movements and your interactions
⟢ sooo possessive and wants everyone to know that you’re his
⟢ confesses to you first— only after you’ve proved to be trustworthy
⟢ he’ll get a little gentler then, looking into your eyes with a softer gaze
⟢ “you know, i’ve really started to grow fond of you during these games”
⟢ you feign surprise, you’ve known in-ho was obsessed with you from the first day where he could not pull his eyes away from you
⟢ let’s just say it’s a good night for both of you
(slight) nsfw:
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⟢ definitely watches you on the cameras and touches himself to you
⟢ will whisper in your ear everything he wants to do to you both before and during the games— he loves seeing you in a panicked state
⟢ wants to have you the first night he confesses to you and drags you to his room almost immediately
⟢ although he doesn’t look like he would be gentle, he starts off extremely soft and makes sure you’re okay with everything
⟢ after that though, he definitely shows his aggressive side
⟢ will make you say his name and how you’re all his— “now tell me, who do you belong to?” “yeah, that’s right, all mine”
⟢ he gets clingy after he finishes though
⟢ wants to cuddle you allll night after, definitely prefers skin to skin
the end~
first time writing nsfw why is it lowkey embarrassing
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#squid game#squid games#player 001#in ho#in ho squid game#in ho x reader#in ho smut#player 001 smut#squid game au#squid game x reader#in ho x you#001
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EVER's Tool - Chapter 2
Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (MC POV/Sylus POV/Zayne POV), Caleb x gn!mc
Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.
Word Count: 11028
Written: 28th January 2025
Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This took me too long, and then Caleb was released, and then I fell into the pit. Anyway, here we go. Chapters for this are gonna be way slower cause for some reason I made em... longer??? I dunno why I did this but hey. Anyway, um... enjoy?
Now Playing: As We Fall, by League of Legends
Masterlist AO3
<- Previous
It is in one of the old labs, where Raincoat finds you later, as though he'd been looking for you.
He watches for a moment as you sit against a wall, hand extended out in front of you. Clenching the segmenting fingers, over and over. Trying to seek something out, you're just not sure what. Like there should be something there, grounding you.
"You good there?"
"Fine." You exhale, turning sharp eyes to him, as he raises his hands in mock defence.
"Hey, don't give me that look, I came to chat."
"I don't recall us being friends."
He bears a title like yours. You know that Raincoat is just a pseudonym, passed down. You don't know how many there have been, but he's certainly not the first. He definitely won't be the last. Until EVER no longer need killers at their beck and call, there will always be a Raincoat.
You do wonder, however, why they choose that name for his ilk. Was it a fashion favourite of the first one?
Easy to wipe blood off, you suppose.
You've never asked his name, you've never wanted to know. If anything happens, and he ends up on the list, it's easier if he's just another face. Someone whose history you don't know. Someone whose face gets lost in the static.
"Come on now, you're always such a grouch." He sits on the table in front of you, and that smug irritating smile ticks at the corner. It overlaps for a second, sharp canines, before it shatters. "I just wanted to ask if you'd dealt with the doctor yet."
"I don't fail my missions, Raincoat. Are you here just to ask stupid questions?"
"I told you, I came to chat. You're the most fun person to talk to in this place. Everyone else doesn't like bloody hands."
You snort despite yourself. You think of all the scientists with their sins on their shoulders, and the fear and dislike in their eyes when they see you or Raincoat. Like their torture is more palatable than your killing.
As though there aren't dead children in the shadows of EVER's growth.
"The feeling isn't mutual." You respond, but ease a little. Raincoat can't be trusted, he's manipulative, a trained liar, and he wants others to think him a fool. Still, if you keep an eye on his hands, you doubt you'll need to look too hard for a dagger coming.
Afterall, if you fail, someone like him will be sent for you, then after the doctor.
'Darling'
"Ouch, one day you'll want to talk to me."
"If that day comes, we have bigger problems to worry about."
He laughs but it's an empty, cool gesture. A feeling that holds no weight, that does not matter. Like so many feelings you experience in this place. Like everyone is behind a wall, and you're watching. Seeking something out. Something genuine.
"Look, I just wanted to know if you'd come across him yet-" Warm forest eyes, tears glimmering in them, wavering on the edge, "'cause I've run into him before."
"You have?"
"Yeah, they've had me keep an eye on him. Along with that scientist they keep sending to talk to him. Carl? Cartier? Whatever his name is, an old friend. I dunno why though, the guys never gonna convince Li to join."
You keep hearing it. He won't join, he won't join. Why wouldn't he join? Why would he suddenly join them now?
"What do you know about him?"
"Come on now, Unicorn, information is expensive."
You lean forwards, stretching claws out and glint sharp edges at the man, who raises his hands again. His laugh is still empty, but it verges on unsure. Like he isn't ready to test if you'll use it.
You don't want him to know you won't, not if you don't have to. Not unless the noose pulls around your throat.
"You really are their favourite hunting dog aren't you? Some people skills could go a long way."
"Like you? Smiling like a serpent in the grass? I don't need to lie to my targets. I just need to get rid of them."
"I bet holding your chain is a rough ride, do you often bite the hand that feeds you too?"
You want to cut his throat open, it is a clawing need at the bottom of your gut. Every EVER dog that pretends you're the only pet kept. Like he isn't aware that when his value runs dry, he will be put down, or left chained in a kennel in the cold until it claims him. You wonder if they're all so unaware of their lack of value. That a bottom line and a higher goal are all that matter. That whoever hands down your orders, is probably just as expendable.
You don't know what EVER want, they would never bother to tell you. You've heard stories, immortality and overwhelming power. You think it must be like every other organisation with more money and status than they know what to do with.
It is the knowledge that makes it easier. You have a job, when that job is over, you will finally be granted release from your chains. If it comes in the form of death, you think that will be more than you deserve.
"You can talk, or you can leave. You can also leave in chunks, that's your call." You snarl, pushing up from the ground, and walking past the man. Not before reaching out a claw and cutting through the end of his raincoat.
"Alright, alright." He sighs, looking down at his clothing, "Now I have to buy a new one."
"Don't you have like fifty of them? Why else would you have that stupid title?"
"I didn't pick it, did you pick Unicorn?"
No. You're waiting for the namesake to be accurate. Sword through your skull, quiet in your brain.
"And I know you didn't pick the other one-" This time you extend your dagger at him, pointed edge aiming for throat, teeth bared. Snarl burning through your throat. "Woah, I'm not gonna say it. I like my head attached."
You think of Leon as he purrs it at you, as he says it like you are his favourite doll. You think about the way you want to tear his head from his shoulders, to tear limb from limb, to watch him rot. Before you are removed from service, you will take the man with you. So that he can never turn your stomach or anyone else's again.
"Speak."
"I thought I wa- Ok, alright. Doctor Li isn't going to just roll over for EVER, whatever they're going to manipulate him with, it's big. I've seen him. He gives sweets to kids, eats most of them himself. One for you, two for me." Raincoat mimes, when he receives nothing but a raised brow, he continues, "He gets a sad look in his eyes whenever a cat runs away from him. I've seen him pull cat toys out of his pocket to try to get them to come over. Sometimes it works, sometimes… well. He gets real sad."
"So he's a soft heart, what does that matter? All hearts can break."
"He's moral. He abhors what Xander Science is doing, and he knows EVER owns them."
"I'm not hearing anything new."
You think about the man with the green eyes bending down in front of cats, extending his fingers, and frowning just slightly when the creature bolts. You think about him offering bonbons out of his pocket. You think about white lab coats and glasses pushed up as he smiles, as he tends to a jasmine.
There's something in your chest that stings and hurts in the cold. You think of frozen over petals, black ice and twisted shapes.
"He's living with three other people in a fancy house in Linkon."
That is new… Raincoat knows where he lives, but the information wasn't in the file?
"Where?"
"So I was right, they didn't tell you."
"What are you talking about?"
"No, nothing, just curious about the kind of information they give you, to let their favourite dog fulfill their hunt." You get the urge to sharpen your dagger on his bones. Chipping and carving through them.
The urge passes quickly enough, but the irritation at the smug smile does not. "They give me what I need to finish a job."
"No doubt about that, you have quite a record. I'll send you the address. You sure you want to go though? Taking someone from their home's quite a risk, maybe that's why they didn't share it. Easier to catch him coming out of work."
"I can catch him coming out of his home just as easily." It's not pride, or confidence. Not really. You fill your missions, you come home, you hand over a finished product. You are good at what you do. There is little doubt. It does not fill you with joy, to complete a job. It is simply to avoid punishment.
There are no fistbumps. No high-five. No congratulations…
No energetic voice telling you, you did good.
You aren't sure why you ever thought there would be.
"Alright." You watch Raincoat mess with his device for a moment, before he shrugs, "Don't say I didn't warn you."
"If a warning from you would save me, I hav-"
"Bigger problems to worry about, I get it. Have you ever had friends?"
You don't bother answering him, leaving the room, twirling the dagger.
How would you even know? Years all lost to static, memories scattered to the winds. You were told the only person that mattered to you was Caleb, and if that's true… you cannot even remember him.
Perhaps your affections held no weight, perhaps even you and Caleb were empty, like you and every other person in the compound. Was it so meaningless to have a picture of the two of you, that his presence means so little to the you now?
Dogs can be loving, so you don't think it's the chain around your throat that stops you…
There is little in EVER that is worth caring for… perhaps the you now, lost their only chance at feeling more than dim acceptance. Tired withdrawal.
A need to see the end, and pass over. Perhaps then you can see Caleb, and remember what it felt like to care.
If he can care back, and not look at bloodied hand and broken carapace in disgust.
Perhaps you should be relieved he's not around to see you, to see the blood splatter up the lab walls. You can't imagine anyone would look at EVER's dog and not sneer.
—-
The training room is too warm.
You've spent four hours testing the limits of the new EVOL's you've been fed. Teleporting through space, mindless music thrumming through the background. It is hard to reign them in, pain ripping through your flesh as you reach for something you can't fully control.
Resonance is a powerful tool, you've been told. It is instinctual, breathing, a part of you. Every EVOL that has been devoured by it, is like the clawed hand. Attached to you, grotesque, too distinct. Too alien to really understand.
The first time you had tried to pull lightning to your clawed fist, you had felt the ozone burn. Tearing through the carapace, pain ripping through the limb. Shattering and twisting through it, until you had lay on the ground. Shaking, vomiting and screaming from the pain of it.
Your residual limb twitching as they pulled you away from the scorched floor.
Trying to feel for the lightning through your attachment was like feeling through thick mud. It was not at the surface of your skin, like calling your resonance to your other hand was. It was weak and hard to grasp, and if you did not grasp correctly… too tightly.
To summon something that could burn through your skin, with flesh and blood, felt like a fool's task. You sacrificed three attachments to the electricity before you could hold it in palm. For a short period of time, then the pain spread out from your shoulder, down to your chest.
Your heart thudding, thumping, racing, then screaming in protest.
Breath short, broken, fleeting.
You shook it out, releasing your hold, pulling away from the EVOL that did not wish to be held. Not by you.
You weren't sure where it had once belonged, you just knew it was not yours.
Weeks had been spent trying to harness the second, dampening. A power that should have been able to weaken or suppress the EVOLs of those around you. Harder to grasp, like it was in direct conflict with your resonance. Fighting it everytime you summoned it to the forefront.
A caged beast that did not belong in your chest, nestled amongst your heart. Teeth and claws, unrestrained fury. It does not wish to be used, or called to heel. It demands more space in your heart than can be allowed.
It is an unruly and uncontrolled tool. Without great focus and peace, it is impossible to use for combat.
You had only ever used it once, successfully breaking sound amplification, bringing you to your knees. Head splitting with the pressure of it. It had felt, for a moment, like the EVOL had taken pity on you.
Alive and warm, before it faded back into the recesses. Refusing to return to your hand.
Without snapping its jaws at resonance with vicious glee.
The easiest to use was the time EVOL, a weak little thing. It's uses limited, like a child's gift. Bursts and flickers of a power that flitted like a butterfly.
You could use it to slow time around you for snapshots. Using it to move out of danger, flickering out of existence to flee. Only useable on yourself, or things you held in grasp.
It always listened, curled around your fingers like a small hand. Seeking out the heat of your flesh for comfort. Like if it did not behave, it would be left alone in the cold.
Against all, resonance continues to be the only form of power that feels like you. There are moments when you use it, that you can almost feel it respond like a vine seeking out something that is no longer there. Poking, prodding, out into space.
You think of ivy on the sides of buildings, growing eternally seeking out comfort in shade that is not there.
Unclear what it seeks, an answer you can't give, not with no memories and static in your senses…
You just know that when it meets the other EVOLs that settle in your body, it recoils as though they don't belong.
Like its instinct has been to eat, ravenous and starving, without checking its food was not toxic, and now it writhes in pain at the result.
If it is such a part of you, you're not sure what that says about who you are.
A hungry, desperate beast, perhaps. Seeking out a thing you can never find.
A poisoned dog in the woods, waiting for the pain to ebb away.
Perhaps both.
It is when you lose focus, teleporting into a wall, stumbling back with your hand against your head, that you feel the exhaustion finally catch back up with you.
Escaping sleep, running on fumes, caffeine and sugar. If EVER had wanted you to be a sufficient tool, you think they would have removed the need for sleep.
Erased illness.
Removed your capability for pain.
You hiss as you ease the ache in your forehead, leaning back against the offending wall and taking a deep inhale.
It is the struggle eternal. To sleep and regain your strength, to finish a job. To reduce the chances of failing, of finding out what is on the other end of failing a job for EVER… versus the knowledge of what awaits you in the dark of your own mind.
Broken images and pain you can't put into place. Nightmares of things you don't recognise. Feelings you can't hope to understand.
There is no escape in the land of dreams, no comforting space to find safe and happy. No place to walk to remind you of times when you might have had a hand to hold, or a smile to greet you. Your dreams do not offer you the memories of Caleb, do not recreate the smile he has in the lone photo.
Perhaps if they did, you would escape to them often.
The close call with the red eyed man played in your mind. The mist that grasped your limbs, the arms around your body. The protest in your ribs as his muscles worked. The ache. The awareness that your body was still fragile.
You think about being dragged, and caged, and taken somewhere else against your will.
Against electric shocks through your skin. Scalpels through your body.
Waking up with your chest opened up, the agony of awareness, and the horror of a body that did not feel like your own.
There is something about the devil you know, after all, and the devil you do not know, with his shining red eyes…
You would rather not find out what lies on the other end, it is hard to imagine anything worse, but the static and the fear of his growl of a voice, that tore through you like the lightning through your attachment, did not make you wish for the risk.
The knowledge and the awareness was something to shy from. It always brought the abstract reminder of pain and loss.
If it kept you off that table then you'd have to brave what your brain concocted.
Figures in the shadows, and voices on the edges of your consciousness.
—--
EVER are careful, Sylus knows this well. He's used to them hiding, he's used to hunting for each head of the hydra. Cutting it back and cauterising the wound. What he can reach. What he can grasp.
He feels, however, like he is chasing his tail. Like they can see him coming, and have begun to lead him to dead ends. To mysteries that he has no time to solve. Sanitariums, graveyards, old bases, laboratories that matter little in their grand scheme.
Laying out crumbs for him, letting him take pieces on the chess board, while keeping the win out of his hands.
He is not a stupid man, he is used to playing games that feel unwinnable. Immense power can often push down any enemy without hindrance.
This, however, is him looking for a hidden jewel, in a desert. The longer he takes, the further you get from him.
The colder his home grows.
The evening that the doctor and fish had returned, hollowed out and on the verge of cracking, he had watched them fracture in ways he wasn't sure he could fix.
The doctor had sequestered himself away, and when Sylus had investigated, he had been staring at documents on experimentations with wanderers. Xander Sciences stamped across the top. Trying to understand the lengths that had been followed to attach one of their limbs to you.
The fish had first lay in one of the larger bath tubs, head under water, embraced by the coldest he could find. Staring up at the ceiling. A heartbroken, cracked song had flowed from under the door frame. He normally loved to hear the fish and you sing… this… this felt like an elegy. Taking him back to bloodied swords and your figure chained in front of his haunted eyes.
Eventually Rafayel had pulled himself out of the water, sopping wet and trudged into the bedroom, finding his way to Sylus' side. Dripping over the covers and curling up on his chest. If his tears were muffled into his chest, he didn't mention it. Just soothed hands he hoped did not shake, down the lemurian's back. Humming under his breath.
Not an elegy, never in mourning, just one of the songs he'd heard you singing a hundred times. Just another thing that was as familiar to him as everything about you.
It should have been a relief to know you were alive, and in some ways it truly was, but he knew the fish was tired. Of being forgotten, of watching you leave. Of knowing you were not returning to his arms just yet.
An ache and pain that lit up the canvas for his art, but left him hollowed and hurting.
After the water had cooled Sylus' skin through his clothes, the hair sticking to Rafayel's face, as he looked up at the man, he retrieved a towel with his EVOL. Easing it over skin, and brushing through wet hair.
"They're coming back to us." He speaks, and it is more assured than he feels. It is as hopeful as it is a need. He cannot go another lifetime without you, neither can the Lemurian, not since having you. In every beautiful flaw. He will chase every life with you, but this one… This one is special. This one is a family and a home, he cannot give it up without being killed once and for all.
He will put this immortal body to use, the way it should be used.
Rafayel nods against him, not moving, and it is moments before he falls asleep.
Sylus wonders at the dreams of the fish, before he decides to chase his own slumber for once, unwilling to disturb the peace that is so rare.
Days later he is working through information. There is something to be said for each of his family members. Rafayel has connections that even he does not have access too, and while he is often tempted to ask, he doesn't want to pry when the fish is willingly digging into it to find any sight of your tail.
Zayne has talked to anyone with connections to EVER, looking into Xander Sciences, digging through all of the correspondence he has ever had for any hint. Though he had come up empty, without accepting offers that his conscience, and his morals can never live with.
Xavier, after healing, had returned to working. Using the Associations information, talking to your captain, seeking out information from people he could trust there. A disappearance was one thing, a return with EVER's mark upon your collar, and a wanderer limb attached to you, was easier for them to mobilise for.
Though Sylus was unsure how reliable they could be, considering you disappeared on a mission for them.
Luke and Kieran have been working double time, in a way he has not seen them move in quite some time. They fulfil orders, of course, but it is never with the kind of violent desperation he sees in them now. Like they have a timeframe, and if they can't beat it, they will fade away.
He thinks about Kieran carving crystals out of his skin, of never having enough time to live.
They know better than anyone what cruelty EVER can commit for their needs. He should not be surprised when they return, disappointed and dirty.
"Nothing there boss."
"We asked around too, no one saw anything."
They're despondent, he realises. Looking at the two as they move their masks to the side. They have taken to wearing the crow hoodies you bought them, more and more. He has debated pulling them off, so that he can wash them, perhaps in the laundry detergent you prefer. Like he's trying to soothe cats whose owner has not returned.
It's not the best thing to wear for jobs, but he doesn't want to watch the twins shrink in on themselves more. There is dirt smudged over Kieran's cheek, against one of his scars, and Sylus blinks and sees you.
Scars through your skin, twisting your lips when you smile.
It blurs into the blank, cold look he received days ago.
The chill in his heart has to be chased away by the wine he drinks from his glass, as he flicks the screen on his tablet. "They're not going to make it easy for us."
Kieran snorts, sitting on the edge of his desk, to stare down at the tablet, looking for something. Anything, Sylus thinks. Like if they look at what he's found, maybe something will click.
Maybe their experiences will mean something, now. Pain justified.
As though it were ever so easy.
"Any other places we can check on the list, boss?" Luke tilts his head, the hood slips further over his eyes.
They look tired, and worn, and hungry. "No, not until I've gone through this. Go get some sleep, and get some food out of the fridge. There should be plates to reheat."
Always now. Food cooked at speed, stuffed into fridges, waiting for spare time stolen from frantic searching.
He cannot remember the last time a meal was shared around a table. Laughter in the walls of his home.
He misses it more than he would ever be able to confess to another. At least not right now, when he has to be strong. Stronger, even, for those who are fighting alongside him.
"But boss-"
"It's an order, if you fall over out of exhaustion, you won't be able to do your jobs."
The two look at each other, sharing a world he can't begin to touch, let alone understand, before they return resigned. Frustration lurking under the edges, of a loyalty he isn't sure they realise they've offered him, and a tired relief, bled into gratitude.
He can keep sending them on more chases, but every piece he claims, every facility abandoned or worthless to EVER, has made him more aware that where he is searching, is not the answer.
While it is unlikely you lie in the heart of EVER's web, they have sequestered you somewhere he cannot see.
Sylus' eyes are many things, but blind? Never. He has always seen the things others could not, even if he has not wanted to. Even if it haunted him. Why now, he cannot seek his own greatest desire, perhaps a punishment for blood or sins. The result of being a monster that lives on the sins of others.
He can only find relief that two plates are missing when he checks on them, dead to the world and curled up in one of the bedrooms set aside for them.
He still cannot remember if it was your idea or his own.
As he cleans up the mess they have left, he receives a message from the fish.
'I think I have something, come here.'
Sylus is unsure if he's ever moved as quickly, as he does, when he pushes his bike past the limits of what even the N109 Zone would comfortably allow.
—----
"Look, I can't tell you everything."
"You need to tell me something."
"I'll tell you what I can!"
When he arrives, Sylus hears before he sees. Rafayel stood, arms crossed but dagger in hand, turning it this way and that. Eyes narrowing on a man stood in a raincoat.
Tacky, with a torn edge.
"Did you ruin this man's coat, fish?"
Rafayel looks up, huffs and shrugs loosely, "He must have had a run in with someone else."
The man in question raises his hands, placating, and careful, now that someone else has arrived. A smile that looks too relaxed, makes Sylus look at his hands. Steady, fingerprints gone.
"Yeah, I had a run in with this nasty dog in my neighbourhood. It's got the worst temper, no good handlers. Likes to snarl."
"And- I don't care. Tell him."
Sylus steps up next to the fish, red glistening eye focusing on the man. Seeing… nothing. Emptiness.
He hesitates. Humans are full of greed and desires. They burn with it, as alive as souls can be, even if they're twisted, corrupt little things. This one, is either the one most closest to their mortal image of purity, or as broken as they come.
"Name's Raincoat."
"Idiotic name, tell me what you need to tell me."
The man huffs through his nose, "Do all of you have the people skills of a dead goat?"
"Is that a comparison people often make?"
His hands return to his sides, shoved into too deep pockets, but his smile remains. It does not offer an ounce of comfort. Sylus has seen smiles like his on other faces. It accompanies a spear to the abdomen more often than it doesn't.
"I heard you're looking for that hunter-" Sylus steps forwards and this time the man jumps back a half step, "Woah, no need to menace, I don't know where they are, but I do know what they're after."
"You're an EVER dog, why would you tell us anything worthwhile?" Rafayel finally speaks, and Sylus watches as Raincoat's eyes go to the dagger in the man's hand. It is a small flick of eyes, before he returns to his smile.
The shortest moment, but he can see recognition. He knows the fish does as well, because he spins the dagger right in front of him, watching as the eyes follow the movement.
"You think I like another one like me lurking around? If I get deemed useless, that hunter of yours will tear my throat out with that fucked up hand of theirs. I've seen the corpses of people they've been sent to kill. I don't need that."
"Like EVER would be any kinder without them?"
"Like minimising the risks of being mauled by a wanderer are always smart."
Sylus notes the chill in Rafayel's eyes, the way his hand tightens a little on the dagger, watching the twitch at the talk of your arm. The one EVER stole from you. Twice.
He hopes your metal one, with the beautiful fish, is still somewhere. When he claims you back, he'll find it.
"What are they after then?"
"That doctor of yours. EVER think that with the assistance of your hunter, he'll finally agree to work with them."
They look at each other, and don't see the widening grin on Raincoat's face, "I've heard he's pretty moral, but he'd do anything for them, right? EVER think so anyway, and they're willing to wave them in front of his face, to find out."
Eyes turn back to him as he shrugs, miming dangling something from his hand, "And if it doesn't work, they'll just find other ways to make him useful. Heard they have some fucked up chips they use for some of their tools. Makes 'em real compliant."
"Why would we believe you?"
He laughs, like it couldn't matter less to him, like Sylus couldn't tear him apart himself. He should, and as he steps forward, a hand tightens around his wrist. Rafayel is facing Raincoat, eyes focused. It is a subtle movement, quick. His dagger spins to keep Raincoat's eyes on it. When Sylus is released, he eases the fury bubbling in his gut.
"You've been useful before, so I'll let you go, so you can be useful in the future. Alright? If you're lying-"
"I know, I know. You'll find me and murder me, your little family are fond of death threats, huh?"
When the man is gone, leaving the two stood in an alley, with Sylus feeling as though he has gained weight strapped to his back, "So we keep an eye on the doctor."
"I guess I'll be on bodyguard duty for once." Rafayel laughs, but it's tired and it's worn. Weighted by questions left unanswered.
Of images that Sylus can't stop trying to shake out of his mind.
EVER pinned to your throat, their leash around your neck, pulling until it snaps.
If they use you, to hurt Zayne, he knows when you come back to yourself, you will never forgive yourself. He has seen you sink into despair once before, he will not witness it again.
—---
Zayne feels as though he's going mad.
"You wish to guard me?"
"You can have me, or you can have Mephisto, maybe the twins. I can reasonably behave myself."
"Sylus, you cannot follow me around the hospital. You would draw far too much attention, and if I am truly a target, it will be more clear that you have some kind of inside information."
The leader of Onychinus stares him down, unwavering jewel eyes. He's used to the man being stubborn, Sylus does not waver from a goal, he has never halted his intentions, or paused in his journey.
Even though Zayne can see fraying edges, and a strength that wavers on the cusp of cracking.
"Then Mephisto will follow you around, ready to alert me."
It's the best he thinks he's going to get for a compromise. The bird at least, can somewhat blend into the surroundings. Perching outside his office perhaps. He doubts anyone will capture him inside of Akso Hospital. Still he's not sure there are limits to EVER's pull at this point.
If they have their hand in everything, he doesn't see how they can't cover up a doctor's disappearance.
His disappearance.
He has no intention to be reckless, and he finds Sylus' concern comforting. A reminder that even though he watched you flee from a café he has frequented with you, he is not holding his grief alone for once.
"I'll accept your pets supervision, but ensure he keeps a reasonably low profile." Accompanies his sigh of weak acceptance. There's little else he can do, if something happens to him… he will not be there to help you, nor will he be able to keep feeling the warmth of his home. He does not want to be the cause for more grief.
"Whatever you say, doctor." Sylus stands, motions for the robot bird that flutters over on metal feathers and rests on Zayne's shoulder. Ready, waiting. He tightens his hand around his work bag, nodding at the thing that he's still not sure has much of a will of its own.
Then he thinks of the times he has found you curled up asleep with Mephisto, and the bird's reluctance to leave the perch of your metal shoulder.
Just as attached as his master, Zayne thinks fondly.
Fingers drift over his cheekbones, pulling Zayne from his thoughts, as he focuses on the wavering heat of Sylus' eyes, "I'll be alright." He offers, as the man hesitates.
"You will, but if you're not-" Something is attached to behind his ear, though it is small and the sensation disappears almost immediately, "I'll find you regardless."
"We need to have a discussion over requesting access to hinge upon privacy."
"I told you before doctor, we have different boundaries for acceptability." The smirk is wide and self satisfied, but it is more confident than Zayne has seen Sylus for some time.
"Now get going, you have lives to save, my good doctor." His hand is raised for a kiss to be placed upon his palm, and then he is released. Mephisto kicking up to fly out ahead of him.
He has always walked the distance to the hospital, it is an easy journey, a moment to prepare himself for a long and hard day. It is never easy facing the path he has chosen for himself, despite his passion for it. Some days are full of pain, others joy.
Zayne has worked ever harder in the pursuit of easing his aching heart. He worries that his handle over his EVOL will begin to shatter, that his lack of control outside of what he would allow himself with his family, will spread to his work.
It is with an iron grip, that grows ever tighter, and the sunken set to his stature, that has allowed him to keep moving.
He is only ten minutes into his walk, when he feels the prickling up the back of his neck, turning to erect a wall of ice in front of him. Steady hand pushing back against the jolt of lightning that touches the ice and fractures it, scorching where it lands.
He smells burning, and steps back, Mephisto screeches, before lightning arcs for the bird. Piercing a wing and sending him hurtling to the floor.
Before him is a vision he never wants to see again. That twisted carapace arm, with the lightning crackling and burning through it, leaving deep grooves with every spark. Your scars pulling at your lips as you focus mismatched eyes on him.
Cold, empty, devoid of anything.
Sylus had warned him… he hadn't been prepared to see it. When he'd seen you at the café you had been startled, alarmed. Human. Despite the lack of recognition.
Now, before him, dagger in your other hand, he sees nothing. Like you have shut down, broken off parts of the warmth of the person he knew, and stepped out a doll.
You look at the barrier, and he recognises the look. Calculating, ready. The lightning dissipates and you look back up at him, gold filtering into your gaze.
The resonance he can feel across from him is a familiar heat, like home. You place your hand on his barrier as he watches, one lip quirks pulling on the scars, before eyes narrow. "Doctor Li, I would appreciate you coming with me willingly. I have been informed not to damage the merchandise."
"A kind consideration, but I'd rather not hand myself over to EVER." He forces out, through a throat that feels too tight. Words tinged in a humour he doesn't feel. Like you're still you, like he's still making jokes with you. Dry wit and warm heart.
He pushes the barrier out, the ice pushing you back from him. Sharpening ice blades before him, holding them ready.
He watches, as your expression falters. It is like something filters through your cold eyes, a strange flicker of discomfort, before you refocus. He knows you well, has loved you for a long time, but this is a person he does not recognise. Not truly. Whatever lurks there, he isn't sure he can puzzle it out without time.
Which, as he watches your claw glow gold, he will not be offered easily.
"Very well, they will have to tolerate limbs in place."
It is said so flatly, that he feels the chill up his back. To be looked at by you, with nothing but tired acceptance. You who eased the pain out of his skin when the ice pierced it. You who saw warmth in him. You who gave him a safe place to let his control drop.
You who pulling him forwards in time.
Your hand pulls back, and before he can wonder at it, the claw sharpens, grows, and is pierced through the wall of ice, shattering it.
He shoots the shards of ice, backing up further. He can get back home, he thinks as he sends another flurry-
You dart forwards, blinking out of existence for a moment before you are before him, claw grabbing for his throat, and deflected with an icy blade.
It catches at the wrist of your carapace, the grotesque thing pulled back as you wince at the chill. The pain makes you smirk at him, fang peeking out under lip, and you dart forwards again, grabbing it in claw and snapping it. Before trying to headbutt him.
He shields his face with his arm, and pulls another barrier to keep you from slashing with the sharpened blade of claws.
Zayne has to fight you, he realises, something he has never done in this life. You have practiced how to resonate with him, had trial matches, practiced fighting with him, never against him.
Never pushed his EVOL past what you believed was safe, worried at the edges at any pain he has felt, even as you willingly eased it with your power or your touch.
He has never known you to want to risk him like you do now, pushing and clawing at his barrier. Edging him on. As you shoot lightning, with a wince he notes, he finds the logical part of his brain wondering how. Before he runs.
Ice blades flung behind him, a flurry of snow kicking up, he races back the way he came. Before he collides with a solid form, as you stand right before him. Claw grabbing his neck and tightening your grip. He grabs the wrist, freezing where he touches, watching as you hesitate.
Flinching as the chill hardens and cracks, before you squeeze. It is not the familiar touch of resonance he is used to, as the gold seeps up your claw, and into his own skin. It pulls at the ice, hardening its grip. Strengthening it. With none of the warmth of the EVOL he is used to.
It burns back up his skin, sending the ice back the way it came, pushing through his skin. He gasps as it spreads, fights back the cry he wants to let out as the ice turns black and pierces through his arm.
He distantly hears Mephisto squawk, the flutter of feathers, before the sound quietens.
The gold glow of your eyes intensifies, sharpening to points as you squeeze around his throat, the agony of his arm spreads up to his shoulder, as you cut off his airways. "A power you can't control…" Through the haze of his eyes, as he grows dizzy and numb, he sees the spark of something. Guilt. Pain. Understanding? "Go to sleep, Doctor Li."
A flash of red, and the force of a hurricane flings you from him. Sending him to the floor, knees colliding hard with the ground, and hand not frozen barely catching him. He gasps, wheezing to pull oxygen back into his lungs, to ease the ice in his limb. Relieved when it begins to skitter back. Pulling out of his limb.
He is rounded as Sylus stands before him, "Really now doctor, seconds after my warning?" A relief, an assurance that he will not have to hurt you without someone to keep him steady.
That there is a better chance together, than alone.
Even if his lungs struggle to pull oxygen in for his brain to function again.
"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."
—----
You're falling.
Surrounded by nothing but pitch black.
There is no answer to how long you fall, you cannot see around you.
You're falling.
You reach out, grasping for something. Anything. To stop the hurtling. You feel sick. Agony. Like your body is covered in wounds. Barely holding itself together.
A flash of light and you see your metal hand, grasping. It catches on a ledge, and the light filters through, a lone wisp. It bobs next to your hand, tiny and gold and weak. It dances like a firefly, dancing over your fingers as you dangle.
You try to reach with your other hand but it does not move, like it is locked to your side. Too heavy to use.
As you tense the hand you can use, a little painted fish swims over it, over to your fingers. It twirls around each metal joint, seeking something.
You don't think it finds it, because it jumps as though leaving water. Swimming away. Your hand opens as though you need to grab it.
You need to grab it.
If it leaves, you'll never see it again.
You can't lose him.
The motion causes your hand to open, and as you watch the firefly of light die slowly… the metal turns to claws. Unnatural and broken. Grotesque and black. Scales replacing metal.
It is the last thing you see before the darkness greets you again, and you fall.
Slamming into a ground that knocks all the air out of your lungs.
It is cold that greets you, an icy expanse against the wounded skin of your back. Your claw twitches at your side. Pain shooting through your body that does not respond. Useless and worthless.
It cannot serve you, or anyone.
There is nothing to gain from this body.
Only your claw can move, only your claw can make you worth something.
You are a tool that will be discarded once they realise how very little you matter.
In the darkness the caw of a crow rattles your brain, the sound too loud to be flying over you. Your senses fractured and struggling to make sense of the lack of sight.
It is the first sound you have heard, other than your struggling lungs, with your claw you pull yourself over onto your stomach, and as you do. Blinding lights hit your eyes.
The flash of light lasts a moment, but it is enough to wound your eyes. Intense and harsh. As you blink, trying to force the retina burn to ease, you feel a hand reach for your cheek.
Through the blinking lights and the hazy vision, you see a light behind the back of a head. Eyes gazing into yours.
With each blink the colours flicker.
Red.
Purple.
Pink.
Green.
Blue.
Before your claw reaches out, desperate, shaking. The eyes turn, look at the twisted thing attached to you, before the hand pushes you away, pulling back. A hiss of disgust.
A violent rejection…
And you fall again.
—----
You have been pushed to complete this mission before you are ready. There is no rest, when you have a leash so tight around your neck you can feel the air leave your lungs.
You stare at the man before you, who guards his lover with the snarl of a dragon guarding a treasure. As he gasps to right himself. Trembling as your EVOL's influence stops ripping through his limbs.
At least there is something to be learned. Now if you could just deal with the red eyed man.
"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."
It grates at you. Kitten. Kitten. Kitten.
"Stop calling me that." You snarl at him. It is not something you are prone to feeling, a violent feeling under your skin, on a job. You have become good at locking back the feelings to complete a mission. You are good at getting through them. At not feeling.
Why do these two have any impact on you? The people they spend time with? Why does your mind fracture through the feelings you cannot name?
"You never used to complain, is sweetie better? Beloved?"
It rattles at you, fierce and violent. Your brain tumbling through the darkness, seeking out a ledge to grasp.
So you rush him, dagger aimed for his throat.
It does not land, brushed aside with a careful hand, before you stab forwards again.
Again.
Again.
Wild and furious and desperate.
Your movements are easily deflected, and when he aims a punch you dart back. Staring at him. Forcing yourself to ease. You have to control it.
You have a target.
Electric and scalpel. If you can't finish, you will feel them again. The reminder of your worthless body on the awareness of agony.
EVER can do worse to you. You cannot give them a reason to.
"You are not my target." You manage to speak, correcting your grip on your dagger, flexing the claw at your side. "Stand aside, I would rather not kill anyone I do not need to."
It's bitten off and harsh, tinged in all the fury you cannot seem to pull back to heel.
Red eyes narrow at you, as the man adjusts his cuffs, moving to stand in front of the doctor, who pulls himself up a little. Breathing easier. "I won't let anyone hurt him, not even you Kitten, and this isn't you."
"I told you-"
You barely get it out before the mist grabs your arm, tugging you forwards and down. So you snarl, and throw yourself at him like the dog you've been called too many times.
Fangs bared, dagger out, and claw extended.
You slash at his face, kick out at his leg, when his EVOL grasps at you, you force it to shatter to the gold running over your skin. Though it never dissipates for long. A hand grasps the wrist of your claw, tightening against where the ice still has you frozen. Squeezing enough to crack it, and you let out a gasp of pain.
Red eyes turn to it, the damage in front of his eyes, and you stab into his chest with the dagger when he does. He releases you for a moment but grabs the wrist holding the dagger, eyes wild and canines bared.
He pushes himself further into the blade, staring down at you.
"The hell are you doing? Do you want to die?"
He barks a laugh, advancing, hand tightening so your bones creak, "When I die, it won't be the person in front of me doing it."
You push the dagger in, growling when he winces in response, "You say that now-"
A shiver runs up your back as the red flares. As his one eye glows.
The world sinks away for a moment. Leaving that pinpoint of red.
Devour.
Only you-
Devour him.
And this flower-
Devou-
"Get out of my head." You snarl, the gold shattering him back. You reach up for your head, stumbling back, leaving the dagger in his chest. The world tilts at an angle, and you slip to the floor.
It crackles and it stings, and the world turns to static. Your surroundings are in technicolour, before dimming into grey.
There's flowers fluttering in the breeze, before they scatter and become nothing but ash.
He pulls the dagger out of his chest, looking at you as you force yourself to your knees. You watch him hold it, like it's precious. Like it matters, rather than throwing it aside.
The man handles it with care, as he places it on the ground. "I do wish Rafayel hadn't taught you to use that, sometimes. Sharp little thing."
You turn eyes to him, scrambling back like a cornered cat, daring not to blink, as you will your mind to steady, to focus. To do something other than fracture.
The devil you don't know. The failure that awaits you.
You extend your hand, the lightning arcing, but rattling through your bones. You bite off the pain, relieved when his advancements stop, moving out of the way of your uncontrolled desperation.
The doctor has recovered mostly, standing, "Sylus, we need to get them somewhere safe."
"I know, doctor."
You stare up as the red eyes approach, as they waver on the edge of softening, before gleaming once again, "Let's get you fixed, kitten."
Fixed.
Fixed.
Arm replaced, body broken, mind fractured.
EVER wanted to fix you. Make you better.
You can't be fixed.
The hand grasps at your arm, pulling you up, stumbling against his chest. You don't struggle, caught in the gleam of red, seeing the swirling colours.
Answers you can't grasp.
The red is all you can see, the static bleeding into an abyss.
There is a whisper on the edges of your mind, husky and deep, warm and ready.
'Tell me you want me.'
Heat against your neck, teeth and tongue. A shiver down your spine, warmth against limbs. Thighs grasped in a tight hold as a growl warms the edges of your soul.
'Tell me you feel good.'
A gasp, a moan of satisfaction. The feeling of tumbling over the edge, but being caught. The answer on the tip of your tongue.
'Say my name, kitten.'
A mantra that resounds around you. A song sung through the fog. Music that lights the sky.
'Do you love me?'
Warmth in chest, a small flutter of life. An affirmation of everything that matters.
The scalpel in hand. The claw at your hand. The questions that have no answers.
The static.
"Get-" The beast roars to life, its jaws snapping as you reach for it, desperate.
"Out-" Tears on your cheeks, it curls around your broken heart.
"Of-" It's head rears, guarding you from the agony of the abyss.
"My-" The silver filtering over your skin, the creature serving you willingly.
"Head!"
You snarl with it, pushing him back. Watching the pain in his face, the silver skittering through his skin, like poison in veins. He falls, and he slumps. You hear the gnash of teeth, the growl.
You push further.
Forcing him down, hand on shoulder now as he is pushed to his knees.
Your heart twitches, and hurts, and aches. Resonance fleeing from you as the beast hungers and snaps and bites at the bit to pull the mist into its maw.
"Sylus!"
The ice that is flung at you, melts before touching you, as the beast whose leash you do not hold turns its attention to the doctor.
You can feel the shaking, through your legs, into your arm. It is only the claw that does not tremble, that does not feel like it will shatter at a touch.
Releasing the man, you turn to the doctor. Catching for a moment, the agony in red eyes as hands reach out, seeking you, but weakly grasping at air as you force agonised limbs to respond.
Your claw grabbing the doctor's hand as he winces. As the dampener rips part of him out of his reach.
You know your resonance is part of you, instinctual and like the blood in your veins. To have it torn out even for a moment… would be agony.
It is the weak guilt, of a heart that trembles against the beast squeezing it, that eases the grip so you do not bruise the doctor's skin this time.
As you fight nausea.
As you command your body to be the tool it was made to be.
As you pull the doctor with you into the jump, leaving the heartbroken cry of a name you don't recognise behind as red eyes shut.
When you finally skid to a stop, the pain too much to fight through, the new scarring up your arm from where lightning damaging blood vessels, and the beast finally releasing its grasp. You stumble into open space. Releasing the doctor for a moment.
It is too much, too many things that you cannot fully control, too many sensations in your head that hurt.
Too many thoughts and too many feelings.
Agony, and loss. Loss that tears into your stomach and tears out your innards. The guilt grows and weighs down your shoulders, reminding you of the pain in red, and the shivering under hand when you had placed it on shoulder.
A job was a job, you tried to remind yourself. It was a move to be made. If you did not, worse awaited you than the hurt you could inflict on others.
You think.
It does not feel as sure as it once did, as you force your body to behave. To listen, to pay attention to you. You have to keep moving.
The doctor recovers from the dampening slowly, "What was that?" He forces, "Sylus-"
"He'll live." You snap, reaching over to pull the man closer by the wrist, "Phone." Your hand extends, and it is at that moment you remember your dagger. Discarded on the ground, in the hands of a man you do not know.
It is shock that recognises the feeling you have, like a lump is in your throat. Grief. You have lost something precious, and you will never get it back. The only thing you owned and cared about, with its familiar carved symbols and the weight in your hand like something you could trust. A tether to something that reminded you, you had something to value.
Gone.
A piece of you is gone.
Hurt is what makes you tug the doctor closer, a raw wound you cannot salve, "Phone, now."
He hands it over, and you would give him credit for his steady expression, the look on his face that does not feed into fear.
So he is not a pathetic scientist like the others, then? Able to hold your gaze for as long as you can bear to hold anyone's. Not flinching at you, not trembling.
If he were not on the list, perhaps he would be one of the more pleasant scientists to get prodded by.
You crush the thing in your hand, throwing it away, before tugging him forward.
He sets his feet, making you feel as though you are pulling against a wall.
"Doctor Li," You hiss through teeth, desperate to get back, to find a dark room and hide in it. To not have to think for a moment, about hazy red and angry sensations of agony, "I will knock you out and drag you, if I have to."
The Doctor watches you, calculating for a moment. You can almost guess the process. Is it worth it to run? Can he fight? You hope the show of strength with dampening his EVOL will convince him otherwise.
He does not have to know you don't think you can do that again. Not for a very long time.
Maybe not ever.
You hope never again.
Pained red, and shivering skin.
"Alright." He exhales, allowing it as you pull him towards you this time. You jump, several more times, before the both of you stumble into the white halls of the EVER compound.
The familiar smell of, what you hope is, antiseptic and disinfectant doing nothing to calm the raging vortex inside of you.
"Follow me, if you run, I'll break a leg." You snap, releasing his arm like it burns you. Truthfully the sensation of touching anyone is at odds with the way you have lived these few months.
You don't want to think about the feeling of his neck under your hand for a very long time. Even if you can already see the bruise forming under his skin.
"Do you often threaten your prisoners?"
"You're the first one. I normally just kill my targets."
He scoffs, it would almost sound like a laugh, if he didn't sound so disgusted. You shouldn't be surprised that he is horrified by what you've said. A normal person should be. Let alone the so-called doctor with the heart of gold.
You lead him to Leon's lab, relieved to see the man is there for the first time in your memory. If only to be done, to wash your hands, to curl up and burn the memories off your skin. You can see the static on the corners of your vision. Flickering like a ghost you can't quite get into your line of sight.
Haunted.
You're just not sure which unknown grief is causing it.
"Little bomb-"
There's a noise of disgust behind you, as the doctor walks in front of you. Like he is half shielding you. It's a strange thing, to be looking up at the back of the head of a man who you have strangled. Tried to freeze. Whose lover you just brought to knees and made hurt.
"Doctor Li?"
The familiarity of Leon is a relief. He is easy to handle, he is a man who your emotional capacity can recognise. Disgust, hatred, violence need to tear, all very familiar. He is almost safe, in the kind of way the knowledge of a snake's venom is safe.
"Mission completed, can I go?" You snap, pulling away from the two. Itching to throw the claw away from you.
"You need to see medical." Leon notes, looking down at the new scarring up your arm, the blood on your hand, "You're not normally this sloppy, little bomb. Issues?"
"I did my job, didn't I?"
"If a tool breaks-"
"It'll be replaced." You snap back, then look at the doctor, "Have fun committing crimes against nature, Doctor Li.."
The Doctor's eyes narrow, cold, but he's looking past you, not at you. "I assure you, I will not be assisting EVER."
You want to laugh at him, the idea is laudable. Truly. Experience has taught you, however, that if EVER cannot use someone, they will break them. The fear of the punishment can often keep at bay.
What they cannot instil with fear… well you've heard the stories of mind control. You're not yet sure what is worse. To serve them willingly, or to lose your mind to become a true mindless tool.
One gives the weak hope of escape, you suppose.
"Can you go get the cot before you leave? We don't have any spare rooms for you yet, Doctor, so I'm sure you'll be fine staying in the lab for now."
"I've slept in worse places." He bites off, though there is little change to his expression. The term ice queen suits him, you think. He must be furious, you're sure he is, or at least thinking of ways he can escape. Instead he simply is observing.
You turn your attention back to Leon, raising a brow at his command, but not moving.
His sigh is long suffering, like he should never have expected anything else when you do not respond to him, and he walks off, "I'll get it then shall I?"
"Probably." You spit back, glaring at his back.
"You've been summoned to meeting room four, when you're done here, little bomb."
The exhaustion sinks deeper into your bones. If whoever gives Leon orders has summoned you, it means the chance to run is further out of grasp. The need to lick your wounds, and try to fix the weight on your back will not come soon.
You feel the burning in your eyes for a moment, before you remember there is someone else looking at you. You narrow eyes at Doctor Li, expecting him to look away, instead his warm green eyes soften. In a way that disturbs something in your chest.
"What?"
"Zayne."
"Excuse me?"
"My name is Zayne." You know that. You want to say. It was in his file. You're familiar with the basic details of his profile.
'To you, I'm just Zayne.'
Your vision crackles, glitching, before you shake your head violently. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." You bite off, stepping back and away, before he can speak to you more. You watch his hand extend, worry in his gaze, that you can't meet because the green makes the static worse.
You manage little else, before you flee. A scared creature, startled by a loud noise. You care little about the scientists who watch you race past them, before you slow and you stumble, and you step through hallways that feel like they stretch forever.
As you try to swallow back bile, and think of anything but agonised red and soft green.
You're done, you're done and you never have to see either man again.
You cannot be found here, and you can just let the feelings lie forgotten.
You can forget the voices and the eyes, you can leave them behind.
You can be the familiar you. Even if there is blood on your hands.
—---
The meeting room is cold. Like most of the compound. When you enter, an older man smiles at you.
You are not well versed in other's expressions, but you feel a chill at his. Like there is something sharp about it. You have not talked to Professor Lucius before, he is a man that commands deep respect, or fear, from those around him however.
You have seen him occasionally, though he is akin to a ghost. Drifting through halls when he has something to do, but otherwise unconcerned with those around him.
Today he stares at you with cool, unwavering eyes. It is not the kind of cool that the Doctor- Zayne has, you note. Calm and steady. It is the kind of cool that reminds you of a snake.
Watchful and venomous.
You do not want to be in this room.
"Ah, Unicorn." It bites at you, reminds you that you are here in a capacity of no control. "I've heard you have achieved a great many tasks for EVER, in your time here."
Unsure how to respond, you offer a nod. It is the first time anyone has acknowledged you, the time you have spent, the work you have done.
Should you feel proud? The feeling is closer to shame, you think.
Seen in a way you do not wish to be.
"Thanks to all of your efforts, we have seen fit to reward you."
"A reward?" Shock moves your mouth before your brain and rationale can remind you that he holds power over your position.
Relief keeps you steady when he does not immediately demand your silence, "Come in."
The door opens, and you first feel fear. The unknown of his words and his actions, make you wonder if this is a cruel trick.
That your reward will be a shot to the head, but maybe that would be a relief.
That your reward will be another limb replaced, to make you a better weapon.
That your reward will be the solitary or the torture or the heart held while still in your chest.
It is a man who enters, sharp black uniform and a hat tilted low over his eyes, before he pushes it back. So you can see pink and purple.
You have seen his face countlessly. Smiling back at you from a silent frame. Warm eyes, and what you think might be love, if you could ever remember. He is familiar to you in a way that only a picture can be.
If asked what he sounded like, you could never answer, but you think you could describe him to anyone, perfectly, down to the very last detail.
Your heart squeezes, like one of the scientists has it in their grip. You fear if you move it will crush under the weight.
There is noise in your ears, the crackling that is becoming too familiar. Your throat is tight and sore, and your lungs will not offer you air as they should. You waver on the edge of unconsciousness. Brain weak and starved.
He steps up before you and smiles as he steadies you with his left hand, "Hey Pipsqueak. I'm home."
#zayne#zayne x reader#rafayel#rafayel x reader#xavier#xavier x reader#sylus#sylus x reader#love and deepspace#lnds#lads#wonder writes#lads x reader#Zayne lads#rafayel lads#Xavier lads#Sylus lads#lads x mc#poly!lads#caleb#caleb x mc#caleb x reader#caleb love and deepspace#caleb lads#caleb lnds#man my tags are messy i need to make a list of ones i need for this
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It's funny how you're suddenly acting like you're better than us "crazy shippers" as if you aren't commenting on every Lukola blog there is every single day. Girl you wanted Nic and Luke together until yesterday but now you're above that? Give me a fucking break. And for what? Clout from non-shippers? You're nothing but a coward trying to play both sides so you get attention from everyone.
I am a shipper, I am never going to say I am not. But I can safely and confidently say I have never insulted anyone, looked at reflections on pixels or gone and stalkef anyone‘s SM, family or friends. The most I have gazed at A or JD has been against my will on this app. I have always tried to defend Luke cause lets be honest he got and gets the most hate and I hope I continue to do so. I hate when gossip mags or anyone really says anything confirming a relationship bc it is always used by others to diminish what L and N have, that is where I ship them. I honestly do not care as long as that stays. Do I side eye them a bit? Yes. Do I think there is more to the story? Yes. Do I wish for more to happen one day? Yes. I am not gonna detract from that, but I also think that it is solely my opinion and I have no clue how I would act around a guy I was friends with and had gone through the experience they have.
So, yeah, I will continue to call out crazy shippers who hated on everyone in this scenario, shared locations, screenshots and whatnot. That is horrible. My main concern was always maintaining Luke and Nicola‘s bond and that is truly all that matters to me. That is why I go on Lukola blogs, not to try to prove a point but to defend a point already made by them multiple times. I hate the beefing theory with a passion.
I am not perfect and I do not claim to be. I stand by all my opinions, including the fact that I do not really like JD, but hey, if Nicola does, who am I to judge? Same goes for A.
At the end of the das I just want those two idiots interacting like they used to, I love love and I love their love, whatever adjective they applied to it.
That is the ship I am here for. FriendSHIP is also a word.
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—Gem? —Yeah? —Would you- can I ask you something? —Sure, what is it? — ….. — …Pearl? —Did you actually hate me for Secret Life?
(A part of me wishes I did. A part of me was hoping I could bury the memories of us and your image deep enough with layers of lies and pretend and maybe, just maybe, it would become real. But I couldn’t do it, and I think that made me want to hate you more.)
—No, but I was annoyed at you for the End Portal question and the 2v1 tho. Why do you ask? —Well- I was just wondering a little bit. —About what? — …I don’t know, you’d never really talked about Secret Life with me before.
(Did I need to? Would you have tried to do something if I told you about the numbing pain the left side of my body feels when I think too hard about the End of that world? Would you have been satisfied if I’d told you that I felt like a glorified animal during the final days of the game? Or would you be happy to know that Scott looked at me with the same uneasiness and distrust that everyone who thought of me as only the most dangerous thing alive did? No. You wouldn’t like to hear me talk about what I thought while I was running away from you. You wouldn’t like it.)
—It- it’s fine, It doesn’t really matter anymore. —Are you sure?
(And I still remember the feeling of it. I was never meant to be there, and I lost sleep over the thought of how I should have never felt like– like I didn’t have a choice. And I shouldn’t have cared as much as I did. Because then your hands found themselves intertwined with mine on those final days, and your presence was too safe for me. You became too important too quickly. And you didn’t even notice, you don’t even know. How can you not know?)
—Yes, yes I am. Don’t worry about it. It’s all fine, really. —Mhm… okay. If you say so. —Right, gonna go back to sleep now. Good night, Pearlie. —Oh- uh yeah, good- good night. — ..... — ..... — ..… —(I… I hope that one day you can trust me enough to tell me how you feel, Gem.)
(I hope so too.)
------------------------------
coming back to this account after months just to post a combination of traffic!gem headcanons, traffic!gem interpretations with post-WL shiny duo and a gem biased narrator all in this. thing. that i wrote in twenty minutes and haven't bothered to check. oh well
#geminitay#pearlescentmoon#life series#wild life#trafficblr#ebo rambles#by definition of the mental space i did it- yeah#shiny duo#gem has problems 🤩#and she's gonna make them worse by never talking about them!#gem's extremely good at reading others#and extremely bad at accepting that things seriously affect her when they do#in my mind she finishes talking about traumas with “but yk it was kinda fun” when it's about her#wild life smp
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Ruth Beautè’s Voice Lines [Remastered]/ Errands (Role In Game)
Name: Ruth Beautè Ruth Beau
Kissable? : No (but if you give her flowers, you can kiss her on the back of her hand)
Age: 15-16
Greetings/Bumped Into:
“Morning, Hopkins.”
‘“Howdy.”
“Good day”
“Um..hi?”
“What do you want?”
*Bumps into*
“Oh, my sincerest apologies.”
“Do watch were you are walking..”
“Argh— it’s fine, just watch it.”
Clique people/ or speaking about others in game mode:
“Some people say the most attractive greaser is Jonathan Vincent, but it’s obviously Ricky.”
“Each time that Martin girl dares speaks to me, I wanna kms. Honestly, does she have any real personality? Can’t blame her, she is kinda sad, then again I use her so I guess she’s not all bad.”
“That Harrington gets on my nerves, you know, he payed to win a mock trial session? What a fucking joke, I mean— if you suck at it, you suck at it. Must be hard having no talent or skill. What a dumb stereo typical blonde. Ha!”
“Hey, Gauntheir, wanna know what [block name] said about you?”
“Russell, that Ape? His parents are probably those flints stone people, have you heard him speak? How [R slur].”
“The greasers and the preps will fight? What is this? The outsiders again!?”
“Wiles is so…dead, s-she ruined my name, now boys glare at me…like I’m a whore, how can I be one? I haven’t even had sex yet-!?”
Talking about staff:
“Dr. Crabblesnitch is not fit to run this school, so I took it upon myself to…be his student advisor, meaning, I can tell him we need more clubs, he’ll do it, if I say a student did something, he will believe me. Amazing isn’t it?
“One time, Miss Danvers believed I had a crush on Crabblesnitch….all because I suck up to him. I think she’s on shrooms…”
“Mrs.Peabody allowed me to install new curtains, a vainity, and silk and satin sheets for my bed, for my dorm room. Being class respective certainly has its advantages.
“I told Mr. Burton about my shorts for soccer… saying I need a larger pair, but he says it’s not a big deal…that bald man knows nothing about my body, I don’t want the whole school go know.”
“That dingus Burton! Now everyone has been calling me RUTH BOOTAY! CURSE MY SOMALIAN GENES THIS IS RIDICULOUS!”
“Thanks to Wiles…I feel so dirty Joetta… is this how prostitutes feel after a long day at work?”
“Wait a minute….why am I moping? I can just do what I do best, ruin her life! Oh my gosh ahaHA!”
“I heard the jocks been taking steroids, I know they are but— I can’t snitch on them…Since Max takes them and I’m in his favor. Meaning I won’t be able to use him anymore…”
“Why yes, I am on good terms with all the prefects, they…also help me a lot….more than I need of course….”
“That Edna woman has to be a former convict…”
“Lucky me..I don’t eat her food, I always make mine when’s she out of the kitchen…that hefier can’t cook even if it was to save her self from a UTI…”
“Mista Max, I think I saw [Block name] have substances in their book bag, tell Crabblesnitch and expell that miscreant at once! Go! go!”
“You know…Justin, the Vandervale kid, was right…MONEY TALKS!”
Grooming:
“I don’t look like her…n-no I don’t..”
“Ha, what was Vendome talking about— me looking like Vivian…”
*Sighs* “I wish my hips weren’t so wide..”
“Sexy, as always.”
Being hit (Winning and Getting hurt):
“You’re so dead Hopkins!
“Don’t touch me again you fucking miscarriage looking bastard!”
*Looks around to see any Prefects, take out her rosary and uncaps the bottom, revealing a blade*
“I’m gonna kill you….”
(Can actually cut you and run to Prefect and tell that you tried to kill her fake crying. : Good chance you will be suspended)
“Now you’re crying? So fucking pathetic, good God.”
Random Quotes:
“I miss my Hadid…”
“So what if I ruined her social status, her skin, friend group, and probably made her wanna end it all? She did it first, so do it back to her, now she’s crying? What a waste of half good oxygen! Ugh!”
“You know..that Smith guy is actually kinda funny…”
“Parker is such a dork…and kinda sweet..”
“White trash!”
“You failed abortion!”
“No, Hopkins…you got me all wrong…I don’t wanna take over this school, doing that…is like being a zoo keeper. Why would I wanna be in control of a bunch of…slimy, insolent, animals!? Yeah no.”
“Hey get off of my friend, cocksucker!”
“Let me get help!”
“Oh you gave me flowers…sorry but I’m not kissing you on the mouth, I don’t know where your lips have been…”
“You may…kiss on my hand…” (She’s will rub her hands with head sanitizer afterwards when you walk away.)
Roles:
Pays player 85 dollars to plant drugs in someone’s car.
Pays you 50 dollars if you can give her back rosary Mandy stole from her.
When you investigate the Halloween party, and go in the woods you will see Ruth putting on her ghost face costume, get ready to scare Casey. You will hear a scream and run to it, you will have to help Casey who broken his leg, out of the ditch.
She comes to you when dates Gary and will give you hush money not to tell anyone.
#bully canis canem edit#bully cce#bully game#bully scholarship edition#bully rockstar#bully se#bully#bully oc#bullworth academy#bully: canis canem edit#ruth beauté
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im gonna yap rn and ik its very early morning but whatever
r we gonna talk abt how one of the first codypunk segments when punk first arrived back was also at this same time? that video got posted to youtube (and i mean it was on tv as well) on jan 22nd 2024… yesterday was jan 27th 2025….. thats only a 5 day space in between those and its both during the time royale rumble is about to come on and its almost the road to wrestlemania … thats so insanely crazy to think abt
now im gonna yap abt both of those “war of words” and how it sort of intertwines together and how the two have indeed changed since then
so punk in 2024 talked about how dusty asked him to keep an eye on cody and how punk watched him grow up into a main event superstar , saying that hes even proud of cody , but on saturday hes gonna be looking “for” cody and not “out for” him … punks a bit more aggressive (not physically but ykwim) in 2025 saying that because theyre *true* friends, he’ll stab cody “in the front” instead of in the back as fake friends do but cody is also very aggressive in moreso the fact thay everyone looked up to punk but it all changed…
cody and punk talked about their origins and how they met in both the 2024 and 2025 segments, OVW, and how punk made a name for himself by scratching and clawing but cody was born into the business and had everything handed to him .. welllllll we all know at wrestlemania 40 cody DEFINITELY did not get that handed to him and he also fought (scratched and clawed as well) his way to finish his story which is why cody in 2025 goes on to say “but that dynamic has shifted…one thing you certainly were wrong about. you and i this relationship its completely changed…im not chasing you. you’re chasing me.” which is infact the truth because i mean cody did say in 2024 that “you dropped it (the torch) on the way out and i dont think u cared who picked it up but i think you know who did, i did” so punk is now chasing cody to try and fight him at wrestlemania
AND ALSO ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE PARALLELS BETWEEN THE “and i’m talking about me”S ????? MY GOODNESS !!!!! punks always saying that the bad news will be him instead of cody winning and ughh it just fuels so much firewehehehheehwhqgqywg AND THE PARALLELS OF THEM PULLING EACHOTHER BACK AFTER TRYING TO WALK AWAY !!!!!!!! HJSDHDHDJSSB
i also wanna talk about how even tho they were more aggressive in words in 2025, its not as it was in 2024 when they were literally nose to nose as they death stared each other bc they BOTH wanted to win the rumble and i think it shows uncertainty bc punk cant be as confident as he was in 2024 with the rumble bc uhhh we know how that ended !! but cody also cant be that confident because hea not actually in the rumble, but hes what the people in the rumble are fighting for, and he could possibly lose his championship…. this is so deep bro
#im sick to my stomach i love codypunk sm… the parallels between these two war of words is killing me i fear#this is more of a yapfest as mentioned so i dont have anything as far as predictions but gosh the way wrestling changes so much in a year#first it was the two of them facing eachothwr to get to the top#now its one of them trying to get to the top to face the other#and the other is much younger than the one trying to get to the top …#AGHHHHHH I LOVE WRESTLTLFIRJBEHEHWGWHWGQ#punkoween yaps#wwe#wwe monday night raw#monday night raw#cm punk#cody rhodes#codypunk
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I am a 100000% sure that just as a punishment for cheating she will be acting more lovely with the other hand to show Cu that he is not her only husband and if he makes a mistake she can find some one else
The yans are eating it up because is weird that Percy is so lovely with them, they are thanking Cu for that and laughing at his misery( one less rival for now)
This reminds me of me of a Grey’s anatomy quote
The yans: “We can’t live without you!”
Percy “ the queen” Jackson: “I can, I just choose not to”
(guys i love how everyone's 10000% convinced that percy's gonna marry all of the yans in my fic 😍 not gonna confirm or deny it tho, you'll just have to wait and see hehe)
nah you know what'd be worse??? see, if percy were to act extra lovey dovey to the other yans, it'd be seen as like a jab to cú chulainn, like she's trying to hurt/make him jealous, which means she DOES lowkey kinda care cuz she wants him to see and feel her pain............
but percy wouldn't go that route. she doesn't care and she's gonna make it known that cú chulainn means NOTHING to her anymore.
everything's still the same, she doesn't treat the yans any differently with extra love and sweetness when cú chulainn's around. it's still all very normal, the only difference is how she treats him. he doesn't exist to her anymore, she doesn't CARE anymore. he wants to cheat? fine, but she's gonna continue living her life, he just won't be in it
and the other yans would also see this as a warning. if they were to cheat, percy won't get angry and lash out and hate them. she'd be sad for a bit yes, but eventually, she'll stop caring. cuz at the end of the day, she never wanted to marry ANY of the yans. the only reason she's been going along with it is because she knows there's no escaping it--plus, percy at least did love them before being forced. so once they cheat, she'll just cut their existence out of her life. they'll still be there physically and she knows that, but once enough time passes, she won't feel much for them anymore and THAT'S what scares them. a percy that no longer loves them is the most terrifying thing for them, and thanks to cú chulainn's dumb ass they'll know exactly what NOT to do 😂😂😂😂😂😂
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Friendly reminder; don't make queer ships straight by making one of them a woman! If you want one to be a woman, both should be women. You can't just make the small twink character a girl and not make his big buff counterpart also a girl it feels gross and fetishy cause at that point why are you shipping queer ships at all? Just find a straight ship? Subtract the twink from the equation all together you don't have to make him a woman to make the ship better in some way, he's adding nothing if you make him a girl then it's just the same ship we have a million times in any other media. Gay erasure in fandom space is so annoying cause it's like YOU LIKE THE GAY SHIP OBVIOUSLY, WHY ARE YOU MAKING THEM STRAIGHT??
#star child speaks#im sorry#this made me heated#at the end of the day everyone is gonna do what they want#and everyone deserves a space to enjoy what they like#but that doesn't mean i have tonlike it and im here to make that everyones problem#an extremely goofy movie#a goofy movie#tankley#what no i didnt tag the ship who did that *looks around*#i love tankley because they have such a unique dynamic#ship wise not friend wise they have a very stereotypical friendship#off topic idek what im talking about anymore#keith rambles#that should be a tag#OMG WAIT#moreid#STOP FKRCIBLY FEMINIZINING MY TWINKS BRO#criminal minds#theyre the only ones i relate to its disrespect
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no way you dropped the biggest river lore in the tags and moved on like it was nothing 😭 can i ask if this is still your intentions with him? bc it sounds like you changed your mind halfway 🤔
im ngl though i really enjoy how ren and river are similar and different to each other, but does that mean river would hurt his angel but leave our friends alone the same way ren would never hurt his angel but would unalive all of our friends? since they're suppose to be each other opposites. i really hope this makes sense 😬 my final question is what is ren doing on thursday? i want to go on a cute pier date again 🩷🌸
@secretkoa asked: and can i hear more about what unsent memory is suppose to be about or is that off limits? idk if i asked this in my previous question so ignore me if i did! thank yuo and remember to drink lots of water 🐸🌱
⌞♥⌝ For those who haven't seen the original post, I want to quickly clarify once more that while River was originally my OC, he's since been picked up and revamped by my friend Jesse/@unsentmemory!!
However, now that Jesse has stepped away from the yandere community, River's fate (and da fate of Unsent Memories) has kinda been put on the sidelines for the foreseeable future.
‼️ Massive Unsent Memories and River spoilers under the cut ‼️ CW for: mentions of gore, torture, mutilation, self-harm, etc.
With all of that being said, yes, Jesse's original intention for River was for him to be your standard "serial killer-turned-yandere once he accidentally catches feelings for his latest victim (Bunny)". The only main difference is that I originally planned for River to be a generic murderer first, whereas Jesse had him become a yandere right off the bat.
You also asked to know more about Unsent Memories, and I think giving a general synopsis(?) would be fine?? ^^ But basically... After getting involved in a car accident, Bunny wakes up with amnesia and gets tricked into thinking that this random guy — whom they've never met before — is their loving, supportive boyfriend named River. In turn, he convinces Bunny that staying in their shared home would be more beneficial than staying in the hospital as it might rekindle some old memories, he'd be able to take care of them, and it would be easier for them to recover at their own pace. But surprise!! River is actually a frequent patron at the Murderer Motel™ and now has trapped Bunny in his Torture Basement®!!! <3 He also maaaay or may not've been the one who hit them with Ren's car as well... ^^ Oopsie daisy hehe
And yeah!! Similar to what you've said, River was also supposed to share (somewhat of) a narrative foil with Ren!! I personally wanted them both to have similar, complimenting vibes with each other — all while having completely different/separate motives and incentives when it comes to the object of their affection. I'm glad to see it was conveyed well enough; even after Jesse's additions to River's characterisation :3 I know I already shared some examples in the previous tags, but I can share a few more:
Where Ren puts Angel's feelings and opinions above his own, River purposefully ignores Bunny's and does everything for his own personal benefit. Essentially, "I'm doing this for you" vs "I'm doing this for me".
While Ren would never dream about harming Angel in any capacity, he's perfectly happy to kidnap, extort, torture, and kill everyone else... In contrast to River, who's accustomed to torturing and brutalising others for his own twisted enjoyment and sees it as a way to show his interest in Bunny.
Kinda silly how Ren claims to be a freelance programmer (but is actually a hacker) and how River claims to work at a music shop (it's a coverup for his second torture chamber lmaoooo).
[CW: implications of SH] Ren is willing to go as far as mentally and physically hurting himself if Angel asks him to, whereas River is willing to physically mutilate Bunny if it means keeping them by his side. [end CW]
With that being said, you can assume that Ren is easily swayed by Angel's words, opinions, and emotions, whereas River can easily sway and manipulate Bunny due to his own feelings and emotions.
This is something I've actually mentioned before, but Ren always prefers things to be tidy, so he often cleans himself up after disposing of his victims. Compared to River, who casually wears the bloodstains with pride and blames it on getting a bit rough with someone else during a boxing match.
It's no secret that Ren is willing to change every aspect of himself to earn Angel's love, and River is willing to change his serial killer ways to return Bunny's love. Da power of friendship and repressed childhood memories gksdgjh T_T /silly
Ren pretends to be a Normal Guy© with tons of empathy to spare, whereas River pretends to be a Regular Person℗ with the heart of a himbo.
I could go on but you get da point lol
So, yeah!! This is essentially the vibes we had planned for River (and Unsent Memories) before Jesse stepped down /pos ^^ I feel like talking vaguely about UM is fine since River only has a small cameo in 14DWY — and I'm sure that if Jesse ever returns from war (/silly), they'll give River muuuuch more justice than I possibly can :3c
#Hopefully me yapping in this post will suffice for all the yammering I did in the other posts' tags lmaooooo#Ren: is that guy bothering you? I'll kill him >:(#River: someone is bothering you? more than me? what the fuck#Anyways!! Lords and gentlewomen..... I give you......#River ''you made me catch feelings as a child and I don't do feelings so I'm gonna hit you with a car'' Acosta 👏👏👏 /silly#There are direct parallels between 2017!Ren and River too if you squint#Also would this be 2024!River now?? Since UM is kinda homeless rn? /silly gshjgjs I just made myself sad T_T#Also; yeag... I agree that I could've worded my original tags better because it DOES seem like we changed our minds hjdgjsk#However my original intention [within da tags] was to talk about what River's characterisation would've been BEFORE Jesse stepped down#i.e. me yapping about what you could've expected from Unsent Memories since the game's fate is kinda.... ambiguous now ^^; /nm#But again; I don't want to force Jesse to come back to da yan community and write for a game they no longer have an interest in#It's not the end of the world if 14DWY doesn't get its sequel; and it's not like I'm going to stop working on its prequel either /gen#me: guys there's another yandere in 14DWY!!!#everyone else: omg it's Leon!!!#me: ......yeah... definitely... 😼#.......I yearn to :evilhehe:#💌 — answered.#💖 — 14 days with queue.#💖 — about ren.#🌊 — about river.#secretkoa#Very brief mentions of:#cw torture#cw self harm#cw gore
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You doing ok?
hi
#i'm alive. simply being chewed upon by multiple things#work is more stressful than i'd like it to be. for instance i'm hoping that i submitted my time off notification for tomorrow correctly#because otherwise it might read as a no call no show and i would . like to continue having a job#now to be fair. i do have it on the system that i requested it at the beginning of the month and i emailed my supervisor about it last week#so even if i didn't submit it correctly i'm likely in the clear#but nonetheless. i also got a firm talking-to the other day and now i am on ✨thin ice✨ for dicking around too much#because they track ur idle time at my work (computer) and mine was Quite High so my supervisor was like man what the hell is this#but even though she was kind of baffled at me spending so much time dicking around#she couldn't even really be all that mad in the end because i'm still doing good numbers and have made no (zero) mistakes#so she was just like. it's kind of impressive that your numbers look this good when you literally have 50% idle time#so she goes imagine what you could do if you weren't wasting so much time#and yeah i can whip out some Really Good Numbrers when i put the effort in.#so the problem is not my numbers it's just that i'm not spending long enough doing my tasks for the day#but i don't want to drag out those tasks intentionally so i've just been upping my own standards/goals#as much as i hate giving any more of my brain power than is necessary to giant corporations#it's still easy to feel smug after you get Talked To and then immediately turn around and show off#like yeah i coulda been doing this good the whole time. literally pulling up by 20 points. i just didn't want to.#trying to keep everyone's expectations low but accidentally toed the line of um. not working enough to keep my job#...anyway. EAS national weather system issued a . hi#i haven't forgotten about all of you i'm just having trouble tracking all my shit that i got going on ✨ yaaaaaaay#im gonna post things on AO3 soon. i promise. my weakness is that i get sidetracked trying to unwind from work#...i know i said 'soon' last time. but this time for real#asks#not sexy#anonymous
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idw bumblebee and prowl shouldve broke up bcs he wouldnt stop 𝚊sking prowl to pause his report for just one lil astrosec so he can change his various pastel colored pens while making his cute little aesthetically pretty for no reason & very time - consuming notes with big colorful fonts & cute designs real quick
also another thought abt annoying ass bb trying to make running a literal planet cotteque so he doesn't go crazy bcs hes now a politician when all he ever wanted was to deliver mail & smile & wave at bots who call him cute ---
bee: 𝚠heeljack, im so sorry about this but do you mind repeating the time-stakingly long introduction, instruments, research references, modules, hypothesis, counter thesis, procedures, analysis, second - retrial, results, & explanation that you just spent 700000 earth hours saying because i was busy drawing a cute little bee in the corner of my notes please :] ?
wheeljack:
idw bee trying to run a planet that fucking hates him is just rlly funny to me, especially since everyone views bee as the goody character who everyone loves & he views himself as that & then they finally win this consuming war & he can reap his rewards of being loved without holding a gun & no one fucking likes him. hes even getting on his own old team's nerves & not in the loveable scamp way but the get the fuck out of my face way
#everybody regarding bee during the war: aw cute lil guy! bringing some positivity to this cruel war!! his goofups are so sparkwarming#it's ok lil guy!! we will always support u at the end of the day bcs u remind us of our sparks inside & love is rea-#everybody regarding bee constantly fucking up on how to run a wholeass planet: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU#he was just a scout trying to do his best to appease optimus and now hes a bitch still trying to appease optimus for some reason#wheeljack: so i set these tools aside to route a waste system whenever you're ready to establish that legally & ill get to bui-#bumblebee: CAN WE HAVE A TIME MACHINE SO I DONT K*LL MYSELF :D ??#wheeljack: ....... we need a waste system due to disturbed population disrespecting your rules & this planet is getting worse &#bumblebee: please primus wheeljack i Dont know what youre Saying i just want my DaMn tiMeMacHine so people will LiKe mE!!!!#wheeljack: im gonna kill you .#scout bee: grahh who does that guy think he is >:[ im gonna go kick his BUTT!!! being mean to my FRIEND! grah! TAKE THIS#wheeljack: haha no lil guy dont do that ull die lol lets reel back & go back to base to build some cool bombs instead YAYYY they will die :#not US! YAYYYY!!!#* they celebrate in guys who are desensitized to violence *#guys who are desensitized to violence now forced to govern a planet that hates violence but no one else is trusted to do it->#bee: WE NEED TO BUILD SODA FOUNTAINS EVERYWHERE SO PPL WILL STOP PREFERRING WAR CRIMINAL STARSCREAM OVER ME PLS#PLS JACK PLS 😸!!!!!#wheeljack: bumblebee i havent blown up a mech besides myself in so fucking long. im so fucking close.#when ur squad so fucked up the mentally ill undiagnosed ppl pleaser obsessed teachers pet bitch is the best choice#to run a planet bcs everyone else will bomb 99% of the populatjon and leave#bee stills bombs like 5% of it but it's ok bcs theyre decepticons & theyre bad guys & this is def not problematic thinking at all :)#<- literally murder#transformers idw#bumblebee#wheeljack#prowl#transformers#maccadam#tf idw
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prepping for my Bonus Days. i love tutorial agent lmao
#chemi chats#yknow. last year's ''take sundays off'' made a lot of sense.#october 2023 was PERFECT for skilltober as it was a full four weeks (so six days for each skill type per week plus a day off)#and left two days at the end - the 30th and 31 - for Ancient Reptilian and Limbic. so it worked out really evenly!!#using the same method in 2024 does not yield the same clean results hjkjg it looks. so fucking messy gang hgkjg#but generally you can take any 5 days off? it would make sense to split it at the first any five days in a row.#like how we had five sundays last year. so like if we had five mondays this month we'd do free days on mondays right?#but this months was tuesdays and we all STARTED on tuesday SO LIKE HGKJG OKAY MAN. NOW WHAT HGKJ#i want to be posting the same skills as everyone else everyday but that's a bit much to ask yknow? syncing up is fun but its HARD man hgkjg#the reason why im talking about this is because im NOT taking the free days hgkjg or maybe i'll take one who knows lmao hgkj#but my ''free'' days are: Tutorial Agent with the INTs. Solace with the PSYs. Volta Do Mar with the FYSs. Kinetic Dressage with the MOTs.#and maybe Vices thrown in there? i might make Vices physique and put Volta with the psyches? and make Solace a little bonus end?#because i love her and shes special hgkj but i guess i'll see hkjf but EITHER WAY im gonna be posting on whenever free days are hgkj#so if everyone takes sundays+halloween off (except me because im Fucking Entrenched In This Shit) then thats when i'll post#(even though it'd be messy as hell like. splitting up the skill types hkjg??) maybe it'd make sense to do mondays+halloween so we can#finish a skill type section before taking a break/doing my bonus skills? and it'd even out but that requires coordination hgkjsk#sigh. or for me to accept that we'll all eventually fall out of sync and thats fine hgkj (<- I can be fine with this. It's just messy hkjg)#oh idk :P im gonna take my ''break''/bonus days on mondays+halloween and whatever happens happens <33#(<- assuming im gonna be able to finish a monthly challenge lmaooo) okay ive got a headache lmao goodnight i love you all as always <33
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talked w/ a friend about this and wanted to post something similar yesterday after a convo i saw also
about people criticizing ttcc / ttcc fans for just... being cog fans? being cog centric? usually coming from people who only like the toons.
and everyone likes what they like! it's okay! but saying that people who like the cogs are horrible and support the bad things they do, is just blatantly wrong. i thought we knew that enjoying villainous and morally Bad / grey characters is... okay? it doesn't mean you support what they do. it's interesting to explore these topics.
i've seen many people just... paint anyone who likes the cogs as horrible because they're "apologists of x and y" and... i dunno. rubs me the wrong way! you do have a point and recognize the cogs do bad things, but liking them as characters means nothing about who you are as a person.
and this is not to say that people who are in toontown for the toons are bad. hell! they are right this IS toontown. i may be on the cog liker side but i like the toons! maybe ocs more than the npcs - mostly because i like my friends and the sheer creativity the toons can bring out!!
SO what i wanna say... i dunno. let's not point fingers...? let's have fun in a goofy cartoon game together??? also complaining about people liking VILLAIN ROBOTS on TUMBLR is kind of funny to me. do you realize where you are. but then again a lot of this i see on discord and in-game as well since i avoid things on tumblr... i am a sensitive little fella i avoid misty fight bc of One Really mean "Critic" guy i saw there and i have been shivering in my bootsies since. so you get me
but like yes ttcc is more cog centric but... that's okay? things could be written better and i still wanna speak on it, and i do thing the toons deserve attention and better writing... but the fact it focuses on the cogs isn't... bad? if you don't like how con centric it is you can go play ttr...? god forbid people have fun and explore the villain's side of things...? i'm not saying either toontown server is better or worse than the other... and everyone can like their own things!!
but like... people will just like the cogs and that's okay and it doesn't make you bad. let's all be friends okay? both sides may be going at each other's necks in-game and the cogs in fact do horrible things - but it's what makes them fun, and it gives the toons things to do in the game!! but we don't gotta !!!!!!!! i may be really sarcastic and sometimes mean in private but like that's me just privately sassing, deep down i think people should just... y'know..? enjoy things.
so yea that's the guzma / cathal thought of today. toon people cog people both people are all awesome as fuck and you keep doing what you're doing i love you toontown isn't toontown without you
#anyways omg god forbid ppl are cog kissers on the robot kissing website /silly#but like!! tt/r may not be for everyone and tt/cc may not be for everyone and THATS OK!! ur not gonna like everything!!#like i accepted tt/r isnt for me but its mostly bc they dont show cog health specifically and i struggle with these things but !! i#heard they are updating that so i might be able to play without getting bored / frustrated again ^^ i havent played properly in yeaaaars#i will still prefer clash bc fixation and?? i LIKE ROBOBTS....!#but tewtow is tewtow its all swag. the least toony thing u can do is bully someone for Liking Robobt. be niceys#like ya i admit im not perfect i also dont like people andhave so much one sided beef and i am sensitive to so many things and i complain#in private but at the end of the day its to make myself feel better and i KNOW to not engage and look away and work on feeling better#bc this stuff does Heehoo upset me bc Mental Health Probulem. but i know everyone should and can do their own thing and have fun#i may complain about (redacted ship) all the time and i dont get it at all but...? bro... just have fun... be free. im not here to stop you#im just not gonna interact as i should. good for both of us! joyous world! happy that ur happy!!!!#why complain abt ppl just Enjoying Cogs like that though................................................ do you not like fun#this is not at anyone specific#my friend did show me tags of a post anonymously#and i vague a person whos name i dont know ingame like A YEAR AGO#and a convo what happened in a server a while back. but its not anyone specific i just wanted to like. speak my thoughts#lets be frense... and if not thats okay lets not argue either then we all stay in our lanes
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Last Twilight; Mee's legacy continues
I know that we're all mad at how episode 11 went. Believe me, I am too. I'm not going to be talking about the issues in the episode, several others have already done so, and far more eloquently than I could. Because despite the episode's failings, there are still some things about this episode that I think deserve to be talked about.
I've loved keeping up with Mee's story as the show has progressed (written about it here and here). I thought that Mee's story ended in episode 9, but it continues to be present in the narrative. The most obvious clue to this is, obviously, Porjai's daughter, whom they named Mee. In addition to that, episode 11 focuses on highlighting the fact that Day 's blindness is not something that can be cured, just as Mee could never return to her life before she was cursed. Just as Mee had hoped that the last twilight would allow her to return to her normal life, Day hoped, even fully believed that the surgery would allow him to become "normal" again (the medical inaccuracies of the process aside). In the end, neither can return to a sense of "normalcy", as Mee turns to stone and Day's surgery fails. Both stories are haunted by a sense of grief, helplessness, and hope that is given and taken away. But the end of Mee's story isn't written as tragic, it's written as joyful. The exact same ending could have been written as tragic and solemn, but it wasn't. In the end, Mee was able to revel in the fact that she would never turn invisible again, despite turning to stone. And that's what I'm hoping that Day's final arc will resemble. Because we know that Day is still insecure about his blindness, and about people's pity for him. His buying that cane was a massive step in the right direction, because it showed that he was willing to "announce to everyone that he's blind", to be less afraid. But, as the breakup showed us, he's still insecure about his blindness. If the theory is right, episode 12 should show us Day accepting his blindness, and maybe even celebrate it as a part of him, as Mee does.
Mee's story has run parallel to Day's since they began to read it. Mee's story is over now, but Day's isn't. We see that Mee continues to have a presence in Day's life, be it metaphorically, through her story predicting his, or literally, through Porjai's daughter. Besides fixing a lot of the damage that was done in episode 11, if there's one thing I'd like from episode 12, it's one final call back to Mee's story.
#accidently deleted this whoops#thank god i had it on my clipboard#i'd actually love it if Mee (porjai's daughter) plays a role in Day resolving one of his conflicts#really hammer the metaphor in you know?#i think mee's story has been one of my favourite parts of last twilight#i think i made that abundantly clear by how much i wrote about it#on a different note though#i know how much everyone disliked the ending#but i don't think it should stop us from seeing what the ep did do well#or...at least tried to do well#gonna try to write about the Mhon soon#i wanted to write about her ages ago#but i got Busy#last twilight#last twilight the series#last twilight meta#last twilight mee#last twilight day#mhokday
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