#i spent so much time experimenting with it

[that-one-girl2020]

Role Reversal Pt. 4

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Oh my gosh, this one was a doozy. The reader and the boys’ personalities are just the slightest bit different from them in the original series because they have different experiences now. So Jum is less curious and childlike and the reader is more proactive in getting to know them instead of the other way around. Also, I promise I see all of your guys’ requests, even the ones in comments, I read all the comments. I just take time to get to each one depending on my inspiration, I have like fifty requests sitting in my inbox right now and I will try my best to get to each of them.

Synopsis: With Gwi Ma’s orders hanging over your head and the girls not being much help, you take your own steps to get to know the boys on your own.

CW: Low self esteem, insecurity, suicidal ideation (?), violence, bug eating (yes, you eat a bug), swearing/cursing.

Word Count: 6.1k

<< Part 3 || Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

The competition began. The two idol groups clashed fiercely, promoting their music and performing with a ferocity that would be more apt for a gladiator ring and not what was viewed in the industry as friendly rivalry.

Not long after you had met with Jinu and Jum, the other girls made their own reluctant moves. Your sister sent Jinu a note to meet—when she came back she seemed more thoughtful but when asked, she said that she felt like she would have a hard time dealing with Jinu. Mira, in her own passive aggressive way, ambushed Abby and Romance which led to a two hour long chase through the city where she cackled and taunted the boys. She had fun, but it didn’t seem very productive. Zoey had crashed into Mystery’s room—not literally—and bombarded the man with nail polish, random movies she had grabbed at the store, and a desire to know all the gossip that he knew. Also not very productive.

The girls spent more time with each other than working on their mission so you decided to broaden your task.

Before the end of the week, you had Arson and Sprite tailing the boys, keeping watch on them. So when they told you that one of the boys had left the Tower on their own, you jumped at the opportunity.

You teleported into an alley and easily slipped into the crowd of people on the sidewalk, walking beside the quiet man. Ever the observant one, he didn’t even need to turn his head to notice you there.

”Jinu and Jum have been acting weird.”

”Who?” You asked before really thinking about it.

“Baby. They’ve been off since the bathhouse. What’d you guys do?” Mystery asked you bluntly.

“Why didn’t you ask Zoey?” You dodged the topic, stuffing your hands in your pockets casually. It seemed like the two men hadn’t told the others about what had happened or about their meetup with you. Interesting. The boys didn’t fully trust each other, it seemed.

Mystery’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, “She was a little too energetic. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise before one of the guys came to ask what all the noise was about.”

You nodded, a hesitantly fond smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, sounds like her.” The two of you walked along quietly for a few more minutes. You found it surprisingly peaceful. The people around you were just going about their own days and the sun was shining down and warming your skin. It was nice.

Hyeon glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. It was a little jarring to see you in casual clothes since he had really only seen you in your idol persona. Especially since the scars he had thought you and your sister had been hiding with makeup were actually demon patterns glamoured to look like faint scarring.

Hyeon didn’ t know that you and Rumi were actually unable to fully conceal your patterns with demonic means, even now. Gwi Ma’s idea of a joke since you both had tried so hard to run from them in the past.

“Can I ask?” You spoke, shaking you and him from your thoughts. “What’s with the stagenames?”

Mystery turned his head to look at you, not that you could tell. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, they just feel a little… off?”

Mystery turned his head to look forward again after watching you for a long moment. “They give us personas, safety nets when we’re performing or interacting with fans. At least, that’s what the company told us. Some of us picked our names and some of us didn’t.” You nodded at his answer, mulling the information over in your head and trying to guess which of the guys chose their names and who didn’t.

“Why don’t you guys have stage names?” Mystery asked curiously.

“I’m not sure,” You shrugged again, rolling your head back to look at the sky thoughtfully. But then you almost tripped over your own feet so you looked straight again. “The girls didn’t want one so I didn’t either. They’re trying to be more human, I guess.”

Mystery hummed for a moment. The two of you fell into a peaceful silence again. You paused when he turned into a building with dark lights inside, “What is this place?” You asked curiously, looking around at the game boxes and flashing lights curiously.

“Arcade,” Mystery answered simply and you followed behind him. “I come here to destress and get out of my head when I’m thinking too much.”

“Oh,” was all you said. Your head was turning this way and that as you tried to take in everything around you.

“Jum sometimes comes too, but he usually prefers pc and console games.”

You nodded, pretending like you knew what any of that meant. You were surprised when he handed you a plastic card full of prepaid tokens. You weren’t sure what to do with it so you just followed him.

It was surprisingly fun once you got the hang of it all. You won yourself a cute keychain from a claw thing. You didn’t win against Mystery though, not during any of the games he showed you. He let you pull him curiously into a Photo Booth, letting you choose the border and the effects. Though you weren’t sure, but he might have growled at some guy who was staring for longer than you felt comfortable with.

Hyeon didn’t know what to make of you. He couldn’t help but find it endearing how you looked at everything in the arcade with open curiosity and how you smiled unrestrained when you were focused on a game. Even when you pouted, sulking when you lost, he should’ve felt nothing for you, a demon, but his heart was light with you.

By the time your tokens ran out—after the second time he refilled your cards—it was late and the two of you had called it a day. Before the two of you parted, you held out the keychain you had worked hard to get from the claw game, “Here.” He held out his hand and you dropped it, giving it to him as he blinked down at the keychain. “Thanks for today, Mystery.”

“Hyeon.”

You tilted your head in surprise that he had given you his actual name. It wasn’t like their actual names were secret, they were online and on their biographies. But you and the girls stubbornly called them by their stagenames as a reminder that this was a mission and they were just targets. However, if Mystery was insisting you call him by his actual name, that meant you were getting closer to him, like you were supposed to, right? It…made you feel…warm.

You smiled, “Thanks Hyeon.” You teleported away.

Hyeon lingered, watching the spot you had just disappeared from for a moment longer. Somehow, he found himself missing your presence. Your perfume lingered in his senses. He looked down at the keychain again before carefully tucking it away in his pocket.

Maybe he would try and find what perfume it was that you were wearing. Just to have around…

~~~

Your time with Mystery—Hyeon, went surprisingly well, in your opinion. Though, there was tension when at an award ceremony, Huntr/x was awarded the most listened to of the week thanks to the climbing popularity of ‘The Baddest.’ Plenty of demonic charm helped with your growing popularity as well.

Your next chance to become closer with the boys came just after the award ceremony. Sprite was covering for you with the girls by making an illusion of you sleeping in your room. Abby—according to Arson, your precious baby boy—had left the Tower on his own to get some air since he was so frustrated at losing to you girls that day.

The man was heading towards the river to clear his head and you teleported ahead, sitting on the edge of the river with your legs dangling over the water. It was a peaceful place. Especially at night when there weren’t a whole lot of people around. Looking out, the city lights reflected off of the water like a wobbly reflection of the night sky.

You heard footsteps approaching you and looked up, locking eyes with the startled Abby. Neither of you said anything. Honestly, you hadn’t really thought this through.

Abby grit his teeth and suddenly leapt at you, summoning his battle axe while you scrambled to dodge the brutal strike with a yelp. You took off running down the sidewalk. “WHAT DID I DO?!” You shrieked. You weren’t Mira. You didn’t enjoy running for your life as men with rainbow star weapons chased you.

Kwan continued chasing you, his teeth grit and his muscles flexing as he pumped his legs as hard as he could. He was sick of these demon girls putting their fans in danger and keeping them from sealing the Honmoon. The pink haired demon girl had been annoying enough when she had led him and Chungae on a chase through the city, mocking them the whole time. “You existed!”

You groaned, your mouth running before you could really think about it, “Ugh, you’re just like my fucking Aunt!”

Abby came to a screeching halt, completely thrown off by what you had just blurted out. He almost fell over with how hard he braked but he was able to catch himself. “Wait a fucking minute, you have an aunt? Demons have families?” He questioned incredulously.

You also slid to a halt, turning to look at him but still ready to run if you had to. “Uhm, yeah? Obviously. Rumi is my sister, you know. Did you seriously think we didn’t?” You couldn’t help but deadpan at him a bit. Hunters really didn’t know anything about demons besides how to kill them.

“No,” Abby shook his head, denying it like it was obvious to assume that living creatures had no other relatives or familial relations of any kind. “I thought it was just a ruse. How do you have an aunt?”

This time you really did deadpan at him. “Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much—“

Abby snarled, cutting you off, “You know that’s not what I meant!” Abby took a deep breath, settling his temper so he could get the answers that he wanted. “Demons don’t have families,” He said stubbornly.

You shook your head, “Most demons come from human souls in one way or another. It’s just a matter of if they remember their human lives.”

Abby made a skeptical face, his grip on his weapon never wavering for a second. “And you do?”

You nodded, re-explaining what you had already told Jinu and Baby. “Three types of demons: first, the kind that are created from the souls Gwi Ma consumes are more inhuman because they don’t remember their human lives. Second, the kind that are born to two demons, they don’t know anything else besides the demon realm. And finally, the kind of demon that humans are turned into after they make a deal with Gwi Ma out of desire or desperation.”

Abby scoffed, intuitively knowing which one you and the other three girls were. The four of you were able to mimic human emotions much better than the other demons the boys had killed. “So what? You made a deal with Gwi Ma for fame? Power?”

Your face fell flat. You didn’t want to talk about it. It still hurt. But it wouldn’t hurt for much longer as long as you fulfilled your mission. “Love, actually,” you answered stoically.

Abby actually did falter, his axe lowering just the slightest bit before he steeled himself and lifted his axe back to aim at you. “You were so desperate for love that you asked the demon king to make someone love you? What? A guy didn’t love you back or something?”

You frowned at Abby’s intentionally cruel words, snapping back at him, “Nobody loved me! Just because I was born different, because I didn’t look how they wanted, nobody loved me.” You looked away from him, a stupid move to make as he still had his weapon. But the old bitter memories choked your throat and left you aching and vulnerable in a way that made it feel like you couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t see his reaction to how pitiful you were.

Meanwhile, Kwan slowly lowered his axe, letting it fade away. It was too familiar. It brought to the surface his own memories that he did his best to keep out of thought, reasoning that it was in the past and didn’t matter anymore. But it still did.

When he was younger, he was the outcast no matter where he went. After he lost his parents when he was young he was put into foster care. All the other kids always avoided him due to his taller height, bigger frame, and frightening features. As he got older, it got worse. Even adults started avoiding him, labeling him a violent delinquent just because of how he looked and how quiet he was. Dance had been his only reprieve.

So he got it.

Quietly, he spoke, “Sorry…” He didn’t know where to look or what to do now. At that moment, you were just a girl that he could relate to.

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I…” Abby sighed, clenching and clenching his fists, frustrated at himself. “I do get it.”

He didn’t say any more about the matter. So you simply nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“Do you wanna get something to eat?” Abby blurted out and you could see panic flash through his eyes. He was cursing his own impulsivity. But you chuckled and nodded, “Sure. Anywhere in mind?”

He nodded, “Yeah, c’mon.” He gestured with his head and you slowly joined his side, the two of you walking together, quietly to wherever Abby had in mind for food—his own small peace offering after saying things he did.

You guys ended up at a street market. It seemed like he came there often as he talked to the elderly stall owners as familiarly as one would with their own grandparents. The two of you had a few different dishes like chicken skewers and tteokbokki. You grimaced when he stopped to get a cup of beondegi. Silkworm pupae.

He noticed your look and held them out to you, chuckling when you stepped back, “What? Never had them before?”

You just eyed them skeptically, “They came way after my time.”

Abby snorted, “Okay, grandma. Here, just try it once.” You whined unsurely but he merely held it out closer to you. “Come on, granny, just one.”

You slowly took one in your fingers, eyeing it with a grimace. Finally, you bit the bullet—or, well, bug—and popped it in your mouth, biting down. You flinched slightly when all the juices came out but then you actually tasted it and calmed down. You hummed.

“And?” Abby asked curiously. “How is it?”

You swallowed. “Not bad. Kind of nutty. But I’m not eating it again.”

Abby shrugged, “Fair enough. At least you tried it.”

The two of you continued on, eating different foods. Whatever you didn’t finish went to his never ending appetite, which was slightly disturbing to see. Eventually, you both were full and had to part ways or else your groups would come looking for you. That is, if the girls realized it was just Sprite back at the apartment.

“Thanks,” You told him softly, not looking directly at him. “For giving me a chance, Abby.”

He didn’t respond for a moment so you started walking away. But then his voice stopped you. “Call me Kwan.” You turned to look back at him in surprise but he put on an air of nonchalance, like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Don’t think this means we’ll go easy on you. We’re still gonna crush you and those other three at the next awards.”

You chuckled, “Sure, Kwan. See ya,” you waved and walked off to find a good spot to teleport from.

Kwan watched you go, conflicted. It was weird how normal and…understood he felt with you. Maybe it was because you both had similar experiences with your appearances. But he didn’t know why nobody would love you, you were beautiful. You must have been gorgeous before your demon patterns.

~~~

Things were going well for you. Almost frighteningly so.

You had made close contact with four out of five of the boys. Well… Jinu and Baby had come to your meetup and hadn’t tried to kill you. You hadn’t really done any actual bonding like you did with Hyeon and Kwan. You might have to do some one on one interactions…

Anyway, you were at least glad that you were able to turn Kwan trying to kill you into him empathizing with you and getting food together. The girls were working on another song to release in case their one song wouldn’t get them high enough on the charts. You also made some progress with your own ideas when you had free time.

But today, Sprite had let you know that the other male pinkette had ventured outside of the Tower on his own. So you changed out of your practice clothes and teleported over. Said male was at the park, breathing in the fresh air and people watching. While also sitting on the most picturesque bench in the whole park since it was surrounded by flowers and shaded trees.

So, you picked a flower and made your way over from behind, leaning your arms on the bench while he was too distracted to notice you. You poked his cheek with the flower and he practically jumped a mile into the air, ending up on the other end of the bench.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “Hey.”

Chungae looked at you with wide eyes, his gaze darting from the civilians around the park and then to you. You were here. Why were you here. With a flower. He wanted to summon his fans—his weapons fans, not his fanatic fans—to kill you before you became a bigger problem than you already were but he couldn’t do it out in public like this.

“What’re you doing here?!” Romance hissed as you rounded the bench to sit on the opposite end from him.

“Getting some air,” You shrugged your shoulders, fiddling with the stem of the flower.

He narrowed his eyes at you dubiously, “Y’know, you can get in trouble for picking the flowers here.”

You eyed him, “Really? And who’s gonna yell at me?”

Romance deadpanned at you. Then he nudged his head to the side, “They will.” You turned your head to look and, sure enough, there were some park workers walking down the sidewalk.

Your eyes widened and you cursed, “Here, you take it!” You shoved the flower into his hands. “Happy birthday!” You spat out the first words that came to mind, ready to run so you could avoid getting in trouble.

Romance blanched, pushing it back towards you, “Birthday? It’s not my birthday! Take back your felony!” He hissed at you.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” You gritted at him, pushing the flower back towards him.

“It’s not Valentine’s Day!”

“Well, just take it!”

“No!”

The two of you froze a little comically when the park workers walked past the two of you. They were chuckling but they didn’t give the two of you a second glance. When neither of you faced the wrath of the workers, you both sighed a breath of relief, Romance actually taking the flower, “Well, in that case, thanks for the flower, darling.”

You snorted, “No problem, handsome,” You cooed in return jokingly.

You weren’t prepared for the man to blush, looking away shyly to cough into his fist.

Chungae quickly changed the subject, stiffening as he reminded himself that you were a demon that wanted to suck the souls of his fans. “What’re you doing here, again?”

You leaned back against the bench. “I told you, I wanted some air,” You repeated yourself.

“Right,” Romance drawled, looking at you suspiciously. “And I’m here to slaughter children.”

You gasped dramatically, looking at him scandalized, “You are? And here I thought you were this morally upright demon hunter!”

Romance couldn’t help but snort at your dramatics. “It’s called sarcasm, darling. I’m people watching.”

The both of you turned to look around. You looked at the people going about their days, peaceful and content for the most part. “Why? What’s so interesting about it?” You asked.

It’s not that you didn’t people watch either. But you did it because you wanted what normal humans had. Love, happiness, acceptance, safety, comfort. Take your pick, you wanted at least a sliver of one of them. You were curious why the man did it though.

Romance was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “They have something I don’t,” was all he responded with.

And you could understand that.

You merely hummed in understanding, the two of you sitting in silence for a while as you both watched the people around you. There was a woman on the swings with a baby in her lap. Some girls were having a picnic, taking pictures and giggling over their phones. An elderly couple was shuffling down the sidewalk arm in arm. A married couple was sitting at a table with their kid.

Chungae was uncertain about you. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were just quietly sitting there, watching people go by about their days. There wasn’t a glimmer of demonic plotting in your eyes, you were just watching… He wasn’t sure what, but there was something about you that he recognized in himself. He should’ve hated it, hated that he could see a part of himself in you, a demon. But, he couldn’t. Because it was a part of him that was still a child on the inside.

“Why are you doing this?” Romance broke the quiet between you.

You didn’t look at him, your eyes on two little girls running through the trees. “I have my reasons.”

He scoffed, “That’s not an answer.”

“It is, it’s just not the one you wanted.”

Romance huffed, the two of you falling into silence again. Despite the slight tension between you, it wasn’t a stifling silence. It was just thoughtful.

You sighed, reminding yourself that in order to succeed you had to have some semblance of vulnerability. “Gwi Ma said he would get rid of a certain memory if I do this.”

Romance turned his head to look at you in surprise. “A memory?” He echoed questioningly.

“From my human life. Before I was a demon,” You explained to him. It was just another point in your theory that the boys didn’t communicate with each other very well. “Not all demons were demons forever. A lot of us still remember our human lives.”

“And…” Romance drawled unsurely, “What’s the memory you want gone?”

You answered vaguely, “Somebody I thought loved me betrayed me.” Everyone you thought loved you ended up betraying you.

“Oh,” Romance answered dumbly. “Well, then it wasn’t real love.”

You looked at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Love isn’t like that. If someone really loves you, then they would never betray you,” Romance explained.

Chungae hoped he sounded sure in his words because he absolutely was not. How could he when he had no idea what love was like? He didn’t remember familial love, friendly love, and he had never experienced romantic love. He was just using his own flawed fantasies and media he had consumed as his expectations for love. That was all he could do.

You weren’t aware of his thoughts as you took his words in. They were comforting, in their own way. You felt validated in your anger and frustration but the hurt was still there. It was okay though. The hurt would go away soon, you reminded yourself.

For now, you simply smiled at the pink haired man, “Thanks Romance.”

“Chungae,” He found himself correcting you. He was surprised at himself but he didn’t take it back, “Call me Chungae.”

Your smile became more genuine, “Thanks Chungae.”

The two of you turned back to watch the people in the park around you. You two were still enemies, but right now? You two were comfortable in the soft space that had formed around you.

~~~

You decided that you should try and get some one on one time with Jinu and Baby.

But it seemed like the two didn’t leave the Tower often—on their own or otherwise. So you would have to have them come to you or you would have to go to them. Your choice was made when Arson left Sprite alone.

You followed Arson to the Tower and teleported up to the balcony. Sprite’s eyes were glowing faintly, a sign that he was using his illusion powers. “What’re you doing?” You muttered to the bird quietly. Sprite merely made his little ko-aw noise. So you peeked through the glass to see what the mischievous little bird was doing and slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

Jinu was standing on top of a chair in the middle of his room, swinging a pillow pathetically at the floor every now and then before instantly regretting it and going back to using it as a shield. On the floor, maybe a dozen or two dozen spiders were crawling along the floor. They weren’t that big, maybe an inch or so big, but they were black and fuzzy with little pincers. One stopped at the base of the chair, looking up at the man. The two stared at each other for a moment, Jinu’s eyes wide and his pupils shrunk. Then the little spider hissed and Jinu jumped, shrieking.

You snorted, sliding the balcony door open easily, “Okay, Sprite, that’s enough. Don’t want to make too much of a ruckus." Jinu’s head whipped around to you as Sprite made a rattling noise that kind of sounded like a laugh before all the spiders faded out of existence. After a moment, you spoke again, “Y’know, you should lock your balcony. Never know who might just come in.”

Jinu still didn’t say anything.

“Nice pants.”

Jinu looked down, his face turning red when he remembered that he was wearing his custom Derpy and Sussie lounge pants that had little hearts and hats around their chibi figures. He tried to scramble down from the chair, “What’re you—“

You winced when he tripped and tumbled from atop the chair as the desk chair with wheels rolled while he was trying to get down. “…Are you okay…?”

He continued to lay face down on his carpet. “…Yeah.” After he took a deep breath, Jinu pushed himself up and looked at her. “What are you doing here?”

You nodded to where Arson was sitting at the bottom of Derpy’s cat tower, the two animals in a strange staring contest. “Arson came to get me when Sprite started his mischief. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Jinu shook his head, habitually answering, “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. He had never had a girl in his space like this before. He wasn’t sure if you being a demon made it better or worse.

You pursed your lips awkwardly and wandered further into his room, “So… what’cha doing?”

Jinu stuttered, darting to his desk to shove some papers in a drawer. For some reason, he didn’t want you to see the draft of lyrics for the Saja Boys’ new song. And not because he didn’t want to ruin the surprise of the diss track. But because he…didn’t want you to see the hateful lyrics. “Nothing. Just, uh…just working on some songs.”

The two of you froze when there was a knock on his door. “Jinu? You alright in there?” Kwan’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Hide!” Jinu hissed at you, grabbing Arson and shoving the two of you into his closet where all his casual clothes were kept. He slammed the door behind you and you heard him open the door, greeting his member.

You were a little frazzled, turning the flashlight on your phone on so you could see where Jinu had shoved you. You stopped when your light shined on a bookshelf against the wall across from you. It was full of containers. Full of tiny hats.

Meanwhile, Jinu was trying to smile normally at his fellow group member, “Hey, Kwan, what’s up?”

Kwan dubiously lifted a brow at his leader’s shifty behavior. “I heard you screaming like a girl.”

Jinu flushed at the reminder, “I saw a spider…” He admitted quietly.

Kwan snorted, teasingly pushing at his shoulder, “Dude, seriously?”

“It was big!” Jinu defended himself, “And I was working on the song so I didn’t notice it until it was two inches from me!”

Kwan just shook his head in amusement, “Do you need me to get it for you?”

“Nah, Derpy ate it,” Jinu fibbed. The two boys grimaced at the mental image of the cat eating a spider.

“Okay, well I’m heading to bed,” Kwan dismissed himself.

“Kay, night man,” Jinu waved him off.

“Night.”

Jinu shut the door with a sigh of relief, leaning his head against the door as he took a second to calm down. Then he went to the closet to let you out, only to pause when he opened the door. You were sitting on the ground with one of the containers from his shelf next to you, your phone flashing as you took Arson’s picture. The demonic canine was wearing one of Derpy’s crochet mushroom hats. It was too small for the dog but it was still absolutely adorable. Your delighted giggles were quiet and your smile was illuminated by the light of your phone screen.

It was endearing. Cute. Adorable even—and he didn’t mean Arson.

Jinu couldn’t help but smirk fondly and cross his arms, leaning against the doorframe, “Having fun?”

You nodded without looking at him, switching hats so you could take more pictures of Arson, “Yup.”

Jinu chuckled and shook his head, “Come on, you should go before one of the guys catches you here.” He ignored your little whine and pouty lips as he put the hats away and slid the container back into place on his shelf.

Despite your whining, you still stood with a little huff, “Fine. But I will be back for more tiny hats.”

“Sure,” Jinu agreed easily enough and walked you to the balcony, scratching Arson’s head in goodbye.

“Bye Jinu,” You waved with a smile.

He waved back, “Bye (Y/n).” Jinu watched you teleport away and Arson leapt from the balcony, Sprite flying off as well. He slid the balcony closed slowly, pulling the curtains shut once he did.

It was strange how normal he felt with you. His whole life revolved around hunting demons, sealing the Honmoon, and being an idol. But, with you he somehow felt like just another guy.

Sussie chirped and he looked at the bird. Sussie gave him a judging look.

“What?”

Sussie sighed.

~~~

The next time the awards rolled around, the Saja Boys ended up winning as most listened to that week thanks to their new song, ‘Stay Gold.’ As they were given flowers, the four of you clapped with smiles while the boys looked at you smugly. You girls remained unbothered though.

You finally got your chance to talk with the maknae of the boy group when the man left the Tower on his own for once and made his way into the city in disguise. He ducked into a grocery store and you followed him in, the maknae making a B-line straight to the snack and candy aisle.

You wandered past him casually, looking at all the different candies and snacks that you had no idea what they were. You grabbed a bag of rosé topokki chips. He was looking at spicy candies. “Those can’t be good,” You couldn’t help but remark.

Baby looked at you, surprised at your presence. But then he shrugged and went back to deliberating spicy candies. “I like it.”

You shrugged as well, going back to looking at the shelf full of candy for something sweet next. “To each their own.”

The two of you stood there, quietly for a long moment. You kept glancing at each other. “Any recommendations for something sweet but simple?” You eventually asked him, lost in all the flavors and brands.

He sighed like you asked him to do the most difficult thing in the world. He scanned over the options for a second before grabbing some chocolate, “Here.” He tossed it to you and you barely caught it, your heart stuttering at the sudden panic that you would drop it. He chuckled and finally made his own choice, putting one of the bags of candy back. He grabbed a drink, pointedly avoiding the Saja Boys themed soda just in the other cooler. The two of you quietly went to check out.

Jum didn’t have a lot of thoughts about you. You were very human but some moments reminded him that you were a demon. Like, struggling to choose what to get out of a sea of modern flavors. But he couldn’t get that look out of his head. When you had given up fighting them at the bathhouse or when he had asked you why you gave up when you asked them to meet you.

The two of you found a quiet spot to eat your snacks. He chuckled when he heard you hum when you first tried your chocolate. It seemed like you liked it. “We’re writing a song,” He found himself blurting out. “About demons.”

“Oh,” was all you could respond with, chewing slower. “Can’t imagine it’s a very nice song.”

Baby snorted, “It’s not. I can’t say I’m very happy about it.”

You looked over at him in surprise, “Why not?” You asked curiously.

He shrugged, “I worked hard on ‘Stay gold,’ we all did. It’s a song meant to bring us closer together and to our fans but…” he trailed off, shrugging again. “And I work hard on my rapping, our lyrics and a lot of it gets censored or shut down by production because it doesn’t ’fit the image.’” Baby rolled his eyes, citing words it seemed like he had heard a million times over. “The trainers’ idea.”

“I get it,” You told him. He turned his head to look at you dubiously, “I do. I understand some of how you feel. You gotta play a part, a role you don’t like or really fit but you still have to play it.”

Baby was quiet for a moment, just looking at you. Observing and analyzing your expression for a sign that you were lying. But you weren’t. So he nodded, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Can I call you Jum…?” You slowly asked him, fidgeting with the wrapper in your hands. With the other guys, they had given their names to use, but with Baby, after what he had just told you, it didn’t feel right to refer to him as the role he didn’t like to play.

His lips twitched up into a smile, “Yeah. Just when we’re alone though.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes, “Obviously.”

He snorted fondly, “Obviously.”

The two of you continued to eat your snacks contently.

~~~

That night, you ended up staring up at the ceiling above your bed for a long while, mindlessly running your fingers through Arson’s fur.

You were doing good. You were getting closer to the boys like you had been told to do. You were one step closer to finishing this and forgetting all the memories that still gripped your heart like barbed wire. But… there was a growing sense of wrongness.

It was hard to hear yourself think over the quiet hiss of old memories and whispers of Gwi Ma’s voice. However, with the boys, the volume became quieter, duller and easier to ignore somehow.

You felt like you were going crazy.

You couldn’t let your mind linger on them like this, not when the next step of the girls’ plan was coming up. The Saja Boys were having their first fan event in a while soon and you all planned to crash it and take it over. You had to be ready to see all of them at once, to watch for the little cracks in their group so you could split them open when the time came.

You ignored the twisting in your chest.

A/N: When Kwan says that you must’ve looked gorgeous before your patterns, he’s not trying to be an asshole, he’s just thinking in the context that you must’ve grown up in where society wouldn’t have accepting any ‘deformities’ like the patterns. If that makes sense…?

Outtakes:

…

Bobby: “So what’ve you guys been up to lately?”

Hyeon: *Spending time with you*

Kwan: *Spending time with you*

Chungae: *Spending time with you*

Jinu: *Spending time with you*

Jum: *Spending time with you*

Saja Boys: …

Saja Boys: “Nothing much.” “Boring stuff.” “Gym.” “Sleeping.” “Song stuff.”

…

Zoey: “Hey, should we be doing our jobs and trying to get closer to the boys?”

You: *Emotionally conflicted, struggling, juggling five men*

Polytr/x: *cuddling on the couch watching romcoms*

Polytr/x: “Nah, it’s fine.”

…

Saja Boys: *side eyeing each other while contemplating sharing that they’ve been spending time with you but don’t want to admit they have for fear of being yelled at for not killing a demon*

You: *narrowing your eyes at the idiots* “Guys. Communication.”

…

Tag List: @jaybbygrl @aurorab-0-realis @minthoneynbasil @thatonegrimm @n0tbelle @reverie-sxno @gremlinartstudio @littlepotaaatosimp @mvskedxrtist @lluxentzz @closehereyes @lyunsafebubble @ashleygryffindor @whimsiecat @towfuu1 @thesimpbella @fries11 @lov3ly-3m @teenyfinds @arieslucy @boldlyenchantingfox22 @mel3484 @lizzymizzy-blogg @fastleopard1521 @cultish-corner @kitkatpattywack2808 @tsukimoon-chan @alleakimlala @yandereobsession @sherzzzzz @otherworldlover @hawarun @f1shst1xx @avadakadabra93 @moonthesleepyhead @sra7riddle-malfoy @beautifulpeoplebeautifulpr0blems @boo-shalala @venommie @magical-spit @neverending-animelove @nerdsconquerall @eli1412 @imjusthereforthecake @moochiwoochi @a-writer-with-anxiety @sexually-attracted-to-pans @katzline @uniquecutie-puffs @forgetfulsmols

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (4)

about. you're flunking all your subjects. He’s a virgin. So you strike a deal—he tutors you academically to win a girl he has a crush on, and you tutor him in sex, simple.

parts. chapter 03, chapter 05

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 17.38k

content. virgin!megumi + experienced!reader, Explicit sexual content – blow job, making out, handjob, unprotectd sex, creampie, semi-public tension, teasing, dirty talk, reader guiding Megumi through his first sexual experience. Power dynamics. Smug, experienced reader. Slight humiliation kink if you squint. Megumi is flushed and wrecked and learning. This is a part of an ongoing tutoring-for-sexual-experience fic. Reader is not kind. She is hot and she knows it. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP I DON'T WANT NO SMOKE OR SOMEONE BEING A HATER IN MY COMMENTS.

notes. I've been soooooo excited to post this, and before anyone asks questions I spent the whole night writing this, I just got so carried away... I hope ya'll enjoy it!

Megumi didn’t know how liking something was supposed to feel, not really.

He knew how to tolerate. How to endure. He’d been taught early that silence was safer than feeling, and that logic—clean, rational, detached—was the only way to survive in a world that wanted too much.

But you— you were anything but rational. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the word—people threw it around all the time. Liking a person. Liking a subject. Liking a song, a movie, a pair of shoes.

But liking you? It didn’t feel simple. Or light. It felt… tense. Electric. Like holding a live wire between his teeth and pretending he wasn’t getting burned.

You were sitting across from him again, legs curled up on the chair like you owned every inch of this space. Like his house was just another set piece in the drama that was your life.

And yeah—you were trying now. Actually reading the material, taking notes with your pen twirling dramatically between your fingers, reciting things back with that same smug bite in your voice. But it wasn’t fake this time. You were showing up. You were trying.

Still, you couldn’t get through a paragraph without insulting someone. Or him.

“Okay, but who names their kid ‘Tokugawa’? It sounds like a bad cough drop.”

Megumi didn’t look up from his textbook. “It’s a family name.”

“Well, their whole family needs lozenges.”

He sighed. “You’re lucky I’m being paid in patience.”

You rolled your eyes. “No one’s paying you, loser.”

He muttered, “Exactly.” But he didn’t snap at you the way he used to. Not anymore.

Because somewhere between the failed midterm and your unexpected essay redemption, something shifted. You started turning pages with less sighing. Started showing up with scribbled notes and highlighted sentences. Still late. Still dramatic. Still wearing lip gloss like it was armor. But different.

You were still a brat. Still loud. Still mean, sometimes.

But you were honest. Everything that came out of your mouth, whether it was dumb, crass, or painfully sharp—it was real.

And he found himself wanting to hear more of it. All of it.

You were so fucking pretty it made his head hurt. But it wasn’t the kind of pretty people wrote poems about. It was the kind that interrupted his thoughts mid-sentence. That dragged his eyes across the curve of your smile or the annoyed flick of your wrist. That made him forget what year the Meiji Restoration happened. (1868. He remembered, eventually.)

It wasn't just the gloss on your lips or the ridiculous skirts you wore to tutoring like this was some social call. It was the way your voice pitched higher when you were actually confused, when you really wanted to understand something and didn’t know how to ask without sounding vulnerable.

Like now.

You squinted at the textbook. “Okay, this is phrased so dumb. What does ‘centralization of feudal power’ even mean? Why not just say ‘a bunch of dudes fighting to be king’? They’re so obsessed with sounding smart.”

Megumi rested his chin in his hand, watching you frown at the page like it personally offended you.

“It means uniting all the regional lords under a single authority,” he explained, calm. “It was a turning point. Less infighting, more nation-building.”

You blinked. “Could’ve just said that.”

He shrugged. “Some people enjoy full sentences.”

You stuck your tongue out, then scribbled something into your notes. “You’re lucky I’m actually writing this down.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched you.

Watched the furrow between your brows when you were focused. The gloss smudged slightly on your bottom lip. The faint ink stains on your fingers from dragging your hand over your writing. You weren’t trying to impress anyone here. Not anymore.

You weren’t posturing. You weren’t performing.

You were just… you.

And Megumi— Megumi was starting to realize he wanted to see more of that version. The one you didn’t show anyone else.

Even if you called him names. Even if you rolled your eyes every time he corrected you. Even if you would never admit how hard you were trying now. He reached for his water bottle, trying to cool the heat in his chest.

You glanced up at him suddenly. “What?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

He looked away. “You’re imagining things.”

You snorted. “Ugh. You’re so annoying when you lie.”

“And you’re unbearable when you’re right.” You grinned at what he said. He didn’t.

But he did allow himself to look at you one more time—quietly, briefly—before flipping the page in the book and beginning the next topic. If this was what liking someone felt like—this quiet ache, this constant hum of attention, this need to understand every version of you—then maybe he could live with it. Even if he never said it out loud.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Megumi kept telling himself that—again and again like some mantra meant to ground him. Like it would rewind time, make things easier. Simpler.

You weren’t supposed to matter this much.

You were chaos. Noise. All sharp edges and unapologetic confidence, pulling attention like gravity. You cursed too much, you interrupted his explanations just to roll your eyes, and you refused—refused—to let anyone think you cared.

But you did.

He could see it now, sitting across from you as you hunched over a half-written sentence, mumbling to yourself about power structures like it wasn’t already a miracle you’d even remembered the term.

You cared so fucking much you didn’t know what to do with it.

And Megumi… didn’t either.

Because for the longest time, he thought someone like Miwa was what he wanted. She was kind. Polite. Smart. She smiled without hiding anything behind it. She was gentle in all the ways life never let him be. And she didn’t make him feel like he was unraveling every time she laughed.

Miwa was soft. Safe.

Everything that should’ve been good for him.

But she never looked at him like you did. Never challenged him. Never cut him open with a single glance and then left him there bleeding, only to stitch him up again with some bratty little smirk and a flick of your hair. You were a storm. And for some reason, his whole body leaned toward it. He glanced up again, stealing a look at you without meaning to.

You were chewing your pen now, eyes narrowed at your notes, one leg bouncing restlessly. You looked frustrated and stubborn and real. Your nails were painted, your lashes curled, and yet there was ink smeared on the edge of your palm from where you’d been writing too fast.

You weren’t perfect, but fuck, you were trying. And somehow that made you more dangerous than Miwa ever could’ve been. Because this version of you—this girl scribbling down answers like she had something to prove—this was the version that had cracked something in him open. This was the version he wanted to see again. And again. And again. He didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, never letting anyone get close enough to see more than the surface. But you… you bulldozed past all of it without asking. You made him feel seen, even when he didn’t want to be. Even when it scared the hell out of him. You weren’t good for him, but somehow, you felt right. His chest tightened.

He didn’t know how to let someone in. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this version of you—the one who was trying, who looked up at him after answering a question like she needed him to say she’d done okay. Who still called him names but now lingered a little longer after sessions ended. He didn’t want to be this close to someone, but he already was.

And when you glanced up at him again, cocking your head and muttering, “Okay, don’t give me that face, Fushiguro. I’m not dumb, I’m just tired,”—he didn’t even bother pretending not to stare.

Because you were right. You weren’t dumb. You were just tired. Tired of being underestimated. Tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of being afraid of how real this could get.

And maybe… he was tired too, tired of lying to himself, because whatever this was—whatever you two were becoming—it wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did, and now Megumi didn’t know how to go back.

The halls were quieter than usual—just the low echo of shoes scuffing tile, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, and Nobara’s voice weaving effortlessly through the silence.

“Okay, but I swear to god, if they put streamers on the ceiling again, I’m not going,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she leaned casually against the lockers beside you. “Like, we’re not in middle school. What is this, Pinterest-core depression?”

You snorted—barely. A weak smile flickered across your face, just for a second. “You’re still going?”

“Hell yeah, I am,” she grinned. “If I’m gonna suffer through a school dance, I’m at least gonna do it in heels and with free punch. And I heard they booked that DJ—the hot one.”

You blinked, distracted. “There’s a hot DJ?”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “You are so out of it.”

You shrugged. Adjusted your bracelet. Looked down the hall even though you knew who wasn’t there. “I’m not planning on going.”

She paused. “Why not?”

“I just…” You trailed off. “Doesn’t feel like my thing.”

Nobara looked at you for a second. You didn’t meet her eyes.

There was a stretch of silence, the kind only a close friend knows how to sit through without forcing you to fill. You kicked lightly at the base of your locker.

“I used to love that shit, didn’t I?” you said suddenly, voice dry. “Dances. Crowds. People staring. Picking the best dress just to make some insecure girl cry.”

“You did,” Nobara agreed with a small smile. “You were terrifying.”

You smirked, then it faded. “It doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

And she didn’t have to ask why.

Because Megumi was in your head again.

No, he was under it—rooted deep in the places you didn’t want anyone to touch. The places you’d spent years fortifying with fake smiles and sharp words and a reputation built so high no one dared climb it.

And he was climbing it anyway.

You could feel it—the weight of it all. The way he looked at you now, like he saw every version of you and didn’t flinch. The way you remembered his voice when he explained concepts to you like you were worth explaining things to. The way his hand felt when it grazed your back. The way he kissed you like he needed to remember it later.

God, you were falling. Fast. Hard. But was that good for him?

Megumi was steady. Quiet. Good in the kind of way that didn’t need to be loud to matter. He gave a shit. He noticed things. He didn’t just listen—he understood.

And you? You were sharp and petty and glittering at the edges. Built on lies and control and showstopping exits. Your whole world was curated to be untouchable, and still you let him close. Still, he got in. And now you didn’t know how to protect him from it.

From you.

You leaned back against the lockers, head tilting until it thudded against the metal.

“I don’t like Megumi,” you said suddenly.

Nobara didn’t reply. Not immediately. She just raised an eyebrow.

You added, louder, sharper, “I will never like Megumi.”

The silence afterward burned. And she didn’t argue. Didn’t call you out. Didn’t throw your words back in your face. She just tilted her head and stared at you for a long second, then said, soft and slow:

“You’re self-destructing again.”

You didn’t answer. Because what could you say? She was right. You crossed your arms tighter, like you could fold yourself in enough to stop the ache. Because you weren’t supposed to like someone like him. You weren’t supposed to want good things. You deserved Noritoshi. Men who used pretty girls as arm candy and talked circles around your feelings until you thought you were the problem. Men who didn’t care too much.

Because caring too much meant someone could leave. And Megumi? He’d never leave in pieces. He’d just leave quiet. Fully. For good. So you lied, and Nobara saw right through it, but she didn’t say a word. She just slid down to sit beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours, and let the silence speak for both of you.

The silence stretched for a moment longer. You stayed slumped beside Nobara against the lockers, feeling your ribcage squeeze with every inhale like your body was rejecting the truth you just spewed. But your eyes were dry now. Done sulking. Done wallowing in the hollow space between denial and regret.

You shifted, exhaled, then suddenly slapped your palm against her thigh.

“I need your help, bitch.”

Nobara blinked. “The fuck?”

You turned to her with that too-sweet, too-fake smile—the one that meant trouble. “No, I’m serious. I need your help. I’m on a mission.”

“Okay?” she said slowly, suspicious. “What mission? Did you finally realize you’re in love with Megumi and you wanna go confess on the school roof?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. “Ew, no. Gross. Barf. Never.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignored her smug little grin and sat up straighter, crossing your legs like you were about to give a fucking TED Talk.

“I want to help him.”

Nobara stared. “…Help who?”

“Megumi, dumbass.”

She blinked. “Didn’t you already help him? You know, with the whole unvirginizing him thing?”

You snorted. “Oh my god, shut up. That wasn’t—I mean, okay, yes, I helped him with the sex thing. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Whatever, you should. I performed a civic duty.”

Nobara was biting her knuckle to hold back a laugh. “So what now? You’re launching a full-blown Megumi makeover arc?”

You clapped your hands once, sharp. “Exactly.”

“You’re serious.”

You grabbed her arm. “Look at me. Dead serious. We—I—need to fix the situation.”

“And what exactly is the situation, princess?”

You stood, pacing a little now like this was a war room briefing. “Megumi dresses like a damn divorced math professor who lost custody of his kids. I’m talking black-on-black, sad hoodie, never met a comb, wouldn’t know swagger if it slapped him.”

“He’s always been like that.”

“Exactly. And it’s criminal. Have you seen that body?!” you shouted, arms flailing. “Like, holy fuck, he’s hiding all of that under a zip-up and shame.”

Nobara wheezed.

“I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at her. “We need to fix his wardrobe. Change his hair. Show him what looking good actually feels like. Because Megumi Fushiguro being that hot in secret? That’s a sin.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care about that stuff,” Nobara offered, still smiling. “Not everyone wants to be a runway reject.”

“Well, he should,” you snapped. “Because people don’t see him right now. They don’t get it. He blends in like he wants to disappear.”

Nobara raised an eyebrow. “And you want him to stand out.”

You paused. Then slowly shrugged, crossing your arms again, eyes a little softer.

“…Yeah. I do.” Because people should look at him the way you did now. Like he mattered. Like he was there. Like he wasn’t just some sad genius background character who kept his head down until graduation. He deserved better than that.

And if he didn’t know how to show it, you’d do it for him. You grinned again. Bright. Dangerous. “So are you in or what, bitch?”

Nobara gave a mock sigh and stood up next to you, brushing dust off her skirt. “God, this is gonna be chaotic.”

You linked your arm through hers. “That’s the goal.”

And in the back of your mind, you weren’t just thinking about new jackets or hair wax. You were thinking about him, and this time, you were going to do it right.

“No.” Megumi said it flatly. Instantly. Without even turning his head.

He stood stiffly in the middle of the men’s section at a massive, modern shopping mall, surrounded by racks of jackets and hangers with carefully folded shirts. A goddamn fluorescent spotlight beamed down on his disheveled black hoodie like it was about to be burned in some sacrificial ceremony.

“No,” he said again, like it was final. You grinned like it wasn’t.

“Oh, come on, Fushiguro,” you groaned, dramatically flopping a blazer over your arm like it was a dying animal. “Live a little. It’s not like I dragged you here under false pretenses.”

“You said it was an emergency,” he said without blinking, staring dead ahead at a mannequin in cargo pants.

You beamed. “It was. Your wardrobe.” Beside you, Nobara cackled, holding up a dark olive button-down like she was choosing weapons in an armory. “Honestly, she’s right. You dress like an apocalypse survivor. And not in a hot, Mad Max way—just... sad.”

“I didn’t ask,” Megumi muttered, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag slung across his chest like it was his only armor left in this cursed environment.

“You never ask for anything,” you snapped, shoving a rack aside to step closer. “That’s the whole problem. You’re allergic to being perceived.”

“I don’t care what people think.”

“Yeah, we know,” Nobara muttered. “The problem is we do.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “You’d rather walk around looking like a tax fraud suspect than admit you’re hot. It’s actually insane.”

“I’m not—” He cut himself off and glared. “This is pointless.”

“Oh my god. Fushiguro. You literally do martial arts. You could break someone’s jaw with your pinkie and yet you’re scared of trying on a fuckin’ jacket?”

Megumi turned toward you now, his brows furrowed, that signature exasperated glare leveled straight at your face. “I’m not scared. I just don’t care about stupid shit like this.”

“Well maybe you should!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe people would take you seriously for once if you looked like you had your life together instead of like you live in a supply closet!”

“I don’t care what people think,” he growled, arms crossing.

“Not even Miwa?” you said, biting your lip with a smug grin.

That made him pause. Even Nobara blinked. “Wait what the fuck—”

“Oops,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Was that too honest?”

Megumi’s jaw tensed, and for a second he looked like he wanted to walk directly into oncoming traffic.

“She doesn’t—” he started, then stopped himself. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“You like her,” you sing-songed. “And she’s all proper and polite and whatever. You really think she’s gonna look twice at you when you show up to events looking like a prison escapee?”

“That’s low,” he muttered.

“You know what else is low? Your pants. You don’t even wear a belt, it’s a miracle they’re not around your ankles right now.”

Nobara wheezed.

“You’re both insane,” Megumi muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“No, we’re fashion-forward,” you corrected, shoving a clean white T-shirt into his hands. “And this is an intervention.”

“I’m not putting this on.”

“Why?” you narrowed your eyes. “Scared I’ll see your abs again and have a full mental breakdown in the dressing room?”

Nobara choked. “Not again?!”

“You’re not helping,” Megumi growled, shooting her a glare.

“I am helping,” she chirped, tossing him a tan jacket. “Helping your hopeless ass look fuckable.”

“Please die,” Megumi said under his breath.

You shoved the clothes into his arms. “Three outfits. Try on three. Then you can go back to your corner of despair.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a second, it was like he saw something soft behind the snark.

You rolled your eyes before he could say anything. “Don’t get sentimental, bitch. Try on the fuckin’ shirt.”

And Megumi—muttering obscenities under his breath—finally walked toward the fitting rooms.

You high-fived Nobara like you’d just summoned a demon.

It wasn’t just about clothes. Not really. It was about showing him the version of himself the world deserved to see. And goddamn, he was going to shine. Even if it killed you.

He stepped out of the fitting room with the same flat expression he always wore when he was forced into anything mildly humiliating—shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, hair slightly more disheveled than usual like he’d run his hands through it five too many times in frustration.

But none of that registered. Because the second Megumi walked out, wearing a black shirt that hugged his torso like a second skin and dark jeans that—oh fuck—sat criminally well on his hips, every cell in your body short-circuited.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. Your brain? Vacant. Your heart? Punching itself in the face.

He looked… hot. Not “cute” hot. Not the quiet-guy-who-reads-in-corners hot. No. He looked like someone who should be banned from public spaces. Like someone who’d lean against a bar with his hands in his pockets and get phone numbers without speaking.

And he had the audacity to look annoyed about it. He stood in front of you, arms stiff at his sides, clearly uncomfortable but trying not to show it. “Well?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were still staring. His biceps shifted beneath the sleeves—those same arms that used to cross in irritation when you were being a brat during tutoring. Now they just looked… solid. Defined. Powerful. The shirt clung to the dip of his waist, the muscle of his chest, and you were going feral.

“Earth to bitch,” Nobara said, elbowing you sharply. “You’re drooling.”

You blinked. “Am not.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow. “You’re quiet.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“Yeah, so?” you snapped. But it came out breathier than you wanted. You turned away like it might give your sanity a fighting chance. “Shirt’s tight. You look like a douchebag.”

Nobara snorted. Megumi crossed his arms. “Is that supposed to be bad?”

Your eyes flicked back to him without meaning to. “No. I mean. Yes. I mean—shut the fuck up.”

His lips twitched. Just a little. Barely there. You were going to combust.

You forced a scoff, grabbing the next outfit from the chair. “This isn’t even the best one. Get back in there, Fushiguro.”

But even as he rolled his eyes and turned away, the image burned into your skull. You hadn’t seen this version of him before. You didn’t know what to do with this version of him.

And the worst part? He didn’t even know what he was doing to you.

He didn’t know he’d just shifted something in you—something real, something terrifying. Because for the first time in a long time… you were speechless.

Megumi stepped out again.

Different outfit, same unbothered expression—except this time, it was worse.

This time, he was wearing a fitted white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, top two buttons undone, hanging slightly open like he gave zero fucks about propriety. Paired with a pair of dark, loose slacks that cinched perfectly at his waist, he looked like he belonged on the cover of some Calvin Klein campaign where the tagline was “Silence is seductive.”

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because this wasn’t your Megumi.

Not the one who clicked his tongue at your mistakes. Not the one who made you repeat Civics dates until you cried out of rage and not frustration. Not the one who looked soft in the corners of his eyes when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

No—this Megumi was different.

Sharp. Composed. Dangerous.

He didn’t even glance at you at first. Just adjusted his sleeves slowly, hands veined and calm, like he had no idea he was doing things to your soul. But maybe he did. Because when his eyes finally flicked up, they went straight to yours. Quiet. Direct. Unrelenting.

And you forgot how to breathe. Nobara beat you to it.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed, literally grabbing the rack next to her for support. “You’re lying to me. You’re not real.”

Megumi frowned. “It’s just a shirt.”

“It’s the shirt of Gods,” she corrected. “You look like you kill people with a fountain pen and then drink black coffee over their grave.”

He raised a brow. “That’s specific.”

“I have taste.”

You didn’t say anything. Because what could you say?

You were the one who dragged him here. The one who started this whole thing. The one who picked out that shirt because it might look good and—

Now you couldn’t even speak.

It looked too good.

Your heart was racing like a traitor. Your fingers itched to fidget with something—your bag strap, your hair, his fucking shirt, maybe.

“Looks fine,” you muttered, arms crossed tight, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“Fine?” Megumi echoed, voice laced with just enough sarcasm to light your entire body on fire.

“Yeah, fine. Don’t get cocky.”

Nobara gave you a look.

“Is that why you’ve been standing there in complete silence for a full thirty seconds? Because it’s fine?”

“I was just thinking,” you snapped.

“Thinking about how hard you’d let him rail you on a school desk—?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” you and Megumi yelled at the same time, both whirling on her.

Nobara just raised her brows and held her hands up. “Okay, okay. Lovers’ quarrel. Got it.”

You turned away, ears burning. “We’re not—”

“Don’t even start,” Megumi muttered under his breath, clearly flustered too, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt like they were suffocating him now.

But you both went silent again.

Your pulse wouldn’t slow. You watched him out of the corner of your eye. The way the collar of that shirt dipped into the line of his collarbone. The way his jaw tensed like he was holding something in.

And all you could think was: You did this. You made him look like this. And now? You didn’t know how to handle it.

Megumi looked like he was about to say something—anything to break the electric tension crawling between you. His hand lifted slightly, hovering awkwardly at his side as if caught between reaching for a hanger or snapping it in half.

Then he sighed. “Can someone help me with this—?”

Nobara perked up from the bench. “Well, I’ll go find something else. You two—” she wiggled her fingers, “figure that out.”

Before you could even open your mouth to tell her not to leave you alone with him—again—she was gone.

And then it was just the two of you.

Megumi still standing in front of the changing room door, looking disarmingly good in that white button-up and slacks, hair slightly damp from sweat, the scent of soap and something distinctly him still clinging to his skin.

Your heartbeat spiked.

“I can help,” you muttered, stepping forward before your brain could catch up with your mouth.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you.

And that was all it took.

Because the moment you reached for the edge of the changing room curtain, Megumi grabbed your wrist, pulled—and you stumbled right into him.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

His mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. No warning, no question, just heat—his hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t stand the space between your bodies a second longer.

Your gasp broke the kiss, but he chased it, tongue sweeping against yours, messy and desperate, like he’d been waiting to do this since the second you walked into the store.

“Megumi—” you mumbled against his mouth, but it came out half-strangled because he was already backing you against the mirror, crowding your body, and hitching one of your thighs up around his waist.

His grip was rough. Possessive. Your skirt bunched around your hips as he lifted you with ease, hands firm beneath your thighs, grinding against your clothed core like he didn’t give a shit who might be outside that curtain.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your throat, kissing the skin there like he was punishing it. “You drive me insane.”

Your head thudded against the mirror, fingers threading into his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan against your neck. “You’re one to talk.”

But he didn’t answer—not with words.

He rolled his hips again, and the pressure made you arch into him, your breath hitching. Everything was so close—the heat of him, the taste of him, the sheer pressure of his body against yours. You felt like you were going to combust.

Clothes still on. Dignity long gone.

And he was still kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

Your hands fumbled with the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer—tighter—as your lips crashed together again. There was nothing soft about this. No hesitation. Just heat, and sweat, and the dizzying, aching need you both pretended didn’t exist for weeks.

And now it was here. Now he was here. And you didn’t want it to stop.

Not when his hands were sliding under your top. Not when your legs were trembling around his waist. Not when his tongue was in your mouth like he wanted to swallow every bratty word you ever spat at him.

But then— Voices outside. Faint. Distant. Still enough to pull you back.

You both froze. Megumi didn’t let you go.

But his breathing was uneven now, lips brushing yours in a breathless drag, like he didn’t want to stop—like he didn’t know how.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Gumi…”

He stared at you.

And you stared back. Chest heaving. Skirt still hitched. Mouth swollen. Something unspoken burning between you. And that’s where you stayed—hovering between whatever this was… and whatever came next.

His breath hit your lips, warm and ragged. His forehead rested against yours for a moment—then pulled back just far enough to see your face.

You were quiet.

Too quiet.

And Megumi noticed.

His brows furrowed. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in concern. His hand, still hot from where it had been gripping your thigh, slid up slowly, brushing over your waist until it curled gently under your jaw.

“I don’t like it when you’re quiet,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse, like it scraped the edges of something unspoken.

You blinked up at him, stunned silent by the sudden shift in him—the switch from that sharp, cold, untouchable Megumi to this. This boy whose hand now held your chin with careful fingers. Whose voice trembled with the weight of something softer.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to muster up the usual bitchy confidence, the bratty armor you always wore like second skin.

But it cracked.

Just a little.

Megumi didn’t let it slide. He tilted your chin up gently, enough to make your gaze meet his again.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t lie to me.”

His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, his stare unwavering. Still cold. Still composed. But that softness was there now—simmering beneath it all like a secret only you got to see.

“Tell me what’s wrong, pretty.”

Your lips parted, but the words caught. You swallowed thickly, breath catching at the name. The way he said it—pretty—wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. It wasn’t a jab or a joke or some arrogant dig.

It was… warm, and that scared you more than anything.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered, voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “It’s not a big deal.”

Megumi didn’t move. He didn’t push or pressure or pull away. He just kept his hand where it was, thumb dragging over your jaw as his eyes searched your face for the truth.

“Then why won’t you look at me the same?” he asked, quieter now. “You’ve been avoiding it. You’ve been avoiding me.”

You breathed in sharply, back pressing against the mirror again, like it might absorb you whole. You hated this. Hated how naked it made you feel.

He was supposed to be the awkward one.

You were supposed to be untouchable.

So why the fuck did it feel like he was the only one who ever looked at you like he saw you?

“I’m not avoiding you,” you muttered, half-hearted.

You said nothing.

Not right away. Not when he was still holding you like that, arms strong and steady beneath your thighs, chest pressed to yours like he hadn’t just kissed the air out of your lungs.

So he dropped you.

Not harshly—but suddenly. Like he was testing you.

Your back hit the changing room wall with a gentle thud, your heels barely catching the floor before your knees almost buckled. You looked up at him, breathless, heart a mess, mascara smudged just enough to betray what had just happened.

And still—you smiled.

Smug. Crooked. Unbothered.

The kind of smile that always got you out of trouble. The kind of smile that meant game on.

“Don’t worry,” you said, smoothing your hair with both hands, the lace of your skirt riding scandalously high on your thighs. “I’m good.”

Megumi didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, bare chest rising and falling, hair damp, lips still slightly parted.

“You sure?” he asked, voice lower now. Quieter. A little cautious.

You nodded. “A hundred percent.”

And before he could say anything else—before you had the chance to crack even further—you turned around and opened the changing room door.

Nobara was standing right outside, arms crossed, one brow arched like she’d been waiting hours instead of minutes.

She gave you one long, slow look from head to toe.

Your skirt was wrinkled. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a war crime.

“Well damn,” she said, deadpan. “Did he fuck the physics into you or what?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved past her with a scoff. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Nobara chirped, following you down the hall. “Your hair looks like it got into a fight with gravity. And lost.”

You reached up instinctively to fix it, still feeling Megumi’s hands on your waist, his mouth on your neck.

You didn’t say anything. But the smile on your face didn’t fade. Not even a little.

“Okay, seriously,” you said, deadpan, staring at Megumi like he just kicked a puppy. “What the fuck is on your head.”

Megumi blinked, genuinely confused. “My hair?”

“No, your tragic decision-making, obviously it’s your hair,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Why does it look like a hedgehog lost a fight with a blender?”

Nobara burst out laughing behind you, flopping onto your bed with a snort. “Oh my god—thank you. I didn’t wanna say anything at the mall, but it’s atrocious. He looks like he cut it himself during an earthquake.”

Megumi frowned, defensive now, dragging a hand through the spiky mess. “It’s just… messy.”

“Messy?” you echoed. “No. Messy is a tousled ‘I-just-got-fucked-against-a-wall’ kind of hot. This?” You circled him like a shark, squinting at the disaster on his scalp. “This is ‘I got electrocuted in the shower and didn’t notice.’”

He turned slightly to Nobara, as if for help. She just smirked and held her hands up. “Don’t look at me, Fushiguro. I’ve been trying to say this since the first day we met. You’ve got good bone structure and awful hair.”

Megumi muttered something that sounded dangerously close to “I hate both of you.”

But you weren’t having it.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this now,” you said, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward your vanity like a man being marched to execution. “You let me bring you to the mall, you let me pick your clothes, and now? You’re letting me fix the national tragedy that is your hairstyle.”

“I never agreed to this,” he said, digging in his heels halfway across your carpet. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

You whipped around, inches from his face. “You’re hot now, Fushiguro. It’s your moral responsibility to have a hairdo that doesn’t look like it was styled by a weed whacker.”

“I liked it,” he muttered under his breath.

“I liked it,” you mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Oh my god, he’s got feelings. Someone call the news.”

Nobara snorted. “Y/N, be nice.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him into the chair in front of your vanity. “No. He deserves violence. Emotional or physical, I haven’t decided yet.”

Megumi looked at himself in the mirror, then back at you, clearly regretting every life choice that led him to this point. “If you burn my scalp—”

“I will set you on fire on purpose if you keep complaining.”

“You’re terrifying,” he muttered, glaring as you sprayed water on his head.

You grinned. “I know.”

Nobara watched from your bed, sipping a boba drink she clearly found from your mini-fridge. “So what’s the plan, boss? We chopping it? Styling it? Shaving it off so he can start over?”

“Not shaving,” you said immediately, combing through his damp hair with a level of focus that would’ve shocked your teachers. “This bitch has potential. It just needs to be tamed.”

Megumi scoffed. “You make it sound like a wild animal.”

“That’s because it is, babe,” Nobara said helpfully.

You held up a strand and narrowed your eyes. “It’s giving ‘slept with my head in a microwave.’ Like, what is the texture? What is the shape? Where is the respect?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

You and Nobara turned to him in unison.

“Yes,” Nobara said solemnly. “It is.”

“It’s a violation of basic human decency,” you added.

Megumi leaned back in the chair like a condemned man. “Do whatever you want. I’m already dead inside.”

You grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

You and Nobara circled Megumi like vultures, armed with a spray bottle, two combs, a round brush, and enough styling product to open a pop-up salon. He sat rigidly in your vanity chair like he was preparing for surgery, eyes narrowed at his reflection as you pulled his hair back and forth with clinical precision.

“I swear to god, if this makes it worse—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, misting his head aggressively. “You gave up the right to complain the second you walked in here with this disaster on your scalp.”

“It’s not a disaster,” he muttered, grimacing as Nobara tugged a chunk of hair upright with a teasing comb.

“You’re right,” Nobara chimed in sweetly. “It’s a catastrophe.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “It looks like it’s been styled with a spoon and a prayer.”

Megumi groaned audibly. “Why are you both so dramatic?”

“Because we have eyes,” Nobara said.

“And standards,” you added.

It took longer than it should have—spraying, combing, trimming flyaways, arguing over center part versus side part, threatening to shave it all off entirely—but eventually, after a blur of movement and bickering and way too many close calls with Nobara’s flat iron, you took a step back.

You stared at him. Silently.

The spikes were still there—sharp, unruly, unapologetically him—but now they were tamed, softened in shape, styled with a cleaner edge that actually made sense with his face. Not too polished, not too wild. Balanced.

Dangerously so.

Because it brought out everything.

His cheekbones. The cut of his jaw. The deep-set steel blue of his eyes. It was like finally seeing a painting under the right lighting.

And you hated how hard your chest clenched.

“Oh,” Nobara said, her voice soft with shock. “Oh, you’re handsome-handsome.”

You flinched out of your trance. “Calm your fucking tits.”

Nobara ignored you, walking around to get a better view. “Y/N, we really did that. We should be charging for this.”

Megumi, still blinking at his reflection like he wasn’t sure what universe he was in, murmured, “It’s... better?”

“You look hot,” Nobara said bluntly.

“I said calm—”

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t know your face looked like that under all the porcupine static.” She turned to you. “Now—glasses.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with his glasses?” you and Megumi said at the same time, both frowning.

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong with them. But let’s just see. For science.”

“I need them to see,” Megumi deadpanned.

“Then close your eyes for two seconds and survive.”

Before either of you could protest again, she plucked the frames off his face.

Megumi blinked, disoriented. “I can’t see shit.”

And you— you couldn’t breathe.

Your fingers froze mid-adjustment. Something twisted low in your stomach.

Because this wasn’t your Megumi anymore.

This wasn’t the boy who wore soft, wrinkled hoodies and slouched with a pen in his mouth while mumbling about feudal Japan. This wasn’t the slightly awkward, perpetually annoyed tutor who scolded you for confusing Confucius with Confetti or whatever the hell his name was.

This was— Sharp. Composed. Disarmingly beautiful. And still undeniably him. But somehow… less yours. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

You swallowed around the dryness in your throat and reached over gently to slide his glasses back on.

“Okay,” you said, voice carefully neutral. “You look fine.”

Nobara arched a brow. “Fine? That’s all you’re giving him?”

“Jesus, calm down,” you muttered, waving her off. “You sound like you’re about to mount him.”

Megumi snorted softly, but he was looking at you now. Really looking. And you didn’t know what you looked like back.

Just that something inside you was shifting, and no matter how hard you tried to bury it beneath your snark and sarcasm—

You couldn’t help but think: He doesn’t look like my Megumi anymore, and that scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t ready to admit what you already knew: You didn’t want to lose the version of him that only you ever got to see.

The buzz started before first period even began.

It was in the halls, in the cafeteria, in the fucking girl’s bathroom stalls. You could hear it behind closed lockers, whispered in corners, shouted between friend groups.

"Did you see Fushiguro?" "Is that really him?" "Who knew he had a jawline like that?"

You slammed your locker shut hard enough to rattle the one next to it.

Nobara, walking beside you and munching on pocky like she owned the damn world, raised a brow. “You okay?”

“No,” you hissed, adjusting the strap of your bag sharply. “I’m not fucking okay. These bitches are acting like he hatched from an egg this morning.”

Nobara snorted. “Well, to be fair, he was looking like a soggy anime protagonist before we fixed his hair.”

You shot her a look.

She shrugged. “Hey, we did this. You should be proud. Your man’s finally getting the recognition.”

You turned to her, voice low and vicious. “That’s not my fucking man.”

She smirked. “Sure.”

And still, as you walked into the main hallway, the whispers amplified like a hive of flies. You could hear a group of girls ahead giggling too loudly, standing near the bulletin board where someone had literally taped a blurry candid of Megumi — from that morning — shirt tucked in, hair clean, glasses no where to be seen.

You stared. Blinked. And felt your blood boil.

You did this. You fixed that hair. You picked those fucking jeans.

And now they were all foaming at the mouth over it.

Not because they noticed him in math class, or watched him quietly help the juniors when no one else did, or saw the way his knuckles were always bruised because he boxed like he had something to prove.

No. They noticed because you made him hot. You did that.

And they were two seconds from sexualizing him like a piece of meat in your lunch tray.

“He could get it now,” one girl said, fanning herself with a worksheet.

“I’d climb him like a tree,” another giggled. “Those arms? He could ruin my GPA, and I’d thank him.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Oh my god,” a third voice added — Aiko, of all fucking people, her tone dripping with fake wonder. “Who knew Fushiguro had potential? He used to be such a loser, and now I’m like… kind of obsessed. He just needed a little help, right?”

You stopped walking. Nobara sensed it before you spoke. “Oh no.”

Your heels clicked against the tile like a warning shot. You stepped forward, stopping right in front of their little group like a queen entering the battlefield.

Aiko turned, already smiling, like she wanted you to join in on the joke.

You didn’t smile back.

“You wanna say that again?” you asked, voice deceptively sweet.

Aiko blinked. “What?”

“The part where you called him a loser,” you said, tilting your head. “Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear that from someone who couldn’t spell ‘potential’ if her life depended on it.”

The girls went quiet.

You took another step closer, smiling now—but it was venomous. “See, you bitches love to pop your pussy for something shiny and new. But where were you when he sat alone every fucking lunch? Or when you called him creepy for knowing the answers before the teacher asked?”

Aiko’s face started to pale.

“That boy has more class in his knuckles than you have in your whole bloodline,” you sneered. “So maybe think twice before you talk about him like he’s your little glow-up project. You wouldn’t know what to do with him even if he let you try.”

Nobara let out a low whistle behind you. “Jesus.”

You didn’t care. Your heart was thudding in your chest, rage coiling behind your ribs. Because he deserved better than that. Better than them. Better than you, too, maybe—but they sure as fuck weren’t allowed to talk about him like that.

Not when they didn’t know a thing about him.

Not like you did.

The girls scattered like flies after that, mumbling apologies or pretending not to care.

You stood tall, smoothed your skirt, and turned on your heel.

“Feel better?” Nobara asked, falling into step beside you, eyebrow raised.

You huffed. “No. But I fucking meant every word.”

She bumped your shoulder. “Damn right you did.”

But the truth burned in your throat even as you walked away from the mess. Because the one person you weren’t brave enough to say that to… was the one person you’d started to care about way too much.

It was raining by the time you got there. Not heavy yet, but the clouds overhead promised hell was coming.

You barely knocked.

The door opened after one knock, and there he was—Megumi. Barefoot, in sweatpants and a black t-shirt that clung to his chest. His hair was a little damp, curling at the ends from either a shower or the humidity outside. The soft flicker of the TV behind him lit his silhouette.

His eyes skimmed over you. “You’re late.”

“I was being dramatic,” you said with a sniff, stepping inside like you owned the place.

You didn’t. And you felt it, too.

The quiet of the house pressed in on you. The only sound was the low murmur of the television—“storm warning issued for Tokyo Metro Area…”

Your shoes left faint water prints on the hardwood. You toed them off and dropped your bag beside the couch, pretending the silence wasn’t suffocating.

“So…” you said, voice softer now, almost teasing. “You’re a big shot now, huh?”

Megumi frowned. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward him. “The school. People are practically frothing at the mouth over you. I think I overheard someone say you could step on them and they’d say thank you.”

He blinked. “That’s… disturbing.”

You dropped onto the couch. “That’s teenage girls. Get used to it.”

He didn’t sit. Just stood there for a second, like he didn’t know what to do with you. Like he couldn’t decide whether he should start quizzing you on politics or kick you out.

You stared at him. “You really didn’t notice?”

“No,” he muttered. “I don’t care.”

There was a pause. A little too long.

Then—

“…Do you?” he asked, quieter now.

You tilted your head. “Do I what?”

He was still standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight. But something about the way he said it—

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The way I look now.”

It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t a trap. It sounded like an honest fucking question.

You felt something pinch in your chest.

You wanted to laugh. Or roll your eyes. Or tell him he looked fine and move on with your night. But you couldn’t. Because the way he was looking at you—calm, quiet, guarded—was killing you.

“Do you want me to like it?” you asked back.

He didn’t blink. “I asked first.”

You stared at him. Tried to read his expression. But he was unreadable, as always—except his shoulders were a little tense, and his eyes kept flicking between you and the storm outside the window. So you told the truth.

“I liked how you looked before,” you said, crossing your arms again. “I like how you look now. You’re hot. Congrats.”

That made him frown, just a little.

You rolled your eyes. “Is that not what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” he said. “I just… didn’t think you noticed me.”

The words were soft. Like they cost something.

You blinked. “What?”

He finally sat down beside you, slow and heavy, elbows on his knees. “You were with guys like Kamo. Loud, rich. The whole school knew when you were dating someone.”

“So?”

“So I thought you just… tolerated me,” he said.

You stared at him. “I showed up to your house in the rain. For tutoring. I literally begged you to tutor me again.”

His eyes flicked toward yours. “That’s not the same.”

Silence again. You bit your lip, then sighed. “I just didn’t want to be the only one who saw you.”

Megumi’s brows pulled slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” You swallowed, folding your arms tighter. “People didn’t really look at you. Not really. They saw the grades, the silence, the hair. But they didn’t look. I did.”

You paused.

“And I didn’t want to keep it to myself.”

Megumi was quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that made your skin prickle. You looked down at your nails, chewing your lip. “That’s all. I just thought… people should know.”

“Why?”

You blinked again. “Why what?”

“Why did it matter that people saw me?”

The question was too honest. It made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Because maybe if they did… I wouldn’t feel so fucking insane for noticing you in the first place.”

Megumi’s throat bobbed. The rain outside was louder now. You could hear the drops hitting the glass like static. You were sitting so close on the couch now, knees almost brushing. He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t touch you.

But his voice dropped a little. “I noticed you first.”

You turned your head.

Megumi wasn’t looking at you. But you could see the pink climbing up his neck.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d destroy me,” he muttered, almost like he was annoyed with himself. “You still might.”

You smirked, but it was softer than usual. “You’re not so easy to destroy, Fushiguro.”

He finally turned toward you again. And for a second—just a second—you weren’t the girl who wrecked reputations for fun. You weren’t the mean girl, the manipulator, the bitch with a crown on her head. You were just a girl. Wanting a boy who never thought someone like you would.

“…We’re here to study,” you said quickly, breaking the eye contact and grabbing your bag. “Don’t get weird about it.”

But your hands were trembling just a little when you opened your notebook. And neither of you pointed it out. Megumi didn’t move. You felt it before you saw it—that shift in the air. His gaze heavy on you, weighing every breath you tried to take like it meant something.

And maybe it did. Because then came the first real blow. “You’re quiet.”

Your pen stilled. “I’m literally speaking right now,” you muttered, not looking up.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You clenched your jaw, flipping open your notes like they weren’t trembling in your hand. “Well, maybe I just didn’t feel like biting your head off today. Shouldn’t that be a win for you?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “You’ve been off ever since the mall.”

“And you’ve been dressing like you’re starring in a Calvin Klein ad,” you shot back. “Maybe I’m just adjusting.”

His brow twitched. “So you are upset.”

“No.” You looked up at him, heat crawling up your neck. “I just think it’s funny.”

Megumi’s stare didn’t budge. “What’s funny?”

“That now everyone sees you,” you said, biting the words out, “suddenly you’re worth talking to. And I have to watch girls lose their shit over a guy I—”

You caught yourself. Hard. Megumi stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

“And what?” he said, voice low.

Your throat was dry. “And nothing.”

He tilted his head, sea-glass eyes narrowing. “That’s not nothing.”

You shot to your feet. “Can you not? Can you just, for once, not try to read my mind like I’m some fucking essay prompt?”

“I wouldn’t have to guess,” he said, voice tighter now, “if you’d just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m fine, Megumi,” you snapped.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh my god, shut up—why do you even care?”

That stopped him. Just a second. But you saw the way it landed. Saw the shift in his shoulders, the pinch in his brows—like you’d yanked a thread that unraveled something you weren’t supposed to touch. You hated how your chest twisted.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said quickly, voice smaller. “I just—this was easier when you were just…”

“What?” Megumi asked quietly.

Just Megumi. Your Megumi. But you didn’t say it. You didn’t get the chance.

Because the thunder cracked so violently it made the windows rattle—followed by a sudden, sharp click as the power cut out completely. Lights. TV. Everything.

Gone. Darkness swallowed the room, save for the occasional flash of lightning. You could barely see him. But you felt him. Both of you stood there in the thick silence, the storm pressing against the glass like a weight.

And then— “I’m still me,” Megumi said quietly. “Even if I look different.” You exhaled. Slow. Unsteady.

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like I’m not?”

You hesitated. Then, barely above a whisper— “Because you look less like someone I can keep.”

The words hung there between you. Electric. Unforgivable. You weren’t even sure he heard them—until he stepped closer. Close enough that the scent of him, the heat of his skin, wrapped around you like gravity.

“You think I’m going somewhere?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Everyone else wants you now.”

“I don’t care about everyone else.”

The silence between you was louder than the storm now. You opened your mouth—then shut it again. Because you could still taste the fear in your throat. Not of losing him. But of how much you already had. You swallowed around the ache in your throat, trying not to blink too hard. The silence stretched. Too raw. Too exposed. So, like always, you threw up a wall.

“Well,” you said, stepping back and folding your arms, “isn’t this romantic. Power’s out, storm’s raging, and I’m stuck with Tokyo’s favorite new thirst trap.”

Megumi blinked, the sharpness in his expression dimming just enough to look mildly offended. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re sweaty and shirtless and we’re in the dark.” You gestured around. “I’m just saying, if this was a movie, I’d already be dead or pregnant.”

That earned a very faint snort, like he didn’t want to laugh but couldn’t help it. He exhaled, raking a hand through his damp hair. “My dad keeps candles somewhere.”

“Wow. Sexy and prepared,” you muttered, watching him disappear into the hallway. “No wonder the girls are eating it up.”

“Shut up,” he called back. A cabinet door creaked open, followed by the sound of matches scraping. “If you’re cold, there’s a blanket on the couch.”

You ignored that. Pulled out your phone instead—only to see one bar and a signal so weak it might as well be decorative. You sighed and dialed anyway. It rang once, twice. Then a familiar voice crackled through the speaker. “Sweetheart?”

“Daddy,” you breathed, the relief hitting hard. “The power’s out. It’s storming like crazy. Are you home?”

“I’m out of town, baby. Business trip. Flight got delayed.” His voice softened. “Where are you?”

You glanced at the flickering light starting to glow down the hall. “Megumi’s.”

A pause. “You safe?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Just… stuck.”

“Alright. Call me if anything changes. I’ll check the weather. Love you.”

“Love you more,” you said softly and hung up.

Megumi returned, two candles flickering in hand. One for the living room, one for the table. He lit them both in quick, practiced motions. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll walk you home when the wind dies down,” he said, flatly.

You narrowed your eyes. “I didn’t say I was leaving.”

“You were about to,” he muttered. “You always are.”

The jab caught you off guard.

“…Jesus, dramatic much?” you mumbled, shifting on the couch as the room glowed orange and gold. “You act like I’m trying to abandon you.”

He gave you a look. “You were literally about to walk out during a thunderstorm.”

“Yeah, well, I like living on the edge.”

“I swear to god, you’re going to get electrocuted one day and somehow blame me for it.”

“Obviously.” His lips twitched. Almost a smile.

The tension was still there—but softened now, under the candlelight. Like it had been dulled by the rain and everything neither of you could say outright. You pulled your knees up to your chest, watching the lightning flash against the windows.

“…You didn’t have to light all those, you know,” you said quietly, eyes flicking toward the candles.

“I know.”

You hesitated. “…But thank you.” Another small silence.

Then he sat down next to you again. A little closer this time. The storm howled outside, but in here—there was only the flicker of light between you and the quiet push-and-pull that had always felt like home.

“You really think I’m Tokyo’s favorite thirst trap?” he said suddenly, deadpan.

You groaned. “You remembered that?”

“You literally just said it.”

“Well, I’m not wrong.”

“Whatever.” You glanced at him.

His arms were folded again. His face still unreadable. But something in his expression had eased. Not softer, necessarily—but less guarded. And you… you could breathe again.

You didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped out.

“Miwa’s taking an interest in you.”

Megumi glanced up from where he was lighting a candle on the table, his face cast in flickering shadows. “What?”

You picked at the frayed hem of your skirt like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Nobara heard her talking in the bathroom. She was saying you’re different now. That you look… good.”

A beat of silence.

Then, like an idiot, he asked, “She is?”

You wanted to throw the fucking candle at his head.

Instead, you smiled. That sweet, mean smile you wore like armor. “What, hoping she asks you out? You want someone to touch your freshly styled hair and whisper about your jawline now?”

He didn’t bite. Just walked to the kitchen with that maddening calm of his. Megumi’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t look at him. You were too busy pretending to scroll through your phone, too busy ignoring the sting from earlier—She is?—like it hadn’t lodged itself right in your chest. But then his tone changed.

“…You’re stuck?” You peeked up, subtly.

Megumi’s voice dropped, quiet and curt. “Flooding?”

Pause. A sigh. “No, it’s fine. Yeah—I’m not alone.”

Another pause. “Yeah, it’s her.” You tensed, grip tightening around your phone.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’ll take care of it. Just… stay safe.”

He hung up. Silence. You didn’t say anything, waiting.

He turned around, arms folded, voice neutral. “That was my dad.”

“Obviously.”

“There’s flooding near the station. He’s stuck for the night.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And you can’t leave.”

You stared at him. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“There’s a blackout. The storm’s not letting up. Roads are a mess.” He gestured to the window where the rain slapped against the glass in heavy sheets. “Power lines are down. Toji said even the convenience store by the corner shut down. He’s not coming home.”

You blinked. “And what, you’re just holding me hostage now?”

Megumi’s expression didn’t change. “You came here.”

“I didn’t come here to spend the night!”

He crossed his arms tighter. “Well, congratulations. Looks like you’re going to.”

You huffed. Loudly. Dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” And then he moved past you, candle in hand, heading toward the hallway like this was all perfectly reasonable. You glared at the flame, at the storm, at your phone with zero service, and then finally threw yourself back against the couch with a groan.

“…Fine,” you muttered under your breath. “But I’m not taking the fucking bed.”

From down the hall, Megumi’s voice drifted back—completely unbothered.

“You’re not.”

It was quiet for a while. Too quiet. The storm outside had dulled into a low, steady rhythm—rain kissing the windows in soft percussion, wind rattling somewhere beyond the walls like a ghost trying to get in. The power was still out, the flicker of candlelight the only thing cutting through the shadows curling around the room.

You sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, pretending your phone wasn't dead and you weren’t mildly terrified of the dark. Then you heard footsteps. Not heavy. Not rushed. Just Megumi. He emerged from the hallway carrying a stack of pillows and a neatly folded blanket. He didn’t say anything as he knelt beside the couch, laying everything out with a quiet focus you refused to react to. But your throat tightened anyway. Because it was too much.

He’d brought the softest blanket. The only one that didn’t smell like detergent. He even slid a second pillow behind your back, like you couldn’t possibly sleep without it.

You didn’t comment. Just watched with a neutral expression, biting your cheek to stop from saying something snarky. You could've made a joke. Could’ve called him a housewife. Could’ve pushed, flirted, snapped.

But you didn’t. Because even you couldn’t deny what this was. He cared. And that scared the shit out of you.

When he finally sat down beside you—on the floor, back resting against the couch—you raised a brow.

“What, not going to bed?” you said, voice low.

He shrugged, eyes on the candlelight. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You blinked, letting your head rest against the cushion. “What are you, my emotional support boxer?”

That made him huff—barely a laugh, but still something. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You smirked. “Please. You’re the one bringing luxury sleepware like I’m a fucking princess.”

“No,” he deadpanned. “You’re a brat. Princesses don’t throw paper at their tutors.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time.”

“It was two.”

You both went quiet after that, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… still. You watched the flicker of flames bounce shadows off the ceiling, your heart slower now, your body less tense.

“…So why boxing?” you asked, surprising even yourself.

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

You tilted your head. “You don’t really seem like the type. You hate attention. And yet here you are, shirtless and sweaty, punching people in a ring.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, after a beat— “It helps,” he said quietly. “Gets the noise out of my head.”

You frowned. “You get noise?”

He didn’t look at you. “Everyone does.”

The answer made your chest ache a little.

You didn’t press. Just let the silence fill in the blanks. Then— “...You’re good at it,” you said.

His brow ticked. “You saw five minutes.”

“Still.” Another beat.

“You looked hot,” you added, nonchalant, watching the side of his face carefully.

This time, he did look at you. “You’re deflecting.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t have to.”

You blinked. He didn’t elaborate. Just turned back to the candlelight, fingers fidgeting slightly against his knee.

The kind of fidgeting you did when you wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You swallowed.

“I never had something like that,” you said, quieter now. “Something that made the noise go away.”

Megumi didn’t speak, but you could feel him listening.

Really listening.

You rested your chin on your knees. “I tried to find it in people. Parties. Power. All that shit. But it never works.”

A pause.

Then Megumi asked, “And now?”

You looked at him. At the boy who used to flinch when you walked by. At the boy who looked at you like you were everything and nothing at the same time.

“…Now?” you repeated. He met your eyes. And for once—you didn’t look away.

“I don’t know yet,” you said. “But I think I’m closer than I used to be.”

You didn’t say it. But you were pretty sure he knew.

The silence had stretched into something calmer now—less tense, less biting. You were both still on the couch, the storm a dull whisper outside, the candlelight making the room feel smaller, warmer, like some strange little world that didn’t exist anywhere but here.

You shifted a little, resting your chin on your arms, curled up in the blanket he brought you like a sullen cat. Megumi sat beside you, back against the couch again, his legs stretched out, elbows on his knees.

Neither of you had spoken in a while.

You didn’t know why the words came out.

Maybe it was the dark.

Or the quiet.

Or the way Megumi was just... there. Not asking for anything. Not prying. Just existing beside you with that stillness that made people underestimate him.

“My dad’s out of town,” you murmured.

Megumi didn’t look at you, but his head tilted slightly—listening.

“Business trip,” you added, trying not to sound defensive. “He does that a lot. I used to hate it when I was younger.”

A pause.

Then: “But you’re close.”

You gave a small smile. “Yeah. I’m a daddy’s girl. You can’t tell?”

Megumi snorted softly. “Oh, I can tell.”

You chuckled under your breath, but the laughter faded quickly, something deeper tugging at your chest.

“I don’t talk about him much at school,” you said. “People already have their little opinions about me, I didn’t want to... whatever. Make it worse.”

Megumi stayed quiet.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your legs.

“When I was eight, my mom and dad split,” you said suddenly. “It got messy. She didn’t want custody. Not really. But her new husband did. I think he just wanted to win something.”

Megumi turned his head a little, watching you now.

You stared ahead at the dim outline of his coffee table, your voice soft. “But my dad fought for me. Hard. Like—like it was war. Lawyers, courts, all that shit. I remember him carrying me out of the hearing room when the judge gave him custody. I was crying. He didn’t. Not once.”

Megumi didn’t interrupt.

“I used to think he was made of steel or something,” you whispered. “Like, nothing could break him. And he never—he never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Not even once.”

You blinked. Fast.

“He worked so hard. All those long hours. Just to give me this life. The clothes. The car. The schools. People see me and think I’m just spoiled. Rich bitch. But they don’t know how hard he worked for all of it. How hard he worked for me.”

Megumi’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “Sounds like he really loves you.”

You nodded slowly. “He does. And I love him, too. More than anyone.”

There was a pause. The quiet kind that settled in your bones.

You bit your lip. “My mom—she lives in Fukuoka now. Married to that same guy. I see her sometimes. She’s always smiling in her new house, with her new kids, like she didn’t leave me behind. But he never did.”

Megumi shifted then, just slightly.

You felt it before you saw it—the way his hand brushed gently against your ankle under the blanket, not a grab, not a hold, just... there.

Steady. Present.

“I’m glad you have him,” Megumi said. And he meant it. You could hear it.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for a while, that was all. No teasing. No bickering. Just a storm outside, and a boy beside you, and the quiet reminder that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

The silence wrapped around the both of you again, more comfortable now. The storm outside had settled into a steady rhythm, wind pressing against the windows like a tired breath. The candle on the coffee table flickered lazily, casting long shadows up the wall.

You’d fallen quiet again, the weight of your last words still hanging in the air.

Megumi hadn’t said anything in a while. You glanced at him from under your lashes. His brows were drawn, expression unreadable—but his hands were tense in his lap, fingers rubbing at his knuckles absently. Like he was thinking too hard about something.

You nudged him gently with your knee under the blanket.

His eyes flicked to yours. “What?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The broody, ‘I’m-staring-into-the-void-like-a-tragic-protagonist’ thing.”

A breath of a laugh escaped him. Barely.

Then his gaze dropped, his voice quieter. “I’ve been thinking about Tsumiki.”

Your teasing died instantly.

“Oh.”

He nodded slowly. “She’s… not doing great.”

The weight of those four words hit you like a punch to the chest. You sat up a little straighter, eyes scanning his face. There was something different in it now—tired, but deeper than that. Like something he’d been holding for too long.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “Her condition’s… it’s getting worse. The doctors said there’s not much more they can do here.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I might have to fly out next week. Fukuoka or even Sapporo—depends where they transfer her. She’s not waking up. And if something—if anything happens and I’m not there, I’ll never—” He cut himself off, jaw locking.

You didn’t say anything. You just reached out, resting your hand over his knuckles.

He didn’t pull away.

“She raised me more than anyone,” he said, voice gravelly. “After everything with my mom and dad… she was the one who kept me steady. Who made me believe I could be anything other than angry.”

You swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Megumi looked at you then. And for once, his eyes weren’t guarded. They were raw. Open. So full of guilt and helplessness that it made your chest ache.

“She’s so kind,” he murmured. “Always has been. She never hurt anybody. I don’t know why people like her—why she ends up paying for things.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I don’t want to lose her.”

His voice cracked at the end. Just slightly. Enough to make you want to pull him close and never let go.

You didn’t say you understood. Because you didn’t. Not really.

But you let your hand stay in his. And when his thumb brushed over your knuckles, soft and trembling, you didn’t call him out for it.

You just sat there.

Two kids. Bruised hearts. A flickering candle. And the quiet grief that filled the room like smoke.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, barely touching.

“I’ll be here,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

The thunder had quieted into a low grumble, distant now, like the sky was done screaming and only murmured in exhaustion.

You weren’t sure when the silence shifted—when the conversation turned from real, heavy things to just… breath. Just the warmth of being there beside him. You had your knees pulled up, a blanket across your lap, your arm pressed against his on the couch. The faint scent of citrusy soap clung to his skin. The candlelight flickered over his profile.

And when he looked at you… really looked at you—

Everything else faded.

No more school. No more rumors. No more fights, or essays, or storms. Just the steady sound of his breath, and the way he was staring like you were a question he never thought he’d get to ask, let alone answer.

“…What?” you whispered, pulse skipping.

Megumi just shook his head a little. “Nothing.”

But his eyes didn’t leave you. Didn’t drop, didn’t flinch. They were so blue in the dark, like sea glass catching fire.

You blinked, suddenly shy. “Why are you—”

He leaned in.

You felt it before you saw it—his hand ghosting over your cheek, gentle, almost hesitant. Like he was giving you one last chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

When his mouth met yours, it was soft. Barely there. A breath shared between two people who’d never thought this would happen. His lips moved over yours like he was learning how—like he’d only ever imagined it before, and now, he was finding out what it meant to want, really want, and be allowed to.

You tilted your face up, deepened it slowly.

He followed you, a little clumsy, a little shy—but eager. Your fingers slipped into his hair, still tousled from the storm, from your work earlier, and a quiet groan hummed in his throat.

When he pulled back, his breath was shaky.

“Are you…” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then his hand touched your jaw again, thumb dragging over your cheek like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“I want to,” he said. His voice was steady, but his pulse was racing—you could feel it where your hand had pressed against his chest. “I’ve never wanted anything like this before.”

You swallowed, heart in your throat. “You’ve never…?”

He shook his head once.

Oh. You were quiet. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said again. And then softer, with something almost aching: “You’re the only one I’d ever want it with.”

Your chest ached.

And for once, you didn’t tease him. Didn’t put up your usual wall.Instead, you kissed him again.

You ended up in his lap before you even realized it.

One second you were kissing him—soft, slow, like the world might shatter if you rushed it—and the next, your knees were straddling his thighs, blanket slipping off your lap, hands curled in the collar of his shirt as you breathed into each other.

The living room was drenched in warm shadows, candlelight flickering golden over the curve of his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. You could still hear the rain faintly outside, a low murmur against the windows—but in here, everything was still. Sacred.

Megumi’s hands rested uncertainly on your hips, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. Like he didn’t trust himself.

“You can touch me,” you murmured, lips brushing against his. “You’re allowed.”

His fingers tightened slightly, eyes darting up to yours. That bashful, quiet intensity—it made your chest ache.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered. “I don’t… I’ve never…”

“I know,” you said gently, and leaned in again, pressing your mouth to the corner of his. “That’s why I’m here.”

You kissed him deeper that time. Tongue teasing his lower lip, your body pressing closer. His hands slid up your sides hesitantly, under your shirt, skin to skin—and you felt the exact moment his breath hitched.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice was rougher now, quiet. “I just… I can’t believe this is real.”

You smiled against his lips. “It’s real.”

You tugged your shirt over your head, slow and deliberate, letting the fabric fall to the floor behind you. His gaze followed every movement, and when your chest was bare in front of him, he froze.

Not out of fear. Not discomfort. Just awe.

“…Fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide, voice barely audible. “You’re—”

“Don’t say perfect,” you said quickly, your voice light, teasing, trying to play it off. But your heart was fluttering in your chest like it was trying to fly away. “That’s such a cop-out.”

Megumi blinked like he hadn’t even thought of that word. “I wasn’t going to.”

You arched a brow. “No?”

He shook his head slowly, eyes still glued to your bare chest, your soft skin, the curve of you in his lap. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like you were something out of a dream.

“I was gonna say… unfair,” he said, swallowing hard. “Because I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You froze.

Not hot. Not sexy. Not fuckable, or a ten, or any of the things guys had always tossed at you like they meant something.

Beautiful.

It hit different. Like a bruise blooming in your chest—but soft. Warm. Gentle. You didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet until his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“Hey,” Megumi murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, blinking quickly.

But the words were still echoing in your mind, messing with something deep inside you. Beautiful. Like art. Like something fragile and worth holding carefully.

No one had ever said that to you before. Not like this. Not with their hands trembling just from touching you. Not with eyes that looked like they were seeing straight through the act, the image, the attitude.

You looked down at him again—messy hair, bitten lip, flushed skin—and swallowed thickly.

“You mean that?” you asked, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “That I’m… beautiful?”

His brows furrowed, confused by the question, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do. How could I not?”

And just like that, the ache in your chest cracked open into something warm, something terrifyingly tender.

So you kissed him—slowly, deeply, like it was the only way to say thank you without falling apart.

He kissed you lower, lips skimming the slope of your breast, and when you arched gently into him, he let out a quiet groan.

“Can I…?” he whispered.

You took his hand and guided it up, letting him cup you fully. His fingers twitched at first, then softened, kneading tenderly as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You exhaled, body melting into his, your hands cradling his jaw as you kissed him again—deeper now. Lazier. The kind of kiss that made time dissolve.

You tugged his shirt off next, fingers brushing over the hard lines of his chest and the pale bandages still wrapped around his knuckles. He tried to hide the way his breath hitched, but you felt it—felt all of him.

His chest was rising fast. He was hard beneath you already, straining against his sweats, and your hips shifted instinctively.

“Shit,” he whispered, fingers digging into your thighs as you rocked against him. “You feel…”

“I know, baby,” you breathed into his neck. “You feel good too.”

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and his head tipped back against the couch. He looked wrecked already—eyes blown wide, lips parted, jaw slack.

“Can I…?” you asked quietly, your hand drifting down between your bodies. “Can I see you?”

He nodded, a little frantic.

You slid his sweats down carefully, watched as his cock sprang free—long, thick, flushed a dark pink at the tip, resting heavy against his stomach.

You paused. Blinked.

“…You’ve been hiding this?” you said, scandalized.

His cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away. “I didn’t think it’d—look good. Or be… enough.”

Your mouth fell open. “Enough? Baby, it’s a fucking blessing.”

He let out a broken laugh, but it turned into a groan when your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly. He was already leaking, the head glistening, and when you kissed his jaw again, his hips bucked helplessly under you.

You guided him to your entrance, your body already aching for him, but still—still—you paused.

“Are you sure?” you asked, voice steady. “This matters, Gumi."

His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

You sank down on him slowly.

The stretch burned a little, but he was so careful—hands trembling, voice breaking every time he whispered, “Wait, let me—are you okay? Is this too much?” And you kept kissing him through it, calming him, guiding him, grounding him.

When he was fully inside you, you paused, gasping against his mouth. He filled you so deep it was dizzying. You could feel every pulse, every twitch of his cock inside you, and he just stared—completely overwhelmed.

You rocked your hips steadily at first, letting him adjust, letting you adjust—but God, the way he filled you. Thick and hot and deep, every inch stretching you open, your breath hitching every time your hips met his. His hands had gone from trembling to clinging, fingers digging into your waist like he didn’t trust his own self-control.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, breath ragged against your collarbone. “You’re so warm. So tight. I can’t—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, grinding your hips down into him. “You feel so fucking good, Gumi.”

The nickname made his hips jerk up. Hard.

Your moan cracked in your throat.

He groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked—and buried his face in your chest. “Say it again.”

“Gumi,” you whispered, rolling your hips slow, teasing. “My Gumi.”

Something snapped.

Suddenly, his hands slid up your back, grabbing fistfuls of your hair as he sat up straighter beneath you. His mouth captured yours in a messier, wetter kiss—more tongue than technique—and the next thrust he gave you was sharper. Rougher. Deep enough to make your thighs tremble where they straddled him.

You gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. “F-fuck—what happened to being gentle?”

“I’m trying,” he growled, thrusting up again. “But you’re—shit—you’re making it hard.”

You felt his cock twitch inside you. You clenched around him just to hear the sound he made—half groan, half curse.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His eyes were glassy. Unfocused. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty—”

Your whole body shivered at the name.

“Say it again,” you whispered, breathless.

He kissed you. Nipped at your bottom lip. Then, rougher: “You’re so fucking pretty, baby. You’re unreal.”

That did it—you pushed at his chest, forcing him back into the couch cushions, and began to ride him again. Faster. Deeper. His hands gripped your ass, your thighs, your waist—wherever he could hold you steady—and he let you take control for a moment, let you ruin him.

“Gumi,” you moaned, voice pitchy now. “You’re so deep—I can feel you everywhere—”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed your hips and flipped you before you could blink, laying you out flat across the couch cushions. Your legs parted instinctively and he slid back in with a broken groan, arms caging you in, head bowed over your shoulder as he thrust deep—really thrust now. Controlled at first, but strong. Heavy. The slap of skin meeting skin filling the dark room as you took all of him, over and over again.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head tilting back, body arching. “Gumi—fuck—you’re—”

“I know,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple as he buried himself to the hilt. “I know, baby.”

His mouth trailed across your jaw, your neck, sucking marks into the skin before pulling back to look down at you—your makeup a little smudged, lips parted, chest heaving.

“You’re unreal,” he said again, voice deeper now, like gravel laced with awe. “My pretty fucking girl.”

His thrusts picked up again—harder, faster, the kind of rhythm that had your legs shaking and your back arching into him. Your moans grew louder, ragged, and when his fingers dropped down between your legs again, circling your clit with messy, desperate pressure, you gasped so loud it echoed off the walls.

“F-fuck, Gumi—don’t stop—”

“I want you to cum first,” he murmured, his voice tight, almost pained. “Please. I need to feel you cum.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“You can do it,” he said, his hand never slowing. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

You clenched around him, legs locking around his waist as the pleasure crested—hot and deep and overwhelming. You came with a sharp cry, shaking beneath him, your nails dragging down his back as your orgasm shattered through you like a wave.

“Megumi—!”

He followed right after, gasping as he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the base. You could feel him pulsing inside you, warmth spreading deep as his whole body tensed, then collapsed over yours in a breathless heap.

“Fuck…” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck.”

You wrapped your arms around his back, still trembling, your body soaked with sweat, your pulse a wild thrum in your chest.

For a long, long moment, you just lay there, tangled in each other, still connected, still catching your breath.

Eventually, he kissed your temple.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded slowly. “Better than okay.”

You turned your head and looked up at him, all flushed and wrecked, his lips pink, eyes heavy-lidded and soft.

“…You know you’re stuck with me now, right?” you said, voice low, a little smug.

He blinked down at you, dazed and smiling. “Good,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

You smirked up at him, eyes gleaming. “Guess what, Gumi?”

He raised a brow, still breathless. “What?”

You grinned. “You’re not a virgin anymore.”

He blinked. Then rolled his eyes with the most offended expression. “Wow. So romantic.”

You laughed, nudging his chest. “I’m just saying—it’s official now.”

“Yeah, and you’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

He tried to scowl, but the soft curve tugging at his lips betrayed him. “…Shut up.”

You leaned up, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Never.”

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “God help me.”

But he was smiling. So were you. Megumi walked slow, hoodie unzipped, the morning breeze cutting through the damp weight of his thoughts. He hadn’t slept much.

Not because you kept him up—though, god, the memory of your body under his hands, the way you said his name, how your lips had tasted like fire and sugar and something he knew would ruin him forever—that didn’t exactly help.

No. It was more than that. It was you. It was the softness.

The way you looked at him when you thought he didn’t notice. The way your voice lost its bite when you touched his face. The way you called him baby, like he meant something.

Like he was yours. He’d never had something like that before. Not with Miwa. Not with anyone. So now, walking across campus with the sky still gray from last night’s storm, he was thinking. Planning. Something stupid. Something soft.

A picnic. Flowers. Maybe a question about the dance—nothing cheesy, just… something real. Honest. You deserved honesty. And maybe, maybe you’d say yes.

He spotted Nobara by the vending machine, squatting like she was about to fight it.

“Yo,” he called, hands in his hoodie pocket.

She turned, eyes narrowing. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what.”

“Like you just got laid and then went to therapy.”

Megumi coughed, looking away. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Nobara straightened, grinning. “You did.”

He didn’t answer.

She laughed. “Finally. Thought I was gonna have to break the tension with a crowbar.”

He ignored her, kicking at a stone. “Hey.”

“What.”

“…Do you know if she’s going to the dance?”

Nobara blinked. “Who?”

He gave her a look. She raised a brow. “Oh. Right. Her.”

Megumi waited. Quiet. Hope tucked under his sleeve like a heartbeat.

Nobara sighed. Looked away. “She’s not planning on it.”

His chest sank. “Oh.”

Silence. Then her voice came, a little softer. “You like her?”

He nodded once. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Nobara saw it—how he looked like someone waiting for a building to fall. How he was still standing there, trying to hold up hope with both hands even though it was slipping.

“She told me she didn’t like you like that,” she said, careful. Not cruel. Not cutting.

Just honest.

Megumi blinked. “…When?”

“A while ago.” Nobara’s voice was low. “Before you started tutoring her again. Before all of this.”

He looked at the ground. His hands tightened into fists inside his pockets.

You said that. You said you didn’t like him. And now?

Now he was standing here, remembering the way you kissed him, the way you called him beautiful, the way you came around him like you wanted no one else—and it all started to feel like a dream.

Like he’d misread everything. Like he’d built something out of nothing.

“Maybe she changed her mind,” Nobara offered, but her voice wasn’t convincing. “You know how she is.”

Yeah. He did.

You were a hurricane. Reckless. Sharp. Terrified of feeling too much, and even more terrified of being seen.

And maybe… maybe he let himself believe you saw him too.

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe you didn’t want to. Megumi exhaled, his chest tight.

“Thanks,” he said, voice flat.

Nobara opened her mouth, but he was already walking away. And the wind picked up again—colder this time. Like the storm wasn’t really over.

"Going to see my sister. Things got worse. I’ll be gone for a while."

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since you’d seen Megumi.

Not that you were counting. Obviously.

It’s not like you checked your phone like an insane person the second you woke up. Or reread his last text five times before class started.

It had landed like a rock in your chest. Not the message itself—just the simple way he said it. Like it didn’t kill him to write it. Like it wasn’t tearing him apart.

And he didn’t even say when he’d be back.

So you’d done what you were best at: pretending none of it mattered.

You went to school. You wore the shortest skirt in your closet. You handed in a pop quiz without crying over it. You even laughed at something Nobara said in chemistry without faking it.

Maybe that was the worst part. You were doing fine. Too fine.

You were perched on one of the picnic tables outside the school building, your platform heels kicked up on the bench, iced coffee in hand. The sun was warm, the sky blue, and your hair was freshly styled in waves that would make a shampoo ad weep.

You looked every inch the untouchable bitch.

But your chest ached in that quiet, hollow way.

“I swear to god,” Nobara groaned beside you, flopping down on the table with a dramatic sigh. “If one more boy breathes near me with Axe body spray on, I’m pressing charges.”

You snorted, sipping your drink. “Just bring a lighter. One flick and the entire boy's hallway will go up like a Christmas tree.”

Nobara pointed at you. “That’s why I love you.”

You smirked, then turned your head slightly, scanning the crowd near the school entrance. Your heart did that dumb thing again. Hopeful. Stupid.

But he wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t.

Still. You asked, too casual. “Did you hear anything about Megumi?”

Nobara glanced at you, eyes narrowing just a little. “Nope. He texted Gojo, said he’s still out of town. Visiting his sister.”

“Oh.” You blinked down at your cup. “Right.”

Nobara let the silence hang for a beat, then elbowed you. “Anyway. Who cares about that—guess who I saw making out behind the gym?”

You leaned in, grateful for the distraction. “Tell me it was that weird art kid with the septum ring.”

“Worse. Fucking Haruna and that guy from the volleyball team.”

Your jaw dropped. “The one who eats chalk?”

“Yes, bitch!”

“Ew—what in the powder kinks is going on?!”

You both burst into laughter, the kind that made you feel weightless, for a second. The kind that made you forget there was an empty desk in third period with Megumi’s name on it.

And then Nobara leaned back on her palms, hair shining under the sun. “Are you okay, though? Like, actually?”

You raised a brow, defensive. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She gave you a look. “Because your little emo virgin isn’t here, and you’ve been acting like that’s normal.”

You scoffed. “He’s not mine, Nobara.”

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Tell your heart that.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re annoying.”

She smiled. “You’re lonely.”

You hated how that landed.

You hated how the air felt heavier again. Like the second you stopped pretending, the silence filled back in.

Because the truth was—yes, you’d been doing fine. You’d been acing quizzes. You hadn’t picked a fight with anyone all week. You hadn’t cried, or screamed, or done something unhinged to distract yourself.

But you missed him.

The silence wasn’t the same without his sarcasm. The walks through campus felt longer without him beside you. You’d even caught yourself reaching for your phone during study hall, ready to text something snarky before remembering—

He wasn’t here.

And you didn’t know when he’d be back.

You sighed, collapsing back on the table beside Nobara and covering your face with your hands.

“I hate this.”

“What, feelings?”

“Yes. Emotions. Vulnerability. All of it.”

She cackled. “You’re such a brat.”

You peeked between your fingers. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Nobara grew quiet, more serious this time. “I think he’s strong. And I think he’ll come back.”

You nodded.

“I just…” you trailed off. “I hope he doesn’t come back different.”

Nobara tilted her head. “You mean like you did?” You didn’t answer. Because she was right. You had changed. And the worst part? It was because of him. And he wasn’t even here to see it.

You were walking down the hall like you owned it. Because you did. Your skirt was short, your blouse perfectly pressed, and your gloss was fresh—mirror-checked and lethal. The heels clacked with just enough bite to announce your presence before anyone had the nerve to look up. Students scattered instinctively as you passed, like you were the final boss of the east wing. You liked it that way. But your phone had no new texts. No new messages. Still no him.

You’d waited all morning. Pretended not to glance at the school gates. Pretended you didn’t notice the empty space where he usually stood during break. Pretended you didn’t hesitate outside the chem lab he always passed on his way to third period.

You hated that he wasn’t there. You hated that you cared. But today, at least, you looked perfect while doing it.

You smirked to yourself as you walked, swaying your hips on purpose. If he was back and trying to avoid you, fine. Let him suffer. Let him see what he’s missing.

Your locker door slammed shut behind you with a sharp clack, and you turned down the hall like nothing was wrong, like you weren’t still aching a little behind the eyes.

You were halfway to class, halfway through adjusting your sleeve— And then it happened.

You didn’t scream when the hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside.

You didn’t need to.

You knew it was him.

The closet door slammed shut behind you, a jolt of darkness swallowing the soft light from the hallway. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall, and then—

“Megumi—?” He didn’t answer.

His mouth was already on your neck, warm and hungry, breath rough as he kissed down the side of your throat like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d been starved.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the ground. Your hand flew up to clutch at his shirt. “You’re—fuck—”

He pressed into you harder, body flush with yours, teeth scraping gently at your pulse point. His hands gripped your hips, fingers tight, dragging you forward like he wanted to crawl inside your skin.

You gasped as his thigh slotted between yours.

“You’re back,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You didn’t even say—”

“I know.” His voice was low, hoarse. “Didn’t want to talk.”

You opened your mouth, but then he kissed you—kissed you—like he couldn’t breathe unless your lips were on his. Tongue sliding hot and deep into your mouth, lips messy, desperate. Your knees went weak.

You’d missed him.

More than you realized.

You grabbed the collar of his uniform and yanked him closer, kissing him back with just as much fire. You could feel it in his body—the way he trembled against you, how hard he already was beneath his pants. You ground into him shamelessly.

“I missed you,” you said between kisses, your voice breathless. “Fuck—I was so mad—where were you—?”

“Thinking about you,” he muttered, dragging your shirt up, his mouth trailing lower again. “Every fucking day.”

You gasped as his hand slid down the front of your skirt, fingers quick and practiced despite the trembling. You grabbed at his hair, fisting it hard enough to make him groan.

“You couldn’t text?” you snapped, even as your legs parted for him. “You just show up and pull me into a closet like—”

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he growled, dragging your panties to the side. “You have no idea what it did to me—leaving you.”

Your head hit the wall. His fingers slipped between your folds, slow and teasing, and your breath left you in a moan.

“Gumi—”

“I kept thinking about you,” he muttered against your collarbone. “That mouth. That attitude. That fucking pussy.”

“Shut up,” you gasped, bucking into his hand.

“You want me to?” He curled two fingers inside you. “Or do you want me to bend you over right here and fuck you until you forget how to speak?”

You let out a broken whimper, hips rocking against him. “You can’t say that—”

“I will say that,” he said, voice sharp now, cocky in a way that made your stomach drop. “You think I haven’t been thinking about bending you over every surface in this school since the last time?” You moaned as his thumb rubbed circles against your clit. Your hands clawed at his back. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, finally tugging your panties down your thighs. “Still soaked for me.” Your skirt was bunched around your waist. He turned you before you could blink, one hand pressing hard between your shoulder blades to bend you over the low shelving behind you.

“Gumi—wait—” you started, but your voice broke as you felt his cock slide along your slit, thick and hot and already slick from your arousal.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said, grinding against you, not pushing in yet. “Wanted to take you from behind like this—just rip your attitude out of your throat. Hear what you sound like when you’re begging.”

“God, you’re such a little shit when you’re horny,” you gasped.

“And you love it,” he bit back. “Don’t lie.”

Then he pushed in—slow at first, then hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. You choked out a cry, gripping the shelf so hard your knuckles went white.

“Fuck—Megumi—”

He groaned low in his throat. “This pussy,” he hissed. “God, I missed this.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. His thrusts started fast, deliberate—hips snapping against yours as the slap of skin echoed in the tiny closet. His hand gripped your waist, the other in your hair, pulling your head back so he could whisper filth into your ear.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled. “So wet for me. So fucking tight. You let anyone else fuck you while I was gone?”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Answer me,” he said, thrusting harder. “Anyone else touch you?”

“No,” you gasped. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he grunted. “Because this pussy’s mine.”

You whimpered. “Say it again.”

He slammed into you deeper, and you could feel him hit that perfect spot—over and over. “You’re mine,” he said, panting. “My girl. My pretty little brat. Say it.” You were already falling apart.

“Yours,” you moaned. “Fuck—Gumi—I’m yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, voice shaking. “All fucking yours—!”

His hand slid down, rubbing your clit again with messy, brutal circles, and you were already so close—hips stuttering, moans turning into high, broken whines. “I want you to cum for me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Make a mess all over my cock. I’ve been dreaming about this—about fucking you stupid.”

You nodded frantically, your whole body twitching as you chased it, falling over the edge like it had been waiting for you all week. You came hard, clenching around him, crying out his name as your knees gave out. He caught you with one arm and kept fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

“Fuck—you’re so perfect—so mine—”

You felt his cock twitch, and then he buried himself deep, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, his whole body shaking behind you, his breath hot on your neck. For a few long moments, the only sound was your panting, the heavy beat of your hearts in sync. He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed there, hands on your hips, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his chest rising against your back.

Finally, you muttered, voice still wrecked: “You’re the worst welcome committee ever.”

Megumi laughed—soft, breathless, a little smug. “You missed me.”

You rolled your eyes, still panting. “Shut up.”

But your smile said otherwise. And his hand didn’t stop holding you. Not even when you turned around, leaned into him, and kissed him slow, like nothing else mattered. Because for once—it didn’t. The world had gone still.

You leaned weakly against the shelf, your skirt wrinkled, your knees barely steady, your heart still thudding somewhere near your throat. The air in the storage closet was thick with heat and the fading scent of sex.

And Megumi… Megumi was kneeling in front of you. Quiet. Focused.

His fingers were careful as he smoothed your underwear back into place, tugging the fabric up your thighs without meeting your eyes at first. You flinched instinctively—out of habit more than discomfort—but he didn’t stop. He didn’t tease. He just… looked up and adjusted the hem of your skirt with both hands, like it was normal. Like you were delicate.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Are you always like this after?” you asked, trying to sound smug but your voice cracked a little—too soft, too curious.

He stood, brushing hair from your face. “Like what?”

“Nice.”

He blinked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You shrugged. “Just… not used to it.”

Megumi looked at you for a second, eyes calm, unreadable. Then he reached up again, fingers ghosting through your hair, gently combing it back into place. You stared at him, thrown off by how domestic it felt. How natural.

“I missed a strand,” he muttered absently, flicking a tangle aside.

“You’re such a dork,” you whispered, but your voice was soft. Like you didn’t want him to stop. He finally stepped back, hands falling to his sides, and for a moment the silence stretched between you—thick with something unsaid.

“When did you get back?” you asked, quieter now. Like if you spoke too loud, the moment might break.

“This morning,” he said simply. “Didn’t want to go home. So I came to school.”

You nodded. Tried to think of something clever, something flippant, but nothing came. Instead, you just leaned back against the wall again and exhaled.

And then, after a long, aching beat— “…I missed you.”

His gaze softened instantly. “I missed you too.”

You looked at each other, not smiling, not joking. Just seeing one another. But then—

“I asked Miwa to the dance.”

parts, chapter 05

notes, I need to know what ya'll think so make sure to comment, ik i don't reply but i am reading ALL of them and im filled with love for each and one of you.

taglist, @crispycatt @littlevoidfairy @bookfreakk @1-rxse-1 @starzfaerie @zephyairies @moonmaiden1996 @simonexxx1 @pinkmeatball218 @evii1e @xavisbabie @maeviees @justanotherasiangirl @tiasd1ary @shioribuns @allysainz @mwrgwt @cookies-assemble @tiasd1ary @blu3-l0v3r @camy-yh @pinkmeatball218 @chokismom @01elle-sherlock @oidloid @holymolyyikes @haithamsbb @mysteriaqueen @fxngsfxgxrty @meiyinnaise @gojoswaterbottle @hadesorion @ashhlsstuff @chocalycake @planetzetra @kenmacantakemeaway @urmotherswhor3 @kelppp @suki91 @secretlyapartofthisfandom @bleedingwhiteroses222 @luvvmae

[amaradangeli]

I've been talking about this (in my tags) a lot lately, but now I'm compelled to tack onto someone else's (practically perfect) post, because man is my current relationship with Fandom complicated. Let's back up. (And this is gonna get long.)

In 1994 I first started writing what I came to know as fanfic. In fat lil' notebook I wrote stories about the character from a favorite show (The Power Rangers... I was 11). I thought Kimberly and Tommy's relationship should have been a LOT more intensely romantic than it was. (I was writing for more sexual content than anybody would expect from an 11 year old and there are probably reasons for that, but they aren't important; what IS important is that I guarded that notebook with my life and took it EVERYWHERE). I wrote all the time. In 1994 the writing I was doing was solely for me. I showed no one. I didn't know that writing about favorite fictional characters was a thing a lot of people did. I thought I just had an active imagination (and sure, I guess I did). I lived on a farm. I started playing elaborate stories out in my head while I mowed. I could spend hours on the mower or tractor creating a world in which my new favorite characters, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, were cohabitating and raising a couple of inherited kids. I did this a lot. In 1996 my grandparents got AOL. We all lived on the same farm. At my house, where my mom worked from home/owned a business, we had The Internet, but it used a browser and you had to know where you were going online and what you were doing. I was 13 and The Internet wasn't something my rural school taught us a lot about. We'd had Prodigy when I was younger, but something about AOL was so very accessible. I spent so much time at my grandparents house on their computer. I found the Delphi message boards for X-Files and joined Fandom at large for the first time. Eventually, I learned what fanfiction was. Back then, people used to post stories to threads on the message boards and you'd get one "chapter" in a post and then all the comments/replies would be inline. It was so much fun.

Then I found the Gossamer Project, my first experience with an archive for fanfiction.

Then, in 1998/1999 I started posting my own stories on the Delphi boards and then on Gossamer.

I went away to college in 2001 and by then was also part of The West Wing fan community. I started posting on Fanfiction.net as well as at The National Archive. I wrote Josh/Donna fics and it was a big fandom. I wasn't widely read, but I loved doing the writing. I also loved reading all the terrific work that was being put out.

In 2008ish I was a big-time Bones fan and was in fan communities/on message boards and posting on FFN. I met people in the Bones fandom that I'm still in contact with today. It was there where I first realized that I was a writer that people enjoyed reading. I learned a lot about how to craft a story and the importance of characterization.

I read (but never wrote) BtVS Spuffy fics when I found that show (after it was off the air). Then... I found Stargate SG-1. By the time I joined the fandom, the show was over. I streamed it on Netflix and fell in love with Jack O'Neill and Sam Carter. I, once again, jumped into the fray. But it was my first time in a fandom for a show that was done. I didn't realize it at the time, but the community that existed there was uncommon. The show was intensely popular, despite being over, and the shipping community was very active. Not just Sam/Jack shippers, either! Lots of Gen fans exists, but also for other ships. Jack/Daniel, Sam/Daniel, Sam/Janet, OT3 and OT4 ships... honestly, it was a big and dynamic community, even by the time I got there. Despite the fandom being old, my work was well received and I had a pretty large (for me) and reliable reader base. My work was always met with eyes and I could count on getting feedback on my work.

I was spoiled, and I didn't even know it. I was compelled to write. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I met so many terrific people (people I'm still real life and online friends with to this day despite so many life — and fandom — changes).

I only participated in that one fandom for years. I kind of/sort of read fics in others. I think I wrote one or two fics for other ships/fandoms but never really got into the communities/cultures of them.

Then I started watching The Rookie in 2021/2022. The same magic happened with Chenford as it did back when I feel in love with Sam & Jack. And because I found it while the show was still popular and putting out new episodes, it was magical! I was writing in a live fandom for the first time since my Bones days! I remembered what it was like to get that instant feedback and gratification I hadn't experienced since Bones (and The West Wing) before that. I got a lot of feedback on my work again and it was amazing. I learned that while I definitely wrote the stories I wanted to read (and in that way, I wrote for myself), I was also the kind of writer that only thrived when I got that real-time support/feedback/ego-stroking (let's be real, that's what it is). I joined the fandom almost just in time for the ship to go canon and, for me, that's a death knell, and it was sad but it was intensely fun for a short while.

I got busy. I'm a grown-ass adult now and while I'd love to be immersed in fandom all the time, I have a big job and it's hard to find the time. I also have a lot of anxiety and it was poorly managed long enough that I didn't have the brain space to be part of fandom.

Then, I found The Last of Us. Joel Miller hit me like a ton of bricks. I was inspired to write again for the first time in almost 3 years. I jumped in full-force. I was reading ALL the things. I tried to make sure I was engaging in the comments section of works, and, as I started writing and posting, I doubled down, remembering the importance of knowing people were reading and enjoying your work.

But that fandom was a very different place than any I'd been in before. It seemed to be a largely closed community populated by a lot of very young (I think) people. The culture was different. The way they played together was different. The works that garnered attention were different, too. That's okay, it takes all kinds! I wrote madly. 40K words worth of fic that I painstakingly edited for public consumption and shared.

And... some people read it! That was very cool. They were quiet readers, they didn't engage with me on socials or in the comments, but they didn't *know* me. I went on like this, posting several times a week and garnered 2 comments. The work seemed well received by those two readers, but... they never engaged after their initial comments. No one else did, either. I realized the work I was writing wasn't what the fandom wanted to read. And it stopped being fun. (I took the work down, unwilling to abandon it but also unwilling to watch it languish unloved.)

Guys... I've stopped writing TLOU stuff. I've got three stories fully plotted and I *want* to write them. But I don't want to write in a vacuum. I can write them for just me and not go through the added work of editing.

I found The Pitt recently and, despite it going against what I typically like in characters and ships, fell down a Mel/Frank rabbit hole. I'm plotting! I want to write. But I'm finding myself still snared in Joel Miller want.

I'm paralyzed in young fandom.

I don't know what's happened to fandom, I don't know if it's all fandoms, but I'm thinking it's more widespread than TLOU. Where's the community and the welcome wagon? Why are we just blindly consuming work that people have poured time and sweat and tears into? Why aren't we out there feeding our writers and artists and letting them know that we see the work they're doing?

Is this post-pandemic, Gen-Z fandom? Are our attention-spans so short we can't engage with people who make things we like? Are we too used to living in a world of content creators whose contributions just slide in front of us with no effort?

Because you know what I noticed when I was posting TLOU work? My tumblr posts would get a handful of likes but no shares. Has fandom forgotten how this works? Are we so beholden to algorithms that we no longer attempt to curate our own experiences?

At 42, I'm now older in fandom. Things have changed a lot and the tech and infrastructure we have exceeds so many of our wildest expectations of what we'd have access to. But some of the ways we're (not) engaging with each other now is negatively impacting the fandom experience. These are strange and unprecedented times for a lot of reasons. Something we can control is the way we interact with people and the way we engage in fandom.

I hope we get back to some of the behaviors that made fandom so fun (and sometimes so infuriating). I hope we remember to engage with people as if they're people again. I think that's what modern fandom is missing.

Not people saying “Fandom has always been like this” in that vent post I made. No. It hasn’t always been like this. Fandom has NEVER been like this until recently and if you were in fandom pre-tumblr purge, pre-twitter, pre-netflix boom, pre-tiktok….then you would fucking know it was nothing like this.

We still had the drive to create. We still sold prints and charms and made zines…but it was never like this.

The introduction of streaming, binge shows that drop all at once, tiktok and vine RIP i still love u vine but you were the beginning of a particularly ugly era) creating this bite sized, quick paced ‘content’ era of creation and it bled out into fucking everything else.

Fandoms didn’t die down when the show ended or the season was over. You didn’t mass unfollow artist, writers or moots just because they changed fandoms. There wasn’t this need to please the algorithm in order for your posts to get seen by people and enjoyed.

Fandoms used to last YEARS. Star Trek is literally the oldest running fandom out there and you got people in there that could care less about the new stuff and still have been happily prancing through their fucking fifty year old fandom today. Hell, even SPN after all it’s fuckups and shitshows has a dedicated fanbase STILL creating tons of art and fic.

There is no patience anymore. No calm feeling of taking in fandom and friends at a pace that which doesn’t make you stressed and is still fun.

Do I blame fandom for this? Of course not, but people are complacent with it and start changing their vocab to accommodate and end up making the situation so deep it cant be fixed.

We call Art & Fic Content now, completely stripping the value of what it is to a level of consumerism instead of personal entertainment & community bonding.

[etoilecyber]

Synchronized Breathing

Ash and Leo have been friends for so long that people often wondered if they were always on the same wave length. Ash decided to try and make that reality.

“Are you sure about this, Ash?” Leo asked as Ash unpacked a package.

“Look, if my buddy says it works, I trust him. He said him and his boyfriend personally tested it out and it works.” He takes out two circular nodes. It looked so simple, no one would assume it was anything complicated.

“Vance has always been one to get results. Though I always thought it was Kyle who was more into science”.

“So what? We just keep one of each nodes stuck to the back of our necks?”

Ash nodded

“Yeah. Vance says its a new wireless model based off an earlier experiment. It’s supposed to synchronize our brains, emotions, and experience so we can bounce off of each others skills.”

Leo was still skeptical as he inspected the node.

“Okay. But how far does it actually sync us up though. Is it like, letting us read each others brains?”

“I dont doubt that, but most likely more. Probably like a more streamlined version of what that show Sense8 does.”

“Look, as long as it doesn’t kill me. But are you sure you want to do this? I mean, If this works, are you really okay with me poking around your head.”

Ash smiled, planting his node to the back of his neck.

“Totally man. You’re my best friend. Its not like you dont know how I think. Why, are you hiding some deep dark secret, Leo?”

Leo scoffed, planting his own node onto his neck.

“Please. The only secret I had was that I’m gay. And you were the first one I’ve ever told.”

“See? It’ll be fine.” Ash grinned as he pressed a small button that activated the nodes.

“Fine. But if we die, I’ll kill you.”

The nodes began beeping before shocking the two unconscious.

Leo was the first to wake up. In front of him, Ash was stirring and began to regain consciousness as well.

“Ash?”

Ash remained silent, staring into his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a voice in his head

Leo, can you hear me?

Leo gasped. It had worked. Actually worked.

Holy shit. You’re in my head.

Hell yeah I am. Ash grinned.

What the hell, this is unreal. How the hell did your friend manage to do this?

Beats me but this is way more awesome than i realize. Come on, let’s see what we can do with this?

“Okay, but can we talk normally it’s kinda freaking me out.” Leo said.

“You’re such a buzzkill sometimes but fine- Woah.”

Ash got up in surprise.

“I felt that!” He jumped in satisfaction. “You got annoyed!”

“And I feel like I just discovered Mars. You really do get hyper excited!”

The two spent no time trying to figure out the lengths their synchronization could go.

Thought sharing and telepathy aside, they found themselves learning each others skills and building each other up through no contact at all. Leo began feeling stronger and learning how to exercise while Ash felt his brain processing faster than he ever did before.

Man, how much longer are you going to work out? Im feeling the burn and I’m just at home. Leo asked once during the first time Ash went to the gym with the nodes.

Yeah. I know. I can feel you reading up on Roman History for fun. But dont worry, I’m just about done. Ash never used to be vain but he found himself taking more photos of himself recently. He chalked it up to getting traits from Leo.

Things took a turn when Leo felt his groin harden out of nowhere. It wasnt anything new, but he was in the middle of work and he couldn’t ignore it.

Suddenly, his head was filled with grunting and moaning and then he knew.

Ash was getting some. And by extension, he was getting some.

He could not be more grateful that he worked from home because he had ran into his room to try and sort it out.

He laid in bed, spasming slightly as he tried to take the Sync Node off his neck.

To his horror, he found that it had already been off. He remembered that the two of them decided to take a break from it yesterday and took them off.

Leo unbuckled his pants and felt his dick spring free. He barely even had to touch it.

It was if he felt Ash’s own penis penetrating whichever woman he decided to hook up with.

In some strange cosmic sort of way, he felt as if he was having sex with a woman for the first time.

Ash’s stamina was something wild because Leo was practically begging Ash to finish.

He was panting, his breath in complete sync with Ash.

I’m coming. They both thought in sync.

And it happened.

Both cried out as they came.

Leo felt shame as his cum covered his shirt.

Ash must have felt that shame too because he suddenly called out to Leo in their heads.

Leo?

We… we need to talk… When you get home.

~~~

“I’ll look into it.” was all Vance said when Ash asked for help.

“I’m sorry man. I dont know why that happened. But I guess we’re synced up for a while.”

“Shared exercise is nice and all, but I’m not sure how to feel about having to share Sex.”

“Look, I’m sure it was just a glitch.”

Ash grinned and gave Leo’s shoulder a friendly punch.

“But hey, wasnt that mind blowing for you? Does that mean you’re straight now?”

“No. I don’t know. I feel like I’m definitely still attracted to men. But that caught me off guard.”

Ash grabbed Leo’s hand and moved it over to his crotch.

Leo’s cock hardened and Ash felt his shock.

“Bro!” Ash laughed, patting his own member in amusement as it hardened in sync with Leo’s and thought nothing of it.

“Yep, definitely still gay.”

“You’re weird you know that?”

Though Ash played it off, he felt himself more changed than he’d realized.

Finding interest in his friends hobbies and processing things faster aside, he felt a shift in the way he viewed people. More specifically, men in particular.

He figured the way he was lingering his gaze over attractive men he’d walk past was just from Leo’s side indirectly influencing him. But the longer it went, the more he realized he was doing it on his own now. And he was starting to find them attractive. If Leo noticed, he did not mention. Though Ash figured Leo would think those were just his own thoughts.

Things came to a head the day before Ash’s friend was supposed to finish a fix for their dillema.

That night, Leo was feeling really frisky from the past few days. The two agreed not to engage in sexual activities without letting each other know so they were prepared. But Leo could not handle any more and waited out Ash to go to sleep.

When he was sure Ash was deep in slumber, Leo laid in bed and started slow. Lubed up and pumping, Leo started panting. He did not feel anything from Ash and thought he was in the clear. He was wrong. So very wrong.

Within 2 minutes or masturbating and edging, he felt Ash stir. He was slowly coming out to as his body trembled from Leo’s ecstasy.

A moan escaped Ash’s mouth before he realized what was happening.

L-Leo?

Why are you awake?

I don’t- fuck…

I dont know. What happened to… no funny business… until we were better?

Leo’s pumping grew faster and desperate.

I cant take it anymore. I need to come. Please just ignore me. Just one night.

But Ash couldn’t ignore it. Not when his cock was demanding a party.

The heat radiated from both of them as Ash began pumping his own cock alongside Leo.

Ash! What are you-

Two can play it that game.

The intensity of their mutual, synchronized jerk off session was nothing they’d ever felt before. So much so that their breating was one for one.

Their hard cocks enduring differences in speed and stamina as both men started to form a solid link that would change their chemistry forever.

Ash… Leo… They moaned together.

“FUCK!” They finally shouted, their cocks simultaneously erupted more cum onto their bare bodies than they had ever done in their lifetime and passed out.

When they woke up 20 minutes later, something had gone beyond horribly wrong.

Leo felt heavier when he got up. His body sticky from the jizz he had shot up just earlier. Yet his hands… they werent his. This bulk, this room, this body. He’s seen it before.

But it wasn’t his.

He pat himself down, trying to figure out what was going on. And when he finally looked in the mirror, panic settled in.

He was in Ash’s body.

The sync had been so strong that their minds had passed through the link to each other.

“Ash?” He called out, weirded out by the new deep voice that came out of his mouth.

He closed his eyes to try and feel out where his friend is. He felt a wet sensation and realixed Ash had gotten up in his body and showered.

Instead of waiting, Leo found himself walking to their shower

He found his Ash under the shower, somewhat confused, and inspecting his new body.

When he turned around and found his own body staring at him, he felt his… their hearts beat in rythm.

“Leo?”

“Yeah… it’s me.”

“What are we going to do?”

There should have been a more logical answer to this for Leo, but the two felt their connection intensify their feelings. Their breathing.

Leo dropped his underwear and walked in.

No more words, just feelings.

Leo grabbed hold of his old face and drove his and Ash’s new mouth into a deep kiss.

The shock that Ash felt lasted all but 3 seconds before he reciprocated.

He felt their bodies close in, their wet skins leaving no gap. Their rigid cocks rubbed against each other as the two continued to make out in the shower.

They moved to the bedroom to consumate this strange exchange in bodily form.

The synchronization still doubling the orgasmic feelings they felt.

Ash moaned as Leo maneuvered his okd body to dominate Ash’s new body in the bed. A feeling Leo was not always familiar with. He assumed it was Ash’s experience as a top that’s fueling this aggression.

Though Leo was familiar with the feeling of a cock up his ass, Ash was not. Still, in his friend’s experienced body and the sync letting them call each others experience, losing his ass virginity was not a terrible experience.

He felt his old 8 inch rod slowly enter and pace through his growing hole. He could not help but grunt in surprise and caress his old body’s smooth pecs.

“Guess… you’re not so straight anymore…” Leo panted before planting his lips against Ash’s. Their tongues interwined and playing as their bodies continued to girate from the overwhelming sex.

The sync allowed both their cocks to stimulate each others feelings and maximized the orgasm they felt would come in no time. The two were careful and deliberate, slowly inching in and out to draw out pleasure they both craved before both managed to cum a storm of white once more that night and finally fell asleep.

The morning after, they found themselves still trapped in each others bodies. But an eerie calm washed over them.

“Morning.” Ash was looking over Leo at bed. He was still speechless that he had used his best friends own body like that. He didnt even feel like he got to enjoy how big he felt.

“So… what do you want to do?” Leo asks, though he already knew what Ash wanted.

“I dont know. But whatever that was last night… i kind of want to feel it again. Maybe we… stay like this a little longer… Ash?”

This softness. It was foreign coming from Ash. The confidence he felt, that was foreign to him,

Their breathing was one. Their brain chemistey permanently altered. How could he even consider just going back without seeing where this goes?

“Okay… Leo.”

~

Thanks for reading!

Hope you enjoyed!

[deepdarkdelights]

Dahlias and Dandelions - PART ONE | Taehyung x Reader x Mystery Member

Pairing: Yandere Taehyung x Reader x Mystery Member

Genre: Bridgerton AU

Word Count: 19.4k (Part one)

Warnings: Yandere, Obsession, Manipulation, Forced Relationships, Fear, Anxiety, Panic, Mind Games, MC is extremely self conscious, Gossiping, Period Accurate Misogyny, Marital Expectations, Women really are not treated fairly here and it sucks, Touch of Misandry (MC really does not like men after her experiences), MC is not forgiving, Betrayal on so many levels (Will add more warnings later - sleep deprivation is kicking in)

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: “I bid you a good day, Mr. Kim,” You nodded, properly - politely, before turning your back on him and resuming your promenade.

Leaving him like that, mouth open and pale in the face, had left you with a certain sense of satisfaction. However, it was not enough. You were greedy in this manner. You wanted to see him suffer, you wanted to see him beg for forgiveness. You wanted him to be entirely at your mercy. It would not be enough until he was on his knees and even then you would never consider the possibility of forgiving him for his transgressions.

A/N: As an utter shock to absolutely nobody I have had no time to edit this so edits should be rolling out Friday. If no one likes this I will be devastated, I think this is one of my best works AND SO MUCH WILL GO DOWN IN PART 2! I also started a new job today so I will need a little time to get part 2 up but it will happen! I hope you guys like it - I can't wait for your comments and asks 💜

It had been a childhood crush. 

It was embarrassing when you thought about it too hard, you were young and naive and he was the close companion of your older brother. It had meant nothing, nothing to him and nothing to your mother who felt little worry at his constant presence in her home. With you at the age of four and ten and he nine and ten, there was little to worry about.

Taehyung had been a long standing companion of your family. Both of your families had long since been intertwined from their inception. For that very reason, his presence was not unwelcome. Your mother adored Taehyung as if he were one of her own sons and therefore felt little worry over the gentle friendship the two of you had. 

Your crush, however, was painfully noticeable. It was one of those things that everyone knew about, but elected to look past with amused grins and knowing looks. It hadn’t become a serious problem until your debut into society four years later. 

When you were younger, your debut was something that you had anxiously looked forward to. But as an individual on the cusp of womanhood and being thrust into the limelight, you wanted nothing more than to run and hide away. You yearned for the time you spent in your brother’s study surrounded by the scent of smoke and leather and the feeling of worn pages beneath your fingertips. You were out of your depth here.

And then there was the problem of the other debutants. They were all stunningly beautiful in their own way. This was something you had always been aware of, you had grown up with these ladies, played with them, gossiped with them, promenaded with them, and now you were in competition with them and you couldn’t help but feel that there was no competition. They didn’t see you as competition because they knew you. And, because they were utterly perfect. 

That was the other problem. Entering society as a lady also meant entering the marriage market. If there was anything that you were certain of, it was that you weren’t meant for marriage. Not when mere months ago you were still viewed as a child, but the ever moving hands of time dictated that a simple year could change everything. You weren’t ready. You had seen this with your cousin. She debuted, was engaged two months later, married, and had already had her first child. 

That was an additional problem. Children. How could you be expected to have a child when you still felt like one yourself? You knew, admittedly, very little about children. But what you had been taught was that marriage was a prerequisite and after marriage it was doubtful that children would not follow. And that thought petrified you. But there was no fighting it, if you did it was sure to cause a scandal. With the status that your family had, it was expected that you were to marry soon and to choose the life of a spinster would cast a shadow on your family’s name.

You were resigned to your fate. 

The one saving grace that you had, was Taehyung. He knew just how frightened you were of this whole ordeal and he had assured you that everything would be alright. 

“Of course you would say that,” You had laughed, “You are a man.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” He said with a roll of his eyes, snatching a pastry from your plate and popping it in his mouth in spite of your offended gasp. 

“It has everything to do with it. You don’t have to attend a debutante ball, you don’t have to enter the marriage market until you decide to do so, and you don’t have to be paraded around like a prize waiting to be won.”

“That’s easy for you to say, until you’re the one being harassed by frantic mothers wanting you to propose to their daughters the second they introduce them. If anything, I am the prize waiting to be won.”

“Aren’t you old enough now to be considering your options? You’re what, three and twenty now? If you were a woman you would be approaching spinsterhood.” You teased.

“Spinsterhood?” He barked out a laugh, “I’ll have you know I am in my prime. I will choose a wife when I decide I am ready to do so.”

“Ah see, you have made my very point. You can marry when you choose to. I, however, will cause a scandal if I were to do the same.”

“You could marry when you choose to as well. Whomever you wish to choose.” He disagreed, his tone had become serious in contrast to the soft look in his eyes. “You do know I would support you, not all women marry their first season.”

Your heart fluttered, you willed it to relax.

“As kind as that is, we both know what is expected of my family. At the end of the day, my mother and my brother will choose whom they decide is the most suitable match. My say in the matter will be considered, but will fall low in priority I am afraid.”

Taehyung’s brows were pinched in confusion, his lips pressed together in thought. He was more troubled by your assessment than you had thought he would be. “You underestimate your brother. Jin adores you, he would never allow a proposal that is not befitting of you. In fact, I think he is more worried about your debut than you are. He is not ready for you to become a woman either.”

A sharp cough disrupted your conversation. 

“Must she really be here?” Taehyung asked you, his words directed at your maid who was seated across the room with a warning look on her face. The two of them struggled to get along since her attendance had become mandatory during your time together. 

“You know why she is here, Taehyung.” You sighed. 

“I have known you your whole life!”

“Which is inconsequential now that I have come of age. She is here to ensure nothing improper is to occur and the both of us have little say in the matter.”

Taehyung stared at you before slowly blinking once, twice, and then thrice before speaking once more. “I was present when you were born, in fact I was amongst one of the first to hold you and I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you were hardly proper then. Not to mention it was definitely improper when you decided it was simply too hot of a summer when you were two and stripped down until you were as bare as the day you were born and had to be chased all over the estate by the entire staff and your mother before you were captured and clothed.”

“Taehyung!” You yelled, heat rushing to your face as your maid choked in surprise and slammed her book shut.

“All I am saying is impropriety should be her least worry.”

“Everything about what you just said was improper and, not to mention, utterly embarrassing!”

And he had the gall to look pleased with himself. He was the very picture of the cat that had caught the canary with that egregiously adorable smile of his while he sunk down in his chair across from you.

Your maid rose and cleared her throat as she approached. “I believe, luncheon hours are over Mr. Kim. I shall escort you to the door.”

Taehyung raised his brows, looking from you to her and back again. “Is your maid kicking me out like an unwelcome loiterer?”

“We, unfortunately, have a ball to prepare for. She is right in asking you to leave.” You rose to your feet and he followed suit. 

“You grow a year older and suddenly there are limits as to how many hours I can spend with you.” He muses, forlornly in spite of his mischievous grin.

“Of course, you could always retire your dislike of society's mothers for one night and come and see me. Maybe even sign my dance card and save me from any devious intentioned potential suitors.”

Taehyung smiled and pretended to think as he crossed his arms behind his back. “Well, a lady does debut only once after all. Perhaps, just this one time I can make an exception to my rule. However, I request the first spot on your dance card and nothing less.”

“Consider it done.” You laughed before shaking his hand to seal your deal. A startled gasp parted your lips, however, when he bent forward to brush his lips over the back of your hand. He seemed pleased with your reaction. But that was how Taehyung was, he loved to be mischievous and he delighted in eliciting reactions from those he shared his company with.

“I think that was a very proper thing to do.” He chuckled as he winked at your maid who frantically began to usher him out of the parlor as professionally yet urgently as she could. 

Your heart was thunderous inside the cradle of your ribcage. How you wished it would stop instead, it would make things so much easier. Taehyung was many things, but the one thing that he would never be, was yours. He was off limits, just as you were and this was something your brother had explicitly stated. Jin, while incredibly overprotective as the head of the household, truly did have your best intentions at heart. He knew the kind of man that Taehyung was, the kind of man that many of his friends were and he had put those boundaries in place to protect your tender heart. A crush was fine, it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. But affection? And heavens forbid, love, was out of the question. You would never be able to have your dear friend that way that you dreamed of.

And while this was something that you were prominently aware of, the confirmation of such a truth had shattered your heart completely.

~~~~~~~

You had worn your finest, and newest, gown courtesy of the modiste. It truly was the most beautiful gown you had ever seen, it was something befitting of a woman that you yourself felt you had not yet become. But oh, did it sell the illusion for you. It was a soft shade of powder blue, decorated with the most delicate lace that you were certain it could tear with too much force. The bust, sleeves, and hem were affixed with freshwater pearls and a matching circlet had been pinned in your hair. You would never admit it, but you imagined Aphrodite would have felt the way that you did.

“You’ll do wonderful, darling.” Your mother cooed, her gloved hands patting your own. “I remember my debutante ball like it was yesterday. There were so many eager gentlemen, of course, none of them compared to your father-”

“Please, don’t encourage her to entertain every wide eyed blubbering fool that asks for a dance.” Jin sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in stress.

“I am not encouraging any such thing! However, it would be beneficial for your sister to socialize with lords and ladies alike upon her entrance into society.”

“Both of you are aware that I am still here, yes?” You snapped, breaking up an argument before it could happen. 

“Of course we are,” Jin softened, “I just worry about you, I - we, want what’s best for you. However, I always thought we would have more time.”

That was his way of saying he didn’t want you to leave. At the end of the day, you were his baby sister. There was a ten year gap between the two of you, and during your mother’s long period of grief, Jin had assumed the role of parent. The bond the two of you shared went far deeper than that of a brother and a sister. You didn’t remember your father, and when you tried you often saw Jin’s face instead.

“You have nothing to worry about. Taehyung and I have spoken plenty on the matter, not all women marry their first season, let us have a good time tonight and worry another night.” You explained with a fond smile.

You, however, did not miss the look your brother gave you at the mention of his friend's name. “Taehyung, of course.”

There was that reminder again. Taehyung was not a viable option, that was an established rule. But the look that crossed over Jin’s face, there was more to his reasoning. There was something deeper there that you were not privy to. You took a mental note of that and put a pin in it for later, you had a ball to attend. The first goal of the night was to survive. 

The debutante ball changed locations every year allowing several prestigious families of society the honor of hosting. This itself was another competition all of its own. And this year, they had certainly gone all out. If there were a theme, it would be opulence. The entire estate was dripping in gold, jewels, and lush greenery with hundreds of white roses and chandeliers of wisteria hanging from the ceilings. The ballroom was crowded with young men and women and their chaperones alike, this made you stop. This was your first night in society, and the first thing you noticed was how brilliantly these ladies shined. The way that the light reflected off of them gave them the appearance of hundreds of diamonds shining in the night.

Jin, as perceptive as he was, took notice immediately. His hand lightly rested between your shoulder blades in a comforting touch as his mouth softened into a kind smile. “You look lovelier than ever, don’t doubt that.”

You relaxed beneath his touch and nodded as you returned his smile. His words were simple, but Jin always knew what to say. You would never doubt your older brother, within reason, of course.

“Dearest, why not mingle with the other young ladies?” Your mother suggested, directing your attention to a group of young women who were circled together, their gaze flickering from their group members to the party goers as they giggled between one another.

“And throw her to the piranhas so early into the night?” Your brother jabbed.

“Oh, would you rather take her place then? That does remind me it is about time that you find a suitable wife -”

“Dear sister, don’t you think it would be a good idea to mingle? Allow me!” Jin interrupted, linking his arm with yours and guiding you in the direction of the ladies. 

You smiled in amusement, “Are you truly that opposed to finding a wife, dear brother?”

“It is not so much the ladies that I am opposed to, but their overbearing mothers that truly frighten me.” 

“I am starting to believe I should fear them as well, Taehyung mentioned something similar during luncheon hour today. Are all mothers so fearsome?” You teased. 

“You haven’t the slightest idea,” He groaned before composing himself as the two of you approached the group of women. 

These women were not unfamiliar to you, but you harbored no admiration or friendship for them. You internally sighed as they perked up at the sight of your brother, their eyelashes and handheld fans fluttering frantically. You had a strong idea as to what the conversation would be like once you were left alone with them to fend for yourself. 

“Good evening ladies, I trust that you will take good care of my sister in my absence.” Jin said, his introduction brief so that he could make a quick escape and leave you to the proverbial wolves. 

“Mr. Kim, could I trouble you for-”

“Unfortunately I am as troubled as can be. Very, very, very troubled…” He called over his shoulder as he made his escape from the lady inquiring for a dance.

You shrunk into yourself in his absence, your fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap of your fan. While you bloomed in the presence of those you loved, these ladies made you plaster to the wall like another flower in the wallpaper. 

“That brother of yours is so elusive, how does he expect to ever find a viscountess?” The jilted lady asked you with a frustrated flutter of her fan. 

“My brother does not find a need for a viscountess at this time, I am afraid the Ton will have to wait a little longer before my mother relinquishes her title to another lady.” You replied.

“Well, I suppose necessity can be swayed with persuasion from the right lady.”

An uncontrollable, and unladylike, laugh shook your chest. “I am afraid that you will find very little can sway my brother once his mind is made up. It would take an even more hard headed lady to be able to handle my brother.”

“Such a shame, that is.” Another lady sighed, her fan raising up to obscure a mouth curving with laughter, “One of you ought to marry, for propriety's sake, and the Viscount seems the most likely choice as we all know.”

Your own amused smile melted away. “What exactly is it that you are insinuating?”

You didn’t have to see her smile to hear the venomous amusement in her words, “Your brother is important, he will continue your family name of course. And a marriage to a viscount will overshadow any failures of his siblings. I meant no harm, dear.”

Failures. She was talking about you, she was insinuating you wouldn’t be successful in the marriage market. Everything you had secretly thought to yourself…were they too aware of it?

“You are implying I will have no suitors, no marriage prospects.” You plainly said, your eyes burning with unshed anger fuelled tears.

“Well, I suppose there is still some time for you to…come into your own?” She replied, her eyes scanning you slowly, meticulously, from head to toe. 

She found you at the worst undesirable, and at best perhaps plain, you could see it in the way she looked at you. In the way that the other ladies looked at you, they were in agreement that you were not a threat. To them, you weren’t even a part of the race, you simply couldn’t qualify. Moments before, you had felt pretty, if not in your features than at least in the gown and jewels you were dressed in. But now, you couldn’t help but feel that you dulled what you had worn. Perhaps, you even looked amusing to everyone else, squeezing into a gown that you were unbefitting of.

You wished you could crawl out of your own skin and leave it all behind.

“There you are dearest,” A voice called from behind you. It was Taehyung, a charming smile adorning his beautiful features. In any other condition you would be happy to see him, but now . all you could think about was how ridiculous you would look beside him. How had he managed his own embarrassment for this long?

His smile faltered as he came closer, he could see the visible distress in your features and the shine of unshed tears in your eyes. The look that crossed his face was brief as he collected himself, but in that sudden moment you felt a chill run down your spine. You had never seen such a look in his eyes before. It could only be purely described as murderous.

“You will have to excuse us ladies,” He addressed the other women who had completely redirected their attention to him excitedly once he approached. They eyed him like vultures, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and steal whatever scrap of him they could take. “I was promised a first dance.”

Without saying another word to them he faced you and held out his hand, “May I have your first dance?”

You felt conflicted. You could not ignore the envious glares of the women surrounding you or the ugly feeling that had taken root in your mind and aches in your heart. But Taehyung was your oldest friend, and as horrible as you felt in that moment you found that you never had it in you to truly deny him. 

You gave him a weak smile and slid your gloved hand into his, “Of course.”

Taehyung wordlessly guided you to the dance floor, the two of you quickly blending into the other dancers. You urged your heart to control itself at the feeling of his hands touching you, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. You had danced before, he wasn’t touching you anywhere that was improper but you could not for the life of you anchor your soaring heart in your chest. Even in your worst state, your heart wanted him. 

“In all of the years that I have known you, you have never been one to back down from a challenge. So, I will ask you this one time, what have those women done to you that have turned the cunning wolf I know into such a startled lamb?”

For that very reason, you could not tell him. He would never understand. The way that you were with him was your true self, an unfettered being that was not bound by the status quo of society. But you could not afford to let that part of you rule you in any other circumstance. While Taehyung was amused by your sharpness, wit, and humor, that was something that was not accepted well by others - it was unbecoming of a lady. And while he saw that side of you, he had never seen the other side that appeared when interacting with society. But that part was still very much you, the part that urged you to be quiet, to blend in, to bend to others. The part of you that always knew you were no match against the other young ladies.

“You as well as my brother have said it before, they are quite vicious and that is all that I shall say on the matter.”

“How am I to help you if you will not say more? You are above their station, they have no right to demean you.” He replied, his voice the sternest you had ever heard it before.

“That is where you are wrong again, I have no station - that belongs to my brother. While he and you may have ways to defend yourself whether that be station or by pistol, I am left with a flutter of my fan and whatever thinly disguised insults I may fire back.”

“Then I will be your weapon, your protector if you would allow me. All I need know is what I am defending you from.”

“You are fighting an invisible foe, I am afraid. Now please, will you dance with me and end this interrogation. This is supposed to be a happy night.”

If there was anything you and Taehyung shared in common, it was your stubbornness. You could see it in his eyes, in the hard line of his lips, and the draw of his brows. And as they smoothed and relaxed you were surprised by his acquiescence, but you knew him well. He would put this matter to rest for now, but this wasn’t over.

~~~~~~~

Taehyung had kept his promise of being your first dance. But that quickly turned into your second, third, and fourth before you had to practically beg him to allow your feet a moment’s rest. 

After the second dance you had tried to excuse yourself for propriety's sake but your companion wasn’t having it. Two dances together was enough to have the Ton murmuring, but three and four? That would border on scandal. That would inspire gossip of courting and proposals. You were trying to save his reputation but he would have none of it. As your oldest friend he cared little for what the rest of society would think, what their rules were. He just wanted to bring back that smile to your lips.

“One more dance.” He grinned, his chest rising and falling just as rapidly as yours - you felt breathless.

“You said that the second, third, and fourth time! I will keel over from overexertion if I do not leave this floor at this very moment.”

“When I break my own rules, I make sure to do it to the fullest extent.” He laughed.

“Please, entertain yourself for some time, I need to be rid of you.” You waved your hand at him in a shoo-ing motion. 

“There’s my dearest girl.” He hummed, his gaze smoothly gliding over every inch of your face like he was committing every feature to memory. You felt as if you well and truly could faint now at any moment. If only he would give your heart a break.

Taehyung’s eyes widened for a moment, his gaze lifting from your face and fixing over your shoulder. Once you followed his gaze you realized what he was focusing on. Your brother was making haste through the crowd and his glare was pinned on the man who stood beside you. 

“Forgive me, but I must make a quick escape.” He chuckled before giving your hand a gentle squeeze and slipping away. 

“Taehyung!”

“He loves you, he tolerates me, I wish you luck!” And then he was gone. 

You were allowed three breaths to collect yourself before your brother arrived, and he looked furious. 

“Brother -”

“Where has he gone?” He asked, cutting you off completely, “I need to have a word with him at once.”

“And what must you say that I cannot be present for?”

“It is not your presence that is the problem, it is his.” He replied, his jaw taut with frustration. 

“I am confused, is he not our oldest friend? What slight has he committed other than being the only gentleman to entertain me for the night?”

“What he has done could very well be your ruin, he will humiliate you. He has made a spectacle tonight and continues to ignore propriety. After that show, when no proposal comes to follow, you will be the laughing stock of the Ton.”

The ache in your chest returned tenfold. You knew that Jin hadn’t meant to hurt you, but intentions be damned it hurt worse than what those ladies had dared to insinuate. You knew that Taehyung did not return your feelings, and apparently Jin knew that as well. And worst of all it only confirmed what you knew to be true - your marriage prospects were in the gutter. You were an embarrassment to your family. 

You couldn’t stop the sniffle, or the quiver of your lip and that did not escape Jin’s notice. The anger quickly faded from his face. “I did not intend to hurt you, it is not you that I am angry with or disappointed in, you must know that.”

You shook your head, your cheeks warm with embarrassment at how quick you were to come to tears in front of all of society. You took a step back from your brother, “I require a moment alone, please.”

The anger had melted to confusion, and the confusion had formed into distress on his face. Jin adored you, he never wanted to hurt you and now he could see that while it had not been his intention, he had done the very thing he never wished to do.

“Sister-”

“Please excuse me,” You said, your voice tight with barely restrained emotion before you turned and rushed through the crowds. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the lights were too bright, it was too warm, and there were far too many people. Your skin felt very sensitive and each brush against another gown or jacket had your body responding with the desire to peel at your very own flesh. 

This was another embarrassment to your family, this phantom illness that you were unable to shake. It was humiliating how debilitating it was, it was something even your own mother could not comprehend. This feeling of utter claustrophobia inside your own body, like even your own skin was too tight. In moments such as this, your body took over your conscious mind and made decisions for you. All that you knew was that you needed to get away from these god forsaken crowds so that you could just be able to breathe if only for a moment. 

When you came too once more, it was to the feeling of cool air grazing the exposed skin your gown did not cover. The breeze was a welcome, distracting stimulus. Outside, it was finally quiet. A natural quiet accompanied by the gentle chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind. The chatter of the party was muted in comparison. 

Now, able to collect your thoughts, you realized just how much of a mess the night had turned out to be. Not only had you been ridiculed by your fellow ladies, but Taehyung had managed to make your standing worse while trying to help you, and you had disgraced your brother. You hadn’t wanted this to begin with, this wasn’t entirely your fault. However, you could not ignore the nagging pull of guilt in your gut.

Despite what everyone else has claimed, you felt the furthest thing from a woman. You still felt much like a child.

Amidst your musings, a roll of laughter caught your attention. You came to a stop in the gardens and despite knowing how improper it was, you stayed hidden and peered around the corner as quietly as you could. You knew that laughter. 

It was Taehyung. 

He stood with a group of other men, all of them deeply engaged in conversation with one another to the point that you were unworried over being discovered in such a compromising position.

“I can’t believe you of all people have decided to settle down, the worst rake of us all!” One man laughed, his cheeks flushed from spirits. 

“Oh come off it, it comes for all of us eventually. I find myself quite satisfied with settling down, I have a lovely bride with a decent dowry. What more could I ask for?”

“Your freedom, perhaps?” That inspired another round of raucous laughter. 

You felt your stomach turn in disgust. Is this what these men thought of the women of society? As shackles that were inevitable but bearable so long as she has a pleasing face and figure and a large sum of money? Was that all you were, another piece on the board to be sacrificed for the hubris of man? This wasn’t what your mother had told you, your father and her had shared a love that came straight from fairytales. 

“And what of you, Taehyung? It’s about time isn’t it - you can only avoid it for so long?” The engaged man probed.

“I’m afraid the frantic mothers of the Ton will be waiting for a long time before I even consider laying down such a sacrifice.” Taehyung laughed. 

This you were not surprised by, he had reflected this very sentiment this morning in your drawing room. However, it did not soften the blow.

“Are you quite sure? You looked rather taken with Seokjin’s beloved sister, four dances - how scandalous!” They laughed as your skin burned in embarrassment. They were mocking you, mocking the standards every woman in that room upheld. You were suddenly finding them rather vile.

You waited with baited breath for Taehyung to come to your defense as he had promised before, to be your protector when you could not. 

His head tilted back as he pretended to be in thought before his eyes rolled dramatically, “I would never marry her or for that matter court her. Have you truly seen her? She is not the type of woman one finds themself wanting.”

The round of laughter and agreements that followed fell on your own deaf ears. In that moment you truly understood the meaning of heartbreak, there was no better way to explain the encompassing pain that was radiating from your already fragile heart. You had always known that it was a childish dream to believe that he would want you in the same way that you desired him. But to hear him admit it, to hear him laugh at the thought of it, to hear him mock your very appearance was the nail in the coffin. 

You were nothing more than a cruel joke, and with what he had said the damage was already done. Not only did Taehyung not want you, but he had also ensured that no one else would ever look at you with a modicum of desire. You were ruined.

Your hand fisted the fabric of your dress, clawing at where your heart would be. It did nothing to soothe your distress but your body was out of your own control at this point. All you could do was slump against the wall in complete distress. A night that was supposed to be joyful and celebrate your entering society, had turned into something from your worst nightmares. And you were the laughing stock of the Ton. You couldn’t bear to stick around and observe the aftermath, the hushed whispers, the barely contained laughs. You need to go, you need to disappear.

You hastily wiped away your tears, your makeup staining your once white gloves in the process but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You did your best to remain hidden, as you usually did, and stuck to the shadows and walls as you made your way back to the front of the estate. Just as you felt your impending freedom, a hand wrapped itself around your arm and jerked you to a stop.

“There you are!” Jin called, his voice relaxing with relief. “What in the world made you think it was a good idea to run off by yourself alone?”

A pitiful sniffle was your response and that was enough to make your brother frantic.

“You’re crying? Why are you crying, what happened to you?”

Your shoulders shook and your fists balled up in an effort to keep yourself composed. It was childish to keep crying the way that you were, you were supposed to be a lady. But you just couldn’t do it anymore, you couldn’t keep pretending. 

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Jin, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. “I want to go, please.”

He stilled for a moment before he relaxed and held you in a comforting embrace, his hand gently smoothing the back of your hair. “I’ll call for a carriage and we’ll get you home, if anyone asks I will take responsibility for your absence.” 

“I don’t want to go home, I want to go to Whitepoint - I want to stay with our aunt.”

Jin was confused, you could see it plain as day on his face. “What has brought this on? You must tell me what has happened otherwise I cannot help you.”

“I can’t stay here any longer, I can’t handle all of these prying eyes waiting for me to fail or embarrass our family at any moment. I need to go.”

His face softened, “You could never embarrass me.”

“You and I both know that is untrue. I would love nothing more than to stay with you and mother, but I need this. I need more time, please, let me do this.” You begged.

There was a sadness in his eyes, one that told you that he had already accepted your terms but did not wish to see you go. Jin would do anything for you, no matter the request, even if it hurt him.

“How long will you be gone for?” He asks, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide the emotion that was bleeding into his words.

“I do not know yet, only time will tell.”

He nodded, solemnly, before leading you back to the front of the estate, his arm hooked into the crook of your elbow. He was silent as he waited with you and he did not speak again until your carriage arrived. He was looking at you with a sense of forlorning, like he knew that this would not be a visit contained to one season. He knew.

“What is that look for?” You asked.

“It is nothing, I was just realizing that we have never been apart since the day that you were born. I am now realizing how lonely it will be without you.”

“I am leaving first thing tomorrow, we still have breakfast.” You teased with a weak smile, you were still not fully recovered from the heartache deep in your chest.

“I just always thought I would have more time.” He mused.

Little did you know, he had been right to mourn your departure. The first time you had left your brother’s side was longer than you had anticipated and before you had realized it, years had melted away. 

~~~~~~~ 5 Years Later

“A letter has arrived for you, my lady.” Your maid called for you as she unsealed the envelope with a letter opener, “It is from your mother.” 

The pianoforte made a ghastly sound beneath your fingertips as you startled at the mention of your mother. The five years you had spent in isolation from the Ton had included your beloved brother as well as your mother. Your aunt had done her best to enforce the privacy that you had requested and this had included correspondence, all letters had been addressed to or intercepted by her and her alone at your request.

You cleared your throat and collected yourself, regaining the composure you had trained yourself into in the past years.

“You may take that to my aunt, Lilah, I have not corresponded with my mother in quite some time as you are aware.”

“My mistress has requested that I deliver this to you and you alone, my lady.” Lilah replied, placing the unsealed envelope on the top of the pianoforte, “I will give you your privacy, when you are ready to draft your response I will return.”

You stared after the maid’s retreating form. In any other house, her words and disposition would have been mistaken for disrespect. However, Lilah had been a faithful servant to your family since you were born, she being only eight years your senior. She truly had the best of intentions when it came to you, and she knew when to talk to you like the petulant child that you were being despite your age.

Your fingers trembled as you slid the stationary free from the envelope and began to read.

Dearest, 

It has been quite some time since you have been home. Your brother and myself have missed you deeply during this time that we have spent apart. Your dear aunt has told me of the woman that you are growing into, and I am deeply saddened that I have missed these defining years of your youth. Your brother and I have spoken often of your return, and as we approach your fifth season away from home we have come to a decision on the matter. While Seokjin was in firm agreement with your decision to leave home, I have made my stance on the matter very clear. While I hold little authority as dowager viscountess, I still hold much authority as you and your brother’s mother. It is upon my request with the approval of your brother, that you are to return home this season. 

While you may not think this to be so, I do understand the heavy burden that comes with being a woman in society. However, as your mother, I can no longer stand by and allow you to hide from your responsibilities in the country. I have listened to your brother long enough and I have given your aunt plenty of time to prepare you for your return to society. You are quickly approaching spinsterhood and it is now time to find you a suitable match. Your aunt has let me know your stance on this as well, and I regret to inform you that we are no longer in a position where we can wait. In spite of your aversion to marriage, I will be securing you a match by the end of the season whether you return home or not. However, if you decide to stay with your aunt in Whitepoint, you will have no input in the suitor that I choose for you. With this knowledge, I find that it will be in your best interest to return home at once.

Do not think me heartless, dearest. It is with a heavy heart that I have made this decision. Your brother and I have missed you and we both are doing this to ensure that you will be taken care of. And, selfishly, I knew that this would be the only way I would see you return home to me once more. I know that you will be angry and I know that you will be hurt, however, do know that we have tried to give you the most time that we could possibly afford. You have had five years now to explore your passions and grow, that is more than most women have ever been able to have. Your brother and I eagerly await your return.

With all my love,

Mother

The stationary crunched beneath your tight grasp as you finished reading. Foolishly, you had hoped that they would give up on you. That they would see that you had no desire to ever return to that god forsaken snake pit that would sooner devour you than see you be free. 

In your time away from home, your anger had grown hot. You had lost much of the youthful joy and zest for life that you had once possessed. Little did your mother know, you were every bit of the frustrated and frigid spinster that she feared you would become. That one horrible night had left you with quite the impression of men in society. You would sooner cut off your own ring finger than settle down with a man who viewed you as a set of shackles. You had no desire for marriage or even romantic companionship anymore. What faith you had once had, had shriveled and faded away.

In your eyes, this letter had been your own death sentence. There was no escaping this, not with your brother in agreement with your mother. And while you knew that you always had a home with your dearest aunt, she knew better than to act against a viscount and his mother. You were caught in a trap that you desperately wished to gnaw your way out of.

You had countless worries regarding your return home, and chief among them was seeing him again, Taehyung. The childish crush you had once harbored for him had died long ago. Where there had once been warmth in your heart for him, there now stood a frigid and bitter winter. You had no desire to ever see him again and in your time away from home you had made it clear that you wished to never hear of him again. 

Shortly after you had left, he had sent a letter to your aunt’s estate. You had been curious when the first letter arrived, but you were so heartbroken that you refused to read a single one of his letters. And with the amount of letters that arrived, you had forged an intense stubborn nature. You had initially been startled by the volume and speed with which they arrived, but now in your fifth year you had little interest in them any longer. You were certain Taehyung was unaware of your presence that night he had ruined you, and you were certain he was unaware as to why you refused to answer him. And that man being as stubborn as you were just would not quit.

That was of little consequence to you, in your eyes, any connection you had once had to him was dead. But still, you were intensely disturbed by the idea of having to see him again. If you had it your way you would live a long life and die before that was even in the realm of possibility. 

But now, you were left with little say in the matter, not with your mother calling, no, demanding you return home.

You rose from the bench with a growl of frustration, the crumpled letter falling pathetically to the ground. You quickly marched to the entrance of the parlor and sought out your maid. 

“Lilah!” You called.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Draft a response to my mother, let her know that I will be returning in a week’s time.” You instructed.

“A week’s time? You will miss the debut ball.”

“I am well aware, luckily I am no longer a debutante therefore my presence is no longer required. There will be other balls that I shall not escape.”

“Your mother will be displeased, it does not matter if you are not a debutante, this signifies the beginning of the season and a good impression is a lasting impression.”

“This is the impression that I desire. My mother knows of my aversion to marriage but wishes that I play along with the desires of the Ton. My absence will assure them once more that I have little care for the marriage market. If I am to return against my will then I will play this game my own way.”

“And by your own way, you mean self sabotage?”

“I am glad you have caught on, Lilah. My mother seems to believe that she can secure a match for me whether I am willing or not. However, I think she will find it difficult to secure a match for someone who lacks suitors.”

“And however do you think you will manage to escape the season without a suitor?” She asked, finally matching your pace and fixing you with a disapproving look you were not at all unfamiliar with.

That flare of anger fanned in your chest again, “It was not a problem my first season, I do not expect it to become one now. But, on the off chance it were, I believe that my persisting scandal will be a sufficient deterrent.”

“And if all else fails?” She probed. 

“Well, then we rely on my dazzling personality.” You replied sarcastically. Your “dazzling” personality was as prickly as a cactus. As your final defense, it would work well against any curious suitors.

“May I speak plainly, my lady?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think that, perhaps, you are taking this a touch too far? You act as if you are to be hanged.”

“The bonds of marriage are not that different from the constriction of a noose,” You joked in poor taste, “I have seen too many good women become nothing more than a man’s wife. That itself is a tragedy on its own. The Ton knew before I did that I was not suited for marriage, and now that is something that we can agree on. My mother will soon realize that too.”

“It seems you have forgotten where you and your brother have gotten your stubborn nature from. Your mother is a force to be reckoned with, one that you have had the fortune of avoiding for your entire life. I think that you will find this ordeal will not be as easy as you thought it would be.”

“Has anyone ever told you how comforting you are, Lilah?” 

“As often as you have heard about your dazzling personality, my lady.”

~~~~~~~

Your last week in Whitepoint passed faster than you had wished it too. The sleepy coastal town had been a source of comfort for you during your time there. The smell of the sea still clung to your clothes and soothed your frazzled nerves as you endured the carriage ride home. The skin around your nails was irritated and raw from your constant picking, an unfortunate outlet for the intense affliction you had. Still, the minor cosmetic issue was better than the past episodes you had endured: spells of shortness of breath and near fainting. 

A hiss of pain escaped your lips as Lilah swatted your hand with her fan, “Forgive me, my lady, but it would be best to kick that habit now before your mother becomes privy to it.”

You rubbed the sore spot on your hand before sliding your gloves back on, “And I suppose you intend to beat the habit out of me?”

“If I must, and if you insist on disfiguring yourself.” She replied with a sly smile. “There is nothing to fear, your brother and your mother are waiting for you.”

“And if I know my mother, I wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged some poor unsuspecting lord along with her.” You scoffed.

“Do you really think your brother would allow that?”

“Well, he has seemingly joined my mother’s scheming. At this point, I am uncertain as to what his intentions are as well. So much can change in the matter of a year, that and much more can be said for five years.” You sighed, relaxing into the velvet seat. “I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he is using my marriage status as a diversion from his own.”

“Could he not simply have your best interests at heart?” Lilah suggested.

“While Seokjin is the head of our household, he still is my brother. He would sooner turn me over to our mother than face her wrath.” You replied with a pointed look.

That overwhelming, inexplicable feeling was rising in your chest again as the peaks of familiar townhouses came into view. You weren’t much farther from home, from here on out it would be a short ride. 

You leaned your head back and attempted to collect yourself. You were no longer a little girl who once hid behind her mother’s skirts. And you were no longer the young lady that you had been before that fateful night. You were a woman, composed, intelligent, and resourceful. You were going to make it out of this no matter what.

The familiar scent of wisteria pulled you from your reverie, the carriage halting to a stop. It was now or never. 

The door swung open and the footman helped you exit. Your gloved hands brushed down the satin of your skirt in a refined manner as you made your way back inside your childhood home. Nothing had changed, while the time you had spent away seemed like ages ago, it had not been enough time for anything to truly change. Even the staff was the same, your mother’s faithful butler guiding you to the drawing room with a gentle smile and a compliment as to how much you had grown.

You had barely even entered the room before your mother’s presence was made known. She laid her needlework to the side and rushed to you in a rather unladylike manner before wrapping you in a tight and warm embrace.

“Dearest!” She cried, guiding your head to rest in the nook of her shoulder as she pressed her lips to your forehead. “How I’ve missed you, there, there, let me have a look at you.”

Her hands pressed against your shoulders, guiding you back as she took you in from head to toe. “Look at you, oh how you have grown into yourself.”

You suppressed a flinch, those familiar words echoing in the back of your mind. Promises and laughter over how you still had time to grow into your features. Always the ugly duckling and never the swan. 

“Thank you, mother. I’ve missed you.” You managed to smile. You had missed her, in spite of everything there was little she could do that would make you resent her. Of course, forcing you into a marriage was a step in the wrong direction for your relationship. However, so far there were no suitors hiding around the corner.

“Your brother and I are so happy you have you home again.” She hummed before taking hold of your gloved hands in her own. “We have planned lunch and a promenade by the river to welcome you home!”

“A promenade?” You echoed, your nerves firing back to life, “It has been a long journey home, perhaps we could save that for tomorrow instead?”

“Oh, nonsense! You were cooped up in that carriage all day. It will do you some good to stretch your legs and get some fresh air. The same could be said for that brother of yours, always hidden in that study of his. I swear, if I didn’t force him to leave he would spend the rest of his life drowning in papers there.”

That didn’t sound like the Seokjin that you knew. Of course you remembered how consumed he would become in his work, but he had always managed to find time for you and your mother. He never missed a meal and he never sent you to bed without a proper goodnight. Perhaps some things had truly changed in your absence. 

“Perhaps I should go and save him then,” You suggested, stepping out of her embrace, “I suppose his study is right where I left it?” You teased. 

Your mother laughed, shooing you away with satin gloved hands, “You tease too much! Go and fetch your brother, I’ll see to our transportation. And dearest, it is so good to have you home.”

You delayed for a moment, frozen by the archway in the parlor. It was good to see happiness on your mother once more. Even when you had lived at home, those moments were fleeting. It was nice to know that your return was the reason, outside of the circumstances that lead you back home. 

“It is good to be home,” You lied with a smile.

You made haste to your brother’s study, your skirts clutched in your fists as you ran down the hallway like you were a child once more. While you had changed so much, you could not deny the giddy joy that thrummed in your bones from the sight of those familiar hallways. You knew every nook and cranny, every good hiding spot, and every creaky floorboard. You came to a halt in front of a set of familiar doors and rapped your fist against the wood.

A voice, louder and angrier than you expected, called back, “I remember telling you I wish to not be disturbed!”

Your temper flared and your body moved without your command, shoving those doors open and marching into a dimly lit study, “After all this time, that is how you wish to greet your dearest sister?!”

The furious look on your brother’s face melted away, quickly being replaced by one of surprise. He stared at you for a moment, dumbfounded, before he rose so fast he knocked his chair back and circled his desk. 

You wheezed as he wrapped you in a tight embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you close like he was afraid you would disappear again. 

“Well now, that’s more like it.” You said softly, patting his shoulders before stepping away.

“Look at you, you’ve gone and grown up without me.” He whispered in awe.

“I wouldn’t say that, you look ages older than I remember.” You grinned.

“Excuse you! I am trying to be sentimental and you are making a mockery of my kindness, you petulant brat!”

“It’s good to see you too, Seokjin.” You smiled. 

“I want to know everything, what you have done since I have last seen you, what you have studied, all of it.”

“Well have no fear dear brother, we will have plenty to discuss over lunch and during our promenade.” You replied.

“Promenade?” He repeated, a look of dread washing over his once happy features. 

“It is inescapable, I am afraid. Mother’s orders. I tried my best to get us out of it, but she is having none of it. I believe this is part of her scheme to find a suitor, a scheme I am sure you are well aware of.”

His dread deepended, “It was not my idea,”

“Of course not, but I am sure it was a welcome distraction from your own duties was it not?”

“...Let’s not fight your first day back. I believe you mentioned a promenade?” He replied, evading answering your question as he offered you his arm, guiding you back towards the foyer where your mother waited.

~~~~~~~

You released another tired sigh as you walked alongside your mother, Seokjin behind the two of you, suddenly interested in the scenery as he avoided your conversation all together. 

Your mother had taken this opportunity to update you on all of the Tons gossip that you had missed during your time at Whitepoint. You were already beginning to miss the crisp seaside air.

“...and they married awfully fast, you know. Soon after they announced her pregnancy and then the infant was born premature but I assure you, that was the largest infant I have ever seen, premature or not!” Your mother’s voice whispered in your ear, delighted by the insinuation she was making.

“How scandalous,” You dryly remarked.

“Indeed!” She laughed.

A pleasant silence fell between you, although it did not last long. “Darling, I know that you have only just arrived, but I find it would be beneficial for us to discuss the delicate issue at hand.”

“You mean my marriage, or rather, the lack of such.”

“Well, yes, precisely,” She stuttered at your forwardness, “As I have mentioned in our correspondence, I am doing this out of love for you. Moving forward, it would be best if the three of us are all on the same page in regards to potential suitors.”

“Seokjin has left us, mother.”

She immediately came to a stop, whipping her head back and forth in a rather uncouth and unladylike manner as she searched for her missing son.

“How I hate it when he does that!” She exclaimed, spotting him a great distance away conversing with several other gentlemen of which you were familiar with. They had long been a part of your brother’s inner circle, something that you had only ever been an observer of.

Your mother’s eyes focused on the men beside your brother as she took hold of your forearm, leaning close to speak to you. “There are several viable options before you, darling.”

You cringed at the thought of courting one of your brother’s friends. You had experience with yearning for the attention of one of them before and you had been burned greatly as a result. It would not do you any good to cause any discord amongst his companions as you had already accomplished. Even now, he was not among them.

“Lord Kim would be a good choice,” Your mother mused and your heart stopped. It took you a moment to realize she was not talking about Taehyung, but Namjoon. “He comes from a good lineage and is rather brilliant from what I have heard, he could be a decent match for your own wit. However, he is notorious for avoiding settling down. He has not had even a single scandal that could allude to any possible relationship. He is so very much like your brother in that regard.”

“Forgive me mother, but if you could refrain from comparing potential suitors to my own brother I would be grateful.” 

“Oh dear me, you are right!” She winced, realizing her own folly. 

There was nothing wrong with Namjoon. In fact he was incredibly handsome, intelligent, and respectful in the few moments the two of you had crossed paths. He would not be a bad option, the issue was with you. You could not trust any of them - men. They spoke words slathered with honey to ladies, but the moment they congregated the most filthsome, lecherous, words left their mouths. You would not surrender yourself to a marriage wherein your own gender would be the basis for such foul thoughts. It was not Namjoon’s fault, but the men of society as a whole.

“Lord Jeon is the youngest among them, you are both the same age now that I think of it. The poor thing is rather timid though, no one has ever seen him ask a lady to dance. It may take too much time and effort to capture his interest. Not that you aren’t capable, darling!” 

Jungkook, you knew him as well. Even now, those large brown doe eyes looked around in such curiosity like he was seeing the world for the first time. Your brother adored him, like he was his own little brother. If you had been seriously considering your mother’s demands, in another life, you likely would have chosen him. He was sweet, kind, and he adored your mother and brother. But deep down in your soul, you knew you couldn’t even trust him. You had resigned yourself to this fate, you would not marry, not even a sweet boy such as he.

“Ah, and there is Lord Park, I am sure you are familiar. He was close friends with Taehyung after all.”

Of course you remembered him. He was there that night too, he had not said anything but you remembered how he had laughed at your expense. That smile on his lips was enough to send rage flooding through your veins as the sight of his face once more.

“Such a sweet cherubic face, he has had many ladies vying for his attention since you’ve been gone. He does, however, have quite the reputation of a rake. I do find, in my personal experience, that reformed rakes can make the best husbands.”

You made a disgusted choke in response to your mother’s statement. You dread to think about what she had been insinuating about your father in his youth. 

“Mother, that is hardly appropriate-”

“And of course there is Lord Jung! He is such a charming young man, and what a sweet smile! There would be no winning in that marriage, one smile and he would get absolutely everything he wants! He has not a single scandal to his name, the biggest mystery about him is how he hasn’t been snatched up yet, especially with such a prestigious family!”

You had no quarrel with Hoseok either. That was mainly attributed to how little you knew of him. Your brother only had the nicest things to say about him, then again, you had never heard him utter a negative word against any of his inner circle. Besides Taehyung, of course. You were sure Hoseok would find a wonderful wife one day, one who suited him perfectly. However, that would not be you. 

“And lastly, Lord Min. The Ton knows so little of him, he tends to keep to himself. He has an air of mystery surrounding him, especially considering he is the only Min left to carry the title, how tragic! Now, if you want my opinion I do think he may be older than I would like for you. It may be in your best interest to find someone closer in age to you, that should ensure a longer marriage.”

Perhaps you would toy with the idea of allowing your mother to think you held any interest in Yoongi - if she insisted you marry, it would be quite comical to target someone she was explicitly telling you that fell low on her list of prospective suitors. 

While you held no intention of marrying, you supposed you and Yoongi were the best match personality wise. You had heard from your brother that, much like yourself, Yoongi never intended to marry either. A marriage of convenience would not be too horrible, you could consider that your final plan should all else fail. If everything went sideways, this would be a mutually beneficial plot.

“It appears you have put much thought into your pursuits, mother.”

“Of course, darling. I have had five years to plan, did you really think I would let all of that time go to waste? I can assure you, come the end of the season we will have secured you the perfect match.” 

“Splendid,” You replied with a pained grin. 

“Lady Kim!” A familiar voice called causing both yourself and your mother to turn, unsure of which of you were being addressed.

“Oh, Lady Jeon!” Your mother called in equal excitement.

Your mother had been friends with Lady Jeon for quite some time, but it appeared that they had grown even closer than you remembered since you had left for Whitepoint. How curious. 

Scheming. 

“How good it is to see you,” Lady Jeon smiled at your mother before she took notice of you, 

“And my, look how you have grown into such a beautiful woman! It is so good to have you back my dear.” Lady Jeon said with a gentle squeeze of your hand. 

You smiled in spite of the burn her compliment left, “It is good to be home.”

“And how has your son been fairing, Lady Jeon?” Your mother asked, incredibly conspicuously as her eyes darted between yourself and the aforementioned lady. 

“Oh! My Jungkookie-”

You waited for a moment, watching as the two of them became enraptured in their conversation before you made your escape. When they were good and well distracted, you edged away from them before fully turning your back and escorting yourself on your own promenade - far away from scheming mothers and potential suitors. 

Foolishly, deep down you had hoped that your mother would forgo her efforts to see you married once you returned home. If anything, you had hoped her desire to see her daughter return to her family estate would overpower those wishes. You were once more reminded that hope was for fools.

The biggest issue that had presented itself was what your next steps would be. You were certain that a ball was unavoidable, your presence would have to be made especially now that you were under the watchful gaze of your mother. Your skin crawled at the thought, your last ball had ended so dreadfully. You could only hope that the scandal that surrounded yourself, and your family by extension, would be enough to ward off any more interaction with any members of the Ton. But it seemed that Lady Jeon was not frightened by any potential scandal, she would be one you would have to watch out for.

A soft call of your name had you halt in your steps. You knew that voice, you would never be able to forget that voice. The way it sounded when it laughed, or teased you, or soothed you. And the way it had taken your heart and torn it to shreds the moment you had given it away.

He repeated it again. You could hear his steps coming closer to you, you could sense his body drawing nearer. 

“My dearest?” He asked, his words heavy with emotion that surprised you although you did not let it show. 

It would be improper to ignore him in front of all of these people. It would make you look cold, callous, and plain rude. In any other circumstance you would not care, but with your mother so close by you had little choice in how you composed yourself. You would have to face him.

You took in a sharp breath before finally turning and facing him. 

He was just as handsome as he had been the last time you had seen him, that would never change. However, he did look different. More mature and, surprisingly, solemn. There were deep, tired circles beneath his eyes and a barely concealed tremble in his lips. There was a certain cruel joy that churned in your gut at the sight, a true expression of schadenfreude.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nice to see you.” Your tone said anything but. You watched as his mouth twisted at the title - you had never called him that. 

There was an unnatural stretch of silence before he spoke. “You have been gone for some time now.”

He too was aware of the public’s presence. And even after all of this time had passed you knew what he was truly saying: you vanished without saying goodbye.

“I have,” You agreed, “The time was quite necessary, everyone should take a break from the Ton now and again.” Your words were plain, completely lacking the banter the two of you had once shared. You were speaking to him as you would any other lord you had met for the first time. You could see the frustration burning inside of him. 

“I wrote to you,” He finally said, slightly breaking his decorum as he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, “Several letters for five years and not once did I receive a reply.”

You hummed in response, snapping your fan shut. “I am aware, I thought I was doing you a favor by not responding, you know. I wouldn’t want you to waste precious time and ink on someone such as myself. Someone that a man such as yourself would not ever find wanting.”

A look of confusion fell over his face, his gaze flicking from left to right before going still as realization dawned. The color drained from his face, his tense jaw falling slack. You internally preened at the sight.

“I bid you a good day, Mr. Kim,” You nodded, properly - politely, before turning your back on him and resuming your promenade.

Leaving him like that, mouth open and pale in the face, had left you with a certain sense of satisfaction. However, it was not enough. You were greedy in this manner. You wanted to see him suffer, you wanted to see him beg for forgiveness. You wanted him to be entirely at your mercy. It would not be enough until he was on his knees and even then you would never consider the possibility of forgiving him for his transgressions.

You had only made it a few steps away before a firm hand was wrapped around your bicep and you were being tugged off of the path and into the cover of the trees. You let out a sharp yelp as you lost your footing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had taken hold of you. 

“Are you mad?!” You gasped, smacking Taehyung’s hand off of you, “Have you not done enough damage? Do you seek to embarrass myself and my family further by creating another scandal that we cannot afford?”

“No one has seen, I need to speak with you.” 

“And you are certain of this? Just as certain as you were that night when I stumbled upon your lecherous foolish companions?”

“You were not meant to hear that!” He yelled, the sudden volume of his voice causing you to flinch back. In your long friendship not once had he ever raised his voice at you. This was new, there was a desperate look in his eyes that made your stomach twist in unease. 

“But I did,” You said, your voice far calmer than his as your fists balled up at your sides, “If you were truly that embarrassed of me, then you could have ended our friendship a long time ago. What you did was unbelievably cruel. I thought that while that place was teeming with wolves, I had one companion who would be at my side to fend them off. But, in truth, you despise me just as much as they did. You saw me as an annoying pest you had to put up with, one that was so undesirable it had to be made known to the entirety of the Ton.”

“Do you truly believe that is what I think of you? After all of the moments we shared?” He asked, his dark brows drawing together in blatant confusion that stirred your embers of anger once more.

“Of course I do! I heard the very words come from your mouth! What more do I need to hear?”

“You don’t understand, I was doing that to pro-”

“What is the meaning of this?” A new voice emerged, cutting off whatever Taehyung was trying to say. It was Seokjin, and the look on his face was one that made your back stiffen and your heart thud. 

“It is nothing, brother. Let’s return to our mother.” You answered, moving to come to his side. 

“This is not nothing, what is he doing here with you, unchaperoned?!” He hissed, “I should kill him!”

“Enough! You are overreacting, it was a simple conversation between old friends, nothing more!” You raised your voice as you moved to stand in front of him and block his path. 

“He aims to dishonor you,” Jin replied, his gaze still trained on the man behind you, “As he has before, you are to stay far away from him, do you understand me?”

You bristled at the instruction. It was as if he did not trust you rather than Taehyung. And while you knew, logically, that was the furthest thing from the truth, you did not appreciate the insinuation that you would fall victim to your old friend’s charms as so many other ladies had before you. In that moment, you were also reminded of your brother’s status as Viscount, especially with the commanding aura he had grown in your absence.

“Trust me brother, that will not be a problem.” You nodded in agreement despite the annoyance you felt. “Again, I bid you a good day, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung had fallen uncharacteristically silent. There was an angry and bitter look on his face as his jaw clenched and his hands flexed into fists. He lowered his gaze to the ground, refusing to meet your brother’s stern and watchful eyes. 

Something had happened here, something you had not been privy to. You had not been blind to this five years ago, the strained manner in which your brother spoke of one of his oldest friends the night everything had fallen apart. He had been trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy at the time, but his true feelings had successfully bled through. 

You struggled to match your brother’s pace as he hastily guided you back onto the path and in view of the other families on their promenade. Your curiosity was unquenchable. 

“What happened between the two of you, Jin?” You asked, trying to meet his gaze which he was steadily avoiding. “I know something has happened, once you would have trusted Taehyung like he was a part of our family and now you hold contempt for him.”

“Nothing has happened.” He replied, his voice flat and unconvincing. 

“Do you take me for a fool? I am not the child that I once was, I know that something has changed and I deserve to know what it is!”

“It is none of your concern!” He snapped, his fury now redirected to you. 

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you. The both of you were unflinching, awaiting the other to submit. 

“I don’t know who you have become in my absence, Seokjin. But the man that stands before me is not my brother.” You could see the anger visibility melt from his face and be replaced with regret. “While you may be the viscount, you are still my brother. It will do you well to remember to never raise your voice at me. Remember, I have no issue with my spinsterhood and if I so wished I could return to Whitepoint this very instant. If you wish to avoid another scandal, as you seem to be so worried about, it would do you well to treat me with the respect that I have always held for you.”

His response was one you had not been expecting. 

His gaze softened and a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “You have grown so much.”

You smothered your own grin that was attempting to rise. “I should hope so.”

“Forgive me, sister, I have forgotten myself. It has not been easy with you gone and I am afraid I have grown fearful of what will happen to you now that you have returned to my care. I merely wish to protect you, whether that be from the prying eyes of the Ton or the hands of any potential suitors our mother may throw at you.”

This was the problem with Seokjin. You could never stay mad at him for long. He was the closest thing you had to a father and despite everything else, deep down you merely wished to please him. You wanted him to be proud of you.

“I understand, however, you must know that I am capable of taking care of myself. I am not quite so delicate as you seem to believe I am. I need you to trust me in the same manner that I trust you. Can I rely on you to do that?” 

“Of course, no matter what may come, you will always have my trust.” He promised with a sincere smile that you remembered well. 

Whatever may come your way, you were confident that your brother would always be at your side. Seokjin silently held out his arm, a peace offering between the two of you. With a grin you hooked your arm through his and allowed him to escort you back to your mother. 

However, you could not ignore the feeling of someone watching you. 

For a moment you allowed yourself to glance back over your shoulder. He was still there, he had been watching the entirety of your interaction with your brother, and still he was watching you. You couldn’t ignore the sudden twist in your gut, the sense that something was horribly wrong, that this would be one of your final moments of peace before the storm arrived. 

The look in his eyes was enough to send a chill throughout your body. They were dark, needy, and calculating. Whatever it was that Taehyung wanted, it was not over. Speaking with you had not been enough, you knew that there was still more to come. And even as you turned your head and focused your gaze ahead of you, you could still feel him there. 

He was watching you. 

~~~~~~~

While you were aware that this would be unavoidable, preparing for a ball was enough of an inconvenience that it has your stomach in knots and a sheen of perspiration across your forehead. You simply could not forget just how horribly your last ball had ended, and the reaction you were having was beyond frustrating. 

You were not that young girl anymore, you need not care what the Ton thinks - their opinions do not matter to you. However, they matter greatly to your mother as well as your brother. You were under tremendous stress, you would have to present yourself properly for their sake while simultaneously avoiding any situations that could result in the attention of the opposite sex. It would be a delicate balance between your propriety and your desire to maintain your spinsterhood.

“Honestly milady, we will never be ready on time if this persists.” Lilah exclaimed, rapidly fanning your face and neck with a hand fan. “You are sweating through all of your rouge!”

“Forgive me Lilah but the rouge is the least of my worries at the moment.” You replied, your hand resting on your chest to feel the shaky expand of your lungs as you attempted to calm your breathing.

Lilah paused her frantic fanning for a moment, pressing her hands against your exposed shoulders and forcing you to sit down at your vanity.  Your posture slowly began to relax as her fingers soothed over your hair, delicately organizing it into the style she had chosen for the night. Lilah, like the older sister you had never had, often knew just how to soothe you when you needed it. Years of companionship had allowed for this. 

“While I may not agree with your methods nor your reasoning, I understand why you wish to maintain your freedom,” Lilah’s voice had grown soft, “You are the strongest, most hard headed lady that I have the privilege of knowing. It takes much more than a simple ball to have you cowering in a corner. Now, stiffen that steel spine of yours and take pride in yourself, you are the Viscount’s sister after all.” 

Leave it to Lilah to put you in your place. 

You gave her an amused smile, fixing your posture as you spoke, “How foolish of me to have forgotten my place.”

“Foolish indeed,” She mumbled under her breath with a shake of her head. Her faux frustration was easy to see through as she actively fought against the grin that attempted to spread across her lips. 

“Darling, are you just about ready to depart?” Your mother called as she rushed into your room. 

“As ready as I shall ever be,” You mumbled as you rose from your vanity. 

You stood before your floor length mirror, inspecting yourself before you departed. It had taken you a long while to become comfortable in front of a mirror again after that dreadful night. And even now despite your ability to peer into the looking glass, you could only maintain eye contact with yourself for intervals at a time. You could settle with looking at the gown.

It was lovely, as all creations of the modist were. The gown was made of sapphire blue silk with black chiffon draped over the top. Black and deep blue gemstones had been sewn into the bodice and the sleeves of the gown as well as the black gloves that concealed your hands and arms. The gown shone like the midnight sky by firelight. It was a drastic change compared to your debutante gown that held the charm of a young girl freshly introduced to society. This gown was mature, the color reflective of the mourning of the girl you once were.

“Very well then,” You exclaimed, stiffening your spine and lowering your shoulders, “let us face the wolves.”

~~~~~~~

Unlike that night, Jin was your faithful guard dog. His presence was so intimidating to potential suitors that it left you completely grateful and your mother utterly distressed.

“Dearest,” Your mother begged, “Won’t you give your sister and I some time to each other?”

A mischievous grin spread over your brother’s face, “We’ve only just been reunited and you wish to separate me from my dear family, mother?”

A stern look settled on her features, “Very well, then I am sure you will have no qualms with acquainting yourself with the ladies of the Ton as your sister and I plan to this evening?”

A look passed between you and your brother. You were surprised by the lack of irritation that you were once familiar with. In the time that had passed, Seokjin had grown better at concealing his true emotions. However, you knew him too well. There was a look in his eyes that told you that he had his own scheme at play. 

He let out an exaggerated sigh, one that had you and your mother’s eyebrows raising, “Very well then, I suppose I shall make myself scarce and allow you ladies to mingle.”

“That’s the spirit, dear.” Your mother smiled, the smile of a cat that caught the canary.

The two of you melted into the crowd, Seokjin disappearing from your sight with one last comforting smile and a nod of his head. 

What was he playing at?

Everything was a blur around you, bodies ghosted by with no distinct features. You were too absorbed by your own thoughts, the steady prattle of your mother nothing more than a low hum in your ears that bled into the soft cry of the instruments of the orchestra that filled the ball room. 

He had been too calm, the calmest you had ever seen. Did he intend to truly help you? To not pawn you off to the man with the highest status and deepest pockets? Seokjin would never outright defy the will of your mother, but the love he had for you was enough to soothe the steady buzz of your nerves. 

You grasped your gloves hands together tightly, ceasing the nervous picking at your concealed nails. You needed to get it together, for your own sake.

“Dearest, is that not Taehyung headed our way? And rather quickly too.”

Your mother’s voice shattered your concentration, your head jerking up and snapping from side to side before you caught sight of him. Lo and behold, it was indeed him. How clever of him to approach you in a place where you would not be permitted to run from him. Oh, how you loathed him. 

He looked more put together than the last time you had seen him, his clothes pristine and his hair styled. But those sleepless circles were still present beneath his eyes. The smile on his lips was still charming, but strained. His shoulders were heavy and strung tight with tension that he could not hide, not from you who could read him so well. 

Your mother, who had not been oblivious to the scandal he had caused the last time you had been to a ball, tensed beside you, her fingers tightening their hold around your arm. 

“Taehyung,” She greeted, her smile visibly strained, “How good it is to see you again.”

You pressed your lips together in frustration, your expression anything but welcoming. As if tonight wasn’t hard enough, he had blatantly ignored your brother’s and your own warnings to stay far away from you. This was another complication you did not need. 

“Indeed, it is good to see you as well Viscountess,” He nodded, his dark eyes piercing into you.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” Your mother asked, maintaining the pretense of a pleasant conversation.

“Well, I was hoping to ask your daughter for a dance,”

No, not again.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss. Kim has promised me her first dance of the night.” A low voice called from behind the three of you.

You turned your head, startled by the close proximity of a person you had not sensed before. Tall stature, deep dimples. Kim Namjoon.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, Taehyung’s expression flickered between surprise and something darker, something like envy. Your mother’s face lit up in what could only be described as pure and unadulterated joy.

You remained silent, allowing Namjoon’s lie to unfold between the four of you. You were intrigued to see where this would go, especially if it would get you away from the man you had sworn off for the rest of your life.

Taehyung smiled once more, another strained one, “Perhaps her second dance then.”

Namjoon whistled, a playful gleam in his eyes as he spoke with Taehyung, “I don’t know about that, from what I have heard Miss Kim’s dance card is quite full this evening.”

What.

You couldn’t look now, it would give away whatever ruse Namjoon was playing.

“Miss Kim, would you give me the honor of leading you in your first dance back home?” Namjoon asked, holding out his hand for you to take with a charming smile.

You attempted to ignore the soft squeal your mother barely managed to muffle as you placed your gloved hand in his, “I would be delighted to, Lord Kim.”

His smile deepened and so did those deadly dimples of his. You may have sworn off men, but you were not blind. Kim Namjoon was as dangerous to your heart as he was attractive. You could feel the warmth of his skin seeping through your glove, attempting to invade your frigid flesh. Did he know how dangerous he was to a spinster such as yourself? The rascal surely did.

You followed Namjoon, your arm tucked into the crook of his elbow as you approached the dance floor which was already bustling with bright faced young girls whose dresses spun dramatically across the floor in a blur of colors.

Once you were certain you had escaped Taehyung’s watchful gaze, you dared to peek at the dance card around your wrist and sure enough, every slot had been filled with names that were incredibly familiar to you. 

Jin.

“I hope you will be able to forgive myself and the others, your brother can be incredibly persuasive when he wants to be.” Namjoon sheepishly said, moving in front of you to initiate your dance. 

“Persuasiveness is one thing, I never thought he would dare to pre-pen down unwilling partners on my dance card,” You said, your voice cool and your gaze steely.

Namjoon was not intimidated, meeting your harsh gaze head on. You jolted in shock at the feeling of his palm resting in between your shoulder blades, his other hand grasping yours gently. You willed the tingling sensation between his palm and your back to dissipate, now was not the time to be swayed by baser instincts. You had a mission to attend to.

“Unwilling, Miss. Kim? How misinformed you are,” He laughed, breaking apart from you for just a moment to expertly guide you in a spin, “While it may have been your brother’s idea, we are all willing participants in his scheme.”

“And why should I believe that, Lord Kim? One does not agree to something which does not benefit them as well.” 

He was quiet for a moment, his warm eyes scanning your features as he thought, “While the rest of us may not have had the opportunity to know you as well as others, you are our dearest friends sister and that means something to all of us. When asked to protect you, there was no hesitation on any of our parts. And, it is never a problem to share a dance with a beautiful lady.”

You could feel heat rush to warm your face at his remark. While you did not believe him for a moment, there was something refreshing about hearing someone call you beautiful rather than remarking about how much you had finally grown into yourself. With his statement, there was no insinuation that you never were beautiful. 

Kim Namjoon, what a rascal. 

But there was something else about what he said that had caught your attention, “Whatever do you mean about protecting me?”

A look of shock crossed his once confident features. He had made a folly, said something that he was not supposed to say. However, he was saved as the music ceased and the dance came to an end. You, however, were not ready to back down. 

“Excuse me, Namjoon, but I believe I was promised a dance as well.” Another voice interjected. 

And there stood Min Yoongi, a playful smirk just barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. Oh, he was trouble indeed.

“Of course, don’t let me keep you waiting Yoongi.” Namjoon said before retreating, a grateful expression on his face as he was given the opportunity to avoid your line of questioning. 

“Miss. Kim, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance after such a long time,” Yoongi said with a slight bow of his head, “While my name is on your dance card, I am hoping you will still allow me to ask for a dance?”

How was he so capable of saying the right things to pluck at your heartstrings? Rascals, all of them.

“But of course,” You agreed before beginning your next dance. “I was hoping you could enlighten me, Lord Min.”

“Hm, perhaps I could,” He replied, pretending to mull it over. 

“Your friend mentioned something about all of you offering your protection over me, could you do me the service of explaining just what exactly that entails?”

Yoongi’s dark eyes snapped straight to your own, the irises shaking ever so slightly as he thought over what he would say before his lips finally parted and he spoke, “I believe that you have every right to know what is going on. My loyalties, however, do lie with your brother.”

Ah, he was bound to secrecy then. Well, he wouldn’t break any oath if you simply figured it out on your own. 

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Kim Taehyung, would it?” You asked.

“Perceptive,” He hummed, “Yes, it does.”

“Well you and your friends and my brother need not worry, I plan to stay far away from Taehyung. I have no interest in any suitors this season, if I had it my way I would not even be here in the first place.”

“While I can appreciate our shared perspectives, I will tell you that it is not you, your brother and I are worried about. It’s Taehyung.” 

“Taehyung is as harmless as a fly, his greatest weapon is his words.”

Yoongi’s brows drew together in frustration, a look of concern evident in his gaze. “I am afraid that you are gravely mistaken. In all of the time we have spent with Taehyung, we have never known him to be harmless. Coincidentally, his behavior has worsened since you left all of those years ago. There is cause for our concern not only for your reputation, but your safety as well.”

You were immediately taken aback by his words. Not only your reputation, but your safety as well? In all the time that you had known Taehyung, he would never have done anything to harm you. If anything, he would have put himself in harm's way before he ever let anything happen to you. But Yoongi was right. Something about him was different, something had changed since you’ve been gone. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had been replaced by a sinister counterpart.

“If I am truly in so much danger, don’t you think that I deserve to know what is going on?” You asked, searching his gaze for a sliver of an answer. 

“Of course I do,” He replied, his voice lower and softer than before, “But the last thing we want is for you to be frightened. Please, allow us to carry this burden for you.”

The music ceased but there was no sign of relief on Yoongi’s face as you came to a stop. Before your next partner could whisk you away he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his fingers trailing against yours slowly before they separated. You felt strangely cold with the absence of his touch. 

“Be on guard, Miss. Kim.” He advised with a nod before he left. 

There was a sickening sour sensation in your gut, one that had you feeling seasick. What could Taehyung have done that was so bad that it turned all of his friends against him? That look Yoongi had given you, it wasn’t commanding, it had been pleading. Begging you not to open Pandora’s box and live in ignorance and bliss.

“Good evening Miss. Kim,” A chipper voice announced themself. 

Jung Hoseok, how like him. 

“Hello sir,” You greeted with a sly grin as his forehead wrinkled in annoyance. 

“Sir? How long have we known each other? I think we are well past formalities.” He pouted before taking hold of your hand with a charming smile.

Jung Hoseok had one of those smiles that used every muscle in his face, his skin radiated when he smiled. You could feel it seeping beneath your skin, warming you to your very core. Your mother’s words echoed back to you, there would be no winning in a marriage with him - just one smile and you would give in to his every desire. 

“If we are as close as you say we are, then would you be willing to indulge me for a moment?”

“But of course,” He laughed, “I do have to warn you though, our mutual friend has made me aware of your snooping. I am afraid any line of questioning involving a certain someone is off the table for the duration of our dance.”

A glance over Hoseok’s shoulder revealed Namjoon who cheekily waved at you with a knowing smile. You huffed in annoyance, Namjoon’s meddling was almost just as bad as your brother’s. 

“And I suppose if I were to ask, you would tell me to leave the worrying to you and your friends?” 

“Yoongi is right, you are a perceptive one.” He hummed in agreement. “However, I will not fall for your ploy. I am afraid I will have to ask you to refrain from asking anymore questions regarding our mutual headache.”

So, he had upset Hoseok as well. In all of the time you had known Hoseok, he had always been a cheerful man. Quick to be empathetic, understanding, and far too kind for your own liking. You couldn’t remember an occasion where he had been angry, although you had heard from your brother how chillin it was when he was. You had laughed at the time, believing Hoseok to be incapable of any emotion adjacent to anger. Now, you could see it. His smile wavered, his gaze hardened. 

What happened between all of them?

Hoseok’s calming smile returned in full swing as he took notice of your unsettled appearance, “Let’s not waste time talking about unsavory things, let’s have some fun instead.”

Hoseok was true to his word, for the remainder of your dance together he refused to mention Taehyung and instead focused on making you dizzy as he spun you around in ridiculous circles that had your feet tripping over each other and breathless laughter tumbling from your lips. You almost felt guilty from just how much fun you were having when you were supposed to be investigating. But it was hard to focus in his presence, and you were certain your brother had been relying on that. 

You found similar results with Park Jimin, your next dance partner after Hoseok. If you weren’t already monopolizing the Tons attention, you surely were now. You were not blind to the stares that penetrated you. Your sudden emergence after a five year absence followed by the attention of four of the Tons most wanted bachelors was sure to stir gossip for weeks. And Jimin was bathing in it. 

“How do you stand all of the attention, Mr. Park?” You asked, fighting back a teasing smile that tried to escape. 

“I could ask you the same question, Miss. Kim. Believe me, they are watching you just as much as me, if not more than me.” He hummed, his watchful gaze scanning over the crowd. 

Jimin was exceptionally good at reading a crowd, he had always been a people person. He was socially competent in a way you could never even hope to be. However, he could prove to be useful to you. 

“You know me, Mr. Park, I have never been one for the limelight. If I had it my way I would still be in Whitepoint, far away from the prying eyes of the Ton.”

“And yet here you are, and we are all the more grateful to have you back.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Park.”

“On the contrary, it’s gotten me everywhere, Miss. Kim.” He laughed. 

“And will flattery give me the information that I am so desperately searching for?” You asked.

Jimin went silent, licking his plush lips in a sign of stress. He looked conflicted, conflicted was good you could work with that. 

“From what I have gathered from your friends, something has transpired since I left all of those years ago. Something that was so terrible all of you have taken a vow to shield me from it to the extent that even I have no idea as to what has occured. What I do know is that a certain someone has been dismissed from your circle and even you, his best friend, have chosen to side against him. Now, why exactly is that?”

“Best friend?” He laughed, “If anyone was his best friend, it was you. And then you were gone and he changed.”

“You know why I left Jimin, you were there that night. I remember how you laughed at my expense with him. It hurt less because I didn’t really know you, but it still hurt nonetheless. You owe it to me, at the very least tell me what I need to know.” 

His gaze softened, a look of regret coming over his angelic features. You could feel the embers of your anger begin to cool. 

“You heard?” He whispered, angling his head so that he could meet your gaze. Those damn brown eyes were softening your heart. You suddenly remembered why he was such a successful rake. His seduction was softer, kinder, and in some cases worse than the typical rake.

You cleared your throat, “Yes, I heard everything. You are not who I am most angry with, don’t take that upon yourself.”

“It wasn’t right,” He interrupted you, pulling you closer as he lowered his voice so that no one would hear the two of you, “I hope you know that I never thought that about you. That environment, it isn’t one you have your own opinion in. After that night, I pulled back from them, Taehyung included. It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I hope that you know that I deeply regret it. I don’t expect your forgiveness but I hope that I can earn it.”

The annoying fluttering sensation in your stomach wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard you tried to force it. He was too close, being too sweet to you, and saying all of the right things. The worst thing was, you knew that he was telling the truth. These weren’t just sweet words intended to soothe your anger and repair your perception of him. He meant it.

“You know how you can earn it.” You said. 

He released a deep sigh and his shoulders relaxed, “A promise is a promise, I am many things but I am not a liar, Miss. Kim. However, there is someone else here who is more loyal to you than your dear brother. I think you’ll be able to figure out who.” 

You grunted in annoyance. These damn men and their foolish sense of pride and honor. Who would be more loyal to you than your brother? Who would be willing to betray their word for you? You couldn’t imagine anyone who would be capable of doing so. Not for you. 

“They are much closer than you think,” Jimin winked as your dance came to an end, his fingers trailing over the edge of your dance card. And, like the rascal that he was, he raised your hand to his face and brushed his lips over your glove in a barely there kiss. Your heart pounded in response. He truly was a sight, your mother’s claims of his cherubic appearance weren’t that far off either with how the light was catching the honey blonde of his hair, creating a halo just behind his head. He truly was angelic. 

“I hope I have earned some of your trust back, Miss. Kim.”

And then he was gone. 

For the first time all night you had a moment of reprieve. It seemed that the endless stream of your brother’s inner circle had finally concluded. You took the opportunity to escape from the dance floor. This was sure to be the talk of the Ton for weeks to come, you couldn’t fathom the attention it was going to bring you. What were Jin’s intentions? You had thought he was on your side, but if anything he was feeding into your mother’s desires. 

Was there no one here that you could trust?

It was swelling up inside of you again, that inescapable feeling, that crushing weight on your chest that made it feel impossible to breathe. Why did this always happen at the worst time imaginable? There was no escape here, not with all of the bodies pressing in on you with their penetrating stares. 

You were losing control. 

“Excuse me, Miss. Kim?” A soft voice called. 

You came to a stop, your gloved hands fisting the satin of your skirt in an attempt to ground yourself. You needed to shove it down, you had to pretend it didn’t exist. Just for a little while longer. You turned and forced a smile on your lips. 

Jeon Jungkook was standing there with an unsure look on his face. While you had seen him the week prior, you had not been able to get a good look at him until now. His hair was longer than you remembered, but he still had a youthful face, and big brown eyes that expressed a soul that was living for the first time. He was not as confident in himself as the other members of Jin’s inner circle, you could see it on his face. 

He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the room rather than focusing on your face. “While I know that my name is in the last spot on your dance card already, I would still like to ask you if you wish to share a dance with me.”

This was unheard of. 

You knew for a fact that Jungkook did not engage with anyone but the inner circle at these events. Your mother had labeled him a shy young man, that was incredibly true, you could see that even now. Even though he had made a promise to your brother, why would he go to these lengths for you? He was putting himself into the sights of every family there, this would begin an inescapable hunt by all of the scheming mother’s and daughters of the Ton. By doing this, he would be signaling to everyone that he was interested in entering the marriage market.

“Are you doing this because you want to, or because my brother has demanded you do so?” 

A small smile played on his lips, his gaze still directed to the dancing couples as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. “Can it not be both?” 

“Are you certain? I would hate to put you into a position that you cannot go back from.” 

Jungkook sighed, a subtle flush appearing on his cheeks. “Miss. Kim, it took quite a bit of time for me to gain the courage to ask you, and this repeated line of questioning is beginning to make me think I’m more of a bother than a help.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled in your chest. It took him a lot of courage to ask you? If anything, the roles should be reversed in this situation. 

“It is nothing against you, Jungkook. If anything, I am the one looking out for your reputation.” You assured him. 

“I don’t care much for my reputation,” He admitted, finally raising his head and meeting your gaze, “I just wish to share a dance with you and you alone.” 

You were worried for your heart, after all of the attention you had received tonight it had been working harder than need be. You were certain at this rate it would beat straight out of your chest. Jungkook was too kind, too sweet, and held too much boyish charm. How were you going to survive? 

“Very well, it is your reputation, after all.” You agreed, reaching your hand out and slipping it through the bend of his elbow. Jungkook smiled nervously as he averted his gaze from you, his shy nature coming back in full force. 

Jungkook was, to your surprise, a good dancer partner. While you had never seen him dance with anyone before, it appeared Lady Jeon had not allowed him to skip any dance lessons in his youth. He was so sure in himself when he was dancing with you, it was the first time you had seen him exude such confidence. Although the flustered blush was still present in his cheeks, it was less so than it had been before. 

Now was your time to strike.

“It appears your worries were for nothing, you are a very gifted dancer.” 

Your compliment nearly caused him to miss a step, the flustered look returning once more. He was quick to recover. “It was not my abilities I was worried about, rather, whether you would reject me or not.” 

“Hm, you saw me with your friends did you not? Why would I accept them and deny you?” 

“Well, they are much more accomplished than I am, more social, more well versed in the ways of the Ton.” He explained. 

“Well, then I suppose you and I are more alike than you think.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“Compared to your friends I am quite the recluse, I did disappear for quite some time after all. I have little to no accomplishments, and I desire to be far away from the Ton and its constricting standards.”

“You should not talk about yourself that way,” He gently scolded you. 

“All I meant to say is that we make a good pair.” You explained. 

That quieted him, a look of surprise coming over those big brown eyes. And there was something else there, something that you were beginning to grow suspicious of. Something that was entirely unexpected and utterly surprising. 

“You…you should not say things like that to me.” He stuttered with a harsh swallow. 

“And why not?” 

“Because it will give me too much hope.” He confessed. 

Hope? What could he mean by that? While you had your suspicions you believed that they were too far removed from reality to be true. And if they were true, then you had no time or desire to pursue it. You had much more important plans to address. 

However, Jimin’s words were ringing in your mind, “...there is someone else here who is more loyal to you than your dear brother.”

“Jungkook, can I trust you?” You asked. 

“Of course!” He exclaimed albeit a little too quickly. He too was aware of his eagerness and looked away in embarrassment. 

“I have spent this entire night interrogating your friends, yet I feel no closer to the answers I am looking for. So, I find myself having to ask you outright, what happened after I left? What did Taehyung do?” 

Much like his friends, Jungkook shook off the lightheartedness of your previous conversation. It was odd to see the way anger warped his kind face. It was unsettling. What was even more unsettling was the traces of panic that were present in his eyes.

“What he did was beyond unforgivable.” He said through gritted teeth. “He shouldn’t even be here.” 

“Then tell me, I need to know especially if it is pertaining to me. I am tired of being told it is not my burden to bear, if it is truly that horrible then I must know!” 

“I agree,” He said, to your surprise. “You should know everything, otherwise your curiosity is going to put you in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it cannot be said here, there are too many eyes and ears.”

  “Then when, where?” 

“Tonight, meet me in the courtyard once the staff have retired for the night.” He instructed.

“How scandalous, Mr. Jeon, asking a lady such as myself to partake in a late night rendezvous.” You laughed. 

“That - you know that is not what I am intending,” He stuttered, that sweet blush rising on his cheeks once more. You just could not help yourself, he was as skittish as a rabbit and it brought you so much delight to see how simple it was to fluster him. 

“Relax, Jungkook, I am fully aware of your intentions and rather appreciative, might I add. You are the first person who has indicated they are on my side in this matter. I will owe you greatly for this. And have no fear, there will be no mention of our meeting to anyone else, your reputation is safe with me.”

Jungkook swallowed, the hand that was settled at your back pressed more firmly as he collected himself. “I seem to remember telling you that my reputation means little to me, Miss. Kim. While I am not anticipating our meeting will be found out, if word were to spread that the two of us were found in such a compromising position then I would happily admit that my affections were at fault. I would not regret a rumor that ties the two of us together.”

You were startled and stumped to say the least. This was the second time he had hinted at that something he was feeling. His reputation was of little concern to him, the suggestion of the two of you being together was enough to inspire hope, and the possibility of you being found out did not bring about a sense of dread for him. In fact, he seemed enthused by the idea of there being a scandal implicating the two of you engaging in behavior that was, for lack of a better term, entirely improper. 

But you simply could not fathom how that would be true. You knew that the Ton believed you to be the most undesirable spinster there was, even prior to your spinsterhood. If that was not enough, then the words of your childhood crush turned enemy were certainly enough to prove your point. But the way Jungkook spoke about you, to you, it would seem that he was infatuated with you. 

But that was impossible. 

You cleared your throat, separating from the young man with a curtsy as the music ceased. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Jeon, but I do believe that we will not have to worry about such a thing. Thank you, for this lovely dance, I look forward to meeting with you again.”

There was this look on his face, one of withdrawn sadness, one that could only be described as longing. And he felt that longing, deep in the marrow of his bones. It ached and begged for the gentle touch of your fingers once more, the soft gaze of your eyes, and the sweet turn of that teasing smile that haunted him. You haunted him, day in and out, and sleepless night after night.

“Until we meet again,” He agreed with a gentle bow.

You watched him retreat for as long as you could before he melted away amongst the other party guests. Guests whom you had not been watching, but whom had been watching you. You felt their ever present gaze before, but now you could see it too. You had gone and made yourself a spectacle again, the very thing you had been hoping to avoid. 

You were certain that your mother was thrilled to bits and you could not wait to give your brother a piece of your mind. What a disaster to your carefully constructed plans, alas, you had not foreseen that your brother’s friends would be the “suitors” you would have to offend and avoid. But it was fine, they are not actually pursuing you - it is a ruse.

The ache in your feet was becoming unbearable, you had not moved this much in such a long time and those painfully tight shoes were of no help. You needed a break, you needed just one moment to yourself. 

You found yourself in what appeared to be a library, a corner of the manor that had been left uninhabited by the party goers. It was perfect for you. You settled down on one of the plush lounges, toeing your satin shoes off and rubbing at the aching heels and soles of your feet. In that moment you thought of Whitepoint again, your safe haven. You had gone many days without shoes there, walking the soft sandy beaches barefoot. If you closed your eyes you could ever so faintly smell the sweat brine of the ocean catching on the breeze.

“Must I chase you all night, or can we finally have that conversation that you have been avoiding?”

The illusion was shattered in an instant. He had found you again and you were once more in a precarious position. The two of you were alone, without a chaperone, and easily discovered should one of the party goers stumble into the library.

Damn it all. 

[garez19]

hellooo!!1 tysm <33 i also hope i never go bald… you’re highly appreciated. and ofc you can!! ;))

the remedy for lovesickness

yandere actor! x gn! makeup artist! reader. yandere themes, power imbalance, manipulation. 2.6k wc

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

he was born in a small town.

he spent the majority of his life hating it, a total waste of a land full of fussy and old people. it didn’t have enough bars to socialize, nor did it have a swimming pool for him and his friends to enjoy. it didn’t have enough area for him to let his emotions out. there weren't enough people for him to express himself. 

no, there weren’t enough experiences this small town could give him.

maybe that was the reason he became so good at his job. he didn’t have a place to express himself, yet the classroom had plenty of empty seats to think about how one must feel in certain situations. he didn’t have many reasons to get angry, but he could always watch the old man in the neighborhood going crazy over the kids making too much noise. he could read books about agony and love.

at first, he did it for laughs. the jester way of conveying the message. then it became a hobby. then— an overgrowing passion.

and, safe to say it paid off well. a pretty face with talent -with the devotion to get it right-, and of course, a little bit of luck finally helped him get out of that shithole. a pretty face and the obsession with imitation got him places, unlike what that one girl from highschool had said. 

it got him fame, thousands of people who cheered him on, lovely apartments, and numerous opportunities to try and catch a glimpse of new lives, of new roles.

still, he didn’t like the metropolis any better. a total waste of a land that’s too industrialized for his country-boy tastes, although he might have not liked to admit. it didn’t give people enough time to process their feelings, and the crowd wasn’t something he thought he could get used to. 

but he still loved his job, and he most certainly had thousands of inspirations.

except for that one role. the story of a prince and his undying adoration for his lover. the one his manager didn’t stop blabbering about. he had considered it for an hour or two. “no,” he then decided. it was a role he had never got the chance to explore. he wouldn’t know how a lovestruck guy would act and talk like. he didn’t have enough time to practice.

but his manager didn’t seem to take no as an answer.  

“you have time to practice,” she said, “it’s a good opportunity.”

guys with possessive tendencies truly sold a lot, apparently. 

the manager was too sure that it was the perfect role for him at the moment. it took a long time and effort on her end to convince him, but it was a good opportunity.

“a good opportunity…” he finally agreed. 

he had to be ready by the tenth episode. and he had nothing except books about love.

“so kais loses his mind, right? he’s now a madman telling everyone he met about leyla’s breathtaking beauty and praising her. people start making fun of him, ‘majnun’, they say, ‘madman’,”  

now, you weren’t really sure if that was in your contract. 

still, you nodded, signalling him to go on as you kept applying his makeup. either your boss was very fond of love books, or he was bored to the point where he would talk about anything. 

you loved being a makeup artist. you loved working with idols and celebrities. gossiping to your friends about them was fun. seeing them without filters or scripts was fun. most importantly, makeup was fun.

“you know the remedy for lovesickness?” he asked suddenly.

“no. could you please close your eyes? thank you. I’m going to put on some powder now.”

“if love causes sleeplessness and delirium, it’s understandable to worry that the person might lose their mind. in such cases it’s a good option to keep them fed with easy to digest foods… like soup. um, and a hot bath should help them relax.” 

“interesting...”

“yeah, and the scent of violet oil can also help too. that’s the remedy of the body.”

“could you lift your head just a little bit— perfect.”

“as for the soul, that’s kind of like a mental illness. the person should be talked to gently. at least until they calm down a bit. they can also keep themselves busy with other things. to distract themselves, you know.”

this guy didn’t know how -and when- to stop. 

it was hilarious. it was strange. but there was something truly captivating about him. so you didn’t stop him. you didn’t pretend you weren’t interested. you didn’t intervene with his drawn-out threads that felt like a needlessly long script from a soap opera. 

“duly noted.”

by the time they shot the fourth episode, he had shared a handful of stories. all revolved around one plot: love sickness with tragic endings. you didn’t think too much of the obsession with it, and honestly, you probably wouldn’t really understand even if he told you that was the only way he could learn. 

“on the wedding night kerem tries to undo the buttons of asli’s robe. but he keeps failing. and then he takes a deep breath, right? he sighs so deeply… that he quite literally bursts into flames.”

you couldn’t help but snort at the very sudden ending, “what?”

“yeah, because the buttons are enchanted. and then asli tries to save him but ends up catching fire too.”

you hummed. 

“I’m gonna need you to stay quiet or a second now,” you said. he nodded before asking, “what do you think?”

“fire as a metaphor for love is… intense.” you changed the brush. “within that, the stories you’ve shared focus on forbidden love more often than not.” 

he closed his eyes. 

“the metaphor starts making much more sense in such cases.”

you tried your best to stay professional, to not speak unless you’d been told otherwise, and to make sure you did your job properly. but he was friendly. not just with you. he was close with the whole crew, and it wasn’t something you often came across.he was easy to talk to, genuinely warm, and honestly fun to listen to.

“and, you’re ready,” you said. 

“it’s all about the unrequited -or forbidden- desire,” he mumbled.

“kais was literally a prince. and layla loved him back.” you finally replied to his ramblings.

you definitely didn’t sign up for this. it wasn’t that deep. love-turned-obsession stories often came with such characteristics, but that didn’t mean that was the case all the time.

“he was still scared he couldn’t have her.”

“I don’t know. maybe some people are just not meant to be.”

“wouldn’t that make their love sweeter?” he laughed softly.

debating on love every other day with your regularly transformed opinions while doing your job was not something you often told your friends about. but you weren’t complaining, not really.

6th episode’s shoot, and you were busy with doing someone else’s makeup. but, not a big deal, not at all. it happened in sets all the time after all. it was chaotic, unbearable. the part he hated the most. but it was fine. he had stories to tell. people who listen. or so he thought.

the new makeup artist seemed easy going too. yet, the story refused to be known. the tale wouldn’t let him reveal it. he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. he adapted quickly to most things very quickly, but he could hardly let them go. it was his little ritual: underlining passages from the books and getting excited to tell you more about it the next day.

it hadn’t even been that long. but he didn’t dare tell the newest story to anyone but you. as I said, he picked up silly habits easily. sometimes worryingly so. he even waited for you to finish your job so he could talk to you— but no. someone always had to ruin the day.

7th episode, and he didn’t seem as excited about telling a love tale. his mind was obviously on something else. the quietness was unfamiliar and almost unbelievable, but for some reason, it wasn’t bothering you. 

still, you truly wanted to ask what was going on in his head, even when you did your best to stay professional.

“do you want to work with me?” he finally spoke up. you let out a sudden “huh” as you grabbed the eyeshadow palette.

“would you like to be my personal stylist?” he asked again.

“oh, I do have a contract with the producer of the show at the moment.”  

“I’m not asking you to quit.”

a good opportunity, one that you shouldn’t even hesitate before saying yes. “it’d be more appropriate to talk about it later,” you said, a perfect way to dodge the question . he handed you a card with a phone number.

“reach out to my manager whenever you’re available.”

he sounded like a businessman, a person who hated love books and romance more than anything, like he was rude towards service people on purpose. but well, mostly likely because he was tired, at least you thought so. 

you loved your job, but it sure had drawbacks. working with people adored by everyone didn’t suddenly make you as appreciated, for instance. you were still easily replaceable. every single person in this industry was.

and a contract meant insurance, a promise, and a guarantee of employment. working for a successful actor meant promising career prospects in the long term. it meant network and experience. and there was hardly anything that could be considered as a con. an opportunity too good to pass. an opportunity too good to be true.

was it professional? not that you cared.

“it’s a good opportunity,” he agreed, “better not waste it.”

so you didn’t. 

8th episode, and he finally turned back to normal again. full of joy and positivity, wishing everyone a very good day as he passed by. full of energy and with little stories of love and adoration while you made small comments here and there.

love stories then evolved into his ramblings about his town, his annoying physics teacher and what that one girl had to say about his acting skills in highschool -he seemed very offended by it, by the way-, and questions of what your life looked like. question that almost felt like an interrogation.

questions about your routine and habits, your love life, whether you liked that one book, and a bunch of very privacy related stuff you’d rather not answer.

he was made for this job, you decided when you watched episode 10.

but that is also when you realized his obsession was a two edged sword. his devotion to playing the character accurately, to see him through the scripts, to not just act like him but becoming him— it meant danger. the character and his successor would merge into one; eventually, they would become impossible to distinguish. was it always the case? most certainly. playing the role of an angry old man, he used to storm into the street, snatching the kids’ ball while also shouting they were making too much noise. or at least, that’s what he suddenly remembered.

it didn’t always have to be the case.but here he was, calling his manager, the crew and the producer by your name. “my bad,” he’d say quickly, correcting himself, and then his eyes would wander around the room exactly three times. the makeup would take much longer than usual. the seventh time he pinpointed the eye makeup– implying you should redo the left eye, you would sigh with frustration.

it didn’t always have to be the case. but here he was, yet another prince of the metropolis, featured in magazines with his picture everywhere. interviews, questions about how he prepared for the role– but no, please give him a second as his stylist fixed his goddamn hair for the fifth time in ten minutes.

you didn’t sign up for this.

you weren’t his goddamn manager. you didn’t know you had to follow him everywhere he went, even to places he certainly didn’t need any makeup or hair styling. but emergencies could happen, he would say. 

14th episode, and it was getting harder to keep the script straight in his mind. tangled stories with the image of you and dialogues he had made up. his face would grow warm, the slow thrum of his pulse made his knees weaker. the accidental mentions of your name turned into small comments on how well you did your job. soon, they became long, winding monologues about you, the kind someone with a fevermight mutter in the middle of the night.

that was how kais felt when they called him majnun.

the magazine pages kept mentioning the scandalous news, although no one could confirm any of it for sure. the manager ran her hand through her hair, swearing under her breath as she tapped furiously on her phone. she spent her days arguing with journalists, demanding they take the stories down.

you tried your best to act oblivious. ignorance was bliss, after all. but it was hard when he acted like you two were joined at the hip. when he kept claiming how much he loved you. when he was so desperate for attention he ended up crying, ruining the makeup he asked you to redo every 15 minutes.

“do you know the remedy for lovesickness?” 

you made soup for him. told him to take hot baths, said it’d be good for his body. then you gave him books to keep his mind busy. after that, you started applying violet oil to his clothes every day. none of them truly helped. if anything, the fact that you made soup for him only made things worse.

“you should quit.” the manager finally said to you. and if you had to be honest, although the job did pay you well, being the center of attention because of a madman made you consider leaving. so all you did was nod. you didn’t try and solve it. you didn’t pretend you weren’t scared and uncomfortable. 

safe to say he didn’t take it well.

“I'm just wondering— where did you get this stupid idea?” his harsh tone didn’t match the kindness on his face. the type of kindness that held that strange, almost gentle warmth.

“I didn't sign up for this,” you said, voice louder than you intended. he blinked, as if confused, then let out a faint chuckle that almost made you shiver, “yes, yes you did,” he smiled. mouth ajar, you glanced at the manager, her lips pressed into a tight, straight line. he gave a small tilt of his head when he noticed you looking at her. the manager caught the signal and nodded once, then silently left the room.

“you did sign up for this,” he said, voice flat. “the moment you let me read those book passages out loud. when you let me ramble about my nowhere hometown, stupid stories from my high school like any of it mattered,” he looked at you, unreadable, “you knew you signed up for it the second you took the opportunity. don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I’m quitting, then,” you murmured. you’d never seen him so serious, and the unfamiliarity made your body tense.

“yeah?” he gently smiled, “you truly believe I’ll let you walk away? just like that?” he let out a quiet, genuinely amused laugh. “do you really not see it? your career’s pretty much over.”

a contract meant insurance. protection. it also meant chains. guaranteed captivity.

“and one more thing” he muttered, rummaging through the drawer as he spoke. at last, he finally pulled out a small bottle— the violet oil. “I adore you,” he said, voice too sharp, a little too bright. “and that—“ he gave the bottle a little shake, 

“is not the cure. not even close.”

[trax99c]

real life BAB outlet store reconnaissance yesterday long ass post about it + nostalgia

was thinking about this post still and on my day off i happened to be traveling to a city with a mall, so, i went. i spent about 2.5 hours wandering around and i did go into build-a-bear. this particular location is still set up like the ones the youtuber's nostalgic for; it doesnt have the bland modern design, and still has features like the stuffing machine and the naming computer booths.

i will describe and interpret some customers i saw and then add my thoughts.

the first customers: young (20s-30s) white straight couple and their single daughter (less than 10). before i went to BAB i saw them leave the mall with only BAB bags (the box the bear came in and/or more bear clothes) and a clothed bear. my assumption is that they came to the mall for the sole purpose of going to BAB.

the second customers: DIFFERENT young (20s-30s) white straight couple and their single daughter (less than 10). the mother pointed out to her daughter a hello kitty plush and said that she used to have one like it. from my limited observation i don't think BAB collaborated with sanrio until a few years ago, so i'm putting this customer in the "adult who buys modern BAB out of nostalgia" category. nope, they've been doing collabs since 2006, with some drops in 2008 and 2009 before the more recent lines (thank you BAB wiki editors). so she might not have bought one since her childhood. this is still, however, an adult who obviously has nostalgia for the brand. the couple's daughter was interested in the toys on display but her parents redirected her saying they were just looking around and she couldn't get one today.

the third customers: young (20s) white straight couple. the woman dragged her entirely uninterested partner into the store. he was very obviously judging her for her interest in the toys. i was already leaving and he pissed me off so i didn't stick around to find out if nostalgia factored into her interest.

ok my turn

i did a couple loops of the store and inspected all the bears they had on display. the sanrio and pokemon (well it was just pikachu) plushes seemed to be of a higher quality fabric. like, if you're a fursuiter, my main audience surely, the difference between craft store faux fur and luxury shag. uhh but they still all kind of sucked i'm ngl like even those had just. lumpyish patterns, seams with fur stuck in them, strange overall shape/top-heavy, etc. the only other note i have on the plush themselves is there was a. "pineapxolotl". pineapple axolotl

i didnt spend much time looking at the bear clothes section because there were actual children looking at them and i didnt want to get in their way. i briefly noted that some of the clothes were cute but then remembered i could literally sew all of these except for like, the sneakers. but now i'm thinking why would. i want a toy on my bed to have hard rubber shoes. toy is for cuddle?

i don't have much to say about any feelings that the experience gave me, since there were very limited feelings i had. i did however circle back to the bear display wall maybe 3-4 times, as if i'd just missed seeing something more noteworthy. but in the end i hadn't, or i continued to miss it. i think both of those are true. there was nothing more noteworthy, since the store has experienced a fundemental change from its former self as the youtuber above expresses. and my gaze passed over the 'spark' that might've been there, because i was too jaded against capitalism from the hours-long mall experience to feel any nostalgia or interest.

this is the end of the post, i dont have reiterative message at this time. tumblr format is weird but im here treating this like a blog post and enjoying conversation with whoever

youtube recommended me an hour long video where someone rants about the decline of build a bear as a brand and I decided to watch maybe 15 minutes or so not for any insight, but instead as a form of people watching. what kind of life would an adult my age lead to feel that kind of consumer betrayal? not because build a bear is cringe but because build a bear is expensive. ridiculously expensive. the only time in my life where i walked into a build a bear and did not immediately walk out was when my old-old ex took me there for my 18th birthday and got me a twilight sparkle plush because we were looking at the cost of these custom bears and their clothes and going "holy fuck whaaaaat". a build a bear ride or die is built very different from me.

you probably deduced from the thumbnail (as well as from the nature of these consumer grievance type videos) that the thing this person has an issue with is the overall modern day "aesthetic". the store has downsized considerably in the last decade and resembles a regular toy store moreso than its older workshop-like setup. at one point she near-tearily mulls over how many malls only have a "dinky little kiosk" instead of an actual location. she hates the fluorescent lights and minimalist style shelves. she doesn't get why things that were once painted surfaces are now interactable screens. she gushes over the things she loved about the old store as if she's seeing it all for the first time in between talking extensively about her personal relationship to certain accessories and plush types. she hates that so many of the plushies are just licensed characters now. she misses the experience of being in the store as a child. she misses the bears from her childhood that she regretfully gave away. she doesn't like that these things that meant so much to her are going away and that she doesn't know how to get them back. at one point, she mentions that she tried to go back to the store a few years ago and (pausing repeatedly as if hovering above some kind of inscrutable alien truth) that buying a bear and paying $30+ for clothes "just wasn't...fun?" but immediately combats the instinct to investigate these feelings by arguing that this is the store's fault for not being fun. that build a bear is failing because it is not more accommodating to adults.

with any other youtuber who was confounded by the fact that novelty things from their childhood did not survive the forces of the market 15+ years later (and had to shuffle around its brand aesthetics to see what would maybe make investors happy while also minimizing cost) I would probably have just stopped watching at the 15 minute mark, but I found myself fascinated by this humorism powered hydraulic performance. she simmers in nostalgia happily, reliving her memories with every image of old build a bear she superimposes over the screen, before snapping into a state of sadness and confusion once the image has been taken away. it takes about 25 minutes in for her to start verbalizing her frustration towards all modern day toy aesthetics. "why did they do this? what makes them do this? why does everything look like this now? I don't understand" she's less asking a question and more unable to reconcile that a part of her life which once possessed tangibility no longer exists, and the transactional nature of her relationship with build a bear is what specifically makes her unable to make peace with this. she cannot accept that she cannot buy back this time that was lost because her time as a child in build a bear was something that she purchased in the first place. the experience is tied so much to build a bear as an enterprise and transaction that to simply separate what she liked about it and pursue something that resembles that is inconceivable, and instead that the only choice is to. retvrn to build a bear.

[allsteddie]

Married Steddie where their 6-year-old daughter has no idea her papa Eddie is famous.

They adopted Hailey when she was just a baby. Most of her earlier years were spent on the road with her daddy Steve and papa Eddie, as Corroded Coffin was still on tour and pretty active. She was too young to understand any of it, though.

When Hailey was around 4, the band agreed to go on hiatus for a while. Jeff was having problems with his wife, Gareth’s mother was going through a hard time after being diagnosed with breast cancer, and Hailey was about to start school and wouldn’t be able to follow her papa anymore. With all that in mind, everybody agreed it was best to take a break and focus on their own families for the moment. When things got better, they could get together again and work on their new project; there was no rush.

So Eddie went back to Indianapolis with Steve and Hailey and left the persona Eddie Munson behind for the time being. At first, Eddie thought it would be hard for him. He was so used to being on the road, that he thought he would feel restless at home, but he was so wrong. Because when you have a four-year-old at home, there’s no such thing as a boring day. And since their house had a studio, Eddie also spent a lot of time working on his own solo material, something he never had the opportunity to do when the band was still on tour.

He didn’t really have any plans in mind when he started this project. The only thing he knew was that he wanted it to be different from anything he had already done with Corroded Coffin; something more intimate and Hailey-friendly. He really wanted his daughter to see him perform, something not really possible when you’re the lead singer of a metal band and your kid is barely four and still easily overwhelmed by loud noises. He was gonna change that with his solo album.

Eddie spent the next two years trying to be the best papa he could for his little girl, and working on his solo project when he had time. By the time Hailey was six, Eddie was finally satisfied with how the songs turned out and the album was ready to be released.

It was a Saturday night when Eddie stepped on a stage again. And this time was different, this time his family was right there, watching him from one of the stadium boxes, as Eddie faced a crowd for the first time in almost three years. And although Eddie could not see them from the stage, knowing Steve and Hailey were there made the whole experience so much more special.

He played all twelve songs from the new album, plus acoustic versions of some of Corroded Coffins most popular songs. The crowd sang along with him the whole time and screamed whenever he interacted with them. It was nice getting to do what he loved after such a long pause, thrilling even.

When the concert ended and Eddie bid the crowd goodnight, Hailey and Steve were already waiting for him backstage. He barely had time to put down his acoustic guitar before Hailey was throwing herself in his arms, squealing and giggling and wide-awake despite the late hour. Her pretty hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“Papa, you’re famous!” she said, awed, as her papa picked her up.

“I am?”

“Yes! Everybody was screaming your name.”

“No way! Did you scream too?”

“I did.”

Eddie smiled, endeared by the honest reaction. That’s why he loved children, especially this child. You could always count on their honesty.

“Did you tell papa what you told me earlier?” Steve chirped in, rounding the coffee table separating them so he could drop a kiss on Eddie’s lips.

“What?”

“I wanna be famous like you when I grow up,” Hailey stated proudly, her little hands resting on her papa’s face as she smiled big enough to show her missing front teeth. “That’s so cool.”

Eddie raised his brows. “I thought you were gonna be a zookeeper.”

Rolling her eyes, the little girl huffed. “If I’m famous, people will know me and they’ll let me play with the alligators whenever I want. Then I don’t really need to be a zookeeper anymore,” she argued, as if that was the obvious conclusion to the matter and his papa was so silly for not seeing that.

“Oh, right, of course. How foolish of me.”

Steve took Hailey, so Eddie could change and wrap up whatever business he still had with the other musicians and staff before they left. It was way past Hailey’s bedtime, but the excitement of seeing her papa perform had yet to run out. She was still awake and babbling non-stop when they left the stadium and made their way to the car, holding both her dads’ hands.

They were reaching the car when the little girl stopped, forcing both men to stop with her.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Steve asked once he noticed his daughter thoughtful expression.

“If papa is famous,” she said, big eyes staring at her parents full of hope. “Does that mean he can ask the zoo people to let me play with the alligators?”

The question was so unexpected it rendered Steve speechless. Eddie would never understand his daughter’s fascination with alligators.

“Sorry, kid, but you have to be at least twelve for that. Zoo rules,” he said, doing his best not to laugh at his little girl disappointment.

Hailey’s pout was the cutest thing. “That’s so not fair.”

[bowxs]

𝒮𝑜 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓁

Summary - When Dean Winchester moves to yet another new town and is forced into his third new school of the year, he’s not expecting anything different from his past experiences. Until you.  When you're put under the pressure of being one of the most popular people in school, cheer captain, and honors student, you aren't willing to let anything get in the way of what you have been working so hard to build up. Until Dean. Dean doesn’t know how long he’ll be in this town, but damn if it isn't the first time he wishes he could stay- just to have a bit more time with you.

Warnings/Notes - highschool au, popular girl x newkid!dean, set in senior year, small talk about not having food at home, small mention about dieting/body image, mention of food restriction

Chapter 2

Dean Winchester. The boy who never stayed in one spot for more than two weeks. The boy whose life revolves around taking care of his not so little brother, listening to his dad, and making out with hot girls. The boy who never cared for what people thought of him, because nothing really mattered.

His first day at Jonesville High was a Wednesday. And he didn’t know it yet, but it would be the day his life changed.

“Sammy! Let’s go!” Dean called for his younger brother from the front door, looking around the small, dingy apartment for any sign of Sam nearby. Footsteps came closer, a very reluctant looking Sam came into view. His worn-down backpack was slung over one shoulder, his brown hair brushed messily over his forehead, and a way too sugary breakfast in his hand.

“I can’t believe dad is trusting you to actually get us to school on time” Sam mumbled with his mouth full as he slipped on his shoes, ignoring the way Dean shoved him out the door.

The school bell rang through the space, the sound of students settling into their seats filling the classroom. “Everyone welcome Dean- he will be joining us for the rest of the year” you heard Ms. Klark announce to the class as Dean gave a cocky smile to the first girl he saw- you. “Dean, why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?”

“My name’s Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and talking about my feelings.” His voice was sarcastic, that cocky grin never leaving his face. He shot a wink in your direction, like he knew you would like it.

You didn’t. Instead, you watched him almost carefully as he made his way to sit down next to you, because of course it was the only free desk in the whole class.

You tried to carry on with class as normal, but it was so damn hard with Dean leaning back in his chair with his legs spread like he already owned the place. His arm was slung over the back of your chair as you took notes on whatever the teacher was going on about this early in the morning. Physics. You tried hard in school, you had to - maintaining your high average was the only thing ensuring you kept your spot as cheer captain.

“Do you seriously understand this?” Dean leaned over, his voice a low whisper as he looked between your notes and you. “Yeah? What, you didn’t learn at your last school?” you whispered, your voice coming off dismissive. You weren’t willing to get into trouble because some idiot decided to start talking to you.

Dean scoffed at your words, like he was impressed you had any type of attitude. He doesn’t mention the fact he had only spent a week at his last school, or that he didn’t have the money to be paying for textbooks or tutors. He just laughs and shakes his head. “I guess not.”

You went back to taking notes, but most of your energy was spent ignoring the way Dean was staring at you like he was planning his next move. You hated it. Sure, you liked the attention from someone new, but you got enough attention from the whole school already- an extra person, much less a boy, would only get in the way.

“So where's your boyfriend, huh? Is he too dumb for this class or what?”. You scoffed, shaking your head as you highlighted something you thought was important. “No boyfriend.”

Dean gave you a sidelong glance, clearly not believing you, “Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I don’t need-”

“Mister Winchester- do you want to answer this question?” the teacher interrupted you two, giving Dean a warning look.

“I, uh-” he stuttered, clearly caught off guard by the teacher calling him out. You watched him hesitate, the cockiness temporarily leaving him. The notes on your desk caught your eye- they were the answers for the question the teacher just asked Dean. You sighed, gently nudging the notes in Dean’s direction. Curse you for being a nice person. He noticed, thankfully, and glanced quickly at them before finally answering.

“The answer is increasing. If you were to increase the mass of an object in motion, the net force required to keep it moving at the same rate of acceleration would increase.” Ms. Klark barely hid her surprise. She was quick to nod and turn back to the board, and you wished she would have kept going a little longer, just to stall having Dean talk to you again.

“Thanks for the help sweetheart, but I didn’t need it.” Dean was careful to keep his voice down, not wanting to aggravate the teacher again, but that cocky smirk was back on his face as you focused back on your notes.

“Uh huh. Just shut up, will you? Some people actually care about this stuff.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You wanted to correct him- tell him that wasn't even close to your name and you definitely weren’t on a nickname basis- but the argument dies in your throat as the bell rings, signaling the first period is over. Finally. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough, your hands already moving to shove your notebooks into your backpack.

“What class is next?” Dean asked, not bothering with the rush of leaving class- he didn’t take anything out of his backpack anyways. “I have chemistry” your voice was a twinge annoyed, he did nothing but distract you and you couldn’t wait to get away.

“You mean we have chemistry.” that smirk was back on his face as he tried to correct you. “No, I mean I have chemistry class next period, not chemistry with you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I have chemistry next period too.”

Oh. That’s what he meant. You looked down, pretending to focus on packing your bag to hide the tint of embarrassment dusted on your cheeks.

“Looks like you're showing me around school today.” Dean commented, and you could hear his cockyness. He knew you were embarrassed about the misunderstanding. “Then you gotta keep up with me.”

Dean followed you through the halls, almost like a lost puppy. Almost- if it weren’t for him winking and smiling at any girl he made eye contact with. You thought he was too cocky for someone who just moved into the school, but god with a face like that he just barely got away with it.

You didn’t bother with the small talk or introducing him to the school, focused solely on making it to class without snapping at him for distracting you and almost getting you in trouble.

“You really don’t talk a lot, sweetheart.” He commented, watching you as you confidently walked through the hallways. “Not my name, Winchester.” you shot back.

“Not my point. Are you this quiet with everyone? You don’t seem like the type” he kept talking as he watched you wave to a couple people in the hallway. You definitely weren’t the quiet type. You were the epitome of popularity- you knew practically everyone in school, all the teachers loved to have you in their class, and the cheer captain pushed the stereotype even further.

“Maybe I just don’t like you.”

“Nobody dislikes me, sweetheart.”

“I dislike you” Dean scoffs like you just told him the worst lie ever, and shakes his head as you shoot him a pointed look over your shoulder.

“You can’t dislike me, you barely even know me” he tries to reason, a hint of humor in his voice as you guys enter the chemistry classroom. “C’mon, give a guy a chance, huh?” He keeps going, even as you find your way to your seat, watching him sit down next to you.

"I don't think 'this guy' needs a chance" you rolled your eyes at his remark, already moving to take your textbook out of your bag. "I think 'this guy' needs to find somewhere else to sit."

Being well known throughout school, maintaining your honours average, your spot as cheer captain, and the need for your parents approval- it never bothered you. It was just normal. You didn’t date because you had to focus. “future is more important than present, choose your priorities” is what your dad said, and you believed him.

Dean watched you as you got ready for the class, clearly not taking your words seriously. You didn't even know if you were taking your own words seriously. You wanted to- wanted to tell him to find a seat on the other side of class so you could focus and do what you would normally do- but something inside you stopped you from doing it.

"I don't really think you want me to move, swetheart." his voice was playful and cocky at the same time, and he was looking at you with a lopsided smirk.

"No, I'm just too nice to actually ask you to leave." you sighed, already trying to focus on the board, which was getting increasingly difficult with Dean staring at the side of your face. Damn him. "Whatever, just stay quiet this class, okay? I don't need you being the reason I fail."

Dean doesn't comment on the way you seem way to smart to fail anything, even with him talking. He doesn't comment on anything during the whole class, instead keeping himself busy with his own thoughts.

My name’s Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and talking about my feelings to this girl.

"Sammy- I swear this chick is totally into me!" Dean beamed as his hands drummed a familiar rhythm on the wheel of the impala. The day had gone amazing in his eyes- he got a few girls numbers, kissed one or two of them, and met you. You were the most important part of his day.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure she is" Sam's voice was tired, clearly not having as good of a day as Dean. "Do we have dinner at home? I'm starving."

Dean ignored the way his stomach grumbled at the thought of food, focusing on Sam instead. "Nah, but I'll stop by the gas station for you, alright? Can't have you staying this short forever."

"How was your day, honey?" your mother asked from across the table, the sound of utensils on plates finally being interrupted- even if it was with awkward small talk. Dinners weren't often filled with conversation, unless it was about your grades or upcoming cheer competitions you would need to attend. You just weren't a close family, and that was okay.

"It was alright," you dismissed, playing around a bit with the food on your plate. "there's a new kid that just moved here." you mumbled before taking a bite of your food, trying to ignore the way your mom watched you lift the fork to your mouth.

"A new kid? This late into the school year? How odd." Your mom commented, still watching you eat with her brows furrowed a bit. She cleared her throat before she spoke up again, not bothering to look at you this time. "Remember that diet coach said you should stick to, honey. Don't need him to up your training again"

"Yeah, mom. Can't forget."

The next few days were like a broken record. Everyday, Physics, Chemistry, English, then History. And everyday, it was the same “Hey sweetheart.” over and over. You got used to it eventually- it was like a new, slightly annoying routine that you found yourself growing fond of every time he said it.

The day you first met Dean Winchester was on a Wednesday, and you didn’t know it yet, but he would change your life.

a/n- im soso nervous to post this but gosh, this idea has been brewing for everr and i just had to get it out, especially after a few anon reqs to have this be made!! im hoping to have multiple parts to this fic, and i can't wait to see where this takes me <33

i dont know if anyone will want this, BUT if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, comment and say you want to!

[sickly]

Writing this at 2:17 AM after listening to messy by lola young. I decidedly try not to be personal online, particularly with emotions.

I'm someone who figured out they were autistic later in life but everything clicked when I did figure it out. I've always been quiet, and always had a monotone voice. It never fluctuates even when I'm pretty happy unless it's for pretty heavy hyperfixations. When I'm not masking, that's what it is.

I've always had a difficult time making meaningful connections. Most interactions I've gotten to have are people who want something from me, or want me to forward them in some way. Or at the worst, make fun of me for being neurodivergent. I'm abrasive, defensive for my own livelihood.

That "worst" part, being made fun of? Yeah, that's been a constant. The bullying - it was relentless. It wasn't just the overt stuff either; it was the insidious, quiet kind of exclusion that really digs in. It teaches you that being different is a target. It teaches you to put up walls, to brace for impact. You learn to expect the jab, the sneer, the whisper behind your back. And it definitely amplified that defensiveness I mentioned. It's hard not to be when your whole life has been spent feeling like you're constantly on trial for just existing.

And that's why art has always been really good for me as an outlet. I can let it speak for me. You interpret. It’s where I can scream without making a sound, where I can finally let my voice fluctuate, even if it’s only through color or line. All that frustration, all that isolation, it gets channeled into something. Sometimes it’s raw and angry, sometimes it’s a quiet yearn for something. Art doesn't judge. It just… is. And it accepts me, exactly as I am.

Funny how that experience with bullying also made me want to do the opposite for others. I've poured so much into building large communities online, trying to create spaces where people feel genuinely welcome and safe. Where they don't have to experience that gut-wrenching feeling of being an outsider. I've seen firsthand how powerful a sense of belonging can be, especially for those who, like me, have always felt a bit out of sync with the world.

But here's the kicker, something you learn pretty damn early on: you can't make everyone happy. No matter how much effort you put in, how many safeguards you build, there will always be someone who's dissatisfied, someone who wants to tear things down. It's a tough pill to swallow, but it's a reality check. You do your best, you create the space, and you learn to accept that some things are just out of your control.

And that's another thing, the weight of expectation. Not just from others, but from myself. After pouring so much into creating those communities, into being that safe space for people, you start to feel this immense pressure to *always* be that person. The one who has it together, who can mediate every conflict, who can always offer the *perfect* advice. It's exhausting, honestly.

But here’s the truth: we're all just varying levels of weird. Every single one of us has our quirks, our unique ways of seeing the world, our own personal brand of strange. And that's okay. More than okay, it's what makes us interesting. It's what makes life vibrant. Imagine how dull everything would be if we were all perfectly carbon-copied versions of "normal."

We have to talk to each other. We can't spend our lives hiding behind our perceived differences or letting our anxieties build walls between us. Communication, even when it's messy or uncomfortable, is the only way to bridge those gaps, to challenge those initial judgments, and to actually see each other for who we are beyond the surface. It's how we find our people, build our communities, and ultimately, make sense of our world.

Ultimately, it's a continuous process of learning, adapting, and sometimes, just taking a deep breath and reminding yourself that it's okay to be exactly who you are. The art keeps speaking, the communities keep striving, and the conversations, however imperfect, keep happening. And that, I guess, is pretty good for the 2:17 AM version of me.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 104: Oliver's Hope

Masterlist > Previous

tw: mind control, illiteracy, abuse

December 1925

Oliver was returning to Alexander's mansion. He was surprised that it was even happening. The days in the Maestro's manor felt like they would never end, but here he was, back in the gloomy carriage. He could see the city through the narrow window. Festive decorations were starting to appear, evergreen wreaths and red bows and candles in the windows. It must be close to Christmas.

He turned away, looking down at his shoes.

He felt so empty inside, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Nothing truly awful had happened to him since the first day, when he'd been ensorcelled into obedience. He hadn't been beaten, he hadn't been tortured. He'd spent most of the week cleaning, and although his leg hurt terribly despite the cane he had been afforded, he was otherwise uninjured.

And he was being returned to Alexander. Alexander, perhaps, would have a plan to destroy his sire and save them both. He should be pleased at being granted this reprieve, this hope.

So why did he feel so much like something desperately important had been ripped from him?

He thought it must be the overhanging dread from the Maestro's promise. Each day, as he dusted the furniture and cleaned the floors, he had tried and failed not to think of it. What would it like to be a vampire? What would it be like to crave blood, to sink his teeth into an innocent victim? Would any part of him truly remain? Would he spend eternity in the bleak manor, serving his new sire, never knowing any contentment or peace?

And would he always feel as empty as this?

"Speak," said the musical voice of the vampire next to him. "It's obvious you have something on your mind, and I'm willing to entertain it. It is not an opportunity you should squander."

Oliver swallowed hard, regretting that he let his worry show on his face. He was sure that even the most innocent of questions might bring him punishment. Still, if any question carried risk, he might as well ask the one at the top of his mind.

"What will it be like, sir, to be turned?"

The Maestro nodded slightly, seeming as if he had anticipated this exact question. "It will be like falling asleep."

"It won't hurt, sir?"

"It will not hurt you, not past the pain of the feeding," he said. "You will sleep, and you will die. Perhaps some part of you will be in a paradise, if you believe in such things. I do not."

Oliver didn't believe that, either, not really. "But I won't truly be dead, will I, sir? I'll be a vampire."

"Yes, there will be a monster with your face and your mind. That monster will be in unimaginable agony as it twists and changes what's left of you after your death. But I do not know if the human experiences any of this, only the vampire."

"I see," said Oliver, not sure about the distinction. Would he really be so different? He didn't know anything about Alexander before he was turned. Perhaps Alexander was unrecognizable now from the person he once was, perhaps none of him remained. Oliver could ask, if he dared.

"The vampire will be senseless, mindless, little more than a beast, until it drains a human of its blood. That's how our kind sustains our minds and bodies, by pilfering scraps of life from humans." He spat the words, seeming almost ashamed of this fact.

"I'll… I'll have to kill, sir?" asked Oliver.

"Yes, child. That's what it means to be a vampire, to kill and drain life." He scowled. "Growth, cultivation, creation -- these are activities for humans. Vampires cannot do these things except in imitation. Our only natural inclinations are to possess and to destroy. That's why it's crucial to mold you into perfection while you are still malleable."

Oliver couldn't help but wonder why the Maestro was telling him all of this, considering how he clearly saw Oliver as far beneath him. Perhaps he had no one to talk to -- certainly, Oliver had not observed any visitors to the manor in the time he'd been there.

"If humans can grow to perfection, sir, and vampires cannot, then why not allow me to remain as human?" He asked out of genuine curiosity, because he had no hope that he would actually convince the Maestro to let him be.

"A ridiculous question," he said, irritating flashing in his eyes, and Oliver flinched, fearing he had broken the sliver of peace between them. "Humans may be able to attain perfection, but they cannot stay there. All humans wither and die, but vampires are frozen in a single moment for all of time."

"I see, sir," he said, not daring to ask more questions.

There was a long pause, tension in the air, and Oliver was certain the conversation was over, until the Maestro spoke again. "You may become a great vampire lord, in your time."

"Sir?" Oliver couldn't even begin to imagine such a thing.

"You are similar to Alexander, brimming with the potential for power. But your heart is not as soft as his was. Alexander loved. For all my efforts to burn it out of him, I was not successful. The distorted scraps of that love persisted within him even after he was turned, and that made him unsuitable."

Oliver listened in fascination. So his master had been in love when he was human. It may have been long before his relationship with Fitz.

"But you, child -- you don't bear the scars of love. You have never loved and never been loved. You have never pursued any goal but books and knowledge. You kept yourself isolated by choice, with few desires. All of this gives you the potential to be a magnificent vampire, if correctly cultivated."

"I -- I don't know, sir." The thought was lonely and terrifying: an eternity without love, without desire, without passion. It sounded much like the Maestro's existence in his dismal manor. Would Oliver be the same, constructing his own silent hell?

Because as much as he dreaded the Maestro's words, he couldn't deny the sliver of truth. He had never loved or been loved, not even by his drunken father or his deceased mother. He had always imagined it might happen someday, but had taken no steps to pursue it, and the years had rolled on with Oliver still alone. Alone, that was, until he'd been purchased by Alexander.

"Perhaps you will become a vampire lord that can surpass even me," the Maestro mused. "Perhaps you will be the one to finally destroy me."

"I -- I don't think so, sir," Oliver stammered in alarm.

"Hmph." He seemed strangely disappointed, but then he always seemed disappointed. Oliver was sure he'd end up disappointed if he genuinely thought that Oliver would become a fearsome vampire lord. How could that be, if he was so frightened of the vampire beside him that he wished he could jump from the carriage? The only way it could be true was if the vampire carried nothing of him.

The carriage finally arrived in front of a familiar home. Oliver remembered how foreboding he found it when he had first been delivered to his master. Despite the fact that each window was dark, blocked with shutters and curtains, it looked downright inviting to Oliver tonight, offering relief from the oppressive presence next to him in the carriage.

As the carriage came to a stop, the Maestro reached over Oliver to open the door, making no move to exit himself. "Leave," he said. "This evening has been acceptable so far, and the sight of my failed spawn and his wretched lover would only spoil it."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, grabbing his cane and scrambling out of the carriage as best as he could with his injured leg. "Um… thank you for your… hospitality, sir."

The dour vampire simply nodded before closing the door, the carriage driving off immediately. Oliver's shoulders slumped in relief as he took a deep breath of the cold night air, his shaking knees barely supported by his cane.

It took him several minutes to carefully hobble up the stairs. Now that he no longer needed to satisfy an unreasonable, terrifying vampire, his bad knee threatened to give out at any moment. It was as if he had only been running on sheer determination, and now that he had returned to relative safety, he was going to collapse.

Oliver grasped the metal knocker and pounded it three times. His hand had barely left the knocker when the door opened in front of him, revealing his master. He looked haggard, as though he hadn't slept at all since Oliver had left -- and it was quite possible that he hadn't eaten, either.

"Oliver."

Alexander said his name like a prayer, scooping Oliver into his arms, and Oliver allowed it, finding himself eager to indulge in the comfort. It provided only a slight balm against the dread still sinking into the pit of his stomach, but even so, Oliver fell against Alexander.

"I'm back, sir."

"Yes, I can see that," he said with a hint of amusement, not letting Oliver go.

Alexander nuzzled against Oliver's neck, breathing deep, confirming for Oliver that he likely hadn't eaten. Oliver could feel his aura seeping into his mind, the world going vague and fuzzy under the impulse to stay calm and still and let his master feed.

"Ah, there he is."

Oliver blinked, looking up at the vampire with a blond ponytail and a cheeky smile. "Hello, Mr. Fitz, sir."

"Hello, Oliver. Good to see you in one piece. You are in one piece, aren't you?"

"Let me see." Alexander loosened his grasp enough to let him examine Oliver from head to toe. "Where has he hurt you, Oliver?"

"Only my leg, sir," he said, as Alexander's gaze bored into him. "And that only because I was made to try and walk on it each day."

His master grasped his chin to take a better look at his face. "He's slapped you."

"Oh, yes, sir, he did do that at first. But the rest of the time, I did my best to be useful and attentive, and I was spared further injury."

"You've done well, Oliver, you've done so well to survive his attentions. I'm so pleased with you."

His master's praise warmed him, helped to banish a bit of the emptiness inside. "Thank you, sir."

"He didn't warp your mind or wipe your memories, then?" asked Fitz.

"No, sir, not that I know of."

"Here, let me help you," said Alexander, swiftly relieving Oliver of his shoes and coat, revealing the coarse uniform he'd been wearing. Alexander scooped him up carefully into his arms, and Oliver sighed in relief at not having to stand any longer. "You must be starving and exhausted. I'll make up some food for you, and then you can rest to your heart's content."

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, curling up against his master's chest as he was carried into the kitchen. Although he hadn't been tortured or beaten, the past days had been entirely devoid of anything remotely like comfort, save for the precious hours when he was permitted to wrap himself in blankets and sleep.

"And of course I can take your pain away, as well," Alexander murmured, humming a low note.

His influence took effect right away, Oliver's mind floating away on a gentle cloud as the sensation of his agonized knee grew distant and fuzzy. He was so sorely tempted to just sink into it, to allow his master to sweep away the dread, if just for a moment… but he couldn't forget the important news he had to tell him.

"Master," said Oliver, eyelids fluttering open.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Your sire, he…" Oliver didn't want to say it. Now that he was back with his master, his time with the Maestro almost seemed like a nightmare. Talking about it would make it real again. But the Maestro and his plans were real, no matter how much Oliver wished they weren't, and he couldn't keep his worries from his master. "He told me that he intends to turn me, sir."

Alexander stopped in his tracks, and behind him, Oliver could hear Fitz groaning. "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely certain, sir. We discussed it in detail. He wants to make me perfect first, whatever that entails, and he wants for me to walk again. He says that I would make a great vampire lord."

Oliver hoped that Alexander and Fitz would laugh at that, reassure him that it was all some sort of prank, but both of them looked deathly serious.

"I knew it," said Alexander. "He thinks you would make an ideal replacement for me, no doubt. Another chance at the vampire lord he desires."

"But why, sir?" asked Oliver. "Why would he want to create a strong vampire? He even seemed to enjoy the idea that such a vampire could surpass and kill him…"

"He wants strong vampires under his thumb, doing his bidding, so that his power and prestige will grow," said Alexander. "I can't believe he would actually want a vampire to surpass him."

"I'm sure he thinks it's amusing that any vampire could be stronger than he is," said Fitz. "We can't let him do it." He said it with surprising finality. "You don't want to be his vampire minion, do you?"

"No, of course not, sir," said Oliver.

"Then it won't happen."

Alexander looked uneasy. "Fitz… we can't…"

"We're going to kill the Maestro Friday night, at his own ball -- Lex and Lily, with yours truly running interference and distraction," Fitz explained with a flourish. "We're all going to be free."

"Truly, sir?" said Oliver. "You're going to kill him at his ball?"

"That's right." Fitz grinned. "We're all going to be free."

"It's still a risky plan," Alexander added. "We can't make any promises."

Fitz shook his head. "It has to work, because I'm not going back there, not ever again. I'm not going to be his torture dummy nor his obedient little marionette, and neither are you. And Oliver will never be his pet vampire lord, forced to carry out his bidding in misery. It's not going to happen."

"Fitz…"

"You're the one who wanted me to have hope, all those years ago," said Fitz. "Well, here it is, my hope. We're going to succeed, because the alternative is unthinkable."

Alexander sighed. "I only wish it were unthinkable. I can think of it far too easily." He looked down at Oliver. "But yes, that's our plan -- use the ball as a distraction and an excuse to approach him, then strike him down before the power of the rune wears out. Here, let me take you into the kitchen, where I can make you up some food. We can discuss it more there."

Oliver allowed hope to permeate the dread that had been weighing down his soul the past few days. They had a plan, still. Three vampires with protection versus one -- the odds were in their favor. And then he wouldn't have to worry about the hellish future the Maestro had promised him, not ever again. He could understand what Fitz meant when he said that the alternative was unthinkable. His master simply had to succeed.

Alexander brought Oliver into the kitchen, sitting him down at the familiar table, which was strewn with what looked like today's newspaper. It seemed blurry, for some reason -- Oliver rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps he was tired, or his glasses had been smeared.

"What would you like to eat? A sandwich, perhaps? I have some potatoes I could fry up, and I bought some lovely cheese I thought you might enjoy…"

"A sandwich is fine, sir. Thank you," said Oliver, suddenly ravenous. The amount of food he had received at the Maestro's was enough to sustain him and not a crumb more, and he'd been perpetually hungry.

He picked up the paper, eager for a window to the outside world, a sense of normalcy, but even as he brought it nearer his face, it was still hopelessly blurred. The letters danced and swayed on the page, and didn't even look like letters, not as he remembered them, but more like some abstract art. Oliver realized with growing horror that the picture on the front page, some local politician giving a speech, was perfectly clear. It was only the words that melted and ran down the page, slipped through his mind's grasp. Terror gripped his heart, his breath coming out ragged.

"Oliver?" asked Alexander, turning away from the kitchen counter. "Is there something wrong?"

"I can't read, sir."

"Pardon?"

"I can't read!" he yelled, pushing the papers away, watching them scattered across the floor.

Alexander rushed to his side. "What do you mean? Is it your eyesight? Is it your glasses?"

"No, sir," he sobbed. "I can see everything fine except for the words on the page. I can see that they're words, I know it's the newspaper, but I can't make any sense of them, none at all --"

"Did the Maestro do this?" asked Fitz.

"I can't remember, sir." Oliver clawed at his face. "I can't remember him doing it -- but I know, somehow, that he must have done it, must have taken away my ability to read."

"Of course it was him," said Fitz. "Why else would this have happened? He's unfortunately quite adept at altering memories."

"It's all right, Oliver," said Alexander, "We can fix this. We'll get Lily to fix it. Do you remember anything about it, anything at all?"

"No, sir, I can't."

"That will make it more difficult, then, but with time and multiple sessions…"

"We needn't bother," said Fitz.

Alexander and Oliver both turned to him, shocked. "What on earth do you mean?" Alexander demanded. "If Oliver truly can't read, this is a serious matter. We need to restore him."

"I'm not saying it isn't serious. I can tell that Oliver's like you -- he can't live without shoving his face inside of some dusty tome," said Fitz. "It doesn't matter because it will be decided one way or another Friday night. If the Maestro dies, then his control over Oliver will lift, and it will be trivial to restore him to his full faculties. And if he doesn't… we'll have much larger problems than reading, frankly."

"…You're right," said Alexander, after spending a long moment considering Fitz's words.

"If we restore Oliver now, and then fail… he'll only get his ability to read taken away again, and even though he can't remember it, I doubt he wants to experience that twice."

"I don't," said Oliver softly, hanging his head.

Alexander stroked his cheek, lifted Oliver's face to look into his own. "I'm sure we'll triumph, and then you can read everything in my library to your heart's content."

Oliver swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes, sir."

"And until then, I can read books to you, if you desire."

The thought of sitting by his master's side in front of a fire, listening to his mesmerizing voice, was enough to comfort Oliver, at least a small amount. "Yes, please, sir."

They had to triumph. They simply had to, or Oliver would never feel whole again.

Masterlist > Previous

Oliver will be fine, I'm sure.

I'm on a break next week, and then I'll return with some scenes from Fitz's recovery in 1906.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @light-me-on-pyre @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

[hexjulia]

This is already very long but I want to add something about tidying up, which is not exactly the same as simpler repeating tasks like laundry that have results that are easy to look forward to (clean clothes, nice smells) and limited in a way "tidying up" isn't, especially when your place is just one big mess.

For the longest time I had no idea how much clutter bothered me. This was in part because like most people with adhd I was constantly nagged at (and shouted at) about the mess I left behind when I was distracted, to the point that tidying up just felt bad. It made me feel anxious, tired, guilty. I was convinced I just thrived in a cluttered mess simply because I dreaded tidying up and other people always wanted me to do more of it. I certainly felt better sitting in a messy place without anyone bothering me than I did in a somewhat tidy one with someone constantly complaining about the state of things. I figured I was simply more comfortable in a messy environment... but that's not true!

It took a long while to realise because I spent a long time subjected to this negative treatment and responding to it. After a while of it being absent however I started trying to pay more attention to/identify when I was feeling overstimulated and/or overwhelmed in some way, and really what I was feeling in the background of other things at all. Which often turned out to be... irritation. A lot of irritation. Often caused by a visually overwhelmed sensation best described as "seeing too many objects with no oversight". Which irritates and exhausts me, and was part of why I found starting so exhausting.

This was not immediately obvious to me. Other emotional responses were more in the foreground, more obvious because they were interpersonal ("finally I'm not being hounded and shamed!" i love being left to my own devices) and this is more of a sensory/emotional response to environment I suppose. I'm not really someone who explodes in anger. It was also easy to just sense as vague discomfort without realising what it was about.

But at some point I noticed my supposedly comfortable mess was actually a constant source of background irritation and overwhelmed sensation leading to a sort of paralysed exhaustion I was always having to fight my way through, every step of the way (also exhausting). So I started to try fixing this uphill battle situation. It's very important to me to do this for my own comfort and to keep thinking about that as a reason for every single action part of this. If you have a similar experience growing up with adhd and dreamily irritating adults ill-equiped to help you develop habits that support you this will likely be the main thing for you. It really is about your own comfort and taking away sources of discomfort. But you have to get there somehow and every step can't be exhausting.

Figure out how things in your environnent feel to you. Sometimes you just have to sit down and do nothing but think about that intensely for a bit. I set a timer and start by looking around, examining which objects are irritating me right now. Then i do something about it. And i look again. And what irritates me now? And now?

For me that usually turns out to be a lot of objects. It might be different for you.

This prevents the overwhelmed sensation from festering and becoming itself something that is hard to face. It stops a pile of stuff from being perceived as one big huge overwhelming thing that i don't know where to start with and exhausted by. I let irritation lead. After a while it just feels like restless energy and then it transforms into a contented feeling when things become less overwhelming to look at. Irritation/anger in response to your environment doesn't have to be a problem. Sometimes you can also let it lead and use it to stop feeling tired and overwhelmed.

ok that was very long so i hope adding this it helped at least 1 person. ^^

thinking about how many people hate doing chores like laundry ironing etc (for themselves! unfairly being expected to take care of everyone else's things is something completely different) and how in attempts to fix the resulting issues (piles of gross stuff etc) it's just framed as another thing to feel bad about not doing, which is not very encouraging under any circumstances -- but if the reason why things keep piling up is something like depression or adhd will make it about 10x as hard, because you likely already feel bad about yourself. And now looking at the piles comes with a lecture about getting your shit together and being an adult at the back of your head.

It's just not effective. It's the wrong reason. You shouldn't be cleaning because you're afraid of being shamed or because you feel guilty. That might work once every few months in a burst of manic chore energy but that's no way to live. The reason why I don't find these things exhausting to do is because it's just things I do to make myself comfortable, and it feels that way. When I'm ironing my clothes I look forward to wearing clean cozy warm clothes. I'm also daydreaming about 20 other things because I do have adhd and I'm maybe listening to an audiobook, but the emotion associated with doing my own laundry is something like ...contentment because I get to decide how exactly I want my clothes to smell and feel. It's largely just a positive emotion. I think the trick is getting yourself to be happy you get to make future you happy. That's a sustainable motivation you don't need shame or guilt for.

Also sometimes it's easy to underestimate how much a "small" sensory issue is making things hard. I hate touching dirty laundry, especially things like wet dishrags. I realised this was what made me want to avoid doing that specific bag of laundry and got some gloves. Now it's fine because I don't have to touch any wet and questionable textures. A lot of these accomodations might feel like overkill + you might not notice how much they bother you/contribute to putting things off until you pay attention and do something about it. If you think the scent bothers you a lot wearing a mask to empty the bin might help remove revulsion re: emptying the bin and so make that easier to motivate yourself into doing just wear one. Yeah it is overkill and not needed. But you don't want to accumulate trash inside because the smell would make you uncomfortable. If the goal is to avoid discomfort you should also eliminate the discomfort of the chore itself insofar possible! If your hands hurt easily from scrubbing things clean see if you can find a more effective cleaning agent or a cheap electric brush. If the sound of the vacuum bothers you even just a little put on headphones. There is no need to make this into some kind of guiltstriken spartan ordeal or only prevent discomfort if it's absolutely necessary for the task.

Chores are going to be a part of your days probably your entire life. It can be a comfortable experience associated with feeling cared for by yourself, feeling in control of how you live, a moment of quiet simple tasks and no deadlines. It doesn't have to feel bad. And if you fail at keeping up you aren't lazy or bad. You're just probably making yourself uncomfortable, but that's not a sin. And you can always change what you do to accomodate your needs.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again no problem 7/15/2025

unprecedented levels of niceys

listening

yu peng chen (of genshin impact soundtrack fame) did a soundtrack for the big weird mysterious every-game-mode-at-once netease open world martial arts mobile game. variously translated as “cold against the water” or “reverse water cold” or “adverse water cold”? this is the title track, if you told me this was an album for a scrapped genshin impact bonus area in liyue I would believe you. really fascinating melding of classic martial arts movie music in specific, regional chinese styles with a western golden age of hollywood swashbuckling adventure movie soundtrack sensibility. i can hear a bit of james newton howard’s treasure planet soundtrack, but i feel like most adventure music of this seafaring style is pulling from erich wolfgang korngold at its root.

and i spent a lot of time on this tag meme playlist so im plugging it again. everything in here (except the intermission) can be graphed on a triangle of “SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)” and “groovy” and “slinky”

-

reading

not a reading heavy week but here are two long reads, one from mcmansionhell writer kate wagner about brains, coping mechanisms, maps, charts, and graphs. chart of all time from the article below

in the other article, some truly bonkers sports white collar crime. i feel like the car racing saying “if you ain’t cheating you ain’t trying” especially applies to all horse sports. really crazy paragrah here that will stick with me for a bit, after a discussion earlier in the article about how temperament plays a big part in polo ponies

OR NEARLY 10 years, Meeker, Gutierrez, and Cambiaso lived by their golden rule: Sell the offspring, keep the clones. As the horses matured, Cambiaso’s herd of Cuarteteras and other cloned greats started to dominate high-goal polo. As a source of genetic material, Cuartetera had more than proven her worth, overperforming even in the context of other clones. “The problem with cloning—and we don’t know why this is—but some horses have the innate ability to pass along genetic qualities that make them amazing polo ponies. And some you clone and they’re not the same horse,” says the veterinarian Scott Swerdlin. “We don’t know why that is, but for sure Cuartetera has been very successful.”

-

watching

Shall We Dance? (1996, Masayuki Suō). A bored accountant spots a beautiful woman in the window of a ballroom dance studio. He secretly starts taking dancing lessons to be near her, and then over time discovers how much he loves dancing. His wife, meanwhile, has hired a private detective to find out why he has started coming home late smelling of perfume.

my GOD is Kōji Yakusho hot. saw this in person at the museum of fine arts! they’re doing a kurosawa series throughout the late summer/early fall, and i wanted a lower stakes movie that wasn’t near and dear to my heart to see if i liked the venue and crowd or if it was going to be an unpleasant experience. a movie i would not feel bad walking out of if people got shirty about my mask. you know how it is. anyway had a good time! 👍

if i had seen this on my tv in my living room i don’t know that i would have finished it. i think the technical chops of this movie were certainly there: really beautifully shot, lovely lighting especially in the night scenes and low-lit venues, big dancefloor scenes never felt crowded or claustrophobic. it makes sense for a movie about dancing, but the sense of rhythm and flow from scene to scene and the timing of the jokes was very very good.

i think it was operating on a different storytelling mode than i was expecting bc i don’t watch a lot of nineties romcoms. the story was not precisely what i expected or wanted, and the ending of this romcom drama did not hit me like i wanted it to hit me. i feel like im really damning it with faint praise when i really did enjoy watching a comedy with a small theater audience, but not all movies are perfectly tailored to my taste, unfortunately

-

playing

harvested another eevee as i toil away in the fields. the little teefies are really getting me

realized that after exploring and doing puzzles, my favorite part of genshin is leveling up characters. hate when they’ve put the most thought into making sure the things you can pay real money for feel good. so i pulled for funsies and got one of the 4⭐️ i don’t have yet and completely maxed out fischl’s constellations after five years of playing. i have not had good luck with getting any of the natlan 4⭐️but i don’t want to complain (rare i know) bc i have had otherwise such decent luck with 5⭐️ pulls this version.

-

making

im going to continue the bit (showing this dress as a pile of loose fabric) until morale improves (mine. bc i had to extract the bust panel and redo it and it’s still not set properly). hand sewing gathers is a right bitch. this past week at work i toiled away at work putting in six buttonholes (poorly), tacking down various pieces of ribbon to each other, and installing various pieces of ribbon. i have the bodice Together and the sleeves sewn, but i do not have the sleeves or the aforementioned bane of my life bust piece set yet. i also have not attached the skirt to the bodice bc i want to make sure the vertical skirt seams line up perfectly with the bodice panels bc if they don’t i will (remembers i can’t kill myself if i want to wear this dress) walk into the sea and return at some later date

[gogandmagog]

Rilla of Ingleside, Chapter 23.

For weeks Mrs. Blythe lay ill from grief and shock. 

Dooooon’t, please, it hurts so much. 🥲 Anne being prostrated from grief like this is of course somewhat familiar, if we consider little Joy taking joy with her, but I do wonder how much more grief looms when one cannot even have the initiating closure that comes with the ceremony of a burial, and a place to visit, a place to leave flowers or tokens or mementos. Walter died far away from everyone who loved him, and I know, I knowwwww this something that probably unsettled Anne (Maud touches on this in her personal writings, the notion of the boys in khaki dying in such alien places, and if I can locate this citation, I’ll post it asappp). Here I often think back to Anne of Avonlea and Mrs. Allen, and her fear and unwillingness to be moved away from the grave of her child, thinking it an abandonment really. I also wonder, and this is complete conjecture obviously, if Walter’s room – if he had his own, that is – was left untouched, in lieu of a proper grave but alksjdf;lkasjdf;l (insert Hubert Rochereau’s untouched bedroom reference here)

"It's such a blessing it was Walter who was taken and not Jem," said Miss Sarah Clow. "Walter was a member of the church, and Jem wasn't. I've told Mr. Meredith many a time that he should have spoken seriously to Jem about it before he went away." 

Omg at this point I would loooove to formally invite Miss Sarah Clow to stfu, BUT 👀, I also love this inclusion for how much it tells the reader about Jem and Walter as individuals. Bet my life that Walter, canon enjoyer of ritual, loved communion. Bet my life that Jem spent most of church thumbing placidly through pages of the Old Testament for stories of giants vs. slingshots, and people turning into salt pillars for disobedience.  

I wrote mother and Di yesterday... 

The delay in the delivery of Rilla’s letter and knowing that Walter also wrote to Anne and Di just (1) day before he wrote to Rilla kind of also suggests that they both received posthumous letters, as well. Now what did those letters contain? I’m sure I couldn’t take reading two more. 🛑🛑🛑🛑✋🏻✋🏻✋🏻

I had a queer vision or presentiment…

That Walter calls his version of second-sight a “presentiment” is so lovely to me, because it is of course what Anne calls her own, and it’s very special and sweet that she shared this title and experience with Walter and that he took it as his own. 💕

[proshippers-against-censorship]

Felt like sharing my experience with antis if that is okay? To start off I'm very anti-contact, I don't actually want to hurt anyone and I am very hesitant about aligning with pro-ship or saying I was technically one at some point. it makes me feel guilty and uneasy when I say that I enjoy producing and consuming dark graphic content, and that I sometimes (rarely) get off to it (most of the time it's like absurdist horror to me, still fun to read but very uncomfy) I am the Shinji Ikari of Marquis De Sade, more or less.

So basically I wrote a dead dove/noncon fic and would constantly leave long AN's about how I was doing sort of to vent/cope/talk about my artistic process. I have a rape fetish and was sort of playing into it a little with the fic. I confessed to this multiple times in ANs that I'd often edit or delete depending on my embarrassment or shame with how long they were, because they were LONG! I will get to this again later.

I really enjoyed working on this fic, as it was just my art piece of the month and due to the fandom it was for being very popular I got a lot of hits, kudos and even comments! The comments were very positive and supportive and made me want to keep writing, and I was just really happy, maybe a little addicted to working on this story. Like it felt good to get this much attention for it. So I wanted to see if I could find other people in the fandom to talk about it with.

I actually got in contact with someone who was pretty big. They didn't know I wrote this specific fic yet and I warned them it was really dark, thinking they wouldn't get upset. I was very much so in the mindset that they wouldn't think much of it. Looking around I saw the space was pretty anti-proship and I was like gosh, okay... I mean this isn't really proship tho like I'm not showing this activity as good and it mostly focuses on the aftermath and how it hurt someone sooo then I should tag it to get the people who are creeps and actually wanna hurt people away from it!

That... didn't work. It actually backfired. This person in the fandom I reached hadn't gotten back to me when I sent them a summary of my fic (that I spent five hours on probably!) at the time, but I did get negative comments telling me that I was gross, and someone else reassuring me that the error in my tags was posted out of context and I just mistagged it and should fix it. I can't remember what specifically the tags said but it upset a lot of people and I saw how bad it looked so I fixed it, briefly acknowledged it then for whatever reason erased evidence of the mistake ever happening to prevent any further harassment.

The big person in the fandom got back to me! By which I mean she blocked me! Everywhere! Literally everywhere. Other people were blocking me too.

I wanted someone new to talk to. I was almost done with the story and I wanted someone to write with. I asked on twitter (where I found a lot of porn for the fandom I was in) if there was a discord for a specific ship in the fandom I wrote for and soemone sent me the link!

So I joined on my main account and the rules say "no proshippers, no dead dove writers. If we catch you for doing this we will kick you out of our server." I'm like okay so I won't mention I wrote this then! Just gotta make sure that one person isn't here....

She was. She was there.

So I dm the person who invited me. I deleted the discord this was on so I'll write the conversation from memory.

Me: Uh... is (fic writer) a member here?

Them: I think so, why?

Me: I'm sorry I can't join I wrote something messed up.

Them: What kind of messed up?

Me: Dead dove. But it's not fetish material or anything it's

Them: is it that one (main character) fic?

Me: :(

Them: Why didn't you just open with that?

Me: I'm sorry I'm really sorry

Them: You're lying by the way it says here that it is fetish material.

(they sent several screenshots of my now deleted author's notes.)

Me: Well yeah but like only partially.

Them: Do you have any sexual trauma?

Me: Yeah sort of. I was abused that counts right?

Them: Counts enough, I guess. Still this isn't a good way to deal with it.

Me: I'm sorry.

Them: And the way you tried to infiltrate the safer spaces by giving people a false sense of security? All the creeps DNI stuff? Completely messed up.

Me: I won't join your server I'm sorry. I didn't mean that I was just anxious I got scared.

Me: You aren't gonna dox me or come after me.

Them: No, we won't. Just don't post for this fandom anymore.

Me: Okay. I'm really sorry.

I forget where but they said "We don't want you here, dude." Which is just, fuckin suicide causing words. I also forgot to include the part where I said I regret writing it and they said "how can you regret writing a story you made 28 chapters for" and I said "I just needed to keep writing" they said "No you didn't" I left a lot out but that's the gist.

Anyway it's just awful to be made to feel like a monster because you don't know how tagging works and have a couple weird fetishes. Like, I see now how it looks REALLY bad but in all honesty I just thought I was writing a story that was a little messed up. I didn't consider that people might be upset by the poor handling of the subject, my fucked up sense of humor, or how it looks like I'm trying to hurt/shock them when in reality I was lonely, desperate for approval/attention and wanted someone to talk about my favorite show with.

Because of what happened, I'm now too scared to post about the show in question anymore. Like, I'm worried they might recognize my interests (I was dumb enough to not be anonymous and posted art on an account a few people saw and have a pretty distinctive style) and then like say "OMG ITS THE FREAK WHO POSTED THAT RAPE FIC DURING THE FALL OF 2024!" and like doxx me or something.

I'm like really scared. I genuinely love that show, even still, and I want to draw art for it and participate in the fandom without making anymore dark fetish content for it, but I'm really scared people will remember who I was in the past. Like I'm not even into an underaged character it's a grown ass man, I understand that rape is wrong, I mentioned a lot in the fic itself I don't want to hurt anyone, and I said it everywhere, I don't hurt people but these antis scare me I don't think they care that I'm harmless or a victim of abuse (so my fetishes changed a bit as a result) I don't think they care that I write this stuff as a way to relieve stress because the violence and cruelty is cathartic, freeing, let's me express my id freely.

I want to keep writing for this fandom, more dark stories, but I just, I'm scared to. I'm scared they'll see me again and hate me, hurt me. I want to draw, write, make art, make friends but these people they aren't welcoming and I completely understand why.... it's a largely american fanbase for an adult animated cartoon so I'm scared of the proship side since American cartoon fanbases are horrific.

I don't know, I guess I just want some comfort after all this happened, some reprieve? Some sort of reassurance that I'm not a bad person, I don't know. Some encouragement to keep liking this cartoon. I'm really sorry this note was so long. I'm sorry. That's all I can say. I'm a broken record at this point haha.

Fuckin hell I need therapy.

<3

[loser-female]

Also no, I'm not replaceable at work either. I have skills my coworkers don't have (and I'm doing the job of three people and half), I'm being trained to do a very specific job that most people cannot do. My company would lose the ability to offer an entire service if I decide to leave.

It's insulting from this point of view too: it's demeaning to your skills and studies to tell people that they are replaceable at their work. Women study harder than men, and achieve more despite all the barriers they face.

This is the real reason why these losers push so hard the tradwife values. It's them who are replaceable with any other absent, abusive, ATM husband that doesn't even know their kids birthday and life-threatening allergies, and are also replaceable at work because they're lazy, anti-intellectual insufferable assholes to everyone around them, that refuse to get degrees because they know they can't compare to women, so decide that studying is above them.

These men are projecting so hard I hope no one falls for it.

Edit, no wait I'm not done with this.

The reason why women have ambitions outside the marriage is considered bad by tradidiots, it's because having a job and self-realization outside a single person is that it gives you perspective. It gives you self confidence, it gives you connections to other humans and access to your own resources, and it makes you understand parts of yourself you wouldn't have known otherwise.

My job, a corporate cybersecurity job is giving me stability, connections to others (a network of other professionals), self-esteem, opportunities I wouldn't have had otherwise.

And my husband (!) is my biggest supporter in my career. He takes over chores and he's happy that I've decided to go back to university for example and is always there when I need to revise for a industry exam or something.

Why? Because he knows my job makes me happy, and he knows it makes me feel valued and wants me to be a successful person, he also thinks it would be better for our hypothetical children to raise them to be independent, successful people. (Like I was raised myself, my parents always insisted that I need to be my own person and I am thanks to them)

I have the impression that a lot of these trad husbands are also jealous of women's accomplishments, especially if they receive more accomplishments than the husband.

Not to mention: my mom always worked (until she got sick), and I was never neglected or abused. I was left with grandparents or with a babysitter - now a dear friend that I love so much and I'm happy to have in my life. (My babysitter was in her mid 30s and has a disabled kid, that I also love, so she couldn't work full time and resorted to odd jobs)

My aunt was a nursing student and taught me to read at 5 because I was there and I kept being interested in what she was studying. What I'm saying is that children also should meet other adults outside the home. My mom working and me having to be with others gave me opportunities I wouldn't have had otherwise, and I'm glad I met my babysitter and all the time I've spent with my grandparents (especially now that my grandpa is gone).

All of this ideology to me just looks like isolation. Isolation from other peoples, experiences (bad and good), and accomplishments.