#feeling a real range of emotions SOS

[sweettarttt]

forgot how crazy season 1 episode 7 is

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 6 "ascension" thoughts

sighs as if i just ran a marathon.

so, you know i take a LOT of notes. but this episode was SUCH a ride that i'm gonna try a new method of copying all this down. stick with me and let's see how it goes.

okay here we are. back after our brief and sorrow-filled separation yesterday, in which i had no time to watch an episode. it’s Scully hours. hopefully.

first thing we see is mulder walking into his place in the rain. first thing i do is pause and see if i can analyze the art on his walls. they’re some sort of prints of houses? not noticing anything in particular in terms of style or artist. and it’s definitely a new place where he lives, rip the sleep couch from s1

he takes off his jacket and listens to the message she left him and oh fuck. oh fuck. her voice. the sound of duane yelling. shattering glass.

he goes to her house and sees blood and the open window!!!! the TERROR that man must have been feeling. and he uses that FBI id to sneak right in there.

now he’s prowling about her house in search of clues and looking at her blood and hair left behind which is fucked up, even by my standards 

it was at this point i wrote "he’s like a bloodhound" which is a statement i stand by and can elaborate on if prompted

OH! we see a familiar face. he meets scully's mom. while his hands are soaked in her daughter’s blood. that's okay that's fine (said in a shaking and squeaky voice).

THE OPENING SAID SOMETHING DIFFERENT: DENY EVERYTHING. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

(at this point i made a note expressing concern that we were gonna watch scully get tortured for 45 minutes straight and thank god that isn't what actually went down. because i would have been deeply upset if that had happened and would have launched upon an unstoppable rant for the next few generations)

scully's mom dreamed about her being taken away and Mulder WRAPS HIS ARMS AROUND HER. again. while still covered in her blood. what a way to meet her family. not how anyone had pictured this going down.

so it's the next morning and alex is in this meeting while mulder is having a come apart. don’t wish him to be here. and no, alex does not get the respect of being referred to by his last name like a good agent on MY account where i make the rules and the rules are that he sucks.

when rationalizing what duane is going through, skinner said “so he’s following orders from the alien voices in his head? That’s an interesting spin on the Nuremberg defense” and yeah! i chuckled. was he wrong there?

skinner made me laugh with that little remark but then went back to pissing me off by telling mulder he was too close to the case and needed to go home. like yes, he’s right, but mulder's gonna put his bloodhound skills to destructive purposes. he's gonna rip up the couch if left home alone. in a dog metaphorical sense.

so alex takes him home which was bad enough (alex must know where mulder lives to do that) and we see CIGARETTE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND????? my original notes had a lot stronger language at this reveal that i felt i needed to tone down but i will keep the "i'll have ur head im sooo serious" part in

okay, back to duane cam. he’s cruising. he cranks his window down when he’s pulled over which is still funny to me. crank windows. how novel. but don't think i've forgotten the situation at hand just because 90's technology is funny to me.

a cop pulls him over and i felt a flicker of hope inside my chest but i knew deep down it was still too early in the episode for anything to be resolved. still, duane pulling out his gun and SHOOTING the cop made my jaw drop

(my jaw kept dropping this episode to an extent that was painful. i just got my wisdom teeth out and while i love enjoying this show, the constant twists and turns are NOT leading to a pleasant mouth experience)

SCULLY IN THE TRUNK REVEAL? <- that was all i wrote when i saw here in there. i feel it sums up the situation.

mulder, somehow, taps into where she's located and gets a visual on her. he is intensely effected and this is why i support his bloodhound-like tendencies being channeled. the man gets results.

alex, don’t ask how he slept. you are a rat and should be banished from his presence during his state of mourning and forever after. 

mulder: doesn't route 229 lead to the blue ridge parkway?

alex: I don’t know <- okay lmao I get that. i get that alex. like directions are hard. you haven't won me over but you did make me laugh here.

mulder figured out where they’re going and says GET THE CAR ALEX and that “he’ll deal with skinner”. ohhh i wanna see this furious mulder deal with skinner. OHHHH i'm so on the edge of my seat this sleep deprived man is gonna <- didn't even finish that sentence due to the next reveal

WHO THE HELL IS ALEX TALKING TO ABOUT “HOLDING HIM OFF” WHY IS CIGGY MAN HERE (can you hear the desperation in all of the notes i was taking. also i don't know his name and i don't care. that's cigarette man or ciggy man if i need to use shorthand and his government name is probably "rat bastard" but i don't care enough to use it)

mulder was, at this point, falling asleep and almost hitting a truck but insisting he can still drive. wild. on the one hand, i get it, because alex is probably gonna drive them off the road and something, but then on the other hand buddy. u almost got plowed in the negative context. someone fetch him a red bull

(and yeah i googled "red bull origins" to see if that would have been possible at the time for mulder to have a sip and can confirm it would have been IF he had gotten it imported from another country. because it wasn't in the us yet. i am a scholar)

alex is listing how many awful things are caused by sleep deprivation. which i understand and again, a good argument to be made, but this grease weasel just wants to get behind the wheel so he can total the thing and i'm not having it 

(he said some like after this and it was just “there’s our turn off” but my hatred for him reached a crescendo at this point like I could have started pummeling)

so they get to the place on the mountain that takes you up- the ski lift thingy. and the guy who works it is like "you can't use it, we don't test it in the summer" and wow. when i tell you what happens next, i hope you are seated. because i had to pause and breathe for a bit.

MULDER PULLS HIS GUN OUT AND THREATENS THE DUDE WHO SAYS HE CAN’T TAKE THE CABLE SKI THINGY UP OHHHHH MY GAWDDDDD 

so he gets access to the lift thingy and he locked alex out… yes exactly right!

the lift operator is like "don't go over 15 miles per hour" and we all know what mulder is gonna do next. he cranks it up way too fast and he’s gonna fall into the mountain and i’m looking around my room like what is going on here. the cuts to Alex’s snaky eyes are freaking me tf out. Why is alex reaching for his gun. WHAT THE FUCK WHY FID HE KNOCK THAT GIY OUT HE CIT THE GENERATOR AND LEFT MULDER UP THERE WHO IS HE CALLONH 

(<- leaving that one verbatim from my notes, too, because i feel it really captures the experience, if you can work out those typos. basically alex took his gun out and knocked the lift operator out, leaving mulder stranded on the ski lift in the sky, then called someone like "i've got him trapped" and i. was experiencing all of this very quickly.)

scully cam. she’s still in the trunk.

so the power's cut on the ski lift and mulder is not gonna just sit around and wait for somebody to help him! he's climbing up the tower and once he’s up there ALEX TURNS THE MACHINE BACK ON SERIOUSLY WHAT IS GOING ON

mulder survives the journey to the mountain's peak, despite almost falling off because he was hanging from outside!! and alex looks soooooooooooo mad.

sad man in the rain finds a car with blood in the wheel and...

HER NECKLACE IN THE BACK!!! AN EPISODE 3 CALL BACK!!! to when he knew eugene tooms was going after her because he found her necklace. oh i'm gonna be SICK

back to our worstie duane, who is in the woods screaming that they took her and that he’s free and I had to pause to breathe a lil. because if mulder lost scully and his sister to aliens...... 

after what was intended to be a commercial break and some wrestling on behalf of mulder, we see duane in custody, but receive no answers on what exactly is going on. he is, however, in a small room with mulder, who looks entirely diabolical.

mulder is stalking this guy- "stalking" in the sense that he is like a predator waiting for a chance to pounce on a rabbit- and he gets up and SEES SCULLY'S BLOOD AND HAIR ON DUANE'S HOSPITAL WRISTBAND???

next occurs what i described in my notes as the "DID YOU HURT HER SCREAMING AND TORTURE SESSION. JAW IS ON THE FLOOR" (my poor jaw. who will think of her in these trying times)

again, mulder is in his animal era, because he starts choking duane. REALLY choking him. i'm shocked. between this and the showing his gun to get to the top of the mountain, we are really seeing how he will throw all of the rules to the side and spit on them to keep the people he loves safe.

(i was also thinking to myself at this point, his ass is gonna get fired)

duane was taunting him, saying "i hope they’re not hurting her too much with the tests” which is. obviously evil. but HOW evil? it's still unclear if he is lying about the whole alien thing, because remember, scully said the bullet in his brain makes him a liar who is unpredictable. and i guess a bullet could maybe do that. i have no experience in such matters.

mulder says everyone STAY OUT OF THERE and yet. alex goes in to see duane. and is like "well i went in there because he was gagging". sure yeah. suspicious. why were you close enough to hear him gag? how do you know the sound of another man gagging, alex? heard it before?

okay this next part was. pretty messed up. i'll let my reactions from being in the moment speak for themselves because i have little desire to relive the matter:

SCULLY IN A WEIRD ASS ROOM???? THE ALIENS? What the hell I’m deeply uncomfortable are they blowing her up like a balloon. Oh I got chills. Negative 

(i never want to see a character blown up like a balloon it's just not for me. i am always gonna be good on that front)

((who is blowing her up and why. i was convinced it was aliens at first but now i think it was actually the Evil Government which has me thinking, what kind of situation led them to developing that technology in the first place?))

mulder pulls alex out of the room “NO ONE is to interrogate the suspect” “except you?” “except me” <- mulder with a god complex because scully is missing and he will do ANYTHING to find her. oh yeah that's juicy. i'm gonna dive into that at a later date.

skinner yells at mulder. yeah he had it coming. even if i enjoy his character arc i do think choking your only suspect comes across as a bit. well. unprofessional, shall we say.

mulder is shocked that duane is gagging like he didn’t just choke the guy and he might have KILLED his own best lead and has to live with whatever knowledge duane had on her whereabouts dying with him 

mulder staring at the corpse. cause of death: asphyxiation. oh he killed that dude. he is gonna be in trouble. 

(that was my first thought, anyway. i wasn't picking up what mulder was putting down, requesting a toxicology report. to me, if you show a scene of a guy getting choked, and then he dies a few minutes later, it's another situation of "i don't know enough about medical stuff to dispute that". mulder, however, WILL dispute that)

next part is copied and pasted from the rough notes again because it's funny:

"alex go fuck yourself i don’t even wanna look at you. getting in the car with ciggy man. “what about scully?” “we’ve taken care of that” ARE YOU THE MFER BLOWING HER UP LIKE A BALLOON CIGGY MAN???? alex is questioning things but idgaf if he’s morally conflicted"

(i saw the seeds of an alex redemption arc being sown here and i didn't care for it. condemn him. to the dungeons.)

mulder’s super insistent that he did NOT kill duane and again i was like. well are you sure. because it kinda looks like you did.

they want him to take a lie detector test which always makes me cringe. if polygraphs have no haters its because i'm dead.

mulder believes that duane was actually poisoned by the government to hide Something and he presents this theory to skinner and his panel which was Bold but you know our boy mulder. bold is what he does.

“why are you so paranoid Mulder” asks some random guy from the council in an annoyed fashion << terribly insensitive thing to say to guy who just had his best friend kidnapped

“I find it hard to trust anybody” (cutscene to asking Alex for his keys) NAURRR YOU CANNOT TRUST THE WEASEL 

alex gives him the keys and leaves with a long lingering stare. okay. freak.

mulder's going to the senator!!!! i was hoping we would get more info on that whole deal- why does this guy sponsor mulder? why does he do it if he knows it's a bad idea? how do they even know each other? is he a republican? - but we really don't gain any insight. he runs into Deep Throat 2.0, who I believe to be a handsome fellow, and he says that They will deny everything

who is they, i mumble quietly to the screen. why do they know all the things??

mulder is in visible and irreparable agony when getting in the car but he still has a funky tie on. despite the horrors his swag must persist.

GASP!! Mulder opens the car drawer and sees the cigarettes of famed ciggy man. alex is too pretty to smoke...

Mulder puts two and two together FAST and accuses alex of being a rat to skinner (which he’s right about!) he says he stands behind his accusation on the record and skinner tries to call alex up

(which was so funny to me because if he was a secret double agent- which he is- and mulder is accusing him of something adjacent to treason- what is a talk in skinner's office gonna do to solve the problem? again skinner is giving me high school principal energy. ur not gonna talk that one out babe but it's sweet you gave it a go xx)

mulder says that scully got too close to whatever the truth is when she had that little tracker thing and so they got her. i find myself agreeing with the guy who believes elvis faked his death. funny how he's often the level headed one

skinner, to my surprise, is taking this accusation of his agents being of the double variety quite well. he actually seems pretty reasonable about the whole thing, and like he truly believes there is some ulterior motives at play here.

but sympathy isn't enough for mulder: “What CAN you do” he asks Skinner, thrusting a finger in his face. “There’s only one thing I can do,” skinner sighs, and he... REOPENS THE X FILES?

(now this did shock me, but i was excited! don't get me wrong, i was just a bit surprised. i was thinking maybe he'd call up ciggy man and try to have a nice dignified chat since he seems so hell-bent on solving things through the power of discussion, but i suppose that reauthorizing the investigation into aliens while a top agent is missing for doing just that is. certainly an approach to the problem at hand?)

mulder walks sadly beneath a water fountain. it was sad enough as it was but then scully's mom walks up and things get even More sad

to somewhat break the air of tragedy: for some reason his face is crystal clear but hers is superrrrr blurry. like i've mentioned before, some shots are normal tv quality, and others look like they were ripped from a VHS. it throws me off each time.

but back to the matter at hand: he gives her scully’s cross necklace and he’s like "why did she wear that if she was such a skeptic" (which is a question i keep pointing out!!!!!!) and we learn the answer:

it was a gift from her mother on her 15th birthday. which i can and Will analyze in depth at a later date. the gift of a religious object to further solidify the need from her family to be Perfect and never fail and do exactly as they say. but scully choosing to wear it anyway, decades later, to hold her family close, no matter the pain of disappointing them. when she mindlessly reaches for the pendant to roll in her fingers, does she feel the warmth of family or the chill of their expectations she can never meet?

but. mulder tries to give her the necklace. and she says that he can give it to her when he finds her. not if. when.

he goes to a hill and looks up at the sky.

this episode was intense, and i will be gnawing on it like a bone for a while. seeing mulder and scully's mom together made me incredibly emo. seeing him break all the rules to find her also made me emo. trying to figure out if skinner is a real one and the ratio to which alex is genuinely evil vs just stupid were some serious cases of mental chess. and duane. we all wanna know what his deal is. and where is alex! he doesn't have to come back, don't get me wrong, but... did he fall off the face of the earth? go back to massachusetts for a dunkin run? i know that smug new englander look he has about him. don't sit here and tell me he grew up in kansas i won't buy it.

anyway, i saw the description of the next episode- so we're going back to an x file. i find it hard to imagine that mulder will have emerged from bloodhound mode by then, so maybe he thinks it's connected somehow and will go on a quest for answers in that direction- a vampire direction? hmm. guess i'll just have to tune back in!

[unopenablebox]

anyway i spent too much time reading offbe/at wedding and now i’m involuntarily scripting out my online cancellation in a universe where i for some reason send in our wedding to them to profile but get called out for asking them not to refer to it or us as “queer” anywhere in the article

[rowenasamuel]

oof

[coldforestnight]

I <3 how on the first viewing of stoker it's impossible to tell what India actually feels for uncle Charlie right up until she shoots him through the neck

[narutosfrogwallet]

i think my biggest... not mistake? but i can't think of a better word? in my transition right now is constantly searching/checking for gender euphoria when i just feel 100 times more comfortable in my skin now than i did pre-t, and that's ENOUGH. like i'm not weeping for joy every single day over how my body looks (especially since changes will be more gradual from here on out) but i can look in the mirror and recognize myself a little bit more every day and that's valuable.

[ourceliumnetwork]

you know what. i like being me.

i like experimenting with my look. i like figuring out what makes me smile when i look in the mirror even when i don't feel very good otherwise.

i like knowing how to fix when I'm having issues with it too. I like feeling comfortable in my skin.

I like being trans. I like being myself. Whatever that is at the moment. I like my gender, nebulous and fluid as it is. I like all of me and all we do to make us work as a unit.

I like feeling like a person.

[theworstcreature]

Idk why it always comes as such a shock to me when a friend shows that they do, in fact, trust me as if I don’t actively try so hard to be someone who cares so much

[thebluebygracieabrams]

.

[neo--queen--serenity]

There’s just something extremely touching about watching Izutsumi work through a wide range of emotions when she sees Marcille cry for the first time.

She’s sleeping on Marcille’s lap when it happens—something she hadn’t willingly done since her human consciousness was subdued in the Golden Country.

Izutsumi was initially very embarrassed when she remembered showing Marcille such unbridled affection when her monster (cat) side had full control in Melini. But now, shortly after, she did it again without any fuss, seemingly over this embarrassment.

But when she notices Marcille crying—not crying expressive tears over a situation with low stakes, but tears of real sorrow and loss—Izutsumi physically recoils.

She reacts with the childlike fear and panic that one feels when someone they heavily rely on and trust (like a parent or teacher) shows vulnerability, doubt, or weakness. She lashes out, trying to use words of reproach to get Marcille to stop crying. Or, in childlike terms, to try to force Marcille’s pain go away.

When that doesn’t work, we see her physically struggle as she tries to sit by and wait it out. But Izutsumi can’t do it.

Marcille’s pain causes her so much intense distress that Izutsumi immediately offers physical affection as a response—something she has not done for anyone up to this point.

When Senshi told the party about his traumatic backstory, Izutsumi did not touch him. She did support him, tried to offer words of comfort, but she did not embrace him like the others did. Maybe she didn’t know how; maybe she didn’t have a proper example on what comforting someone looked like. But she saw all three of them reach for Senshi, she saw them hold him in their arms, and anchor him as he cried.

This is the first time another party member has cried out of sadness since that moment. It’s possible that she saw how the others helped Senshi, and maybe, subconsciously, she saw that it worked. That it made him feel better.

She is clearly unused to it, and has her own rollercoaster of emotions as Marcille gratefully accepts the comfort Izutsumi is offering her. But it helps. It helps Marcille immediately, and Izutsumi knows this.

These acts of vulnerability are foreign to her, and thus make her feel uncomfortable, but she lets Marcille lean on her afterwards anyway. She wanted Marcille to be okay, wanted it so badly, that she accidentally overcame an emotional obstacle she never even knew she had.

[mwphisto]

Rafayel’s bitterness suddenly makes so much sense — and even though the myth isn’t released yet I feel like the trailer gave more than enough to allude to several things.

I suppose bitter might be a harsh term to describe things, but Rafayel harbors this level of brattiness. An over dramatic flare that leads many in this fandom to portray him as childish and/or flamboyant.

This idea that he’s dramatic and giving MC a hard time just because… that’s what “bitterness” I’m referring too.

Not only did MC sacrifice herself in order to make sure the sea god does not meet his fated doom — she used his own weapon and forced his hand to grasp it as she drove it into her chest and effectively severed their bond.

There is such a range of emotion on Rafayel’s face in that time span — disbelief, anger, heartbreak. That quick defiance as he lunges for her, cradling her as he proclaims he won’t let things end like this. And yet she’s dying fast, too fast for him to even attempt anything.

The horrified heartbreak that flashes in his eyes when he realizes there is nothing he can do as her eyes close for the last time and her body goes limp. The god of the sea was unable to save his beloved and defy his fate.

Clinging to her body as the tale writes itself exactly as promised, she becomes one with the sea and vanishes from his embrace. Now, his beloved is truly gone.

Rafayel sits there in shock, tears sliding down his cheeks and dropping into the water below him. Not only did it happen, but it happened so quickly that his mind is reeling to catch up. One minute you were alive, you were warm and breathing and real before his eyes.

Sixty seconds later you are gone, a mirage in the ocean water, as if you never existed in the first place. Then, after all that, you wait 800 years to return to him.

If I were Rafayel, I’d be pretty bitter too.

I didn’t plan on pulling for this myth, especially since a multi banner is following… but the trailer has me so captivated that I can’t stop thinking about it. As a Sylus main I must stay strong because I can’t let my 100% streak die… but Raffie—

[ama3003]

could I request a Bucky x Reader where they both have secret crushes on each other, but Bucky is super cold, quiet, and avoids her because he doesn’t know how to talk to her and thinks he’ll mess it up? He mostly just stares. Reader (probs another hero) is convinced he hates her and feels hurt, and one day Bucky accidentally overhears her crying or venting about how rejected she feels. Some emotional tension and hurt/comfort would be amazing.

The Quiet Between Us

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! Thank you for your request!!! I had so much fun writing! Hope you enjoy!

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Falling for Bucky was the easy part. The silence that came after—the distance, the rejection—hurt the most.

A.N: I know it's been a minute--thank you for your patience. I’ve been dealing with some serious writer’s block lately, and honestly, I just didn’t know what to write. I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things and trying to work through all your amazing requests as best as I can!

You always wanted to be part of something bigger.

Not in the way that meant headlines or medals or praise. You just wanted belonging. A place where your name wasn’t just whispered in fear or forgotten entirely. A place where you mattered—not for what you could do, but for who you were.

More than anything, you wanted a family.

The kind that stays. The kind that sees all your sharp edges and doesn’t run away. People who offer soft places to land after the world has chewed you up and spit you out.

You never thought you’d find it in the Red Room. But life doesn’t always make sense, and even in that cold, brutal place, something warm found its way in. Yelena.

You both were really close until Natasha's death. You hadn’t seen her since the funeral. Not until the day Alexei barreled through your apartment door like a brick wall in red spandex, muttering something about Valentina and needing your help. You tried to say no. He didn’t give you the chance.

And somehow… just like that… you were part of something new.

The New Avengers.

You didn’t feel like one. Not really. You still flinched at loud noises. Still checked the exits in every room. You were trained to disappear, not to stand in the light.

Now? You were under it.

It was overwhelming—being seen. Being known. But at least you weren’t alone.

You have a family. Yelena found her way back to you. You both would sit on the kitchen floor at 2 a.m. with melting ice cream and old music playing from the speaker. 

Alexei was a walking headache, but his heart was oddly pure. He treated you like his own, even if he had the emotional range of a brick.

Walker taught you control. He wasn’t soft, but he was fair. He never looked at you like a weapon. He looked at you like someone trying.

Ava didn’t talk much. But when she did, her words hit deep. You’d sit with her on the roof and watch the lights blink in the distance, sharing quiet like it was something sacred.

Valentina was… complicated. But she never asked you to be anything but yourself. You weren't sure if she cared or if she just enjoyed your presence. Either way, she kept you close.

Then sweet, quiet Bob. You’d sit with him in the sunroom where he painted—messy, colorful things that didn’t make much sense to anyone but him.

And then… there was him.

Bucky Barnes.

You knew of him before you met him. The whispers. The ghost stories. The living weapon with a metal arm and a haunted past.

You didn’t expect to fall in love the second you saw him—but life never cared about your plans.

He was quieter than you imagined. And softer. Not soft in the way that made him weak—soft in the way that made you ache. Everything about him felt careful. Deliberate. 

But when he looked at you? God. It was like time stopped.

You touched once. Just briefly. His fingers brushing your wrist after the fight with Sentry. He pulled you up and out of there. Your skin burned where he touched you—and not in a painful way. In a real way. Like something inside you had just… clicked.

You started to notice the little things. The way he waited for you at breakfast without saying it. The way his fingers would twitch toward yours like he was holding himself back. The way his voice softened when he said your name.

You started to let yourself believe he felt it too.

And then… he changed.

One day he was there—present, engaged, kind. The next, he was gone. Not physically, but emotionally. He avoided you. Stopped meeting your eyes. Conversations became one-word answers. He started taking different shifts. Leaving the room when you entered it.

At first, you told yourself you were imagining it. That he was just tired. Or overwhelmed.

But weeks passed. And the silence grew heavier.

You still have your new family. You still paint with Bob on Tuesdays and laugh with Yelena when she teases Walker too hard.

But there’s a hole in your chest where Bucky used to be.

You try to be strong. You’ve been through worse. You know how to survive without love.

But you don’t want to.

You just wanted someone to stay. To see the bruises under the surface and not flinch. To choose you when things got hard.

Maybe that was too much to hope for.

The team was spread across the common area—half on the couch, others in mismatched chairs and the edge of the coffee table. 

You sat tucked into the far end of the couch, elbow resting on the armrest, staring blankly ahead—your mind somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.

“Y/N.”

You flinched at the sound of your name. Your head snapped up, heart skipping. Yelena was watching you from across the room, brows slightly drawn.

“Can you stay with us, please?” she said, giving you a soft smile. “This is important.”

You blinked, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She exchanged a look with Walker before continuing. “Val wants someone in Sam Wilson’s new group.”

That made everyone pause.

“She thinks they’re planning something bigger than they’re letting on,” Yelena added, pacing a little as she spoke. “We’ve been left out of too much lately. And she’s worried that we’re going to get blindsided. She wants us to be prepared. It could give us more credibility.”

The room fell into a tense hush.

Ava was the first to break it. “So… she wants one of us to spy?”

“Technically? She’d probably call it ‘intel gathering,’” Yelena replied, dryly. “But yeah. Someone would need to be on the inside. Get close. Listen.”

Walker frowned. “So… what, we’re voting someone off the island now?”

Yelena looked at you.

Your stomach dropped.

“She’s already picked,” Yelena said quietly. “Val thinks it should be Y/N.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“She said it makes the most sense. You’re the least visible. No PR trail. You’ve stayed in the shadows. You can slip in naturally, you’ll just have to pull the ‘I never fit in’ card She thinks the transition would be believable.”

You didn’t know what to say. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, some curious, some hesitant. But then—

“No.”

The word was sharp, sudden, and heavy.

Everyone turned.

Bucky stood stiff near the back wall, arms folded, his eyes locked—not on you—but on Yelena.

“She’s not doing it,” he said flatly.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“She’s not joining Sam’s group,” Bucky repeated, tone cold. “That’s not happening.”

Yelena raised a brow. “It’s not really your decision, Barnes.”

“She’s not doing it,” he said again, louder now. “She’s not playing double agent. She’s not pretending to be something she’s not. And she’s not putting herself in that kind of danger.”

Your heart started to thud against your chest.

You stood slowly. “Why the hell are you talking about me like I’m not here?”

Still, he wouldn’t look at you.

“Bucky, seriously,” Ava said cautiously, sensing the tension rising, “you’re kind of… overstepping—”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped, jaw tight. “This is a bad idea. I won’t sit here and let it happen.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you muttered, stepping forward. “What is your problem?”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you think I can’t handle it? That I’m what—fragile? Not cut out for this?”

Yelena’s voice cut in, trying to keep things from escalating. “She’s the best fit for this. That’s what Val said. And she wants to do it.”

“No,” Bucky said again, and this time there was something sharper under the surface—panic, maybe. “It’ll be someone else. Not her.”

You stared at him, eyes burning now.

“If you’ve got a problem with me taking this mission,” you said, voice rising, “then have the balls to say it to my face.”

His eyes flicked to you. Finally. Just for a second.

“I’m calling Val,” he said flatly. “This isn’t happening.”

That was it. The breaking point.

You stepped toward him. “Goddammit, Buck, look at me! You’re standing over there acting like you care—like you have a say in what I can and can’t do—but you won’t even look at me.”

The room had gone still. No one moved. The air felt thick.

His jaw clenched. His fists were curled tightly at his sides.

You dropped your voice, anger bleeding into hurt. “Why don’t you think I can do this? What is it really? Is it because I’m not good enough? Because I’m not you?”

He said nothing. His silence screamed louder than any insult could have.

You laughed bitterly, trying to hold it together. “You know what hurts the most? Not that you don’t believe in me. Not even that you’re trying to control this. It’s that I thought… I thought you saw me. This is the first time in weeks where you actually acknowledged my existence let alone actually talk to me. And now I realize you’ve just been looking past me the whole time.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a second—just a second—you saw something flicker there. Guilt. Fear. Maybe even something like regret.

But he didn’t say a word.

He just turned and walked out.

The door shut behind him like a punch to the chest.

You stood there, frozen in place. The silence in the room was deafening.

No one knew what to say.

You glanced at the others—Yelena’s mouth slightly open like she was holding back something, Ava looking uncomfortable, Bob frowning in that quiet way he always did, his sketchbook forgotten.

You swallowed hard, blinked quickly to keep the tears down, and ran a hand through your hair.

“I’ll do it,” you said, voice thin and sharp. “Tell Val I’m in.”

And then you turned, leaving the stunned silence behind you as you walked down the hall toward your room.

The door closed softly behind you.

But the ache in your chest didn’t.

You avoided Bucky.

He avoided you, too—but in the quiet way only he could. Slipping into rooms right after you’d left. Sitting on the opposite side of the table during meals. Eyes flickering to you, then away like it hurt to look.

But this time… you didn’t chase after him.

You were tired. Tired of caring so deeply only to be shut down like you didn’t matter. Like the moments you’d shared—those long glances, the quiet jokes, the almost-touches—were just in your head.

So you stopped hoping he’d say something. You stopped checking doorways for him, stopped waiting for your phone to light up with his name. He made it clear in that meeting. You were a liability to him. Not worth the risk.

You went through the motions: trained, ate, slept, locked yourself in your room for most of the day.

And now?

Now you were curled up in the sunroom with Bob, your head resting on your arms, your brush barely touching the canvas in front of you. He was working on something chaotic again—angry reds bleeding into deep purples, gold flicked across it like a desperate afterthought.

He didn’t ask why your eyes were glassy. Why your hands were shaking.

He just handed you a clean brush.

And for a little while, you let yourself just be. No pressure to explain the lump in your throat. No questions about your silence.

Just messy strokes. Quiet breath. Stillness.

Then came the tears.

They started slow—just a few that slipped down without permission. Then more. And more. Until you were shaking, tears falling so fast you had to put the brush down, covering your face with your sleeve.

Bob didn’t say anything. He just moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, warm and solid.

“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” he murmured, rubbing your back. “He’s why you’re like this.”

You nodded, choking on the truth in your throat.

“I thought…” you started, swallowing hard, “I thought we were something. We were getting close. He made me think he felt something too.”

Bob listened.

“And then it’s like a switch flipped. Now he barely looks at me. I—I don’t even think he respects me as part of the team.”

You pulled away slightly, wiping your eyes. “He thinks I’m a mess. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid trying to play hero.”

“That’s not true,” Bob said quietly.

“I like him. A lot. More than I should. But this? I can’t keep feeling like this. Like I’m not enough for him to even talk to.”

There was silence.

“Maybe the mission will help,” you said after a while. “Some space. Maybe I’ll finally stop feeling this way.”

“Or maybe it’ll make it worse,” Bob said gently.

You let out a watery laugh. “Thanks. Really uplifting.”

“I mean, ice cream’s still on the table,” he offered with a small smile. “I’ll get Yelena.”

You nodded, trying to pull yourself back together.

What you don’t see—what neither of you notice—is the shadow outside the doorway. Listening.

Bucky.

He didn’t come here to eavesdrop. He came to talk to Bob. Because Bob was the only one who wouldn’t make it a big thing. The only one who might actually help him sort through the mess in his chest.

But he hadn’t expected you to be here.

He definitely hadn’t expected to hear you crying over him.

And now that he has, he can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t unhear the words that are tearing him apart.

God, no. That wasn’t what he wanted.

He thought he was protecting you. He thought if he kept his distance, he wouldn’t ruin things—wouldn’t ruin you.

But instead, he’s the reason you’re crying into someone else’s shoulder.

He presses a hand to his chest, trying to ground himself. Trying not to panic.

He wants you. He’s always wanted you.

But wanting has never led to good things in his life. People he loves leave. Or die. Or get hurt.

And if he lets you in—really lets you in—what happens when you disappear too?

Still. As much as he wants to turn around, to pretend he didn’t hear any of it…

He walks in.

You freeze when you hear the door open.

Standing there like a ghost. Hands shoved in his pockets, face unreadable, but eyes… hurting.

“Can I talk to her?” he asked. His voice was quieter than usual. Almost unsure.

Bob looked at you. You hesitated, then gave a small nod.

Bob gave Bucky a hard look on his way out—something between be gentle and don’t screw this up—and closed the door behind him.

Silence.

You didn’t look at Bucky. Just grabbed a tissue and wiped your face.

“If you’re here to say I’m not ready again, just save it,” you said, voice rough. “I’m going on the mission. You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not here for that,” he said.

You stood, crossing your arms over your chest. “Then what? Here to tell me you were just looking out for the team? That it wasn’t personal?”

He flinched. “No. It was personal. That’s the problem.”

You blinked at him.

“I like you too,” he said suddenly, his voice almost breaking. “I do. I did. I have—since the beginning.”

You froze.

“What?” you whispered.

“I like you,” he said again, more softly this time. “A lot. And it scared the hell out of me.”

You stared at him, jaw clenched. “So you humiliate me? In front of everyone?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly. “I was trying to push you away.”

You laughed, cold and bitter. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I thought if I kept my distance, maybe it’d go away. Or maybe you’d move on. Because if you got too close—if you actually started to matter—and then something happened to you—” He cut himself off, eyes full of something broken. “I wouldn’t survive that.”

Your chest ached.

“You don’t get to decide how close I get,” you said tightly. “And you sure as hell don’t get to decide how strong I am. You don’t get to make me feel small just because you’re scared.”

“I know,” he said. “I know I messed up. I fucked it up completely. I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I see that now. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—needed to say it.”

He stepped closer, hands trembling slightly.

“I see you,” he said. “You’re not weak. You’re not reckless. You’re one of the strongest people on this team and I had no right to act like you weren’t.”

You looked down, lip trembling.

“And I miss you,” he said quietly. “Every day I ignored you, I missed you. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was lose you.”

You didn’t speak.

“I don’t deserve you,” he added. “But I want to try. I want to make it right. Even if that means starting over. Even if that means starting as friends.”

Your voice came out small. “You really hurt me, Bucky.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll spend however long it takes proving I can be better.”

You looked up at him. He was watching you like you were something sacred. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to breathe in your direction.

“I’m still going on the mission,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I’m coming back.”

“You better,” he said, a small, broken smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got months of groveling to do.”

“You do,” you said, voice softer now. “And I’m not making it easy.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You hesitated. “Friends first.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” he said. “As long as I get to be near you again.”

You sighed, exhaustion still heavy in your bones, but something in your chest—something warm—cracked through the ache like sunlight through storm clouds.

“You’re buying the ice cream,” you muttered, voice still thick but a little lighter.

Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Obviously.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause that held weight. Like both of you were standing at the edge of something fragile and real.

And then, without a word, he stepped forward.

Slowly. Cautiously.

He didn’t pull you into his chest or hold you too tightly like he used to—not yet. He just opened his arms.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

And then you stepped in.

His arms wrapped around you carefully, like you were still hurting—but like he wanted to be the one who helped carry it. You pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his breath catching a little as he held you like he was afraid to let go.

Not a romantic hug. Not yet.

But something even more intimate.

A promise.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again against your hair.

You didn’t answer, just closed your eyes and let yourself be held—for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. And for the first time in just as long, it didn’t feel like you were breaking.

It felt like the start of healing. Slow. Earned. Real.

****

Thank you so much for all the follows, kind messages, and lovely comments in the meantime. I see them all, and I’m genuinely so grateful for every one of you.

Your support means the world. More coming soon <3

[cbeargyu]

lettre pour toi

summary: a shy high school senior accidentally slips a love letter into the wrong locker, thinking it belongs to her crush park sunghoon — but instead, it ends up in the hands of lee heeseung, a notorious delinquent who takes the letter seriously and declares them a couple on the spot, starting an unexpected and chaotic love story.

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre: high school au, romance, fluff, crack, slowburn, light angst.

warnings: delinquent!heeseung, possessive behavior, kissing, stolen first kiss, mild language, emotional tension, misunderstandings, power imbalance.

wc: 5k

love was in the air at mok-hae high school, quite literally, and maybe even overwhelmingly so. the long-awaited valentine’s day festival had finally returned after years of being nothing more than a forgotten tradition, and this year, it felt like the entire campus had bloomed with rose petals and heart-shaped confessions. students wandered the decorated halls hand-in-hand, lockers were covered in pastel-colored post-its with anonymous messages, and every classroom buzzed with excitement and hushed whispers about who had confessed to who. it was only halfway through the day, and already a third of the school had somehow ended up with an official partner, flowers in hand and bright smiles on their faces.

and you? well, you had made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t let this day end like all the others — watching from the sidelines with a heart full of longing and a mouth too afraid to speak. no, this time would be different. this time you were going to confess. and not to just anyone — to him. park sunghoon.

he was a year older, part of the senior class, and although you’d barely spoken more than a few words to him since you met, he had quietly occupied the center of your world for longer than you cared to admit. tall, graceful, effortlessly charming with that soft black hair and soft eyes that somehow managed to look cold and warm at the same time, he was the kind of boy you only read about in shojo manga or saw staring out the windows in coming-of-age dramas.

girls liked him, boys respected him, and teachers always gave him that subtle look of admiration. but you? you worshipped him. silently, from afar. like a secret you folded and refolded in your chest so many times it had started to fray around the edges. he was everything you weren’t — confident, eloquent, easy to notice — while you were soft-spoken, painfully shy, the kind of girl who always chose the back corner seat and barely raised her hand in class. even your friends sometimes forgot you were in the room unless you were directly spoken to.

you remembered the exact moment your feelings for sunghoon began — it had been almost a year ago, a rainy monday afternoon when you had clumsily dropped your entire backpack just as the dismissal bell rang. your notebooks had scattered across the hallway, papers soaked in the puddles of muddy water students had tracked in, and no one had stopped. no one, except him. sunghoon had crouched down without a word, helped you gather everything with quiet precision, and gently handed you your favorite pen, the one you thought you'd lost, as if it were something precious.

he hadn’t smiled, not really, but he did meet your eyes and said, "be careful next time, yeah?" before disappearing into the crowd like some angel sent to rescue you for no reason at all. your heart hadn’t been the same since.

so now here you were, clutching the result of three sleepless nights — a love letter. a real, handwritten, hopelessly sincere love letter on soft pink paper, tucked inside a plain white envelope decorated with heart-shaped stamps you had spent an embarrassing amount of time aligning perfectly. it was all there, every single one of your feelings spelled out like an open wound, raw and trembling. how you’d admired him from afar, how much that single moment of kindness meant to you, how much you dreamed of him possibly — maybe — liking you back. you hadn’t dared to sign it with your full name, but you hoped he’d know. or maybe you hoped he wouldn’t. you didn’t know which would be worse.

"wait— a letter? you’re seriously going to give him a letter?" yoojung’s voice was almost a screech, her eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline as she stared at you with a look of horror. she had nearly combusted when you showed her the envelope, her hands flailing like you had just told her you were about to perform open-heart surgery on yourself in front of the entire school. you felt your chest tighten and the tears sting the back of your eyes, your already-fragile courage crumbling under the weight of her reaction. it wasn’t even her fault — you knew this about yourself. you were sensitive. too sensitive. years of being teased, of being told you were too quiet, too weird, too invisible had turned your shyness into something permanent. you were the kind of person who apologized for existing too loudly. how could you ever hope someone like sunghoon would even remember your face?

"i can’t just say it to his face! i’d start stuttering and then probably start crying in front of him, and then i’d die, yoojung!" your voice cracked, cheeks burning in humiliation, hands tightening around the letter like it was both your salvation and your doom. you could already imagine it — your voice barely audible, his polite but confused expression, the silence stretching too long before he gave you that gentle, apologetic rejection that would haunt you for the rest of the school year. yoojung sighed, dramatically, tossing her head back like she was starring in her own soap opera, but you knew she didn’t mean it cruelly. she just didn’t understand. she was loud and brave and spoke without fear. you weren’t like that. never had been. and maybe never would be.

it had taken you everything — absolutely everything — to walk down the quiet corridor, envelope clutched tightly to your chest like it was a ticking bomb rather than a simple piece of paper filled with shaky handwriting and hearts drawn in red ink. locker number 151 sat at the very end of the hallway, beneath the slanted sunlight coming through the windows, looking strangely ordinary for something that belonged to the boy who had taken up residence in your dreams every single night.

you told yourself, again and again, that no one would be there to see you, that no one would notice or care, that it was just a letter and people left letters all the time, especially on valentine’s day. but your body refused to believe your thoughts — your hands trembled uncontrollably, your knees felt weak, and your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape. it was pathetic.

even now, in this empty hallway, with no one watching, the simple act of slipping a piece of paper through a locker vent made you feel like you were committing some kind of crime. you hesitated. once. twice. three times. until finally, with one last breath and eyes squeezed shut, you shoved it in through the thin metal slit and turned on your heel, running back toward your classroom like your life depended on it.

you had told your teacher you needed to use the bathroom, a lie that came too easily when your stomach was already twisted in knots. luckily, the hallway had been deserted, a rare miracle in such a busy school, and no one had seen you sneak out or rush back.

you reached the physics lab just as the bell rang, your breath caught in your throat, palms damp, the image of locker 151 burned behind your eyelids. the festival was over now — the booths were being taken down, students were returning to their regular classes, and reality was setting back in like a cold breeze after a dream. it was done. the letter had been delivered. whether sunghoon would read it or toss it without a second glance… well, that wasn’t something you could control anymore.

but the shaking didn’t stop. even as you sat back in your seat, trying to focus on the board, your fingers still twitched, your heart still raced. it was stupid, really. you hadn’t even spoken to him. you hadn’t done anything brave. and yet it had felt like tearing your own chest open and handing your soul to someone who probably wouldn’t even look at it. part of you wanted to cry — not because anything had gone wrong, but because even this, this tiny, invisible thing, had taken so much out of you. what kind of girl breaks down from something so small? what kind of girl can’t even confess properly?

you were still deep in those thoughts, staring blankly at your half-scribbled notes, when it happened.

"YAH!" the voice was loud, sharp, cutting through the ambient hallway noise like a blade. you barely registered it until another voice followed — harsher this time, irritated. "why the hell are you ignoring me? i’m talking to you!"

a loud thud echoed against the wall next to your head, and you flinched violently, your body freezing on instinct as you turned to find the source of the sound. there, towering just a few inches away, stood a boy you had never seen before. his hand was still pressed against the wall, palm flat where he had slammed it next to you, caging you in with his presence. his eyes were dark, unreadable, but piercing in a way that made your breath hitch. something about him was wrong, or maybe just too much — like staring into the sun for too long. he wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but there was a curve to his lips that felt amused, twisted, like he was already in on some joke you hadn’t been told yet.

“you’re y/n, right?” he asked, voice smooth but indifferent, almost bored as his gaze slowly traveled down the length of your body and back up to your face. you nodded before you could stop yourself, throat too tight to speak. your heart pounded again — not with nerves this time, but with something closer to fear.

he clicked his tongue, then reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out something that made your stomach drop straight through the floor.

"‘i’ve liked you for so long… your eyes, your smile, the way you helped me that day… please, just once, give me a chance to be by your side. i promise i’ll make you happy…’” he read in a flat, mocking voice, and your blood ran cold. your letter. your letter. in his hands. being read aloud like a joke. your eyes widened in horror as you stared at the page — the pastel paper, the little doodles, the goddamn bunny stickers. this was supposed to be private. it wasn’t even his. how the hell had he gotten it?

“wh–what the—? give that back!” your voice cracked, raw and panicked, but when you lunged forward to grab the letter from his hands, he casually stepped back, raising it just out of reach like he was playing with a child. your hands fisted in frustration, tears welling up again, but this time they weren’t from shyness — they were from rage. humiliation. shame. he was laughing now, not loudly, but with a quiet scoff that made your skin crawl.

“so you did write it,” he muttered, stepping in close again, so close that his breath hit your cheek and you instinctively leaned back. “cute. kind of dumb, but cute.”

“i said give it back! that’s not yours!” you shoved at his chest with both hands, and he finally slipped the letter into his back pocket like it meant nothing, like your heart wasn’t bleeding inside that fold of paper.

“you’re so average it hurts,” he said, eyes still locked on yours with a strange intensity. “but sure, why not. i’ll go out with you.”

you blinked, stunned. “what—?”

he winked, shameless. “you heard me.”

then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, trembling, humiliated, confused, and still empty-handed. you didn’t even know his name. you didn’t even understand what had just happened.

you didn’t remember how you made it back to the classroom — just that one moment you were standing frozen in the hallway, the aftershock of humiliation still rattling through your bones, and the next you were pushing the door open with trembling hands, your head low, your throat tight, your eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill the second anyone looked at you. yoojung was the first to notice the state you were in. she turned to you with a lighthearted comment already forming on her lips, but the second she saw your face, the words died in her throat. instead, she stood up, eyebrows knitting with concern as she grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the back of the classroom, where hyojung was hunched over her notes.

"what happened?" yoojung asked, voice sharp but careful, her grip tightening slightly around your sleeve as you sat down next to her with shaking knees, trying to breathe through the panic swelling in your chest. hyojung looked up too, alarmed, and you hated the way their eyes widened when they really saw you — the red around your eyes, the way you couldn’t quite meet their gaze, the way your hands fisted in your skirt like you were trying to stop them from flying to your face.

"he—he took it," you croaked, voice barely audible, and even though you tried to steady it, your lips quivered. "he has my letter. he read it out loud. he… he said he’d go out with me. but i— i didn’t even write it for him."

yoojung blinked, her mouth opening slightly. "wait— wait, slow down. who took your letter?"

"i don’t know his name," you confessed, swallowing hard, your voice trembling more with every word. "he just… he showed up. he slammed the wall and scared me half to death. he said my name like he already knew me, and then he pulled out the letter— my letter— and started reading it, right in front of me. and then he said... he said i was too normal, but he’d date me anyway. and then he walked away. like it was nothing. like—like i was nothing.”

your voice cracked again, and hyojung instinctively reached across the table to squeeze your wrist gently, her thumb rubbing a small circle on your skin. yoojung was already digging for tissues in her bag, pressing one into your hand as you tried to hide your face in your elbow.

"jesus…" yoojung muttered under her breath, her tone darkening with anger. "what the hell. describe him. did he say his name at all? maybe he’s from another class—"

you shook your head weakly. "no… i’ve never seen him before. he was tall. kind of broad-shouldered, but not huge. he had black hair, like… kind of messy. his eyes were really intense. he just stared at me, and it felt like i couldn’t move. like i was frozen. he had this— this smirk. like he was enjoying it."

the room felt too bright, the voices around you too loud. even though you were surrounded by people, all you could feel was that stupid, smug look on his face, the weight of his body so close to yours, the letter being read like a script in some cruel prank show. you wanted to disappear. vanish. melt through the floor. you hadn’t asked for this.

"wait a second," yoojung said suddenly, narrowing her eyes. "start from the beginning. where did you put the letter?"

"his locker. i— i snuck out during class and put it in locker 151. that’s sunghoon’s locker, right? i mean, i thought it was. i’ve been walking past it for months now…"

"locker 151…?" yoojung turned slowly to look at hyojung, who was now frowning deeply, tapping her chin as if trying to recall something.

"i’m in the 140s," hyojung said. "mine’s 148. and i think… if i’m not wrong, 151 doesn’t belong to park sunghoon. sunghoon’s locker is like… down the other wing, near the gym. the upperclassmen lockers are split by hallway."

your heart dropped. no. no, that couldn’t be right. you’d walked past that locker for weeks — you knew where sunghoon usually stopped, where he tied his shoelaces, where he sipped juice before practice. it had to be his.

"then whose locker is 151?" yoojung asked cautiously.

hyojung paused for a moment, then her expression darkened. "i’m not one hundred percent sure, but i think it belongs to lee heeseung. class 4. you’ve heard of him, right?"

you shook your head, mouth dry. "no… i don’t know any lee heeseung…"

they both looked at each other, their expressions shifting from confusion to dread in seconds.

"shit," yoojung whispered. "that guy. i’ve heard about him. he got suspended two weeks ago. got into a fight in the boys’ bathroom with one of the second-years. busted the other guy’s nose. i thought he dropped out or something. but he’s back?"

"yeah," hyojung added, voice low. "people say he’s… trouble. like, the kind you don’t want reading your love letters."

you stared down at your hands, your brain trying to piece together the horror of it all. it wasn’t even sunghoon’s locker. the letter had gone to the wrong person. and now heeseung thought you were in love with him. that the letter was for him.

you felt sick.

"you guys have to help me," you said suddenly, your voice shaking harder than before. "please— please help me. i don’t know what to do. i’m so scared. he’s going to think i’m serious. he’s going to mock me even more— and he won’t even give it back— and i didn’t mean to—"

"hey, hey— it’s okay," yoojung said quickly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close as hyojung moved to your other side. "we’ll figure something out. maybe… maybe you can just talk to him. explain that it was a mistake. tell him the letter wasn’t meant for him."

"he didn’t even let me speak," you murmured into your sleeve. "he wouldn’t listen. he smirked. he said… he said i was ‘too normal’ but he’d go out with me anyway. like it was a joke. like i was some boring girl that didn’t matter."

they didn’t know what to say to that. they just sat with you in silence, the weight of it all sinking in. you didn’t know lee heeseung. but now, because of one stupid locker mix-up, he knew you.

you should’ve waited a little longer. maybe asked yoojung to walk out with you or just stayed inside until most of the school was empty, but you were too anxious to think straight, too desperate to be away from everyone and forget the burning humiliation that had stained your entire afternoon. you clutched your bag close to your chest and kept your head down, pretending you were invisible as you moved with the crowd of students heading toward the gates. it was almost working. almost. you were just a few steps from freedom when—

"hey."

his voice, low and unmistakable, cut right through the noise of the hallway, making your blood run cold. your body stiffened as you caught a glimpse of him leaning casually against the front gate, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly like he’d been waiting specifically for you. your instinct screamed to run, to blend into the crowd and disappear, but the second you turned your head the other way and picked up your pace, you heard his footsteps—slow, heavy, deliberate—following behind.

you didn’t get far. his fingers hooked into the strap of your backpack, tugging you back without much effort, and you gasped, stumbling slightly as he pulled you to a stop. when you turned, he was right there, closer than you wanted, eyes sharp, brows knitted—not quite a glare, but certainly not a smile.

"what’s your deal?" he muttered, tilting his head. "first you write me a letter with all that cheesy, sappy crap, and now you’re acting like you don’t even know me?"

you opened your mouth to speak, to tell him—again—that it was a mistake, that the letter wasn’t meant for him, that you didn’t even know his name until today. but before the words could form, he cut you off.

"and just so you remember," he added, tapping the side of your head with two fingers in a way that made you flinch, "i already said yes. you confessed, i accepted, so we’re dating now. that’s how this stuff works, right?"

you blinked at him, completely at a loss. what. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks again, this time from a mix of panic and absolute disbelief. "w-we’re not dating! i didn’t— i mean, the letter wasn’t for—"

"yeah, yeah, excuses," he waved a hand dismissively, then started walking. you stood frozen for a second before realizing he wasn’t leaving—he was walking with you. "come on. i’ll walk you home."

"you don’t need to—" you began, trying to protest, but he suddenly reached out and grabbed your hand. your hand. like it was the most normal thing in the world. you immediately pulled back out of reflex.

he didn’t look surprised. only raised a brow and muttered, "fine. don’t hold my hand. we can do it the lame way." then, before you could react, he gripped your arm just above the elbow and started walking again, dragging you along like some stubborn little kid being pulled to detention.

"y-you don’t have to walk me— i don’t even live close—"

"shut up," he said flatly, not looking at you. "i asked you where your house is. you’re gonna show me or you want me to guess?"

your mouth opened and closed a few times, but ultimately you surrendered, muttering your address under your breath. he nodded, keeping his pace steady, still holding your arm as if afraid you’d try to bolt.

the walk wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity. the whole time, your brain was running laps trying to figure out what he wanted from you. was he mocking you? playing some kind of joke? trying to get back at you for the letter? his grip wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. still, he didn’t push or tease you as much as you expected, just walked quietly, sometimes glancing at you from the corner of his eye like he was thinking hard about something but refusing to say it out loud.

about halfway there, he suddenly stopped, causing you to stumble slightly. he released your arm and looked down at you with an unreadable expression.

"you don’t like being touched, huh?" he asked. there was no sarcasm in his voice, just a blunt observation.

you hesitated, then nodded. your skin was still tingling where his fingers had been, and not in a good way.

he let out a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets. "fine. i’ll walk next to you. happy?"

you blinked, unsure how to respond, and he began walking again, this time matching your pace instead of pulling you along. the silence returned, but it wasn’t heavy like before. if anything, it felt like a strange kind of… effort. like he was trying to not be too rough. which, for someone like him, probably took energy.

just as you were starting to feel slightly more at ease, he dropped another bomb on you.

"i get that holding hands is too soon or whatever," he said casually, looking ahead with a blank face. "but you better get used to the idea. later on, we’ll be doing more than that."

you stopped dead in your tracks, heart leaping into your throat. "w-what?!"

he turned to you slowly, eyes glinting with that same smug expression from earlier. "you heard me."

"what do you mean 'more'?!" your voice cracked, and he stepped closer, bending slightly so his face was only inches from yours. the way he smiled this time was less mocking, more… mischievous. and it made your stomach twist into a thousand knots.

"who knows?" he whispered, then chuckled softly, like he was enjoying the way your brain was spiraling. "kissing, maybe. sleepovers. sneaking out. things couples do."

your face was now burning red, and you nearly tripped trying to take a step back. "i-i told you— the letter wasn’t even for—"

"yeah, yeah," he said again, walking ahead like he didn’t care about your explanation, like he’d already decided it didn’t matter. "too late now. you picked me, so you’re stuck."

you wanted to scream. cry. evaporate. but deep down, beneath the panic and confusion, something else stirred. it wasn’t attraction—at least not yet—but something dangerous. something you didn’t understand. lee heeseung wasn’t just a school delinquent. he was unpredictable. and you’d just become his new favorite game.

you were still trying to recover from the sheer chaos that was walking beside lee heeseung — heart racing, cheeks on fire, trying to process the absurdity of everything he’d said — when he suddenly reached out again, this time gently tugging on your sleeve. “where is it?” he asked, glancing at the rows of quiet houses as the late afternoon sun started to melt into soft pinks and golds. you swallowed nervously and pointed to the corner, your voice barely above a whisper as you mumbled, “just past that turn, the grey gate with the vines.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, as you reached the last stretch of the sidewalk, he suddenly grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks with a firm pull. you gasped in surprise, turning to look at him in confusion just as he took a step forward and used his grip to pull you toward him — so suddenly, so carelessly, that you lost your balance and stumbled right into his chest. before you could fall completely, strong arms wrapped around your waist and caught you easily, holding you steady like it was the most natural thing in the world. you barely had time to blink, your face only inches from his shirt, your breath caught in your throat.

“h-heeseung?” you started, your voice small, confused, your body stiff against his. “what are you—”

but you didn’t get to finish the question. he was already lifting your chin gently with one hand, his fingers warm against your cheek, and before your brain could catch up with what was happening, his lips were on yours.

your eyes widened, breath trapped in your chest as time seemed to slow down around you. his kiss wasn’t tentative or shy — it was confident, unhesitating, filled with a kind of raw emotion that made your legs tremble. his hands were firm, one cupping your face with surprising care and the other still resting against your lower back as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss slowly, as if he was tasting you like something rare. your heart was thudding so loudly you could feel it in your ears, and your fingers clutched at the fabric of his uniform jacket, unsure whether to push him away or hold onto him tighter.

it was your first kiss. your very first kiss. and it had just been stolen by the most unpredictable boy in your entire school — the delinquent, the troublemaker, the one who scared half the campus and had probably never said anything sweet in his life. lee heeseung. of all people. and yet… it wasn’t harsh. it wasn’t cold. it was… dizzying. warm. overwhelming. and you hated that a part of you — a very quiet, hidden part — didn’t want it to stop.

when he finally pulled away, it wasn’t abrupt. he lingered close, your foreheads nearly touching, his breath mixing with yours in the tiny space between you. your lips were tingling, slightly swollen, and you lifted your hands to cover your mouth instinctively, your cheeks now painted with the deepest shade of red. your eyes were wide and glossy, still trying to process the heat, the softness, the unfamiliar ache in your chest.

heeseung looked pleased. no — he looked smug. he licked his bottom lip slowly, like he was savoring the taste, then murmured, “you taste sweet.”

you blinked rapidly, face aflame, your heart barely holding itself together inside your chest. “w-what—?!”

“mm, i wanna kiss you again,” he said bluntly, already leaning forward as if ready to do exactly that. you squeaked in panic, stepping back quickly and trying to escape, but he was faster, his arms wrapping around your waist again and pulling you close with one smooth motion that made your breath catch. “nah, don’t run,” he muttered against your temple, his tone lower now, almost affectionate, like he was getting used to having you near. “not when you look this cute after a kiss.”

you squirmed a little, still overwhelmed, but his arms were strong and warm around you, and somehow… you didn’t feel unsafe. flustered? yes. humiliated? probably. but not afraid. not when he held you like that — like you were his. like it was normal.

he dipped his head and kissed you again, this time slower, softer, like he wanted you to melt into it, and you nearly did. your hands hovered between your bodies before settling gently against his chest, not pushing away this time, just staying there, holding onto the reality that this was happening — this impossible, ridiculous moment was real.

and when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “you better get used to this,” you couldn’t even bring yourself to argue. you just stared at him, breathless, stunned, and a little enchanted despite yourself.

he let you go at last, stepping back with a lazy stretch and a grin that could only be described as devilish. “see you tomorrow, girlfriend,” he said casually, already walking away like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down. you stood frozen on the sidewalk, one hand still over your mouth, heart racing as you watched him disappear down the street.

and just like that, without meaning to, without even realizing what you’d started — you found yourself at the center of a strange, twisted, confusing story. a story that began not with a confession, but with a letter meant for someone else. a story that shouldn’t have happened.

and yet, it did.

that was how your very first love — strange and chaotic and sweet in the worst possible way — began with lee heeseung.

and somehow, you had a feeling… this was only the beginning.

[ladies-of-fortune]

Control your body language, control the world

Why is it so important?

Body language is everything. It’s the silent superpower that influences your success in every area of life. If you can't connect with people, progress becomes impossible. Whether it’s a first date, a job interview, or making friends, your body language does the heavy lifting. It’s not always what you know but who you know. Even if you have a one in a million idea, if no one likes you, it will stay stuck at zero.

We all unconsciously give off subtle signals that reveal our true thoughts and feelings. A mere twitch of someone’s face is all it takes to express displeasure. Mastering your own signals puts you in control of how others perceive you.

The resting bitch face conundrum

If your neutral expression looks angry, sad, or afraid, you have two options:

Adjust your behaviour to compensate - Put your energy into making sure your first impression negates the vibes your resting face gives off. Once you're on more comfortable terms, you can relax and people will know that expression is just your face.

Surgery - This is an option but it's a risky one. If you go down this route, I recommend getting a procedure to fix your mouth into a neutral position rather than a permanent smile. There's a chance you'll come out looking like the joker, and your range of emotions will be restricted.

Fake smiles are worse than not smiling

Please don't fake smile, it doesn't fool anyone. I've seen a fake smile directed at me that gave the distinct impression of an ape preparing to attack, and it's haunted me ever since. A genuine smile reaches your eyes and lights up your voice. It's an infectious, unconscious energy. If you can't muster a real smile, it's better to remain neutral and true to your emotions than have others detect a falsehood from you.

Be open with your body language

Don't mute your expressions and gestures. For some this may have arisen as a defence mechanism, but in adulthood it can make you appear unapproachable. Unlearning this takes time, but its worth it. Once you feel safe to express your true feelings, your authenticity will shine. Being yourself, regardless of others’ expectations, commands respect and attracts people who genuinely like you for you.

(Of course, being authentic doesn’t mean being a public menace. There’s a line.)

Win people over with your body language

Lean in slightly during conversations to show interest.

Nod or smile occasionally while the other person talks to encourage them to keep speaking.

Use your hands when you speak to display enthusiasm.

Don’t hide your hands—it makes people subconsciously think you’re up to something shady.

Maintain good eye contact. Too little, and you seem disinterested; too much, and you risk coming off as intense. Strike a balance by aiming for natural, consistent eye contact about 70% of the time, and break away occasionally to keep it casual.

Respect personal space. Standing too close can make people uncomfortable, while standing too far might seem aloof. Aim for about an arm’s length of distance and adjust based on the other person’s comfort level.

Learn to read others

Once you master your own body language, you can start picking up on what others are saying without words. Spot their tells, mirror their movements and like magic, you’ll become “one of them.” Without quite knowing why, people will feel comfortable around you. This makes any requests or difficult conversations you'll have with them in the future much easier.

Context is key

Body language isn’t one-size-fits-all. What works in a casual setting may not translate in a formal one. Leaning back in a chair might show relaxation with friends but could come across as disengaged in a job interview. Similarly, an enthusiastic wave is great for greeting friends but may seem unfocused in a serious business meeting.

Tailor your approach to the environment and the people you’re interacting with. A little adaptability goes a long way in ensuring your body language sends the message you want it to send.

[faeyun]

ˋ 𑁍 ⨾ THE HALL OF BLACK MOTH BRIDES 、 ❨ 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑟 ❩

ghosts were real, that’s one thing that you knew for certain. when you marry the charming park jongseong, he sweeps you away to his gothic mansion that he lives in with his sister and away from all the tragedies your old life has dealt you. but, soon you find out that jay and his sister, along with the sinking mansion, harbors secrets that are too dark to keep hidden beneath the red clay the mansion sits on. with your ghostly visions and newfound ability to communicate with the dead, you learn that not all ghosts are made up of flesh and blood.

❛ 박종성 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ 𓈒𓈒 ❨ 歌 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ❩ 𓄵 𝓯𝒕. optometrist!jake & lady jimin!jay’s twin sister (oc) 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗆𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖺𝗎, 𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗍!𝗃𝖺𝗒, 𝖺𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 ＆ 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝟣𝟫𝟢𝟢𝗌 𝖺𝗎 ✴︎ 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰… 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦 ＆ 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴／𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘫𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘣𝘢… 𓏸 12OO 𝗼𝗳 27,OOO ╱ 𝓶. list ╱ 𝗲𝘀𝘁. 𝗷𝘂𝗹𝘆 ？？？

( 𝓷 )。 aaaa here’s the teaser!! i’m so excited to write this, crimson peak is a movie i love so so much so i hope when this fic is finally released that i do it justice hehe~~ (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) let me know what you think of the teaser and if you’re excited for it!! enjoy!!! ♡♡♡ minors do not interact, you will be blocked. you must have an age listed on your profile for me to add you to the taglist.

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Ghosts are real. This much, you know.

Snow whips through your loose hair and makes your haggard breath cloud like smoke in front of your face, hiding the range of emotions your expression shifts between. You stare at your bloodied hand hovering in front of you and the ruined, bloodied sleeve of your white nightgown, nearly frozen tears falling down your even colder bloody cheeks. The snow paints the already bare scenery a hazy white, covering anything and everything in sight, save for one singular color that is too overwhelming not to be seen. One color that is forever burned into the deepest and darkest corners of your memory, and one you’d never ever forget.

A deep crimson red.

Your breath comes out shaky and you almost couldn’t feel the wild frigid air nipping at your fingertips and blood-splattered nose. Nor could you almost not feel the pain in your cheek from the deep gash across it. Almost. You inhale sharply, letting the newfound emotions settle and linger inside of you like the sun coming up over the horizon. A new dawn awaits over the peaks of the dark spires that you turn your back towards.

Finally, you breathe out a sigh of relief. This one more steady.

The first time you saw a ghost, you were ten years old. The year was eighteen eighty-seven and the memory of your mother was still fresh in your mind, and the heartbreak of losing her was at the forefront of it. You still couldn’t grasp the fact that she was actually gone, that you wouldn’t ever be able to see her again—snuggle up to her when you were scared or twirl in front of her with one of your new dresses that she had made especially for you.

Perhaps, at least you once thought, that this was all a manifestation of your grief.

You would never be able to say goodbye to her, would never hear her last words to you that weren’t through a handwritten note passed down to you from your father.

At least, that’s what you thought until the night your mother came back.

Rain fell down hard from the nighttime sky and you swore that the house shook with each growl of thunder. You huddled in your bed, scared out of your mind to even move. By now, you would have ran to your parents bedroom and your mother would’ve tucked you in between her and your father so you could sleep through the rest of the night. But, she wasn’t here anymore, and your father had barely left the room they once used to share since the funeral. The only time you saw him these days were when he was bidding you goodbye before going to work.

The clock loudly ticked from outside of your door and filled the silent room. You kept your eyes trained on the door instead of the shadows dancing along the green floral wallpaper of your bedroom. Tick-tock, tick-tock. It droned on endlessly and made your heart race more and more with each move of the hand.

You turned away from it finally, deciding to try and finally get some sleep, and to the wall. Your breathing refused to slow and the fact that your back was now turned to your surroundings scared you even more, but you were a big girl now, and you had to be brave without your mother’s help.

Clutching the big, ruffled collar of your white nightgown, you were about to close your eyes when you noticed that the ticking clock suddenly stopped. Behind you, the door to your bedroom creaked open slowly. You brought a hand to your mouth and covered it. Your heart raced more and you prayed that it was just your father or the housekeeper as tears began to well up in your eyes.

With bated breath, you turned to look at the door. It was opened to the hallway and as you sat up from your bed, you watched a shadow crawl against the furthest wall down it and to the clock at the end of it. Long, shadowed fingers were outstretched across it until the hallway was basked into darkness and a dark figure stepped forward.

It wore a black dress and a long, black tattered veil over its face. The breath was stolen completely from your lungs along with the words that were stuck in your throat. All you could do for a moment was watch the woman, ragged breaths leaving your parted lips as you tried to gain back the oxygen, as she got closer and closer.

At first, you thought she might’ve been the housekeeper before you looked more closely. The shadowed woman was transparent and with each step forward it was almost as if smoke curled from her ghastly body. Before she could step inside your room, you quickly turned away and curled yourself into a ball, your body shaking as your eyes screwed shut and you tried to force sleep to come; but it refused.

You daringly opened your eyes again and watched as the shadow of the tattered woman laid over you like a thick blanket. Suddenly, a long ghostly hand grabbed your shoulder and the woman leaned over you. Black smoke surrounded you as she began to speak.

“My child,” the ghost started in the disfigured voice of your mother’s, her fingers were skeletal and so was her face. It reminded you of the last time you saw your mother alive and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut again, scared whimpers escaping through your clenched teeth. “When the time comes, beware of Crimson Peak.”

You couldn’t take it anymore and you flew forward, a piercing scream reverberating from your small body. You looked around your bedroom again for the woman, only to find it completely empty—the clock at the end of the hallway ticking away. You got up from your bed hesitantly and walked to the door, examining the hallway. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

It would be years before you would hear that disfigured voice of your mother’s again, the same warning on her black tongue—before you would even begin to understand her desperate plea. You know now that it was a warning from out of time, once that transcended it due to your mother’s love for you, and one that you came to understand only when it was entirely too late.

Black moths circled around the light in the hallway, the candlelight glow barely there from being outshined by the light from the moon pouring in through the hallway windows. You stepped forward into it, your white nightgown dragging along the floor despite you hiking it up a little to walk. Stopping before the light, you stared at the dancing creatures as one of them sacrificed itself to the flame and the other perched on the stand of the light without it.

More moths flittered throughout the hallway, moths that you had never seen before—and certainly not at the amount you saw before you. You didn’t know what to make of it, so you quietly stepped backwards into your bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the sound of the grandfather clock.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

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✉️   ⦂   if you want to be added to the taglist, please either leave a reply or send me an ask!! i hope you’re just as excited for this fic as i am hehehe!!! ◟(๑•͈ᴗ•͈)◞

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝘄𝗶𝗽𝘀 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @heartikeu @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @jaylaxies @bambiihee @fangel @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @everythingvirgoes @lvrs-street2mmorrow @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @sumsumtingz @riribelle @sunoosgfv @junirohaz @chromenishi @ambi01 @fancypeacepersona @ikeuwoniee @jaeyunsbimbo @riribelle @matchacake2 @ki2rins @woclude @chccnne

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[retiredteabag]

I believe Nanami has always been a gentleman.

Due to the climate that exists, it can be hard to assume the best of people, knowing this, its not impossible to understand that in your time being a classmate of the man, you had previously been led you to figure the opposite of Nanami Kento.

Of course, you simply could not avoid the blatant roll of eyes when Nanami would bend down to retrieve a fallen pencil for his female classmate. Or when he would place an intentional hand on firm objects to protect from the possibility of future harm. And it would be remiss to not add that you had seen the men in your shared classes sigh anytime Nanami would defend a predominantly feminist sentiment in classroom discussions.

By no fault of your own, you had started to believe the masses that would perpetuate the rumor of his “white knight" status.

This assumption that Nanami was simply trying to get into a girls pants. By being kind and gentle with them, and by being a patient, learned, listener.

This idea all came to a front one day while you were on the train ride home.

Overfilled and uncomfortable, you had never felt so unsafe on your commute home than you had in that moment.

Call it hyper vigilance, but you had the intuition to locate a problem before it occurred. And even before the man, now plastered to your side, had weaseled his way into your proximity, you could smell the poor intentions from a mile away.

Fear sprung through you as you felt his body press against your own, you had a million thoughts flood your brain.

Should you shout at him? Make a scene? Would he accuse you of overreacting? Or perhaps you should simply try to move… but where to? You felt so terribly trapped that you couldn’t withhold the gasp that left you at the sudden ripping loss of his unwanted touch.

A commanding voice, unafraid of accusation, rang through the train car.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

You recognized the tall blond man immediately. He was in your ethics and rhetoric classes, and was notorious for being a real gentleman.

The typical assumption was, that this was for his own personal gain.

And, of course, being nice and being kind are not the same. He, to your knowledge, was being nice, instead of the latter.

Back to the moment at hand though, Nanami’s grasp never faltered on the perpetrators wrist, in fact, your classmate seemed to tighten his fist.

“I said. What the hell. Do you think. You’re doing.”

Real anger resounded from his tone. And every negative emotion from the situation seemed to echo in your brain.

Time passed slowly, all too slowly, and yet, before you could really understand the situation, you had ushered yourself onto your platform after your transport had come to a stop. And somehow, your classmate was staring down at you, asking if you were alright.

“I’m fine.” You force out.

You shouldn’t have to feel grateful nothing worse happened, you shouldn’t feel glad you weren’t physically harmed.

“I’m sorry. This must have been awful…” Nanami runs a hand through his hair and in that moment, all of your vitriol forces itself onto him as he finishes, “May I walk you home?”

Fury at his character, at this act, at everything that had happened today boiled the words out of your mouth, “Oh, for heaven sake, I’m not going to fuck you.”

“W-what?”

To his credit, he looks properly appalled. Stepping a wide margin away from you.

“I’m-I’m sorry, no.” He stutters, clears his throat, “that’s not what I- of course not-“

And he looks genuine in his fear at the thought.

“Right.” You sigh, “Well, thanks for all that, but I need to get home.”

He seems to wage a war within himself, to offer to bring you home, or to leave this be.

After a moment of consideration, he decides on the latter of the options. Solely because he knows now that you must not think of him as a trustworthy or safe individual. And rather than angry at this thought, he is sad. Worried about your past, and determined to be a safe option for you.

“Please get home safe.” And later you will wonder how he remembered you when recalling how he spoke out your name before saying, “I really am sorry, about all of this.”

You had walked home that night jumpy and cold.

—

It wouldn’t take but a week for you to begin questioning his intentions again after you watch your classmate deliver bagged lunches for the homeless outside of campus when he thought nobody was around.

When you had witnessed his genuine argument with another “one of the bros” after disagreeing with them in class.

And when you saw him offer to tutor any and all classmates that felt they might need a little help.

And while you were analyzing his motives, he started to develop his understanding of where you were coming from- eventually deciding that his goal would be to prove to you that he never had any ill will, and instead, cares for you as a human. Not for what you could offer him.

You don’t know yet, but he always has been a gentleman.