#ive earned them now damn it

[procyongaaay]

Honestly tho, as you get older, things like smile lines, and greying hair become attractive. And don't even get me started on having someone who has basic financial literacy and the ability to make responsible life decisions and knows how to communicate effectively. Also it's good to have people who "speak the same language", things like being able to reference a song or a Disney movie you grew up with without having to say something like "oh that was a thing from the 90s that-" they just know, and can finish the quote.

I'm in my 30s, and so is my spouse. Idk that I could ever date someone like... 24 or whatever. While that wouldn't be a predatory relationship (don't get me started tumblr) i don't want to deal with the early 20s drama, the freshly adult "I have to figure out who I am" and often irresponsibility including financial, interpersonal, and with their health. And that's not a dig at 20 somethings! Those are important life stages! They're vital for someone to find who they are and grow as a person! But also then going and having to do it all again with someone when you're already through the other side it's just sometimes like Ugg do we have to do this all again? And they haven't! It's their first time! But partnership means you go through it together. So if you date someone significantly younger it is going to be going through it all over again. He'll even talking to my younger sisters girlfriend about her friend drama, all I can say is fuck I'm glad I'm not in my 20s anymore.

Some parts of being an adult suck but some of them are so beautiful. Aging is not a thing to be ashamed of. Wisdom is usually earned the hard way but it is worth every hardship in earning it.

When I was 20 I thought other 20 year olds were hot and so mature and grown up. Now they look like insecure children with no idea about life. And that's ok! We're not supposed to find 20 year olds attractive forever!

So give me the crows feet, the silvered temples, the changing metabolism, the preferences toward red wines and dark chocolate and losing your sweet tooth, bring it all on, the path ahead is beautiful and I will not hide how far I have come on my journey by trying to hide signs of aging.

what companies who sell you anti aging stuff don't want you to know is that if you're chill about aging, your perception of attractiveness changes as you get older. there is no "wall" where you suddenly become ugly and unfuckable because in my experience what actually happens is you get into your thirties and suddenly realize that people in their thirties are hot as fuck and the "flaws" that the beauty industry wants you to panic about are a feature not a bug, and based on the std statistics in nursing homes I don't really expect that trajectory to change.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Life imitates art - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: 2.6k words. Jack is sent into a tailspin when the woman he’s been eyeing for months at his amputee support group arrives at the Pitt in a gurney. Based on this request by @seasiren212!

Warnings: canon-typical depiction of wounds and medical situations, cancer in remission, some medical jargon, reader’s history of BKA, Jack’s history of BKA & accident, age gap, angst, etc. The most unrealistic part of this fic is a doctor spending this much time with one patient (live laugh love the U.S. healthcare system).

a/n: ugh I cried a little bit while writing this. I’m so passionate about oncology care mwah. Abbot is working day shift in this fic. Surrender yourself to the plot and pretend he’s covering for Robby if you must. Divider credit!

At 23 years old, your leg was amputated just below the knee. You’d been fighting bone marrow cancer for a while now, and you were running out of treatment options. To mitigate the risk of significant metastasis, your oncologist recommended an amputation.

So it was off with your leg.

Before the amputation, you’d spent months in and out of the hospital. Somehow, despite the fatigue, aches, and genuine existential crisis over whether this reality was a fate better than death, you graduated with your Master's degree in art history after completing most of the program virtually from your hospital bed. You got special permission from the dean of your university’s college of the arts to defend your thesis from the hospital. Your nurses arranged for you to use a conference room on the floor and made sure everything was thoroughly cleaned to prevent the risk of secondary infection.

Your IV was hooked up to some medications you couldn’t pronounce, but by now, you’d learned how to wave your arms around wildly without letting the tubing hinder you. The thesis committee didn’t go easy on you during your defense just because you were sick. Good. You didn’t want them to. You’d researched and studied your ass off, and earned the right to defend your thesis. The one you’d spent countless sleepless nights and nauseating days working on. So what if you were presenting at UPMC’s Cancer Center?

The oncology unit staff were the first to celebrate you as soon as you made it out of the conference room with happy tears in your eyes. In the time you’d been presenting, the halls had been decorated with streamers. Balloons surrounded your hospital room, and you were given an elaborate bouquet of artificial flowers. You did it.

The RN who’d been caring for you the longest was the one to push your wheelchair across the stage during your hooding ceremony. The oncology unit staff lined the front row of the audience and cheered louder than you’d ever heard.

“MA” looked pretty damn good after your name in your email signature. The Master of Arts degree hung proudly on the wall of your apartment, a forever reminder of your resilience through it all.

It took grueling months to find the right prosthetic and get it fitted properly, and even more years of physical therapy to allow you to be here today, giving narrated walking tours through the Carnegie Museum of Art.

Jack met you at his amputee support group.

At first, he assumed you were there as a student. You were quiet. Observant. Some of the local clinical psychology degree programs assigned students to attend open support group meetings. The large, structured tote bag that followed you to every meeting supported his theory. He imagined you had a laptop, a textbook or two, and a can of Red Bull in the bag, if he had to guess.

You didn’t take notes like other students Jack saw in the past, but you didn’t seem like the type that needed to take notes in the moment, anyway. You were a breathtaking wallflower at the meetings, it was hard not to notice you. The floor-length dresses that complemented your body and draped across you in all the right places were delicate and dainty. Jack was dying to know if your personality matched your exterior.

If Abbot had to guess, he’d say the mystery girl at the amputee support group was in her mid-to-late twenties, though she didn’t necessarily dress like it. Your wardrobe was all maxi skirts and long flowy dresses, cardigans and cable knit sweaters, statement earrings and small chain necklaces. Jack overheard one of the younger group members complimenting your clothing style one day, describing it as “serving cottage core meets coastal grandma chic.” Whatever the hell that meant.

At one of the meetings, you barely showed up on time. You were flustered and a bit disheveled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face, but still beautiful as ever. An intricately decorated lanyard and your employee badge hung out of the purse’s wide mouth.

Your name, MA. Art Historian, Curator, and Guest Guide. Carnegie Museum of Art.

Hmm. Jack wasn’t really one for the arts. He was most creative when figuring out how to perform complex medical procedures in unconventional situations. He was methodical and analytical in his life. He approached situations and his work with scientific precision, but he could be tempted to give the museum a visit if it meant he might run into you.

The Pitt’s ambulance bay was never empty for long. Gurneys rolled in and out of the ER all day and night. After all his years in emergency medicine, few things surprised Doctor Abbot anymore.

Until you rolled in.

Dana was the first to reach the EMTs, taking report as she guided them to an available room. Doctor Abbot watched from the provider desk, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes tracked you the whole way across the Pitt.

The charge nurse barely made it out of the room and assigned the patient to Abbot before he jumped out of his seat and bee-lined to room five. “On it,” he said, to no one in particular. Dana stood back and observed his uncharacteristic movements for half a second with her hands on her hips before returning to her millions of other tasks.

Doctor Abbot pulled back the exam room curtain to reveal you sitting on the gurney, fidgeting with your museum badge and shaking your exposed shoe back and forth.

“Hi, kid,” he greeted, donning gloves. He took note of the prosthetic leg covered in floral designs resting next to your hip. Not a student. An amputee. Abbot hummed inwardly.

“Oh. Hi, Jack,” you responded, surprise gracing your face. You knew he was a doctor; he mentioned working at the hospital a couple of times during support group meetings, you just didn’t know he was a doctor here. You took him in. Frustratingly, he was handsome as ever in his black scrubs with toned, muscled arms that threatened to burst out of his short sleeves, with a badge that read Dr. Abbot. Attending Emergency Medicine Physician. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but notice that his gray curls were a little more mussed than usual, like he’d run his hands through them at least half a dozen times. You yearned to follow suit.

Mateo followed Doctor Abbot into the exam room not long after and glanced between you and the physician a couple of times, trying to decipher the dynamic. It was obvious the two of you knew each other, but he kept quiet and set up the WOW for orders in case Doctor Abbot needed it.

Jack sat down smoothly on a rolling stool and scooted close to your bedside. Maybe closer than was necessary, but no one in the room objected to it.

“What brings you in?” He swept his eyes over you analytically. You looked fine on the surface, sans the removed prosthetic accompanying you against the bed rails.

“Bum leg,” you sighed. This was embarrassing. Even when you leaned back against the gurney, unsuccessfully attempting to relax, you never broke eye contact with Jack.

“Figures. Mind if I take a look?” Abbot replied without missing a beat. He rubbed his chin, eyes darting between your face and the raised slope of your leg underneath your dress.

You hesitantly pulled up your skirt to reveal the angry red skin surrounding what was left of your knee joint. For some reason, exposing your thigh felt intimate, even in the hospital. It didn’t look good, and it admittedly had Jack concerned, but he wouldn’t let you know that. At least not yet. It didn’t look like cellulitis, at least not on the surface. There was no wound weeping or skin dimpling. He’d still run cultures just to be safe.

“Are you resting your leg often? Do you remove the prosthetic?” He ran through a slew of questions. Sure, he knew more about amputations and prosthetics than the average physician, but he wanted to know more about your story.

“Well, I’ve given roughly 8 hours of walking tours through the museum every day for the past week, plus 2 hours today,” you rattled off your schedule. It was strenuous, but this was the life you worked and studied and fought to build for yourself. You had no regrets.

Jack gave you a stern look, and you shrank under his gaze. You almost reminded him that he was being hypocritical, with his 12-hour shifts at the Pitt, but decided against it.

“What else?” He pressed. You sighed.

“I can put my socks and sleeves on, but they’re tighter than normal. The prosthetic will fit on, but it hurts.” The a lot was silent, but you both knew it was there. “I was limping this morning, and I eventually fell while giving a tour,” you continued. Doctor Abbot immediately scanned you for signs of any other fall-related injury. No bruises or bumps as far as he could see. “But a guest caught me. And the museum director insisted that I get checked out. Even though I’m fine,” you finished, exasperated.

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘fine,’ my friend,” Jack exhaled and leaned back, just far enough to not topple off the stool.

A comfortable silence fell between you two while Jack weighed treatment options. This was more of an outpatient specialist matter, but he was glad you came in. He’d learned more about you in the past 15 minutes than he had in the past 3 months of staring longingly at you during the amputee support group meetings.

Mateo felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He cleared his throat and started preemptively entering orders in your chart.

“Cultures? For cellulitis rule-out, Dr. Abbot?” The physician nodded thankfully to the nurse. Jack didn’t miss the flash of fear that crossed your face. Doctor Abbot ordered an ultrasound as well, just to make sure there wasn’t an underlying abscess forming, potentially evidenced by the edema at the end of your limb.

You cleared your throat. “Could you also run a CBC?” you asked, wringing your hands together. Abbot nodded again and stood, dusting his hands on his pants to keep them busy.

“Why?” It wasn’t accusatory. He’d do it anyway if you asked for it; he just wanted to know why.

“I’m in remission. Bone marrow cancer. Doesn’t hurt to check for signs of recurrence when funky things happen,” you shrugged, though you were obviously tense as you gestured to what was left of your left while pulling your dress skirt back down.

The room went silent.

That definitely would’ve been added to your chart’s medical history if you hadn’t come in by ambulance and instead had the pleasure of meeting Lupe at registration.

Up until now, why you attended the support group meetings wasn’t Jack’s business. Now, you were his patient. Your health and history were absolutely his business now.

Doctor Abbot offered a small smile and agreed to the additional test. You didn’t want his sympathy, he knew that better than anyone. He knocked on the door frame on his way out with a promise to be back shortly.

For a minute, Jack pondered what it would’ve been like to know he’d be losing his leg before it happened. When he had his accident, the decision was made for him. The blood loss had been near fatal. He’d long since passed out when the military medics realized they were forced to decide between his life or his limb, the lesser of two evils. He wondered if he had the time to plan a new reality beforehand, if things would be any different. Any better. He didn’t think they would.

He thought you must’ve been young when you were diagnosed with cancer. You were young now, notably younger than him. He wondered when you had the amputation, how old you were—how young you were. The ‘stump’, as you called it, was healed. The multiple incisions left silvery scars on your marred skin. You had lived without the leg for quite a while now.

Mateo drew your blood panel and cultures. He carefully added the bottles and tubes into a stat biohazard lab bag with the promise that an ultrasound tech would be by soon.

“Good news and bad news,” Doctor Abbot strolled back into your exam room with results as soon as he could, true to his word.

“Good news: Blood cultures were negative and the CBC was all within normal limits. And the bad news,” he continued, scrolling through your chart on an iPad before looking up at you. You nodded with a sharp inhale and gripped the gurney’s side rail, prepping for whatever diagnosis he might deliver. His eyes softened.

“Bad news,” he said quieter, “is you’ll need to stay off that leg for a while. At least until some of the inflammation goes down. I’ll leave the specific guidance up to your prosthetist. But for now, doctor’s orders are to cut back on the 8-hour walking tours. You got a wheelchair?” He asked with his arms crossed over his distractingly broad chest. He was solution-oriented, but not convinced you would heed the medical advice. You were strong-willed, that much was evident.

You groaned and threw an arm over your face to cover your eyes. You thought of the wheelchair you’d shoved to the back of your closet years ago. After a few beats of silence, you nod. You’re not happy about the plan of care, but you agree to it nonetheless.

“Do you have someone to take you home?” Jack asked, shuffling your discharge paperwork to keep his hands busy. Otherwise, he might give in to the urge to reach out to you. 

Everyone you knew was either working or busy. Internally, you felt like a burden. The people in your life didn’t feel that way, but it didn’t make the guilt go away. You chuckled inwardly. What doesn’t kill you gives you a dark sense of humor.

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied nonchalantly, already opening the rideshare app on your phone. Jack frowned. If he weren’t in the thick of his shift, he’d offer to let you hang around in the lounge and take you home himself, but that wouldn’t be for another 5 hours. At least.

“I’ll come check on you after my shift,” he resigned. It wasn’t a question or an offer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, shocked that he would even suggest such a thing.

“I insist. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re okay,” Jack replied without missing a beat. So he cares about you. Hmm. His hands found his hips, only adding to his inherent sass factor.

“You don’t know where I live,” you retorted. The banter was fun. God forbid a girl take advantage of her amputation to flirt with a silver fox trauma doc.

“I’m literally two taps away from finding your address in your chart,” Abbot smirked. He wasn’t lying. A couple of gestures on the iPad later, he was parroting your address back at you.

“Fine. But you better bring food with you.” It was your turn to leave no room for argument. You eyed him up and down, watching the way he squared his shoulders with confidence.

“It’s a date,” Jack replied easily, without thinking. You couldn’t tell whose cheeks were more flushed, yours or his. He didn’t dare take it back, though. Either way, you agreed.

“It’s a date.”

a/n: At the risk of sounding desperate, I'm begging y'all to leave comments and interact with my work. The likes are so super duper appreciated but I kind of feel like I'm posting into a void when 99% of the engagement is likes with no comments. anyway!! COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!! They keep me motivated to write more <3

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

[smutmind]

Backseat Deal

IVE Wonyoung X Male Reader

“You know I’m still mad at you, right?”

Wonyoung climbed into the backseat, hair loose and wild from hours under stage lights. Her black ribbed bodycon dress clung to every inch of her, riding up her thighs the second she straddled your lap.

“Five days,” she said, tapping your chest with her nail. “No calls, no kisses, and I still caught you watching my TikToks at two in the morning.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are.”

“Because I’m generous,” she said, rolling her hips once. “You didn’t bitch once this week. Didn’t blow up my phone. You earned a little something.”

She leaned forward. Her breath smelled like lemon tea and leftover gloss. Her messy hair tickled your neck as she whispered, “Bet you’ve been dreaming about fucking this dress off me.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

She laughed—low, bratty, proud.

“Show me how much you missed me,” she purred, sliding off your lap and kneeling between your legs.

Her fingers were slow and deliberate, undoing your jeans while keeping eye contact. “You ever think about how lucky you are? Having me like this? Sneaking off in designer heels to suck your dick?”

You groaned. “Every damn day.”

She giggled, brushing your cock with her lips. “Say please.”

“…Please.”

Wonyoung's smile spread slow and dangerous across her gloss-slick lips. Her nails dragged lightly over your thigh, just enough to make you twitch.

“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s your big moment?”

You opened your mouth, but she was already moving.

She leaned in and kissed the tip once—soft, barely there—then sat back on her heels and stared.

“You beg like a virgin,” she teased. “Cute. Desperate. Kind of pathetic.”

Your breath hitched. She noticed.

Her hand gripped you, loose at first, just gliding over the spit she left behind. She watched your face, waiting for that flicker of tension between your brows. The one she knew meant this is getting to you.

“You miss my mouth that bad?” she asked.

You nodded, jaw tight. “Wonyoung…”

“Oh, we’re using real names now?” she laughed, bending back down. “Then I definitely win.”

Her tongue flicked once across the underside, slow, almost scientific. Just a sample. Then another flick. Then a long, hot drag from base to tip that left you gasping.

“Fuck, your thighs are shaking,” she muttered, clearly delighted.

She opened her mouth and finally took you in—not deep, not even halfway—just enough to wrap her lips around the head and suck.

Hard.

Your hips jerked, and she pulled off immediately with a wicked smirk. “Aww. Too much?”

You swallowed. “Tease.”

“I’m your tease,” she said, licking a fat circle around the head. “Don’t forget it.”

Then she dropped her voice. “Do you think about this? Me, down here, making a mess on your lap?”

“All the time.”

She beamed. “Good. I want you obsessed.”

She took you in again—this time deeper, letting her lips slide further, slower. Her hair spilled across your lap in waves, tangling with the friction of her movements.

Her mouth was warm, tight, impossibly soft. She built a rhythm—not rushed, but relentless. Down. Up. Suck. Moan. A light graze of teeth, just to hear you grunt.

“You’re so loud tonight,” she said between strokes. “Not scared someone might walk by?”

“I don’t care.”

“Mmm. I do love when you’re reckless.”

She spit in her hand and pumped once, watching your eyes roll back. “Look at you. I disappear for five days and you’re ready to blow just from this?”

Her tone dropped, filthier now. “Is this what you wanted while you were scrolling my pictures? Bet you were so fucking hard watching me wave and smile at them.”

You groaned.

She laughed and went back down, bobbing now, quicker. Her throat started taking more—then all.

Then nothing.

She pulled off and sat back again, panting slightly, her lips glossy and swollen.

“Say thank you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Say it,” she whispered, jerking you slow, milking you. “Thank me for coming all this way just to suck you off.”

“…Thank you.”

She smiled like you handed her a crown.

Then she stuffed you back into her mouth and sucked—loud and wet and obscene, like she’d been starving for it. No hesitation now. No games.

Just pressure and motion and breathy moans that vibrated around your cock like a threat.

You barely held it in. She knew.

“You’re close, huh?” she said, hand gripping the base, slowly stroking you. “So twitchy… like you’re about to explode.”

You nodded, jaw clenched. “Fuck—yeah.”

Her smile sharpened.

“Good.” She tilted her head, letting her hair fall across one shoulder, completely unbothered. “Then come all over my face.”

You blinked. “What?”

She giggled. “You heard me. I want it messy.”

Then she stuck out her tongue and kept stroking, harder now, her hand slick and fast. Her eyes locked on yours—challenging, amused, hungry.

“Don’t even think about looking away,” she warned. “You blow it, you look me in the eye while I wear it.”

That was all it took.

Your breath shattered as you came—hot, thick ropes splashing across her cheek, her mouth, the bridge of her nose. She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there and took it, proud as ever, her tongue catching the last of it.

She laughed softly as you twitched through the aftershocks, wiping under her eye with the back of her hand, inspecting the mess.

“God,” she whispered. “You really missed me, huh?”

You were still panting.

She leaned in and kissed your neck, leaving a sticky print.

“Next time,” she murmured, licking a drop from her lip, “I want it in my hair too. Just to punish my stylist.”

She sat back, wiping her face with her fingers, then licking them clean one by one like it was nothing.

Like it was yours.

“Drive me home,” she said, grabbing your shirt to pat her cheek dry. “Or don’t. Either way, I’m not done with you.”

------ Not really a fan of hers, but this photoshoot is fire. Hope you liked this one

[bombiikki]

𐙚⋆.˚　────  the taste of your lips °｡⋆⸜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ – non idol!megan x fem!reader !!

synopsis: while running through the university campus, megan runs into you and falls head over heels (literally). she can’t keep her eyes off of your lips and tries as hard as she can to befriend you.

contains:slowburn but i still dont know how to slow the burn, SLIGHT grumpy x sunshine, reader knows how to bake, megan’s cinnamon allergy is mentioned like thrice, absolute like complete fluff with no angst whatsoever, reader is a bit nonchalant… NOT PROOFREAD

wc: 20.9k

a/n: sorry its been a while since ive pstoed chat anwyays first katseye fic!! guess who my bias is very difficult challanege!!!!! ermmemrm i feel like its a bit inconsitent and maybe rushed but its already like 20k words so maybe not rushed rushed 😭(its not proofread… im sorry) anwyays does anyone find it funny im writing a fic abt ginger megan when it has lietrally been confirmed that she is no longer ginger

megan sprinted through the sprawling halls of the university, her heart pounding as she clutched her timetable like a lifeline. she had promised herself that university would be a fresh start—a time to be punctual, responsible, a well-put-together student. that plan was currently crashing and burning.

“where is this damned room,” she muttered under her breath, her frantic pace earning a few curious glances from passing students.

she flicked her eyes between her timetable and the endless sea of doors, her brain struggling to make sense of the numbers. completely absorbed in her search, she didn’t see it coming. one second, she was sprinting. the next, she was on the floor.

her books scattered, her breath knocked right out of her chest. she groaned, rubbing her shoulder. what the hell had she just run into? a pole? a statue? no, a person. she blinked up, eyes widening as she took in the girl standing before her. 

you had your hands over your headphones, casually pulling them off as you turned, your gaze slowly dropping to the mess of a girl on the ground. your expression was unreadable, but the slight furrow of your brow made you look almost annoyed. to anyone else, maybe even to yourself, you might have seemed like you were scowling. but to megan? that wasn’t a scowl—that was a look of effortless coolness.

her stomach did something weird. her brain short-circuited. you were gorgeous. her eyes fixated on yours, dark and piercing, like you could see straight through her. then, as if her gaze had a mind of its own, it dropped to your lips. soft, glossy, and unfairly distracting.

she swallowed thickly, suddenly hyper-aware of the way she probably looked—sprawled on the ground like some tragic rom-com protagonist. she scratched the back of her neck, laughing nervously. you just watched her.

“watch where you’re going next time,” you said flatly, your voice even, almost indifferent. then, without hesitation, you extended a hand toward her.

megan stared at it for a second too long before finally grasping it. your hand was smaller than hers but steady, effortlessly strong as you pulled her to her feet. and now, she was the one looking down at you.

a goofy, apologetic smile stretched across her face, her nerves practically buzzing. “i’m so sorry about that,” she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck again.

you stared up at her, unimpressed. “uh-huh.”

megan, still reeling from the fact that you had actually touched her hand, fumbled with her timetable. she held it out awkwardly, pointing to the location of her first class. “do you—um—do you know where this is?”

you glanced at it, then gave a small nod. “you’re heading in the same direction i am. c’mon, i’ve already wasted enough time standing around.” and just like that, you turned and started walking.

megan scrambled after you, still slightly dazed from the whole ordeal. she trailed behind, sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

“so—uh—do you usually go around body-checking people in the halls?” she asked, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.

you didn’t even slow down. “do you usually go around running into people?”

megan opened her mouth to respond, then promptly shut it. 

the rest of the walk to class was quiet—at least on your end. megan, on the other hand, kept sneaking glances at you, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle. her mind replayed the moment over and over again. she had basically crashed into you at full speed, yet you hadn’t even stumbled. you were practically an immovable force. how was that fair? she was still recovering from her fall while you walked like nothing had happened.

before she knew it, you were stepping into the lecture hall. megan followed closely, scanning the room. plenty of seats were still open, students filing in one by one, but she barely thought twice before sliding into the seat right next to you.

you placed your books down, settling into your space, when you noticed her presence. you blinked. of all the empty seats, she had chosen the one beside you. you didn’t comment on it, but she clearly noticed the way your eyes flickered to her before you turned back to your notes.

she shifted slightly, then, as if remembering something, brightened. turning toward you, she extended a hand. “i think we skipped proper introductions. my name is megan!”

the grin on her face was wide and genuine, her whiskered dimples deepening as she beamed at you. you barely spared her a glance. slow. unimpressed. a judgmental blink that made her enthusiasm falter just a little.

“y/n.” you leaned back into your seat, gaze already returning to the front of the lecture hall.

megan nodded, withdrawing her hand awkwardly. “cool. nice to meet you, y/n.”

you hummed in acknowledgment. it wasn’t much, but to megan, it was a start.

the classroom hummed with the low, dull drone of the professor’s voice as he paced at the front of the hall, animatedly introducing the semester’s syllabus. pens scratched, papers shifted, and tired eyes blinked toward the clock. you sat near the middle, posture straight, notes organized, every word you deemed important underlined neatly in your book.

you didn’t mean to notice her again, but she hadn’t moved in minutes.

megan sat to your right, eyes locked on the professor like she was watching a suspense film. her lips were slightly parted, eyebrows drawn together, her whole face tense with effort.

you glanced down at her notebook. still blank. not a single mark on the page. she didn’t even have a pen out.

your eyes narrowed slightly. what was she even doing?

maybe she was just trying to listen. or maybe she had no idea what was going on and was hoping if she stared hard enough, the knowledge would seep into her brain on its own. you wouldn’t be surprised.

you looked away. not your problem.

you shifted slightly in your seat, pushing your pencil forward. line after line, you wrote with practiced ease, your handwriting neat, precise. around you, the world faded into background noise—until she moved again. a small shift. the sound of her elbow brushing the edge of the desk. a quiet sigh, like the lecture had gone over her head ten minutes ago but she didn’t want to give up just yet.

you didn’t say anything. but something about her... stuck in your peripheral.

you told yourself it was just because she was clumsy. loud in her own quiet way. not worth the effort to get involved.

and yet, you kept glancing.

as the lecture wore on, the room slowly fell into the rhythm of the professor’s pacing voice and distant slides clicking from his laptop. you felt the air grow stale, heavy with first-day fatigue. still, megan didn’t move much. maybe she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. maybe she was trying to focus. maybe she didn’t want to seem like she was struggling—but you could tell.

not just from her empty page, but from the way she squinted at the board, her fingers twitching like they wanted to write something, but didn’t know where to begin.

you glanced at your notes. then at hers again. then back at the board.

you tapped your pen softly against your paper.

not your problem.

when the lecture finally crawled toward its ending, the room stirred. chairs creaked, zippers buzzed, and students leaned forward like racers waiting for a starting pistol. the professor gave his final remarks, and the stampede began.

you moved efficiently—books stacked, pen capped, bag slung over one shoulder. beside you, megan was a mess of limbs and paper, trying too hard to pack too fast. you didn’t need to look to know something was about to fall.

a soft thud confirmed it. a book had slipped from her pile and landed neatly beside your foot.

you sighed through your nose and bent down. your fingers wrapped around the worn edge of the book’s cover. it was a basic literature text, corners bent and spine soft from overuse. probably secondhand. probably loved, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet.

you handed it back without a word.

megan blinked at you, clearly not expecting the gesture. her hand brushed yours as she took the book. warm fingers. a little shaky. she held it to her chest like it had sentimental value.

“sorry,” she said, letting out a nervous laugh. “i keep doing that.”

you didn’t respond right away. your gaze lingered on her face—just a moment longer than necessary. her cheeks were slightly pink. her hair was a little messy from rushing. her eyes, though... they were focused. not in a sharp way, but in a determined one. like she was trying, even if she didn’t know what she was doing.

you gave a small nod. “try holding it tighter next time.”

your tone wasn’t cold, exactly. just honest. matter-of-fact.

she smiled—soft and unsure, but real. “noted,” she murmured.

you turned without waiting, slipping into the stream of students leaving the hall.

behind you, megan stood still for a moment, clutching the book tight. her gaze lingered on the back of your head, her thoughts loud in her silence. she didn’t understand you. you barely spoke. barely looked her way. and yet, she felt like she’d been noticed in a way no one else had managed.

not her heart. not yet.

just her curiosity.

and maybe that was how it started. not with a flutter, but with a question.

the campus café murmured with soft life—quiet voices blending into the hum of machines, the clatter of mugs meeting saucers, the distant rustle of wind against the windows. it was the kind of afternoon that asked for warmth. clouds hung low, heavy and silver, and rain pattered faintly on the glass.

you had claimed a seat by the window, as always. a book lay open in front of you, spine cracked and pages curling gently from age. your fingers curved around a warm cup, steam rising in slow, lazy spirals. the outside world blurred against the fogging glass, and for a moment, it was just you, your coffee, and the silence.

but peace never lasted long in a world that included megan skiendiel.

“oh! hey, y/n!”

you didn’t look up right away. your fingers stilled for a breath. then, slowly, you lifted your gaze.

there she was—hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink from the chill outside, and eyes bright like she’d just stumbled upon a hidden treasure. without waiting for so much as a nod from you, she dropped into the seat across the table, her smile as loud as her entrance.

“fancy seeing you here! do you come here a lot? actually, i do too—well, not that much, but enough that the guy at the register knows my order, which is kinda cool but also a little embarrassing, like, what does that say about me—”

“megan.” your voice cut through her rambling like the edge of a dull knife—blunt but firm.

she brightened, like a puppy hearing its name. “that’s me! i’m megan!”

you stared at her flatly. “did i ever give you the impression that i was open to befriending you?”

the question landed hard. her grin faltered, slipping sideways into something smaller. her hands tugged nervously at the ends of her sleeves. “um—no?” she said weakly. “sorry. i can—just—i’ll leave.”

she reached for her drink, trying to recover her dignity. but grace had never been on her side.

her hand knocked the cup instead of grabbing it. the lid popped, and coffee leapt forward in a dramatic arc, landing squarely on your sleeve. the heat seeped through the fabric, spreading warmth across your hoodie in a slow, sticky stain.

you blinked once, slowly, at the mess.

“oh my god—oh no—wait, don’t move!” she gasped, panic already setting in. napkins flew from the holder as she scrambled to fix what she’d broken. she lunged across the table with desperate energy, dabbing at your arm with trembling hands, napkins half-crumpled in her grip.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t scowl. just reached calmly for another napkin and cleaned the sleeve yourself.

“you’re making it worse.”

“i know! i know, i’m so sorry! i’ll—i’ll buy you another coffee! or—or a new hoodie! do you want my jacket?” she was already halfway out of it, arms wrangling with the sleeves, eyes wide with alarm.

“i don’t want your jacket,” you said simply.

she froze, halfway out of her coat, lips pressed into a tight, sheepish pout. “are you sure?”

“positive.”

megan sank back into her chair, jacket bunched awkwardly around her elbows. she watched as you wiped your sleeve in silence, your expression unchanged. no annoyance. no sighs of frustration. just calm acceptance. and somehow, that made her feel even worse.

“still,” she mumbled, picking at the edge of a napkin, “let me get you a coffee. it’s the least i can do.”

you glanced at her, then back to your cup. “i don’t need two coffees.”

“right.” she nodded quickly. “yeah, okay. just… offering.”

a pause settled. not tense. just awkward, in the way only she could make it.

you slid an extra napkin across the table without looking up. her eyes followed it, then flicked to you. you didn’t speak, but your silence carried something that settled her nerves better than any apology could.

it’s fine.

she stared for a second longer than she should have. your lashes were long. your lips slightly parted as you took another sip of coffee, the steam ghosting against your skin. she didn’t know why her eyes kept flicking down to your mouth, but they did. more than once.

and every time, her heart did a tiny skip she pretended not to notice.

“you’re, um…” she started, then trailed off. you raised an eyebrow. “nevermind.”

you didn’t press her. just went back to your book.

megan watched you for a bit longer, hands tucked between her thighs to keep from fidgeting. you were unreadable, and maybe that was what kept drawing her in. you didn’t look at her the way others did. you didn’t smile or make jokes or soften your voice. you were just... steady. unbothered. and even covered in coffee, you made it look cool.

she looked down at your lips again. her brows furrowed. weird.

she looked away.

definitely weird.

megan walked across campus with her friends, the cool morning air filled with their usual banter. nestled between lara and daniela, the two were in the middle of a ridiculous debate about the best way to peel an orange. manon trailed just behind, her voice grumbling low as she complained about school. sophia was listening with her full attention—though megan had a feeling she was just waiting for the right moment to make some over-the-top dramatic interjection, like she always did.

“okay, okay, but listen,” megan said, raising her hands for attention. the chatter around her paused as five pairs of eyes turned to her. “so, remember how i told you i bumped into y/n in the hall the other day?”

“uh-huh.” lara smirked, clearly entertained. “the scary quiet girl you’re determined to befriend?”

megan rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “right, so,” she continued, brushing off lara’s teasing, “i saw her again. at the café. and i, uh… i may have spilled coffee all over her hoodie.”

a beat of silence passed before laughter erupted.

“oh, megan,” sophia sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest like she’d just heard the most tragic news. “oh, my sweet child.”

daniela let out a low whistle. “yikes. you really wanna befriend this girl, huh? ‘cause from where i’m standing, it sounds like you’re just haunting her.”

“noooo…” megan dragged out the word, a nervous laugh escaping her. “she doesn’t hate me.”

lara raised a brow, her voice dripping with playful skepticism. “mmm. are you sure?”

“yeah, i mean…” megan hesitated, feeling the heat in her cheeks. “she didn’t snap at me or anything. just kind of… sighed.”

“damn.” daniela snorted. “you made her sigh? that’s almost worse.”

before megan could defend herself, manon piped up from behind, stretching her arms over her head as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “y’know, i’ve actually heard about this girl. she’s kinda infamous. apparently, she’s got this whole mysterious, nonchalant dreadhead thing going on.”

lara turned to her, eyes lighting up like a match about to catch fire. “damn, girl sounds like the ultimate alpha wolf or something.”

the group froze in collective horror. then, without warning, they all cringed.

“lara, what the hell—”

“never say that again—”

“that was so bad—”

lara groaned, slapping megan’s shoulder lightly. “shut up, you guys! it sounded cool in my head!”

“it did not sound cool out loud,” sophia wheezed, doubling over in laughter. the whole group joined in, their giggles carrying through the air, momentarily forgetting about anything else.

as the laughter began to fade, daniela elbowed megan, her eyes glittering with mischief. “so, what’s the next move, huh? you gonna spill soup on her next? maybe trip and land dramatically in her arms?”

megan rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “i wish yoonchae was here. she would totally have my back.”

sophia scoffed, shaking her head. “as if! she’d be laughing at you too.”

the group chuckled again, their voices light and carefree, but before long, their schedules pulled them in different directions. megan waved them off, adjusting her bag as she made her way to her next lecture.

this time, she found the hall without any trouble.

as she approached the door, she spotted a familiar figure already reaching for it. she slowed her steps slightly, watching as you pulled the door open. she expected you to step inside without even noticing her, but instead—without a word—you held the door open just enough for her to slip through. she stopped in her tracks for a moment, her feet stuttering slightly.

it wasn’t much. just a small, effortless gesture. but coming from you? it felt different. almost intentional. megan felt her face flush unexpectedly.

“uh—thanks,” she muttered, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious as she ducked her head, avoiding your gaze.

you didn’t say anything, just let go of the door once she passed and walked ahead to your usual seat. megan, still feeling oddly flustered, followed behind and slid into the seat next to you once again, her heart beating faster than it probably should’ve been.

it wasn’t anything big. just a small thing. but for some reason, it was enough to make her think about you for the rest of the day.

the classroom buzzed with the usual chatter as students filtered in, gathering their belongings and settling into their seats. megan walked in a little later than usual, her fingers nervously tugging at the strap of her bag. she caught sight of you across the room, sitting in your usual spot near the middle, surrounded by your textbooks, already engrossed in something. as usual, you didn’t seem to notice anyone or anything around you—completely lost in your own world.

megan hesitated for a moment, biting her bottom lip. she had been trying to be more subtle, trying not to be too forward with her attempts to get to know you better. but after that weird interaction at the café, where she’d spilled coffee all over your hoodie, she felt this weird, unshakable pull to try again. maybe this time she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. or maybe she would.

with a deep breath, she made her way toward your desk, pretending not to notice the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

"hey, y/n," she said, her voice tentative but hopeful, as she stood beside your desk. "i, uh, noticed you had your book out, and i was thinking—maybe you could help me with the reading? i, um, didn’t quite get all of it last night."

you didn’t even look up from your book. your pen moved slowly across the page, writing something down with deliberate precision. megan waited for a response, her fingers curling around the strap of her bag, a little awkward now.

when it became clear that you weren’t going to acknowledge her, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly out of place. "it’s just, like, some of the themes are a bit confusing," she continued, trying to force her voice to sound casual, like she wasn’t panicking on the inside. "i thought maybe—"

still nothing. you didn’t even flinch at her words.

megan let out a quiet breath, realizing you weren’t going to bite. she glanced at the seat next to you, where an empty chair sat, untouched. she knew there was no point in pushing further. if you weren’t going to respond, that was that. so, with a small sigh, she moved to sit in the chair next to yours.

she could feel your presence next to her, the quiet hum of your focus that always seemed to fill the air around you. it was as though you had built this invisible wall between yourself and the rest of the world. and maybe that was why she felt so drawn to you—because there was this layer of mystery she couldn’t quite crack.

she tried to focus on her notes, but her attention kept drifting back to you, her eyes flicking to the page of your book, to the way your fingers held the pen. it was like a magnetic pull, something she couldn’t control.

"y’know," she said again, a little louder this time, "it’s kind of funny. we’re both doing literature, but we’ve barely talked."

you glanced up at her for the briefest moment, your eyes meeting hers for just a split second before you returned to your book. no expression crossed your face. no acknowledgment of the comment. just a quiet return to your work.

megan blinked, unsure of how to take it. she was so used to her friends always responding, always engaging in conversation. but with you? it felt like she was talking to a wall.

undeterred, she went on, trying to keep the conversation alive. "i mean, we’re in the same class, and it’s not like we’re strangers. we’ve sat next to each other before. it just feels like… i don’t know, we should talk more."

this time, you shifted in your seat just slightly, as if her words had reached you in some distant corner of your mind. but still, no response came. you were too absorbed in the pages in front of you, too lost in whatever thoughts you were wrapped up in.

megan huffed quietly, her fingers tapping nervously against her notebook. she had no idea how to break through your quiet shell, and honestly, she was starting to wonder if it was even possible. maybe you really didn’t want anything to do with her. maybe she was being too much.

but then, almost imperceptibly, she noticed it—a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change. she saw your hand, still resting on the desk, and for a brief moment, her gaze flickered down to your fingers. her eyes lingered there, caught in that tiny detail, the way your hand looked so still, so controlled. for a second, she forgot about everything else. her heart skipped just a little, and she caught herself staring longer than she meant to.

when she realised what she was doing, she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing. what the hell was wrong with her? why did she keep doing that?

her mind scrambled to find a distraction, any distraction, but the rest of the class was beginning to settle, and you still hadn’t acknowledged her. she wondered if you even noticed her at all. or maybe you didn’t care. either way, it didn’t seem like you had any interest in being her friend.

the lecture began, and she fell silent, pulling out her own textbook, trying to focus. but even as she opened the pages, her thoughts kept returning to the quiet figure next to her—the person who was always just out of reach, no matter how hard she tried.

weeks had passed, and your days had fallen into a routine so predictable it bordered on suffocating. every time you entered your english lecture, you knew what would happen: megan would find a way to wedge herself into your personal space, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

you weren’t sure how or why she had chosen you. she could’ve befriended anyone, really. but no, she picked you. and despite your every effort to keep her at arm’s length, she just didn’t stop. she waved at you on campus, started conversations without even waiting for an invitation, and cracked jokes even when you didn’t smile. she was relentless.

you didn’t hate her. well, you didn’t think you did. but the thing was, you didn’t like people in general. there was your roommate, haerin, but aside from her, you preferred being alone. and megan? she was like this constant, unpredictable force of companionship. it wasn’t that she was unbearable. no, it was just that you couldn’t understand her persistence. it made no sense but still, there she was every single time.

you sighed as you entered the lecture hall, already steeling yourself for another hour of megan's uninvited presence beside you. you slid into your usual seat in the middle of the room, your eyes flicking briefly toward the door. but megan didn’t walk in.

the professor arrived, and students filed in, but still, the seat beside you remained empty. you told yourself it didn’t matter. people skipped class all the time. it was hardly a big deal. especially not because it was megan. why would you even care?

but somehow, your gaze drifted back to the door every few seconds. just once, you told yourself. just one glance. you mentally cursed yourself for it. you didn’t even know why you were waiting for her, but the door stayed quiet. no ginger hair. no voice that made you roll your eyes. nothing.

you forced your attention back to the professor, but the lecture didn’t do much to hold it. your fingers tapped idly against your desk as your mind wandered. megan had probably overslept. or maybe she just didn’t feel like coming. maybe something came up—anything, really. anything that didn’t involve her vanishing on you like this.

the professor’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. class was over. students were already packing up, rushing to the door, and you suddenly realised you hadn’t written down a single note.

frustrated, you slammed your notebook closed and began stuffing it into your bag, feeling the familiar weight of guilt settle in. just as you were about to stand up, the professor called out.

“y/n, can you come up here for a second?”

your stomach lurched. you hadn’t done anything wrong. or at least, you didn’t think you had. but being singled out in front of an entire lecture hall always felt uncomfortable, and the knot in your stomach made it worse. reluctantly, you stood and trudged toward the front.

the professor gave you a quick once-over, his expression shifting from focused to concerned. “are you alright? you seem a little... standoffish today.”

you blinked, hesitating for a moment. “uh—yeah. i’m fine. what’s up?”

he sighed and folded his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning slightly toward you. “i hear you’re an excellent tutor. you work with high school students, don’t you?”

you nodded, still unsure where this was heading.

“well, one of the students in this class is struggling,” he continued. “i’ve already spoken with her about it, and i wanted to ask if you’d be willing to tutor her.”

your stomach dropped, unease settling in. tutoring wasn’t a bad gig. it was easy money, and you were good at it. but the way he phrased it... it felt like he was preparing you for something you wouldn’t like.

“sure,” you said, your voice slow and careful. “who is it?”

your professor smiled faintly, as though this were a casual request. “oh, i’m sure you know her. you sit next to each other every day. always talking. i’m sure she’s been talking your ear off.”

you didn’t need to hear her name. you knew exactly who he was talking about.

“megan skiendiel.”

you inhaled sharply, your chest tightening. of course. of course it was her.

you forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding stiffly. “yeah—no, i, uh... i know her. really well.”

your professor gave you a small, approving nod. “great. she’ll be expecting you to reach out to her soon. she’s a bright student, just needs a bit of extra help to keep up.”

“right,” you muttered, still trying to process what had just happened.

as you turned to leave, your professor called after you. “oh, and y/n? she’s a great kid. i think you’ll get along fine.”

you gritted your teeth, nodding again, though your mind was already elsewhere. the idea of tutoring megan wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was downright absurd. you knew the professor meant well, but all this would do was add more weight to the constant, relentless pressure of megan’s presence in your life.

it was as if the universe had conspired against you. your quiet, solitary routine? broken, all thanks to one ridiculously persistent girl. you weren’t sure if you were doomed or just really, really unlucky.

megan sat in her usual seat, right in the middle of the lecture hall, her pen spinning between her fingers like it had a mind of its own. the room filled slowly with the usual noise—pages flipping, backpacks unzipping, quiet greetings exchanged between friends—but her focus wasn’t on any of that. it hadn’t been for a while now.

her knee bounced beneath the desk, a restless rhythm she didn’t even notice. there was no reason to feel this fidgety, no reason for the weird flutter in her chest.

and then the door opened.

she didn’t have to look to know it was you. she’d learned the shape of your presence by now—the quiet that followed you in, the slight shift in the room’s gravity, like something steady had just entered. megan turned her head anyway, because of course she did, and there you were.

hoodie, headphones half-dangling out your pocket, that usual deadpan expression on your face like you hadn’t slept in three days and were fine with never sleeping again. she smiled before she could stop herself, a small, involuntary thing. she straightened in her seat, ready to say something.

your eyes met hers for barely a second before you looked away. you didn’t smile. didn’t nod. didn’t say anything. just that familiar blank look that bordered on annoyance, like you’d just seen someone park too close to your car.

you sat beside her, opened your notebook, and started writing.

megan deflated like a popped balloon.

still, she didn’t speak. not this time. she’d been learning—painfully, slowly—that you weren’t the type to respond well to forced friendliness. pushing too hard made you fold up like a pocket knife. so today, she told herself she’d chill. just a little. just enough to not scare you off entirely.

the lecture started. the professor’s voice floated somewhere above her, but her mind didn’t follow. her notes were a disaster—half-finished sentences, crooked lines, one doodle of a cat in the margin that somehow turned into a croissant.

she snuck glances at you in between pretending to write. you were, of course, fully focused, scribbling down notes in that sharp, precise way that made your handwriting look more like art than words. it was unfair how cool you looked while doing absolutely nothing.

class dragged on and megan sighed. she shifted in her seat, telling herself to stop being weird.

then finally class ended.

students stood, bags rustled, and chairs scraped the floor. megan moved to pack her things, already halfway out of her seat.

“megan.”

her name. her name. from your mouth. she turned so fast she nearly knocked her pen off the desk.

you looked vaguely annoyed. but that wasn’t new.

you pulled a sticky note from your bag, scribbling something down in that same sharp scrawl. without looking at her, you held it out.

“it’s my number,” you said flatly. “for tutoring only. i’ll text you the time. library, probably.”

megan stared at the note like it might explode. her fingers closed around it slowly, carefully, like she didn’t trust it not to vanish. her brain, meanwhile, completely short-circuited.

you’d given her your number.

your number.

you kept talking—something about where, when, rules—but she heard none of it. her ears were ringing. her heart was doing backflips. all she could think was your number.

“uh—yeah! yeah, okay! totally!” she said too loudly, fumbling for her phone, nearly dropping it as she tried to punch the digits in. her fingers betrayed her completely.

you narrowed your eyes, unconvinced. “did you even hear what i said?”

“yes!” she blurted. “tutoring. library. uh… numbers. yes.”

she gave a laugh that sounded way too close to a squeak and clutched the note to her chest like it was made of gold leaf and unicorn wishes.

you just stared at her for a beat longer, then turned to leave with a simple, dry, “just don’t be annoying.”

megan pouted. “rude,” she mumbled, but you were already halfway out the door, swallowed by the flood of students.

she stood there for a moment, still blinking like she’d dreamt the whole thing. slowly, she looked down at her phone, at the number now saved in her contacts. her heart did another unnecessary flip.

she groaned, covering her face with her hands. 

the library breathed quiet all around you, soft and steady like it had lungs of its own. pages turned like whispers, footsteps padded gently across carpet, and megan sat across from you like a storm pretending to be calm.

her pencil tapped a restless rhythm against the edge of her notebook. her notes were scattered in organized chaos—half-underlined passages, scribbled thoughts in the margins, and one crumpled page sitting like a wounded soldier between you.

you sat back in your chair, arms crossed, gaze fixed on her with that same unreadable look. your patience wasn’t limitless. and today, she was pressing her luck.

“again,” you said flatly.

megan groaned, slumping forward. “but we’ve talked about this metaphor, like, five times. i think the book just hates me.”

“no,” you replied. “it just requires basic reading comprehension.”

she glared at you, then let her head drop to the table with a soft thud. her face squished against the wood.

she mumbled something unintelligible into the surface.

“what was that?”

she turned her head slightly, her cheek still pressed to the desk. “i said maybe i should just drop out.”

you didn’t miss a beat. “maybe you should just read.”

your voice was sharper than usual, irritation coloring the edges. you flipped open her copy of the novel and jabbed your finger at a highlighted section she kept misinterpreting.

“this paragraph. out loud.”

“torture,” she groaned, but sat up, dragging her finger under each word like it might help them stick. her voice was quiet, cautious, like the sentence might bite her if she read it wrong. when she finished, she let out a sigh like she’d just climbed a mountain.

you didn’t blink. “explain it.”

she blinked right back. “uh… it’s raining because he’s… sad?”

you stared at her, deadpan. “try again.”

megan sighed dramatically and squinted at the text. “okay, okay—maybe… the storm is reflecting his inner turmoil? like, it’s not just sad. it’s destructive. because he feels guilty or angry or something.”

you raised a brow, just barely. “keep going.”

she tilted her head. “and... the lightning is like a warning? like something’s about to snap?”

you raised a brow, finally, finally something close to approval. “better.”

megan blinked. “wait, was that a compliment?”

“no.”

“you so wanted to say ‘good job.’ i heard it in your tone.”

“you’re hearing things.”

she smirked, sitting up straighter, suddenly renewed with energy. “admit it. i’m getting better.”

you sighed. “you’re getting less terrible.”

“same thing.”

she scribbled down the analysis, muttering little notes to herself as she connected the lines between the imagery and the character’s descent into guilt. you watched her quietly. despite the dramatics, she was absorbing it. slowly. painfully. but surely.

“what even is this line supposed to mean?” she asked, jabbing her pencil at the page. “‘his heart was a locked door, rusted shut with secrets’? like, sir. what does that even mean?”

you reached across the table, took her pencil, and jotted a few notes next to the quote.

“it’s a metaphor for emotional repression,” you said. “he’s closed off. guarded. and his secrets aren’t just locked away—they’re decaying. damaging him from the inside.”

megan blinked, wide-eyed. “whoa. that’s kind of… deep.”

“that’s the point.”

she rolled her eyes but smiled, copying down what you wrote. “okay, grammar robot. i get it now.”

“we’re not even doing grammar,” you muttered.

“doesn’t matter. you’re still a robot. but like, a helpful one.”

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed again. “are you always this annoying?”

“pretty much,” she said cheerfully, stuffing her notes back into her folder. “but hey, admit it—you’d miss me if i wasn’t.”

you stared at her. didn’t say anything. but your silence said enough.

megan grinned. you looked away.

she kept smiling anyway, like she’d won something important. 

a few minutes later, she hit another roadblock. she just stared at a sentence like it might magically explain itself if she stared hard enough. your patience thinned by the second. finally, you reached over, took her pencil, and rewrote the line in a clearer way.

“this is why you’re confused,” you said, voice low but still annoyed. “you’re looking for answers without understanding the character’s voice. if you read it like this—” you adjusted the tone of the line as you read it aloud “—then the subtext makes sense. right?”

megan nodded slowly, eyes wide. “ohhh. okay. that actually helps.”

you handed her pencil back and leaned back again, arms crossed. “obviously.”

she copied your version into her notes and smiled. “thanks, by the way.”

you didn’t meet her eyes. “don’t mention it.”

but megan swore—swore—she saw the faintest twitch of amusement pull at the corner of your mouth. not a full smile. just enough to give her hope.

rain came suddenly that afternoon, slipping over the sky like someone had pulled a curtain closed. it started as a drizzle, soft and apologetic, then swelled into a downpour that soaked through shoulders and notebooks in seconds.

you didn’t bother with an umbrella. you never did.

lecture ended late, and students scattered from the building like startled birds, heads bowed against the wind, laughter sharp and shivery in the cold. you stepped into the rain like it was nothing new.

you’d made it halfway across the quad when a voice called out behind you, too bright for the grey day.

“hey! hey—wait!”

you stopped walking.

megan was jogging toward you, already damp, clutching a small, plain black umbrella above her head. she looked almost comical in how unfitting it was—such a serious thing for someone who was all color and clumsy smiles.

she reached you breathless, shoes splashing into puddles, her hair sticking to her cheeks.

“you’re gonna get drenched,” she huffed, raising the umbrella higher. “here—move closer.”

you looked at her, unimpressed. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.” she stepped closer anyway, and the umbrella shifted until it was tilted mostly over you. “this is how people get pneumonia, y’know.”

you didn’t move.

her eyes met yours, and she gave a small shrug. “just… humor me, okay?”

you didn’t move.

she tilted her head, water slipping down her cheek. “please?”

that was the part you hated. the way she said it like it cost her something. like she meant it.

you sighed, stepping under the umbrella. not fully. just enough so your shoulder brushed hers.

“see?” she said brightly. “not that hard.”

you didn’t reply. you just walked. the umbrella bobbed awkwardly between you two, not quite big enough for both, so megan tilted it more your way every time it slipped. her notebook was getting soaked, clutched to her chest, and her shoes squelched with every step, but she didn’t complain.

you watched her from the corner of your eye. she hummed a little, off-key and cheerful, like she didn’t notice the cold, or the way your arm brushed hers every few seconds.

and when she noticed your gaze, she smiled at you. small. like she wasn’t trying to make it a moment, but still hoped it might be one.

“you didn’t have to,” you muttered finally.

“i know,” she said. “but i wanted to.”

the walk was quiet, save for the sound of water hitting pavement and the soft breath of her hum—off-key, forgettable, but oddly comforting. she didn’t try to fill the silence with words. she didn’t ask questions or tell jokes or try to get you to laugh like she usually did. she just walked beside you, shoulder to shoulder, like it was the most natural thing.

when you got to the dorm building, she stopped at the entrance, shaking the umbrella out. her sleeves were dripping now, her hair frizzing at the edges.

“see? not pneumonia today,” she said with a grin.

you hesitated. “you’re soaked.”

“yeah, well. sacrifice for the greater good.”

you gave her a flat look. “i’m not the greater good.”

“sure you are,” she chirped. “don’t fight it.”

you rolled your eyes and reached into your bag, tugging off your hoodie and shoving it into her arms.

she blinked. “wait, what—”

“you’ll catch something. dry off,” you said.

“but this is—wait, hey! you’ll be cold!”

“i’ll live,” you shrugged, continuing to walk down the street and passed the dormitory entrance

“uh… wait,” she said, jogging to catch up. “don’t you live—?”

“no,” you muttered. “apartment complex. down the street.”

“oh.” she blinked, still following you for a few paces. “that’s kinda far in this weather…”

“it’s whatever. i do this every day.”

“wait—but now you’re gonna be soaked—”

“i already am.”

“but—your hoodie—”

“then give me the umbrella,” you said flatly. “if i get sick you’ll be annoying.”

she blinked. then, slowly, she adjusted the hoodie on her shoulders. “fine. but only because you called me annoying so nicely.”

you turned and took megan’s umbrella, it now covering only you.

“hey!” she called after you. “bring that back tomorrow, okay? the umbrella, i mean.”

you didn’t look back. but your voice came, low and dry through the rain.

“maybe.”

that night, she texted you.

megan. megan ARE U HOME??? OR DID U DRONW DRAMATICALLY IN A PUDDLE SOMEWHERE ??? y/n i said this number was for tutoring only megan ok so u didnt drown dramatically in a puddle! great!! y/n the umbrella’s safe megan good! and thanks for not dying

you didn’t reply back. you didn’t need to. and as megan’s umbrella was sat outside your apartment door drying, you felt a small smile creep onto your lips.

megan had a theory. a frustrating, confusing, absolutely mind-breaking theory.

you claimed—on multiple occasions—that you didn’t want to be friends with her. that you weren’t interested in talking to her, or sitting next to her, or entertaining her presence in any way. and yet, you still helped her. constantly.

it wasn’t obvious, and it definitely wasn’t intentional, but megan saw the pattern. the way you always—always—picked up her stuff when she dropped it. the way you held doors open for her without even looking back, like it was just instinct. the way you wordlessly nudged her notebook back toward her when it started slipping off the desk.

it was driving her insane. like right now.

megan had just reached into her bag, ready to grab her notebook, when she froze. her hand hovered in mid-air, and she let out a soft groan of frustration. “ugh, i forgot my—”

before she could even finish, she felt the familiar weight of something landing softly on the desk in front of her.

she blinked, confused, then looked down. her notebook. her gaze flickered up to find you sitting across from her, calmly flipping through the pages of your own notebook, as if nothing had happened.

“you left it under your chair,” you said, voice as flat and unbothered as ever, your pen scratching lightly across the paper.

megan stared at you, then down at the notebook, her brow furrowing. it took her a moment before she reached for it, still bewildered by the suddenness of it all. 

“wait… where did you—?”

you didn’t even look up as you shrugged, clearly uninterested in the question. “i picked it up for you.”

“you just—picked it up for me?” she repeated, still half in disbelief.

you met her gaze for the first time, your expression flat. “yeah. it was under your chair.”

her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, like she couldn’t figure out whether to be annoyed, impressed, or something else entirely. 

“you say you don’t want to be friends, but—”

“we’re not,” you interrupted, cutting her off mid-sentence with a nonchalant tone, your eyes now back on the pages in front of you.

megan gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over her chest as if you had physically wounded her. 

“then why do you keep helping me?”

you sighed—long and loud, like this conversation was draining the life out of you. rubbing your temple, you leaned back in your seat. 

“i don’t help you. i just… react.”

“react with kindness,” megan pointed out, crossing her arms stubbornly, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

you groaned in response, standing up and tossing your stuff into your bag with the exaggerated movements of someone who was so over this interaction. 

“it’s not that deep, megan.”

but megan wasn’t about to let it go. not this time. she leaned forward, a determined glint in her eyes as she tapped her finger against her chin, squinting at you like she was on the verge of solving some kind of intricate puzzle. 

“hmmm. i think you secretly like me.”

you froze for just a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for her to notice. it was such a tiny shift, but it didn’t escape her. the sudden hitch in your movements, the way your hand stilled for just a moment too long as you reached for your bag. megan’s eyes widened in realisation.

“…i don’t,” you said, voice a little too flat, a little too unconvincing.

“you hesitated!” she said with a grin that seemed to grow with every passing second. “oh my god, i knew it!”

you quickly regained your composure, and your voice came out flat, almost defensive, but the faintest hint of something more was still there. “i didn’t hesitate.”

megan’s gasp was even louder this time, utterly scandalized by the tiny crack in your armor. she sat up straight, her grin widening, practically glowing with victory. “you totally did.”

you sighed so hard it felt like the air left your lungs in one giant rush. your shoulders slumped under the weight of what felt like an impossible conversation. you slung your bag over your shoulder, standing to leave as if you were escaping a trap.

“it’s not that deep,” you muttered, walking towards the exit, already mentally preparing for the rest of your day without this distraction.

but megan wasn’t letting you off that easy. not this time. she followed after you, her voice practically bouncing off the walls with energy. “it is that deep!”

you didn’t turn around. instead, you walked faster, trying to ignore the sound of her footsteps right behind you, the weight of her words lingering in the space between you. the only thing you could focus on was getting out of the room, away from the relentless tug of her curiosity, her insistence, her… kindness.

megan stood there for a moment, watching you walk away, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face. her heart fluttered, a mix of excitement and something warmer, deeper, that she couldn’t quite place. but she knew one thing for sure—whether you wanted to admit it or not, you were being nice to her. and that meant one thing: megan wasn’t giving up anytime soon.

her eyes lingered on your retreating figure, and despite her frustration, despite the wild confusion swirling in her mind, she felt a quiet thrill. maybe, just maybe, the theory was right. maybe you weren’t as indifferent as you liked to pretend.

and that small, silly thought made her smile even wider.

the library was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional tap of a keyboard. the usual smell of books filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee from the café nearby. megan sat across from you, eyes glued to her textbook, her pencil moving in quick, frantic circles around the same sentence. she had been at it for a while now, but something just wasn’t clicking.

"ugh, this is impossible," she muttered under her breath, letting her head drop onto the table with a dull thud.

you didn’t respond right away, which was the usual. you were focused on your own work, barely sparing her a glance. but then, megan cracked a joke, her voice a little too loud for the quiet library.

"maybe this is just some cruel test to see how many times i can fail before i drop out of literature," she said, letting out a soft laugh. "at this point, i think they should just give me an honorary degree in 'trying my best.'"

for a moment, there was nothing but silence. and then, just as megan was about to continue her self-pitying rant, she swore she heard it. a soft scoff, just a brief exhale of amusement. but it wasn’t just any scoff—it was a scoff that almost sounded like a laugh.

megan blinked, looking up at you with wide eyes. your usual stone-faced expression was still there, but something was different. there was a faint curve to your lips, like you were holding back a smile. megan’s heart skipped a beat.

"did—did you just—?" she trailed off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

you glanced up at her for a second, your gaze meeting hers, before quickly looking away. you didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then you spoke, voice slightly more casual than usual.

"maybe," you said, leaning back in your chair. "but if you're going to make jokes, at least make them funnier than just dropping out."

megan sat there, dumbfounded. was this real? the reader, the one who had been nothing but grumpy and aloof, was actually engaging with her? not shutting her down, not ignoring her completely, but actually talking to her?

"okay, what is happening right now?" megan asked, her voice more breathless than she meant it to be. she leaned forward, staring at you like you were some kind of puzzle she was still trying to figure out. "you’re actually responding to me. this is—this is new."

you just raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not interested in explaining yourself. "yeah, well. you’re not as unbearable as usual."

megan’s mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. "oh my god, i’m making progress, aren’t i?" 

she grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. "i knew it. i knew i could crack you."

you let out a quiet sigh and turned your attention back to your own work. "yeah, whatever. just focus, okay? you’re still not getting this."

megan watched you for a moment, then glanced down at her textbook again. but it was hard to focus now, with you actually engaging with her. you had a way of making everything seem like it mattered, even if you didn’t say much.

she tried to concentrate on the passage, but her mind kept wandering back to you. you weren’t paying attention to her at all, your eyes fixed on your notes, but something about the way you were sitting—so casual, yet so precise—made her lose her train of thought. she caught herself staring at you, and when you glanced up for a brief moment, your eyes met hers, but neither of you said anything.

megan bit her lip, then shook her head and turned her attention back to the work in front of her.

"you’re still not focusing," you said, your voice almost too calm, too detached.

megan blinked at you. "huh? oh—yeah, sorry, just… got a little distracted."

"just get better," you hummed in response, your lips barely twitching at the corners.

megan could still feel the warmth spreading through her cheeks, her thoughts jumbled and her heart still thumping in her chest. but at least, she thought with a small, shaky smile, maybe there was a chance—just a small one—that things were changing.

megan wasn’t sure what she was expecting today, but it certainly wasn’t this.

yesterday, for the first time ever, you actually spoke to her in full sentences. not just clipped responses, not just nods—actual words. it had felt like a victory. like she was getting somewhere with you, breaking through that wall of silence and indifference you always hid behind.

but today? today, you were back to square one.

the tutor session started off fine—well, as fine as these things could be—but megan noticed almost immediately that you seemed off. your usual quiet detachment had morphed into something sharper, colder. your responses were shorter, more clipped, and there was an edge to your words she hadn’t seen before.

“wrong. try again.”

“seriously?”

“how do you not get this?”

it wasn’t that you hadn’t been blunt before, but this time, it felt different. there was no softness beneath your words, no reluctant amusement in your eyes, no tiny sighs of exasperated fondness. just coldness. detachment. complete disinterest.

an hour passed like this, and by the end of it, megan felt utterly deflated. she sat there, staring at the textbook, wondering what had gone wrong. it wasn’t like she had expected everything to suddenly be different. but yesterday had felt like progress. today? today, it felt like all that work had been for nothing.

she barely said a word as the two of you left the library, the weight of your silence heavy between you. she wasn’t even sure why she was so bummed about it—this was how you had always been. yesterday was just a fluke. a rare moment of warmth she should’ve known better than to expect again.

but then, just as she was stepping forward, something happened that completely threw her off.

without thinking, without looking up from your own thoughts, you reached out and held the door open for her. it was such an automatic gesture, so instinctual, that it completely caught her off guard. her feet nearly tripped over themselves as she walked past you, her heart skipping a beat as she blinked down at the door. she had to stop herself from looking too long, afraid that if she did, you’d notice how much the simple act affected her.

but you didn’t acknowledge it. you just stepped out of her way and continued walking toward the lecture hall like nothing had happened. megan bit her lip, trying not to smile. she’d gotten so used to the coldness, the distance, that she’d almost forgotten the little things you did without thinking.

then, when you reached the lecture hall, you did it again.

you pulled open the heavy door, held it for her, and let it linger just long enough for her to slip inside before you followed behind. she couldn’t help it—her smile widened, her cheeks flushed with warmth. she hadn’t expected this. not today, of all days. but here you were, quietly making her day a little brighter with something as simple as holding the door.

she was still trying to catch her breath when she heard a voice from near the front of the room.

“ugh, megan is so annoying,” a guy muttered loud enough for her to hear. “does she ever shut up? seriously, it’s like she doesn’t have an off switch—”

he cut himself off as soon as he saw megan walk in, his whole demeanor shifting as his gaze fell to the floor. but megan wasn’t looking at him. no, her attention was entirely on you.

because you—who had spent the last hour acting like she was barely worth your time—were now glaring at the guy. glaring like you were about to rip him to shreds. your eyes were narrowed, your entire body tense, like you were two seconds away from throwing him out of the room with nothing but your bare hands.

the guy noticed, clearly, because he quickly scoffed, trying to brush it off. “what are you looking at?”

without missing a beat, you responded, voice as dry as ever. “just wondering what it’s like to have a face like that. must be exhausting when you look like a failed experiment every day.”

megan’s jaw dropped. she hadn’t expected that. she hadn’t expected you to stand up for her, to defend her in your own... uniquely snarky way. she was still trying to process the fact that you, of all people, had spoken up when no one else did.

the guy scowled, but said nothing else. he just turned back to his notebook, no longer meeting your gaze.

but megan? she was smiling. no, scratch that. she was grinning like a complete idiot. she could feel the warmth spreading through her cheeks as she struggled to keep it together. you had just stood up for her. you. and now her heart was doing backflips in her chest.

you turned to look at her, your eyes catching her expression, and immediately scoffed.

“what are you smiling about?” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

“nothing,” megan replied, her grin only growing. “just… you standing up for me was so awesome sauce.”

“maybe i should be tutoring you on how to expand your vocabulary,” you shot back, clearly unamused. but as you reached into your bag for your notebook, megan swore she saw the faintest hint of a smile on your lips.

her heart fluttered at the sight. there it was again. the small cracks in your cool exterior that she was beginning to notice more and more.

she couldn’t stop herself from smiling, her gaze lingering on you for just a second longer than she should’ve. you caught her staring, of course, but you didn’t say anything. 

another tutoring session. another hour of megan dropping everything she touched. honestly, you were starting to think she did it on purpose. it was like a chaotic performance, and she was the star.

first, it was her pen. then her notebook. then—somehow—her entire bag tipped over, spilling half its contents onto the floor. every time, your reflexes kicked in before your brain even had time to process it. a quick catch, a swift grab, a sigh. you barely even looked up from your own notes anymore. it had become muscle memory at this point.

so when megan, with her usual clumsiness, nudged a book off the table, you caught it before it even had a chance to hit the ground. the soft thud of it landing in your hand was so automatic, so effortless, that it barely registered in your mind.

her gasp was so loud you thought she might actually start clapping. “you caught that? that was so cool—”

you groaned inwardly, already regretting it. “hurry up and grab it before i regret it.”

she snatched the book from your hands, still grinning like she’d just witnessed some incredible magic trick. her eyes were sparkling with that contagious enthusiasm of hers.

“you’re, like, weirdly good at that,” she teased, her voice light and playful. “i bet if i—”

“don’t,” you interrupted before she could finish, already bracing yourself for whatever absurd thing she was about to do next.

her lips twisted into a pout, but she quickly gave up on the idea, flipping the book open and skimming through the pages like she was actually going to focus for once. you could practically feel her disappointment at the lack of attention she was getting from you. but you weren’t going to indulge it. not this time.

you rolled your eyes, returning to your own notes, grateful for the quiet that surrounded you. the library was peaceful, save for the occasional scratch of pens against paper and the faint hum of whispered conversations. the kind of quiet you could almost lose yourself in.

almost.

but then came the sighing. and the shifting in her chair. and the little mutterings under her breath, all of which took every ounce of your patience not to call out. instead, you buried yourself in your work, trying to ignore the distraction she was becoming. until—

“ugh, this is so annoying,” megan groaned, her voice heavy with frustration. her pencil was gripped tightly in her hand, her brows furrowed in concentration as she stared at the paper in front of her.

you barely noticed at first. barely thought. your eyes were still glued to your notes when, without hesitation, you reached over and nudged her paper, pointing at one of the sentences. “you wrote that backwards.”

megan blinked, looking at you like you’d just spoken in another language. “wait, what?”

“your sentence,” you said, still not fully registering what you’d done. “you flipped the words.”

she tilted her head, her focus now fully on the paper, and then her eyes lit up like she’d just discovered the answer to a riddle. “oh—wait, that makes so much sense,” she said, quickly erasing the mistake and fixing it. then, her eyes widened in wonder. “how did you even notice that?”

you shrugged, doing your best to seem indifferent. “i’m your tutor for a reason.”

“oh yeah! you’re so cool for that.” she beamed, her expression full of admiration.

your face immediately shut down. you leaned back in your chair, the blank expression falling into place like an old habit. “whatever. just finish the assignment.”

but megan wasn’t even listening. she was still grinning at you, her face practically glowing with genuine delight. it wasn’t teasing, it wasn’t smug—it was just... sheer happiness. and somehow, that made everything worse. because now you were the one who couldn’t focus.

she tapped her pencil against her chin, still smiling to herself like she’d just stumbled upon the greatest discovery in the world. “huh,” she said, her voice light, as if she’d just realised something interesting.

you side-eyed her, instantly suspicious. “...what.”

her grin widened even more, her eyes sparkling with some inside joke you didn’t quite get. “nothing.”

you groaned, not quite believing her. “megan.”

“it’s nothing,” she repeated, sing-song, her tone light as air.

you gave her a look that was part confusion, part exasperation, but she only giggled in response. and then, to your surprise, she actually returned to her work. properly this time. no more fidgeting, no more sighing in frustration. she was focused. like she actually cared about finishing the assignment.

and, for some strange reason, that made you feel... weirdly satisfied. as though, by some miracle, you had actually done something right. not that you’d ever admit it, of course.

the rest of the session passed in a sort of quiet rhythm, the two of you working side by side in the same space. there was no more tension, no more fighting to keep her attention. just the sound of pens and pencils against paper, the occasional rustle of pages turning, and a subtle sense of progress hanging in the air.

when the hour came to an end, megan closed her notebook with a soft sigh of relief. “i think that’s the best i’ve done all week,” she said, her tone almost surprised, like she hadn’t expected herself to actually finish.

you glanced at her, your expression neutral, but your mind was somewhere else. somewhere... soft.

“you’re welcome,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

megan paused, her eyes widening slightly as she caught the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “did you just... say ‘you’re welcome’?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

you quickly turned your attention back to your bag, making a point not to look at her. “don’t read into it,” you said, voice curt. “just finish your work next time.”

but megan, of course, couldn’t resist. she was already looking at you with that same grin, her heart still racing from the unexpected warmth she felt in that moment.

“thanks,” she said again, this time with a little more sweetness.

and for once, you didn’t roll your eyes. you didn’t snap. you just nodded, almost imperceptibly.

it was another quiet afternoon in the library, the kind of stillness that was usually peaceful but today felt oddly oppressive. you sat alone at a table, surrounded by stacks of books, your fingers absently tracing the edge of an open notebook as your thoughts drifted. the words on the page blurred in your peripheral vision, nothing but vague shapes on the paper, your mind a million miles away.

and, against your will, your thoughts landed on her. megan.

it was a thought that always seemed to catch you off guard, as if it snuck up on you when you weren’t paying attention. no matter how many times you tried to push her away, megan just didn’t stop. and it was honestly a little impressive.

most people, after a few stink eyes, a couple of blunt "leave me alone"s, would’ve backed off. they would’ve taken the hint, respected the boundaries that you had set so clearly. but not megan. she just kept trying. and it wasn’t even some grand, over-the-top persistence. no, it was simpler than that. it was consistent. she’d try again the next day. and the next. and even when it was obvious that you were being short with her, even when you gave her nothing to work with, megan would still smile, shrug, and try again. there was something almost admirable about it. but also irritating as hell.

you’d fully expected her to snap at some point, to get frustrated and give up. everyone did, eventually. everyone but her.

it wasn’t like megan was particularly charming or persistent in some over-the-top way. it was just the fact that she was always there. day after day, week after week. she showed up, smiling, ready to talk, ready to crack a joke, ready to do the thing that most people would’ve stopped doing long ago: be nice.

and, as strange as it was, it started to make you... uncomfortable. you weren’t used to people being that patient with you. most people didn’t give a damn if you were having a bad day or didn’t feel like talking. most people just went about their business, avoiding you when you pulled back, not bothering to force small talk or offer unsolicited help. 

but not megan.

it made you wonder, sometimes, if there was something more to it. something beneath the surface that megan wasn’t showing. why the hell was she doing this? why bother?

at first, it was annoying. megan’s constant smiling, her easy conversations, her attempts to reach out—it felt like an invasion. but then, it became normal. just another part of life, like the rhythm of the seasons. megan would show up, sit down next to you in class, try to talk. sometimes, she’d drop a pencil. sometimes, she’d just ask how your day was going, like it mattered.

it wasn’t a big deal. or so you thought.

but then, without realizing it, you found yourself getting used to her presence. the annoying little smile in the corner of your vision, the sound of her voice in your ears, the casual way she’d pass by your desk in the library, so familiar, so constant. it was fine.

and then something shifted in you, right there and then. you realised you didn’t actually want her to stop. the thought hit you like a lightning strike, and for a moment, you froze. you wanted her to keep showing up. you wanted her to keep being there. but that was ridiculous, right?

you couldn’t admit that. not to yourself. certainly not to her.

lost in these conflicting thoughts, you barely noticed megan until she was suddenly standing right in front of you, towering over your desk.

you blinked up at her, an eyebrow raised, clearly questioning her presence.

"i don’t recall texting you to meet here for a lesson," you said dryly, your voice flat.

megan grinned, completely unbothered. "well, you didn’t!" she said cheerfully, unphased by your sharp tone. "but i figured i’d come hang out."

you sighed, rubbing your temples as if to ward off the headache that was already beginning. "this is the library. i’m working. you’re not supposed to be here."

megan didn’t even flinch at your tone. "i’ll be quiet. promise." she sat down on the opposite side of the table, pulling out her own textbook, completely content to just be there.

for a moment, you were stunned into silence. what was this? was she really just... sitting here? you had half a mind to say something else, to tell her to leave, but the words didn’t come. instead, you muttered, almost under your breath, "you should work on your work for other classes too. or even just literature."

megan gave a dramatic roll of her eyes. "erm... no thanks."

you shot her a look, as if trying to will her into leaving, but she just grinned back, wide and playful.

"you’re impossible," you muttered, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms.

"yep," megan agreed, not missing a beat. "but it’s fun, isn’t it?"

you paused, then sighed, giving in because, well, what else could you do? you couldn’t make her leave, not when she was acting this... stubborn. "fine. just don’t make noise."

"promise!" she said, settling in with her book. now and then, she’d glance up, giving you that big, bright smile of hers.

and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but glance at her once or twice, your mind still spinning with the same impossible thought: you didn’t want her to stop.

y/n 😍😘🥰😛❤️🫶 megan THE LIVRARY IS CLOSED 😭😭😭 ITS UDNER CONSTURCTION 👿

megan typed frantically on her phone, a frown spreading on her face as she stood in front of the campus library. a sign was plastered onto the doors, a sign that read “UNDER CONSTRUCTION”.

y/n yes i am aware its been closed all day megan well i dont rlly go to the librayr so 🤷‍♀️ WAIT WHERE R WE SUPPOSED TO DO OUR TUTOR LESSONS NOW ☹️ y/n ill send u my apartment address just go up to my place and ill open the door for u megan WAIT UR APARTMENT?? WHY UR APAREMTN??? HUH

megan had never imagined she'd end up at your apartment for tutoring.

she’d expected maybe a local library as the new location for a session, maybe a coffee shop—somewhere neutral, somewhere public—but instead, here she was, standing on the fifth floor of a building she’d never been to before, double-checking the address you had sent her just minutes ago.

she had to be at the right place. the numbers on the door matched, the hallway looked exactly like the one in the picture you’d attached, and, well… it wasn’t like she had another choice now. so she took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and then it swung open, revealing someone that was very much not you.

megan blinked. "oh. uh."

the girl standing in the doorway had long, sleek black hair and sharp, cat-like eyes that seemed to gleam with amusement. she was around your height, maybe a little shorter. she leaned against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips like she already knew something megan didn’t.

"um," megan started, suddenly unsure of herself. "does y/n live here? or… am i at the wrong apartment? sorry, i’ll just—i can leave if—"

the girl chuckled, cutting off megan’s nervous rambling with a lazy grin. "y/n!" she called back into the apartment without taking her eyes off megan. "the ginger is here for you!"

megan stiffened. "the ginger?"

before she could say anything else, you appeared in the hallway, looking as unbothered as ever. "oh. you’re here."

"yeah?" megan said, giving you a seriously? look. she gestured vaguely to the girl. "who—?"

"haerin," you said, motioning lazily in her direction. "roommate. childhood friend. not really someone you needed to know about until now."

megan gawked at you. "you’re really gonna be like that?" megan asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and mild amusement.

"i’m not giving you personal details for no reason," you replied bluntly, crossing their arms.

"you’ll get used to it," haerin said, patting her shoulder before disappearing into the apartment.

megan shook her head, not sure what to say to that. "so, uh, why the lesson here?" she finally asked, hoping to change the subject.

"my place is closer to campus than any local library," you explained nonchalantly, walking past her to the kitchen area. "plus, I can bake at home."

megan almost tripped over her own feet. "you bake? why didn’t i know this!?"

"this isn’t common knowledge," you deadpanned. "so, of course, you wouldn’t know."

she huffed, plopping down at the counter while you started setting things up. as she pulled out her books, she glanced around. "your apartment is really nice," she said. "kind of big for just two people."

"keep the small talk to yourself," you muttered, already rummaging through ingredients. "just do your work."

megan ignored you, tapping her pen against her book. "so what are you baking?"

"dunno," you admitted. "i don’t have anything specific in mind."

she grinned. "make something for me."

you sighed. "anything i should know about? any food allergies?"

megan waved her hand dismissively. "nah, i’m fine." then, after a beat, casually added, "oh, i’m allergic to cinnamon."

you froze mid-motion, your face going blank as you stared at her. “and you were just going to let me figure that out on my own?”

megan shrugged, all innocent. "well, i would’ve told you if i saw you using it!"

you muttered something under your breath before very pointedly removing anything cinnamon-related from the counter.

megan’s heart did this funny thing where it fluttered, because—well, that was kind of sweet.

she tilted her head, watching you move around the kitchen. "oh, if you’re baking something for me, can it be savoury?"

you stopped what you were doing. turned to look at her. stink-eyed her.

"savoury?" you repeated. like the word itself was offensive.

"yeah!" she said, warming up to the idea. "like… i dunno, something cheesy? or maybe a pastry with some herbs—"

you narrowed your eyes. "herbs?"

"what?" she said, laughing. "you don’t like savoury pastries?"

"i do not," you said flatly. "pastries are meant to be sweet. if you want something savoury, eat a sandwich."

megan gasped, placing a hand over her chest like you’d just insulted her entire existence. "a sandwich? excuse you—"

"do your work, megan," you cut in, already turning back to your ingredients.

she pouted but eventually started working on her assignment. you baked in the background, and every now and then, she asked for help with something (and successfully distract you with random commentary).

by the time you finally handed her a plate, the smell of something sweet had filled the apartment. megan barely took a bite before making a ridiculously happy noise.

"oh my god," she moaned dramatically. "this is amazing. you’re amazing."

you just shook your head, unimpressed. "of course you’re like this."

she grinned at you, then returned to her work. only for you to casually point at her paper. "you made a mistake here."

megan blinked and looked down at her paper. "...oh."

the lecture was long, as always, but megan found herself glancing over at you more than usual. she wasn’t sure why. maybe because something felt different—small, barely noticeable, but still different. you weren’t talking much, but you were listening. actually listening.

whenever she spoke, you nodded here and there, your eyes flicking to hers when something piqued your interest. you didn’t shut her down immediately. you weren’t giving her the cold shoulder. it wasn’t much, but to megan, it felt like progress.

the moment class ended, she quickly packed up her things, hurrying to catch up with you before you could disappear into the crowd.

"so, i've got a joke," she said, grinning, practically bouncing on her feet.

you gave her a flat look, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets. "what’s the joke?"

"okay, okay," she cleared her throat, doing a dramatic drumroll on her leg. "how do you tell the difference between a snow-man and a snow-woman?" she paused, barely containing her excitement. "their snowballs!"

silence.

for a second, megan thought she completely flopped, but then a scoff. quiet, barely audible, more of an exhale than a laugh. but it was something.

megan’s eyes widened. "wait—" she turned to look at you fully. "did you just laugh?"

your face immediately went blank, like you regretted even reacting. "no."

"you so did!" she pointed at you accusingly, her smile growing. "oh my god, was my joke that good?."

"it was horrible." you rolled your eyes, walking ahead. "don’t get ahead of yourself."

but megan swore she saw something—a tiny twitch at the corner of your mouth, a barely-there smile that you were definitely trying to suppress.

before she could tease you about it any further, a familiar voice called her name.

"megan!"

she turned and found her friends staring at her. well, not at her, exactly—at you.

"wait, is that y/n?" manon asked, her voice loud with disbelief.

"y/n?" sophia’s eyes darted between you and megan. "since when did she talk to you?"

megan felt her face heat up. "um. since always?"

lara snorted. "you wish. you’ve been chasing after her since the start of the semester and getting nothing back."

"not nothing," megan argued. "i’ve been making progress."

daniela narrowed her eyes. "define ‘progress’."

"well," megan hesitated, her smile twitching as she thought back to the joke. "it wasn’t exactly a laugh, per se, but it was, like… a scoff."

"they scoffed?" lara deadpanned. "that’s your progress?"

"no, no, it was a funny scoff," megan insisted. "like a mini-laugh."

daniela gasped dramatically. "you got y/n to almost laugh?"

megan bit her lip, failing to contain her excitement. "yeah. i mean… yeah, i did."

her friends exchanged glances, then collectively lost their minds.

"holy shit," manon whispered. "megan, you’re actually insane."

sophia shook her head in amazement. "we need to document this moment."

"you should’ve recorded it," daniela groaned. "proof! we need proof!"

megan just stood there, basking in the ridiculousness of it all. her friends were treating this like she had just tamed some wild beast, but honestly? she kinda got it.

because, for the first time, she wasn’t just throwing herself against a wall, hoping it would budge. today, something had shifted, just a little. something real.

she glanced back at you, who was already a few steps ahead, pretending to be unbothered by all of this.

but megan saw the way your hand twitched, like you were suppressing the urge to shove them off and walk faster. and she swore—just for a second—she saw that almost-smile again.

the apartment was quiet today, the kind of quiet that made megan’s own thoughts feel louder. she sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through her notes, while you leaned against the opposite side, scrolling through your own work.

the library was still under construction, so your apartment had become the temporary tutoring spot. megan liked it better here, even if she wouldn’t admit it. it felt different. less cold, somehow. but today, she felt the weight of your gaze more than usual. it wasn’t like you to stare, but she could feel it—quick, sharp glances every time she hesitated over a word, every time her pencil hovered over the page for a little too long.

she tried to ignore it, focusing on the assignment in front of her. but the more she tried, the more aware she became of every little thing—

the way she had to reread sentences to make sure they made sense. the way she mixed up letters when she was writing too fast. the way she avoided reading things aloud unless she absolutely had to.

you weren’t just staring. you were noticing.

"ugh," she groaned, leaning back in her chair, rubbing at her temples. "why is this so hard?"

"because you’re not paying attention," you said, not looking up from your own work.

"i am paying attention," she huffed. "it’s just—the words are, like, fighting me."

you flicked your eyes to her notebook, scanning the page. your voice was casual, but the question you asked next made her freeze.

"you ever been tested for dyslexia?"

her stomach dropped. she gripped her pencil a little tighter. "uh. why?"

you shrugged, eyes still on your work. "just wondering."

but megan wasn’t stupid. she knew what that meant. you had figured it out.

she forced a laugh, hoping to change the subject. "are you sure you’re here to tutor me? or did you just want an excuse to get to know me better?"

you gave her a blank stare. "megan. you’re failing."

"okay, rude," she muttered, sinking lower into her seat.

you didn’t press the dyslexia thing any further. and for that, she was grateful. but she could tell you knew now. and even worse? she could tell you cared.

it wasn’t anything obvious. just little things.

when you handed her a new worksheet, the font was bigger than before. when she hesitated over a word, you didn’t rush her. when she fumbled a sentence, you rephrased it instead of making her repeat it.

you never brought it up. never pointed it out. but megan noticed. and it made her stomach do that weird, fluttery thing again.

at some point, she tapped her fingers against the counter and mused, "you know, if you’re gonna make me work this hard, the least you could do is make me a snack."

you raised an eyebrow. "a snack?"

"yeah, you should put your baking skills to use again," she propped her chin on her palm. "make me something."

you scoffed. "what do i look like, your personal chef?"

"c’mon, pleaaaase?" she gave you her best puppy eyes.

you groaned, but she could tell you were already giving in. "fine. what do you want?"

she hummed, pretending to think. "something savory this time."

you stopped mid-motion, turning to stare at her like she had just cursed you out. "savory? in baking?"

"yeah?" she blinked innocently. "what? you still don’t like savory pastries?"

"absolutely not." your face twisted in pure disgust. "i refuse."

megan snorted, watching you pull out ingredients anyway. "wow, okay, didn’t realise you had such strong opinions on this."

"because it’s wrong," you deadpanned. "savory baking should not exist."

she grinned as you begrudgingly started gathering supplies. she wasn’t getting a savory pastry, but she was getting something. and that was enough.

when you eventually set a plate down in front of her, she took a bite and let out an exaggeratedly happy sigh. "you’re just too good."

you rolled your eyes, but she caught the tiny quirk of your lips before you turned away.

megan never thought she’d actually get here. when she first met you, you barely spoke to her. your responses were cold, clipped, uninterested. you shut down almost every attempt she made at befriending you, and you never gave her any encouragement during your tutoring sessions. all business, all the time. but that was months ago.

now, sitting in english class, staring down at the grade on her assignment, she could hardly believe it.

she actually did well.

"holy shit," she breathed, blinking at the paper in her hands. she read the grade again. then again. her heart thumped in her chest, excitement rising like a tide. "i actually passed?"

you, sitting next to her, barely looked up from your own paper. "you didn’t just pass," you said flatly. "you did well."

megan stared at you, her grin breaking across her face. "i did well." she turned back to her paper. "oh my god, i actually did well!"

you sighed, but she caught it—the way the corners of your lips twitched, the way your eyes flickered with something warm before you turned back to your notes. but megan wasn’t letting this go. she poked your arm. "you’re totally proud of me."

you rolled your eyes. "bare minimum isn’t worth being proud of."

"wow." she gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "you wound me."

you huffed, but she saw it again—another twitch of your lips. and that? that was enough for her to claim victory.

"c’mon, we have to celebrate."

you barely had time to register the day before you realised you were in your apartment again, and megan was pushing her way in, a cheap bottle of champagne in one hand and two plastic cups in the other.

you sighed, rubbing your temple. "megan, it’s just one assignment."

"one assignment that proves i am a genius," she declared, setting the bottle on the counter. "and guess what? i owe it all to you!"

you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "so your plan is to get drunk over one good grade?"

"okay, first of all, it’s, like, barely alcoholic. second of all, this is a huge deal for me!" she shot you her best pleading look. "just one drink? to celebrate?"

you stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. "fine. one drink."

megan cheered, dramatically pouring the fizzy liquid into the cups like she was some kind of sommelier. she handed you one, then clinked her cup against yours with a grin. "to the best english tutor ever."

"bare minimum," you reminded her, but you still tapped your cup against hers before taking a sip.

"oh, admit it," megan teased, leaning against the counter, her eyes gleaming. "you’re at least a little happy for me."

you didn’t answer. not verbally, at least. but there was something in the way you looked at her, something that softened just enough to give you away.

and somewhere in between her rambling, you smiled. without thinking, without meaning to. because for once, she wasn’t struggling, wasn’t frustrated or defeated. she was just happy.

and for some reason, that made you happy, too.

later, after the mini celebration had died down, you were both in your room, books and notes spread across your bed. megan sat cross-legged, absently twirling a pen between her fingers. you were hunched over your laptop, typing away at something for another class.

she sighed dramatically, flopping backward onto your mattress. "you know," she mused, staring up at the ceiling, "with this mark, i don’t think i need a tutor anymore."

you didn’t even look up from your laptop. "trust me, you still have a long way to go. this one mark is nothing."

megan smirked, tilting her head toward you. "sounds like you don’t want to get rid of me."

you sighed, closing your laptop, and without a word, you dropped onto the bed beside her.

megan blinked, her heart skipping, caught off guard by the sudden shift. she turned her head to look at you, and—oh.

you were already looking at her. not glaring, not annoyed—just looking. it was the kind of look she never would’ve gotten from you a few months ago.

"yeah," you murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. "maybe i don’t."

megan’s breath caught. she should say something. she should. but all she could do was smile.

it happened again. you weren’t even surprised at this point.

megan had arrived at your apartment for another tutoring session, her arms overflowing with notebooks and snacks, a familiar grin stretching across her face. "i swear i'm staying awake this time," she had declared, full of confidence that, frankly, she didn’t deserve.

you just raised an eyebrow. "sure."

you both started off strong—actual studying, actual work being done—but as always, it didn’t last.

the transition was always the same: she’d start fidgeting, then rambling about something completely unrelated, then eventually lean back against your bed, stretching out like she belonged there.

"my brain is melting," she groaned at some point, tossing her pen onto the floor dramatically. 

"five-minute break?"

you gave her a look. "you say five, but we both know you’re gonna pass out."

"nuh-uh," she mumbled, already shifting to get more comfortable. "i'm wide awake—"

and then she was gone. out like a light, sprawled across your mattress, her notes slipping from her fingers.

you sighed, running a hand down your face. "unbelievable."

at first, you used to try. you used to shake her shoulder, nudge her arm, call her name. but now?

it wasn’t worth the effort. instead, you just leaned back against the bed frame, letting silence settle over the room. your eyes flickered to the chair in the corner, where an extra pillow sat neatly, a spare blanket draped over the backrest.

your gaze drifted back to megan, her breathing slow and steady. you exhaled, closing your eyes for just a second. and then you were asleep, too.

when you stirred awake, the room was dimmer, bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun.

you blinked blearily, adjusting to the light. then, as your brain slowly switched back on, you noticed something.

megan had moved. still asleep, but no longer sprawled out carelessly. instead, she had curled in on herself, her arms tucked close, her entire body subtly shivering.

you stared. then, without thinking, you moved.

with a quiet sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed, padding over to the chair. the blanket was soft beneath your fingers as you pulled it free, walking back to where megan lay.

you hesitated for only a second before draping it over her, making sure it covered her completely.

she mumbled something, shifting slightly, and for a moment, you thought she had woken up. but then she just buried herself deeper into the warmth, her shivers gradually subsiding.

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you sat back down. you weren’t soft. this wasn’t a big deal. but when megan woke up the next morning, she didn’t mention the blanket. she just smiled.

the doorbell rang, pulling you out of your half-dazed thoughts. you weren’t expecting anyone, not today. you had planned to rest after a morning filled with back-to-back classes. but then you heard the unmistakable sound of haerin’s voice calling out from the living room.

"oh, it's you," megan's voice came in, followed by a cheerful laugh. "thanks for letting me in, haerin."

you didn’t think much of it at first, letting your eyes slip closed again, trying to tune out the noise of megan’s excited chatter with haerin. the sound of the door closing reached them faintly, and you felt a slight tug in your chest.

what was that?

you shook your head, trying to focus on sleeping again, but it was hard to ignore the growing noise in the apartment. megan and haerin were talking. megan laughing, haerin responding with one of her dry remarks. it felt oddly louder than usual.

the weight on your chest shifted, becoming a small discomfort.

it wasn’t like you were particularly close to megan yet. yet, hearin megan laugh so easily with haerin, without any hesitation, it tugged at something inside you.

but that didn’t matter. you’d just rest. megan could do whatever she wanted.

then, the soft creak of your bedroom door interrupted your thoughts.

megan was standing there, staring at you. her smile faltered for a moment as her eyes scanned over the bed. 

"you, uh... sleeping?" she asked hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure whether to interrupt or not.

haerin's voice echoed faintly from the hallway, "yeah, y/n’s had a long day, don’t bother hertoo much."

megan nodded in understanding, quietly stepping into the room. she took a moment to observe you. you had your eyes shut and you were lying on your side. your body seemed relaxed, no tense muscles, no scowls. megan couldn’t help but notice how different you looked when you weren’t glaring at her, how soft your face appeared.

it felt like a privilege to see you like this—calm, unguarded. she caught herself staring at the curve of your lips, the peaceful rhythm of your breathing. she couldn’t help but inch closer, wondering what it would be like to be this close without the usual tension. she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to—

"you know i’m awake, right?"

your voice was low, slightly groggy, but sharp enough to catch megan off guard. megan blinked, looking away quickly, her cheeks burning. "uh, sorry, i didn’t—"

you opened one eye, giving her a look that was equal parts amused and irritated. 

"you’re basically burning a hole in my skull," you muttered, raising an arm to cover your eyes as if shielding themselves from the world.

megan’s heart was pounding in her chest. "i wasn’t—"

"whatever," you grumbled in response. “are you here for tutoring?”

“yeah, i hope it’s ok i showed up without notice.” megan replied.

you hummed in response as you kept your eyes shut. "just do whatever for a few minutes. i need to get ready for the lesson."

"okay," megan agreed, her voice a little quieter now as she stood up. she glanced back at you, already adjusting yourself on the bed, completely unfazed.

she made her way out to the living room, where haerin was sitting with both a laptop and ipad opened on the table.

"hey, haerin," megan called, taking a seat next to her.

"hey," haerin responded, her eyes flickering up briefly before returning to the screen. "you want to play?"

megan grinned. "is that roblox? hell yeah i wanna play!"

within moments, they were laughing, both of them completely absorbed in the game. megan was animated, laughing loudly whenever something funny happened, nudging haerin playfully with each win. the two seemed to click effortlessly, bantering back and forth like old friends.

and that’s when it started to happen.

you stood in the doorway, arms crossed over their chest, watching the two of them with a mix of irritation and confusion.

you hadn’t intended to linger, but something about seeing megan, that laugh, that carefree attitude—something about it was unsettling.

"are you here to study or play roblox?" you muttered, your voice low, though sharp enough to catch their attention.

megan, still giggling, didn’t even look up. "huh? oh, right. studying. one sec—haerin just shot me in arsenal, i need a rematch."

you clenched your jaw without thinking, feeling something twist inside. "arsenal can't be that fun," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

but haerin noticed. she looked up, a smirk forming on her lips. "jealous?" she asked, her tone dripping with amusement.

"of you? as if," you snapped back, your eyes narrowing.

haerin’s smirk only widened. "sure, whatever you say."

meanwhile, megan was so wrapped up in the game, in the laughs, that she didn't catch the tension building up in the room. she nudged haerin again, laughing at some silly moment in the game. it was like they had known each other forever.

you, standing in the kitchen with arms crossed, could feel something boiling just beneath the surface. the irritation, the discomfort—it was building. but you couldn’t quite place why it bothered you so much.

it was just megan, just haerin, right?

and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being left out. it made no sense. it shouldn’t matter. megan and haerin were fine together.

but for some reason, watching them interact like that felt wrong.

the evening was supposed to be productive. megan had shown up again, arms full—notes in one hand, snacks in the other, and that same bright grin she always wore like it was stitched onto her face. and for once, she was actually prepared to work. but then, of course, it happened again.

her laugh echoed in the living room. "hey, haerin, did my outfit eat or did it eat?" she asked, bubbly and carefree like she didn’t have anything to study for.

you groaned under your breath, flipping open your book, as if pretending to focus could somehow override the noise bouncing off your walls.

this was becoming a routine. not the kind you liked. you were supposed to be tutoring megan. instead, you sat there, listening to megan and haerin giggling over roblox like they were middle schoolers at a sleepover.

you clenched your jaw, trying to force your focus back onto the pages in front of you. but the constant giggles and chatter coming from the two made it impossible to concentrate.

"megan, i swear, if you don’t stop in five minutes," you warned, fingers tightening around the edge of the book.

five minutes passed. you slammed the book shut a little harder than you meant to. the sound cracked through the apartment like a warning shot.

"forget it. i’m done," you grumbled, pushing yourself to your feet.

"wait, what?" megan called from the living room, her voice startled, but you didn’t answer. didn’t look. didn’t breathe. just walked straight to your room and closed the door behind you. not slammed. just firmly shut.

megan blinked after you, stunned. she turned to haerin, who was sipping from a soda can like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"is she okay?" megan asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.

haerin looked at her over the rim of her cup, her expression completely deadpan. "she's pouting."

"pouting??" megan's eyes widened. she looked back toward the bedroom door where reader had disappeared, her heart a little confused. pouting? like a child?

"yep," haerin confirmed, completely nonchalant. "you’re paying more attention to me than her. it’s kinda funny, actually."

megan’s face turned bright red almost instantly. "what? no, that’s not—i mean, i’m just playing! it’s roblox! you can’t even focus while playing roblox, right? it’s like a brainless game!*"

haerin just shrugged, unbothered. "whatever you say. but it’s pretty obvious that she’s annoyed. she’s been giving you the stink-eye whenever you laugh too loud."

"i—uh—what do i do?" megan asked, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. she felt a little nervous, unsure if she had done something wrong without realizing it.

"nothing," haerin replied simply, grinning mischievously. "just let her sulk for a bit. she'll get over it."

megan stood there awkwardly, now completely aware of the fact that reader was in their room pouting over something so small. it felt ridiculous to be worried, but she couldn’t help it. she felt bad, like she had done something wrong.

"i’ll go talk to her," megan said quickly, already moving toward the door.

"you do that," haerin called after her, still drinking her soda with an amused look on her face.

megan hesitated at the door, taking one last glance at haerin. "thanks for... uh... you know, telling me?" she mumbled, then quickly headed to reader’s room.

but you weren’t the type to just “get over it.” megan realised that the second she stood in front of your door, hand poised to knock, and found it locked.

"let me in, please! i’m sorry! i’ll study, i promise!" she whined, knocking like her life depended on it.

there was a long pause before the door creaked open, your expression looking like you were willing to kill someone right that second—megan just hoped she wasn't a potential victim. 

"you should be making that promise to yourself," you said, voice flat, "because you putting off studying doesn’t affect me in any way."

"why’d you storm off like that?" she asked, eyes big with concern.

you crossed your arms, stepping aside to let her in. "the two of you were being too loud while i was trying to get you to study," you replied, the words low and flat. "it’s kind of hard to have you focus when all you’re doing is laughing and... whatever other nonsense."

megan bit her lip, feeling an ache in her chest. she hadn’t meant to cause that kind of distraction. "oh..."

"just go ahead and sit down," reader added, opening the door wider and sitting onto their bed. "we can start the lesson when you’re ready.”

megan sat at the edge of the mattress, unusually quiet, hands fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. the air between you felt thick—like neither of you really knew how to bridge the gap that had formed.

finally, she cleared her throat. "hey, um... are you mad at me?"

you didn’t even look at her. "no."

"then let me ask again—why’d you storm off like that?" she said, her voice small but persistent.

you exhaled through your nose, pressing your fingers to your temple. "because you were supposed to be studying, not—" you stopped yourself, jaw tight.

she waited.

"not ignoring me," you finished, voice barely above a whisper.

the room went quiet. you could feel her staring at you, and god, you already regretted saying anything. you hated this feeling—the way your chest felt exposed, like she could see every thought in your head.

"sooooo," she grinned, eyes twinkling, "you were jealous."

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "get out."

she just laughed, bright and musical, the sound of someone who knew they had won. "what happened to the whole ‘i have to study’ thing?" she teased, standing up like she might actually leave.

"fine," you muttered. "you can stay. just shut up about it."

she plopped back down beside you with the biggest smile on her face, her heart hammering. you didn’t look at her, but you could feel the warmth creeping into your ears.

and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t really mind her being here at all.

you were walking to class with megan again, the morning air crisp and clinging to the edges of your hoodie sleeves. not that it mattered much—you weren’t wearing your hoodie.

megan was.

it hung a bit too big on her, sleeves drooping past her wrists, hood swallowing her whole if she tugged it up. but she wore it like it was made for her. like she belonged in it.

"your hoodies are literally the comfiest things in the world," megan said, voice muffled as she buried her chin into the collar. "like seriously, what fabric is this? cloud? dream? heaven?"

you shot her a sideways glance, unimpressed. "cotton."

she laughed, light and unbothered, her grin tugging at your chest in that way it always did now. "okay, ms. buzzkill. i'm just saying i should sleep over more often. this hoodie is the best part of my morning."

you gave her a deadpan glance. "you basically sleep over every night."

she didn’t even deny it. she nodded like that was the most obvious thing in the world. “yeah, and?”

you sighed through your nose. “do you even remember what your dorm looks like?”

“wow, so concerned for my well-being,” she said with a teasing smile. “should i be flattered?”

you shook your head. “i’m concerned because you might as well have moved in.”

megan laughed at that, the sound light and free. “lara’s actually started noticing. she keeps asking where i’ve been kidnapped to every night. i just tell her i’m at a friend’s.”

you stuffed your hands in your pockets. “funny. didn’t know i counted as a friend.”

“you don’t,” she shot back easily, nudging your arm with hers. “you’re more like a permanent grump with an open-door policy.”

“sounds about right.”

“still,” she added, voice softening just a bit, “you don’t exactly kick me out either.”

you stared ahead, silent.

“wait,” she said suddenly, eyes sparkling as she turned to you, “are you saying you like having me around?”

you shot her the coldest, deadliest side-eye you could muster. “i didn’t say anything. if anything, i’d say you’re over too often. it’s annoying.”

she just beamed, unaffected. “you never complain when i’m actually over though.”

“doesn’t mean i’m not silently suffering.”

“mmm,” she hummed, bumping your shoulder again, “but you love me.”

“since when did i say that?”

“you didn’t,” she grinned. “but if i was that annoying, you wouldn’t let me hang around so much. you’d lock the door. stop answering texts. ghost me.”

you rolled your eyes. “i do ghost you.”

“yeah, for like twenty minutes. then you reply with ‘what.’ that’s affection in your language.”

you didn’t respond right away. just kept walking, the campus around you gradually filling with other students. your silence made megan glance up at you, curious. 

you slowed your pace, glanced at her. the wind tousled her hair just enough to make her look like something out of a dream. you looked away before your brain could short-circuit completely.

then you said it—quiet, almost under your breath, but clear enough that she caught every syllable.

“okay then. point proven. maybe i do.”

megan blinked. then her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise. and you regretted it immediately. almost. not quite.

but the way she looked at you made something inside your chest squeeze, like it was folding into itself and blooming all at once.

you didn’t even realize you’d slowed to a stop again until she stepped closer, brushing your arm with hers. she was still wearing your hoodie. she still smelled like your laundry detergent. and she was still staring at you like you’d just rewritten her entire universe.

"you—" she started, but the words stumbled off her tongue.

you raised a brow, leaned in slightly. "me?"

her cheeks burned. she didn’t say anything. just stared at you for a second too long.

you glanced at her lips.

why the hell were they so—

nope. you looked away. cleared your throat. speed-walked three steps ahead like you hadn’t been caught absolutely staring.

megan caught up easily, giddy and way too smug. “guess this nonchalant nerd isn’t so nonchalant after all,” she sang softly.

“i will literally throw you into a bush,” you muttered.

she laughed again, bright and easy, like it didn’t even register that you’d said something vaguely threatening.

you reached the doors of your shared literature class and you held the door open for her without saying anything. megan bumped your shoulder as she passed, still smiling like she’d won a game you hadn’t agreed to play.

and maybe she had.

you didn’t have another class until the late afternoon, so after the literature lecture, you headed back to the apartment, your hoodie—which you stole back from megan—still warm from the walk and mind already craving silence. haerin was by the door, slipping on her shoes with one hand and holding a half-bitten granola bar in the other.

“thought you had class all day,” she said without looking up.

“not 'til three,” you replied, kicking your shoes off and dragging yourself past her.

she popped the last bite of granola into her mouth. “must be nice.”

“mm.” you headed to your room.

haerin paused before leaving, squinting at you over her shoulder. “by the way, megan left something in there. i think.”

“what?”

“some giant bag thing. dunno. probably her entire closet.”

you opened your door and yeah—there it was. a duffle bag in the corner, looking way too familiar. you stared at it, blinking slowly, before your phone buzzed.

meganmegan heyyy i think i left my dance stuff in ur room LOL sorry 😭😭 can i come get it?

you looked at the bag. then at the text. then back at the bag.

y/n i’ll bring it.

her response came instantly.

megan WHAT REALLY? ure actually the best omg thank u i love u forever

you sighed, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of your lips. of course she was dramatic. and of course you were going to bring it anyway.

the campus was buzzing again by the time you got back, students weaving in and out of buildings like ants on a mission. you hated being part of the chaos, but whatever. she forgot her stuff. it’s not like you were doing this because you wanted to see her or anything. you were just being responsible.

you found the dance building easily. the music was already echoing faintly from the open studio windows. when you peeked inside, it took two seconds for megan to spot you.

she ran over like a golden retriever, eyes wide, messy bun bouncing.

“you brought it!!” she beamed, practically snatching the bag from your hands. “you’re actually the best person alive.”

“you forgot it,” you said plainly.

“yeah but you brought it.”

behind her, a voice called out. “megan! hurry up! warm-ups are starting!”

megan turned briefly to wave back, then looked at you again, her face lit with gratitude. “seriously, thank you.”

you nodded, already stepping back to leave—until she suddenly hugged you. tight. warm. her arms wrapped around your middle like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you froze a bit. but you didn’t pull away.

“thanks again,” she said, pulling back slightly only to lean up and press a kiss to your cheek. “you’re the best.”

and then she was gone. running back to her studio with a quick wave, bag slung over her shoulder like it weighed nothing.

you just stood there.

the spot where her lips had touched your cheek buzzed like static. your brain stalled. you weren’t sure how to feel—because wow, that was something.

behind her, you caught sight of the voice from before—daniela, you think—pointing at megan with a wide grin.

“i’m so telling the group chat!” she yelled.

“shut up!” megan shouted back, smacking her in the arm, face redder than the dance floor mats.

you blinked, still rooted in place. you weren’t sure what that feeling was. it was warm. light. confusing. soft.

and you hated how much you didn’t hate it.

it was sometime in the late afternoon, that strange hour where the sun was lazy and the air sat too still. you should’ve been relaxing—maybe finishing up that one book for literature or taking a nap, anything except what you were doing now.

which was pacing.

you were pacing back and forth in the hallway like a maniac until you spun on your heel and stormed straight into haerin’s room without knocking. she was lying on her bed, phone in hand, legs swaying absently in the air. the glow of her screen lit up her blank expression.

“stop texting your girlfriend,” you announced dramatically, arms crossed. “i’m in a crisis.”

haerin didn’t even flinch. “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“yet,” you shot back.

“what’s the crisis this time?”

you dropped yourself onto her beanbag chair like a sack of unresolved feelings. “megan.”

haerin blinked. “shocking.”

“i’m serious. she just—she just barged into my life. i had walls. like really tall, impenetrable ones. and she just climbed them. no, she sprinted up them like some kinda golden retriever ninja hybrid.”

haerin snorted. “she did do that, yeah.”

“it was annoying at first,” you continued, flopping your head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. “she clung to me like a leech. always smiling, always talking, always asking me to hang out. i thought it’d stop after a few days. but it didn’t. and now... now i can’t even force myself to hate her. like, i tried. but i physically can’t.”

“so basically what i’m hearing is,” haerin said, her voice as dry as the desert, “you like megan.”

“well yeah, of course i like megan. why else would i tolerate her? she’s a really good friend.”

haerin turned her head slowly. “no. like. you like like her.”

you blinked. “...ohhh.”

haerin raised an eyebrow.

“oh,” you said again, but slower, softer. “oh god.”

your brain went somewhere else entirely. all at once it hit you—megan’s stupidly pretty face, her laugh, her clingy hugs, the way she beamed at you whenever you did the smallest thing for her. and then that kiss on the cheek. the one that left you frozen like a glitching NPC in the hallway, your soul ascending somewhere above campus.

“i’m doomed,” you whispered.

“you’re down bad,” haerin corrected.

“what do i do?” you sat up, sudden and desperate. “do i confess? do i write her a poem? do i bake her something? oh god, she has an allergy, what if i kill her by accident—”

“relax,” haerin cut in. “start small.”

“like...?”

“movie night. invite her over. keep it casual. flirty but chill. and if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get another kiss on the cheek.”

you looked at her like she’d just handed you a secret spell. “movie night.”

“that’s what i said.”

you didn’t even wait another second. phone out. fingers flying. heart racing. before your logic could ruin everything, you typed:

megan y/n hey. wanna come over for a movie night?

message sent. now all you could do was stare at the screen and wait. and maybe scream into haerin’s pillow if she didn’t answer fast enough.

sophia’s apartment was always home to the group. megan liked it here. it was clean in a way her dorm with lara never quite managed to be, and it had this warm, lived-in feel that made her relax the second she stepped inside. pillows on the couch. half-done puzzle on the coffee table. someone’s socks dangling off the armrest like a lazy flag of surrender.

manon was flopped on the rug like a dying starfish, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. daniela sat cross-legged beside her, braiding her own hair and unbraiding it five seconds later. lara had claimed the good chair, arms crossed, smirking whenever anyone said something stupid. sophia was busy cutting up fruit in the kitchen while giving passive-aggressive reminders about not staining her couch again.

and then there was yoonchae—curled up on the edge of the couch with a whole aura of “i’m the youngest and therefore the main character”. she was flicking through tiktok at an ungodly speed, snorting every now and then. she hadn’t said much, but everyone knew she was quietly storing ammunition for the next roast session.

megan sat between lara’s chair and daniela’s foot, hugging a pillow to her chest. she wasn’t really participating in the conversation—just nodding, humming, giving a tight little laugh here and there. her mind was somewhere else. or more accurately, someone else.

it didn’t take long for the group to catch on.

“okay, spill,” daniela said, pointing a hairbrush at megan like a sword. “you’ve been zoning out for the past twenty minutes. you’ve laughed at literally nothing twice.”

“and you haven’t said a single word about your mystery roommate,” manon added, stretching like a cat. “you’re never this quiet when it comes to her.”

megan blinked. “she’s not my roommate, i still room with lara.”

“whatever. you haven’t slept in your bed in weeks,” lara muttered.

“you okay?” sophia called from the kitchen.

megan opened her mouth to say yes. then stopped. then groaned loudly and collapsed backwards onto the floor like she was dying. 

“okay. okay, fine. i’ve been freaking out.”

“duh,” yoonchae said, not looking up from her phone.

“about y/n?” sophia guessed gently.

megan covered her face. “yes. ugh. yes. oh my god.”

“what happened?” lara asked, suddenly alert.

daniela gasped. “is this about the kiss??”

“shh!!” megan hissed, but it was too late.

every head in the room snapped toward her.

yoonchae looked up. “you kissed her?!”

“on the cheek!” megan said quickly, sitting up like that made it less scandalous. “it was just—like—a thank-you hug. and then it just... happened.”

“you kissed her on the cheek and dipped?” manon asked. “you drive-by kissed her??”

“it was instinct!!” megan cried.

daniela raised her hand like she was in school. “i was there. i saw it happen. full contact. zero hesitation. i felt like i was intruding.”

“oh my god,” lara muttered, rubbing her eyes. “and now you’re spiraling because...?”

“because she didn’t say anything!” megan groaned. “she just stood there. frozen. like a statue. and now it’s been, like, a week. and we’ve talked a little but not about that. and i don’t know if i overstepped or freaked her out or ruined everything—”

“megan,” sophia said, coming into the living room with a bowl of fruit. “sweetheart. breathe.”

megan took the tiniest breath possible and went straight back to panicking. “i like her, okay? like... like her. she’s funny in that really dry way. and when she’s kind, she’s so casually kind it makes me wanna explode. she held the door open for me once and i almost tripped. and i know she acts like she’s annoyed all the time, but i see her, y’know? like really see her. she’s not mean. she’s just... shy. and kind of grumpy. but soft. and nice. and i kissed her on the cheek and now i feel like maybe she thinks i crossed a line and—”

her phone buzzed. she cut herself off mid-rant and looked down.

y/n 😍😘🥰😛❤️🫶 y/n hey.  wanna come over for a movie night?

megan stared at it. her thumb hovered over the keyboard, typing: “i’d love to but i’m actually with the girls rn”

then she paused.

yoonchae leaned in from over her shoulder like the cryptid she was. “what’s that?”

megan jumped. “nothing—!”

yoonchae snatched the phone, eyes scanning the message. “are you seriously about to say no to this? oh my god, go. go hang out with your girlfriend.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!!” megan squeaked, reaching for her phone.

“yet,” lara said smugly.

sophia smiled knowingly. “you do want to see her, right?”

megan nodded slowly. “...yeah.”

“then go,” daniela said, already getting up. “we’ll survive a night without you.”

“barely,” manon added dramatically.

before megan could change her mind, daniela and yoonchae were literally herding her toward the front door.

“go. now.”

“be with your girlfriend!”

“again she’s not my girlfriend!!”

“whatever you say!”

the door slammed behind her with finality. a second later, it creaked open again and sophia peeked out, soft smile on her face.

“be safe,” she said.

megan blinked at her, heart racing. then she looked down at her phone, took a deep breath, and quickly typed away on her keyboard.

y/n 😍😘🥰😛❤️🫶 megan omw now :)

you were in the middle of shaking the pot on the stove when the knock came. butter sizzled against metal, cinnamon sugar catching in the warm air like a whisper. haerin had left earlier that evening, muttering something about "studying" at danielle’s place with a face that said otherwise. you didn’t question it. you just waved her off and went back to stressing over whether titanic was a bad movie choice.

the knock came again, followed by a familiar voice. “helloooo? it smells like movie night in here.”

you rolled your eyes, but your chest eased. “door’s open.”

megan stepped inside like she belonged there, like she always did lately. her eyes lit up at the scent. “popcorn? wow, what a warm welcome.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you said, scooping popcorn into two bowls. “i was gonna make this anyway.”

“sure you were,” she teased, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “what’s the occasion? did you want to see me that badly?”

you handed her the bowl without looking at her. “what if i say yes?”

she blinked, stunned for a second, then laughed a little too loud. “uh—well—wow. bold.”

you shrugged. “you asked.”

megan plopped down on the couch with a grin, still trying to play it cool. “where’s haerin, by the way? figured she’d be glued to the screen, mocking whatever we choose.”

“probably at her girlfriend’s,” you said offhandedly, grabbing your bowl of cinnamon popcorn and flopping beside her.

“girlfriend?? since when??” her jaw dropped.

you looked at her from the corner of your eye, half amused. “are you here to watch movies with me or catch up on haerin’s love life?”

she laughed again, quieter this time. “fine, fine. just curious.”

the two of you settled on a random movie—titanic, of all things. you landed on it after scrolling endlessly and letting megan say “stop” at the perfect moment. she claimed it was fate. you claimed she just had bad taste.

you argued over every scene. she called jack dumb. you defended him. she sniffled when rose said she’d never let go. you pretended not to notice.

you sat close, closer than usual. the popcorn bowls balanced on your laps. you refused to let her share yours—not that you were mean, but because hers was made without cinnamon, and yours was not. and megan, well…

“you’re allergic, remember?” you said when she reached over.

“oh right,” she mumbled, sheepish.

somewhere between the iceberg and the heart of the ocean, megan shifted beside you. you didn’t notice at first. you were still chewing on the last of the cinnamon popcorn, half watching the screen, half listening to her breathing next to you.

the movie kept playing, but neither of you were really watching anymore. not really.

titanic had faded into background noise—the swell of music, the distant crackle of a sinking ship, the quiet sniffles megan tried to hide every now and then. her body was turned slightly toward you now, knees tucked up onto the couch, shoulder brushing yours whenever she shifted. her bowl of normal popcorn was long forgotten on the coffee table. yours sat now empty in your lap, cinnamon-sweet and warm between your fingers. there was a strange silence between the two of you. not awkward, not really. just heavy. charged.

you didn’t know what to say. didn’t know why you were suddenly too aware of how close she was, how the lights from the movie flickered in her eyes like firelight. she looked soft. softer than usual. and quiet.

the room had gone still. titanic played on, something tragic unfolding on screen, but the only thing you could focus on was the girl beside you.

megan was quiet, her eyes flicking toward you every so often, like she was trying to gather the courage to say something. she hugged a throw pillow to her chest, but her knee kept bumping yours like her body couldn’t help reaching for you even if her words hadn’t caught up yet.

then, finally, she spoke.

"hey," she said, barely louder than a whisper. "can i tell you something?"

you gave her a slow look, guarded. "you’re gonna tell me either way.”

she smiled, a small one. kind of nervous. “true.”

you waited.

and then she said it. “i like you.”

your brain flatlined.

“what?” you blinked, like maybe you heard her wrong, like maybe you glitched and that wasn’t real.

megan wasn’t laughing. she wasn’t teasing or being dramatic. she just looked at you, wide-eyed and a little breathless, like the words had taken more out of her than she expected.

“i like you,” she said again. “like... more than just friends.”

your mouth went dry. you stared at her. the air shifted, everything inside you going still and bright and loud. megan’s eyes dropped to your mouth for a split second before darting back to your eyes.

“can i kiss you?” she asked, soft. “like... actually kiss you?”

your chest thudded once, hard.

your throat caught, but you still managed to nod—slow, unsure, but real. and that was all she needed.

she leaned in and kissed you.

it was gentle, a little hesitant, her fingers brushing your knee like she was afraid you’d vanish if she moved too fast. her lips were warm and soft and everything in you went quiet, stunned stupid in the best and worst way. and then she pulled back.

your eyes stayed closed for half a second longer than they should’ve. when you opened them, megan was already watching you, waiting. you blinked. hard.

“…dude.”

she looked nervous again. “what? too fast?”

“no, it’s just…” you stared at your popcorn bowl, then at her mouth. “you’re allergic to cinnamon.”

megan tilted her head, puzzled. “…okay?”

“i was eating cinnamon popcorn.”

“ohhh,” she said, dragging the sound out like a revelation. then she smiled, mischievous and smug. “no wonder your lips tasted like cinnamon.”

you flushed. actually flushed. your ears felt like they were on fire. “don’t say stuff like that.”

she laughed, clearly proud of herself, and her eyes dipped to your mouth again. it was so obvious she was about to lean in for another kiss—you could feel it in the air, the way she was looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in the universe.

you held a hand up between you, flustered and very much panicking. “no—hey—you should not be kissing me right now. i had cinnamon.”

megan just grinned. leaned a little closer. “whatever, party pooper.”

and then she kissed you anyway.

[archives-of-a-hidden-writer]

Something Else Entirely

Thanos / Choi Su-Bong X Nonchalant!Cold!Reader

》Typing... |

》 [Entry No.005 - Something Else Entirely]|

》 Loading Archive Entry "Something Else Entirely" |

》 Location of Entry: Archivial's |

》 Tip: Feel free to support the Archiver |

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》 Notice: Cataloged Entry, Part: I (II) III IV

》 Summary: Where, somehow, Thanos kept choosing you over his others without hesitation more often in the 3rd game, which led to confusion and feelings to be said. |

》 Warnings: SPOILERS TO EPISODE 5 / GAME 2 AND 3, Change of story(Both during possibly after the entry), Reader is player '457', Thanos chose to recruit you instead of Se-mi and Min-su in the 2nd game, Blood, Violence, Mentions of Drug Use, Spilled Confession(He screamed it out), Shouting, Swearing, slight not-so nsfw(PDA), Reader chose 'x' twice. |

》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

The next day in this damned place seemed to have passed by quickly as you and other players were now being transferred and walked towards the second game. Of course, this meant yesterday's voting system ended with continuing to the second game.

You knew everyone here had decided to play the games due to their debts, but unlike them, you didn't have that much debt in you to surpass the millions like the, but you dislike the thought of spending your hard-earned money on debts you barely even recall now. So the rounded-up cash after the first round was closely enough for you, making you choose to leave the games immediately.

But, of course, that didn't happen as you all entered a new room you deciphered as where the 2nd game would occur.

As the doors you all entered from closed, the first instruction was announced. To find a team in groups of 5.

Being the unphased person you are, you just waited for someone to ask you if you can join their team. As everyone scrambled to find people to join them, you walked around the area, awaiting for someone to ask you to join them.

Of course, that happened as someone shouted your number.

"457!" A voice called out from behind. You turned to see player 230, giving you a wave. You raised an eyebrow and asked, "Want me to join you guys?" You said, turning your full body torwards them.

Player 230 nodded with a big smile, clearly ignoring the 'x' patch on your jacket. "Sure is, do you know who I am?" He replied, pointing at himself as he asked the question. You raised your eyebrow again at this, "The infamous rapper, Thanos?" You answered, earning a thumbs up from Thanos and his two friends before freestyle rapping who he was.

After that, he asked for your name, in which you gave him a nickname instead, not wanting to give out anything that much yet. He then patted my shoulder and winked at me. "Don't worry, baby. I'll protect you," he said, giving me a finger heart. I just scoffed at his action, turning away as I noticed there were only four members. But soon after that, one of Thanos' friends found another player to join.

The announcer later spoke, telling everyone about the 2nd game's mechanic, the six-legged pentathlon. The mini-games given were said out, and you looked over to your teammates as they listened before settling on who would play which game. Luckily for them, you played gonggi in the past, so that game is yours to play once your team is up.

"Okay, you good with gonggi?" Player 124, which you now know as Nam-gyu, asked, earning a nod from you. They then started picking out their own games to choose and play later.

■■■

"Goddammit, a lot of people survived," Nam-gyu groaned as we noticed another batch of players enter the room again. All five of you finished the 2nd game, now waiting for every player to either lose or win.

You hummed in return as the thought last group entered the dormitory. You leaned back into the bunk's metal stands, deep in thought. However, it was soon diminished by Thanos slinging an arm across your shoulders.

He said your nickname and praised you for your game earlier, "You did amazing there!" Thanos exclaimed before imitating how you did in the 2nd game.

Soon, the 2nd game came to an end as the pink guards entered the room once more to announce the new amount.

You looked up at the piggy bank in the ceiling before darting back onto the screen above the pink guards, the price of money doubling its amount. To you, it was far more than enough for you.

■■■

"457, just one more round, 'kay?" Nam-gyu said, shaking you by your shoulders as he spoke. He took notice of the red patch, but you pushed him off, your mind had already decided from the start.

Thanos, of course, noticed this and stood between you and Nam-gyu, earning a confused look from Nam-gyu, but deciding on shrugging it off as Thanos being high on his ass again.

But little by little, you've noticed how close Thanos was to you, even back at the 2nd game, he sat close to you, and even during the games, he attempted to have a hand on you from behind.

You, at first, thought of it as him on his drugs, but soon, you started thinking otherwise. And those thoughts continued further as he seemingly blocked you off from Nam-gyu's persuasions despite wanting the same thing.

The voting commenced with player 001 being the first to vote, who chose 'x' this time around. Other players were soon called one-by-one.

As it continues around the halfway mark, player 001 suddenly disrupts the players, causing a scene throughout players that inevitably pushes players to play one more round, adding things like the games are for kids and it's that easy.

You just groaned at this scene, knowing well it will not end well for those who chose 'x'.

■■■

"... Shit..." you cursed out as you pressed 'x' with the voting barely reaching the 'o', making the games continue once again.

Of course, those who chose 'o' cheered in joy, including Nam-gyu. Meanwhile, Thanos slightly frowned, you still chose to choose to leave the game already. Knowing his gaze as well as Nam-gyu's, you decide to instead join those who also chose 'x'.

Meanwhile, on Thanos' side, Nam-gyu cursed at you as they watched you enter the bunks of the 'x's.

"... That bitch," Nam-gyu said, somehow earning a back slap from Thanos, "Oi, don't talk to them like that..." Thanos replied to him, yet still slightly upset how you didn't choose the same as them. Nam-gyu gave another look of confusion towards Thanos, he thinks he was acting a lot stranger than before, even if the excuse or reason was the drugs, it was still a little too out of character of him to act this way towards another player.

As you all do your things, the announcer sounds in to say night's out in half an hour, cue players to go, or find a relatively good bed in the bunks to sleep in.

You found a relatively good one in the middle, not too close to the middle but not too close to the walls as well as it was right next to one of the staircases in the bunks.

Soon, the lights started to dim, with players starting to cosy up under the covers of their bunks. You, as well, cosy up under the covers and sleep, escaping the world for a little while.

■■■

Later on, you stirred for a moment as you hear footsteps towards you. You were close to the stairs, so that's that, but you couldn't help but feel like the person was coming towards you.

And then, you heard someone call your nickname, "Oi, baby, you awake?" You recognised the voice as Thanos. You groaned at him in return, "I am now, thank you very much," You retorted as you turned away from him, "Leave me alone, I know you wanted something because I chose 'x'..." You added, noticing how he always screamed for 'o' in the votes.

He scoffed at that, if only you could see the smitten look on his face as he shook his head, "Not about that, but why did you leave our group, huh?" He asked, lightly shaking your shoulder, you groaned again and yanked his hand off.

"Really? An 'x' with four 'o's, you fucking high right now? And get back to you bunk, they might notice and eliminate your drugged ass," you retorted, slightly turning towards him before you noticed him moving towards the bed above yours and looking back at you, "There, better?" He asked, elbows propping him up as he placed his head on his palms. He was lucky with the darkness hiding the smitten look on him.

You scoffed at him before attempting to go back to sleep.

As you do so, Thanos kept looking at you. Sure, he may be getting questions from his friends the next day, but did he care? Something about you kept pulling him back to you, not like what he felt towards the dead 196. No, it was entirely different. Like the drugs he took, something he can't fully get away from, but unlike the drugs, it was something he would be unable to let go of.

■■■

The next day came by, and you awoke to see Thanos who actually slept on the bunk above yours. Damn, you thought to yourself, thinking whether this man has something towards you or he'd just like this towards new friends.

The time went by, and now you and the rest are being walked to the 3rd game with Thanos, of course, tailing behind you. Again, you were weirded out by this as his friends were somewhere else in the lines.

As you all entered the new place, a large area with 50 rooms surrounding it with a higher platform in the middle.

The 3rd game is about to begin.

■■■

"Going to leave us again, boss?" Nam-gyu called out to Thanos, approaching the purple-haired man. Two rounds in, Nam-gyu took notice of how Thanos' first instinct after each round was to find you as you always try and find other groups than theirs.

Thanos ignored Nam-gyu and continued to look for you. Then he did. He immediately bearhugged you and ruffled your hair.

He cheered your name, saying how glad he was that you're alive like him. You replied his actions by a pat of the back, continuing to be weirded out by the noticable difference in dynamics between how he acts around you and his friends.

Soon, the carousel started to slowly spin again, along with the same music to sang out.

"3!" The announcer said. The player then started to find players to complete the said amount. You immediately got into one and ran towards one of the rooms, not noticing Thanos calling for you. With that, Thanos kicked one of his friends out before screaming towards one of the rooms.

The half a minute timer came to an end, followed by rounds of shots and screams of those who didn't manage to get into a room.

■■■

"Fucking hell..." You cursed out, after another round, the players remained decreased as the 6th round of the game commenced, the platform below spinned slowly.

You were already exhausted from all the adrenaline and running from the previous rounds and games. You hoped this was the final round.

Meanwhile, Thanos kept a close eye on you, blatantly ignoring Nam-gyu once more, not wanting to hear another avertion coming from his friend. Of course, he noticed your exhaustion, and deep down is concerned. Even under all those drugs, he had a concern for you.

"2!" The announcer said, earning you mentally cursing at it. 50 rooms and over 100 players. If you won't die due to not being able to find a partner, then you might as well be eliminated for the inability to secure a room.

About to give out, you felt someone tug on you by the wrist and pull you out of the platform, followed by Nam-gyu's voice screaming out for Thanos. You looked to see the man, Thanos, holding your wrist as you both ran towards the rooms.

"The fuck- Hey!" You called out, but it was unheard as other players ran to get into their own rooms.

"What the fuck-!?" You cursed out, trying to free your wrist as you both entered one of the rooms. He finally lets go of you, "The hell is really wrong with you?!" You cursed out, "You've acting weird this entire time. The hell are you on 'cause that's not drugs," you added, extremely confused and weirded out by his actions. He remained silent. Only the sounds of players outside could be heard.

He mustered something but you couldn't quite hear it, "What was that?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, I said what-" "Because I love you for fuck's sake!" Thanos let out, grabbing your shoulders and shaking, "God, every since! Just... Something in you are different, and it makes me insane!" He said.

Like the drugs he took, something he can't fully get away from, but unlike the drugs, it was something he would be unable to let go of.

You stared at him in slight shock, "What...?" You asked, wondering if you heard that right.

"Dammit, I fucking love you, alright? You're fucking intoxicating," he replied, lowering his head as if ashamed of the words that spilled his mouth.

Finally understanding his words, you tapped his cheek, making him look back at you before giving a small smile at him.

Forgetting the world around us, the door unlocked as the game finished. Slightly relieved at this, you looked back at Thanos before giving him a peck on the lips, ignoring the slight tang of iron from the blood that splattered on his face from previous games.

You exited the room after that, leaving the jaw-dropped man in the room as you attempted to blend back in the remaining players.

■■■

As your entered the dormitory once again, you felt someone tackle you once more, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he pulled you close.

"You shouldn't have left me like that, baby!" He whined, pulling you towards his original place in the bunks on the other side. You slightly felt a bit out of place considering your patch and the players surrounding you, but Thanos soon pushed those feelings away as he proudly exclaimed you at his friends, earning glances at Nam-gyu that speaks "So that's why he was acting like that," before nodding.

Soon, another voting would commence, but now getting close to Thanos, you wondered if you could continue this without him dying because of another game.

Now you have another reason to leave the games entirely.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

》 Archiver's Notes: As the winner of the voting log with no more than 2% more than another option, a continuation entry is done for the chaotic purple-haired man, Thanos.

[mrsackermannx]

chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.

so, he does just that.

he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.

sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.

it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“

sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”

a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.

“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”

“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.

he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.

he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.

it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.

“oh…him? think they’re married?”

“i don’t think so.”

that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”

you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”

sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.

no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.

“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“

“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”

the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.

sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.

“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“

“miss-“

“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”

your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.

now you see him, huh?

your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”

your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.

sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.

you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“

the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.

he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”

his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.

you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”

“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.

“oh?”

“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”

“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”

“seafood special last month?”

“yes, and your name?”

for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”

“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”

[hummingbird24220]

Love at First Punch - Various!One-Piece x Reader - Chapter One - Introductions

Hello! This is one of my (many) One Piece drabble kind of fics ive had in the ol noggin for a while. Not really any plot, more of a constant theme - Fluff and fun type stuff. Innuendos and flirting. Going to try and update every Monday, Wednesday and Friday :3

________________________________________________

The battlefield was chaos. A typical town-busting bar brawl turned full-blown street fight. It started with a spilled drink, a few insults, and a poorly timed grope that earned some sleazebag a broken nose. But now? Now fists were flying, chairs were breaking, and in the midst of it all—laughing, dodging, and deliberately taking hits—was you.

A particularly large brute swung his meaty fist at you. You could have dodged it easily, but where was the fun in that? You braced, let the impact land square on your cheek, and staggered back with a sharp inhale.

"Oof—" You bit your lip. "That one had some weight to it. Nice."

The man paled. Most people would be on the ground crying, but you? You were smiling. Your eyes were gleaming, breath a little hitched from the pure thrill of it.

"W-what the hell?" he muttered, stepping back as if you were the one to be afraid of.

"Oh, don't stop now," you teased, rolling your shoulders. "You've got a good arm. Ever consider putting that to better use?"

His face twisted in confusion before a chair came flying from the side, narrowly missing you. Someone else in the fight hadn't even been aiming, but that didn't matter. You caught the wooden leg midair and snapped it over your knee, laughing.

That's when you noticed them.

The Straw Hats.

They were at a table on the far side of the tavern, watching the brawl with a mix of amusement and disbelief. The swordsman—Roronoa Zoro—had his arms crossed, looking vaguely entertained but unimpressed. Nami was already rubbing her temples like she wanted no part of this, while Usopp was practically hiding behind Sanji. The cook, meanwhile, had his cigarette hanging from his lips, brows raised in what might have been intrigue.

And then there was Luffy.

His wide, excited grin matched yours. He was enjoying the show.

You winked at him before dodging another sloppy punch and slamming your fist into someone's gut. They folded like a sack of potatoes.

Luffy's grin widened.

"Oi, this one's kinda funny," he said, leaning toward Zoro. "She's just letting them hit her!"

Zoro snorted. "Yeah, and enjoying it way too much."

"Maybe she's just got a lot of endurance," Sanji mused, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Oh, I've got endurance alright," you purred, catching another punch with your palm. "You wanna test it out?"

Sanji choked. Usopp wheezed. Even Zoro's eyebrow twitched.

Before Sanji could splutter a response, the last guy standing swung a metal pipe at your side. You could have dodged—should have dodged—but instead, you turned into it, letting the impact land with a satisfying thud. You let out a happy laugh.

The room went silent.

Nami dropped her face into her hands. "Oh my god."

Usopp looked traumatized. "Did she just—"

Sanji had gone completely red, somewhere between scandalized and fascinated.

Even Zoro looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or leave.

Luffy, though?

He cackled.

"HA! You're weird—I like you!" he said, pointing at you.

You grinned, shaking off the hit like it was nothing. "Oh? Does that mean you'll be buying me dinner first?"

Luffy tilted his head. "Huh?"

Sanji smacked a hand over his eyes. "Please. For the love of all that is holy. Stop talking."

But you only laughed, stretching your arms over your head, feeling the ache settle in. Damn, that had been fun. The last poor guy standing was out cold, and the brawl had fizzled out, people too distracted by your antics to keep throwing punches.

You turned back to the Straw Hats, planting your hands on your hips. "So, what's a crew like yours doing in a place like this?"

Luffy tilted his head, still grinning. "Looking for strong people to join our crew."

"Oh?" Your eyes gleamed. "That so? What's the pay like?"

Luffy blinked. "Uh... food?"

You hummed, pretending to think it over. A pirate crew, a fight-happy captain, and a ship full of interesting people? Oh, this had potential.

"Well," you purred, "if you're willing to give me some test runs first, I might consider it."

Usopp dropped his drink.

Sanji looked ready to either die or propose.

Zoro just sighed. "We're gonna regret this."

Luffy, however, just grinned.

You had a feeling this was the beginning of something very fun.

[filmtv2022]

Our Time Is Limited: Part IV (18+)

Masterlist

Part III/Next

Pairing: Geta x Reader and Platonic!Caracalla x Reader

Synopsis: With Caracalla falling deeper into this illness, Geta and Reader are yet again forced to confront the hardships of caring for him. Torn emotionally, Reader finally allows herself to find comfort in Geta, admitting the depth of the feelings she harbors for him. The pair find comfort in each other both physically and emotionally, neither one is fully whole without the other.

Warnings: SMUT(like a lot of it compared to the other chapters)+ wounds/wound care + use of opium as medicine

A/N: I'm alive! Work and illness took me the fuck out! I'm so sorry this took a while, but I think it turned out really well! I had to let it cook for a while and did a decent bit of rewriting, but I think it paid off. I love these guys so much! We aren't quite done with this story! As always, I apologize for any mistakes.

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Minutes slipped away, trapped in Calla’s crushing grip. The ache in your muscles licked in heavy lines of flame; your injured shoulder throbbed with the effort it took to keep him steady. Rocking side to side, you felt Geta’s hand slip from yours, stealing your attention from the man who remained crumpled in your lap. Caracalla’s head now rested on you, allowing your gentle fingertips to brush away the tangles in his fiery locks and trace over the mottled expanse of his cheek. The rosy color he’d painted there early had smudged as he pressed his face further into you, tears streaming down in ugly rivers. His garbled words flowed in pitiful whimpers over and over, telling of the fears that ran deep in his soul. 

Untethered, Geta struggled to his feet before clumsily moving across the room. The soft clink of glass against glass drifted through the air. Rhythmic footfalls marked his return to your side. Without question, Geta reached for his brother, sitting in the space beside you, he helped Caracalla sit, untangling his limbs from your body. Geta’s words were gentle and hesitant as he tried to gain Calla’s attention. 

“Calla,” Geta waited, watching the unmoored drift of his brother’s eyes as he fought to focus, “It’s me. You look tired. I think it is time for some rest, hmm?” 

Caracalla nodded weakly in agreement, incapable of speaking. Geta continued outwardly unfazed by his brother’s state. “Good, that’s good. Now, let’s get you into bed. You need rest and medicine.” 

Once again, Calla nodded, permitting Geta to help him from the floor. The pair lumbered awkwardly toward the bed, the covers still thrown back from the previous night’s slumber. Now free to move, you stood and followed closely behind, watching with rapt attention as Geta cared for his brother. Gentle hands removed the crown of laurels, placing it to the side where it would be neither ruined nor harmful. Of his own accord, Calla sat upon the edge of the mattress, staring up at Geta as though he’d hung the moon and stars. Wanting to help, and needing to do something, you closed the distance between you, taking the space beside Geta. 

Your movement caught their focus, drawing both of them to look at you. Bright crimson flowed along the curve of your cheek and neck, once again painting your skin with gore. A damning look of anger flashed in Geta’s eyes before falling back to his brother. All the while, Calla remained centered on you. Though no words passed his lips, it was easy to see how desperately he ached you to be close. 

Timid steps brought you nearer as you reached for the vial that remained in Geta’s hand. With your palm outstretched, he placed it carefully in your grasp. The brittle hold of your nerves left your hands shaking, but you knew what had to be done. Taking the space that Geta had once inhabited before Calla, you cupped the emperor’s face, your thumb swept in feather-light arcs earning a weak whimper at your touch. 

“It is time for your medicine, yes?” You waited for his silent acquiescence, which you received. The pop of the stopper coming loose met you, even as the hum of blood rushing against your eardrums threatened to drown out the rest of the world. The heave of your chest gave way to the pit of guilt that turned your stomach. Sensing your hesitation, Geta reached for you, his hand falling to the low of your back. 

Cautiously, you brought the vial of sedative to Caracalla’s lips, and he drank without question, trusting you beyond measure. With the very last drop consumed, you stooped to press your lips to Calla’s forehead. The heaviness of his lids from the medicine, paired with your touch, had his eyes fluttering shut, but he had not yet succumbed to the full effects. The heady scent of opium drifted over your senses as your brow rested upon his. Not ready to let you go, Caracalla’s weak grip reached for your wrists, keeping you close. His touch was barely there, nothing of the violence from before remained.

“Rest.” The whisper of your breath fanned over his countenance, soothing the edges of his frayed nerves. Helping him lay back upon the pillows, you covered his body with the plush cushion of a blanket. The faint press of your lips ghosting over Calla’s left you feeling unbalanced, the gesture was one of habit, but also of remorse. Seeing him like this… it never became easier. 

Free to retreat from the emperor’s bed chamber, you moved unspeaking away from Geta who had fallen into silent step behind you. Shame and anxiety flashed hot in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs and burning the bridge of your nose. Emotion clung like daggers in your throat cutting the erratic inhales you scrambled to take. Using the pressure of your hand against the wall for support. Caracalla’s pitiful murmurs troubled your mind, his words ran on a terrifying loop slicing with their barbs. 

‘You’re mine, whore… lost… lost… I can’t find…’ The juxtaposition of a bloodthirsty emperor hell-bent on claiming what was and had always been his property and the child-like desperation for comfort turned your stomach. Bile coated the back of your throat forcing you to stop in your tracks. Your vision tunneled, black crowding the edges, dotting out the world as sweat coated your clammy skin. 

The cool of the stone on your burning temple kept you upright. Your good shoulder supported the entirety of your weight. An incessant ringing replaced all other sounds, moving in tandem with inky darkness that blotted out reality. Unable to hold yourself any longer, only the sudden presence of another kept you from falling. Geta scooped you into himself, the dark crimson of the sanguine fluid running from your still-fresh wounds stained his front and soaked into the gold adornments of his robes. Struggling to keep you standing, Geta pressed you back into the wall, his sturdy frame flush with yours. 

Tucked tightly into his chest, Geta’s breath drifted through the fine wisps of hair along your temple, “You are safe… you are safe.” He spoke as much to himself as to you. 

“Calla-” The violent crack of your voice shuddered throughout your body, “… he’s-” 

“I know.” Geta’s tentative fingertips trembled as he cupped the back of your head, guiding your face to look at him. The slice upon your cheek oozed fresh lines of gore, having bumped roughly against his front, adding to the flow from the crescent moons along your chin and highlighting the progression of black and purple surrounding it and those that marked your throat. 

“You also need rest. And your wounds… you mustn't return to him tonight. Please.” His plea was hoarse, weary, and worn. Tentatively, his mouth met yours, the tang of iron filled his nose. The brush of his chapped skin against your own faltered the beat of your heart. A flare of emotion in your chest tugged you away from his soothing touch. 

“And how would care to explain that to him? He is beyond reason, Geta. Only glimpses of his former self claw their way to the surface now, and their stay is fleeting and inconsistent. Luck and nothing more returns fragments of him to us.” Pressing your palm flat to his chest, you traced the edging of fine thread. “And what of the arena? There is no avoiding the necessity of my presence by his side in public. You heard what he said, and I was merely across the room. Lost. No matter how far into his sadistic obsession Caracalla may descend or how others may perceive the state of my being, he must be cared for. Gossip already flies quickly in the wind, it would be all-consuming at my absence. Not because those around you care for my presence but for the sheer fact that Calla’s grip on reality extends only so far as the pair of us… and even then…” 

“What is it you truly fear?” Quick to pick through your stealthy words, Geta latched on to the hesitation that flowed from you.  

“ Geta… the cracks… they must never show.” The emperor’s honeyed eyes gazed upon you, fear and despair in equal measures tugged at the corners, emphasizing the watery nature of his stare. The young boy, forced to assume a role far too grand for him to handle alone, beaten and bruised by those he adored the most stood before you begging silently. 

“I know… I know…” He whispered, his brows pinched, the lines between them deep as the corners of his plush lips fell. The lush weight of your thumb brushed along Geta’s jaw, keeping him from falling away from this moment entirely. Blood trickled down the column of your neck, drawing his eyes. Mesmerized by the pattern left upon your skin, Geta reached for you, his fingertips tracing alongside the ruddy lines that muddy your person. Your chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, the bleary look in your eyes gave him the strength to speak. Working with a shaky breath, he clung to the only measure of normalcy he could find, you. 

“Rest. You need rest and medicine.” Geta lifted his weight from your frame, his hand falling to the hollow of your back to guide you, but he made it only a half step before your resistance held fast. 

“You should not have to traverse this alone. It is not good for you.” You reached for him, finding an anchor in the front of his robes. The gold and jewels circling his neck delicately clanked with the sway of his stop, leaving them askew. Without thought, you fixed the chain, righting the adornment so that it fell perfectly across the collar. The solid curve of muscle beneath the fabric transfixed you, body and soul. Cool metal brushed along your arm as Geta explored the sea of exposed skin, entranced by the flutter of gooseflesh that formed in his wake. 

Tender and hesitant, Geta held the curve of your neck, leaning in close. Warm breath drifted over the shell of your ear as he spoke, “We will postpone the games for today, the public can wait, but more importantly… I am not alone. You are with me wherever I go. You heal me and haunt me, but there is no universe in which I will ever be truly parted from you.” His free hand reached for yours, drawing it to the space above his beating heart. 

The pair of you clung to each other in the empty cavern of the palatial hall. The enormity of his touch burned you. A white-hot chain seared the empty pit of your stomach. The murmur of your own words threaded with Geta’s, churring and biting on their repeat… I am never truly gone, Calla. You can always find me, here, even in the dark. I am not alone. You are with me wherever I go.

Your promises collided, now more an omen of despair than a hopeful plea for each other. The burn across the bridge of your nose and strangled sob in your throat sent hot tears flowing down your cheeks. Geta’s vow held danger in its sincerity, for the knowing clash of desires and reality ripped invisible wounds. Silently, and more aware than he cared to admit of the war battling in your heart, Geta held you close. Eyes wide and worried, he buried your countenance in his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder giving him a sharp view of the hall that unfurled around you. No sounds besides the soft gasps of your emotions and the comforting mumble of sweet nothings that tumbled from his lips could be heard. But no matter the emptiness of the space, Geta couldn’t shake the fear of prying eyes… of the cracks that widened with every beat of his heart. 

Carefully guiding you toward his chambers, Geta supported the bulk of your weak and weary body. Tucked away in the privacy of his room, he stopped you just short of the enticing expanse of silken sheets. His ringed fingers traced the pleats of your stola before taking your hand in his own. Brushing over the sensitive skin beneath the bands of gold that adorned your wrist, he hesitated, letting your palm fall away before moving to map the curve of your hips. Journying further, he teased the swell of your breasts unable to curb the base desires that always flowed between the pair of you. He may have felt poorly for giving into that part of himself were it not for the look of fire that consumed you. The sharp inhale he earned from you at the feeling of his calloused fingertips added fuel to the always-raging blaze. His coppery locks dipped, and the crown of laurels glinted in the sunlight, as he mouthed at your chest, luxuriating in the taste of you. 

He leaned in, gripping tightly to your back. The pressure of his lips on your body zipped along the arch of your spine. Not wanting to fall, you reached for him, threading through the waves at the nape of his neck. Too soon he pulled away, his eyes blown and searching but serene. You chased him on instinct, searching, despite the exhaustion that crowded your vision. 

His lips glistened, alluring and beautiful as he spoke, “Later. For now, let me tend to your wounds.” You nodded in resigned agreement. Geta accepted your soundless answer, using the hold on your waist to settle you upon the edge of the bed.

His shoulders heaved, shuttering with his exhale. “No more.” He whispered more to himself than to you. With as much care as he could muster, and fueled by his desire to keep you safe, he cleaned each of your wounds, coating them with honey to soothe the sting. The press of him into the space before you kept the unsteadiness of the moment ever present. Brushing loose hairs behind your ear, Geta rested his palm on your unmarred cheek, noting the warm flush that colored the skin. You nuzzled into his touch, not trusting your words. 

Unrelenting marble greeted him as he knelt to meet you. From here the red rims of your eyes churrned the empty pit of his stomach. His wandering hands traced delicate patterns from your ankle toward the bend of your knees before placing a kiss on your inner thigh. The cracked tangle of his words snapped the stillness that had settled between you. 

“Do you remember that day by the river?” The ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his lips at the memory. “It was just the three of us. The sky was perfect, the sun bounced off the water… He was so happy… you both were. Actually happy. I think that was the last time, and I will never forget it.” A sadness drifted back over him, replacing the momentary good with reality once more. 

“And you?” Geta’s brows pulled together confused by your question. “Were you happy?” 

“I wanted to be… I-I tried to be,” he confessed with reservation. Guilt pinned his shoulders to his ears. 

“What if I told you that you were wrong?” You protested gently. The look on Geta’s face kept you going, “I am not speaking of you wanting or trying to be happy, I believe that. I’m talking about it being the last time.” 

“How do you mean?” Watery eyes met your own, eager to hear, and desperate for the thoughts in your mind. 

“Geta, you make me happy, you always have. Even when we… even when things were different. You were a light, guiding me back. I cannot explain it. I have always loved your brother, he put me back together when I was broken. But you… you are my salvation.”

Dropping to your knees, you held his brow to yours, “I-I… the joy I feel when I am with you… it scalds me. I fought it for so long, wishing it would fade so that I could absolve myself of the guilt I held for feeling it, but it never did. Every time we are together my love for you roots itself deeper in my soul. We are intertwined, where I end you begin. I burn for you.” 

Geta broke. His sturdy frame was fragile in your arms, trembling with the enormity of what you’d confessed. The emperor’s arms wrapped around your body, hauling you close so that only the fabric of your clothing separated the pair of you. Its presence was an unwanted barrier between your souls. Struggling under his weight, you sank back onto your calves, taking him with you. Feeble and weary, you sagged under him.

Blindly, he reached for the pins that held your stola together. With deft skill, he removed them, tossing the metal away from you ensuring it posed no threat to your well-being. They clattered quietly, but the sound barely registered. Slowly, he guided the layers of material to the floor leaving you exposed before him. There was simply no hiding the way the sight of you affected him. 

Lust blown, the amber hue of his eyes was almost imperceptible, replaced by the broad expanse of his pupils. Geta’s lips crashed with yours, hungrily devouring your gasp. He palmed at your breasts, pinching your nipple between his fingers roughly, earning him a desperate moan. The sly twist of his lips against your neck as he laid a line of fire from the shell of your ear to the base of your throat was thrilling. Feeling you shutter beneath his touch, Geta dropped a hand from your chest, raking over the curve of your waist and hip before dipping between your plush thighs. With practiced skill, he found his mark, brushing tender strokes over your clit, collecting your slick as he listened to the whimpering pants that left you. 

Pushing further onto your knees, you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply at the root. This new angle had you reeling. A rumbling groan of his pain and pleasure reverberated through your skin as he continued to mouth at the swell of your breasts. Nipping keenly at your skin, he relished the hiss of breath through your teeth. Your free hand wandered, tracing the inner line of this thigh, causing him to shake as your touch finally fell to his hardening cock. With light pressure, you teased, drawing fragile lines along his length. At your ministrations, his hips bucked into your hand begging for more, which you readily gave.

Sliding the hem of his clothes out of the way, you trailed over his thighs, noting the way the muscles jumped beneath your fingertips. Higher and higher, you worked, finally reaching what you desired. Carefully, you wrapped your hand around him, using your thumb to work over the tip, collecting his arousal as you went. A choking huff erupted from Geta; the sound of it sent lust flooding over your nerves. Lifting his head to meet yours, you swallowed his groans, the steady rhythm of your wrist drawing him closer to oblivion. You could feel the way he twitched in your hand, each pulse and rush of blood sent his head spinning. 

All the while his hand never ceased. Instead, he traversed lower, sinking his broad fingers into your folds. The wet sound of him working into you moved lewdly through the room. 

“More,” you pled pathetically. Geta responded without question, pressing into you and curling his fingers, hitting the perfect spot inside you. Electricity rocketed through your body, pleasure pooling low in your stomach.  Holding steady, he felt your walls quiver around him, the spasms wracked your body as you placed your weight into his arms. Your grip on him faltered, telling him just how close you were to the edge. Not yet ready for the moment to be over, Geta pulled away, leaving you empty and clambering for more. 

“Bed. Now,” He ordered, his voice low and commanding. The pair of you stood on shaky legs, using the other for support. Free of your clothing, you pawed at his, pushing the fabric from his shoulders as best you could. Walking you back into the mattress, Geta lowered you onto your back before standing to remove his garments. Exposed to the ever-present chill in the air, he could not help the shiver that shuddered through him, but it was the dark look in your eyes that had him truly reeling. 

Taking his time, he pressed a knee into the bed, slotting a strong leg between yours as he lowered down on top of you. You reached for him, pulling his lips to you. The sweet taste of wine remained on his tongue, delicious and intoxicating. Vying for control, he pressed the thick of his knee against your core, giving you something to grind upon, your hips moved haphazardly in search of the pressure you so desperately wanted. 

Once again, he pulled you close to the edge, the shallow breaths and heady moans that tumbled from you were perfect in every sense of the word. Your hands roamed over his back, your nailing digging into the delicate flesh. This new-found layer of pleasure had him begging for more. 

“I want to taste you.” Geta’s lips brushed along your jaw as he spoke, waiting for permission to take what he wanted. 

“Then do it,” you whispered to him, barely able to speak through the waves of passion that threatened to pull you under.

Inhaling deeply, the emperor trailed his way over your body, mouthing and biting at the exposed skin between your breasts and your hips. Settled firmly between your thighs, his strong arms wrapped around your legs, holding you in place as his lips teased avoiding where you wanted him the most. Tired of waiting, you pulled him close by the hair, giving him one final show of consent. Feeling your hands in his hair, he gave in to his wants. 

The slip of his tongue against you was too much and not enough. Everything around you fell away apart from him. Only the vibration of his moans and the ragged drawl of your soft mewls could be heard. Each glide over your clit sent you reeling and rushing toward your own release. The knot was tight in your belly, ready to snap and relinquish its devastating hold. 

Knowing your tells, Geta kept his pace, adding the delicious stretch of his fingers. And with that, you were there. The muscles in your legs clenched, your velvety walls closing in fast spasms around him as he kept going, working you through to the end. Your lungs heaved with effort as he hauled himself up to kiss you. The taste of yourself on his lips was sweet, leaving you wanting more despite all the energy having been sapped from your limbs. 

“Let me feel you,” you murmured into his shoulder as he kissed along the column of your neck. 

“Are you sure?” He questioned, not unsure of your desire, but rather your well-being. From here the troubles of the day were clear. The dark hue of exhaustion beneath your eyes, the marks upon your broken skin… all of it ripped at his heart. 

“I have never been more sure of anything.” Bringing him back to your lips, you reached between your bodies, pumping his still throbbing member. A strangled moan echoed from him as he rutted into your palm. Done waiting and too close to his own climax, Geta took matters into his own hands. With as much restraint as possible, given the state of his mind, he aligned himself with you. Your arousal coated his cock, easing the ache and leaving only pleasure. 

Your hips were flush with one another, fully connected and dead to the rest of the world. The only thing that mattered was the rush of energy that flowed between you with each thrust of his slender hips. Rolling your own in time with his, the pair of you fought to hold each other through the waves. The vulgar sound of skin on skin blended harmoniously with the unchecked gasps of desire that filled the chamber. 

Heat flooded your system, coating your nerves and coaxing you closer to the edge again. The sudden stutter of his thrusts and you knew he was close. The curve of your fingernails bit into his back as you nipped at his shoulder more forcefully than you had intended spurred him on. 

“Let go, I’ve got you,” you encouraged, knowing he was holding on by a thread. With your words and a well-timed tug at the base of his silken locks, Geta reached his own release. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, keeping him close. No space existed between the pair of you, allowing you both to feel the other perfectly. The twitch of his cock, as he came down from his high, was crude and luscious in a way that had you choking on the air in your lungs. 

Breathing hard, Geta’s shoulder heaved as he tried to keep from crushing you under his weight. Still buried deep inside of you, he could feel the flutter of your walls around him. 

“Tell me what you want,” He begged, certain that you needed more, but not sure how to proceed. 

“On your back,” you managed to speak, your voice hoarse and cracky from the effort. 

A dangerous look flashed over his face at the implication of your request. Geta complied immediately, turning onto his back and taking you with him. Your plush thighs straddled his own as his hand came to rest on your hips. In the movement, he’d slipped from you, leaving you empty and begging for him. Sitting up on your knees, you reached for him, stroking gently, giving you time to catch your breath. 

With your lungs back in control, you notched his weeping tip between your fold, sinking down until you were flush. Geta could do nothing to stop the noises that poured from him, but there was no concern of judgment as you matched him in every respect. Your palms splayed flat on his chest, your hips swirled in a messy pattern over him. Trying his best to help, he gripped you tight, supporting your weight with one hand while sweeping over your sensitive bud with the other. 

From this position, Geta had the opportunity to look at you in full. The way your chest moved, covered in the marks he’d left behind. The tilt of your head as your lips fell open in want. The way your fingers dug into his skin leaving behind bruises of their own. You were stunning and so sure of yourself. Geta silently thanked the gods for their favor in bringing you to him. 

Holding tight to one another, the both of you worked in tandem, your movements in miraculous harmony. Before long, you were there, on the precipice, ready to take what you wanted for your own. And that was precisely what you did. Matching the rhythm of his hands, you pushed yourself over, letting go of the tension in your body and focusing only on the thrum of your desire. The pulse of your muscles and core peaked before dipping back down to nothing, leaving you boneless and weak atop Geta. 

The emperor adjusted his hold on you, pulling you flush with his chest before rolling to the side. Holding you close, he traced along your body, touching whatever skin he could find. Your bodies tangled together, your leg thrown over his hip, keeping you connected in every way possible. He could feel the sticky mess of sweat and spend on your body, but he was unwilling to let go of you just yet. 

“Wherever you go I will follow,” you breathed into his chest. 

“As will I,” Geta replied. His voice was low with exhaustion but smooth. The peace of having you in his arms was more than enough to settle his nerves about the future, at least for the moment.

[walk-the-fade]

Coming from DAi, Ive seen so many ppl write their inky as a kid or at youngest 18 bc it changes the dynamic between them and the party...

Has anyone done that/ considered how it would change the relationship with Tav?

Lae'zel being frustrated and terrified that her survival is dependent on a teenager. She's taking orders from someone barely old enough to know their way around life on a good day, but now finding her people and being purified fully hinges on this kid's survival and she will be damned if she doesn't die to protect them.

Wyll sees himself in them, wide eyed and terrified at 17 when he bound himself to a devil and his father cast him out. The gods are cruel for giving children their toughest battles. He's going to give them every piece of advice he has and pledge his blade to their cause.

Gale being even more hesistant to open about The Orb and Mystra and his condition because he thinks it's too much for them. They should be tucked away in a library, they should be walking through Baldur's Gate worried about trinkets and sweets and being home on time so they don't worry their mother... not tasked with saving Faerûn from a cult.

Astarion thinks its annoying at first. "Free" for the first time in 200 years. Illithid tadpole squirming in his head and he's stuck following a literal fetus in hopes of survival. Its laughable. He almost –almost– feels bad about having to feed from them, but young blood is always sweeter. And when they earn his approval he's bitter on their behalf. Forced to be a hero, some beacon of light before you've even explored life and it's simple pleasures? Appalling.

Karlach... oh boy Karlach burns hot when they tell her exactly how old they are. Its stupid- its unfair- ITS BULLSHIT quite honestly. The nickname Soldier becomes so much more. This kid doesn't give up. They can't, Mama K will do everything in her power to stop it. They need a friend in these tough times and shes more than willing to be that person. Gods....

Shadowheart is a little surprised, but she's the one that underestimates them the least, for sure. They're not that much older than when she was taken in by The Dark Lady and her followers. She knows that you become strong when you need to be. It may be unfair but that doesn't make them any less capable as long as they understand the task at hand. She will see to it that they stay on the right path. And when her faith shifts she realizes neither of them deserve to struggle.

As for Halsin, it makes his heart ACHE in his chest when someone so young comes to his rescue. His knee jerk reaction is that they need training, gudiance... protection. But he quickly realizes that's only half true. They are young sure, but they are not helpless. He will help them in anyway that he can whether it be in battle against The Absolute or by carving them little wooden animals while they sleep and leaving them in their tent. They deserve a little happiness amongst the chaos.

Minthara (assuming she has been recruited at Moonrise) is surprised more by the fact that they chose to show her mercy than by their age. Given her upbringing, survival and violence go hand in hand and if this kid has survived this long, faced power of absolute and survived? Than they are worthy of her respect, hands down. She may not always agree with their methods but she will certainly not hesistate to stand beside them.

[pokemonblack3white3]

alright so back in 2022 when legends arceus was still new and fresh i had an oc that was p much my interpretation of the player character aka a kid that has become pretty damn tired after solving a region's problems and filling out the entire pokedex because god told em to

never really did much with them bc ive never been great at fandom ocs But when i decided to file the serial numbers off of some non player pokemon characters i decided to bring this guy along and make them even Worse ✨

so now instead of a kid that gets isekai'd into the past, solves a bunch of problems, gets exiled, solves a few more problems and gets welcomed back in, we have a kid that has always been in the past, didn't really solve any problems, got exiled, and instead of trying to earn their way back they went "Fuck Those Guys, and Also Everyone Else" and decided from then on they'd just live off the land and only interact with others if it benefited them (usually stealing) and ohhhh it has not been going well for them but they've spent so long lying to themself that theyve fallen for it too :)

I LOVE THEM???? Oh I adore the COMPLETE opposite energies between the two designs while maintaining that this is the most exhausted child on earth. Absolute gremlin child, cursed by God.

[dark-night-hero]

「Thru these tears」 Getou Suguru

↳ In which In the end, you're gonna be alright. But it might take a hundred sleepless nights to make memories of him disappear but right now, you can't see nothing through these tears.

It was one of those days, rare days where he was not by that annoying Gojo Satoru's side. Probably has something to do with him and his love aka your best friend currently walking side by side in front of the two of you and Geto. Nevertheless you could only sigh and roll your eyes, trying not to pay attention to the guy right beside you, looking equally bored as you as you mindlessly follow the leading pair.

"Hey. Wanna stray away from them?" "And leave my bestfriend with that guy?" "Well I can't see why not, they're enjoying." He shrugs acting like the four of you were adults in this Gion Matsuri festival when you were just a bunch of 15 year old teenagers sent on a joint mission with the Tokyo branch to survey the ongoing festival. A mission in which your best friend with his fiance made as their date, catching up with each other as if they have not seen each other for a very long time in which you really doubt.

"Come on, let them be." "But-" "I saw some interesting stalls back there, wanna check them with me?" "..." Looking back and forth between your friend looking safe and side right beside Gojo and his guy right beside you, you sigh. Putting your full attention to him, "What's your name?" You did not fail to notice the way he seems to be taken a back by your question. "Geto, Geto Suguru." "So it's you." "You've heard about me?" "About you and Gojo Satoru over there actually. I'm (Lastname)(First name). It's a pleasure to meet you." You introduce yourself, holding up a hand for a handshake. "I've heard a lot of stories about you too, actually." He replied, taking your hand as the two of you shook hands before letting go, walking on the opposite direction of where the other two was heading. "I hope it's a good news not a bad news." "I could say the same thing about me and Satoru..."

That night was nothing new. The mission came to an end that same night as there was no suspicious person nor special grade curses lurking that night like the report says. Probably because you and your friend have already taken care of things right before the actual joint mission due to your friend wanting to spend more time with Gojo. Looking back of it now, all the stress of that was now gone as you end up experiencing a different thing from what you expected off which is third wheeling from your friend and their fiancee.

"I had fun." You mumble under your breath as the two of you, you and Geto-san is currently waiting at the meet up spot the four of you have agreed to meet upon. Glancing at the man beside you who was quiet, one phone in hand, the other on his pocket. You ended up looking as soon as he glance back at your direction, earning a chuckle. "I had fun today." "Me too." "Though it's quite a shame since there was no curse in sight like the report says" "Ehem. I wonder about what too." "You do?" Once again he looked at you and your eyes end up meeting. Though this time, you end up rolling your eyes at him because he was looking at you like he knows very well why there was no curse in sight. "They're here." You spoke, spotting the couple from distance when you felt a tap on your shoulder. "What's the matter Geto-san?" You asked, looking at him only to find him... quite flustered? "If it's okay with you, can I have your number?"

Your head was throbbing and damn you do not know if it was because of the memories or has something to do with the bandages on your head. It hurts every step you take. Nevertheless that did not stop you from going where you want to go. With a bandage all over your head, dry throat and bleeding hand due to the harsh removal of the IV drop. You navigate your way to see the man you really needed to see right now. Gojo fucking Satoru. The man that could only answer your questions right now, the only one you would listen to right now.

And there after knowing for what is like forever to you walking down this hallway of who knows where. You spotted him, heads down as he dumped into you and damn, never have you ever seen him looking so damn pissed off right now, almost scaring you but you did not dare backdown. "Look where you're goi- oh. It's you." And now by the tone of his voice, the way he was looking at you. He looks more pissed than before yet you did not miss the way those blue iris of his looks at you in embarrassment and pity. Why?

Why do they kept looking at you like that? All while avoiding where in the fucking hell is Suguru was? Despite your throbbing head, you took a hold of Gojo that was about to walk away from you. "Where is Suguru?" You asked, gripping on his wirst. But he did not answer, nor he tried to pull away from your hold. He just stood there, unable to look at you in the face as he if was contemplating to even talk about it. And you are having none of it. "Gojo Satoru. Where is Suguru?" "... know." "What?" "I said I don't know!" With his sudden outburst, you were taken a back, a sudden force between the two of you caused you to let go of him and almost hitting the wall beside if it was not for the person who grabbed you and pull you towards them.

"Satoru!" It was the sound of your best friend, though it was quite different from the last time you have heard of it. "You knew better than to lash out at them!" "Well I'm sorry! They just kept on pissing me off-fuck!" You have never seem him like that. The way the Gojo Saturu looking all distress and angry at the same time. You have never seem him like that causing a bad feeling on your chest. It made you unconsciously cling into your bestfriend's arms that was warped around you giving you some sort of comfort. "Suguru..." You utter your lover's name, looking up to your friend for some sort of answer. "Where is Suguru?"

But just like any other, your friend looked away from you. And if felt like something broke inside you. "Why are you looking away?" Your head is throbbing like shit. "Why can't you- anyone answer me?" Your eyes were bloodshot. "Why won't you say a damn thing?!-" "Because we don't know where he went!" "Do you think that's making any sense-?" You could not helo but to pause for a moment as your head throbbed painfully, awfully painful as some memories came into mind. "Come to think of it..." You look at Gojo, "You're supposed to be dead aren't you? Didn't Toji-? That bastard from zenin clan killed you? Why are you here? How come you're alive?? Also- right, He went after Suguru right? Where is he-?" "That was three years ago, (First name)." What?

"You've been in coma for three years." Your friend explained as gently as they could. "And well... So much have changed all those years ago, (First name)." Your friend then looks away from you and turn to look at Gojo, all you did was to follow your friend's gaze as Gojo looks at them before turning his back at the two of you as if he already leave the explanation in the hands of your friend. And they did, all those things that happened the moment you were in coma, the fall out of the two strongest, the way they started walking into different path. Your condition over the past few years which seems to put more toll not only to your friend but also for your lover. The death of their kohai and lastly. "Last night, it was reported that Geto Suguru killed... murdered 112 villigers and is now a fugitive, someone who is to be kill on sight."

You felt like your entire world was falling apart. It felt like someone ripped ot your lungs from your chest, you could not breathe. Your head could not stop throbbing, it feels like someone kept bashing a hammer in it over and over again. And yet all the words your friend have said was clear. It was so damn clear. "Geto Suguru is now considered as a curse user." Your ears were ringing. You could not help but to gasp, holding on into your head as you curl up forward if it was not for your friend holding you in their arms but you cannot feel it. It hurts. Why? Why why why why why? Why would he do something like that? Why? Just fucking why? Holding on into every bit of sanity you have, you gripped in the arms of your friend and was about to say something when everything went black.

"I know it was out of the blue but I think I like you a lot." Just like he said, it was out of the blue. Very random in the middle of the way you are having right not. Not so far away from you two was the couple who seems to have been spending every bit of time in their life right now. Something you would never understand, yet to understand. Not until the following years. "Quit being silly, Geto-san." You chuckle. Nudging him by his side. It was such a peaceful day, it was also the last day of the joint exercise from both schools. Meaning you would not be meeting again for the mean time.

As soon as you said that, he stopped walking, looking all serious causing your smile to fade away as you too stop walking. "Are you serious?" You asked, dumbfounded. Ever since the joint mission between the four of you, you and Geto have been in contact which each other taking about trivial matters, often talking over the phone with some random stuffs, mostly talking about Gojo and your best friend. Laughing over some matter and openly flirting with each other, something you thought was platonic did really end up having a meaning behind it after denying everything to your bestfriend.

"I like you..." He stated, a meter away from you. "A lot." He added, those black iris of his seems to be searching something from your (eye color) ones. With out mouth opening and closing. "More than Gojo Satoru?" "What?" "What?" Looking dumbfounded at each other, you could not help but to let out a laugh in which he too follows. "What kind of question is that?" He chuckle. "Of course I like you more than Satoru. He's my best friend but you are something else." "That's surprising." You did it again, eyes wide open as you hold up a hand to your lips, ruining the mood but he still laughs at it. "So if it's okay with you, would you like to go out with me?"

"Yeah, sure. Let's date." You replied. And for a moment, as the sunset within the horizon. It's golden like sunlight illuminate his face, causing your eyes to widen as a genuine, by far the happiness smile makes its way on his lips, brushing back his black hair that was still growing like he said he had plan to keep his hair long. He smiles at you and hold up a hand. "I'll make sure you won't regret that." "We'll see about that, Geto-san." You smile back at him, taking his hand. "Call me Suguru." "When I get used to it." "(First name)." It was the first time he called you by your name as it has always been your surname.

You blink, then you look away from him as you felt your cheeks burning. Nevertheless as the two of you continue to walk hand in hand within the same path your bestfriend and their fiance that now seems to have vanished from your sigh was going through, it was peaceful.

"So this is where you've been." You did not look at your friend, who have come by your side as you focused on the cigarette in your hand, right beside you was a countless bottle of beer. You were hoping to get drunk. A few years ago you would not even dare of doing such thing, you were still underage after all and yet here you are. In a blink of an eye you are adult now, very well drinking wishing the next day would never come. There was nothing to look forward into anyway.

Instead of replying to your friend, you just puff out a cloud of smoke before trashing your cigarette on the ground. Reaching out for another on inside the pack only to realize it is now empty. "Fuck." You curse, reaching out for another bottle of beer only to realize there was nothing left but empty bottles for you to throw away. "Fuck." This time you sound even more annoyed than you already are. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles under your eyes, messy hair, clothes you barely manage to put on. "(First name), let's go home."

"I don't understand." You states, brushing your friend suggestion off. "It was just like yesterday... Everything was so fine, we were still students, going on into missions once in while... and now we're adults." "(First name)..." "Everything was fine damn it. I have you, I have Suguru and a huge bright future a head of us. What happened?" "... So much happened..." Your friend replied and you shake your head. "I know that already... I know that already... But for me it was just like yesterday where everything was fine and now..."

Looking around in the same spot where you and Suguru used to go to alot. Hoping, wishing to at least see him in here. But he's not, nor does he ever show any signs of showing up right in front of you, something he had given the chance to Gojo and Shoko.

"Everyone was expecting me to just shrug it off." You chuckle. "They're expecting me to not give a damn about it and trust me, I'm trying." You look down at your shaking hands as your vision starts to get blurry. "But the more I am left off with myself, I kept thinking, why? Why would he do such a thing? I know Suguru, I know he would never do such a thing unless there was a reason behind it." It was just an endless unanswered thoughts of whys. "Why... why would he leave me all alone?" This time, you look at your friend who ended up pulling you in their arms, whispering endless apologies. It was none of their fault anyways.

"It's going to be okay? Alright?" Your best friend caresses your back. "It will be tough, but I'll get you through this- we'll help you through this- okay?" "No... No... You don't understand it. Suguru is the only one I have... Without him... I can't... I just can't." You smile despite the tears rolling down your cheeks. "I don't understand... How did we come into this?" You were late, years too late.

"Stop." "Stop what?" He smiles as you shove your hands on his face. "Stop staring at me like that, I'm embarrassed." "You look like you were enjoying it tho." As you glare at him, you hears a gagging noise right in front of you causing you to roll your eyes at the white haired guy currently playing with the star plasma vessel within the shore. "Don't be like that Satoru, we didn't say a thing whenever you and your fiance kept sucking each other's face right in front of us."

Loving Geto Suguru was fun, a one of a kind love you would never trade for something else. It was the kind of love you never thought you were looking for. He was kind, caring, spoiling you every now and then, and even despite being in the same case of being a special grade sorcerer, he knows how to make you feel protected. With Suguru by your side, you felt sheltered and protected, almost away from the complicated jujutsu world that you live in. Suguru was home.

"Maybe we should go on a trip." "Hmm? All of a sudden? We're still in the middle of this mission you know." You replied to your lover of two years before looking at the still messing around Gojo and Riko within the shore. "Isn't he overworking himself? His infinity is still on." "I know, I was just about to talk to him about it." Suguru sigh causing you to give him a gentle pat in the back. "He has you and me here, there is nothing he should over work himself for. It's quite a shame my bestfriend is currently assigned overseas right now." Strange timing to be honest. "So about that trip you are talking about, what about it?" "Nothing, just you and me on a beach. What do you think? Right after this mission." He asked and of course, with the brightest smile on your face, you agreed.

"Should I cut my hair soon?" As you were about to stand up underneath the huge parasol shielding you and your lover away from the sun, you look back at him, topless and grabbing the end of his hair. "Should you? I think you look good in long hair." "It's quite annoying to maintain it." He huff causing you to laugh and flick his forehead before making your way into the shore where the two troublemakers where still playing at but not before looking back at Suguru before saying, "Hair holds memories you know, it's been two years since your last haircut, but if you do find it annoying. I'll go to the barbers with you."

You cannot sleep. More like you refuse to sleep. You are tired, constantly being sent into missions. Just drowning yourself into endless mission so you would not be having that much time to think about stuffs, to think about him but in the very end he still appears in your dream with memories you long to forget. So here you are, standing still wearing baggy clothes, your feet bringing you into the only place you find some sort of comfort with.

Usually you would stay there for a moment, at least when you finish a pack of cigarette you manage to buy from the nearest convenient store where you have left your car parked when you happened to come across a very familiar looking back. Though the hair that used to be shoulder length tied up in a bun was now let loose, it was not that long, but sure long enough to make you realize it had grown a little long just like how times have passed by while you were in a coma.

"Suguru." His name flowed out of your mouth before you knew it, a name you have not called for so long yet still vivid in your mind. It feels like everything just happened yesterday. And the man upon hearing his name, you saw him flinch, you did not miss the way he does as you took a step towards him but eventually stops. He did not look back nor he did not reply. He just stood there, a couple of steps right in front of you, looking forward into the city light as the two of you would often state at.

"Suguru." Once again you called out his name, this time, sounding a little, perhaps a bit desperate. "Suguru please talk to me." "You aren't supposed to be in here, (First name)." It made you flinch, not because of his words, but by the tone of his voice you are not familiar with. It sounds the same, but you knew it is not the same. "You knew better than to go in here and not expecting to meet me in the process." "That's true... maybe I was ho... I just couldn't go to sleep tonight." "What was that?" There was no reply.

This was not the scene you were expecting when you see him again. Not when the two of you looked quite tired, although his back was turned into you, you could see it by his posture. He was tired. And as much as you want to pull that man into your arms and tell him it was going to be alright. Something side was telling you that this person right in front of you was not the same guy you used to love, that this person right in front of you is someone who is now considered to be one of the most dangerous person within the world or sorcery and curses. But he was still the person you used to love, still love.

As you stand there on your guard, he turn around, causing you to unconsciously took a step back and for a moment, just for a moment you asked yourself if it was the right thing to do as you saw a glint of sadness within those black iris before it vanished like it was never there. "Let's not see each other again, (First name)."

You hate it. You fucking hate him. He was the one who left you with saying a thing, not even a note. So why does he sound like he would never see you again? Why does he sound so fucking sad and hurt when he said that was if he was tying to convince himself when he said that? Glaring at him as he casually walked passed you. You felt your eyes sting as you quickly turn around. "So this is it? Not even hi, hello, goodbye. Just straight up let's not see each other again? Really? Suguru?"

He did not turn around nor did he reply was he just kept walking away from you with in a very calm phase, as if it was intentional, as if he was really showing off the fact that he was walking away from you. "Suguru." He did not stop. "Suguru." This time you sound like you were commanding him. "Suguru." And this time was desperate. "Are you really going to walk away without even explaining yourself to me?" Fuck, fuck these fucking tears that makes your vision all blurry, making you wipe away the tears on your face. Then he spoke, "Nanako and Mimiko often wake up at night, I need to go."

You knew those names from report, the two girls that was causing trouble in that very same village that was murdered by this man right in front of you. You have always thought the two were killed alongside the villagers. And thinking about it now. You could not help but to chuckle despite the tears that was rolling down your cheeks this whole time. It make sense, at the same time it does not make anysense to you why he could easily abandon you over them. Because if he ask you to come with him, you would. You would fucking go with him.

You want to scream, you want to laugh, you want to cry as if you are not already doing that. You felt like you were going inside as you tried to blink away the tears in your eyes. You want to see him, you want to imprint this memory in mind while you can, this memory of him walking away from you in mind as you said your last final words to him. "Walk away and we're done, Geto Suguru." You were so confident when you stated that, so confident that he would, in fact walk away from you and in that, you would finally be able to leave everything about him behind as you finally know the reason why he did such thing.

Except he did not. As soon as you said that, you watch him halt. What the heck? "I said walk away and we're done, Suguru." You look at his back like he was insane as he stay in place. "I said walk away and we're done! What are you doing?!" You are mad, you are starting to go mad. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Are you trying to screw over my feelings? Huh!? Answer me Geto Suguru!" Funny how he chooses them, how he chooses his new ideals over you and when you are finally letting him call it quits. He just could not.

"Fuck!" You screamed, wanting to pull your hair out of frustration and madness as you continue to glare at that back of his. But you knew very well why. He just loved you so much, so much that your accident left a huge scar over him. A guilt of not being there by your side when you almost died. Geto Suguru might have chosen this path but he just could not let you go. And you knew that, you knew that. Those stares you were feeling whenever you went out to finish some dangerous missions. Those anonymous help you kept receiving during critical situations. Just as much as you could not let him go, he could not let you go too. And you hate him for that. You fucking hate him for that.

As tears roll down your cheeks, as painful sobs escape your lips. "I hate you." You sob. "I fucking hate you, Suguru." You knew that he loves you despite of everything. So why does it hurts? "I hate that I love you so fucking much." You do not want to love him anymore. For the sake of both parties, one must step away of you are both doomed. "Goodbye, Suguru."

You hate that at the very end of the way, it was you who decided to walk away. Walking passed his figure, purposely bumping into his shoulder in a very gentle manner. You did not look back, you do not want to look back. For only doing so would make you waiver. Walking back into your car, you started it and never look back, driving away from that place and never to come back. But half way through the drive. You stopped, hitting the breaks before pulling it to the side of the road.

It was clear to you what you both had and who the two of you before and now. But right now, as you curl up in your seat, one hand covering your mouth as you try to cover up your ugly sobs, the other clenching on your chest when your phone rings. But you did not play attention to it because aside from the undescribeable pain you are feeling right now, you cannot see anything else thru these tears. Why does to be in the very end, had to be you who walks away with so much memories between the two of you.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: Might or may not make a part two in Geto's POV cuz why not but also might not because this might end up as a ff book series if I had more time in the future. Inspired by Thru these tears by Lany.

[theblueboxscholar]

People who think the Classic Doctor era Doctors don't fuck, have eyes clouded.

Like. I'm sorry. ONE had 13 children. Then collected son and granddaughter figures like crazy. Fell in love and got accidently engaged and was VERY OBVIOUSLY upset about having to leave her (Cameca), keeping the token of her affection.

TWO quite LITERALLY met Jamie, Polly said "can we keep him", Jamie said "ive got no better options. It's you or the south Americas." And TWO spent the better part of a season earning Jamie's loyalty. Jamie literally repeatedly fights off time lord mind wipes so he's more often than not plucked from time to do missions with Two whose also often out of time for Time Lord nonsense. Jamie is basically all TWO needed.

THREE (whooooo boy you guys are blind) literally was so smitten with Liz, but she was too smart to tolerate his nonsense, and he was SO grumpy about it. And then there's Ms. Josephine Grant. THEY LITERALLY MIRROR HIS MEETING HER WITH HER MEETING HER FUTURE HUSBAND. THEY ARE MIRROR IMAGES. JO LOVED THE DOCTOR AND HE LOVED HER! HE LITERALLY WENT AND STOLE THAT DAMN CRYSTAL, FOR HER! But too late, so it was a wedding present and he literally drove sadly off into the sunset.

Enter Sarah Jane who he also very quickly began "My dear"ing (something he does if you're special. Note two and three say this to the Brigadier as well 👀). They have such a short time together, but the amount of times he gently touches her face. They WHOLE fast cut away from Three nearly kissing her at one point (i believe it was Sarah not Jo, but that cut edit makes me so livid. Jon was going for the LIPS), and the way Sarah looks at Three. SHE WHOLE BREAKS DOWN when he's dying. And all he can do is touch her face and say "a tear for me Sarah?" He's so gentle and kind. She was so enamored with him. Very early Clara Twelve of her tbh.

FOUR and Sarah Jane are literally soul mates (my own preferences aside, I cannot deny them). Four is so into her. The way they act together is so Nine Rose, the way they behave. But then he runs away because damn those Time Lords again.

Enter Leela. Honestly. She's the first Classic Who lady (Vicki, Victoria, Polly, and Zoe don't count, they're too young) who's not romantically interested in the Doctor. And while he definitely loves her, it's more akin to platonic best friend soulmatism; Leela joins Barbara as a "Best Friend" of The Doctor. Aka both become Donna Nobles before Donna Noble. "I shall miss you too savage." Is a line that tears my heart out every time. He is so sad to leave her, but at least he knows where she is. (And whole rescues her from the time war during the day of the doctor event. What a man.)

Romana I. Now this one is tough. They're very obviously flirty, but there's a sort of school ground resistance about the attraction. She makes Four feel old because she thinks it's funny and he has to up his game to impress her cause she's not a backwaters human with no knowledge. (I'll be honest. She's my least favorite of the two so while I enjoy her and she's in great serials, I retain basically nothing. Will hopefully change with the next watch through.)

Romana II. She whole changes her face and body and shows it off like she's showing him new clothes. But she's also teasing him. They whole both fall into "well we have a son now... that's..fuckin great i guess" when they meet Adric. They both are such begrudgingly parental figures but they do it and they care about him so much. Romana's departure is lame. I said what I said. But it's fine. She eventually goes to do dubious lebianisms with Leela and her girlfriend and husband it's fine. Shhh.

Tegan. (This one might get me crucified ngl) Tegan and Five. I know. I hear you. But Tegan is bisexual. And she definitely had a developing thing for Five. The way they act together is so "we could probably be epic together, or at least satisfactory... if you'd just stop being an asshole for TWO SECONDS--!" They're the screaming cat kinda couple. That never manged to couple. Because there were kids (Adric, Nyssa.) And so much bullshit happening constantly. But also don't forget Five and his fling(s) with Harry Houdini. Harry definitely thought Five was pretty.

Five and Turlough. Did you even watch Five and Turlough? Are your eyes THAT clouded? That's a Doctor and his twink. And Turlough is a different brand of twink than Jamie, and he's not much of an attack dog. But Five quite literally knowingly and willingly rehabilitate and gives him more than a 2nd chance. He tends to Turlough. But also, like Sarah Jane, Turlough was 100% a writer getting back at BBC. "Oh you thought Jo Grant wasn't weak and feminine enough? You want us to make someone the opposite of her who will be a weak damsel? FUCK YOU! CURSES YOUR HOUSE WITH SARAH JANE SMITH! AN EVEN BIGGER BAD ASS THAN JO! HAH!", "you're homophonic? Fuck you, writes a literal faggy ass twink with long legs to fawn around with The Doctor, fuck you!" And best of all, it is canon that Turlough would have stayed forever if he wasn't trying to make The Doctor proud and tend his responsibilities. (You're a good boy T.)

PERI BROWN did not breast boobily throughout the Doctor Who backdrops (nearly catching her (the actress') death btw) for y'all to say The Doctor wasn't into her. FIVE was so into her. Sure it's a rebound so he tries to play it off, but Turlough sees it. Sees the "God i miss Tegan" vibes Five gives off. Peri Brown forcefully and loudly insinuated herself into the Doctods hearts. And good thung too, cause she is the ONLY companion who can handle the SIXTH Doctors nonsense. Only an American could tolerate his ass and still actually truly wholly love him. I'm sorry. Six whole would have murdered a man and changed so much history that earth would have been unrecognizable ALL because he thought Peri was dead. Like. Six would burn up a sun to bring Peri back to life. His only concern is "is Peri alive?!?" And relieved enough to see her alive and content (it's dumb) when the time lords lied and said he'd lead her to her death.

Mel. Oh sweet Mel. She joins the Pre-Donna Noble's gang (Barbara, Leela). But unlike the rest she is PLATONIC SOULMATE BEST FRIEND TO ALLLLLL THE DOCTOR, REGARDLESS THE FACE~ (bless her.)

Seven MAKES the CHOICE to be celebate Meaning, The Doctor's before him, FUCKED. SEVEN IS NOT ASEXUAL OR AROMATIC (you keep your headcanons going tho never stop ever ever ever youre doing amazing sweeties) and shows on a few occasions the desire to be close, but knows he's not worth it. (He's kinda right, but i still would REDACTED his REDACTED till the cats come home.)

Eight. ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHhHaha....

HahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANANAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

You think Eight doesn't fuck. Get the hell outta here man. Fuck haha. That's hilarious.

"The world doesn't end just because The Doctor dances." Did... did you miss that Dancing is a metaphor for sex? Oh... sweet innocent bean. Baby. Baby. Rose Tyler was talking about fucking. Jack Harkness was talking about fucking. The Doctor was embarrassed bevause he's rusty/he HIMSELF that version, had yet to fuck. And then they all three did. A lot. There was so much weird fucking and flirting between The Doctor Dances and Boom Town. It's not even subtle.

Ten. Rose is RIGHT there. You're an idiot. ♡ ilu tho.

Martha wishes, but she dodged a bullet.

Donna Noble is best friend shaped, they literally show no sexual chemistry. They are platonic best friend soulmates. They love each other, would die for each other, but fuck each other? No. Not even a little. Having to kiss even under duress might mean avtual death because neither of them could pull it off convincingly.

Eleven fucks way more than Nine OR Ten but it's so far and in-between he always feels kinda awkward about it. But also he's FAKING the hip with the youngins stuff. All of Eleven is an act. He admits it A LOT. And he showcases a few times he CAN turn on the sauve I know what I'm doing thing. Usually at the wrong times but still. He and River fuck. So much.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND ESTEEMED MEMBERS OF THE NONCOMFORMING--CLAAARA OSWALD~

Clara and Eleven start off as awkwardly flirty, a sort of unintentional cat and mouse. I mean the whole "this isn't a ghost story, it's a love story" scene wasn't exactly subtle. Yes he's referencing Ten and Rose unintentionally most likely, but narratively it's telling us the audience that it's talking about 11 Clara. It's also the first on screen moment we see the light bulb go off for Clara. She KNOWS now that he likes her for sure for sure.

Oh Twelve Clara we're really in it now huh? Like Sarah Jane Smith before her, Clara Oswald wants to WRECK that old man. She has a whole tirade to madam Vastra about how she's always been into old dudes so The Doctor is TOTALLY still her type MORE so in fact now! (Look. She was unprepared for a traumatic regeneration event. She comes around, grow up. AS if Rose Tyler wasn't there sobbing like a baby about it.) And then she spends the rest of her run doing nastier shit than fucking with Twelve until it literally kills her. She fucks so much with The Doctor, matches his fucking freak in ways companions of the past (Jo Grant you are excluded from this) just haven't! She manages to make The Master (Missy) jealous! HA! YOU THOUGHT THE MASTER WAS JEALOUS BEFORE???? NOOOOoooOoooo hahahahahha. Not since Delgado!Master has The Master sort of had a situationship with the Companion. Clara matched Twelves freak so much it literally killed her, and then it didn't.

Bill is a lesbian and that's her grandad.

Again. River Song is right there, and Twelve spent 24 years fucking her. And probably crying after, because let's be real... we'd cry to if we got to fuck River Song.

Yasmine Kahn... you're kicking yourself for not fucking The Doctor. And she's definitely kicking herself to stop her from kicking you too for not fucking her! (From the show alone, there was definitely no fucking. At least not between Yas and Thirteen. Thirteen does fuck however.)

Fourteen. Personally, I think he fucks. I think companions will be calling him up, catching up, and they're definitely going to end up in bed together. Like, the ONLY reason he wouldn't fuck Tegan now is because she's married to Nyssa and that'd be weird cause she's a daughter figure. /he'd make that great grossed out face David does./ But you cannot tell me he doesn't invite Dan out to France and they end up getting down and dirty in a way that would have NEVER happened with Thirteen. It briefly makes Dan wonder if he's a lesbian now. Fourteen just says he doesn't think that's how it works.

But in all seriousness, Fourteen probably could, and probablt gets offers, but more often than not he probablt just wants to chill, share dinner, maybe watch telly nothing more.

Fifteen. /Will Smith gesturing meme/ LOOL AT HIM! YES OF COURSE HE FUCKS! (Begrudgingly I gesture to Rogue. If the night had been longer they definitely would have fucked. But we'll probably never see him again so I'm not holding my breath.)

Let the scales fall from your eyes! Go, rewatch, SEE.

(This message is NOT for repulsed asexuals. You just keep doing what you're doing~ 👍🏻)

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

⬆️max

You got it! 1k:

---

“Okay, right,” Eddie says. “Again, it’s not like I think I deserve to die.”

“No, but I think perhaps you’re missing part of the point of being alive,” Frank suggests.

“And that would be?” Eddie asks, skeptical.

“Just allowing yourself to enjoy it, as much as possible,” Frank answers. “There doesn’t have to be a reason. Nothing has to be earned. Just by being alive, you’re entitled to that, Eddie.”

“Even when others don’t get the same chance?” Eddie asks.

“Especially because of that,” Frank says. 

Eddie exhales heavily.

“That idea troubles you?” Frank asks. 

“Honestly?” Eddie replies. “A little bit.”

“Why?” Frank asks. 

“It’s just… It’s hard to reckon some of the stuff you say with how I was raised,” Eddie explains. 

“I can see that,” Frank says. “But it’s not the first time you’ve had to reexamine those values, right?”

“Right,” Eddie agrees. 

“Do you think it might be worth taking a look at some of those things you were raised to think about, about yourself and your place in the world, and see what’s worth carrying forward, and what’s worth letting go of?”

Eddie thinks of everything he’d be missing in his life right now if he hadn’t been willing to do that once before.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

iii.

Shannon graduates from her program at the end of January. She has great references and feedback from her professors, and a job interview lined up for the middle of February.

Her plan is to graduate to little fanfare. Key word, that is her plan. For one thing, she’s almost thirty. It doesn’t feel like a huge victory, so much as a belated thing she failed to set herself up for adequately the first time. Not that she regrets Christopher, ever. Just, it doesn’t feel quite the same as it does for the twenty year-olds in her cohort. On top of that, with everything going with Eddie, Shannon doesn’t want to make a big fuss. It seems insensitive. 

Her program has a tiny convocation ceremony, and they all come. Eddie, Buck, Christopher, and Jane. They cheer embarrassingly loudly for her. Even little Jane. So, some fanfare is to be had, apparently. 

She’s glad they’re all there, but she can’t help but think mostly of Eddie. Of the brief period of their life before she got pregnant, when they used to talk about futures that never came true. She supposes they’ve done right by those kids, lately, despite all the other ways in which they failed them. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says, squeezing her, after the ceremony. “I’m so damn happy for you.”

“It’s not a huge deal,” Shannon says. “It was one year.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says. “It’s a huge deal. You have a toddler and you did this. Two kids. You’re amazing, Shannon.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you, Eddie. I’m just glad we’re both finally going to be doing things we love.”

His expression shifts a little.

“You’ll be back,” she reminds him. Because he will. She knows that.

He nods. “Yeah. You’re right.”

iv.

On the day of Shannon’s interview, Eddie also has work and therapy. So Buck, in the middle of a four-off, is on kid duty. This is good news for him. 

Buck loves doing stuff with the kids. He always does, but it’s even more special when it’s one-on-one, too. First, there’s still a strange sense of gratitude there. Like, wow. He is trusted with these kids. The most precious, perfect children on the planet - alongside his niece, of course - and Buck is trusted with their safety. Second, he loves them. He genuinely loves both of them so much, and all the time he gets with them feels like a gift. The way Jane, especially, looks at him like he’s just supposed to be a part of his life, like it’s not an anomaly or miracle that he is, it means something to Buck. The way Chris has simply and gladly accepted him does, too. 

But there’s another thing, too. Another reason Buck loves the time he gets with the kids.

A small part of him is still scared. 

It’s silly, really. He knows that. But there’s still a part of him that feels like he has the least secure place in their family. Maybe it’s a last in, first out sort of mentality. Maybe it’s the lack of a blood tie to any of the kids. He doesn’t quite know. It could just be his own underlying insecurities, overall. 

All this to say, he appreciates when he gets to take a turn being the adult in charge. It makes him feel legitimate. 

The day is pretty simple. Drop Christopher off at school. Pick up Christopher from school. Feed them and keep them both alive. Easy peasy. It’s Shannon and Eddie that have the harder jobs today. 

“Do you think Mom is going to get that job?” Chris asks as they’re driving to his school. 

“Of course I do,” Buck says. “She’s got great recommendations, and come on, it’s your mom. Everyone who meets her is gonna like her.”

“Yeah,” Chris says quietly.

“Why?” Buck asks. “Are you nervous about it?”

That’s sweet, that he’d be worried about his mom’s big interview. Such a sweet kid.

“Um, yeah,” Chris admits.

“Aw, Chris,” Buck replies. “That’s thoughtful. But your mom is gonna do great, I know it. If she doesn’t get this one, there will be more opportunities, too.”

“If she gets it, will I see her less?” Chris asks.

Oh. 

So he’s worried she will succeed. 

Eesh.

[linda-bates]

wow i feel lied to abt that episode being great :/

like. okay, the acting was great bc it usually is outside of a few cast members who are sometimes stiff as hell. karen and tommy coming in to help save the day was great and fun. and i genuniely dont care that eddie was missing: hes not gonna be in every ep and i think they can do a lot with feeling responsible because "i wasn't there" and being torn between caring about the 118 and knowing that he wasn't there because he was finally doing what he NEEDED to do and put his son first. i think that could be impactful if written well!

but like. literally what the fuck was that???

not even the bobby of it all, although i don't feel like this death was genuinely earned considering the tim "the audience was too comfy so i shook things up!!!" minear of it all and the fact he had to spend fifteen minutes convincing aisha that he wasn't joking because literally everyone thought he was joking (imo a sign that Maybe he should have thought a bit harder about pulling a death out like this--i'm not mad that bobby died, i'm mad that they did it like this).

but like... this season has genuinely been weird as fuck when it comes to mental health and whatnot. i'm sure there's better posts out there that touch on the fact that bobby was suicidal as recent as last season and how shitty it feels to be like "the depressed guy with alcoholism issues has found reason to live!!! and now he dies :)" when im p sure other shows have pulled the same "depressed character found purpose only to die immediately anyway" (ive never watched the magicians but ik ive seen ppl mention quentin) and had ppl pissed off for that.

but thats not even the only instance lately? we had the shitty DID representation a few episodes ago that further perpetuates harmful ideas about ppl with DID. we had maddie ignoring her own damn postpartum depression with "im not the only woman who has dealt with it before lmao!!" when chimney is rightfully worried about having another kid considering he almost lost HER last time. and im just supposed to accept "well im already pregnant sooo :)" even tho we literally saw maddie try to drown herself a few seasons ago

also idk man we're still in a pandemic and we're living in increasingly stressful times considering (gestures toward the U.S. alone, let alone the rest of the world rn) so it just feels particularly shitty to be like "the audience is too comfy, time to kill a main!" when people view this as a comfort show for a reason and genuinely enjoyed the fact they didn't have to worry about the show deciding to just kill a main out of nowhere.

ive seen ppl saying they might not watch the show anymore, either after this ep or after this season is over, and im honestly with them. the writing quality this season seems to constantly be flipflopping between "genuinely really fucking good episode" to "... who wrote this shit? hello???"

also: what the fuck am i supposed to think about athena losing her first love, later divorcing michael (for legit reasons tbf), and then losing her second chance TOO???? why the fuck doesn't SHE get to be happy? angela already said something about how she doesn't think athena will date anymore and i'm like. why does SHE have to be the one who dies without her love? it just fucking sucks to think about the fact that she'll be alone again when it comes to romance. obviously u CAN live a life without it but like... why does it have to be athena? hasn't she been through enough??? jfc

[artemisrogers]

Don't Forget Me Roberto Trujillo x Reader

Part 1 fw: mention of self harm, suicide attempt, substance use and trauma

So this is how I was gonna go out?

I already took a whole bottle of pain pills and got my knife set up to slice my wrists open. I was bleeding already from cuts on my shoulders and legs. I hated that I was nothing but a toy to people and couldn't put up with, my pimp Jade sexually abusing me anymore.

I was about to slice my left wrist in its vein when the door opened. I heard a muffled voice as the knife was knocked out of my hand. I was already feeling sick from the pills closing my eyes. I was going to be at peace at last. No more suffering.

😔😔😔

My eyes opened and my body felt heavy like a lead ball. This must be what hell feels like. Although it kinda looks like a hospital room. Wait a damn minute. I squeezed my eyes and opened them again to see I'm alive somehow and in a hospital. I was bandaged up and had an IV in my right arm.

"Your awake thank God. What the hell were you thinking?!"

I knew that voice very well. I turned my head seeing a familiar face and felt anger and guilt. I've known this man since we were in diapers. I didn't tell him about my addiction to alcohol and cocaine. I could tell he was pissed at my attempt at suicide but grateful I'm alive.

"Roberto?"

"Yes it's me, what happened?"

"I gotta come clean don't I?"

"Come clean'? What are you talking about?"

And that's when the doctor came in and spilled the beans. I watched Rob's face go from shock to hurt to betrayal in minutes. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that he found out this way but I was afraid of telling him. I mean yeah he knew about Jade and saved my ass from him a longtime ago. When the doctor left Roberto looked at me.

"Some beans eh?"

"Please I was gonna tell you sooner but I-"

"Save it this hurts me Y/N! I loaned you money, I gave you a place to stay, I saved you from Jade!" Roberto said anger was clear in his voice.

It was extremely rare that he got angry let alone with me. I watched him walk out the door and leave me with my thoughts. I made him so mad at me that he abandoned me. Fuck I needed help. I sat up slowly feeling the pain in my chest, and grabbed my phone to call someone.

"Come on James pick up! Please!"

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God you picked up um I need help." I said my voice cracking.

James has been clean of his addiction for a while now, so if anyone could give me advice it was him. I mean it's 2004 for fucks sake and I'm in a hospital bed pitying myself. I told James everything from my addictions to my issue with Rob, even my attempt. There was a long pause and I knew he was trying to process this.

"Kid I-I don't even know what to say."

"I know I know. I fucked up bad but I need advice or even help."

"Well my best bet for you is to go to rehab and, like seriously get yourself clean of all this shit. It ain't worth it to lose everything for drugs. I know from experience I mean I almost fucked up Metallica and my family with my addiction. And maybe after that, I can let you stay with me but you gotta get clean and stay clean if I let you in." James said.

I knew he felt bad but he was definitely right. I had to get my life together again. Especially if I want to earn Rob's trust back. I love Rob as a friend and I didn't want to be alone anymore. I felt like I was back with Jade again.

"I can feel your fear kid, I know it's scary and it ain't easy but you know you want to get better."

"I feel alone though James. I...I literally fucked up my friendship with Rob or any chance of being something more with him."

"I know I understand. Since when did you like Rob? I'm just curious I ain't judging."

"Two years."

I heard James whistle and felt myself smile at his attempt to make me laugh. He always knew how to make me happy even in the hardest times. I hung up the phone and sighed softly everything running in my head.

[devildomwriter]

One Little Thing, A Ring Part IV | Mammon x Reader

1.1K Words | GN! Reader | CW: Angst

You came home late again that night from work and were surprised to find Mammon already asleep. The past few weeks you’d been working extra hard, Mammon had stayed up for you and offered you a rose he’d stolen from a bouquet somewhere in the house. But tonight he was sprawled out under the covers and his cheek was pink and puffy.

You inspected closely without waking him up and felt the skin had liquid beneath. Using your magic you identified the perpetrator and healed his wound, draining the last bit of magic you had in you for the day.

Not bothering to change out of your old clothes you lifted the blanket and fell asleep next to Mammon.

Mammon was practically comatose but he could sense your presence and his pained face grinned as he snuggled closer to you, head on your chest.

You smiled and held onto him as you drifted into sleep.

Mammon was sad the next day to see you’d left early again. He noticed your slippers by the bedside and began to wonder if you’d actually been there or if he’d dreamed it up.

He pulled out his D.D.D. to call you but you couldn’t answer and he gave up after a few tries and sighed.

He scratched his back and stretched, trying to wake up his body before being put back to work. Despite the cheer of the holiday season, Mammon stayed occupied only with work and didn’t enjoy it as he normally did. All he could focus on was money and this time it was for a good reason. All of this was for you.

Mammon’s brothers had all learned what was happening and dealt with it in their own ways. Lucifer’s way of dealing was to occasionally ensure Mammon had more work to do but he remained at the castle a majority of the day to make sure he wasn’t worked too hard.

His brothers began to randomly appear at the castle and soon after some kind of disaster would occur that they’d never be punished for.

Eventually, Mammon caught on and he wasn’t happy. He put up with a lot of shit from them over thousands of years but he wasn’t having it and called for an intervention.

They didn’t listen to him so Lucifer forced everyone to come together and hear him out. Mammon got a pardon from work so everyone could meet up at an acceptable time of the day.

“Okay, why’d you call us here?” Leviathan asked annoyed and focusing more on his D.D.D.

Mammon growled, “Dammit, you know why. All of ya do!” He pointed his fingers at his brothers.

Asmodeus gasped and placed his hand over his chest. “I’ve done nothing wrong, how could you accuse me!”

Mammon glared at him and Satan nudged Asmo to cool it with the theatrics.

Belphegor rolled his eyes at Mammon’s declaration. “What did you expect?” He hissed, in demon form.

Beelzebub put a hand on Belphegor’s shoulder trying to ease his anger but it was palpable.

“You guys know damn well why I’m working and you’re makin’ it harder what gives!”

Satan glared at Mammon now, “as Belphie said. What did you expect?”

Mammon clenched his fists and his demon form slipped out which surprised his brothers. Mammon didn’t often lose control like the rest of them, even when they beat on him, called his names, or won their money back, Mammon would stay calm. But not now, Mammon was beyond pissed.

Lucifer remained silent, he knew what Mammon was going to say and he knew that Mammon would be right too.

“Do ya realize that by gettin’ in my way, you’re really just gettin’ in ___’s way!”

They froze in silence.

“I get that you’re all mad they didn’t date you instead! I get that cause I’d feel the exact same way! Y’know how pissed I got all those times I thought they were dating one of you! Or when they kissed Lucifer that time he got amnesia!”

Lucifer chuckled and earned hateful glares from each brother.

“Anyways, I get it! But this isn’t about me, it’s about ___! And if you really care about them then you should want them to be happy and like it or not, they’re happy with me! And I’m tryin’ to give them a ring they deserve and I’m doin’ honest work! So quit comin’ into the castle and screwing everything up! It’s not cool and you know that!”

Everyone was silent for a while and Mammon finally tucked away his wings and sat on the couch facing his brothers.

Lucifer finally spoke with a small nod. “I know.” He relented. “You’re right. All of us are making things harder on you.”

“Hey! You don’t speak for me,” Belphegor snapped but Satan shook his head.

“Give it up Belphie. We’re too obvious.” Satan looked Mammon in the eye. “Fine. We’ll stay out of your way and we’ll do it for ___ not for you.”

Asmodeus nodded and Beelzebub looked at the ground.

“But know this,” Satan continued. “I’ll be waiting for the moment you slip up and when that happens I’ll be the one by their side.”

Leviathan set his D.D.D. down and glared, “That goes for me too.”

Everyone agreed and Mammon sighed. “Whatever, that’s not gonna happen so you’re all gonna have to suck it up for ___’s sake. You really think they want you guys trying to ruin their relationship the second you can?”

Satan turned red and Beelzebub blushed in some sense of shame. They wouldn’t admit to it but they still intended to romance you any chance they could get. Similarly to Diavolo, they were hoping that after hundreds or thousands of years with Mammon, polygamy might be on the table.

Mammon knew this and stayed wary of his brothers but took solace in the fact they wouldn’t dare upset you, so his relationship was safe as long as you were happy. That scared him at the same time.

The closer Christmas got the more he panicked. Was he really good enough? Could he really make you happy forever? He couldn’t even make up his mind on a ring because everything looked so damn perfect when you wore it and he couldn’t afford to get them all.

Mammon looked at the calendar one more time before collapsing into your bed, “the twenty-third already…” he sighed and covered his face.

He was so close to eternal happiness but at the same time feared letting you down. Mammon had nightmares that night until you shook him awake.

“Huh! What’s happening!” He shouted with a start, his cheeks stained with dried tears.

“Mammon…” you said in a gentle tone and wrapped your arms around him. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part V