#don't think my boss is on tumblr but you never know

[demiurge-mck]

So, here's the tricky thing with Spite - I think what we see in the few cutscenes he has is actually a merging of two rather different character concepts, who each had a different attitude about Rook.

My theory is that most of Spite's scenes were written recently, after they finalized Spite as a Spirit of Determination. This final version doesn't have romantic or sexual feelings towards Rook, but they're still his favorite person since they're the boss that Gets Things Done™.

THAT SAID, there's one cutscene that I'm 100% convinced was written and recorded back when Spite was meant to be a spirit of Passion turned Obsession*, and originally lead to a Spite who wanted Rook in an unhealthy, possessive, narcissistic, and (possibly) carnal way.

You know the one - when Lucanis first arrived at the Lighthouse, brooding by the fireplace and talking to the mages about the demon. Spite is pretty charasmatically sassy, especially with female/NB Rooks**, but the sassiness goes away once Lucanis refuses to let him talk to Rook (very specifically Rook, and not the other companions). At that point, the demon completely flips out and throws hands at his human host, almost breaking his nose.

Pretty much nothing in this scene is followed up on: from that point onward, Spite becomes a plot device for Lucanis's PTSD recovery, singularly focused on him fulfilling the deal on "freeing them from their prison" (clarified in Inner Demons about being free from the mind prison) and getting revenge on those who put them there. Whatever Spite's feelings for Rook were, they transform into respect for a favorite boss.

And thus, many fans who are disappointed on the lack of spice from Spite flock to Tumblr and AO3, making up for whatever Bioware couldn't or wouldn't do with him in Veilguard.

*= the onetime plan for Spite to be a spirit of Passion turned Obsession is confirmed through datamined character descriptions, go look it up!

** = I don't know if anyone's made a proper comparison video, but for female/NB Rooks, Spite's 👍 and 🎭 reactions are basically "Aw, Rook is so sweet, she won't hurt you" and "Oh, Rook's funny, I like Rook! :3", while male Rook gets reactions that are sharply rewritten to all dunk on Lucanis, like "Oh, Rook doesn't want to hurt you, but everyone else does" and "Rook's funny, not like you, you're never funny". Basically erasing any OwO-ness that come with female/NB Rooks. And all this is exclusively to the benefit of the player - Lucanis is firmly not listening to anything Spite is saying, and Rook canonically never finds out about any of this.

Sooo... Do we think Spite is in love with Rook too?

I'm honestly so curious about what everyone thinks about this... Seriously.

I'd really love to see what everyone thinks about this. I'm even thinking to do a second poll to reflect more on the winning option, we'll see how this one goes.

[thebuckandeddiething]

I can neither deny nor confirm that I actually switched shifts at work so I can watch a panel interview for a procedural tv show live...

[gunpowder-gemini]

Vent art don't mind me

[clockwayswrites]

So far this file is called 'birdritch'. Those of you who follow my art tumblr might know where this is going. I needed something light to write, been a low day. There has been zero editing or reading through and it is past 2am, sorry and enjoy! (Don't need any typos pointed out, ty.)

---

“You are supposed to be home.”

Danny blinked up from his work to find Lucius Fox standing in the doorway of the lab. The man had the sport of expression one wore around a child who had just done something disappointing.

(Danny was used to the look, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a kid. Or seen his parents, for that mater.)

“Okay, but,” Danny started, “we agreed that I could start at ten and take my eight hours and one for lunch—”

“A mandatory one hour for lunch away from your desk,” Lucius interrupted.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been doing that! I’ve been eating out on the rooftop garden or even leaving the building and eating out or taking lunch to the park. I’ve been behaving, Lucius, I promise.”

Lucius raised a judgmental brow. “It’s after eight, Danny.”

“What? No. I have an alarm on my phone and everything… okay, well, that only works if my phone is charged.” Danny jabbed uselessly at his phone screen. He followed the charger, which was plugged in, all the way to the wall. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the wall. “I guess Leslie fried the outlet again or something. I’m sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Lucius said, “but only because, one, I know you have been trying, and two, I am going to buy you the most embarrassing alarm clock I can find and mount it to something in this lab. Now it is late and I am going home and so are you, Mr. Fenton.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said and made an exaggerate show of packing up his backpack, dead phone and all.

Lucius gave a little snort at the antics, but left with a ‘get home safe, Danny’. After his boss was gone, Danny took the time to actually make sure everything was in his bag and secure. He still didn’t get why he couldn’t just work late, but apparently WE had something of an insistence of work life balance. According to Lucius, Danny crossed the line too often and so was being kept in line. (Danny didn’t think mention he didn’t have much of a life, literally and otherwise, would help his case.)

Still, Danny mused as he stepped inside the empty elevator, the rules did keep him from becoming his parents. And that was a very, very good thing! Being a mad scientist in Gotham usually ended up landing someone in Arkham. It was just that after the chaos that Danny grew up with, going back to his empty apartment was depressing. It wasn’t as if Danny never got out and did things, it was just that all those things were mostly on the weekend. Most days he just didn’t have a reason to go back to his place.

There was no getting out of it tonight, the great and powerful Fox had spoken and Danny knew better than to try and sneak back up. He lifted his hands over his head, stretching as the elevator descended the last few floors. Oh well, at least it was before ten. He could still grab something on the way home and have a full, warm meal to take his pain meds on. By the pull along his forearm he would need them.

“Night, Bill,” Danny said as he passed the security guard who was on the evening shift. He got another ‘get home safe’ in response and gave a little wave in reply over his shoulder.

Even after the few years in Gotham, it still amused Danny how much everyone wished everyone else some sort of safe travels here. As much as Gotham was a city of hardened realists, there still was so much hope about it. Hope people got home safely, that the Bats would get where they were need in time, that the city would rebuild again and again and again. The undercurrent of hope was so strong that Danny could practically feel it moving through the city like a river.

It had been one of the reasons Danny had taken the job.

He could use hope.

He also had been very careful not to look too closely into it all. While Danny’s early life may have been dominated by the occult, he tried to stay away from it these days outside of the necessary visits to the Realm for his health. As much as the Far Frozen was full of ghost yetis, Frostbite was still a being of science and being there felt more like a cold vacation to his weird relatives than anything else those days.

Danny was actually worried that he was getting close to needing another visit. He shouldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t actually due back for another three months, but the thought of visiting Frostbite had been pulling at the back of Danny’s mind. The most annoying part of it all, is that there wasn’t any concrete reason that Danny felt he needed to go, just a lot of little things: the ache was deeper in his bones, he’d been missing noticing little things, his near constant vertigo was worse, and, oddest of all, he had been feeling chilled.

Maybe he should just take a long weekend and go for a quick visit.

Lucius would undoubtedly approve of the break.

Tomorrow, Danny would ask tomorrow.

(As long as he remembered.)

[lesbianphan]

Update update update: worked up the courage to bring up her dr who bio and then kept the convo going towards tumblr and yeah she has a tumblr, ships destiel and knows enough about Dan and Phil to know their gaming channel came back.

ONE FEAR!

Guys I'm so scared.... I added one of the receptionists here on instagram, cause we talked a lot and i think she's p cool and I see that her bio is Allons-y and I'm like oh fun she's a dr who fan haha will send her a message and mention that. And then I see she follows Jensen and Misha and I'm like oh that's an oddly specific set of interests

Anyway SHE FOLLOWS DAN AND PHIL AND LIKED THE CATBOY PICTURE BYYYYYYEEE I'M DEAD

[elryuse]

Evergarden Familia

Yandere Gahyeon X Male Reader

Tags : Mafia Boss Gahyeon, Dark Gritty Romance, Dominant Gahyeon, Blood n Gore, Submission, Forceful Sex, Branding, Creampie

Words : 7,5k

This is a Commission for My Friend @starconstruction on Tumblr and Ko-fi. Hope you Liked it Buddy.

Blood. The thick, metallic scent clung to the air like a curse, searing itself into Y/n's memory as he crouched behind the tattered sofa. He was seven years old, too young to understand why men with guns had stormed into his home, but old enough to know that his life would never be the same.

"Please!" his mother's voice cracked, raw with desperation. She shielded him with her frail body, her arms trembling as she pleaded. "We don't owe anything! We've paid everything back-please, don't hurt him!"

The man standing before her tilted his head, a smirk curling across his scarred face. Lee Sang-hyun, a name Y/n would never forget. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he looked more like a businessman than a killer, but his eyes-cold and devoid of mercy- betrayed his true nature.

"You think I care about your payments?" Sang-hyun sneered, his voice smooth yet laced with venom. He stepped closer, his polished shoes crushing broken glass beneath them. "This isn't about money. It's about power. And no one disrespects the 3 Crows."

Before Y/n could blink, Sang-hyun's fist crashed into his father's face. The sickening sound of bone breaking echoed through the small apartment. His father fell to the floor, coughing up blood, but he still tried to rise, defiance flickering in his eyes.

"Run, Y/n!" his father choked out, his voice a mix of pain and urgency.

But Y/n couldn't move. His legs felt like lead, his small hands clutching the sofa's fabric as if it could anchor him to safety. He wanted to run, to scream, to do something-but terror had paralyzed him.

"Stupid man," Sang-hyun muttered, wiping the blood from his knuckles. "Let's make sure your son learns what happens to those who defy us."

The next few minutes were a blur of violence. Sang-hyun didn't use a weapon; he didn't need one. His fists were brutal, his kicks merciless, and he seemed to relish every second of the beating. Y/n's mother screamed, trying to shield her husband, but Sang-hyun shoved her aside like she was nothing.

Y/n squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face. He didn't want to see, but the sounds were inescapable-the grunts of pain, the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh, the horrifying crack when his father's ribs gave way.

When it was over, silence fell.

"Clean this up," Sang-hyun ordered his men, gesturing to the broken bodies of Y/n's parents. His voice was calm, as if he had just finished a routine task.

"Boss," one of his underlings said, pointing to Y/n, who was now sobbing openly. "What about the kid?"

Sang-hyun turned his gaze to the trembling boy, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "Oh, he's coming with us. A little rat like him needs to learn his place in the world."

Two men grabbed Y/n by the arms, dragging him out of the apartment. He kicked and screamed, calling for his parents, but they were gone, their lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

That night, Y/n's childhood ended.

The years that followed were a nightmare. Sang-hyun didn't kill Y/n-not yet. Instead, he broke him, shaping him into a weapon for the 3 Crows.

Beatings were a daily occurrence, accompanied by harsh training that pushed Y/n's body to its limits. He learned to fight, to steal, to kill. Failure was met with pain, success with indifference.

"You're not a person," Sang-hyun told him once, after forcing him to clean the blood off his first kill. "You're a tool. Tools don't have feelings. Tools obey."

Y/n hated him. He hated everything about the 3 Crows-their cold, ruthless hierarchy, their obsession with power, their complete disregard for human life. But hate wasn't enough to break free. Not yet.

By the time he was eighteen, Y/n had become one of the most feared enforcers in Seoul. His name was whispered in the underworld, his reputation as a silent, efficient killer unmatched. But no matter how many lives he took, the ghost of his parents haunted him, their blood staining his hands.

It was a rainy night when Sang-hyun gave him the order that would change everything.

"I have a job for you," Sang-hyun said, reclining in his leather chair. His office was lavish, filled with expensive furniture that contrasted sharply with his brutal nature.

Y/n stood before him, his expression blank. He had learned long ago that showing emotion was a weakness Sang-hyun exploited.

"What is it?" Y/n asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"An S-class target," Sang-hyun replied, sliding a folder across the desk. "Jung-hwa. Chaebol heiress. But that's not the interesting part."

Y/n opened the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents. Jung-hwa was beautiful, with long dark hair and a confident smile that seemed out of place in the grim world of organized crime. But as he read further, he realized why Sang-hyun was so interested.

"She's part of the Delacroix family," Y/n muttered, his stomach twisting.

Sang-hyun grinned. "Exactly. Killing her would send a message to Gahyeon. It's time that tyrant queen learns not to mess with the 3 Crows."

Y/n's fingers tightened around the folder. The Delacroix were the 3 Crows' biggest rivals, a Mafia family just as ruthless and powerful. But Jung-hwa wasn't just a pawn in their game-she was a person, a young woman with her whole life ahead of her.

"Do it," Sang-hyun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And don't screw this up. You know what happens if you fail."

Y/n nodded, his face a mask of calm, but inside, a storm raged. He didn't want to kill Jung-hwa. He didn't want to kill anyone anymore. But Sang-hyun's leash was tight, and disobedience meant death.

As he left the office, rain pouring down around him, Y/n felt the weight of his choice pressing down on his shoulders. He had two options: obey and lose what little humanity he had left, or rebel and risk everything.

In the end, he knew there was only one path he could take.

The rain hadn’t let up. Seoul’s neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting an eerie glow that matched the unease in Y/n’s chest. He stood in the shadows of a busy intersection, his hood pulled low as he watched her.

Jung-hwa.

She stood near the entrance of a luxury boutique, her bodyguards forming a tight perimeter around her. Even in the pouring rain, she exuded an air of elegance, her long black coat cinched at the waist, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked every bit the heiress she was—untouchable, radiant, and confident.

But Y/n knew better. No one in this world was untouchable.

For three days, he had stalked her, learning her routines, her quirks, and her vulnerabilities. He knew she preferred her coffee black with a single sugar cube. He knew she always stopped to feed the stray cats outside her apartment complex, even when she was running late. And he knew that beneath her polished exterior, there was a flicker of loneliness.

She reminded him too much of himself.

“Focus,” Y/n muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He couldn’t afford to humanize her. She was the target, nothing more.

Yet, as he trailed her through the crowded streets, he couldn’t suppress the guilt gnawing at him. She wasn’t like the other marks he’d been assigned to. Most of them were criminals, just as corrupt and ruthless as the 3 Crows. But Jung-hwa… she seemed different.

Still, Sang-hyun’s words echoed in his mind: “Don’t screw this up.”

Y/n clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had to do it. If he didn’t, Sang-hyun would kill him—or worse, send someone else after her.

That evening, Jung-hwa returned to her penthouse in Gangnam, her guards sweeping the area before letting her inside. Y/n watched from a nearby rooftop, the scope of his sniper rifle trained on her balcony.

It would be so easy. One shot, and it would be over.

But his finger hesitated on the trigger.

Instead of pulling it, he lowered the rifle and pulled out his binoculars, watching her through the glass doors of her living room. She was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand as she flipped through a book. The sight was so ordinary, so human, that it made his chest tighten.

What was he doing? Was he really going to take another life just because Sang-hyun ordered him to?

Y/n’s mind raced. He thought about his parents, about the countless people he’d killed, about the weight of Sang-hyun’s control over him. He was tired—tired of being a tool, tired of the bloodshed, tired of losing pieces of himself with every mission.

He let out a shaky breath and packed up his rifle.

Not tonight.

The following day, Jung-hwa’s routine took her to a quiet park on the outskirts of the city. Y/n followed at a distance, blending seamlessly with the other pedestrians. She sat on a bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, watching the petals fall as she sipped her coffee.

Y/n approached cautiously, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this—why he was stepping out of the shadows instead of staying hidden. But something about her drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Jung-hwa looked up, startled, but quickly composed herself. “It’s a public bench,” she replied, her tone polite but guarded.

Y/n sat down, leaving a respectable distance between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He could feel her eyes on him, studying him, trying to decide if he was a threat.

“You don’t seem like the type who frequents parks,” she said, breaking the silence.

Y/n smirked faintly. “And what type do I seem like?”

“The brooding loner type,” she replied, her lips curving into a small smile.

He chuckled, though the sound felt foreign in his throat. “Fair enough.”

Another pause settled between them, but this time it was less tense. Y/n found himself relaxing, though he knew he shouldn’t.

“I’ve seen you before,” Jung-hwa said suddenly, her voice soft but sharp.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. “Have you?”

She nodded. “You were at the café yesterday, weren’t you? Sitting by the window.”

Damn. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed him. “Maybe,” he said vaguely, trying to deflect.

Jung-hwa tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “You’re not very good at blending in, you know.”

Y/n bit back a retort. She was testing him, probing for information, and he couldn’t afford to slip up. But before he could respond, she stood up, brushing cherry blossom petals from her coat.

“Well, whoever you are,” she said, turning to leave, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Y/n watched her walk away, his chest tightening. She was sharper than he’d given her credit for. But more than that, her words lingered in his mind.

What was he looking for?

That night, Y/n sat alone in his dingy apartment, staring at the photo of Jung-hwa that Sang-hyun had given him. The more he thought about her, the more conflicted he felt. She wasn’t just a target anymore—she was a person, someone who had shown him a glimpse of a life beyond the darkness he lived in.

But he knew that sparing her would come at a cost.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. It was Sang-hyun.

“Y/n,” Sang-hyun’s voice came through the line, cold and commanding. “You’ve had enough time. Finish the job, or I’ll finish you.”

Y/n’s jaw tightened, his grip on the phone trembling. He didn’t respond.

“You hear me?” Sang-hyun growled. “Do it, or you’re dead.”

Y/n hung up without a word.

For the first time in years, he made a decision for himself. He wouldn’t kill her. He was done being a tool, done living under Sang-hyun’s control.

But walking away wouldn’t be easy.

And as the first knock sounded on his door—heavy and deliberate—he knew that Sang-hyun had already set his sights on him.

The knock on the door came again, louder this time. Y/n's breath hitched as he scrambled to his feet, every muscle in his body tensed. His small apartment was dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He reached for his pistol, his fingers tightening around the grip as he moved silently toward the door.

"Y/n," a voice called from the other side, low and menacing. "You think you can walk away from this?"

It was one of Sang-hyun's men.

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest. He had known this was coming, but he hadn't expected it so soon. They weren't here to talk-they were here to kill him.

The doorknob rattled, and then, with a deafening crash, the door splintered open. A team of three men burst inside, weapons drawn. Y/n didn't hesitate.

The first man went down with a single shot to the chest. The second lunged at him with a knife, but Y/n sidestepped, grabbing his arm and twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor. A swift kick sent the man sprawling, unconscious.

The third was smarter, firing off a shot that grazed Y/n's shoulder. Pain flared, but he didn't let it slow him down. He ducked behind the couch, returning fire. The man cried out as a bullet struck his leg, dropping him to the ground.

Silence fell, save for the ragged breathing of the wounded. Y/n stood, his pistol still trained on the men. Blood dripped from the graze on his shoulder, but he didn't flinch.

He had to go.

Y/n grabbed a bag he had packed earlier, slinging it over his shoulder as he stepped over the bodies. He didn't look back.

The streets of Seoul were alive with activity, but Y/n moved like a ghost, blending into the crowd despite the pain in his shoulder. He had to get out of the city, away from Sang-hyun's reach.

But Sang-hyun wouldn't stop. He had made that clear.

As Y/n turned a corner, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving toward him. He ducked just in time as a knife swiped past his face. His attacker-a man in a leather jacket- lunged again, but Y/n blocked the strike, delivering a sharp punch to the man's throat.

Another assassin.

Y/n didn't wait for him to recover. He darted into a narrow alley, his footsteps echoing against the walls. Gunfire erupted behind him, the bullets narrowly missing as he weaved through the labyrinth of alleyways.

He emerged onto a quieter street, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His leg burned, and when he glanced down, he saw blood seeping through his jeans. A bullet had grazed him there, too, though he hadn't noticed in the chaos.

He was losing strength.

"Damn it," he muttered, stumbling as his vision blurred. He leaned against a wall, his fingers pressing against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Help. " he rasped, his voice barely audible.

The world spun, and then he saw her. A silhouette against the dim light, her figure commanding and unyielding. She moved closer, her steps deliberate, until she was standing before him.

"Y/n," she said, her voice soft yet chilling.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed. As darkness consumed him, the last thing he saw was her face-a face both beautiful and terrifying.

Y/n woke to the scent of antiseptic and the feel of soft sheets beneath him. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, but he was alive.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. The room was luxurious, with dark wood furniture and velvet curtains. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting warm light across the space.

"You're awake."

The voice was familiar, and when Y/n turned his head, he saw her sitting in a chair by the fire. Gahyeon.

Her presence was magnetic, her dark eyes studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. She wore a tailored black dress, her posture regal, her expression unreadable.

"You should be dead," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Sang-hyun's men don't leave loose ends."

Y/n forced himself to sit up, wincing as pain flared in his leg and shoulder. "Why am I here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Gahyeon leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "You intrigue me," she said simply.

"That's not an answer," Y/n shot back, his eyes narrowing.

She smirked, amused by his defiance. "You spared my sister."

"Sister?"

"Jung-hwa," Gahyeon clarified, her gaze piercing. "You were sent to kill her, weren't you?"

Y/n didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.

"I expected you to try," she continued. "But instead, you hesitated. That's not something Sang-hyun's lapdog would do."

"I'm not his lapdog," Y/n said through gritted teeth.

"Not anymore," Gahyeon said, rising from her chair. She walked toward him, her heels clicking against the floor. "But that doesn't explain why you're here, bleeding out in my territory."

"I didn't have a choice," Y/n admitted, his voice low. "Sang-hyun put a bounty on my head."

"And now you're a man with nowhere to go," Gahyeon said, stopping beside his bed. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of his jaw. "Except here."

Y/n flinched at her touch, his instincts screaming danger. "What do you want from me?"

Gahyeon smiled, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "I want you to work for me."

Y/n stared at her, disbelief and suspicion swirling in his mind. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I saved your life," she said, her tone turning icy. "And because we have a common enemy."

Sang-hyun.

Y/n's jaw tightened as he thought about the man who had destroyed his life. Gahyeon was dangerous, but she wasn't wrong. If he wanted to take down Sang-hyun, he couldn't do it alone.

"And if I refuse?" Y/n asked.

Gahyeon's smile widened. "Then you die. But I think you're smarter than that."

Y/n closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain weighing on him. He didn't trust her, but for now, he didn't have a choice.

"Fine," he said finally. "I'll work for you."

"Good," Gahyeon said, her voice soft but triumphant. "Welcome to the Delacroix family, Y/n."

Y/n spent the next few days confined to the lavish room in Gahyeon’s mansion. His wounds were healing faster than expected, thanks to the skilled care of her personal medic. Yet, every time he looked at himself in the ornate mirror across the room, he saw the scars Sang-hyun had left behind—marks of a life he wanted to leave but couldn’t escape.

The door to his room opened one morning, revealing Gahyeon. She stepped inside, a commanding presence that instantly filled the space.

“Get up,” she said briskly. “Your recovery time is over.”

Y/n pushed himself to his feet, biting back a groan as his injured leg protested. “What now?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

She smirked. “Now, you prove that I didn’t make a mistake saving your life.”

Gahyeon led him to an underground training room, its walls lined with weapons of all kinds. A group of her men stood at attention, their expressions wary as they eyed Y/n. He didn’t blame them—he was an outsider, an enemy until recently.

“This is Y/n,” Gahyeon announced, her voice firm. “He’s under my protection now, which makes him one of us. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave.”

Her men exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them moved.

“Good,” she said, her eyes flicking to Y/n. “You’re going to spar with Jae-hyun.”

Jae-hyun, a towering man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. He was clearly the group’s enforcer, and Y/n could tell this wasn’t just a test—it was a warning.

Y/n squared his shoulders, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg. He didn’t need to win; he just needed to survive.

The fight was brutal. Jae-hyun was stronger, but Y/n was faster, using his agility to evade the worst of the blows. Still, he couldn’t dodge everything. A particularly hard punch sent him sprawling to the ground, blood trickling from his split lip.

“Enough,” Gahyeon’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Jae-hyun stepped back, his chest heaving, while Y/n struggled to his feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth, meeting Gahyeon’s gaze with a defiant glare.

“You’ve got grit,” she said, a hint of approval in her tone. “But you’ll need more than that to survive in my world.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Y/n shot back, his voice steady despite the pain.

Gahyeon’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Yes, you are.”

Over the next few weeks, Y/n trained relentlessly under Gahyeon’s watchful eye. She pushed him to his limits, forcing him to confront his weaknesses and hone his skills. At first, their interactions were cold and formal, but gradually, something began to shift.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Gahyeon handed Y/n a towel and a bottle of water. He accepted them silently, too exhausted to argue.

“You’re improving,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

Y/n glanced at her, surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she replied, though there was a faint smile on her lips.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” she countered, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile back, the tension between them easing for the first time.

Their bond deepened during their first mission together. A shipment of weapons bound for the 3 Crows had been intercepted by a third-party gang, and Gahyeon was determined to retrieve it.

The operation was risky, requiring stealth and precision. Y/n and Gahyeon worked side by side, their movements synchronized as they navigated the enemy’s stronghold.

When they were discovered, chaos erupted. Gunfire echoed through the building, and Y/n found himself covering Gahyeon’s back as they fought their way out.

“Stay close!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise.

“I’m not going anywhere!” he replied, firing at an approaching thug.

At one point, a gang member managed to sneak up behind Gahyeon, his knife raised. Y/n reacted instinctively, tackling the man to the ground and disarming him.

“Watch yourself,” Y/n said, his tone half-scolding, half-concerned.

“I had it under control,” Gahyeon retorted, though her expression softened as she looked at him. “But… thanks.”

They escaped with the shipment intact, their victory cementing a newfound trust between them.

That night, back at the mansion, Y/n found Gahyeon on the balcony, staring out at the city lights. He joined her, leaning against the railing.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“Just thinking,” she replied, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“About what?”

“About why I do this,” she admitted, her eyes distant. “Why I fight so hard to hold onto power, to protect what’s mine.”

Y/n studied her, seeing for the first time the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. “Because it’s all you’ve ever known,” he said gently.

She turned to him, her expression guarded. “And what about you? Why do you keep fighting?”

Y/n hesitated, the weight of his past pressing down on him. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he said finally.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the distance between them shrinking. Gahyeon reached out, her hand brushing against his.

“Maybe we can figure it out together,” she said softly.

Y/n’s breath caught, her words stirring something deep inside him. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope.

“Maybe we can,” he agreed.

The Delacroix estate was abuzz with activity, its halls alive with the chatter of operatives preparing for a major operation. Y/n, now firmly entrenched in Gahyeon’s world, was reviewing the mission details with Jung-hwa in the library.

Jung-hwa leaned over the map spread across the table, her dark hair brushing against Y/n’s arm. She was explaining the security patterns of their target—a 3 Crows warehouse—when she suddenly laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Y/n smile despite himself.

“You’re terrible at this,” Jung-hwa teased, pointing at the notes he had scribbled.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you talk too fast,” Y/n shot back, his grin widening.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Y/n turned to see Gahyeon standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

“Jung-hwa,” Gahyeon said coolly. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the preparations in the armory?”

Jung-hwa straightened, a hint of unease flickering across her face. “I was just—”

“Now,” Gahyeon interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Jung-hwa glanced at Y/n before nodding and leaving the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at Gahyeon as she walked toward him, her steps measured. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Don’t waste your time on her,” Gahyeon said, her voice sharp. “She’s too soft for this world.”

Y/n frowned, crossing his arms. “She’s your sister.”

“And she’s not your concern,” Gahyeon snapped, her eyes flashing.

Realization dawned on Y/n, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Are you jealous?”

Gahyeon’s jaw tightened, her composure cracking for a fraction of a second. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are,” Y/n said, his tone teasing. “You’re jealous.”

She glared at him, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of color. “Focus on the mission, Y/n,” she said, turning on her heel and leaving before he could say anything else.

Later that night, Y/n found himself on the training grounds, practicing his aim with a set of throwing knives. The rhythmic thud of metal sinking into wood was oddly soothing, a temporary reprieve from the chaos of his life.

He didn’t notice Gahyeon approaching until she spoke.

“Still awake?”

Y/n turned to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed. She looked different in the moonlight—softer, almost vulnerable.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, gesturing to the knives. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”

Gahyeon stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the target. “Your form’s off,” she said, picking up a knife from the bench. “Let me show you.”

She stood behind him, her hands lightly brushing against his as she adjusted his grip. Y/n froze, acutely aware of how close she was. Her perfume was subtle but intoxicating, and he found himself holding his breath.

“Like this,” she murmured, guiding his arm.

He threw the knife, and it hit the center of the target with a satisfying thud.

“Not bad,” Y/n said, turning to face her. “You’re a pretty good teacher.”

“I’m good at everything,” Gahyeon replied, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Y/n chuckled, shaking his head. “Modest, too.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. Gahyeon’s gaze softened, and Y/n could see something flicker in her expression—something she quickly masked.

“We should get some rest,” she said abruptly, stepping back.

“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just changed between them.

The mission the next day was a success, but it wasn’t without its complications.

As they regrouped at the estate, Y/n found himself surrounded by members of the Delacroix family, all eager to congratulate him on his role in the operation. One of them, a young woman named Hana, lingered longer than the others.

“You were incredible out there,” Hana said, her admiration clear in her voice.

“Just doing my job,” Y/n replied, though her enthusiasm made him uncomfortable.

Gahyeon entered the room then, her eyes immediately zeroing in on Hana.

“Hana,” Gahyeon said, her tone icy. “Don’t you have reports to file?”

Hana blinked, startled. “I-I was just—”

“Now,” Gahyeon ordered, her glare leaving no room for argument.

Hana scurried away, and Y/n sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t like anyone talking to me, do you?”

“I don’t like distractions,” Gahyeon retorted, her voice clipped.

Y/n stepped closer, his expression challenging. “Or maybe you don’t like sharing.”

Gahyeon’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving Y/n to wonder just how deep her feelings for him ran.

The halls of the Delacroix estate hummed with tension. Gahyeon sat at the head of the long mahogany table in the war room, her sharp gaze scanning the reports laid out before her. Y/n stood by her side, arms crossed, his instincts prickling with unease.

"Something doesn't feel right," Y/n said, his voice low.

Gahyeon glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"There's been too much silence from the 3 Crows," he replied. "Sang-hyun isn't the type to sit idle."

Gahyeon's lips pressed into a thin line. "I've strengthened our defenses. If he tries anything, we'll be ready."

Before Y/n could respond, the door burst open, and one of Gahyeon's trusted lieutenants stumbled in, blood staining his uniform.

"They. they turned on us," he gasped. "Some of our men. they're working for Sang-hyun."

Gahyeon's eyes narrowed, fury sparking within them. "Who?"

Before the man could answer, gunfire erupted outside, echoing through the estate. Y/n grabbed Gahyeon's arm, pulling her to her feet.

"We need to move. Now."

As chaos engulfed the estate, Y/n and Gahyeon fought their way through the corridors. Their enemies were ruthless, attacking with the precision of trained operatives. Y/n's mind raced as he pieced together the betrayal.

"This was planned," Y/n muttered, firing at an approaching enemy. "Sang-hyun's been planting seeds in your ranks for weeks."

"I'll kill him," Gahyeon snarled, her tone venomous.

"We'll kill him," Y/n corrected, his voice firm.

They found Jung-hwa in the west wing, cornered by a group of traitorous guards. Y/ n and Gahyeon dispatched them swiftly, their movements seamless as they worked together.

"Are you okay?" Y/n asked, pulling Jung-hwa to her feet.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice trembling. "But we need to get out of here."

"No," Gahyeon said, her eyes blazing. "We're not running. This ends tonight."

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Y/n and Gahyeon infiltrated Sang-hyun's stronghold. The once-imposing estate of the 3 Crows now reeked of desperation and greed.

Sang-hyun was asleep in his lavish bedroom, unaware of the storm creeping toward him. Y/n entered first, his footsteps silent as a shadow. Gahyeon followed, her knife glinting in the moonlight.

Y/n stood over Sang-hyun, his heart pounding as memories of his parents' brutal deaths flooded his mind. This was the man who had stolen his childhood, who had twisted his life into a nightmare.

Without hesitation, Y/n pressed the blade to Sang-hyun's throat. The man's eyes snapped open, panic flashing across his face.

"Y/n." Sang-hyun choked, his voice weak.

"This is for my parents," Y/n said, his voice steady, though his eyes burned with fury. "And for hurting Gahyeon."

With one swift motion, he slit Sang-hyun's throat. Blood spilled across the sheets as Sang-hyun gasped for air, his hands clawing at his neck. Y/n held his gaze until the light faded from his eyes, then stepped back, his breathing heavy.

"It's done," he said, turning to Gahyeon.

She nodded, her expression unreadable as she wiped the blood from her knife. "Let's go."

The death of Sang-hyun marked the end of the 3 Crows. Without their leader, the remnants of the organization crumbled, leaving a power vacuum in the underworld.

Y/n stood in the Delacroix estate's main hall, watching as Gahyeon addressed her people. She was a commanding presence, her voice steady and authoritative as she announced the formation of a new family-Evergarden.

"Together, we will rebuild," Gahyeon declared. "We will rise stronger than ever."

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Y/n felt only a deep weariness. He had done what he set out to do-he had avenged his parents and dismantled the 3 Crows. Now, all he wanted was peace.

That evening, Y/n approached Gahyeon in her office. She was seated at her desk, reviewing a stack of documents.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice firm.

Gahyeon looked up, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I've done my part," he continued. "I gave you the power to take down Sang-hyun. Now I want a new life."

Gahyeon rose from her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. "You think you can just walk away?"

"I'm not asking for permission," Y/n said, meeting her gaze.

Her expression darkened, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "You belong to me, Y/n. I won't let you go."

Before he could respond, she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You've given me everything. Your loyalty, your strength. your heart. And now, you'll give me forever."

Y/n's breath caught as Gahyeon leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "You're mine, Y/n. Always."

A week later, the Delacroix family officially merged with the remnants of the 3 Crows, forming Evergarden. Gahyeon declared herself the leader, solidifying her position in the underworld.

In a grand ceremony held in the estate's ballroom, Gahyeon stood beside Y/n, her hand entwined with his. Her smile was triumphant as she announced their marriage, sealing their union and her control over him.

As the crowd applauded, Y/n felt the weight of her obsession pressing down on him. He had thought he could escape, but Gahyeon's love was as inescapable as it was dangerous.

And deep down, he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave.

Evergarden thrived under Gahyeon’s rule. Her ruthless efficiency and unyielding leadership made the organization a dominant force in the underworld. Y/n, now her husband, found himself at the heart of the new empire.

But the power, wealth, and influence came at a cost.

Y/n stood in the grand dining hall, watching as Gahyeon conversed with her lieutenants. She was as commanding as ever, her every word dripping with authority. Yet, whenever her gaze fell on him, it softened, her possessiveness evident in the way her eyes lingered.

“Y/n,” she called, motioning for him to join her.

He approached, his movements slow and deliberate. “What’s the matter?”

Gahyeon’s lips curved into a smile. “Nothing. I just like having you close.”

One of the lieutenants, a young man named Min-joon, chuckled. “Boss, you’re going to spoil him.”

Gahyeon’s smile vanished, her gaze turning icy. “Watch your tongue, Min-joon.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Y/n placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture to diffuse the situation.

“Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “He’s just joking.”

Gahyeon’s expression softened again, but the warning in her eyes remained. “Careful, Min-joon. You wouldn’t want to upset me.”

Later that night, Y/n found himself alone in the garden, seeking solace among the flowers and moonlight. The estate was a fortress, its walls impenetrable, yet Y/n felt trapped.

He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the cool night air. He didn’t hear Gahyeon approach until she spoke.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said, her tone accusing.

Y/n exhaled slowly, not turning to face her. “Just needed some air.”

Gahyeon stepped closer, her presence magnetic yet suffocating. “You don’t need to hide from me, Y/n.”

“I’m not hiding,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You belong here. With me.”

Y/n turned to her, his gaze searching hers. “Do I? Or am I just another piece in your game?”

Gahyeon’s eyes flared with hurt and anger. “You think I’m using you?”

“I think you don’t know how to let go,” he said, his voice steady.

She stepped back, her jaw tightening. “You’re mine, Y/n. I won’t lose you.”

Her words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of her obsession.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of meetings, missions, and public appearances. Gahyeon ensured that Y/n was always by her side, a constant presence in her life and her plans.

But her possessiveness began to manifest in more overt ways.

One evening, during a gala hosted by Evergarden, Y/n found himself in conversation with Hana, a former member of the Delacroix family. She was friendly, her laughter light as they reminisced about the old days.

Gahyeon watched from across the room, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. The crystal felt cold against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the icy fury settling in her chest. Her eyes followed Y/n as he laughed softly at something the woman beside him said—a laugh that once belonged to her, or so she had thought. His hand brushed the other woman’s arm, a casual gesture, but Gahyeon’s nails dug into her palm. How dare he?

When Y/n finally returned to her side, his expression was calm, almost indifferent, but Gahyeon’s sharp gaze caught the flicker of guilt in his eyes. She smiled—a tight, practiced curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “You seemed to enjoy that conversation,” she said, her tone light, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the venom lacing her words.

Y/n hesitated, his shoulders stiffening as he met her gaze. “She’s an old friend,” he replied, his voice steady but cautious. He could sense the storm brewing behind Gahyeon’s composed facade.

Her smile turned colder, sharper. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade, and Y/n flinched, though he held his ground. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice firm despite the unease creeping into his chest.

That night, the tension between them crackled like a live wire, heavy and unspoken, until Gahyeon finally broke the silence. She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her face. The dim light cast shadows across her features, highlighting the anger simmering in her eyes.

“You think I don’t notice?” she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “Every time you talk to another woman, every time you smile at them… do you think I’m blind?”

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Gahyeon, you’re overreacting.”

Her eyes flashed, and she stepped closer, her movements deliberate, predatory. “I’m not overreacting!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I’ve given you everything, Y/n. Everything. And you still look at them.”

He stared at her, searching for the right words, but all he could see was the pain etched into her expression—pain masked by anger. “This isn’t love, Gahyeon,” he said quietly. “This is control.”

For a moment, her composure wavered, and the mask slipped. Pain flickered across her face, raw and unmistakable, before she quickly rebuilt the walls around herself. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t lose you.”

Y/n’s resolve softened as he stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cradle her face. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said gently. “But you have to trust me.”

Gahyeon looked up at him, her vulnerability laid bare in the depths of her dark eyes. “I do trust you,” she said, though the possessiveness lingering in her gaze betrayed her words.

The space between them crackled with unspoken tension, the air thick with desire and conflict. Gahyeon’s hands slid up his chest, her touch searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Prove it,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “Prove that you’re mine.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch both tender and demanding. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way her pulse quickened beneath his fingertips. “Gahyeon…” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss—hard, desperate, and possessive.

Her lips were soft yet unforgiving, claiming him with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. She pressed herself against him, her curves molding to his body as her hands tangled in his hair. Y/n groaned, his resistance crumbling under the weight of her need. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back with equal fervor.

Gahyeon broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. “Say it,” she demanded, her voice a sultry whisper. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Y/n replied without hesitation, his voice rough with desire. The words spilled out before he could stop them, driven by the fire burning in her eyes.

A small, triumphant smile curved her lips as she pushed him backward toward the bed. He sank down onto the mattress, his heart pounding as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him with effortless grace. Her dress pooled around her hips, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs, and Y/n’s hands instinctively gripped her hips, anchoring himself to her.

Gahyeon leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Good boy.” Her breath sent shivers down his spine, and he swallowed hard, his body responding to her dominance with an intensity that surprised him.

She rocked her hips against his, the friction eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one with deliberate slowness. Each brush of her fingers against his skin stoked the flames of his desire, and by the time she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, he was already achingly hard.

Her eyes darkened as she gazed at his exposed chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles with a possessiveness that made his breath catch. “Mine,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent heat pooling low in his abdomen.

Y/n’s hands moved to the hem of her dress, tugging it upward until it slipped over her head and fell to the floor. She sat back on his lap, clad only in delicate lace that did little to conceal her body. His mouth went dry at the sight of her, her curves illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed.

Gahyeon reached behind her, unhooking her bra and letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled into his hands, and he couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth. She moaned, arching into him as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she ground against him again, the thin barrier of his pants doing little to muffle the electric sensation coursing through them. “Y/n,” she gasped, her voice tinged with desperation. “I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him as he kicked off his pants and boxers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her slick folds.

“Look at me,” Gahyeon commanded, her voice soft but firm. He obeyed, locking eyes with her as he slowly pushed inside, inch by torturous inch. Her breath hitched, her body stretching to accommodate him, and she bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

When he was fully seated inside her, they paused, savoring the feeling of being joined together. Gahyeon’s nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire. “Show me who you belong to.”

Y/n growled, gripping her hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first but quickly building in intensity. Gahyeon’s moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he drove into her again and again.

Her legs tightened around him, urging him deeper, and she arched her back, crying out as pleasure rocked through her body. “Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking on the word. “Just like that…”

Y/n’s hips pistoned relentlessly, each stroke bringing them closer to the edge. Gahyeon’s nails dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clung to him. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a desperate plea. “Please, don’t stop.”

He obliged, his pace increasing as his own orgasm loomed dangerously close. Gahyeon’s walls clenched around him, and he knew she was teetering on the brink. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

Her answer was a strangled cry as she shattered, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. The sight of her unraveling pushed him over the edge, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release intense and all-consuming.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Gahyeon’s fingers traced idle patterns on his back, her breathing gradually slowing as she nuzzled against his neck. “Mine,” she murmured sleepily, her voice soft but unwavering.

Y/n didn’t argue. For now, he was content to let her claim him, even if the cost of her love was his freedom. But deep down, a part of him wondered how much longer he could endure the weight of her possession…

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (1)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, he's extremely rude, like extremely so, prank gone wrong, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, reader faints at the sight of blood, unfunny pranks, Yoongi is jaded, he's a softie once you get to know him, hospital visit, non-descriptive male masterbation, reader has a stutter when nervous, Yoongi just being in denial for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Another old draft I found buried in my Google Docs! I didn't need to change too much, and it's very loosely edited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. This was rather long (and I don't know why I never posted it), so it had to be split into two parts because of Tumblr's new rules. Thanks for reading!

Next

Subject: Undergrad Mentoring From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 6:18 AM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Yoongi,  

I’m forwarding an email from a brilliant undergraduate. Have you thought about mentoring a student? I really think you should.  

— Jin  

---

From: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 2:08 AM   To: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Subject: Undergraduate Research  

Dear Professor Kim,  

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a junior in the School of Arts and Sciences, majoring in microbiology. I’m incredibly interested in undergraduate research, particularly in your fascinating work on Helicobacter pylori and its connection to stomach cancer.  

Although I don’t have prior research experience, I’m hardworking and responsible, and I would appreciate the chance to join your team. Please let me know if you have space available in your lab.  

Attached are my CV and transcript.  

Thank you!  

Y/N Y/L/N  

---

Dr. Seokjin Kim Member, Division of Basic Sciences   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

I stared at Jin's email, the words bouncing around in my head. No previous research experience? Oh great! Just fucking great!

As the clock hit noon, I trudged into the break room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. It was my little escape, my sanctuary from the suffocating hallways of academia. Hoseok, the only graduate student I considered a friend, was already inhaling his lunch.

I plopped my Tupperware into the microwave, the day’s weight pressing down on me like a thick fog. “Jin wants me to take on an undergrad,” I grumbled, feeling the words stick in my throat.

“Seriously?” Hoseok asked, mouth half-full. He didn’t even bother to swallow before adding, “Have them do the dishes.”

“Oh man, this is going to suck,” I muttered, stirring my mac and cheese with the enthusiasm of a person headed to their execution. “I have to train her, and she has zero lab experience. I don’t have time for this crap.”

The microwave beeped, its harsh sound grating against my nerves. I pulled out my steaming food, the steam rising ominously. “I tried to get out of it, but Jin insisted it’s ‘all part of the training.’” I mimicked his voice, nasal and overdramatic. Hoseok chuckled, nearly choking on his food.

I dug into my lunch, my mind racing. “She’s probably some pre-med trying to pad her CV. Calling our research ‘fascinating’ like she even knows what we do here—just another cookie-cutter student firing off a hundred emails.” 

“Maybe she’s cute?” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. My single status was a constant source of irritation for him. He meant well, but his attempts at matchmaking were like trying to fix a flat tire with a spoon.

“I already did my required TA-ing last year, and it nearly gave me an ulcer. I thought I was done with whiny undergrads! This really sucks!” The words burst out, hot and angry. The idea of babysitting a clueless student gnawed at me like a persistent itch.

I focused on my research, hoping it would be my ticket out of this academic purgatory. Mentoring an undergrad was the last thing I needed—a distraction threatening to derail my meticulously planned escape.

After lunch, I headed to the incubator to check on my cultures, the familiar hum a small comfort amidst the chaos. Then I settled at my desk, drafting a reluctant email to the undergrad, my words dripping with begrudging obligation.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 1:05 PM   To: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Come to the lab on Monday between 8 AM and 7 PM. Bring your schedule.  

Yoongi Min PhD Candidate   Kim Lab   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

This was going to suck.

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi Min?” A stranger’s voice cut through the quiet of the lab, and I felt my focus waver. I was knee-deep in DNA sequencing data, desperately searching for a start codon when the interruption struck like nails on a chalkboard.

“That’s him over there,” Jimin, my lab mate, replied. I didn’t need to look up; I knew he was pointing at me.

“CTT ATC GTG ACT…” I murmured; eyes glued to the screen. The code demanded my attention.

A shadow crept closer, invading my peripheral vision. I ignored it, hyper-fixated on the screen.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” the shadow solidified into the undergrad I’d been dreading. I continued to stare at the screen, unwilling to break my concentration.

“Did you bring your schedule?” My voice was clipped, an attempt to maintain my rhythm.

CGC CTC CGT ATG… There it was! I highlighted the start codon, feeling a small sense of victory amidst the irritation. Finally, I turned to face her. She held a crumpled piece of paper in trembling hands.

The crackling noise of the paper grated on my nerves, and I snatched it from her. A quick scan revealed she had a limited availability. Tuesdays and Thursdays it was.

“Do you want one or two credits?” I asked, filling out her form with practiced efficiency.

“Oh… um… t-two,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh great, a stammerer. I disliked her already. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“That’s ten hours a week,” I said, scribbling on the form. “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, maybe some Wednesday mornings.” I thrust the completed form back at her and turned back to my computer.

“See you tomorrow,” I dismissed her with a wave, eager to end the interaction. Her stammering was already wearing on my patience.

When I returned from lunch, she was perched at my bench. A laugh escaped me at the sight of her attire.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed at her lab coat, which was covered in hand-drawn bacteria.

She jumped, eyes wide. “My la-la-lab coat?” she stuttered.

Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.

I took a deep breath, scanning her outfit for safety violations. At least she wore closed shoes and jeans, but her long hair hung loose.

“You should tie your hair up. You’ll be working near the flame.”

She pulled a hairband from her wrist and started tying her hair back. As I walked past, I noticed the back of her lab coat had “Bacteria Rule” scrawled in huge letters.

Bacteria Rule? Is she serious? I wanted to stab my eyes out with the pen in my hand. Who wastes time drawing on a lab coat? Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.

Something was off about her—I was certain of it. Concerned about her competence, I decided she couldn’t be trusted with any real work. Instead, I assigned her mundane chores, the kind even a high schooler could handle. It might not have been what Jin envisioned, but it was the only way.

God, I’m already dreading this. Can it be Friday already?

Hoseok and I lounged in the break room, our feet propped up on the coffee table, Tupperwares in our laps. The lack of a proper dining table didn’t bother us; it still beat eating at our desks.

“How’s it going with the undergrad?” Hoseok asked, mouth full.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with her,” I said, dead serious.

Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.

“All she does is nod at what I say,” I elaborated. “Like one of those bobblehead dolls.” I stretched my neck and bobbed my head for effect. “Except she has bangs flopping all over her face when she nods frantically at everything I say.”

Hoseok snorted but kept eating.

“And she stutters! Well, when she speaks, that is. She doesn’t speak much. I kind of like that about her.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in love, bro.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok,” I shot back, uninterested. I already knew where this was heading.

“Is she cute?” Hoseok asked, glancing at me with a smirk.

“She’s a baby.”

“Is she a cute baby?”

“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”

“Well, maybe with this zygote, you’ll learn how to be human again.” He turned his attention back to his food.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. You’re not exactly social, bro. All you do is lab stuff and occasionally hang out with me and Serena.”

“What are you talking about? I am social.” My tone came out whiny, betraying my disbelief.

“Oh, really?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, gesturing to my Tupperware. “So social that you prefer to eat alone in the lab over joining us in the break room?”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re such a dork. I eat in here because the lab is a mess, not because I’m antisocial.” I shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“Whatever you say, Yoongi,” he laughed, clearly unconvinced.  

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, I grabbed my backpack, bracing myself for the next round of research duties.

After a few weeks of working together, I had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that the undergrad was following instructions better than I’d expected. If I could just ignore her ridiculous lab coat and the way those bangs flopped annoyingly over her forehead, she wouldn’t be half bad. The real annoyance, though, was her constant presence invading my space. But honestly, it could be worse; at least she wasn’t stammering nonstop. Most of the time, she barely spoke, and mercifully, she didn’t ask a ton of questions.

As I walked back from lunch with Hoseok, I was surprised to realize I didn’t dread the thought of the undergrad being in the lab when I arrived. Maybe having her shadow me wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

Of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I jinxed myself. Stepping into the lab, I found her cleaning my bench, and a wave of irritation crashed over me. 

“What the heck are you doing?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She flinched, turning slowly to face me, her gloved hands still gripping an ethanol squeeze bottle. “I-I just thought I’d clean up a bit,” she stammered.

“Did you touch my samples?” I shot back, a surge of panic coursing through me.

“Which samples?” 

“Those!” I pointed at the upside-down tubes that had been perfectly positioned when I left, now carelessly shoved to the side. 

“I-I just mov—”

“Did you touch my RNA samples?” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air—an annoyingly stupid fish. “Do you know how labile RNA is?”

“L-la-labile?” 

“Yes! Unstable—easily degradable. The main point here: you don’t touch my RNA samples!” 

“I-I used gloves… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears shimmering in her eyes. 

If she started crying, I was really going to lose it. 

I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to calm the storm brewing inside me. Slipping on my own gloves, I gently set my samples back in their rightful place, praying I hadn’t lost a week’s worth of work. 

I could hear her sniffling next to me, and I groaned out loud. “Why don’t you and your la-la-lab coat coat go find something useful to do?” 

I listened as she shuffled away, clearly eager to escape my sight. I should have known better than to think this arrangement would work out.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Monday, February 14, 2024, 6:27 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Yoongi,  

Part of the undergrad training involves more than just doing chores. Cleaning dishes, stacking pipette tips, and capping tubes do not count as experiments.  

I expect your undergrad to have enough experimental data to give a presentation at the end of the semester.  

Jin  

What the hell? Did she tell him I’m only having her do chores? 

Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

Jin was right, though. All she’d done these past few weeks were chores. Aside from that little incident with my RNA samples, she hadn’t completely messed up yet. Maybe I should cut her some slack and give her a real project. She might learn something—or at the very least, realize how frustrating science could be and decide to give up on it sooner rather than later. 

Oh God, how was she going to give a presentation if she couldn’t even say one coherent sentence without stuttering? 

This would be an embarrassment, not just for her but for me too. If she messed up, she’d make me look bad. 

Decision made. I needed to lighten up a bit and actually try to teach her something.

On Thursday, the undergrad was busy with her chores when I approached her, project sheet in hand. 

She looked at it, her eyebrows raised. “What is this?” 

“Your project for the next few weeks.” 

Her face lit up with excitement. 

“You didn’t have to go crying to Jin. I was going to give you a project anyway.” 

Her smile faltered into a frown. “W-What are you talking about?” She gazed up at me, bewildered, but I waved her off, unwilling to explain further. 

“Enough chattering. Those tubes aren’t going to wash themselves.” 

Gotcha, undergrad. Your puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.

It was the first week of real work for the undergrad, and I felt a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncomfortably. 

Am I excited about this? Nah… I’m probably just hungry.

“Do you know what PCR is?” 

She nodded eagerly, pulling out her notepad, ready to take notes. 

I explained how I wanted her to amplify two toxin genes from a set of H. pylori samples that had just arrived that morning from the hospital. Naturally, I only gave her a small subset of the total samples. It was a manageable number—enough for her to play around with, but not so many that I’d be ready to murder her if she messed up.

As usual, the undergrad took notes on everything I said, jotting down even where I pointed out the locations of various equipment. For all I knew, she was sketching a detailed map of the lab in that notepad of hers.

The undergrad sat at the bench, PCR tubes lined up in front of her, the protocol to her left, pipettes to her right, and a rack of reagents looming in the back. I watched her as she stared at everything, nervously picking at the edges of her gloves. 

She was going to drive me insane. 

“Do you know how to use the pipettes?” 

She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” My voice came out louder than intended, and she flinched. 

We were never going to get anywhere like this. 

I took a deep breath and tried again, grabbing one of the micropipettes. “You set the volume here.” I pointed to the rings. “Clockwise to increase, counterclockwise to decrease.” 

I demonstrated, twisting the rings as I explained the display window and where to discard the disposable tips when she was done. 

After a few trials, the undergrad carefully pipetted into the PCR tubes, preparing the reaction with surprising precision. 

She was focused, making sure not to contaminate anything. It was clear she was paying close attention to every detail. 

Skilled hands, I noted, feeling a flicker of satisfaction. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

I led the undergrad into the darkroom, where shadows clung to the walls like forgotten secrets, ready to ensnare us. The air was thick with a sharp, chemical tang, buzzing with anticipation as we approached the agarose gel. The PCR products shimmered faintly under the dim light, a hidden treasure waiting to be revealed. Surprisingly, a flicker of excitement sparked within me, a rare departure from my usual brooding.

“The ethidium bromide binds to the DNA,” I explained, my voice echoing softly in the sterile silence. “When we expose it to UV light, it fluoresces an orange color. You’ll see the PCR products light up on the gel.”

She walked beside me, clutching the gel like a sacred relic, her wide eyes absorbing every word. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, likely wishing she had her notepad to document my brilliance, as if capturing my words would somehow validate her existence.

As we stepped into the darkroom, she hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, before gingerly placing the gel inside the UV box. She moved carefully, avoiding the pitfalls of air bubbles that could ruin everything. Either she’d done this before, or she had the sense to read up on it. 

Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.

Once she’d set the gel, I instructed her to turn off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, and I leaned in, my heart racing a little faster. Peering into the UV box, I couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at that. All your reactions worked.”

“Really?” Her voice trembled from the back, laced with a quiver of hope.

“Yeah,” I called back, though the shadows played tricks on me. “Come closer so you can see.”

I waited, but she lingered in the gloom, frozen as if afraid to approach the light. “Come here, I don’t bite,” I coaxed, trying to keep my tone lighthearted.

Finally, she moved, her profile illuminated under the eerie purple glow. Her eyes widened, and a smile broke across her face like dawn piercing through a dark night. I snorted softly, amused by how easily undergrads were impressed.

After she soaked in the spectacle, I showed her how to take a photo of her gel, and we returned to the lab. She began dutifully filling in her lab notebook, and a glimmer of pride swelled within me. That was until I checked her progress later. The notebook was pristine—a meticulous record of her every move since day one. Hope flickered in my chest, only to sputter out when I turned to the last page. There it was, taped prominently: a picture of the gel with “All worked!” scrawled underneath, accompanied by a crude smiley face.

A fucking smiley face.

This undergrad, I thought, definitely had a screw loose.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” 

“What’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at my sweater, a worn piece of fabric riddled with holes—just like my soul. It was what I had been wearing all day, and it sufficed. 

“It has holes in it.”

“And?” I shot back, genuinely baffled. It was just clothing—a shield against the chill of the world.

“Are you making a fashion statement? You do know grunge was over twenty years ago? I know you live in Seattle and all, but I’m not digging the Kurt Cobain look… at all.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “I’m starting to regret bringing you to this.”

“Relax, it’s just beers with Hobi and Serena,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was some petulant child.

I raked a hand through my hair, but it sprang back defiantly, so I slapped on a beanie to cover the chaos.

“You know, Yoongi, it wouldn’t hurt to wash your hair once in a while. How are you going to meet any cute girls?”

Here we go again.

“Yoonji, would you get off my case? I don’t want to meet anybody.” 

Yoonji dropped in at least once a month, a whirlwind of concern and relentless nagging. She never believed me when I claimed to be fine over the phone. 

It was endearing, in a way, but mostly a burden I didn’t need. My family was my anchor, yet their relentless need to take care of me felt like shackles.

“Okay, okay... let’s go then.” 

“It’s just beers, for crying out loud.” 

“I’m telling you to relax.” 

In the car, I felt her eyes boring into me. “It’s just... I worry about you.” She brushed her hand along my arm, and I sighed.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, but I could see the disbelief flickering across her face. “Really. I’m just tired of school. I want to start real life already. I’ll be twenty-six this summer, and I’m still stuck in this academic limbo.”

“Hell, I’m twenty-seven!” Hoseok said when we arrived at the bar, lifting his pint in a mock salute. “And look at all the fuck I give!” He downed it with a flourish.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I shot back.

“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.

“It’s okay…” Hoseok waved dismissively. “He’s just got a bad case of graduate bitterness.”

Graduate bitterness... yes, that was exactly it. A malaise that settled in my bones like a persistent chill. I glanced around, my throat tightening as if the weight of my uncertainty was squeezing the life out of me.

I led the undergrad through the winding corridors of the building, our footsteps echoing like whispers in the shadows. She walked beside me in near silence, her gaze occasionally darting down to her notepad, scribbling furiously as if the ink might escape her. If only she spent as much time observing her surroundings as she did with her frantic notes, she wouldn’t need them to find her way back to the sequencing facility.

There was something peculiar about her. She avoided meeting my eyes, her demeanor skirting the edges of unease, a deep-seated shyness that pricked at my irritation. And Hoseok thinks I’m the antisocial one!

As we turned a corner, I pondered the unspoken rules of social behavior in the lab when we suddenly bumped into Jungkook Wand, another graduate student known for his knack for lurking around.

“Min,” he greeted, his gaze fixated on my undergrad, likely eyeing her in that ridiculous lab coat that looked like it had seen better days. Why she insisted on wearing that tattered garment was beyond me.

“We missed you at happy hour,” he added, his eyes still glued to her, ignoring me completely.

Every Friday, the department hosted a gathering that, while lame, at least offered beer. Last week, Yoonji was visiting, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of dragging her into that debacle.

“Yeah, my cousin was in town,” I managed, trying to shake off the feeling of being an afterthought.

Jungkook’s smile widened as he turned his attention to her. I should probably introduce them, but for the life of me, her name eluded me. Panic set in like a cold sweat.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that felt a bit too eager.

Shit. What was her name again?

The girl glanced up at me, and a flash of annoyance crossed her features, as if she could read my mind. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with indignation as she extended her hand. The scowl she shot me could peel paint off the walls.

Y/N. The name landed in my mind like a lead weight. How had I forgotten it?

Before I could muster an excuse, Jungkook was launching into conversation, his gaze lingering on her with a familiarity that irked me. I didn’t like Jungkook, nor the way he looked at my undergrad, so I steered her away from him, back toward the safety of the lab.

Now, what was her name again? Damn it.

The following week, I was knee-deep in sequence alignments at my cluttered desk when the fire alarm shrieked, slicing through the stillness like a knife. I turned to find my undergrad, her wide eyes betraying sheer panic. 

She thought it was real. In that moment, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind. 

“Run, Becca! Run!” I shouted, leaping from my chair.

“What?” 

The color drained from her face, and I couldn't help but laugh as confusion and fear played out across her features— priceless. I doubled over, laughter bubbling out like soda from a shaken can. 

The alarm blared on, drowning out her startled gasp as she clutched a rack of tubes, trembling. “It’s just a fire drill! Relax!” I finally managed to gasp.

She set the tubes down, took a deep breath, and shot me a glare, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was not funny,” she huffed, her voice laced with indignation. “And my name is Y/N!”

With that, she stormed off, leaving me with echoes of my laughter still ringing in my ears. 

Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!

The fire alarms continued to test my patience, ringing again and again. Each time, I chuckled at the memory of her startled expression. Now, standing outside for what felt like the fifth time, I glanced sideways at Y/N, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved into her pockets. 

“Want to grab some coffee?” I asked, feeling an odd urge to make amends.

She blinked at me, surprise flickering across her face as if she couldn’t believe I was actually talking to her.

The cafeteria at the library was our destination, and we walked in silence, the clouds parting for a moment to let in the faintest hint of sunshine. 

As we stood in line, I noticed her tense shoulders. Suddenly, she muttered a string of curses under her breath. Before I could react, her arm was around mine, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.

She maintained her smile but released me, stepping in front. “Say something funny,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent.

“What?”

Then she erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.

She pressed a hand against my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Was this how lab partners acted in her world?

But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded, and she stepped back, looking sheepish, as if the moment had been a strange dream.

I moved up in line to get my coffee. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. I decided to drop the subject entirely.

As we started heading back, she caught up to me, her expression suddenly earnest. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “There’s this guy, Jonah. He won’t take a hint. I thought if he saw me with someone…”

I tuned out her words, her rhythm a blur as I realized just how bizarre everything was.

Could undergrads get any weirder?

Sitting alone on a bench Wednesday afternoon, I savored the solitude when Jungkook appeared, looming over me like a vulture. 

“Min,” he said, his tone dripping with false familiarity.

I glared at him, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he was about to spill. 

“Where’s that cute little thing you were with?” 

“Who?”

“You know, the one in the colorful lab coat.”

Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.

“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.

“Got her number?”

“Why would I have her number? And why do you want it?”

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face. “You know… you and her…”

I cut him off, anger flaring in my chest. “Me and her what?”

“Is she up for grabs?”

I couldn’t believe he’d come to my lab just to ask about her.

“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”

He laughed, completely oblivious. “Dude, have you looked at her? She’s fine.”

“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”

“Even better!” His expression made my stomach churn.

“I don’t have her number, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds in, blocking him out as he stormed off, his words echoing in my mind.

Fucking creep.

Even though it was Friday—one of those days Y/N usually avoided—the lab felt off-kilter, like an old, rickety house holding its breath. She hovered at my desk while I pulled up the sequencing results on my laptop. Last night, I’d sent her a simple email, expecting a casual response. But her reply had come back faster than a ghost in the night. She wanted to see the data today.

As we sat there, the silence between us thickened, almost palpable. Her face was a mask of concentration, but her expressions kept faltering, crumpling like old paper. Not that I cared too much; she had to learn that research was 90% disappointment wrapped in frustration.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, as if she were mourning a lost hope.

“Maybe you made a mistake?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.

“I was very careful,” she shot back, defensive, her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

How typical. Pre-med students always thought they were immune to failure, that the universe owed them success on a silver platter.

“It happens,” I shrugged, trying to dismiss the tension.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her brows knitting together.

“There's a reason it’s called research. If you only had to do it once, it would be called a search.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“You start over.”

“From the beginning?” Her voice trembled, disbelief flickering in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she gazed at her notebook, defeated. Her eyes flitted to the calendar on the wall, and her pencil scratched furiously on the pad. “Can I come tomorrow? I want to have cells growing by Monday.”

Her eagerness surprised me. I added “overachiever” to the growing list of quirks that made Y/N so peculiar.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I know that.”

“Don’t you have a frat party to attend?” I quipped, but her glare silenced me, a reprimand that cut through the lab's sterile air. “Fine, come tomorrow,” I relented, knowing I’d be here anyway. Weekends in the lab were the best; no distractions, just the hum of machinery and the click of keys.

“Awesomesauce!” she chirped, her smile lighting up the dim room. I rolled my eyes, annoyed yet impressed by her determination. Maybe, just maybe, she had what it took for grad school after all.

Saturdays were sacred—my little slice of peace amid the storm of classes and lab reports. After a killer morning workout, I made my way back to the lab, my damp hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Just as I settled into my zone, my phone buzzed with a message that snapped me back to reality. 

“Mr. Graduate Student, I’m at the front of the building. Y/N.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at her cheesy attempt at humor. By the time I reached the entrance, I found her wrestling with her hair, tying it up into a high ponytail that looked like it could give anyone a headache just by looking at it. But when she caught sight of me, her face lit up with a grin that could brighten the cloudiest day.

“Very funny,” I replied dryly as I held the door open for her. “It’s Yoongi, remember?”

As we stepped inside, the silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. I considered tossing out a quip about her hairstyle or her lab coat, but then a mischievous prank began to brew in my mind—dark and delightful, like a noxious weed spreading through my thoughts.

“Start your experiment from scratch,” I said, forcing a serious tone. “Could be that my reagents were contaminated.”

Her eyes widened, and I could barely suppress a smirk. It was a complete lie, of course; the old autoclave in the corner was already wheezing like an ancient beast. But picturing her panic was too tempting. 

Settling at my bench, I could barely contain my excitement. But instead of the expected rush of alarm, there was a loud crash—glass shattering like a million tiny dreams—and then silence. 

What the hell was that?

I found her on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that sparkled like lost hopes. The autoclave hissed and wheezed, steam curling around us like a ghost. I rushed to her side, trying to stem the leak with my hands. 

“What happened?” I asked, crouching beside her. She looked like a wilted flower, her head buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you okay?” I tried again, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw her trembling hands. Her breath came in quick bursts, and my heart raced. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, her palm pressed hard against her leg. “Let me see,” I urged, only to be hit with a wave of horror: a deep gash across her palm, crimson pooling onto the cold tiles.

Oh, no...

Panic surged as I scooped her up, her fragile body slumping against mine. “You’re okay,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow. “It’s okay.” 

I hurried her to the sink, the cool water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in the lab. She buried her face in my chest, her panic palpable against my shirt. 

“Is there still blood?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mostly gone. But we need to get to the ER,” I insisted, urgency tightening my tone.

She groaned, eyes still shut tight, her composure slipping away. 

“Please, open your eyes,” I pleaded, gently lifting her chin. I rubbed my thumb along her cheek, trying to anchor her to reality.

“Can you walk?” 

She nodded weakly, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. I swept her back up, panic clawing at my throat. 

What have I done? The air felt thick with dread, and I knew I had to get her out of there. 

I carried her to my car, the world outside fading into a blur, as if the universe was holding its breath. Carefully, I placed her in the passenger seat, her eyes still shut like she was blocking out the horrors around us. I fastened her seatbelt, feeling the weight of the moment. "Please say something," I urged, glancing at her, desperate for any sign of life.

"I hate blood," she mumbled, voice fragile.

Relief washed over me—she was talking. It struck me as strange that a pre-med student would detest blood. "Are you still dizzy?" 

She nodded, and my heart sank at her admission. The crease in her forehead deepened, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away.

"We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes," I promised, focusing on the road ahead.

"Would you distract me, so I don’t think about the blood?" 

"I don’t know how," I admitted sheepishly.

"Say something funny." 

"Funny? Okay. It’s pretty funny that you want to go to med school and you faint at the sight of blood." 

"Who says I'm pre-med?" she shot back, and I blinked in surprise.

"You're not?" 

"No, and that really wasn’t funny. Talking about blood isn’t going to help me forget about it." 

Frustration clawed at me as I struggled for something to say. 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Don’t you know any jokes?" There was an edge of frustration in her voice.

"No." 

"Everyone knows at least one joke, Yoongi." The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, tightening my stomach with something close to admiration.

Before I knew it, I blurted out the lamest joke I could remember from college. "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar," I began, watching her lips twitch upward. "One says, ‘I think I've lost an electron.’ The other asks, ‘Are you sure?’ The first replies, ‘Yes. I'm positive.’"

I cringed at how cheesy it was, but when her smile finally broke through, it felt like winning the lottery.

"That was lame," she said, but the glimmer of her smile gave me hope.

At a red light, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still closed, but the pale green tint to her skin had faded, replaced by a healthy glow. My heart swelled with relief.

The driver behind me honked impatiently, snapping me back to reality.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, noticing her fingers curling around her injured wrist. 

She nodded, a pout forming on her lips that made my heart ache. I nearly missed a stop sign, cursing under my breath.

"God, I’m such a jerk," I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. I had messed up, all in the name of a stupid joke. I racked my brain for something else to say but came up empty.

"I don’t know any more jokes, but I was good at geeky pickup lines back in college," I offered, desperate to lift her spirits. Her smile returned, lighting up the car.

"This better be good," she warned teasingly.

"If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase, so I could unzip your genes." 

"Oh my God," she snorted, and I laughed, relieved to see her react. "Did you use that on anybody?" 

"Maybe," I hinted, my chest tightening with excitement.

"Did it work?" 

"No," I admitted, but I was laughing now, and she was grinning, even with her eyes still closed. I was determined to keep her smiling. 

"Oh! Do you like The Police?" 

"The police?" She frowned, confusion crossing her features.

"Yeah…" 

"As in the profession?" 

"No, you dork. The band. Sting's band?" 

"Oh, yeah. I guess." She shrugged.

And against my better judgment, I cleared my throat and began singing. "Every bond you break… Every electron you take…"

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, surprise and delight dancing across her face. I couldn’t help but wiggle my eyebrows, and her smile broadened, banishing the shadows of panic. "Oh, can’t you see, you’re covalently bonded to me…" I sang, pouring my energy into the ridiculousness of it. Nothing felt more beautiful than the light in her eyes. 

How had I never noticed how amazing her smile was before?

We pulled into the University’s Medical Center in under ten minutes, just like I expected. I parked quickly and rushed around to help her out, but she stumbled out on her own, nearly losing her balance. I caught her just before she could face plant onto the pavement—or worse, land hard on her injured hand.

I could feel irritation bubbling up inside me. Did she really think I wouldn’t help? Sure, I was an idiot sometimes, but I still had a decent sense of gentlemanly instincts. 

“Can you walk?” I asked, keeping my hand around her elbow as we approached the entrance.

“I think so,” she replied softly, but I kept my grip steady, guiding her into the emergency room. 

Inside, a flicker of relief hit me—the place was nearly empty, and we should get seen fairly quickly. “Hello,” I said to the front desk lady, who was glued to her computer screen. She glanced up, her expression completely bored, and didn’t reply. Instant dislike. 

“She cut her hand, and it looks deep,” I said, gesturing toward Y/N beside me.

“Name?” The front desk lady’s question hung in the air like a sword about to drop, and suddenly, I froze.

Goddammit…

She didn’t mean my name. My stomach twisted as I desperately searched my memory. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten her name again.

It starts with a B, doesn’t it? I racked my brain, stalling as the front desk lady’s eyebrows shot up impatiently.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” came the shaky voice next to me, cutting through my fog of embarrassment.

God, I was such an idiot! I wanted to punch myself for being so careless.

I looked at her—Y/N—and even though she shook her head, a grin crept onto the corner of her mouth. Maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I repeated silently, determined that this time I would remember.

I was convinced that the “doctor” tending to Y/N wasn’t a real doctor—not yet, anyway. He claimed the cut wasn’t deep and that it hadn’t damaged any tendons or nerves. He even said it was clean enough to glue shut, which apparently was a thing now. But my gut twisted with doubt; something about him set off alarms in my head.

Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline while this wannabe physician—Doogie Howser, I mentally dubbed him—cleaned her wound. She perched on the examination table, her injured hand resting on a tray beside her, as I stood behind her, anxiety tightening my chest. In the chaos of her injury and my desperate attempts to care for her, her ponytail had loosened, hanging low at the nape of her neck. A sudden curiosity gripped me: What would her hair look like, cascading down like a waterfall?

“Y/N,” I whispered, leaning closer, needing to say her name again, to engrain it into my memory. “Breathe through your mouth. It’ll help.”

I lingered near her neck, unable to pull away, drawn by something I couldn’t quite name. I tried to find the words to describe her scent—something fresh, like the morning air spilling through an open window—but words failed me. I’d caught a hint of it earlier when I held her close at the sink, but now, in the confined space of the ER, it enveloped me, bringing back echoes of happier times.

Y/N smelled good—no, different. Refreshing, like the world waking up after a long sleep. And I was trapped in this moment, lost in the intoxicating blend of her presence and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Every time she flinched, my instinct was to lash out at Doogie. I wanted to punch him for every wince that slipped from her lips, but I knew that wouldn’t help; it might just make things worse. I fought against the urge to ask the nurse for someone else to help her, terrified to leave her side. So I stayed, fingers entwined with hers, trying to offer some measure of comfort in the storm of uncertainty.

When Doogie finished and began to bandage her hand, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she released her grip. I stepped back, taking a breath that felt heavy in my chest. Tension still coiled inside me; I hated that she’d gotten hurt, but a part of me marveled at her resilience. Despite her aversion to blood, she had held herself together with a strength I hadn’t given her credit for. There was more to Y/N than I realized, and that realization struck me hard.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I said once we were back in the car, the weight of guilt pressing down on me.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m such a klutz.” She offered a radiant smile that twisted my insides with guilt all over again.

“So, what happened?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope that this wasn’t really my fault.

“I was carrying a rack of test tubes when that thing started shooting vapor out. I freaked out. I thought it was going to explode! So I dropped the tubes and cut my hand trying to pick them up,” she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice as she stared down at her hands.

I should have known...

“Shit…” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up inside me.

“Hey, stop.” Her hand reached up to my shoulder, a gentle gesture that only deepened my self-loathing. “You couldn’t possibly have known that thing was going to start leaking, right?” I peeked at her, guilt etched on my face. She scrutinized me, her brow furrowing as realization dawned. “You did know, didn’t you?” Her hand dropped from my shoulder, and I felt the accusation hanging between us like a thick fog.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, trying to convey the depth of my regret, how much I hated myself for her injury.

“You’re unbelievably cruel!” she shot back, eyebrows knitting together as she glared at me.

She was right, but I felt compelled to explain. “There wasn’t any risk of you getting hurt. The door just leaks a little vapor. I was going to close it after you got scared. It was a stupid joke, Y/N. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Well, excuse me for ruining your prank,” she snapped, rolling her eyes and turning away from me.

Sarcasm. Just lovely.

“I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her even though she pointedly avoided me.

“Whatever, Yoongi.” She shrugged, irritation radiating from her as she stared out the window.

I wanted to tell her she was acting like a child, but I held my tongue, knowing that teasing her wouldn’t help my case. Instead, I focused on driving, ruminating on how to make this right again.

How the hell do I fix this?

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said to Y/N, trying to sound calm even though a knot twisted in my stomach as I parked in front of the research building.

“This is really not necessary, Yoongi. I’m fine,” she replied, brushing off my concern.

“Y/N, can you please, just for once, not contradict me?” I shot back, frustration bubbling under the surface.

“I never contradict you!” she protested, eyes wide in disbelief.

I fixed her with a glare until the tension between us shifted, and a small smile broke through her pout as I climbed out of the car. Maybe I was getting through to her, even just a little.

I dashed into the lab to grab her bag, but was abruptly halted when I spotted Jimin hunched over her bench. An urge to warn Y/N about the mess brewing in the autoclave room hit me hard. 

“Jimin?” I called, feeling an unusual tension in the air as he turned to me, eyes wide like I’d just spoken an alien dialect. We rarely exchanged more than necessary pleasantries. “There’s a big mess in the autoclave room. I’ll be right back to clean it up.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” he shot back, still looking as confused as a cat in a dog park.

“There’s a bunch of glass… I don’t know. My undergrad—she dropped the tubes. I—” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, and Jimin continued to stare at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Never mind,” I muttered, eager to escape the awkwardness.

“How’s that for a change? First, you have her doing your chores, and now you’re cleaning up after her,” he called after me.

I spun around to glare at him, irritation sparking. Sure, he was right, but I had bigger problems than petty lab gossip. I left him behind, shaking off the encounter.

When I climbed back into the car, Y/N was waiting for me, eyebrow raised, holding a CD case. My stomach dropped as I recognized it—my mom’s treasured Carpenters album.

“Really, Yoongi?” she asked, her smile widening. “The Carpenters? Okay, cool.” She casually tucked the CD case back into the glove box.

She was teasing me—smiling at me. That had to be a good sign, right? Maybe she had forgiven me after all.

I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her face, how her smile lit up the whole car. It was stunning; how had I never noticed it before? A pang of regret hit me for all the moments I had let slip by.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—uh, how’s your living situation?” I mumbled as I started the car and drove off, reminding myself to keep it together. She’s just an undergrad, I thought, shaking off the flutter in my stomach.

As I parked in front of her building, my chest tightened again. I was still angry—mostly at myself—for letting her get hurt. I wouldn’t feel at ease until she was safely tucked inside her apartment.

“Are you still dizzy?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

“I think I’m all right now,” she replied, a small grin dancing on her lips.

Would it be weird if I walked her to her door? Did guys still do that? It had been ages since I’d been on a date. What was the protocol these days?

What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t a date.

But she didn’t look a hundred percent. Maybe carrying her bag would help. I climbed out of the car, and she shot me a bewildered look as I opened her door.

“I’ll feel better once I know you’re safe inside,” I insisted, my voice firm.

“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”

“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.

Y/N hesitated, then took my hand as she stumbled out of the car. I grabbed her backpack, and we walked inside together, a strange sense of connection warming the air between us.

At her door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. When she turned to look at me, her brown eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite pin down.

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” I said, handing her the bag.

“Yes. Tuesday.” Her gaze flickered up through her long lashes, and I was momentarily mesmerized. “Not Monday.” A playful grin crept across her face, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of her eyes crinkling with delight. “You know why not Monday?”

I was still entranced by her smile and completely missed the point she was trying to make. “Because rainy days and Mondays always get me down,” she said, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Great… she’s making fun of me.

I took a deep breath and snorted, forcing myself to look away from her lips. “You’re such a dork, Y/N. How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Too long.” Her giggle sent my heart racing, a rhythm I couldn't ignore.

“Good night, Y/N,” I replied, managing a smile despite my racing heart.

As I walked back to my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and was horrified to find myself grinning like a fool. I frowned and climbed inside, but before I could drive away, I pulled my mom’s CD from the glove box, popped it in, and began to hum along.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time… you are near?

I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.

Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully, when I returned to the lab, Jimin was gone. I started cleaning up the autoclave room, picking up shards of glass and mopping away the blood from the floor. As I worked, I spotted Y/N’s lab coat next to the sink, and my heart sank. It didn’t look festive anymore; it resembled a tattered Halloween costume.

Shit… She loved that ridiculous thing, and now it was ruined.

Before I knew it, I found myself washing the lab coat. I tried everything, even bleach. When I was done, the blood stains had vanished, but so had the whimsical bacteria drawings she’d painstakingly decorated it with.

Fuck my life...

When Hoseok called, I told him the chances of me making it to Serena’s party were slim. “I’m stuck in the lab and still have a long way to go,” I said, leaving out the details of my time spent doodling on a lab coat that now looked like a toddler’s art project. I also didn’t mention that I was starting Y/N’s experiment along with my own.

After inspecting the now-ruined lab coat, I realized I couldn’t give it back to her. Tossing it felt wrong, though—I’d just spent hours on the damn thing. So, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it under my desk, trying to forget it existed.

I left the lab after two in the morning, exhausted but restless. My mind buzzed with thoughts, not about experiments this time, but about Y/N—how she had gotten hurt because of me, and yet she hadn’t unleashed her fury. Somehow, she felt bigger than this. Bigger than me.

God, I’ve been such an asshole.

Images of her haunted me throughout the night. The way she smiled at my lame jokes, how she laughed at my terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sung to someone, not since my mom had forced me to sing The Carpenters with her. I turned over in bed, a smile creeping onto my face at the memory.

I didn���t have to be a jerk to Y/N anymore. I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t her fault grad school was a pain. If anything, having her around made it bearable. Maybe I could lighten up a bit… or maybe we could both learn something from this. No, I wanted to be nicer to her. I wanted to see her smile.

I want to make her smile?

First The Carpenters, now this?

When did I turn into such a marshmallow?

Monday night in the dingy gym felt like a scene straight out of a bad movie. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that did nothing to uplift the atmosphere. Hoseok and I were at the bench press, trading off sets like two battered soldiers in a war that would never be chronicled. I stood behind him, bracing for the weight, but my gaze was pulled away, caught in the orbit of something infinitely more captivating.

There she was—Y/N—effortlessly gliding on the treadmill like she was born to run. Her ponytail swung rhythmically with each stride, a pendulum marking the time as she jogged. My breath hitched, a tightening in my chest as I let my eyes wander down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. And then—oh God—those shorts. Tiny and black, they hugged her body in a way that made my heart race uncontrollably.

The fabric didn’t just cling; it cradled her curves, indenting just enough in the middle to draw the eye downwards. I could almost feel the heat radiating off her skin, my mind spiraling into places I really didn’t want it to go.

“Dude! Hold the bar, would ya?” Hoseok’s voice jolted me from my daze. I blinked hard, shaking off the spell as I refocused on the weights pressing down on him.

“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the bar as I lifted it off him.

Hoseok wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening drops catching the unforgiving light. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts in check, to suppress the smirk that threatened to creep onto my face, but my eyes betrayed me, fixating once more on Y/N’s ass as it bounced with every determined step on the treadmill.

“What is it?” Hoseok shot me a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew. Damn him. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“Nothing,” I shot back, the word cracking like ice beneath my weight. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling more like a deer caught in headlights than a man. “That’s... um... that’s my undergrad.”

“Your undergrad?” He nearly shouted, and I winced at the volume.

“Shut up!” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck.

“She’s your undergrad?” He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial, as if we were discussing some top-secret mission.

“Yes,” I said, willing myself to tear my gaze from Y/N and muster some semblance of composure. “I don’t know why she’s here. This is the first time I’ve seen her in this gym.”

“Are you kidding?” Hoseok replied, incredulous. “She’s here all the time! You’ve just never noticed because you’re practically blind.”

My eyes darted back to her. She was still running, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind me. Could Hoseok really be right? Had I been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t seen her before?

But then again, I didn’t recognize anyone else in this place. I came here every day—every damn day—and not one face looked familiar. Blind. I was completely blind.

And yet, here I was, rooted to the spot, entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her legs flexed with each determined stride. It was as if she had cast a spell over me, one I didn’t want to break. But I had to; I was standing there like a moron, the weight of Hoseok’s gaze a smirk stretched across his face as he shifted to take his place on the bench.

“Yoongi!” he called, pulling me from my daydream. “It’s your turn.”

I shook my head as if waking up from a fog and stepped to the bench, but my mind remained tangled in thoughts of what I’d just seen. Y/N’s form, bouncing like it was teasing me, was too much. Too distracting. My body was responding in ways I hadn’t felt in years, and it took every ounce of willpower to focus on lifting weights instead of ogling her.

Then, as if she sensed my eyes on her, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. For a brief moment, the world melted away—the gym, the weight, the noise—all faded into the background as our eyes met. She faltered on the treadmill, her grip tightening on the bars like a lifeline before she recovered just in time.

What was I doing? I didn’t realize I was moving until I stood beside her, the tension thick enough to slice through the air.

“Hi,” I managed, the word slipping out like a confession.

“Hi?” Her smile lit up the stale space between us, brightening everything. “Who are you and what did you do to my bitter grad student?”

“What?” I stammered, disbelief knotting my stomach. “You’ve seen me here before?”

*Her eyes rolled in a way that was both exasperating and endearing. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”

“Hi…” she giggled, and I felt a low groan bubble up from my chest. What was happening? I hated how she made me feel, how she toppled everything I thought I had under control.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, grasping for something to anchor myself in this whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s fine,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand like it was a trophy. But I was lost, mesmerized by the way her lips moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and how the sweat glistened on her skin.

I needed to leave before my body betrayed me further. “Um, I should go,” I interrupted, offering a shaky goodbye as I fled, a whirlwind of confusion and unwanted desire crashing over me.

What the hell was happening to me?

I ran home, my legs pumping, heart racing, trying to outrun the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. It had been four years since Estelle, and the memory felt as distant as a long-forgotten dream. But Y/N was everywhere now, invading my thoughts—her freckles, her laugh, those bangs that had once annoyed me but now framed her face like a masterpiece.

I stormed through my apartment, shedding my sweat-soaked clothes, bewildered by this tempest of feelings. I couldn’t fathom why it had taken me so long to notice her, why she had pierced through the fog of my indifference and settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

In the shower, the warm water cascaded over me, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the turmoil. She was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Nineteen? Twenty? Too young, too innocent for someone like me. I banged my head against the tiled wall, cursing my own weakness.

And yet, even as I stood there, I could feel her presence lingering, like a ghost clinging to the edges of my consciousness—a haunting I couldn’t shake. Was I becoming one of those men who pursued young girls, crossing lines drawn in the sand, sliding down that slippery slope of desire? The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

God, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again at the gym. The very thought sent a chill down my spine—a mix of longing and guilt. But there I was, fantasizing about her hands instead of my own.

When did I become such a creep?

I’m in a foul mood. Not a glimmer of sunshine inside me, just the dense fog of irritability that seems to thicken the air around me. Maybe it’s the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, or maybe it’s just Tuesday. Either way, I know I’ll probably regret having lunch with Hoseok today, but deep down, I’m still holding onto the hope that, by some miracle, he didn’t notice my bizarre behavior at the gym last night.

As I step into the lunchroom, Hoseok’s voice slices through the stillness. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?”

Well, so much for miracles.

“Nothing. Why?” I try to sound casual as I toss my food into the microwave, but my heart races in protest.

“Nothing? You nearly killed me, bolted off to talk to Y/N, and then stormed out. That seems normal to you?” He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.

“We were supposed to have drinks with Serena and her friend with the—” he gestures dramatically, “the big personality.”

“Listen, you and Serena need to stop setting me up with her friends.”

“Why? Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”

“I’m just not in the mood for this today, Hoseok.” I plop down in a chair, my food forgotten.

“Is it because of Y/N?” he asks, cheeks bulging with half-chewed food.

“No,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “And her name is Y/N, by the way.”

“OH. MY. GOSH. It is! You’re totally crushing on her!” Hoseok leaps from his chair, fork aimed at me like a weapon. His eyes widen as if he’s just uncovered a major conspiracy.

“What? NO!”

“Dude, you remembered her name!” He plops back down beside me, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hoseok, what does that—”

“Oh man. This is too good... like, really, really good.” His grin is the kind that makes me want to punch him—or maybe just smack some sense into him.

“Hoseok, please. Just for one day…” I rub my forehead, trying to ease the confusion tightening my temples. The last thing I need is Hoseok’s theories swirling around my mind like a chaotic storm.

“Okay, okay…” He continues to chew, stealing glances at me every few seconds. “So, when’s Yoonji coming?” he asks, smirking, and I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.

So what if I remembered her name? It hardly means anything. I’ve been working with her for weeks now. I’m not some clueless idiot; I can remember a name. I don’t care what Hoseok or Yoonji think. This is nothing. This doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does. Because Y/N, not “the girl” or “the undergrad,” is going to be in the lab when I return. And I’m not just aware of it—I’m looking forward to it. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

I want to hear her giggle? Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself.

My bad mood evaporates the moment I spot Y/N at my bench, scribbling away in her notepad. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, wild and free. It should bother me—should send alarm bells ringing—but it doesn’t. It looks soft and inviting, and suddenly, all I want is to run my fingers through it.

Okay… I’ve really lost it now.

And just like that, my bad mood crashes back in.

“I can’t find my lab coat,” she says, tying her hair up with an intensity that almost makes me envious.

I feel a spark of irritation at the safety rules that dictate her hair must be tied back. I find myself imagining the kinds of experiments that would allow her to leave it down, just so I could watch it flow freely.

“Do you know where it could be?” she asks, glancing up at me.

I’ve completely lost track of her words, staring at her blankly.

“My lab coat?” she repeats, tilting her head.

Right… the lab coat.

“Let me get you a new one. That one was all covered in blood.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”

“We have lab coats here, Y/N—new ones. I’ll get you one,” I say, moving past her, determination pushing me forward.

She stops me, grabbing my elbow. “Please, can I have my old one back?” Her eyes are wide and earnest, as if I hold the key to some sacred treasure.

A flush of embarrassment rises in me, and instead of confessing, I lie. “I threw it away.”

“What? Why?” Her gaze pierces through my flimsy excuse.

“It was covered in blood!” I bark, frustration bubbling over.

“I could have washed it!” she snaps, defiance igniting her eyes.

“I’m getting you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. Is this some cruel joke? Because if it is, I’d really, really like my lab coat back. It means a lot to me.” The shift in her expression from anger to sadness tugs at something deep within me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, like I’ve just crushed her puppy.

Realization washes over me like a cold wave: I’m making her cry. With a deep sigh, I relent. “Okay, I didn’t get rid of it.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathes, closing her eyes in relief.

“But… I tried to wash it, and the bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I thought it would be a good idea to use bleach. And it was. I mean, it got rid of the bloodstains, but it also erased your drawings.”

“Oh no…” Her eyes fly open, panic etching her features.

“I’m sorry. Can I please get you a new one?” I plead, hoping to smooth over this disaster before it spirals further.

“I would really prefer to have my old one back,” she insists, crossing her arms defiantly, her gaze unwavering.

Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I groan. She’s staring at me like she’s just won the lottery, and I can’t bring myself to back down. “Fine…” I reach under my desk for the bag containing her lab coat and hand it over, feeling like I’m offering her a corpse.

I should have burned the damn thing.

Her gasp as she pulls the coat from the bag makes my stomach drop.

“Oh my gosh!” She turns it around, inspecting the shapes I drew in a moment of misguided creativity. When she spots my pathetic attempt at rewriting “Bacteria Rule” on the back, she giggles, and I swear my heart stumbles.

How do I keep up with her?

One minute, she’s annoyed; the next, she’s crying; now, she’s laughing. It’s like watching a storm change directions on a whim.

“You… did you do this?” She glances up at me, her eyelashes still damp, and my chest tightens painfully.

“Yeah, it looks even more ridiculous now. Didn’t think that was possible. Would you please let me get you a new one?”

“Oh no. I’m wearing this one,” she chirps, slipping her arms into the sleeves like she’s donning a crown.

“Please say you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s perfect!” she beams, buttoning the coat closed, that radiant smile piercing through my irritation.

Even as she parades around in that god-awful coat, all I can think about is pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s ridiculous and utterly baffling, but I can’t shake it.

I really must have lost it now.

The morning air felt heavy, thick with a strange malaise that weighed on me like a thick blanket. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Boss?" Y/N chirped, her pen clicking in a cheerful rhythm as she flipped open her notebook, the sound almost irritatingly upbeat.

"Don’t call me Boss," I grumbled, trying to shake off the oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to me like damp fog.

"Okay, Grumpy. What are we doing today?" Her smile was a bright spark against the backdrop of my brooding mood.

I could tell she was trying to be funny, deliberately poking at my irritation. With an exasperated huff, I shoved the list of activities at her. "Try not to mess up this time, Becca."

She took the list with a theatrical pout, and I stifled a real smile beneath my carefully crafted mask of indifference—a skill I'd perfected over the years. 

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the list. "I thought I was starting from scratch."

"You are," I replied, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.

"But you did all these steps already." She pointed to the initial tasks, her voice laced with disbelief.

"I was bored Saturday," I said, as if boredom were an acceptable excuse for taking the initiative.

Her eyes darted between the list and mine, a spark of awe lighting up her face. "You started my experiment for me?"

The way she looked at me made my skin crawl—a mixture of discomfort and something warmer I didn’t want to acknowledge. I clamped down on my tongue, suppressing the urge to explain myself. 

"You better get cracking, Y/L/N. There's a seminar at four I want to attend."

Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before she shook it off, returning to her notebook. A sense of relief washed over me. 

We worked in silence, but I could feel her stealing glances at me like a kid peeking into a haunted house. I knew—I just knew—I had crossed some invisible line. What I felt was tangled, a confusion I was desperate to untangle.

"What’s the seminar about?" she asked, her voice light with curiosity as we carried bottles of growth media to the incubators.

"I don’t know," I said, holding the door for her as we entered the incubator room.

"Then why are you going?" She squatted to stow the bottles inside, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

"Free food." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Seriously?" She looked up at me, disbelief written all over her features.

"Y/N… if you go to grad school, you’ll learn to appreciate the majesty of free food."

When she stood up, she released my hand with a huff, her pride surfacing. "When I go to grad school, I’ll enjoy the seminars, even without the free food."

"Right…" I turned away, shaking my head.

"So, can I come?" she asked shyly, her voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the incubators.

"You want to come to the seminar?" I shot her a skeptical glance.

"Hells to the yeah!" 

I suppressed a snort, the surprise of her enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "Why?"

"I might learn something."

"Okay, you can come, but the la-la-lab coat stays." 

The thought of her actually being excited about attending a seminar with me sent a strange thrill through my chest, one that both excited and unnerved me.

As we made our way to the seminar, Y/N rattled on about her dreams for grad school, her voice bubbling over with energy. I struggled to interject, her words flowing like a vibrant stream, full of life.

When we reached the seminar room, she shook her head at my heaping plate of food. I settled into my seat, grateful for the chance to hide from the annoyed glances of the people behind us. Y/N plopped down beside me, her nervous energy radiating from her.

"That one with the sweater vest is Prof. Waylon," I said, nodding toward him. "He has a serious case of narcolepsy. Snores through the entire talk but wakes up right on cue to ask the hardest questions."

She giggled, and the sound pierced through the fog that had settled around me.

"And over there, with the red bow tie, is Dr. Amun-Kebi. Brilliant but completely bonkers—he discovered Quorum Sensing, yet can’t make eye contact because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling."

She snorted, laughter bubbling up as she covered her mouth, her joy infectious.

"Then there’s Jin," I continued, "who dresses like he’s going to a board meeting every day. Knows more adjectives than a thesaurus, but his favorite is definitely 'fascinating.'"

I mimicked Jin’s exaggerated tone, and Y/N laughed again, drawing some disapproving throat-clearing from the folks behind us.

"Main point is, Y/N," I said, "science makes you lose your mind. You’ve been warned."

"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, winking at me, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest.

As the speaker began, I couldn't help but chuckle when I noticed her furiously scribbling notes as if her life depended on it.

Once the seminar ended, we returned to the lab. Y/N still had work to catch up on after being away for an hour. I’d finished my tasks long ago, but I lingered, a shadow in the corner, unwilling to leave her alone in this sterile, fluorescent-lit space.

She closed her notebook with a satisfying smack and turned to me, her eyes bright. "This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see if it works this time."

"Yeah, you’ll get over it," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"Have you always been such a grump? Or was there a time when you actually liked what you do?"

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut, catching me off guard. I could feel her gaze piercing through my defenses.

"I like what I do."

"Do you love it?"

Her question hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself lost in a maze of memories, the joy of discovery overshadowed by the weight of expectations. Had there ever been a time when I shared her enthusiasm?

"I don’t really remember," I mumbled, avoiding the truth. "It’s getting late, Y/N. How are you getting home?"

"I’m walking."

"I’m walking too. Let’s go."

Did I used to love what I did? The memory felt elusive, slipping through my fingers like water.

As we walked, Y/N asked, "Why did you decide to go to grad school?"

"Why does anyone?" I shot back, a cryptic smirk teasing my lips.

"To make a difference? To revolutionize the field?"

"Very cute, Y/N."

"It’s not cute. It’s true."

"Is that why you want to go to grad school?"

"Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people. Since medical school is out of the question for me—"

"You’ll get over the smell of blood, Y/N."

"It’s not just that. I get too attached. I’d rather contribute silently from the lab." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Plus, where would medicine be without science? They’d still be pouring hot oil into wounds!"

I chuckled, a genuine laugh bubbling up like warmth breaking through winter’s chill. "You’re funny." The words slipped out before I could think better of it, and before I could process my thoughts, my fingers brushed against her arm, lingering over the fabric of her hoodie.

She halted, her cheeks tinged pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I froze, my hand dropping to my side, panic racing through me. That had to be inappropriate.

"I’ve been called worse," she joked, her smile radiating a warmth that sent shivers down my spine.

We walked on in silence until we reached her building.

"Do you live on campus too?" she asked, fishing for her keys from her bag.

"No. I live in Portage Bay."

"Oh… we passed that already."

"I know."

Suspicion flared in her gaze as she pieced things together, and I felt the weight of my own guilt creeping up on me. She would realize I was that gross old grad student trying to woo the sweet, naive undergrad—the very person I had mocked in others. The thought made my stomach churn.

"I know what you’re doing," she accused, crossing her arms defensively.

Here it comes…

"You feel guilty because I got hurt," she said, her voice steady. "You feel responsible. But you don’t have to do this."

Is that really what she thought?

"You think I’m walking you home out of guilt?" My voice was harsher than I intended, anger bubbling up inside me.

"I know you are."

"You don’t know anything," I spat, turning away, desperate to escape the rising tide of emotions threatening to drown me.

"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.

Keep walking… don’t look back.

I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.

God, she had no clue.

Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.

It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.

As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”

With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?

“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.

In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.

When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.

“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.

“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.

Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.

As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.

“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.

She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?

Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.

“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.

I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”

My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.

“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand. 

God, I needed help.

You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.

This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.

As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.

“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.

“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.

“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.

“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.

“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.

“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.

“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.

Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”

“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.

“Fine. It’s Y/N.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.

“She’s... I don’t know.”

“Come on, man. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”

“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”

“Puh-lease. Who cares?” 

“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.

“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Disgusting.”

“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”

Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.

“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.

“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.” 

“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.

“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.

“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.

“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.

“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.

“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.

“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.

“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.

“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”

“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.

“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you, Serena.”

“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”

When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.

“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”

“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”

“Why?” 

“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.

“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.

I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.

Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?

The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.

I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.

Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.

What a nightmare!

I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races. 

“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.

“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.

“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.

“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.

“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.

“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.

Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.

“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”

“Are you saying I sent you that text?” 

“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.

Well, great…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?” 

“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”

“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.

“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.

“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”

“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”

“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.

“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”

“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.

“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”

“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”

“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.

“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”

“I could use some help.”

Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.

For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.

I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.

Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”

“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”

“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.

“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.

Was Y/N checking me out?

“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”

“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”

She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.

“Shit…” she whispers.

“What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.

I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.

“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.

A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.

Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.

God, what is she doing to me?

I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.

Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.

This isn’t real… it can’t be.

She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.

But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.

“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”

I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.

But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.

I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.

“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.

I guess the show is over…

I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.

When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.

As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.

Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade. 

"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."

"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.

"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.

"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.

Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking. 

"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.

Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

What was I doing?

I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.

No, stop! This is wrong!

I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have… Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.

Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.

I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.

Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.

Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides. 

"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.

Jimin… shit…

I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.

"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.

I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"

I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.

Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."

"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.

"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.

What the hell just happened?

A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.

What the hell had I been thinking?

Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.

God, I could still taste her on my lips.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.

I was doomed.

This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.

No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…

God, this was all so messed up!

I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.

It would never happen again.

I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.

I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?

If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.

And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.

I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…

With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.

When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.

I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.

I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.

Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.

But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.

I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?

Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us. 

"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing. 

"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."

"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?" 

"I was never mean to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...

"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.

"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart. 

When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."

That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.

But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.

As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.

"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.

"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.

"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.

Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes. 

Shit, that was uncalled for...

"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.

"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."

She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.

"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.

Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.

I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"

Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.

"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.

"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."

"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."

"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.

I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.

Fucking Jungkook Jeon.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.

Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.

What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.

I had to go to this party.

At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok. 

"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.

"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.

"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.

"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.

"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."

"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.

"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.

"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.

I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me. 

"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."

"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’

"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."

"Yes."

"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.

I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.

"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."

The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.

"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.

"Exactly."

"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.

"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.

"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"

My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."

"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."

"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.

"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."

I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[katyspersonal]

The best Bloodborne Wiki is a passion project of a single person, is about to get even better + how it can be sustained for years to come!

Hello guys! So like many of you've learned from the post with super good model view of Winter Lantern, recently, on Twitter, Meph announced ( x ) the plan to fill the wiki with very useful, very comprehensive screenshots of the models for bosses, enemies, NPCs and even cut content! The wiki has already been a huge help for lorediggers and artists, but THIS is what we will get:

This page is for Lady Maria and you can check it yourself here: ( x )! It is broken down in the categories of general close-ups of her model, then very high-quality screenshots of every attack during her boss battle and walking, and then raw model!

(I never was able to capture a good look at her using Arcane too like here, for example!)

Winter Lantern page ( x ) is using similar principle!

This is not a secret that very often in Fromsoft games, additional information can be obtained not through descriptions but through visual hints! For example, some people only learned that Winter Lantern's head is made of melted Messengers only now, after a proper look at her model! So, of course getting a proper look at every single character and creature from the game could always be helpful!

This, however, is just a recent highlight for this Bloodborne Wiki! Even prior that, it has been providing invaluable help for the fans! Examples off the top of my head: comprehensive data on what character has what items used or not, great and comprehensive hints and tutorials on upgrades and farming and builds for the players, making every bit of information on Chalice Dungeons and glyphs easily accessible, making datamined NPC sliders of all characters way more accessible and easy to grab and repeat, access to much more obscure models (like Gratia's model), full list of internal filenames and patches progress, making information from physical Bloodborne tutorial book accessible...

There are probably more things to cover that me and others found a great help in, and sometimes we might not even notice! I am sure many people could name at least one way where this wiki has been very helpful, offering raw facts and 100% valid information (and properly sourced whenever someone else helped!) without any speculating, in the most elaborate manner! We should not take it for granted because all this information, found or reshared, was compiled by just one guy out of raw passion for the game! And although this project is not profit-based and Meph is willing to commit to it and pay as much as needed to keep it living, I really still wanted to share the Ko-fi link that exists for anyone who is willing to help sponsoring it!

This is not necessary, and Meph has stated the same, but this project is not only helpful but also really hefty to sustain. The monthly support is only $3 per month, but every little bit not only helps the sustenance, but also knowing how much fans care and simply feeling their support is very significant and sometimes you don't even know how much. Heck, when Meph learned how excited people on Tumblr were about Wiki improving with full compilation of models from every angle.. the reaction was "I am so glad that people still care"! I think everyone who does their best to be useful for the fellow fans needs confirmation that they ARE, for sure, helping!

I just really wanted to get the word out anyways because honestly, none of my super elaborate theories and detailed fanart would've been possible without Meph's Wiki. and also because I am trapped in a clown country where I can't send any international money transfer so the feeling of 'do what I can't' got to me too fsdhfdhs There is no pressure or necessity, but here is the link to anyone who can help and feels the wish to! You've noticed I didn't tag Meph.... since there is no Tumblr account to tag, but again, the Twitter link is also here: ( x )!

[king-dumbasz]

Hi🫶🏻🫶🏻 could u do a mammon oneshot that takes place after fizz quits.(pretending the twins don’t exist) Like the reader is like the new face of his brand. Ppl start shipping the reader and him online, so he goes along with it for clout and money. But they both eventually end up catching feelings. ( ik it’s rlly specific but I keep thinking about it) also I like ur writing 💜

The internet is a magical place💚

I immediately liked the request and had an idea in mind. It's not something too difficult so my mind was happy Lmao

TW:why do I even put it in if there's never anything to worry about except for swear words, but c'mon, it's Helluva Boss

Mammon x GN! Reader

The news were full of what happened at the last clown pageant. Everything was about Fizzarolli and his relationship with Asmodeus and how Mammon was ridiculed...

Mammon was FURIOUS

He needed a new face, a new someone to put everywhere and make money. He did everything until he finally found it... He found you.

You were perfect! You were funny, good looking and great for the audience! The perfect clown to replace Fizzarolli!

Mammon immediately made plushies, cereal, service bots (you choose what kind of service), hell, even a body pillow of ya!

Phone cases... Halloween costumes for kids... Lamps... Everything!

You became a star!

But like every star, you were a victim of the internet effect of the rule too

For some unknown reason, people shipped you and Mammon

No one knew why, but when you opened your phone, on Envybrl (Tumblr), on Sintter (Twitter or X), there were fanart of you and Mammon

All kind of Fanart! (I know I don't do NSFW, but when I say any kind, I mean any kind)

Mammon saw it too, a lot of it too

"What is that? Wh- why are we hugging in this one?"

He says, pointing at his phone, looking at a fanart of him and you cuddling

"i don't know, sir... The internet scares me"

"Ye..."

Mammon didn't understand why. When Fizzarolli was there no one made these things, but with you it was different

The more Mammon watched, the more he realized how beautiful you looked, and how he liked these fanarts

Mammon started to like every post and imagine these things were true...

Every day, you find a new gift at your door from an unknown person, even if it wasn't that unknown because the wrapping was green black and yellow

One day though, Mammon decides to Rizz you up, because obviously he won't do it normally

"Sir, you wanted me here?"

You said after being called in his office, only to find Mammon in his special valentine outfit (It's just the old one but pink and with hearts)

"Hey, Are you a Wi-Fi signal? Because I’m feeling a strong connection"

That was horrible, adorable, but horrible

"Sir... What?"

"oh, shit uh... Well, I'm out of lines"

"What is happening?"

"Well, I never thought that would've happened, since you're a lower class and shit- but, I found myself liking these fan arts mentally unstable people post of us.."

"Oh!"

You were stunned. Mammon. THE Mammon... Likes you?"

"Well... If I'm gonna be honest... I also found myself liking some of those posts..."

Mammon didn't realise at first and looks at you confused (Idiot)

"I like you too"

Just after you tell him he realises. Mammon smiles widely and hugs you with his four arms, so tightly you couldn't breath

"oh, you're a bloody legend, Y/N!"

"Eh... The internet is really a magical place..."

[springwitch8]

hots for teacher (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

part 2

summary: you've been infatuated with melissa schemmenti ever since you worked under her as a student teacher. what will happen when you meet again a few years later?

warnings: NSFW content, implied future smut (part 2 on the way??), praise kink, age gap idk

notes: hi everyone! my name is april, and this is my first ever fanfiction. i wrote this for fun and then decided to share it with the community, because i love the little gay women in my phone! i've been reading fics on tumblr for as long as i've been on the internet, so this is a strange experience for me. anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you guys think!

tonight you looked sexy, and you knew it. you wore a sinfully short black dress with colorful butterflies. it was one of your favorites; it showed just the right amount and hugged just the right places to be tantalizing. your eyes were painted with thin black wings and soft, glittery eyeshadow that made you look like a sweet dream. your lips glistened and your hair was tied up in two dutch braids. you were a vision.

all this meant that you were not the least bit surprised when a deep, sultry female voice sounded from behind where you sat at the bar.

"it should be illegal to look like that in public."

you smiled coyly and turned around to face the stranger.

"why? see something you like?" when you turned to face her, however, you were met with a familiar face. it was a face you'd seen in your dreams time after time: your former boss, melissa schemmenti.

you had been assigned to work with melissa as a student teacher while you were in school for your teaching certification. at the time, she was teaching two grades simultaneously, so she was grateful to have you there to ease the burden. it didn't hurt that you were always so eager to please. you wanted to learn and become the best teacher you could be.

of course, your motives weren't entirely pure. you were attracted to melissa from the moment you saw her. you remembered it like it was yesterday: her flaming red hair was slightly messy from trying to wrangle her double class, and her glasses sat askew on her nose. then you came along and turned everything around. she would give you to-do lists, and you would finish them before lunchtime the same day.

"great job, hon! you're so good, don't know what i'd do without you..." she'd say each time, beaming with pride at her new prodigee.

"o-of course, ms. schemmenti. what else can i do for you?" you'd respond, blushing profusely at the praise and struggling to hold her intense gaze.

within a week of having you, melissa was caught up on all her work. she couldn't help but feel like you were an angel, or some kind of gift from god. whatever you were, she cherished you. as the two of you spent more time together, she started to want you more and more. every project, every conversation, every smile you two shared only added to your chemistry.

she had fun with it--teasing you with special pet names and praise, watching you get all flustered and squirmy. she knew you liked her back. you weren't the most subtle about your desire.

melissa would never act on her feelings, though. you were a doe-eyed twenty-something with big dreams, and she was your much older boss. getting involved with you would be too messy. but she always held out hope, even after you left abbott, that one day you'd meet again.

you studied melissa's sly smirk for a moment, in disbelief at your luck. it had been two years since you left abbott. you had your own big girl job now, and you were a bit more mature. there was nothing stopping you from acting on your desires.

"oh my god, ms. schemmenti! please, have a drink with me. it's been a while." you hoped you didn't sound too desperate, although you definitely looked desperate once you got a good glance at her.

her look was striking. your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned her form, dressed in red leather pants and a button-down shirt. her arms were visibly muscled, even through the jacket. the black button-down shirt she wore was unbuttoned just enough to tease her cleavage. around her waist was a thick black belt that you wanted to pull on. her fiery hair was tied back haphazardly in a high ponytail, just messy enough to be sexy. and her hands—god, her fingers were long and ringed and—

"whatever you say, kid," she shrugged and sat down next to you, giving you a playful smile. "and you can call me melissa now."

she had a mischievous glint in her eye, probably knowing how you felt just by the wanton way you stared at her. when she sat down beside you, you felt your whole body heat up. your thighs were almost touching from the proximity, and you could smell her intoxicating perfume with each inhale. feeling her body so close to yours had you more drunk than the alcohol. it didn't help that her eyes now roamed over your body shamelessly, taking in your glistening lips and lingering on your soft cleavage. you tried your best to play it cool.

you talked for a while, catching up on everything. you told her about your new job at a suburban elementary school, your volunteer tutoring on the weekends, your summers in the mountains. she beamed with pride hearing of your accomplishments.

"that's great, y/n! sounds like you're goin' places."

"thank you! i think i owe a lot of my success to my student teaching experience—everyone at abbott was great, including you. especially you," you looked at her with an intense gaze, feeling your desire catch up with you.

"you were such a passionate mentor. you just had this way of getting me excited..." you trailed off as you fixated on the stirrings of a smirk on her face.

"...excited about learning," you finished shakily.

"mm-hmm," she chuckled.

maybe it was the alcohol, or the simple fact that she was right next to you and seemingly devouring you with her eyes, but you became bolder then. you only had one shot at this.

"i mean, you really touched me in a way that nobody else could," you leaned in, dragging out your syllables for emphasis. "i worked so hard because i just needed to be good for you."

now she was the one shuddering. you had the upper hand, if only for a moment. but she quickly got her boldness back.

"i noticed that. always so bright and attentive. i bragged to all the other teachers about what a good girl you were." to top it all off, she punctuated her sentence by placing her hand firmly on your knee.

you thought you were going to explode right then and there. your skin erupted in goosebumps at her touch, and you spread your legs ever so slightly to indicate your consent. her face split into a smug grin and she began to crawl her fingers up your thigh, agonizingly slowly.

your response came as a shaky whisper. you were sure you must have soaked through your panties just from her teasing touches.

"it's good to know that you thought so highly of me. i looked up to you a lot," you said sheepishly. "um, i'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but i did have a bit of a crush on you..."

"oh, yeah. that doesn't surprise me. don't be embarrassed, hon. you can't help what you feel," her hand had stalled at the midpoint of your thigh, and she looked at you with sincerity.

"it doesn't surprise you?" you asked, struggling to get the words out once she resumed stroking your thigh.

"i had my suspicions," she said with a knowing smirk. "i'm sharper than i look, ya know."

her darkened eyes sent shivers down your spine. you felt your core heat up at the humiliation of knowing she knew exactly what you thought about her.

"am i that obvious?" you asked, somewhat breathily.

"oh, sweetheart," she laughed. she leaned in close and you could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her breath on your skin. her fingers pinched the skin of your thigh as she whispered to you. "you sat five feet away from me for months, always wearin' those little black skirts. you think i didn't see you rub your thighs together every time i gave you praise?"

her hand now caressed your inner thigh softly, teasingly. you failed to respond, trying to process her words but finding yourself unable to do anything but whimper almost silently.

"so soft here. mhmm," she husked into your ear. there was a hint of giddiness in her voice, as if she was pleased with herself for taking you apart so easily. "does that feel good, princess? do you like it when i touch you?"

"yes!" you said, almost too loudly for the public setting. "yes, i like it very much."

"good," she whispered as her fingers found the edge of your panties. your thighs spread even wider, and you let out a small gasp.

"we've got lots more to catch up on, don't we?" she continued, her fingers drawing feather-light circles over your clit through the fabric. you wondered if she could feel you throbbing for her. your hips bucked up to meet her hand, and she slapped your thigh in warning. "if you wanna keep talkin', we can head back to mine..."

you turned to her with big, glazed-over eyes. still whimpering, you nodded rapidly, earning a laugh from the older woman. she grabbed your hand and guided you out of the packed bar.

"i'm gonna wreck you, hon," she mumbled without looking back at you.

[crazysodomite]

what is it like to be kind of popular/getting people interested in your own ideas and not fan art?

I don't think I'm popular *looks behind my back fearfully* 😨

Here's the thing. A lot of people post things and just expect people to find them and interact with them. To some people it works. But a lot of the time there's no way for people to even find your stuff or engage with it.

A lot of people go into fandom tags to look for art and writing, but not a lot of people just scroll the "oc" or "art" or "writing" tags aimlessly.

I'm not like. A social media expert 😼 or whatever. I don't know anything about anything ♥️ I literally just do whatever weurd things i want and that's it

Here's some things I can advise:

If you have ocs.... Please feel free to actually talk about them in detail, share your thoughts on them in detail, write actual info and profiles on them. Don't be shy to do this bc there's no way for someone to engage with your ocs if they don't really understand who you're talking about except the names 😭... Feel free to like link their info in your pinned or their toyhouse profiles or whatever... !!!! A lot of the times I follow someone and they ask to engage with their ocs, and I want to, but I literally just don't understand who they're taking about... Or I see someone talking about their ocs in very vague terms but I can't actually find who they're talking about.... (Not that you have to do this do whatever you want ... I'm not the boss of you ♥️ it's just something id like to see) And also don't be shy to actually remind people who you're talking about bc people who haven't been following you for a long time won't know. I think this is simpler for me because my concepts/characters are very basic/shallow and easy to understand. Taur who is a bee, taur who is a bath, etc... Is Inherently understandable and doesn't have any deep lore

👆 this applies to everything in general not just ocs. Talk about art. Talk about your own art. Talk about what you love in the art of others. Talk about your plans and concepts and ideas. Talk about your projects. Share with the world 🌍 🌍 🌍

Don't be shy to talk about your things. I think some people are anxious about seeing people unfollowing them. I personally use xkit to hide my followers on pc and actively avoid looking at my follower count on mobile... Because idgaf ♥️. If someone doesn't like what I post they're Nothing to me. I post about taurs and weird things basically every day. What do I have to lose? My dignity as a Tumblr blogger? Genuinely like just share whatever thoughts or concepts or doodles or drawings you want without being like "aww nobody wants to see this". Honestly I also do this because I don't have friends to talk about concepts and stuff with so your mileage may vary. Maybe you don't want to post. Maybe you worldbuild with your friends. Then maybe you can share the results of that worldbuilding and thoughts, that's good too.

Self reblog your stuff 😭 even old stuff. Self reblog your stuff and then elaborate on it further with your thoughts. Dig up old concepts and do things with them. Its okay to do this. Not everyone sees your stuff when you first post it... !

Actually engage with others. Others are more likely to see you and engage with you when you do the same to them. If you never interact with anyone else's art why would others interact with yours. And unfortunately posting stuff and expecting people to just stumble upon it is not a very good strategy...

[starlightsearches]

Heloooos! I've been sober from using tumblr for almost two years but your recent Hux post has me relapsing and its all your doing in the best ways possible. If it gives you any inspo, could you mayhaps write a modern!hux who has reader as their personal guard? My current job has me babysitting a higher up as punishment (the guy makes my life miserable but if was The Armitage Hux I would bark if he asked). Like an enemies to lovers and refusing to just be his friend due to too many feelings ?????

Sleepless Nights

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry if it's not "enemies" enough for you, I have this insane fear of people being angry with me so I've never been good at the whole enemies to lovers thing. Anyways, let me know if you like what you see :0) Comments, likes, and reblogs are very cool!

Warnings: Kind of slutty, kind of rambly, hux is kind of toxic, language. I think that's it!

You're about three bites into your wilty Caesar salad when the alarm on your phone chimes.

You fiddle with the volume buttons for a second before silencing the noise completely, steeling yourself in preparation for the look you just know Veronica is sending your way.

It's worse than you'd anticipated. You actually flinch a little when you meet her eyes.

She stabs at her own food ferociously, but doesn't take a bite of the pad thai she ordered, bringing the fork level with her gaze. Being on the business end of those tines makes your heart beat a little faster.

"I thought you had twenty minutes for lunch."

You sneak the lid of your Tupperware in between your fingers, slipping it back over the top what's left of your food.

"No . . . I said the meeting would be twenty minutes. I have to be back at my desk before he's done."

Veronica chews at her bottom lip, and you just know that—if you were sitting anywhere that wasn't right outside her boss's office—she'd be cussing you out for, once again, letting Hux take advantage of your truly incredible work ethic.

Lucky for you, if there's one thing your friend likes more than violent outbursts, it's office gossip. The urge overtakes her, and Veronica leans in closer with a passing glance at Phasma's open door, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"What's his deal lately, anyway?"

Interesting. You thought you were the only one who had noticed a change in Hux's temperament.

He had a reputation, of course—there was a reason he'd had five different executive assistants in the past year—and everybody checked over their shoulders before they bitched about him in the break room.

It hit you hardest—always in the blast radius, so to speak—with your desk just outside his door. You'd spent plenty of time rolling your eyes behind his back, or muttering curses under your breath when you heard his door latch.

But you'd put up with a lot more for a lot less, and you found you were able to take most of your boss's asshole-ish tendencies in stride.

So what if the hours are long? Sitting at your desk late into the night, filing memos and typing up emails between coffee runs was lonely, but your nights before the job were, too. At least now you were getting paid.

The past few weeks had been strange, though. Longer hours, later nights. His presence hovering over your shoulder or watching you through the crack in his door, that nervous energy always focused on you, waiting for you to misstep.

Then there were the calls during the few moments you were outside of the office, filled with reminders for routines you'd never once forgotten. Hux had been fidgety and restless during those morning debriefs and stumbling over his words half the time he passed your desk with some new directive.

"What's his deal ever?" you counter, and she snorts—then when that feels too mean, "he said he hasn't been sleeping."

Veronica purses her lips, smiling around the next word.

"Oh."

You really don't have the time to wait around for an explanation—the elevator up to the top floor already takes three minutes on its own—but, god, the way she says that word stops you like an ice pick to the heart.

"What?"

"Come on," she rolls her eyes, wondering how you could be so obtuse, "everybody knows that when a guy says he can't sleep it's because . . ."

She waits for you to fill in the rest.

"Uhhhhh . . ."

"It means," Veronica sighs, yanking you closer by the arm so nobody will overhear, "that he's been thinking about you. You know, like—" she mimics the beat of some cheesy porn intro, with the bwops and the chicka-waahs.

As if you didn't already get the message.

Your stomach rolls, and not with hunger—although you're wasting valuable time you could have to shovel the rest of your lunch into your mouth on the way back to your desk.

It takes a moment, but you manage a weak laugh, shaking yourself out of your stupor.

Hux didn't think about you like that. He didn't think about you at all unless he was reading his dictations over your shoulder while you were still writing them, just in case he needed to preemptively correct your mistakes.

"Uh, okay, you're insane."

Veronica's brows come together at the challenge—you know she won't stand for that. She scans the immediate area until she narrows in on a victim.

"Hey, Stephen."

The new intern's on his third trip past her desk since you got here, turning so quick to the side you're surprised his head stays attached to his neck.

He's been waiting for this moment all day.

Stephen's cute—dark, fluffy hair and big eyes—eager like a puppy with his clumsy, loping walk . . . and he's got no fucking chance. Veronica would chew him into pieces.

He runs over to her desk, totally clueless to that.

"What's up?"

Veronica smiles, leaning over her desk so the top of her button-down starts to split open. Stephen develops a twitch in his eye trying to keep his gaze level with hers.

"What does it mean when a guy tells a girl that he's having trouble sleeping?"

He relaxes visibly, like someone just asked him the color of the sky.

"Oh, yeah. It means he wants to fuck her."

Stephen gives the answer to you—well aware of his role—then looks to Veronica, waiting for a good boy and a dog treat and a pat on the head.

You feel like you've stepped into the twilight dimension. When the fuck did that become common knowledge?

"Okay, you're both insane, and now I'm running late."

Your steps are harried on the way back to the elevator, begging the engine to move faster or the second-hand on your watch to tick slower. Trying not to think about your boss, thinking about you every night, twisted up in his sheets.

Because, yeah, you had your daydreams. Everybody needs something to distract from the drudgery of all those fucking emails. It never mattered much to you who had you pinned against the shelves in the supply closet of your mind.

Just a little entertainment to wake you up during the afternoon slump—feverish hands and desperation and the crisp smell of copy paper.

But you've always had a thing for a well-cut suit. And Hux had plenty of those.

So what if you were kind of into him and his weird little hard-ass routine? You'd never dream of going any further than your daydreams.

But was he going further? And what did that look like?

Your palms are sweating when you get back to your desk, and you can't get the image out of your head—Hux with sweat beading down the taut skin of his neck, with his arms caging you against a wall, with his hips pinning yours against the hard edge of his desk.

You hardly have time to plant your ass in your chair before you hear the tell-tale footsteps around the corner.

Speak of the devil—or, you know, daydream about fucking him.

"Any calls?"

Hux barely glances in your direction—always on the move lately—no room in his schedule to actually stop at your desk and speak to you. You'd guess he's only got time for three directives before he's out of earshot.

Good news. Maybe you could make it out of here before midnight.

"I'm still working through them, sir, but I'll let you know if anything important has come through."

Total lie. You haven't even looked at the phone. And you can't look him in the eye either, feeling flushed and frantic.

Oh god. Do you look flushed and frantic?

Hux doesn't notice either way. Maybe Veronica was wrong and decided to ruin your entire life on a whim.

"Make sure you have a car prepared for the event on Friday. I won't stay longer than twenty minutes."

"Of course, sir. I'll call and let him know."

You had already made that call, but you'd have to update Mitaka, still. That's ten minutes less than the original time you gave him.

He's half-way into his office when he turns back for his last demand, "and I'll need you late, again, tonight."

Fuck. So close. You'd have to reschedule that date with your vibrator.

"Of course, sir. Whatever you need."

I'll need you late, again, tonight?

Could he make it any more fucking obvious?

Hux feels like slamming his head against the wall. He would, maybe, if he wasn't sure you'd hear the rattling window and come to see what his problem was. And that would only present more opportunities for him to make a fool of himself.

He certainly doesn't need any more of those.

It seemed like good advice when it was first given to him—"spending more time together" would be an easy first step, if it didn't also involve time-and-a-half for you. The paychecks he was signing were starting to look as ridiculous as the little infatuation he's been carrying.

Not that it mattered. If money was what you wanted, he'd give it. Anything to endear himself to you.

But the extra time—and the money—aren't helping. You're as distant as ever, maybe moreso, with the fog of sleeplessness and your inevitable irritability at his constant demands.

It's his own damn feelings that get in the way. He can't concentrate, not with the shape of your legs in those pencil skirts. He spends most meetings in wondering how to find out the name of the perfume you wear.

And where he can find a bottle of it for personal use.

Nights, still, are worse.

That's where this all started. Hux hardly ever had dreams, and the few dreams he did have in those short, unconscious hours were never memorable.

Then he woke with the feeling soft skin enveloping his cheeks, tasting you on his lips. And god, those noises you were making for him, your fingers through his hair, begging for him to come closer, to give you more.

It flipped the switch. You went from a passive—albeit attractive—body in a chair to a person. A someone.

A need.

He knew it was wrong. He knew, even with his sweat soaking the sheets and his heavy hand resting on his abdomen that this would ruin so much for him.

The mind can be reasoned with, if the body is hungry enough. And Armitage is so, so hungry for you.

On the nights he manages to resist, he imagines, wonders. Are you alone? Do you think of him? Or are you warming someone else's bed, rolling from their sheets with a heavy sigh every time Armitage's contact pops up on your phone screen?

That worry has him sick to his stomach.

So it's best to keep you close. Keep an eye on you.

Hux looks up from the stack of reports he's been reviewing, shifts in his chair just right until he can see you through the window outside his office without you noticing him.

It puts a god-awful crick in his neck if he sits like this too long. His chiropractor commented on it during his last appointment.

Normally there's not much to see—a Solitare window pulled up when you think he won't notice, the shape of your back curved gracefully. Sometimes your bra visible through the fabric of your thin, white shirts.

Not today, though. You're sitting ram-rod straight, one hand brushing some loose hair behind your ear. All your attention focused on the towering man in front of you, his arms propped against the top edge of your desk and a leering grin on his face.

Ren.

Armitage almost falls with the force of his shock, and then settles along with an empty rage in the pit of his stomach.

Of course Ren would have noticed Hux's preoccupation. And of course he would wield Hux's feelings against him.

There's an animal inside his chest, clawing to get out, giving him half a mind to stomp out there, chase Ren away with some biting remark and a hand on the back of your chair.

But there's a fear that runs deeper. Maybe you'd prefer someone like Ren.

A man who is in every way Hux's opposite. Volatile. Domineering. Powerfully built.

Could Armitage compete?

His inadequacy floods him with a distasteful anger. Armitage will put an end to it immediately. Call you into his office and berate you for socializing during working hours, shame you for inappropriate and obvious mooning over a superior.

He'll make you feel small, ashamed. The way he feels right now.

Too late for all his bravado. Ren steps away from your desk with one glance back, a knowing smirk on his face. Hux almost feels like it's a look meant for him, like Ren can find his gaze through the wall.

Armitage stands from the chair, unsure what his purpose is and knowing he'll defer to anger, as always. Knowing it will make you hate him more than you probably already do.

You don't start immediately when the door opens, and he can't tell from his view of the back of your head what you're thinking.

How many times had he wished he could delve into your mind, pull out gauzy strings of your memories, any thought or emotional tug you'd had in his vicinity? How many times had he hoped you might give him a hint or a sign that you felt anything for him at all?

Armitage coughs, and you jump, turning in your chair until you meet his eyes.

"My office," he tells you, and turns back without waiting to see if you'll follow.

Your steps are quiet in the already quiet office. Everyone else has gone home by now, leaving the two of you alone, and the lights buzz menacingly over the sound of your heels rustling against the carpet. You take your usual seat across from his desk. Armitage stays on his feet, hoping to channel his anxious energy somewhere, liking the way it feels to tower over you.

"Did you need something, sir?"

He knows you're nervous. You don't try to hide it, fidgeting with your fingers, chewing at your lip, avoiding his eyes. Armitage wishes that it was him that made you feel that way, not his position, not his reputation for anger.

"What did Ren want?" he asks.

Your lips part, and then come back together in hesitation, planning an appropriate answer, wondering how he'll react.

"His assistant put in her two weeks notice today," you tell him.

He hums, waiting for more. Your lips flush a lighter shade when you press them more tightly together, and he knows you'll acquiesce.

"He offered me the position, sir."

Armitage sees red, feels his hands curl into fists where they rest behind his back. That arrogant, underhanded, low-life bastard. Hux would . . .

He keeps a cool tone, arches a brow. "And?"

"I told him I appreciated the offer but I'd prefer keep my current position."

And that gives him pause. Has the strange, effervescent hope alight in his chest, but something else snuffs it out.

"Why?"

Hux can't hide the skepticism in his voice, the aching disbelief that you would choose him in any context, but especially this.

Everyone knew working under Armitage was . . . trying. He saw the looks of pity you received from other secretaries as they packed their bags for the night, knew they were taking some solace at your misery while sipping on their happy-hour cocktails. He's well aware that he is demanding, and stubborn, and always so exacting.

He's like that in his personal life, too. Which is why he is always alone.

Your brows come together in an obvious but uncharacteristic sign of anger.

"I'm not afraid of hard work, sir."

"I am aware of that, but—"

Why is he so desirous to argue against himself? You are the best assistant he's ever had. Unfortunately, pushing people away is a skill he's mastered over and over and over again.

"Do you want me to leave?" you interrupt him, arms crossing defensively over your chest.

Part of him wants to say yes. To rid himself of this weakness you've blossomed in him, to keep everything under his control and eliminate all other variables.

Your lips press tighter together—Hux would assume he's hurt you, if he thought he had that kind of power.

He's been silent too long. You stand from your chair, brush your hands over your skirt to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Alright, then." You speak without meeting his eyes, heading for the door.

Armitage isn't sure what makes you stop, not until you glance down at your wrist, and he mirrors the movement, sees his own hand circling it.

A perfect fit.

"Sir?"

Your voice is hazy, blurred out by the warmth of your skin and the smell of your perfume and the way your eyes go wide when Armitage makes his approach.

Without saying a word or offering a hint of an apology, Hux is kissing you.

[uninformedartist]

So hey long time no see, just popping in to say that this video by Official_TVC is bullshit.

So summary + thoughts:

Video starts off with defintions on different types of stalking & they say Vivienne has experienced all this kind of stalking. Then goes on to say its 2 individuals doing this stalking and they we the viewer doesn't need to know them, Official_TVC has done a lot of research on them and we should should trust Official & their word without evidence because apparently they retweeted something on twitter & it was a tumblr post thats supposedly exposed Vivienne's siblings, personal things ect. All this is hearsay by you, it shouldn't make the average viewer trust your word. Yes I've seen things but that was from posts I've seen.

Aside -honestly Official should be questioning the anon asks we get on here, some of the asks contain some questionable info like how do you get that info. People get asks on here containing info, people don't go out & hunt all Vivienne's private life, we receive stuff thats how things come to light, OTHER PEOPLE SEND US STUFF.

All the background of the video is helluva boss/hazbin scenes coupled with music from respective shows. No evidence, not even heavily censored evidence to protect Vivienne, just Official_TVC talking & basically saying "trust me bro I did research, believe me". This is heinous accusations, individuals you are talking about & you give nothing. It could be lies for all people know, I don't even believe & I've seen the things you're referring to.

Continued, the stalkers, the 1st one is a "troll" according to Official_TVC & the second is supposedly so bad they were quote " has been 15 ft from vivziepop", no backing on that 15ft statement, Official_TVC just states this. All this stalking, entire pages made is because of a ship. Leaking show stuff (aside again, is GIVEN TO US VIA ANONYMOUS ASKS).

They carry on to say essentially all this hate talk on Viv on YT is cos she's popular, they got nothing of meaning to say on Viv cos they hate her so much they can't talk about her positively. They then mention a person has a never ending stream that just feeds misinformation other YouTubers & quote "on the precipice of wanting to strangle a woman (Viv) who made the crime of making demons gay". Wtf does that mean, who has this never ending stream of feeding misinformation to other YouTube, who & wtf are you talking about.

Anyway, goes on to compare spindlehorse workplace allegations to Amazon (yes ironic) & how Amazon treats its workers really bad... do I need to say more. Goes on to say everyone ragged on Viv because hazbin hotel is on Amazon, Amazon is bad & quote by Official_TVC is cos "everyone looks for an excuse to hate". Ok now I'm giving evidence on why people ragged on Viv for prime since you give jackshit.

Amazon/prime is currently being boycotted, its on the bds list why people were saying to pirate hazbin. Not some bullshit reason Official gave on it being mindless hate. Here is a video explaining why people are boycotting Amazon:

Vivienne also like this post from a fan, do I need to spell out how fucking disgusting this tweet is and the fact that she liked it.

Official carrys on to say stalker 1 did 3 things, doxxed Vivienne, & in their words if you go to said person's page Official states "im pretty sure they know where vivziepop lives". That is speculation, thats your opinion cos no evidence is provided or can be for that matter cos this is what YOU think. Dropping as Official says "nuggets" of info on Viv's siblings University, their work (this info was from a sibling's linked in page, public info). Can I say aside, I know her sibling's names. Why, not from stalking but from them leaving comments on Viv's speeddraws and Viv publicly naming them on her PUBLIC socials. And if you know someone's name you can easily find out what uni they went to, if you know my name & search me up you know what uni I go to its in the public on their linked in, social posts ect.

They go on to talk about how terrible leaking Viv's shows are, which idgaf. Amazon is a zionist corporation I'm pirating anything of Vivienne. Even invincible which I love, pirated it. Fans should too (since I see a lot of fans with free palastine in bio but still pay for prime). Anyway thats on them.

TW: talks of sexual harassment. So Official doesn't want to give more info on this individual which I respect & understand. However they say stalker 1 is sexually harrassing this person, sending content of a sexual nature all because the victim in this situation didn't agree with stalker 1 on the stalker's sentiments on hazbin hotel. I understand protecting the victim but my soul you're literally protecting the perpetrator. Expose them, you keep staying stalker 1 & 2 CALL THEM OUT. Protect the victims but expose the perpetrators.

They go on to stalker 2, who know stalker 1. Stalker 2 supposedly went to the hazbin premiere. They were there to keep an eye on vivziepop Official quotes. No evidence of this quote or info just them relaying it. Again this is all your words against what. Yeah that is concerning it really is but substantiate this evidence & quotes. This is the 1st time I'm hearing about this so I would like to know more on this & this heinous person. But you don't give any evidence. Official says " these people need to be stopped", how can they be stopped. You give no names, no info or evidence, its wishful thinking you saying this. I'm harping on and on on about Official gives no evidence but its so flipping frustrating hearing them spout all this WITH NOTHING to back their words.

TW again: Mentions of suicide and Shay a fan bullied by the fandom who then took their own life. Know a lot of people are still saddened by what led to Shay's passing why I mention this.

Official says stalker 1 is using the death of Shay to entice fruther harrassed on Vivienne. Its "apparently now", huskerdust fans went after Shay with heinous harassment & Shay subsequently ended their life, may they rest in peace. Official claims stalker 1 says Vivziepop is directly responsible for Shay's death. Shay's death was worded as "apparently" but stalker 1 using Shay's death to pin it on Vivziepop is stated as a fact. How disgusting can you be someone died & its apparently so to you but your word of mouth should be considered fact, fuck off. Official then goes on to say... sighs quote "we do not hold politicians accountable when they massacre people of other countries... bloodlines don't exist but we don't blame the politicians pushing the buttons".

Ok wtf, yes we do we blame Biden & other politicians & presidents for pushing the figurative & literally buttons on massacring Palestinians & other minorities, WE DO so wtf are you talking about. I honestly hate Official at this point because wtf are they saying. I don't blame vivziepop on Shay's death, even though when there was attempts to reach Vivienne on what was happening to Shay, maybe the channels they used like email didn't get the message across unfortunately. What I absolutely hate is when fans, like official now use Shay's death as a pawn in relation to people hating on Viv. No one that I've see & I'm saying it now I know who these stalker 1 & 2 are not even they were as disgusting as Official & fans to use Shay's death as to further hate on Vivienne. What Official_TVC is saying is bullshit.

And I disregard everything Official_TVC says after they hearted this comment, fuck you Official_TVC for hearting this vile comment.

I link a screenshot of the outreach to Vivienne via email on Shay aswell as the document on Shay's.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vSfCoyn81fp83pycx5eyS4oxryRpFnVnHdEeyEyouigrKSWAZ5iEgTjt7Q63n68S_PcZK7_klB-9dH1/pub

In all this video is a load of nothing, bullshit actually & just vile on the parts of Shay. They ended of once again reiterating they won't give proof because people just want names & evidence for the tea/gossip & they want to protect Vivienne, shoo shoo. Again trust me bro, I did the research so trust me.

I want to reiterate I condone no actions if provided true on stalker 1 or 2. But from what I've seen of them is all out of context, lies spread by the fandom & things just made up down the grapevine. I don't do this for likes, clout or other bullshit the fandom says. Wouldn't be of me on my nature and the work that I do. Come with substantial evidence, then we discuss & make conclusions but for now

...

I hate Vivienne and this fandom, bye all.

[the-moon-files]

Aaaaa, hi!! I'm the anon who sent in the fairly recent ask with the Guide!Reader ideas (martial artist mention, Dehydrated Ganon, strength possibilities, Ganon not being able to escape from Guide!Reader's voice, etc)! I'm really glad that you liked my ideas so much!! 😊 I was so pleasantly surprised to see you expand on my discombobulated thoughts, haha! Thank you so much! ^w^ I loved reading them!!

I said that I made memes for the Guide!Reader/Space Orc concept, and now I shall deliver them >:D Firstly, I'm super sorry that I took so long to share these with you!! Life decided to kick me in the shins for a hot second 😭 And secondly, I made a LOT of images for this one,, Fair warning, this is going to take up a lot of space 😭 orz

But anyway!! Here are the text memes first:

Guide!Reader: We’re playing Scrabble. It’s a nightmare.

Wars: Scrabble? Scrabble’s great.

Guide!Reader: Not when you’re playing with Zelda, it’s not. She’s out here putting in words like “ephemeral” while I’m putting in “dog.”

☆

Guide!Reader: *pointing out Magic Powder* Legend, look, it’s the good kush!

Legend: …This is the Rupee Store, how good can it be?

☆

Ravio: Hi, welcome! Are you part of our Super Savers Shoppers Club?

Guide!Reader: No, I’m not.

Ravio: :D :) :| Oh.

☆

Legend, looking into a banged-up Water Temple: …It’s trash.

☆

Time, whenever Guide!Reader uses modern slang: We need IRL subtitles. What are you even saying.

☆

Guide!Reader: My Furby died in my arms when I was a child.

Hyrule, has no clue what a Furby is: I’m so sorry for your loss.

Guide!Reader: It wasn’t a loss. I had never felt more like a god.

☆

The Chain: *getting told off by Time*

Guide!Reader in the back: …

Guide!Reader: *starts playing the ukulele* 👁👄👁 🎸

Time: 🧍

☆

Four, talking about Guide!Reader: So, I’m interested in someone…

Dot: :D Oooh! What do they look like?

Four: *slow realisation*

Four: I don’t know

Dot: Wh

Dot: What do you mean you don’t know?

☆

Guide!Reader/Ganon, about hearing Guide!Reader every dang game: The universe has a sense of humour, and I respect the commitment to the bit, but girl please.

☆

Guide!Reader, to Link once they reunite with the Chain: Now… *puts hand on his shoulder* We’re back on our bullsh*t.

☆

Guide!Reader and Wild, meeting Sidon for the first time:

Guide!Reader: …Would.

Wild: Would what?

Guide!Reader:

Wild: (Name)? Would what?

☆

Wind: When you become famous you’re called a legend because your leg ends.

Guide!Reader: What? 

Wind: Your leg. It ends.

Guide!Reader: I’m not a linguist, but I think you’ve got it wrong.

Wind: Are you saying your leg doesn’t end?

Guide!Reader: I mean, at some point it does, yes.

Wind: Then what’s the problem?

☆

The Chain, waking up at dawn to get ready:

Guide!Reader and Sky, just trying to process being alive:

☆

Guide!Reader/Time: You need to get out of bed faster than this.

Sky, struggling: I’m giving it all he’s got, boss

☆

Guide!Reader at Ganon: Your anger amuses me. Please don’t find inner peace. Please.

☆

Guide!Reader, playing through LoZ game: *at an annoying NPC* Let me ask you a very fair question. What do you do successfully? Quickly. :|

Link, trying not to laugh:

☆

Hyrule, probably: I hate it when a recipe tells me to add two cups of onions. They don’t come in cups. They come in onions.

Guide!Reader, head in hands: Please

☆

Hyrule/Twilight, looking at two NPCs: Are they lovers?

Guide!Reader, who knows the lore: Worse.

☆

The Chain, enjoying Guide!Reader’s affections:

Legend: 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️

☆

Legend, defending himself from the “You like him” allegations from Wind: 🤸🤸🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

And now, onto the images- I hope you don't think the sheer amount of these memes is too excessive or anything!! 😭 /gen

Aaa and that's all the memes I've got! I hope you like them,,! orz

I'm also still pretty new to Tumblr, so I'm sorry if the format looks a bit weird,,

Oh, but also?? That last point you mentioned in your most recent post about the cultural differences between humans and Hylians on physical affection/touch?? I am VERY excited to see that,, 👀 👉👈 

U HAVE NO IDEA HOW IN LOVE W/UR BRAIN I AM RN

IM SO FUCKING ECSTATIC TO SEE THESE >>> ANYTHING IVE EVER WRITTEN U MADE MEMES??? FOR MY BS?????? DAOHGHOAKJSALKGFS;NDFKNDNFKJBDBFLN;

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

BLESS YOU, BEHEAMOTH SCREAMOTH MY BELOVED <3333

HAVE THAT HYLIANS V. HUMANS AFFECTION CULTURE POST HERE, THE ONLY PAYMENT I CAN THINK OF FOR THIS 😩😩 🛐 🛐 🛐

I LIED ITS TOO LONG, ITS GONNA BE A SEPERATE POST COME BACK AND PLS READ IT AS PAYMENT (but dont read the nsft/w if ur a minor)

BRO u got all the energy, and the dynamics i was pushing ilysm 🥺🫶

like the Hyrule = beloved agenda ive been pushing, bc i need more underrep links content, the way u carried the ganon eternally getting haunted by guide reader voice?? 10/10 ahdsfkhadl

AND WIND’S CONSTANT ENERGY OF A YOUNGER BROTHER LOOKIN U DEAD IN THE EYE LIKE “u kiss the homie (singular not even plural) goodnight?? Brother, that’s GAEY.”

u have no idea what this means to me, the impact, the understanding u have to have of my bs to make these, and how many posts youve read of mine?? im so sorry for ur loss w/my rough writing lmao

thats how you know youve made it tbh is if someone makes memes of smth u made, anyway day brightened, complexion clear, depression medicated, by this post

I HOPE BOTH SIDES OF UR PILLOW ARE COLD, UR PETS CUDDLE U EXTRA, U GET ALL THE GRADES/GOOD WORK SHIFTS U NEED

Peace out my beloved <3,

🌙

[faevi]

Fae's Masterlist !!

Please Note: Will evidently update whenever something new is posted. My main focus is Gojo Satoru but alas, other characters will be added here !! I'll also include ao3 links whenever I post on there, too.

I write a lot of 18+ content, including dark content. Therefore, MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT OR FOLLOW.

Please always check the trigger / content warnings on each post!! If anything makes you uncomfortable, please just don't read and ignore. I might have posts you're comfy with and then some you're not. A lot of writers on here (from what I've seen) write dark content, but we all have our boundaries. For example, I'm never going to read anything involving drugs because that's a limit with me but, I'm not going to judge nor stop anyone from reading or writing with such content. Let's all just respect one another ; _ ; <3 mwah mwah.

Please also know that I write other content like fluff, angst, anything under the sun basically so don't worry if you think I only strictly write smut.

c: the cute dividers are done by: @/carekitsune & the badly edited header was me lmfao. As for what manga it's from, no idea sadly :' )

GOJO SATORU:

Gojo Satoru wakes you up. // female reader. 18+. smut. main tw: somnophilia, dubcon.

Heat Waves. // ao3 link. // female reader. 18+. smut. main tw: dubcon. brainwash. master. unprotected. fear of losing home. manipulation. boss!gojo.

Sapphire Love. // ao3 link. // female reader. 18+. smut. fluffy. main tw: make up sex. angst-ish. unprotected.

Gunshot of Love. // female reader. 18+ smut. main tw: gunplay. bdsm. fear-play. unprotected.

Taboo Love. // ao3 link. // female reader. 18+ smut. main tw: stepcest (step-bro). daddy kink. unprotected.

Doctor Gojo. // ao3 link. (ONLY AO3 LINK. tumblr hates this one) // female reader. 18+ smut. main tw: gynaecologist!gojo. dubcon. making up a fake disease. medical abuse (? just in case).

Jellyfish Sting. // female reader. 18+ smut. main tw: lifeguard!gojo, public sex, unprotected.

Comfort. // female reader. angst-ish, fluff. comfort. main tw: implied bad mental health, not taking care of oneself.

That's it for now? ><

[msfbgraves]

Seeing a lot of: "The selfish strikers are hurting the crew members 😥😫😭" takes on Tumblr suddenly.

Well hello AMPTP PR team!

If the retraction of your labor did not hurt anyone, strikes would be absolutely useless. An industry is supposed to suffer from a retraction of labor, to show the value of that labor. And that is exactly why nobody ever starts a negotiation there. Every negotiation goes: "I offer something against fair compensation. When not fairly compensated, I will retract my labor, with us both knowing full well that people are going to suffer. So let's not. Pay me fairly for all our benefits. You reap huge rewards from this labor. That comes with the responsibility of good stewardship." If they say: "Nope, I am unwilling to compensate you fairly," the "and I don't care who the hell suffers for it" goes without saying.

That suffering is supposed to be a pressure on the bosses, as their refusal to pay fairly is what causes it. What they're now doing is saying the strikers cause it, as if that action wasn't a response to them not taking responsibility.

Do you honestly think that the same people who want to squeeze writers and actors care a single fuck for the wellbeing of the crew?! The AMPTP is causing that pain and could end it with a 10th of what WB alone has already lost in revenue. But no they want to alleviate the pressure of the collatoral damage of their refusal by scabbing (lessening the pain for their consumers), and setting the workers against each other. Oh, it's not my fault for screwing my workers over, which hurts you! It's their fault for not letting me do it without a fight! They're so mean!

When this could all be resolved - already is being resolved! - by simply giving in to very reasonable demands! People, including crew, who have made agreements with the unions are in fact working!

Say some footballer was harassing someone and got kicked back so hard they couldn't play. If the game is cancelled because of that, do you say: well, they should have just let themselves be hurt so I don't suffer? Or do you say: that asshole footballer is letting us all down by not taking responsibility that comes with their position and being an awful person? Even a toddler knows who is at fault in that situation. But if I have to spell it out: it's the person that starts being awful when it is in their power not to be, and when in fact they had every chance not to be. It's the footballer kicking someone for no reason. It is the AMPTP who wants to exploit and underpay people and screw over consumers by only giving them AI crap, which was trained on stolen work, the copyright of which they don't own and never offered to pay for.

People suffer because the AMPTP won't agree not to hurt people. This stops - and has already stopped in some cases - the second they agree to a reasonable deal with inbuilt protections.

The AMPTP knew in rejecting these terms that they would throw the crew under the bus. They didn't give a shit as long as they could retain the power to exploit people.

I bet they are paying the PR people more than they're refusing to pay the unions to not have to come to an agreement, knowing full well how much that is costing not just the crew but the entire economy of California.

If I were a Californian representative, I would call Zaslav, Iger and Lombardini and pressure them to stop fucking over the entire state!