#ive never been this kind of person. whats happening to me. looking at my hands. trembling.

[wtfforged]

more cats keep appearing on my canvas idk what to tell you boss

wanted to post the separate parts too :)

[barnacles34]

My Greatest Joy

IVE Yujin x Male Reader

16k words

'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.' — The Year of Magical Thinking

18+ smut

The Birth Crisis. The Great Vanishing. The Specter of Demographic Collapse. The media couldn’t decide on a name, only that it was happening. Some said Korea would be empty in a century. Others, ten years. Twenty-five, if they were feeling generous. A hysterical pendulum swing between denial and terror, between think-tank white papers and government campaigns urging citizens to bureaucratize what was once spontaneous: love, sex, reproduction.

But in Dunsan-dong, no one talked about it. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. The village shrank in slow motion. Affairs stopped happening—nobody had the energy, or the audience. The local divorce lawyer quietly removed ‘Infidelity’ from his services, then shut down altogether. Playgrounds grew ghostly. The corner food stands, once territorial battlegrounds for unruly teenagers, went bankrupt one by one. ‘Kids these days grow up too fast,’ one ajumma said, as if that were the whole explanation.

And yet, in all this entropy, two were born. A statistical error. A miracle.

Miracle is not hyperbole. In two decades, the birth count had been three. The bureaucratic failure of Love—yes, Love, capital L, the thing that was supposed to be instinctual, inevitable, the thing people built whole religions and K-dramas around—had finally completed its slow bureaucratic death. Love was no longer a force. Love was paperwork.

Except for two people.

For them, Love was everything.

—

'One move and you'll split open like a badly wrapped present.' ‘Is that your professional opinion?' 'That's my twenty years of keeping-you-alive opinion.' She's biting her lower lip, the way she always does when she's trying not to smile at your stupidity. 'And I really don't want to explain to some emergency room doctor why I have a boy bleeding out in my room at 2 AM.'

The gash should hurt more. Six inches of red spite across your forearm, but all you can focus on is how Yujin's looking at it—like she's found something breakable in a world made of steel.

'I really fucked up.' 'Did you?' Her touch finds your good arm, barely there. 'Or did you do exactly what you meant to?'

The lamp makes everything soft. She's wearing your t-shirt—the one you left here that summer when the AC broke. Cotton worn thin enough to catch shadowy curves underneath. Silk pajama bottoms that whisper secrets when she moves. You try not to notice. You notice everything.

'This might need stitches.' 'Are you volunteering?' 'Shut up and hold still.' But there's laughter in her voice, the kind that makes your chest tight. 'Some of us are trying to work miracles here.'

The first-aid kit looks wrong in her small hands. Those hands that used to patch up your scraped knees, that still know exactly where you're breakable.

'Remember that time in third grade?' Her fingers ghost over your skin. 'When you tried to convince me you could fly?' 'I could've.' 'You broke your arm.' 'Minor setback.' She laughs, soft and close. 'Nothing's changed, has it?'

Everything's changed. The way moonlight catches in her hair now, how her perfume makes your head swim, the careful distance she keeps even when she's touching you. But you say, 'Not the important things.'

Her breath hits your arm in warm little puffs as she works. Clean movements. No hesitation. Like she's mapping something she never forgot.

'Almost done.' Her thumb traces the edge of the bandage. 'Next time try not to bleed on my carpet?' 'Yujin-ah.' 'Mm?' 'Thank you.'

She looks up. Those eyes crack something in your chest. Then she smiles and whatever was cracked turns to stardust.

'So how'd it happen? And don't say you just slipped, because I know all your clumsy excuses by heart.' 'Just slipped.' 'Onto what? Did some wandering samurai leave their sword in Dunsan-dong?' 'You never know what you'll find these days.' 'Hey.' Her voice goes quiet, the way it used to when she'd tell you secrets at midnight. 'Tell me? I promise to not scold you…much.'

Face to face now. The universe narrows to this: her eyes on yours, her hands still on your skin.

'Okay.' You gesture with your good arm. 'Window.' 'What did you—' Her voice catches. 'If you've done something wild—'

Then you smile.

You watch her shoulders drop. It's a small thing, being able to do this—turn her static to quiet. Not exactly Superman stuff, but it's the only superpower you'd keep if they were dealing them out.

She knows. You can see it in how she moves—little half-dance steps to the window, taking your words as is—hopefully, something good. The curtain whispers. You don't watch. Can't. Your skin's electric with her lingering smell—something you'd bottle if you could, except that'd ruin it, the particular way her skin holds the perfume.

The silence stretches until you think you might snap. Then—

'What am I supposed to be looking at? Because all I see is Mrs. Kim's cat trying to fight a streetlight again, and—' She stops. 'What's it say?'

'Let me make sure I'm reading this right.' She's still facing the window, but you can hear the smile breaking through, eyes transforming into pure joy. 'Because either someone's confessing to me via Christmas lights at 2 AM, or the neighborhood's having a very very specific power outage.'

'These past years—' 'Wait.' She spins around, eyes catching lamplight. 'Did you seriously string up every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong just to—' She takes three quick steps toward you, stops. 'The lights outside the convenience store. The ones from the coffee shop. Even the ones from—' Her eyes go wide. 'You didn't.'

'Old Mr. Park drives a hard bargain.' 'His birthday lights? The ones he's kept since forever?' 'To be fair, they were already purple. Worked with the aesthetic.' 'And what exactly did you promise him?' 'Just my eternal servitude. And maybe repainting his fence.' 'The whole fence?'

'Both sides.'

She shakes her head, but her smile could light up the whole neighborhood. 'You're insane. Completely insane. Do you know how many people I had to convince about your mental well-being?'

'Had to?'

'Have to. Present tense.' She's between your knees now, playing with your shirt hem like it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 'Though I guess now I'll have to change my story to "dating a lunatic who steals Christmas lights and nearly loses an arm trying to spell out love confessions."'

Your heart stumbles. 'Dating?'

'Well,' her borrowed shirt slips further, showing more shoulder. 'I mean, you did just write my name in stars.'

'They're Christmas lights.'

'Same difference.' Her fingers trail up your arm, careful of the bandage. 'Very romantic Christmas lights.'

'Does that mean—'

'It means anyone crazy enough to risk tetanus and Mr. Park's wrath deserves at least dinner.' A pause, then softer: 'Maybe breakfast too, if they play their cards right.'

'Just breakfast?'

'Don't push your luck.' But she's smiling that smile—the one that's always been just for you.

'Yujin-ah.'

'Mm?'

'All these years, did you ever—'

'Every day.' She doesn't let you finish. Doesn't need to. 'Every single day.'

'Can I—'

Her mouth finds yours: the way her lips part like flower petals at dawn, soft and inevitable. Her breath mingles with yours. There's the perfect arch of her spine, the way her breasts press warm against your chest through thin cotton, how her hips seek yours with an instinct older than thought. The taste of her, sweet milk tea and something darker, something that makes your blood sing. Her hands flutter at your neck, startled, before finding home in your hair, and there's that smell of her—woody, floral, fruity—that makes you dizzy, makes you forget where you end and she begins. Delicate sounds escape her, primal and pure, vibrating through both your bodies like a struck chord. Then she's pulling back, but her body stays honest—trembling, burning: alive with new knowledge.

'Sorry,' she whispers. 'Got carried away. We should probably wait until your wound is healed.' Her smile is so reassuring, masking the softest disappointment that her eyes couldn't hide. 

But she was in luck.

Your fingers circle her wrist mid-fret, right as she's about to check your bandage for the seventh time. Her skin is cool against yours, pulse like a hummingbird.

'Stop fretting.'

'I'm not fretting.' But she's barely holding back a smile, eyes bright with something more than just lamplight. 'I'm calculating how many years Mr. Park's going to make you repaint his fence.'

'Already negotiated.' You tug her closer, feeling the way she pretends to resist. 'Two coats, both sides, and my firstborn child.'

'Bold of you to negotiate with children that don't exist.' She settles between your knees anyway, like she's found her way home.

'Yet.'

Her borrowed shirt—your shirt—slips further off one shoulder. 'You're impossible.'

'Impossible enough to steal every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong.'

'Borrow,' she corrects, fingers playing with your collar. 'We're calling it borrowing. Sounds less felonious.'

'Look who's being responsible.'

'Someone has to be.' But she's leaning closer, breath warm against your mouth. 'Since you've apparently lost your mind.'

'Lost it years ago.' Your thumb traces her lower lip. 'Right around the time you started wearing my clothes.'

She makes this sound—half laugh, half something else entirely. 'Smooth talker.'

'Only for you.'

Her hands find your chest, but there's no real resistance in it. 'If you tear those stitches—'

The kiss swallows her warning. This one's different—deeper, like you're trying to taste every year you've waited. She makes a sound that turns your blood to starlight, fingers curling into your shirt like she's afraid you'll disappear.

'That's cheating,' she whispers when you break apart.

'Is it working?'

The lamp catches gold in her eyes. 'Always will.'

Your hand finds skin at the small of her back. She arches like a cat stretching into sunlight.

'You're staring.'

'Can't help it.'

'Try.'

'Make me.'

She kisses you this time—soft, sweet, dangerous. When she pulls back, her smile could outshine every stolen light in the neighborhood.

'We should probably—' she starts.

'Probably.'

Her fingers find the hem of her shirt. Your shirt. Details.

What follows is an exercise in creative problem-solving. One functional arm between you, too much cotton, not enough coordination. Her hair gets caught. You both laugh. The shirt wins the first round.

'Left,' she instructs.

'My left or your left?'

'Wait—here… I got it.'

The second attempt goes better. The shirt surrenders its hold, and suddenly there's just Yujin—all golden skin and starlight. Her bra's simple beige cotton, but the way it holds her could make Michaelangelo weep.

'You're staring again.'

'Still can't help it.'

She kisses you quiet, hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer. Everything soft and warm and perfect.

'Can I—' your fingers find her back, trace lace.

'Yes.' Another kiss. 'Please.'

The bra falls away like a secret finally told. You forget how words work.

The air hums with the weight of revelation—her body an altar, every contour a psalm. Your breath tangles as you drink her in: the bronze aureoles, the arch of her ribs like a vaulted sanctuary, the pulse fluttering at her throat like a caged sparrow. She shivers beneath your gaze: the raw vulnerability of a soul laid bare.

Your palms ascend her sides, mapping the smoothness, the glory of it all—each sigh, each hitch of muscle, a dialect you ache to memorize. She tips her head back as your thumbs brush the underswell of her breasts, a whimper dissolving. ‘More,’ she murmurs, not a demand but a prayer, a beg; her fingers knotting in your hair as if you might slip away like smoke.

You oblige, slow as honey, mouth tracing the salt-sweet hollow of her collarbone. Her skin blooms beneath your lips—petal-soft, fever-warm—as you chart a path lower, lower, until her nipple grazes your tongue. She gasps, back arching. Her hands clutch at you, anchor and plea, as you worship her with unhurried devotion, savoring each tremor, each stuttered breath.

When her legs part—a silent invitation—it’s your turn to shudder. The heat of her radiates through the last fragile barrier, a molten promise. You press closer, the rigid heat of your unclothed shaft straining against her thigh, a visceral counterpoint to her softness. She rolls her hips, deliberate, and you groan as her warmth grinds against you, friction sparking like flint.

You linger there, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, the world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. Her eyes lock with yours, galaxies swirling in their depths. ‘I want to feel you,’ she whispers, voice trembling. ‘All of you.’

You move as tides do: inevitable, reverent. Her thighs cradle your hips as you guide yourself to her entrance, the head of your shaft slick with Her. The first breach is a shared gasp—a threshold crossed in tandem. She tightens around you, velvet heat clenching like a fist around your length, and you still, trembling, sweat-slicked and spellbound. Her nails score your shoulders, anchoring you to the agony of slowness.

‘Slowly,’ she breathes, and you obey, each fractional advance a pilgrimage. Her fingers trace your jaw, your lips, as if memorizing the shape of this moment. When you’re sheathed fully, time suspends. Her lashes flutter closed, a tear escaping as she whispers, 'Yes.'

You move in thrusts. Her sighs crest into whimpers, into chants of your name, each syllable a spark in the gathering storm. Her breasts sway with the rhythm, nipples brushing your chest, while your hands grip the flare of her hips, guiding her into the tide. Around you, the room dissolves: there is only her skin, her scent, the liquid pull of her around your shaft—a mosaic of need and nectar, each fragment a revelation.

You kiss her deeply, tasting the salt of her surrender, as the world fractures, reforms, and fractures again.

—

Sheets tangled like an afterthought. A leg hooked over yours, pinning you in place with the quiet authority of someone who has long since decided where they belong. The desk fan ticks through its slow, mechanical arc, stirring the air, stirring her hair, making it brush your chin in the softest, smallest way possible.

She shifts, just enough for her ribs to press against yours. You feel her breathing. Deep. Slow. Listening.

‘I have an audition next week,’ she says, voice barely above a whisper.

‘For what?’

‘Community theater. Spring show.’ A pause. Then, quietly, ‘It’s dumb.’

‘You don’t do dumb things.’

She laughs. A real one. The kind that scrunches her nose a little, that makes her shoulders shake just enough to jostle you.

‘Except this,’ she murmurs. Her fingers trace slow circles on your chest.

‘This was a strategic decision.’

‘Oh?’

‘Carefully calculated.’

She laughs again, softer this time. Her breath is warm where it spills against your collarbone. You could live here. Right here, in the space between her voice and her warmth and the way her hair tickles your skin.

She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. The Christmas lights outside flicker purples and blues across her face, her skin, making her look like something caught between a dream and waking. Her smile is quiet. Not big, not blinding. Just there. Something she’s forgotten to hide.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hey.’

Her fingers tap lightly against your chest. ‘Remember when you proposed to me behind the school?’

‘Which time.’

She grins. ‘The time I lost the play to Wonyoung and cried so hard I got a nosebleed.’

‘Ah. I told you it didn’t matter because you’d always be the lead in my story.’

She groans, dropping her forehead to your shoulder. ‘You were so corny.’

‘Still am.’

‘Yeah,’ she murmurs. ‘You are.’

You feel her smile against your skin.

The fan clicks on again, stirring the night, the space between you. The crickets outside hum in harmony with the distant sound of a train—faint, but there. The whole world is slowing down. Breathing with you.

She shifts again, nestles closer. Her lips brush your skin—your collarbone, then just above your heart.

‘I can hear you thinking,’ you say.

She sighs, slow and steady. ‘Just… happy.’

You don’t say anything. Just hold her tighter. Like keeping her close might keep the moment from slipping away.

She pulls back, just far enough to see you, really see you. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are still swollen. The Christmas lights turn her eyes into something impossible, something endless.

‘I love you, you know,’ she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like she’s never known anything else.

You smile. ‘I know.’

She kisses you. Slow, deep, soft. Like a secret. Like an answer.

The fan ticks. The lights flicker. The night stretches on.

—

It was supposed to be small. A local theater gig, a footnote in her life story. Something that kept her busy while she figured out the rest. That was the plan.

Then a casting director walked into the wrong show on the right night. A single scene, a single line delivered with the kind of weight that makes people stop chewing their popcorn. Two weeks later, she’s everywhere.

At first, it’s just murmurs. Articles in the culture section. Buzzwords like promising, raw talent, the next big thing. Then the billboards go up. Magazines with her face—half-laughing, half-serious, eyes catching the camera like they know something you don’t. The first time you see one, it’s plastered on the side of a bus stop you used to share, back when the only lines she rehearsed were whispered promises and badly sung pop songs.

Now she’s too big for Dunsan-dong.

Not just big. Seismic.

Korea’s sweetheart, the industry's new obsession. Agencies circle like sharks with briefcases, smiling through teeth polished for negotiation. They offer her everything—money, sponsorships, a life where she doesn’t have to wait for the subway or count change at convenience stores. And she takes it, not because she’s greedy, but because this is what she was always meant to be.

You watch it happen the way people watch slow-motion car crashes. Helpless. Horrified. A little bit in awe.

Because here’s the thing they never warn you about when you love someone who's destined for greatness: fame isn’t a door. It’s a chasm. You can’t walk through it holding hands.

At first, you convince yourself nothing’s changed. You still talk, still text. But her replies come slower, her voice more rehearsed. The calls happen between set breaks, her voice filtered through exhaustion and bad reception.

Then the interviews start. The talk shows. The press tours.

She gets good at the answers, the little smiles, the artful dodges. The first time someone asks if she’s dating anyone, she hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for the internet to notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. That she’s protecting you. That this is just part of the machine.

But a few weeks later, you see a headline:

‘The Nation’s New Star: Who is Yujin’s Mystery First Love?’

And for the first time, it hits you—really hits you—how easy it is to be rewritten.

The tabloids build their own history, constructing boyfriends from old classmates, exes from co-stars. They don’t name you. They don’t have to. Because in the world they’ve built, you don’t exist.

And maybe, you start to think, maybe you never did.

Maybe love isn’t enough when it’s up against the weight of the world. Maybe you were naive to think you could be something more than a footnote in her legend.

Maybe you were never really two. Maybe it was always just her.

Moving forward. Rising higher.

And you—

You’re just the idiot standing still, watching her disappear into the stars.

—

Yujin called you up.

The night was cutting: cold, unrelenting Snow blew sideways, a thousand tiny knives catching on your exposed skin, but you sat there anyway—legs crossed, hands in your lap, all polite.

The bench was old, paint curling at the edges, the kind of place people only sat when they had no better options. You smiled at the irony.

You’d met Yujin in worse places. Loved her in worse places.

And maybe, just maybe, lost her in worse places too.

Then she emerged from the fog, a silhouette first, then a shape, then a person.

Five benches away. Maybe six. Distance had become an abstract concept, like time, like certainty, like the idea that love—real love—was enough to hold the weight of the whole goddamn world.

She didn’t sit. Didn’t hesitate.

‘Let’s break up.’

The words didn’t belong to the girl who used to steal fries from your plate, who used to call you at 2 AM because she saw a cat in the street and thought you needed to know. They belonged to someone else. Someone who had spent hours, maybe days, rehearsing.

Her voice was final. Her eyes were final. Everything about her, from the way she stood to the way the wind refused to touch her, was final.

You should’ve said something.

Anything.

But the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale, stolen by the weight of three syllables arranged in an execution sentence.

The snow caught in her hair, in her lashes, in the hollow curve of her collarbone, and she looked—god, she looked—like something from a dream you had once, the kind you woke from gasping, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

And then she wasn’t.

She turned. Walked away. Snow swallowed her whole.

You could’ve chased her. Could’ve fallen to your knees, begged, pleaded, made a scene, made a fool of yourself. Could’ve grabbed her wrist, reminded her that you were not just some chapter to be closed. Could’ve thrown every memory, every quiet moment, every touch, every whispered I love you in her face like proof of something sacred.

But you didn’t.

Because Yujin never spoke like this. Not unless she meant it.

And that’s what gutted you most.

You sat there long after she was gone, staring at the place she used to be, like if you looked hard enough, you could rewind time, unbreak whatever fragile thing had finally snapped between you.

The sky stretched empty above you, stars sharp against the ink. You tried counting them. Tried counting anything to stop counting the ways you’d just lost her.

One star. Two. One mistake. Two. Three years. Four. Five benches away.

Maybe six. The wind howled, and you let it.

—

The beer’s flat, but that’s not why it tastes bad.

You lean against the bar, watching foam dissolve into something thin and lifeless, the way good things always do. Three years distilled into neon lights and a tab you don’t remember opening.

She’s 24 now. You keep count because she was impossible to avoid—billboards, subway ads, every damn screen flashing her face like she owns the world. And maybe she does. The brightest star, the nation’s darling, the girl who left and became.

You should be proud. You tell yourself you are.

But pride doesn’t feel like this. Doesn’t sit heavy in your ribs like grief. Doesn’t twist like a blade when you flip through channels and land on her.

The latest drama. Friends-to-lovers, some rom-com fluff. A special kind of hell, watching her fall for someone else, even if it’s scripted.

And the kiss—god, the kiss.

Over and over. Different angles, different takes. The guy has trepid shoulders and a weaker mouth. You want to reach through the screen, grab him by his stupid collar, shake him until he understands: You don’t get to kiss Yujin like that unless you mean it.

The beer in your hand swirls, a storm in a pint glass. You watch it spin, thinking about how everything these days seems determined to drown you.

Then Roach walks in.

Roach—half philosopher, half walking disaster. A man with too many past lives and a prosthetic eye that glows faintly under bar light, making him look part machine, part ghost.

‘That recovery group, they’re solid,’ he says, by way of hello. His voice is like chewing on gravel. ‘Might’ve been able to quit if I stuck around.’ ‘4.8 stars on Google, right?’ ‘Right. Wait. How’d you know that?’ His synthetic eye sits there while the real one narrows. ‘Been there.’ ‘What?’ ‘Been there. You recommended it.’ Roach laughs, short and sharp. ‘That was the review forum.’ ‘Memory’s fuzzy.’ ‘Fuzzy? You’re getting soft.’ ‘All those reviews read like discount novels, Roach.’ ‘Why the hell would I write reviews?’ ‘Same reason you do anything—to feel something.’ He smacks your chest, hard enough to make you look up. ‘Yujin broke you. Plain as day.’ Your throat tightens. The name alone feels like a switchblade. ‘It’s not like that… anymore.’ ‘Sure looks like it.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘You’re on the leaderboard in this bar. They’re bleeding you dry, and you’re letting them.’ You don’t argue. Just take another sip. ‘Don’t deserve this money anyway.’ ‘Then give it elsewhere. There’s an orphanage across the street.’ ‘Don’t play saint with me.’ ‘It’s just a block away.’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘Just a block—’ ‘Fine.’ You press your glass against the table, like the condensation might hold you steady. ‘I’ll think about it.’ Roach grins like he’s won something. ‘Ever watch her show?’ he asks, tilting his flask toward you. You hesitate. ‘Not really.’ ‘Bullshit. Saw you yesterday. That rain scene.’ Your grip tightens around the glass. The rain scene. You were there. Back when “we” still meant something. Holding her coat between takes, watching her shiver between scripted heartbreaks. ‘She always cried pretty,’ you murmur. ‘Even back then.’ Roach nods, takes a sip. ‘Tell me about it.’ You do. You don’t mean to, but you do. ‘Nothing to tell,’ you start. ‘I was nobody. She was becoming somebody. Simple math.’ ‘That’s not what I heard.’ ‘Yeah? What’d you hear?’ ‘That you proposed. Night before Seoul.’ The beer sours in your mouth. ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Does it matter? True though, isn’t it?’ You let out something that’s supposed to be a laugh. ‘Got the ring from my grandmother. Vintage Tiffany, art deco. Yujin loved vintage.’ ‘And?’ ‘And she cried. Not the pretty kind.’ You see it now, clear as the night it happened—her shaking hands, the way she pressed the box back into yours like it burned. ‘Said she couldn’t. Said she wasn't ready. I guess that was the foreshadowing: she broke up with me just a week later.’ ‘A choice between you and fame?’ ‘Between real life and the life she’d dreamed of since she was six. No contest, really.’ Roach doesn’t speak for a while. Just stares at the bar like it’s holding the right words. ‘Where’s the ring now?’ You smirk, but it tastes like blood. ‘Pawned it. Bought a week of blackout drunk and a ticket anywhere else.’ Roach exhales, long and low. His eyes flick to your watch, but nothing gold can compare to what you lost. ‘And here you are.’ ‘Here I am.’ Bass pulses through the walls, someone screams about love on the dance floor, and the bartender slides another drink toward you like it might fix anything. Roach downs the rest of his flask, claps a hand on your shoulder. ‘Well. Good luck with that. Got a missus waiting. Let me know when you find one.’ You don’t look at him. ‘We might never speak again.’ ‘Doubt that.’ A pat on the back, one final grin. Then he’s gone. You scoff. If ever. And you leave.

—

Seoul in summer is a thing that sticks. To your skin, to your thoughts, to the spaces between breath. Heat rises off the pavement, thick and wet, settling in your lungs like something permanent.

The city is wide awake, but softer at this hour. Convenience store fluorescents hover in the humidity, blurring edges. Subway vents exhale something metallic, ghostly. The crickets don’t know they live in a city. They just keep singing.

You walk. Not home, not anywhere. Just walking, because it’s better than stopping.

Stopping means remembering.

Every street corner holds a version of her. The Yujin who stole fries off your plate, who could sleep through a fireworks show, who once convinced you that every ice cream cone tasted better if it was half-melted. She’s there, tucked into flickering billboards, frozen mid-laugh on subway ads, threaded between the chords of songs you don’t mean to hear.

You take the long way. Five, six corners. Maybe more.

Then the bus stop appears.

Half-forgotten. Almost overgrown. A bench with its paint peeling like old skin, weeds curling around the edges like they might swallow it whole.

You sit. Elbows on knees. Hands folded. Thinking. Not thinking.

The streetlight buzzes. The air is thick with waiting.

Then—

A shadow falls across your feet.

A shift in pressure. Not wind, just something. The moment before a storm, before impact, before memory collides with the present and makes a mess of everything.

‘What are you doing here?’ Soft. Not a blade, not a wound. Just a question that lands like an old habit.

You don’t need to look. But you do. Because some habits don’t break.

Yujin stands there, framed by sodium light, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie that looks too soft to exist. No cameras. No entourage. Just her.

And god—just her is enough to knock the breath out of your chest.

‘Hiding?’ Soft. Like the question isn’t a question, just something to fill the space between heartbeats.

You don’t look up right away. You know the shape of her. You’ve spent years knowing it. The way she stands, weight slightly to one side. The way her voice lands, gentle, edged with something only you ever got to hear.

But you look anyway. Because it’s her. And some rules of the universe don’t change.

Yujin.

Not the Yujin on billboards, the Yujin on magazine covers, the Yujin who belongs to a nation that adores her.

Just Yujin.

Hair a little messy. Hoodie swallowing her frame. Hands tucked into the sleeves like she’s bracing against a cold that doesn’t exist.

And—god. Her eyes. Still warm. Still familiar. Still Dunsan-dong in their quiet, endless way.

She tilts her head. Smiles. The kind of smile that makes you feel seventeen again, like you just said something stupid and brilliant in the same breath.

‘Hiding?’ she repeats, softer this time.

‘Hiding implies I have something to hide from.’

‘And do you?’

A pause. Then—

‘Maybe.’

A hum. A small shift in weight. Then she sits. Just like that. No asking, no hesitation. Just sits, close enough that her knee brushes yours, like muscle memory, like the past hasn’t completely given up on you yet.

The air smells like street food, like summer. Somewhere, a neon sign hums its last flickers before shutting off for the night.

She bumps her shoulder against yours.

‘Missed you, you know.’

You turn your head. Blink. She’s watching you, like the sentence wasn’t a trap, wasn’t something heavy. Just… true.

You swallow.

‘Yeah?’

She nods, pulling her sleeves over her hands. ‘Yeah.’

The night stretches. Not awkward. Not tight with something unspoken. Just easy. Just… there.

‘How’s life?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know. Full of bad choices.’

‘Any good ones?’

‘Still deciding.’

She breathes out a laugh, soft.

You glance at her, at the curve of her nose, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s done since she was a kid.

‘You look…’ she starts, then tilts her head.

‘What?’

‘The same.’

You huff a laugh. ‘That’s a lie.’

‘No.’ She nudges your knee again. ‘You’re just… still you.’

And it’s so simple, the way she says it. So casual, like she hasn’t just pulled the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. Not yet.

She leans in slightly.

‘Still drink too much coffee?’

‘Still sleep through earthquakes?’

Her grin widens. ‘Still remember that?’

‘Some things don’t change.’

‘Some do.’

A small shift. A glance. A fraction closer.

And the city moves around you, oblivious.

But you?

You stay still.

You stay here.

Yujin sighs, long and soft, tilting her head back, watching the streetlight cast flickering halos through the humidity.

‘Seoul’s different at night,’ she murmurs. ‘Seoul’s different all the time.’

She hums, half in agreement, half just because she likes the sound. You forgot about that—the way she used to make tiny noises when she was thinking, little musical notes that filled in the gaps between words.

‘Feels slower now,’ she says. ‘That’s just you.’ She turns to you, eyes warm. ‘Yeah?’ You nod. ‘Everything moves too fast for you these days. You forgot what slow feels like.’ A small smile. ‘Remind me?’ Something tightens in your chest. She doesn’t mean it like that. Doesn’t mean it like anything more than what it is—a quiet moment, a quiet ask. But still. You shift, leaning back against the bench, stretching your arms across the top like you own the night. Like it doesn’t own you. ‘Alright,’ you say. ‘Lesson one: sitting still.’ She huffs a laugh but follows your lead, sinking deeper into the wood, legs stretching out. Her foot knocks against yours. ‘Like this?’ ‘Yeah.’ A beat. ‘And then what?’ ‘Nothing.’ She raises a brow. ‘That’s it?’ ‘That’s it.’ She exhales, slow and thoughtful. ‘You always made things feel easy,’ she says, voice quiet, like she’s afraid of disrupting the moment. You glance at her, and she’s not looking at you—just at the night, at the city, at something only she can see. ‘Not sure that’s true,’ you admit. ‘No, it is.’ She pulls her sleeves over her hands again, eyes flicking toward you. ‘You made me feel easy. Like… breathing.’ Something inside you curls at the edges. ‘Yujin—’ ‘It’s okay.’ She shakes her head, soft, smiling like she’s telling you not to carry it too heavily. ‘I’m just remembering.’ The city hums around you both. A distant motorbike rumbles past. Somewhere, an old radio plays a song you half recognize. You look at her again. Hair slightly mussed. Eyes bright, soft, familiar. Like she was never gone at all. She shifts, tucking one leg under the other, hands still hidden in her sleeves.

‘You ever think about calling?’ Her voice is light. Not demanding. Not accusing. Just... wondering. You let out a slow breath. ‘You ever think about picking up?’ A small laugh, exhale-soft. ‘Yeah.’ You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, chin propped against her knee, smile barely-there but real. ‘But I figured you needed time,’ she says. You swallow. ‘Did I?’ Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her hoodie. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just told myself that so I wouldn’t call.’ The honesty knocks something loose in your chest. You don’t say anything for a moment. The city moves around you both, neon humming against the wet pavement, the smell of night air thick with too many things. Then, quietly— ‘Three years is a long time, Yujin.’ ‘I know.’

She shifts, slow, careful, like she’s turning over a fragile thought in her hands. ‘But I never wanted it to be forever.’ Your throat tightens. You want to ask her then why did you leave like it was? But you don’t. Because you already know the answer. Because she was always meant for something bigger. Because she was scared, because you were scared, because maybe—just maybe—back then, love wasn’t enough to hold everything steady.

Instead, you say, ‘You look good, you know.’ Her lips curve, soft. ‘You do too.’ You scoff, tipping your head back against the bench. ‘Liar.’ ‘I never lied to you.’ That shuts you up. For a moment, you let it sink in. The weight of her voice, the way she says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something you should’ve never doubted. Then, softer— ‘You really never called?’ she asks. ‘I really never called.’ She doesn’t look away. ‘Why?’ You inhale. Let the air sit heavy in your lungs. ‘Because I thought you’d be better off without me.’ The words land, quiet and unpolished. Yujin blinks. Then— ‘You idiot.’ And then she’s moving, shifting closer, her fingers finding your sleeve, gripping just slightly, just enough for you to feel her there, to feel her warmth against the fabric. ‘Do you know how many times I almost showed up at your door?’ she says, voice soft but steady. ‘How many times I wanted to tell you that I was still here? That I—’ She stops. Exhales. Looks away, looks back. ‘That I missed you?’ You swallow. She’s close now. Not quite touching, but nearly. The air between you charged, something slow, something waiting. Your heart does something complicated in your chest. ‘You missed me?’ you murmur. Yujin smiles, small, fond. ‘Of course, you idiot.’ The city hums. The night exhales. And you— You don’t move away. Yujin stays close. Close enough for you to count her breaths, to feel the warmth of her body radiating through the space between you. You should say something. You should do something. Instead, you just sit there. And Yujin—Yujin lets you.

Her fingers stay curled into your sleeve, loose but certain. Like she’s testing gravity, checking to see if you’ll stay, if you’ll shift, if you’ll remind her that you’re real. She tilts her head, watching you the way she used to—like she’s memorizing you, like she’s trying to fit you back into the version of her life where you were always supposed to be. And maybe she is. Maybe she’s wondering how you look the same but feel different. Maybe she’s cataloging the way your shoulders have set a little heavier, the way your mouth curves in thought before you speak. Or maybe she’s just looking. Like she never stopped. ‘So,’ she says, voice light, careful. ‘What now?’ A question too big for this moment. A question you can’t answer, not yet. So you do what you always do. You deflect. You lean back, arms stretching across the top of the bench, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ She lifts a brow. ‘You were always the planner.’ She snorts. ‘Hardly.’ ‘Oh? I seem to remember someone who had color-coded schedules for summer break.’ ‘That was one summer.’

‘Still counts.’ She exhales a laugh, tipping her head back against the bench, looking up at the sky. ‘Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little obsessed with plans.’ ‘A little?’

She shoots you a look, but it’s all warmth. All familiarity. ‘You liked it,’ she says. ‘It was efficient. It was cute.’

You hesitate. Just slightly. But she catches it. Of course she does. Her smile softens.

‘You can say it, you know.’ You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. ‘Say what?’ ‘That you missed me too.’

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach pull tight. Not teasing. Not fishing. Just true. You turn back to the street, watching the way the neon catches in the puddles, turning them into something like galaxies.

‘You already know.’ Yujin hums. ‘I want to hear it anyway.’ You exhale.

Three years of distance. Three years of silence. Three years of trying to unwrite the part of your life where she belonged.

‘Yeah,’ you say, voice quiet. ‘I missed you.’

Yujin doesn’t say anything right away. Then—

Her hand slides fully into your sleeve, warm against your wrist. A small thing. A quiet thing. But it’s enough.

‘Good,’ she murmurs.

You sit there like that for a while. Neither of you moving. Neither of you pulling away. And for the first time in years—

The silence between you doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.

Her hand stays there. Not gripping. Not holding. Just resting, warm against your wrist, like it belongs there. Like it never left.

You let out a slow breath. Three years. Three whole years. And somehow, this—her, the quiet press of her skin against yours, the way she’s just here—feels so natural it makes your ribs ache.

‘What are we doing, Yujin?’

Soft. Not accusing. Just—just needing to know if she feels it too, if this night is supposed to mean what you think it does.

She tilts her head, slow. Her hair slips over her shoulder, catching the streetlight in its strands. ‘Talking?’

A small, careful smile.

You huff. ‘Is that what this is?’

She hums, shifts a little closer, foot knocking against yours. ‘I don’t know. Feels nice, though.’

Nice. Nice, like it isn’t everything. Nice, like you aren’t suddenly breathing her in again, like your body hasn’t been on high alert since the moment she walked into your orbit tonight.

You roll your wrist slightly, just enough so that your fingers brush hers. She doesn’t pull away.

The city hums. The night exhales. And then—

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ she asks.

It’s an easy question. A simple one. But something about it knots itself into your chest, makes your throat tight. Because that’s always how it was with her. Yujin never asked for big things. Just small ones, one after another, adding up to something impossible to resist.

Do you want to get ice cream? Do you want to climb onto the roof? Do you want to watch the rain with me? Do you want to stay?

And you had always said yes.

You glance at her now, at the way she’s watching you, hopeful but not pushing, patient in the way only she could ever be. A walk. A moment. A step toward something you don’t quite know how to name.

You exhale, slow. Then you stand.

‘Lead the way.’

Her smile—god. Her smile.

She slips her hand fully into yours, easy, thoughtless, like muscle memory. Like no time has passed at all.

And you— You let her.

The street hums around you, the last traces of night shifting toward something softer. The vendors have mostly packed up, but the scent of grilled meat and frying oil still lingers, floating warm through the thick summer air.

Yujin’s hand stays in yours. Not tight. Not hesitant. Just there. Like it was always meant to be.

You walk without direction. Just moving, side by side, the way you used to. Her footsteps match yours easily, a quiet sync neither of you planned.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask, voice low.

‘Nowhere,’ she says.

It makes you smile.

A few years ago, that answer would have annoyed her. Yujin, the girl with color-coded schedules, with plans so detailed they might as well have been carved into stone. But now she just says it like it’s enough. Like it’s the whole point.

She swings your hands slightly, absentminded. ‘You always walked like this,’ she murmurs.

‘Like what?’

She shrugs. ‘Like the city doesn’t own you.’

You breathe in, slow. The neon of old convenience stores, the occasional flickering of a streetlamp. ‘I guess I never let it.’

She hums. ‘I did.’

You glance at her. ‘Yujin—’

‘It’s okay,’ she cuts in, smiling. ‘I wanted to. I just—’ She exhales, presses her lips together for a moment, then shakes her head. ‘I forgot how good it feels to walk like this. Without thinking.’

You squeeze her hand just slightly.

She notices. Her thumb brushes the edge of your palm. Not an accident. Not a mistake.

The city stretches ahead of you, quiet. ‘You ever think about coming back?’ you ask.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers tighten around yours, just a little.

‘I used to dream about it,’ she says, voice softer now. ‘I’d wake up thinking I was still in Dunsan-dong. That I’d step outside and find you waiting, like always.’

Your throat goes tight. She turns her head, studies your face in the flickering light.

‘But I was scared,’ she says, gentle. ‘What if you were different? What if I was?’

You don’t look away. ‘And now?’

A breath. A small, small smile. ‘I think I was scared of the wrong thing.’

Your heart stumbles.

She slows, pulling you toward the edge of the sidewalk, toward a tiny park that barely qualifies as a park—a patch of grass, a few trees. The kind of place nobody notices. She stops. Turns to face you.

You should say something. You should say everything.

But she beats you to it.

‘You were always the best part of my life,’ she says, voice steady, firm, like she’s decided something for herself.

Your pulse jumps. ‘Yujin—’

‘I just needed you to know that.’

She’s looking at you like she’s bracing for impact. Like she’s not sure what you’ll do with this thing she’s handing you.

So you take it. Carefully, quietly, the way she deserves.

You lift your hand—the one she’s not holding—and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches.

‘Yeah?’ you murmur.

She nods.

And then, softer—

‘I think you were always mine.’

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because the next thing you know, her hands are on your face, and your mouth is against hers, and the whole city dissolves around you.

She tastes like everything you remember. Like fine tea and something sweeter, something that was always just hers. She presses closer, hands slipping down to your collar, holding you there like you might disappear.

You won’t. Not this time.

When you pull back, she’s breathing fast, forehead resting against yours. You smile.

‘Still walk like the city doesn’t own me?’ you murmur.

She laughs, breathless, and pulls you back in.

Yujin kisses like a memory you never let go of. Like muscle memory, like breathing. Like the space between your ribs was always meant to make room for her.

She pulls back, just enough for her nose to brush yours. Her breath is warm, uneven. Her hands are still curled into the collar of your shirt, holding, gripping, keeping.

You open your eyes. She’s already looking at you.

Not like the girl on the billboards, not like the actress on screen. Just Yujin. Soft, real, right here.

Her lips are pink and kiss-bitten. She blinks slowly, dazed, like she’s trying to piece together what just happened. And then—

Then she laughs.

Not a big laugh. Not loud. Just this tiny, incredulous little sound. Like she can’t believe it. Like she can’t believe you.

‘What?’ you murmur.

She shakes her head, smiling, fingers still resting against your collar. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s a first.’

She huffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

A flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement. Mischief. Something else.

She tilts her head, considering. Then, in one slow movement, she leans in—

Not kissing you, not quite. Just close enough that her lips barely graze yours. Close enough that you can feel her smile.

‘Tempting,’ she murmurs.

Your heart stumbles.

But then she pulls away, slipping her fingers from your shirt, stepping back onto the sidewalk, like she’s giving you space to breathe.

You don’t need it. But you let her.

The city hums around you, the distant rumble of a car engine, the occasional flicker of neon against damp pavement.

You watch as Yujin tilts her head toward the sky, stretching her arms out, exhaling like she’s just remembered how.

‘I forgot what this feels like,’ she admits.

‘What?’

‘Not thinking.’ She lets her hands drop to her sides, flexing her fingers. ‘Not planning every second of my life in advance. Just… being.’

You shift, watching her.

‘I don’t think I’ve done that in years,’ she says.

A pause. Then, softly—

‘Stay with me.’

Your heart does something complicated in your chest.

She looks over, a little hesitant now, like she’s not sure how the words sound out loud.

‘I mean—’ she starts, but you shake your head.

‘Okay.’

Her lips part slightly.

Like she expected you to hesitate. Like she thought she’d have to convince you.

You step closer. Just enough that the space between you disappears again.

‘Okay?’ she echoes.

You nod.

Then, quieter—‘Anywhere.’

Yujin’s face softens.

And god, it’s so easy, the way she looks at you. Like you are something known. Like she is something understood.

She lets out a small, breathy laugh, reaching up to brush her thumb against the corner of your mouth.

‘You’re so stupid,’ she murmurs.

‘You love it.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Yeah, I do.’

She slips her hand back into yours, fingers threading together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she never left. Like you never let her.

And the city stretches ahead, wide open, waiting.

You should take a taxi. That would be the smart thing. A quiet, unremarkable way to disappear from the city before someone notices Korea’s brightest star walking hand-in-hand with someone who isn’t famous, isn’t scripted, isn’t anything but hers.

But Yujin shakes her head.

‘Not yet,’ she says.

So you walk.

She keeps close, hood pulled low, fingers curled into yours. The streets are thinning out, the city exhaling into its quieter hours. The air smells like fried oil and pavement, the ghosts of dinner service still hanging in the air.

She bumps into you once, then twice.

‘Are you always this bad at walking?’ you ask.

She grins, breathless. ‘I think I forgot how to do it with company.’

Company. Company.

You’re not sure if you’re relieved of that; that she was too busy to even meander through lazy lovers.

You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

Your place isn’t far, but when you reach it—when Yujin stops at the entrance, tilting her head back to take it all in—something shifts.

‘Huh.’

That’s all she says.

You fight a smirk. ‘Huh?’

She makes a small noise, arms crossed, like she’s trying not to look impressed.

‘You kept acting like you lived in a shoebox.’

You raise a brow. ‘Did I?’

‘Yeah.’ She gestures vaguely to the high-rise, the massive glass windows catching the city lights. ‘I was expecting something small. Modest. Maybe a bachelor pad with an ugly couch and a tragic little coffee table.’

You scoff. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘A very humble man, apparently.’

You shake your head, leading her inside.

The elevator is empty. Too bright. Too quiet.

She rocks on her heels. ‘So, do I get the grand tour?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say, pretending to think. ‘You might not be able to handle it. Very overwhelming.’

She elbows you in the side, laughing. ‘Shut up.’

The doors slide open.

She steps out first, into the hallway, waiting while you fish your keys from your pocket.

She glances over. ‘I still can’t believe you live here.’

‘Why?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s just weird.’

‘Weird how?’

She scrunches her nose, like she doesn’t quite know how to explain it. ‘I don’t know. You just never cared about stuff like this.’

You unlock the door.

She steps inside.

And immediately—

‘Oh my god.’

You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. ‘What now?’

She turns in a slow circle, taking everything in. The high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft lighting that spills across the polished wood.

‘Are you kidding?’ she says, spinning toward you, mouth open in faux outrage. ‘This is beautiful.’

You snort. ‘What, you thought I was sleeping in a broom closet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow. Faith in me is strong, I see.’

She grins, moving toward the living room. ‘No, it’s just—’ She shakes her head, fingers brushing over the back of the sleek, perfectly chosen couch. ‘You were always so… comfortable with less. I figured, even if you had money, you’d still live like some struggling artist in a shoebox.’

You scoff, kicking off your shoes. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Like, I don’t know, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. A single sad chair. Stacks of books everywhere.’

You raise a brow. ‘So your image of me is basically a broke philosophy major?’

She shrugs. ‘It suited you.’

You exhale a laugh.

‘But this,’ she gestures around again, ‘this is… grown-up.’

‘Was I not grown-up before?’

She grins. ‘No.’

‘Wow.’

‘But,’ she continues, stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the city spills out in front of her like a living, breathing thing, ‘I like it. It feels like you.’

You pause.

Not expensive. Not fancy. Not over-the-top.

It feels like you.

You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.

‘Yeah?’

She nods. ‘Yeah.’

She turns back to the glass, resting her fingers lightly against the frame. ‘You can see the river from here.’

You step up beside her.

It’s a view you see every day, but somehow, with Yujin here, it looks different.

She breathes in. ‘It’s nice.’

You breathe her in.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It is.’

She turns.

And then she kisses you.

Not careful. Not planned.

Just Yujin.

She tilts her head, presses up slightly on her toes, and meets your mouth with something warm, something easy.

It’s not perfect.

She misses, just slightly. Laughs into the kiss. Her hands fumble for your collar but find your wrist instead.

But god—

It’s real.

You breathe her in. Hold her waist. Feel her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt like she’s trying to pull you closer, closer.

She hums against your lips, smiling.

You grin. ‘You missed.’

She exhales a laugh. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

She does.

The kisses are clumsy, messy, soft. The kind that happens when two people are trying to remember, trying to relearn each other in real-time.

She tugs at your shirt.

You trip over the edge of the couch.

She gasps.

You land in a heap, tangled together, breathless.

Silence.

Then—

She laughs.

Bright, full, head tipped back against your chest.

You groan, letting your head fall back against the cushions. ‘Unbelievable.’

She grins, shifting so she’s straddling your lap. ‘I don’t know, I think it’s fitting.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ She leans in, pressing her forehead against yours. ‘Clumsy love suits us.’

Your breath catches.

Then, softer—

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It does.’

She cups your face, fingers warm against your jaw.

The city hums outside, unaware.

And you—

You stay here.

With her.

You don’t know who says it first.

Maybe her. Maybe you. Maybe neither of you—maybe it’s just implied, wrapped up in the way she’s still sitting in your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns over your collarbone, skin warm against yours.

But at some point, between the teasing and the breathless little ohs that slip between kisses, it just becomes a fact.

You’re both too warm.

Too sticky from the night air, from walking too long through humid Seoul streets, from the thick summer heat pressing against the glass of your windows.

‘Shower,’ she murmurs.

You’re not sure if it’s a request or a declaration, but either way—

‘Yeah,’ you say.

And then you’re moving.

Yujin laughs when you lift her off the couch, stumbling slightly as you navigate through the apartment. She doesn’t let go, arms slung loosely around your neck, breath warm against your ear.

‘Are you always this dramatic?’ she asks.

‘You love it.’

She hums, not denying it.

The bathroom is bright, too bright, the kind of brightness that makes everything feel a little more real than you’re prepared for. But Yujin doesn’t hesitate—just pulls her hoodie over her head, shakes her hair out, steps closer like she’s done this a thousand times.

Like she’s never left.

You watch as she turns toward the mirror, tilting her head slightly.

‘Haven’t been in a place like this in a while,’ she muses.

‘A bathroom?’

She snorts, shoving you lightly. ‘No, this kind of bathroom.’ She waves a hand vaguely, indicating the open shower, the marble walls, the soft lighting. ‘It’s fancy.’

You roll your eyes, reaching for the faucet. ‘You act like you don’t stay in five-star hotels every week.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

She steps behind you, pressing her chin against your shoulder. ‘This feels like you.’

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t say anything at all.

The water warms between your fingers, steam rising slowly.

Yujin hums, stepping forward, slipping her fingers under the hem of your shirt. ‘Come on.’

You don’t move.

She looks up, amused. ‘What, suddenly shy?’

You scoff, shaking your head, but your pulse jumps when her fingers skate lightly against your stomach.

She grins. ‘Cute.’

‘What is?’

‘Three years apart, and you’re still so you.’

You exhale a laugh, finally pulling your shirt over your head. She does the same, tossing her clothes into a messy pile, and then—

Then it’s just you and her, standing too close, bare skin meeting for the first time in what feels like forever.

Her breath catches.

You hear it. Feel it.

And god—

She’s so beautiful.

All golden skin and soft curves and the kind of warmth that could make the whole city feel like home.

She watches you, expectant, waiting.

You don’t make her wait long.

You reach for her—

And she lets you.

Lets you pull her in, lets you kiss her slow, deep, careful, like you’re memorizing her all over again.

She sighs into your mouth, hands trailing up your arms, curling into your hair.

‘Come on,’ she whispers.

And this time—

You listen.

The water is hot, almost too hot, but neither of you care.

Yujin steps under first, exhaling as the warmth rolls over her skin, tilting her head back so that her hair darkens, slick against her shoulders.

You’re distracted.

Too distracted.

Because—

Because she’s standing there, all bare skin and soft curves and Yujin, looking at you like she already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

‘Are you going to keep staring?’ she teases.

You swallow. ‘Maybe.’

She laughs, stepping forward, reaching for the shampoo.

You should move. Should help. Should do something.

But instead, you just—

Just watch.

The way she hums under her breath, the way she lathers the shampoo into her hair, fingers massaging small circles against her scalp.

You’re so lost in it, in her, that you don’t even realize she’s finished—

Until she suddenly turns, tilts her head, and smiles.

‘Come here.’

You don’t hesitate.

She tugs you forward, fingers threading through your hair, working shampoo into your scalp like it’s something sacred, something worth taking her time with.

And god—

God, you forgot how good this feels.

Forgot what it was like to just be, to just exist under someone’s hands, to let yourself be cared for in a way that doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t feel like a transaction.

Her fingers move slowly, carefully, her nails scraping lightly against your skin.

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Let yourself lean into it.

Let yourself lean into her.

And she—

She lets you.

She’s still rinsing when you reach for her.

‘What—’

You shush her, hands skimming up her sides, guiding her under the water’s warmth.

She lets you.

Lets you tilt her chin slightly, lets you press a kiss just below her ear, lets you work your fingers into her hair like she’s something holy.

Her breath catches.

You hear it, feel it, let it sink into your bones.

‘Close your eyes,’ you murmur.

She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—then obeys.

The water slides down her face, over her lips, down the elegant curve of her throat.

You watch, transfixed.

Then you move.

You reach for the shampoo, work it between your hands, and Yujin’s confused—’Again?’—but when your fingers find her scalp—

She melts.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her this undone.

Head tilted slightly, mouth parted, body soft beneath your touch.

She hums, a small, quiet sound, like she’s just remembered something she’d long forgotten.

You barely breathe.

Just keep going, keep moving, keep tracing slow, deliberate circles, letting your fingers tangle through her hair like it’s something sacred.

Because it is.

Because she is.

Yujin, the girl who never stopped moving, who never let herself stop thinking, who planned every step of her life down to the last decimal—

She’s still now.

Still, and warm, and yours.

You rinse the shampoo carefully, letting the water do the work. Your fingers trail down, down, past her neck, past her shoulders, past the delicate slip of her collarbone.

She sighs.

Leans into you.

Lets herself fall.

And god—

You’ll catch her.

Every time.

You reach for the soap next, work it slowly over her back, over her arms, over every inch of her that you can touch.

She exhales, barely above a whisper.

‘Feels nice.’

You smile.

‘Good.’

You don’t rush.

Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her with something as simple as this.

Your hands trail lower, down her spine, over the dip of her waist. She shifts slightly, breath hitching just a little.

You pause.

Press a kiss to her shoulder.

She shivers, but not from the cold.

‘This okay?’ you murmur.

Her fingers curl around your wrist, stopping you.

For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away—

But instead—

She guides your hand lower.

Presses it against the soft warmth of her stomach.

Holds it there.

She exhales, slow and deep. ‘Don’t stop.’ You don’t. God, you don’t. You let your hands move slowly, carefully, exploring her the way you’ve always wanted to—like she’s something to learn, something to understand. And Yujin— Yujin lets you.

She lets you wash away the last three years, lets you trace something new into her skin, lets you relearn every inch of her with soap and steam and careful, careful hands.

She turns in your arms, pressing her forehead against yours. The water slips between you, catching at the spaces where you don’t quite meet. She’s smiling. Soft. Sweet. Yours. You cup her face. She leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. For a long, long moment, neither of you move. You just stay. Right here. Right now. Like this. Like always. Then— She opens her eyes. And she kisses you.

The water trails down her spine in slow, careful rivers, catching in the dips of her back, rolling down the curve of her waist. You follow its path with your fingers, mapping her skin like something sacred, something known.

She doesn’t move. Just lets you touch. Lets you care.

You start with her back, palms gliding down the slope of her shoulders, the delicate stretch of muscle beneath warm, damp skin. Your thumbs press gently into the knots there, kneading, coaxing, working out tension she probably doesn’t even realize she’s holding.

She exhales, long and slow, tipping her head forward. ‘Mmm,’ she murmurs, voice thick with something close to sleep. ‘That feels good.’ You smile. Press your thumbs in a little deeper. Let your hands drift lower, following the curve of her spine, tracing each ridge, each shadow, each memory pressed into muscle. You smooth circles over her lower back, fingers pressing into the dimples there, trailing down— She shivers. Your hands pause. ‘Ticklish?’ you murmur.

She huffs a quiet laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘A little.’ You grin, but you don’t tease. Not now. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her in the simplest, softest way. You reach for the soap, work it between your hands until it foams, and then— Then you really start. You start with her arms, sliding your palms over smooth, damp skin, tracing the delicate lines of muscle beneath. You lift her wrist, turning it over, running your fingers along the pulse point there. Her breath catches. You watch, mesmerized, as water beads along the inside of her forearm, trailing down to the soft bend of her elbow. ‘You’re so careful,’ she murmurs. You hum. ‘You deserve careful.’ Something flickers across her face. Something soft. She lets her fingers curl around yours. You smile. Run your hands over her stomach next, tracing the subtle rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of her, the realness of her. She shifts slightly, the movement pressing her closer, pressing skin to skin, pressing warmth to warmth. You exhale. Let your hands drift lower, over the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the length of her thigh. You take your time. Because she lets you. Because she wants you to. You kneel then, water rolling down your shoulders, down your back, pooling against your skin. You press your lips to her hip. She exhales, shaky, fingers threading into your hair. ‘You don’t have to—’ ‘I want to.’ You slide your hands over her legs, smoothing your palms down her thighs, over her calves, down to her ankles. She watches, breathing slow. You work the soap into her skin, rubbing warmth into her, sliding your thumbs up the backs of her knees, over the gentle curve of her calves. She sighs. Soft. Deep. Content. You let your fingers skim up again, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her stomach, up— Up— To her chest. Her breath stutters. You pause. Look up. She’s already looking at you. Eyes dark, lips parted, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. She lifts her hand, pressing it against yours. Guiding you. ‘Go on,’ she whispers. And you do. God, you do.

You cup her, trace the delicate slope of her, run your thumbs over warm, wet skin, over the soft peaks of her breasts, watching the way she reacts, the way she shivers under your touch.

Her lips part.

Her fingers tighten in your hair.

‘You’re—’ she starts, voice barely a breath, barely a sound. ‘You’re so—’

You stand.

Tilt her chin up.

Kiss her.

Not hungry. Not desperate.

Just deep.

Just certain.

Just her.

And when you pull back, pressing your forehead against hers, she exhales a laugh.

‘This is dangerous,’ she murmurs.

You smile. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

She lifts her arms, looping them around your neck, pulling you in, pressing against you, warm and wet and perfect.

And you—

You let her.

The steam rises. The water beads against her skin, gliding down slow, tracing paths over the soft slopes of her body, catching at the delicate points where warmth meets shadow, where light bends just so, where she is golden and bronze and endless.

You follow it.

With your eyes first, then with your hands.

Fingertips grazing along the soft valley of her stomach, skimming over her ribs, pressing gently into the places where she is most tender, most real. You watch the way the droplets gather at her collarbone, suspended for just a moment before slipping down, down, disappearing into the delicate dip between her breasts.

It feels unfair, almost, that something as simple as water gets to touch her like this before you do.

So you take its place.

Your lips find her collarbone first, brushing against the damp skin, warm and reverent. She exhales, tilting her head slightly, letting you have her like this, letting you take your time.

You do.

You always do.

Your mouth trails lower, following the path of the water, tracing its descent. You press a kiss against the gentle swell of her chest, right where her heart beats beneath, steady, certain, alive. You linger there, letting the moment stretch, letting yourself feel it, letting yourself remember what it’s like to love someone in a way that has nothing to do with time or distance or the years lost in between.

She breathes in, slow and deep, her fingers threading through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp. Not pulling. Just holding.

And then you go lower.

The water clings to her, catching at the nipples, glistening like liquid gold against the dark-bronze warmth of her nipples. It drips, slow and deliberate, down the soft curve of her, over the places where she is most tender, most beautiful.

You chase it.

Your lips press to her sternum, then lower, following the water as it rolls over the swell of her breast, catching it before it can disappear.

She makes a sound then, a soft, breathy thing, like something breaking open inside her, like something unfolding, something giving way.

And god—

You love her like this.

Love the way she lets you worship her, the way she lets you press your mouth to her skin like it’s something sacred, like it’s something worth kneeling for.

You take your time.

You kiss along the curve of her, letting your tongue flick against her skin, letting yourself taste the warmth of her, the salt, the sweetness, the Yujin of her.

She trembles. Not much. Just a little. Just enough. You kiss the the peak of her breast—nipple, lips closing around the dark, glistening bronze of her, taking her between your lips like something meant to be savored. And she— She gasps. Soft. Sharp. Her fingers tighten in your hair, her back arching just slightly, just enough to press herself further into your mouth, to offer herself up like this, to let you take her in a way that feels like praise. The water slips between you, forgotten, but you don’t need it anymore. She is all the warmth you will ever need. And you— You are drowning. But you don’t mind. Not one bit.

You don’t know how long you stay like this—your mouth on her, your hands tracing slow worship into her skin, your tongue moving against the dark-bronze pebble of her like you’re tasting something sacred, something forbidden, something you never stopped craving.

She doesn’t rush you.

Just feels.

Just lets herself be felt.

Her fingers tremble against your scalp, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, to keep herself from falling apart entirely. The water sings against the tiles, drowning the rest of the world out, leaving just the sound of her soft gasps, her breath catching, the delicate whimper when your teeth graze over where she is most sensitive.

‘You’re—’ she tries, but the sentence breaks, dissolving into something else entirely.

You hum against her, half-smirking, half-dazed.

‘Say that again?’

She exhales sharply. Then, in a voice softer than the steam curling between you—

‘You’re ruining me.’

You smile against her skin.

‘Good.’

But then she’s moving.

Slow, steady, deliberate—sliding her hands down to your jaw, guiding you up, forcing your mouth away from her skin so she can see you again.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze, and god—

She looks like something devotional.

Like she’s burning and melting and breaking and remaking herself in the same moment.

And then she cups your face.

Runs her fingers down the sharp edge of your jaw, down your throat, down the planes of your chest like she’s trying to learn you all over again.

‘My turn,’ she whispers.

You exhale. ‘Yujin—’

But she’s already pressing her lips to your palm.

A slow, wet kiss against the skin there, warm and reverent.

You tense, watching the way she does it—how her mouth lingers, how her breath spills against your hand like she’s praying into it.

Then another.

And another.

Each kiss deliberate. Each one softer than the last.

Your fingers twitch.

Your heart stutters.

And Yujin—

Yujin just smiles.

Like she knows what she’s doing to you.

Like she knows the effect of her lips, her mouth, the heat of her pressing into you like this.

Then she goes lower.

Tracing fire against your wrist. Down to your forearm.

She’s taking her time.

Like she knows what’s coming. Like she wants you to feel every second of it before she even starts.

Softly, she lowers herself to the shower floor, folding her legs beneath her like someone praying—like someone preparing for something sacred. Water cascades over her, tracing the delicate angles of her face, slipping down her shoulders, clinging to her lashes. She doesn’t blink it away.

She looks up at you instead.

‘Just so you know,’ she murmurs, fingers curling around your thigh, pressing just hard enough to make you feel it, ‘I haven’t had this for three years.’

Your breath catches.

‘You poor thing.’

She hums, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering with something playful, something edged with heat. ‘If only you called.’

Her grip tightens on your shaft—subtle, knowing, cruel.

Your pulse slams into your ribs.

‘Regretting everything as we speak,’ you manage, voice rough, because god—three years of waking up alone, three years of knowing what her body felt like against yours and still having to live without it, three years of not having this—

Yujin presses her lips to your hip, slow, warm, reverent.

‘Don’t,’ she whispers, breath ghosting over your skin. ‘From now on, let’s not waste a single breath.’

And that was that.

No more lost time. No more distance.

She presses another kiss, right below your navel. Cheating.

Your entire body tenses, twitches, a sharp current running through you.

She notices.

She smiles.

‘This is punishment,’ she murmurs.

Your fingers twitch against the tile. ‘For what?’

She looks up at you, lashes wet and mussed and dripping, lips parted just slightly—ruinous.

‘For almost forgetting me.’

Your jaw tightens. ‘That’s blasphemy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Every waking moment, every—’

Her hand slides along your wet shaft. Tight. Destitution incarnate.

You stumble against the back wall.

She grins, a little smug, a little knowing, a little dangerous.

‘I don’t want excuses,’ she says softly.

And then—

Then she presses another kiss, open-mouthed, slow, dangerous, right where on the tip of your cock—collecting whatever desperation you had bottled up.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

She hums against you. Then, another kiss.

‘This,’ she says, hands curling against your hips, ‘is mine.’

And god, you believe her.

You always have.

Her mouth forms a tight ring right on your tip. She’s sucking everything out of you. Caring not for a single second how much this ruins you, how your knees intend to buckle.  

The cool wall slides against your back, and her mouth gentles now—less tight, slower, deliberate. Her lips part, wet and swollen, spit-strung as they glide over the flushed head of you. A slick sound escapes her, obscene and tender. You feel every ridge of her tongue, every warm drag, the way her saliva pools and drips down the length of you. She moans softly, and the vibration travels straight to your gut.

‘Easy,’ you rasp, fingers threading into her hair—not to push, but to feel. To guide her rhythm, your thumb brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Just like that…’

She obeys, but not meekly. Her eyes flick up, dark and gleaming through her lashes, her lips a glistening ring around you. The head glistens under the shower’s spray, spit-slick and ruddy, and when she pulls back just to breathe, a thin strand of saliva stretches between her bottom lip and your tip. She watches you watch it snap.

‘Yujin—’

‘Shhh.’ Her breath ghosts over the wetness she’s made, cooling the heat. ‘Let me.’

Her tongue swipes the slit, slow, too slow, and your hips jerk. She laughs—a soft, husky thing—and catches the bead of precum with her thumb. Holds your gaze as she sucks it clean.

‘All those years,’ she murmurs, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. Her voice is a frayed ribbon. ‘You let this ache. Let it go untouched. Why?’

You tighten your grip in her hair, not harsh, but present. ‘You know why.’

She hums, lips pressing to the vein throbbing beneath the skin. ‘Tell me anyway.’

‘Because it was yours.’ The admission tears free, raw. ‘Even when you weren’t.’

Her breath hitches. For a heartbeat, her composure cracks—lips parting, eyes glassy. Then she surges forward, taking you deep, deep, until your tip brushes the back of her throat. Her nose presses into your pelvis, her cheeks hollowed, and the wetness is overwhelming. Spit spills down her chin, drips onto the shower floor. You watch, wrecked, as she works you with a reverence that borders on worship.

‘God—Yujin—’

She pulls off with a gasp, lips swollen and slick. ‘Look at me.’

You do. Her face is flushed, water clinging to her lashes, hair plastered to her neck. Ruin has never looked so soft.

‘Never again,’ she whispers, palm cradling your jaw. ‘You don’t starve yourself. Not of this. Not of me.’

You nod, breathless, and she smiles—a fragile, aching thing—before bending again. Her mouth is softer now, languid, savoring. Every suck, every lick, pours honey into your veins. You let her take you apart, let her rebuild you, until the world narrows to her lips, her hands, the spit-slick sounds of her devotion.

The climax coils, inevitable—a wildfire in your spine, a tremor in your thighs. You feel it there, the precipice, and your hands fly to her shoulders, gripping hard. ‘Yujin—wait—’

She resists at first, brows furrowed, lips sealed tight around you. But you tug her back gently, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, her lips swollen, glistening. Her confusion flickers only for a heartbeat before you fist your cock, rough and hurried, and the first hot stripe of release paints her cheek.

She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as the next pulse hits her chin, her throat, the tip catching her collarbone. Thick, pearly streaks splatter across her skin—her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her top lip. A ragged moan tears from you as you empty yourself onto her, the mess pooling in the hollow of her throat, dripping down her sternum.

For a moment, she’s perfectly still, breath held, face tilted up as if in prayer. Then her tongue darts out, just once, catching the spill on her lip—not to taste, but to feel, to savor the proof. Her eyes open slowly, lashes sticky, gaze molten.

For a second, she just blinks.

One eye.

The other one is… well.

You watch her process it in real time.

Her lips part slightly, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as she takes in exactly what’s happened. Your release is everywhere—everywhere—glossing her cheekbones, slipping down the slope of her throat, pooling in the dip of her collarbone like some kind of offering.

She tilts her head. Blinks again.

‘Oh.’

Then she laughs.

A breathy, disbelieving sound, half-amused, half-are-you-kidding-me?

You’re still pressed against the shower wall, still trying to function, your brain short-circuiting between the mess you’ve made of her and the fact that she’s actually—laughing.

‘You—’ she starts, touching her cheek, then stopping, fingers hesitating before they smear through the mess, ‘—you got it in my hair.’

She looks up at you then, eyes bright, glistening—partly from you, partly from water, partly from the sheer absurdity of this situation.

You swallow, still breathless. ‘Uh.’

She blinks. A slow, lazy flutter of lashes.

Then her mouth quirks.

‘You should’ve warned me, you beast.’

You can’t help it—you laugh, too, scrubbing a hand down your face. ‘I tried. You didn’t stop—’

‘I was busy,’ she huffs, wiping at her cheek again. ‘And now I’m busy. Because look at me.’

You are.

You really, really are.

‘I mean—’ you gesture vaguely to her face, her throat, the trail of evidence marking everywhere she’s been—‘I think it’s a good look.’

She glares.

‘No, seriously. We could brand this. “Dewy Glow” or something. Sell it in high-end skincare stores. “Celebrity Secret.”’

She snorts, shoving at your thigh. ‘You absolute menace.’

And then—

‘Oh, wait.’

She freezes.

Her smile vanishes.

Her expression shifts into something far more serious.

‘Oh no.’

You blink. ‘What?’

She doesn’t say anything.

Just slowly, slowly, slowly raises a hand to her right eye.

You know what’s coming before she even speaks.

‘Oh my god, I can’t see.’

You wheeze. Actually wheeze.

She jabs a finger into your thigh. ‘Don’t—don’t laugh. This is serious. This is—I might never recover—’

‘Yujin.’ You’re still dying, but you reach for her anyway, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs swiping over her cheeks, carefully wiping away what you can. ‘Baby, blink—’

‘I am blinking.’ She’s being so dramatic about it, blinking furiously, tilting her face up to the water like it might cleanse her soul. ‘Oh my god. Oh my god.’

‘Okay, okay, come here—’

You guide her fully under the stream, hands in her hair, rubbing circles at her temples as she half-laughs, half-groans against your chest.

‘Three years, and this is how it goes?’

‘I mean,’ you murmur, fingers tracing down her jaw, ‘technically, this is a good thing. This means I really missed you.’

She gasps, smacking your chest. ‘That is not how this works.’

‘No, no, it is. You should be flattered.’

‘I am blinded.’

‘Listen, some people pay a lot of money for facials like this.’

‘Oh my god, shut up—’

She’s laughing now, still rubbing at her eye, still squinting slightly, but you tilt her face up, press your lips to her forehead, her nose, the water-warm curve of her cheek.

‘Here,’ you murmur, ‘let me see.’

She lets you, tilting her chin up, letting you wipe at her lashes, the bridge of her nose, the soft hollow under her eye. Your fingers are gentle, your touch slow, careful, as you rinse the last of it away.

Her hands find your ribs, gripping lightly, grounding herself.

‘I’m keeping score, you know,’ she murmurs, voice softer now.

You kiss her temple. ‘Yeah?’

She hums. ‘You owe me for this.’

You grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek. ‘I owe you?’

‘Mhm.’ Another soft blink, this one slower, more considering. ‘Big time.’

You exhale, pressing your forehead to hers. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm, searching.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

A beat.

Then she grins, pressing a quick, mischievous kiss to your lips.

‘Good.’

And then—

‘Now help me get this out of my hair, you absolute monster.’

You laugh, tilting her back under the water, already reaching for the shampoo.

You barely make it out of the shower before Yujin is already reaching for a towel, scrubbing at her hair like she’s trying to erase all evidence of your existence.

You watch her, arms crossed, towel slung lazily over your shoulder. ‘You know, I could help with that.’

She gives you a look. A very specific you-are-the-reason-I’m-in-this-mess look.

‘You’ve helped enough,’ she mutters, aggressively drying her face.

You grin. ‘Want me to dry your back?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘I don’t trust you.’

You press a hand to your chest, mock-wounded. ‘I am offended by this blatant accusation.’

‘You are plotting something. I know that face.’

‘I literally only have one face, Yujin.’

‘Yeah. And I know it.’

She sighs, shoving her towel at you. ‘Fine. You want to be useful? Dry my hair. But no funny business.’

‘Define funny business.’

She glares.

You chuckle, grabbing another towel, stepping behind her. She exhales as you gently towel-dry her hair, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into her scalp.

Her head tilts slightly, unconsciously leaning into your touch.

You knew she’d enjoy this.

She hums, closing her eyes. ‘Okay. Maybe you can be trusted.’

‘Told you.’ You press a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘I am a professional.’

‘A professional nuisance.’

‘A professional lover.’

She snorts. ‘Oh my god, shut up.’

You grin, setting the towel aside, reaching for the hairdryer.

She shifts slightly in her seat. ‘Wait—’

‘Hm?’

She peeks up at you, tilting her head back, cheeks warm. ‘...I like it when you do it slow. With your hands.’

You pause.

Look down at her.

Oh.

Oh.

You set the hairdryer aside. ‘You should’ve said so earlier, baby.’

She exhales, smiling, closing her eyes again as your fingers slip into her hair, raking through the damp strands, slow and careful.

This is— This is intimacy in its simplest form. You, standing behind her, fingers combing through her hair, working through knots with gentle patience. Her, sitting still, trusting you, letting herself be taken care of. ‘You’re soft,’ you murmur, pressing another kiss to her temple. ‘Mm.’ Her shoulders relax completely. ‘Just don’t mess up my parting.’ You chuckle. ‘I’ll do my best.’ It takes a while—because you like taking your time with her—but eventually, her hair is dry, loose waves tumbling down her back. She stretches, arms overhead, and that’s when you realize— She’s still wearing your shirt. The one she stole post-shower, hanging off her like it was made for this moment.

You stare. Your thoughts are not wholesome. She catches you looking. Her lips curve. ‘You’re plotting something again,’ she says, amused. ‘Maybe.’ ‘You need to control yourself—’ ‘Nope.’ She laughs, batting you away when you attempt to grab her. ‘No. No, sir,’ she warns, scooting to the bed. ‘You said you’d be good.’ ‘Did I?’ ‘Yes. You did. You explicitly said you’d behave.’ ‘And you believed me?’ She pauses. Then groans, rubbing her face. ‘God, I’m an idiot.’ You grin. And then you pounce.

She yelps, barely managing to roll away before you trap her under you, laughing as she dodges your grabby hands.

‘No,’ she gasps between laughs, ‘we are doing the normal nighttime routine first!’ ‘This is the routine.’ ‘No it is not!’ You chase her across the bed. She giggles, swats at you, then suddenly—miraculously—manages to flip you over, straddling you with a triumphant grin. ‘HAH.’ She plants her hands on your chest. ‘Got you.’ You blink up at her. Pause. Then smirk. ‘Yujin,’ you murmur, voice low. ‘Baby.’ Her smile falters. ‘…What.’

You cup her waist, slowly sliding your hands up, over the fabric of your shirt, over the nothing she’s wearing underneath.

She realizes. Her eyes widen. ‘Wait—’ And then you flip her back over. She gasps. ‘Noooooo—’ You laugh, pinning her down, watching as she squirms, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with warmth and amusement. This. This is the routine. Laughter. Teasing. The way you move around each other like gravity has always existed between you. She exhales, chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers curling around your wrists. Her voice, when she speaks, is softer. ‘You win,’ she murmurs. You press your forehead to hers. ‘I always do.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘Ugh. Fine. Manhandle me, then.’ She’s still beneath you, chest rising and falling, fingers curled loosely around your wrists where you’ve pinned them. Her breath is quick, her pulse erratic, and you know it’s not just because of the weight of you pressing her into the mattress—it’s everything. The warmth between you, the years leading to this, the understanding that what’s about to happen isn’t just want, isn’t just release—it’s reclamation.

She swallows, lips parting slightly, pupils wide and dark in the low light. The dark strands of her hair are fanned across the pillow, tangled from your hands, a mess you’d memorize blindfolded. There’s a flush blooming across her chest, creeping up the column of her throat, a heat that you feel mirrored in yourself.

You watch her, watch the way she shifts slightly beneath you, pressing up just enough to remind you she’s waiting, waiting, waiting. You could draw this out forever. But that’s cruelty. Or maybe, maybe, that’s worship.

You press your lips to the tip of her nose, then her cheek, then down, trailing a path over her jaw, her throat, the faint dip between her collarbones. You can feel the hum of her laughter before she even releases it, a small breath of amusement, her fingers twitching against your hold'

‘You’re teasing,’ she murmurs, voice wrecked already. ‘No,’ you answer, dragging your mouth lower, tasting the salt of her skin. ‘I’m remembering.’

Because you are. You’re remembering the way her body curls into yours when she’s overwhelmed. You’re remembering the tiny, trembling exhales she makes when your hands slide over the slopes of her ribs. You’re remembering that she loves when you take your time, that she loves to be adored, that she wants to feel every inch of you.

And she is so easy to adore.

You shift lower, your hands tracing slow, lazy patterns down her sides, feeling the way her muscles twitch beneath your touch. The shape of her—long lines, soft curves, skin warm and impossibly smooth beneath your lips.

Your name escapes her in a breath, a barely-there sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs, inside your chest, like it belongs there.

You kiss lower. Down, down. Your fingers slip between her thighs, ghosting over her bare glistening pussy, and her breath stutters, a sharp intake that punches straight through your gut. ‘Look at you,’ you murmur, dragging your knuckles up the inside of her goosebump-ridden thigh. ‘Fidgeting.’ She doesn’t answer. Just glares, lashes damp, lips parted, so achingly beautiful you feel winded.

‘Is that frustration?’ you tease, dragging your mouth back up, scraping your teeth over her hip bone. ‘It’s—’ She exhales, trying for control. Fails. ‘It’s you taking too long.’ You hum. ‘I thought you liked it slow.’ ‘I do,’ she grits out. ‘But I also like it when you—’

Her voice catches as your fingers press a little harder into her. A single stroke, just enough to make her body jolt, enough to make her curse under her breath, enough to feel the sticky wetness of her—inside.

Then you do it again. And again. Until her hips are moving against your touch, until her nails bite into your shoulders, until her breath is a series of broken, unsteady exhalations, ‘Yes, yes, oh fuck~’

You kiss her then. Hard. Deep. Drinking in every shiver, every sound, every breathless plea she won’t voice but you understand anyway.

And then— Then, finally— Her thighs part wider, welcoming you; knees hooking around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back. You press your shaft along her golden-soft navel, hard enough to get her whimpering under the heat of your shaft. You drag slowly along her soft—yet firm—navel, coursing the map lower and lower—until the nub responsible for her heat—all swollen and beautiful and pink—meets your tip. She lets out a sudden whimper; She glares, and you press a kiss on her temple once again—sorry baby, sorry. At the end of the map, you feel the slick heat of her cunt against the head of your cock, her entrance fluttering, pulsing, as you grind around the clit in slow, torturous circles. Precum smears her folds, mingling with her arousal, the glide obscenely wet. ‘Fuck,’ she hisses, nails raking down your spine. ‘Stop—stop toying—’ You catch her wrist, pinning it above her head again. ‘No.’ Your other hand grips the base of your cock, guiding it through her slit, the swollen head catching on her clit with every pass. She jerks, a broken moan tearing free, her hips bucking—but you hold firm, denying her friction. ‘You wanted slow. This is slow.’ Her cunt weeps, glistening, her inner lips swollen and flushed. You watch, transfixed, as your cockhead nudges her entrance, spreading her open incrementally. A single inch sinks in, the velvety grip of her walls clenching reflexively, and you groan through gritted teeth. ‘Christ’ She whimpers, her clit throbbing against your shaft as you retreat, dragging your tip through her folds again. ‘Please—’ Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her temples. ‘Just—fuck me—’ You lean down, lips grazing hers. ‘Where?’ She glares, chest heaving. ‘You know—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘Inside—’ ‘Inside what?’ You press forward, another inch sheathed, the stretch burning sweet. ‘Use your words, Yujin.’ Her thighs tremble. ‘My—my cunt.’ ‘Good girl.’ You sink deeper, the thick ridge of your cockhead massaging her front wall, that spongy patch of nerves that makes her sob. Her cervix yields, soft and pliant, as you bottom out, hips flush against hers. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick muscle, and you swear, forehead dropping to her shoulder. ‘You’re gonna milk me dry—’ ‘Move,’ she demands, her ankles locking behind your back. ‘Move or I’ll—’ ‘You’ll what?’ You pull out almost completely, leaving just the tip seated, her clit rubbing against your shaft. ‘Beg?’ She keens, back arching, breasts pressed to your chest. ‘Yes—yes, god, please—’ You snap your hips forward, sheathing yourself in one brutal thrust. Her scream is muffled by your palm as you clamp it over her mouth, your other hand sliding between you to circle her clit. ‘Quiet,’ you growl, grinding deep. ‘You’ll take it. All of it.’ Her cunt ripples around you, fluttering in erratic pulses, her clit swollen and pebbled beneath your thumb. You fuck her with shallow, punishing rolls of your hips, each stroke dragging your cockhead over that sweet spot, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in ragged, choked gasps. ‘Look at me,’ you snarl, removing your hand from her mouth. She obeys, eyes glassy, lips bitten raw. ‘Whose cunt is this?’ ‘Yours—’ ‘And whose cock?’ ‘Mine—’ You slam into her, hilt-deep, your balls slapping her ass. ‘Louder—’ ‘MINE—’

The word cracks through the room, ragged and raw, and you reward it by slamming into her hilt-deep, your pelvis grinding against her clit as you still inside her. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick heat, and you hiss through your teeth, your grip bruising on her hips. ‘Again,’ you demand, pulling out until only the swollen head of your cock remains lodged in her entrance. Her inner lips cling to you, reluctant to let go. She whines, back arching off the bed. ‘Yours—your cunt, your everything—’ You thrust back in, slow, savoring the way her walls ripple to accommodate you. ‘And what do you want?’ 'You,’ she gasps, nails carving half-moons into your shoulders. ‘Inside me—claiming me—’ 'How?' You drag your cockhead over that spongy patch of nerves again, deliberate, watching her thighs quake. 'Cum,' she begs, tears streaking her temples. 'Fill me—mark me—' You still, your hand sliding up to grip her throat—not restricting air, just owning. 'Ask nicely.' Her breath hitches. 'Please—please, I need it—need you to paint my insides white, need to feel it—' A dark thrill curls in your gut. You lean down, lips brushing hers. 'Since you asked so sweetly.' You start a brutal, precise rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that punch the air from her lungs. Each snap of your hips drags her clit against the base of your cock, each retreat leaves her clenching around nothing. Her cunt weeps, arousal slicking your shaft, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. 'Look at me,' you snarl, tightening your grip on her throat. Her eyes fly open, hazy but obedient. 'You take me so well,' you murmur, your free hand sliding between you to circle her throbbing clit. 'This greedy cunt—my greedy cunt—sucking me in like you were made for it.'

She sobs, her walls fluttering. 'Yours—always yours—'

'Prove it.' You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, your other still working her clit. 'Come. Now.'

Her orgasm rips through her violently—back arched, cunt spasming, a scream tearing from her throat as she soaks your cock. You ride it out, fucking her through the pulses, your thrusts turning jagged, erratic.

'Mine,' you growl, feeling your balls tighten. 'Say it—say it—'

'Yours—god, yours—'

You slam into her one last time, hilt-deep, and hold. Your release surges—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her cervix, painting her walls in stripes of white. She whimpers, oversensitive but greedy, her cunt milking every drop as you grind your hips in slow, possessive circles.

'Take it,' you grit out, watching her stomach quiver with the force of your spend. 'All of it.'

She nods, dazed, her thighs trembling around your waist. You collapse atop her, still buried inside, your lips finding the sweat-damp hollow of her throat.

—

Yujin’s lashes flutter against your chest, and there’s a moment where she seems to wrestle with something—embarrassment, vulnerability—but it dissolves when she feels your fingers tracing gentle circles against her back. She shifts, propping herself up just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and soft and entirely too honest.

‘You know,’ she whispers, voice almost shy, ‘I used to dream about this. You and me, like this. Just… here.’

‘Here?’ You brush a damp strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘In bed, sweaty and gross?’

A soft laugh escapes her, warm and tender. ‘Yeah. Exactly this.’ Her fingertips graze your jaw, light as the touch of a memory. ‘I’d think about waking up to you, about how it’d feel to fall asleep in your arms. It’s stupid, I know—’

‘Not stupid,’ you murmur, cutting her off with a kiss—soft, lingering, like you’re trying to pour every unspoken word into it. ‘Never stupid.’

Her gaze softens even further, and she buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s something she needs to breathe. You feel her lips press against your pulse, a delicate kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.

‘I don’t want to let you go,’ she confesses, voice muffled. ‘Not tonight. Not ever.’

‘Then don’t.’ You trail your fingers up and down her spine, feeling the subtle curve of her back beneath your touch. ‘Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere.’

She shifts, looping her arms around your neck, pressing her body flush against yours. The contact is warm, grounding, and you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the weight of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest.

‘You’re too good at this,’ she mumbles, the faintest hint of a pout in her voice. ‘Making me feel safe. Like I belong here.’

You tighten your hold on her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘You do belong here. With me. Always.’

Her breath shudders, and you feel her fingers clutch at your shoulders, like she’s afraid you might slip away. You press another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, each touch softer than the last.

‘Yujin,’ you whisper, and she looks up at you, eyes wide and glistening. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

She smiles—a real, unguarded smile—and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. She lifts herself up just enough to press a kiss to your lips, lingering, tender, unhurried. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise, like something that doesn’t need words to be understood.

When she pulls back, her face is flushed, her expression open and raw. ‘I love you,’ she says softly, the words so simple, so devastatingly sincere.

You cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. ‘I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.’

She settles against you, fitting herself into the curve of your body, her head resting against your chest. You stroke her hair, feeling the tension melt from her frame as she presses one last kiss to your heart.

The room is warm and heavy with the scent of you both, with the quiet weight of something real and unbreakable. You feel her breathing slow, her body growing heavy with sleep, and you let your own eyes drift shut, content to let the world narrow to the steady rise and fall of her breath.

And then—nothing. Just the two of you tangled together, warmth and closeness and the certainty that this, right here, is home.

—

a/n: Experimenting yet again. Hopefully the last sex scene wasn't too mortifying. But I really enjoyed writing this—Yujin's personality meshes really well with with the dialogue I was aiming to do (hopefully I succeeded). This was a half-finished draft that I managed to finish (through merging other drafts, other idols, et cetera et cetera), and now I don't have a single draft remaining; sooo... I don't know how this fares for the next fic (hopefully not too long..... haha..heh..he).

a/n 2: Much love for all the support: they never go unnoticed!!! <3333333

[solxamber]

ive been relistening to the villains' songs like be prepared and poor unfortunate souls and it got me wondering if i could request for the overblotted boy reacting to a reader, whos usually pretty docile and a textbook example of a "good person", singing their respective villains' songs. Except that reader's extremely expressive through their voice and movements. so much so that they look and sound so villainous that its a complete 180 from their usual self. maybe reader was just vibing to themselves and their inner theater nerd came out and was just having the time of their life and the boys just so happen to be around and heard them. how would they react? :D

Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil reacting to reader singing their Villain songs

a/n; i know overblot gang was requested but evil queen, maleficent and hades don't have villain songs so i hope this is fine!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle wasn’t sure what drew him to the courtyard that afternoon. Perhaps it was the faint melody drifting through the air, or the infectious energy radiating from the sound. But when he turned the corner, what he saw rooted him to the spot.

There you were, standing on one of the stone benches with an invisible spotlight illuminating your every move. Your normally calm, good-natured demeanor was gone, replaced by a commanding presence that demanded attention.

You sang “Who’s been painting my roses red?” with a voice that was equal parts theatrical and menacing. Your gestures were grand, your expression shifting effortlessly between outrage and cruel amusement as if you were a monarch addressing trembling subjects. It was captivating. It was terrifying. It was… perfect.

Riddle’s breath hitched as he watched you embody the very spirit of the Queen of Hearts. The fervor in your movements, the intensity in your voice—it was as though you had stepped out of one of his cherished childhood storybooks. You pointed an accusatory finger at a nonexistent offender, your voice dripping with venom as you declared, “Off with their heads!”

His heart pounded against his ribcage. Was this the same person who handed out snacks to dormmates without asking for anything in return? Who was always ready with a kind word, a helping hand, or a soft laugh?

And yet… this was you too. A side of you he’d never seen. Bold, commanding, unyielding.

Riddle swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up his neck. It was almost unfair how effortlessly you seemed to channel the Queen of Hearts he revered. How could you embody such power and poise when you were usually so… so… docile? His admiration mixed with a bewildering flush of pride.

You didn’t notice him, completely immersed in your impromptu performance. With a dramatic flourish, you ended the song, holding an invisible scepter aloft as if ruling over a kingdom of trembling subjects.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It was only then that you spotted him, his wide eyes and flushed face a dead giveaway that he’d seen the entire thing. Your mouth fell open, and you scrambled off the bench, your cheeks burning as you sputtered, “Riddle! I-I didn’t see you there!”

His lips moved as though he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, after a long moment, he managed, “That… was remarkable.”

“Remarkable?” you repeated, unsure if that was a compliment or a polite way of saying What on earth was that?

Riddle stepped closer, his expression torn between awe and embarrassment. “You—you truly embodied the spirit of the Queen of Hearts. Your intensity, your conviction…” He paused, his voice softening. “It was admirable. Inspiring, even.”

You blinked, stunned. “I was just messing around… You really think so?”

His cheeks burned brighter as he averted his gaze. “It’s… rare to see someone honor her so… naturally. I admire your passion. It’s…” He hesitated before meeting your eyes. “...beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you both stood in awkward silence, the weight of his words settling between you. Then, with a nervous laugh, you scratched the back of your head. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show, Your Honor.”

Riddle’s lips twitched, almost into a smile. “I did.” Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “I always do.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. Not intentionally, anyway. But when he heard a low, familiar melody echoing from one of the quiet courtyards, his ears twitched involuntarily. Curiosity got the better of him, and he sauntered toward the sound.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

There you were, pacing back and forth on the edge of a stone fountain like a monarch surveying their pride. Your voice rang out—low, powerful, dripping with calculated malice—as you sang “Be prepared!” You punctuated the words with dramatic gestures, your arms sweeping through the air as if commanding an invisible army.

Leona’s tail flicked, his sharp green eyes narrowing. Where was the soft-spoken person he knew? The one who gave others the benefit of the doubt even when they didn’t deserve it? The one who, annoyingly, always had a kind smile ready for anyone in need?

No, this was someone else entirely. Someone confident. Dangerous. Mesmerizing.

“Meticulous planning, tenacity spanning, decades of denial…” Your voice grew stronger with each line, rising and falling in time with your movements. The sneer on your lips, the glint in your eyes—it was uncanny. You weren’t just singing the King of Beasts’ song. You were the King of Beasts.

Leona’s chest tightened as he watched you embody everything he admired about his ancestor. The cunning, the ambition, the audacity to demand a throne that should have been his by right. He knew those feelings well, knew the fire that came with them. And yet, seeing you channel them so effortlessly… it struck a chord he hadn’t expected.

And damn, if you didn’t look good doing it.

You reached the final verse, throwing your arms wide with a triumphant grin. “Yes, our teeth and ambitions are bared—be prepared!” Your voice echoed in the empty courtyard, the last note lingering in the air as you struck a dramatic pose.

Silence followed. Then—

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Herbivore.”

You jumped, nearly toppling into the fountain. “Leona!” you yelped, whipping around to see him leaning against a pillar, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.

“How long were you standing there?” you demanded, your cheeks heating up.

“Long enough.” He pushed off the pillar and strolled toward you, his gaze sharp and appraising. “You’ve been holding out on me, huh? All this time, you’ve been playin’ the meek little herbivore act, and now I catch you out here auditioning for the role of a lifetime.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I was just goofing around! It’s not like—ugh, I can’t believe you saw that.”

He chuckled, low and deep. “Relax. I’m not complainin’. You nailed it, by the way. The whole ambition thing? Kinda suits you.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers, unsure if he was teasing or being sincere. “You’re not… weirded out?”

“Why would I be?” He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “You were channeling the King of Beasts, weren’t you? ‘Course you looked good doin’ it.”

His words made your heart skip, but before you could respond, he leaned in closer, his green eyes glinting. “Still, you’ve got guts pullin’ that off. You keep surprising me, Herbivore. I’ll give you that.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Well… thanks, I guess.”

He straightened, hands sliding into his pockets as he turned to leave. “Don’t stop on my account. You wanna belt out another song, go for it. Maybe I’ll even join in next time.”

And with that, he walked away, his tail swaying lazily behind him.

You stared after him, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t quite understand. “Join in?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

But the thought of Leona singing Be Prepared with you? You couldn’t help but smile.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul always prided himself on keeping a calm, collected demeanor. It was part of the image he'd cultivated—smooth, sophisticated, and utterly unflappable. But today? Today, he felt his composure teetering on a knife’s edge.

He hadn’t meant to stumble across you in an empty classroom, where you apparently thought you were alone. The soft hum of music drew his attention as he passed by, and curiosity had compelled him to take a peek.

And there you were.

The typically sweet, mild-mannered person he knew had vanished, replaced by someone utterly commanding. You were perched on the edge of a table, one hand gesturing grandly as your voice rang out:

"Poor unfortunate souls, in pain, in need!"

Azul froze, the words sending a shiver down his spine. Your tone was rich, dripping with confidence, and paired with the way you moved—calculated, fluid, like every motion had a purpose—you were magnetic. You swept your arm out with a flourish, mimicking the sea witch herself, your voice curling around each word with wicked glee.

"This one longing to be thinner, that one wants to get the girl..."

Azul’s breath caught. You weren’t just singing the song. You were the song. The sly glances, the theatrical gestures, the sharp, knowing smile—you were embodying the Sea Witch in a way that made his heart race.

How had he never seen this side of you before?

"And do I help them? Yes, indeed!"

Your voice climbed, bold and commanding, and Azul’s mind raced. The way you seemed to channel the Sea Witch—the cunning, the control, the sheer power—it was breathtaking. You reminded him of everything he admired about the Sea Witch. The very traits that he also had.

But seeing you like this? It felt... dangerous.

"Now it’s happened once or twice, someone couldn’t pay the price...”

You leaned forward, your expression devious, and Azul’s chest tightened. He suddenly felt like one of those poor, unfortunate souls, utterly captivated and completely at your mercy.

The song ended with a flourish, and you threw your arms out, basking in your imaginary spotlight.

That’s when you noticed him.

“Azul?!” you yelped, nearly toppling off the table. “What are you doing here?”

He took a moment to collect himself, smoothing his expression into something neutral—though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “I was just passing by,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Your face turned red as you scrambled to stand. “Oh, I was just... uh, messing around! It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” His voice came out sharper than he intended. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That performance was incredible.”

You blinked, startled. “You think so?”

“Without a doubt.” His voice softened, but his gaze remained intense. “You… embodied the role perfectly. The confidence, the cunning—you channeled it all flawlessly.”

You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Thanks, but I was just having fun. I didn’t think anyone would actually see me.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider,” he said, his tone almost too casual. “If you ever decide to pursue a career in theater, you’d be quite formidable.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You really mean that?”

Azul’s smile was small but genuine. “Absolutely. Though, if I may… I’d suggest not showing that side of yourself to just anyone.”

“Why not?” you asked, puzzled.

He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Because power like that can be… intoxicating. And there are those who might exploit it.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The way he looked at you—like you were a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve—made your heart skip.

Azul cleared his throat again, stepping back as if realizing how close he’d gotten. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your… ‘messing around.’”

As he turned to leave, you called out, “Azul?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going to, like, hold this over my head, are you?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Now, would I ever do something like that?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Why did I even ask?”

His laughter echoed down the hall as he walked away, leaving you to wonder if you’d just made a mistake—or if you’d unintentionally gained his admiration. Either way, the image of Azul’s flustered expression was one you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had long mastered the art of blending into the background, observing the world from the sidelines without drawing attention to himself. It was how he kept control, how he stayed one step ahead. But today, his usually composed exterior faltered.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to stop by the empty classroom, but when he pushed the door open, his entire world shifted.

You were there.

Gone was the gentle, kind presence he had grown used to. Instead, you were standing atop a low table, your expression sharp and commanding, your hands sweeping through the air as if conjuring storms with your words.

"Prince Ali? Yes, it is he, but not as you know him!"

Jamil froze. Your voice was rich, dripping with mockery and power, a far cry from the sweet tone you usually used. You stalked across the small space, throwing your arms out dramatically as you continued the song, your movements perfectly embodying the calculated, theatrical confidence of the Sorcerer of the Sands himself.

"Read my lips and come to grips with reality!"

Your voice curled around the words, biting and sardonic, and Jamil felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. You were into it. Every gesture, every word carried weight, as if you were performing for an audience of thousands instead of an empty room.

He had always admired the Sorcerer of the Sands—not just for his cleverness, but for his ambition, his cunning, the way he refused to settle for the scraps the world threw him. Watching you now, it was as if you’d plucked that same spirit from the pages of a storybook and breathed it into life.

"His personality flaws give me adequate cause..."

You spun dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at an imaginary audience, your expression fierce. For a moment, Jamil almost believed you were chastising him, and his heart skipped a beat.

He should look away. He should leave before you noticed him. But he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot, utterly captivated.

"To send him packing on a one-way trip, so his prospects take a terminal dip!"

You ended with a flourish, holding your arms out as if soaking in invisible applause, a self-satisfied smirk curling your lips.

And then you saw him.

“Jamil?!” you yelped, nearly losing your balance in surprise.

He stepped forward, trying to look impassive even though his heart was still racing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever that was.”

Your face turned a deep shade of red. “I was just, uh, messing around! I didn’t think anyone was here.”

“That much was clear.” His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed him. They lingered on you a moment too long, taking in the faint flush on your cheeks, the sparkle in your eyes, the way your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath.

You fidgeted, smoothing your clothes. “It’s nothing, really. Just a silly song.”

“Silly?” He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “That performance was anything but silly.”

Your embarrassment deepened. “You don’t have to mock me, you know.”

“I’m not mocking you,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat, glancing away. “It was… impressive. You captured the essence of the character perfectly.”

“Really?”

Jamil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. The confidence, the control, the edge of menace—it was all there. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were plotting to overthrow a kingdom.”

You laughed nervously. “Guess I just got carried away.”

“Carried away...” he murmured, his gaze softening. The truth was, watching you like that had shaken something loose in him. Seeing you embody the cunning, ambitious traits he admired so deeply—it was almost too much.

“Anyway,” you said, hopping off the table. “I’ll just pretend this never happened if you will.”

Jamil smirked faintly. “As you wish.”

But as you walked past him, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, watching the way you moved, still radiating the energy of the sorcerer you’d been channeling moments ago.

Masterlist

[bkgexe]

if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

[drchucktingle]

Hello Dr Tingle! I wanted to ask you about that re: your post about how all your books are serious literature (hell yeah Love is real). How do you personally deal with the whole traditional publishing institution? It attracts a whole different level of coverage and it seems that they're very quick to try and box you and like turn you into a brand. Is it stiffling? Is it freeing? Does the attention help more people understand your trot? I don't know I've never been published but since you have experience in both traditional and self publishing I'm interested in knowing how that's feeling for you

well this is a pretty complex question with lots of different trots but i will try my best to answer. lets start with WHO I AM as buckaroo name of chuck

what i create has a very strong voice and my way is pretty recognizable. while buckaroos do not know what most authors look like, i REALLY stand out in a dang crowd with a big pink bag on my head. if you see 50 random author photos and mine is mixed in and then you ask 'which photo do you remember the most?' it is probably gonna be chuck. i also have a VERY UNIQUE STORY with what i create and my artistic sensibilities, not a lot of buds are out there making trans mothman erotica along with their big five traditional publishing bestsellers (SIDENOTE preorder BURY YOUR GAYS)

now if you were going to take 'CHUCK TINGLE' to a marketing department they would FALL OVER BACKWARDS IN THEIR DANG CHAIR with excitement. it is hard to think of an author with a stronger BRAND than i already have in the sense of 'instantly recognizable trot and specific unique style'. even in answering this you can tell that i dont even TALK like other dang authors.

what i am getting at is this: i am VERY VERY LUCKY because my existence just so happens to equate to what a company would see as GOOD BRANDING. it is not intentional on my part, it is just the hand of fate i guess. im out here expressing myself in a FULL ON WAY that is PRETTY DANG STRANGE TO SOME and it just so happens to work as mainstream branding too

on paper you might think 'what the heck no way chuck tingle will fly as a mainstream trot' but honestly the main thread of this timeline can be surprising sometimes. ive been saying the key ingredient for years and i will say it again: LOVE AND SINCERITY RESONATE. when you make art with this fuel, the timeline will feel it. when you stand up tall and shout with your whole chest THIS IS MY WAY AND I LOVE MYSELF. I AM THE WORLDS GREATEST AUTHOR TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT, the timeline will listen

so all that said, i do not mind the idea of myself as 'brand' because i am not CHANGING myself to create this effect. what some might see as 'brand' i just see as another part of my art. i have always believed that art is THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE not just the painting but what is outside of the frame. WHO I AM is just as important as the books i write, and interacting with my way is a whole MULTIMEDIA experience that INCLUDES YOU TOO. it is the feeling when your friend shows you your first tingler cover, or the feeling when you realize that i am not playing a character. this is ALL a part of the tingleverse and it is all a part of my honest raw expression as a queer and neurodivergent buckaroo.

YOU ARE PART OF THIS ART TOO

it is my nature of have a PUNK ROCK trot. always has been. but to me that does not mean just angrily going against everything for the sake of going against everything. for me, this punk rock trot means fighting to EXPRESS MYSELF IN THE MOST HONEST AND PURE FORM POSSIBLE and to create the art that i want to make without any boundaries

somehow i have threaded the needle in this really interesting once-in-a-dang-lifetime kind of way. my pure punk rock self as an OUTERSIDER ARTIST just so happens to resonate with this larger system of brand and traditional publishing and popular culture. i COULD reject this, but rejecting it would be LESS HONEST.

this is just who i am. i LIKE pop culture. i LIKE joy. i LIKE dressing in all pink and wearing my custom suits. I LIKE PROVING LOVE IS REAL WHAT THE HECK ELSE EVEN IS THERE? i love being a queer outsider artist and using my small voice to shout at the big bad devils and i like that every time i shout a few more of you buckaroos join the chorus and together we are just getting louder and louder and louder and WHO KNOWS what comes next for us all trotting together.

when i post something like 'WHAT A GREAT DAY TO PROVE LOVE' it is not me sitting here in a bad mood thinkin 'well i gotta make todays post to keep up with my brand'. i am ACTUALLY FEELING THAT FEELING and i actually believe it with every fiber of my being. honestly, half the time i post about the beauty of this timeline i am probably over here literally crying tears of joy (chuck is an emotional bud i get riled over the joy of existence A LOT)

and heres the best part of this trot: because i really have this punk rock way it makes me very powerful. others can pretend not to care about success and brand and all that but I REALLY DO NO CARE. i would write tinglers whether buds were reading them or not, this is just my natural state, and that makes me incredibly strong. if some big corporation says 'YOU MUST DO THIS' and i dont want to do it i just say 'no thanks'. it is not some big debate about my career or anything like that because I REALLY DO NOT CARE IN THE SLIGHTEST. i care about the art

because of this, my relationship with my GIANT TRADITIONAL PUBLISHING MACHINE is great. we trot like equals and we get along really well. i tell them exactly what i want to do and they let me do it. i really do not have to answer to anyone and they deserve a huge amount of credit for respecting me in this way.

and heres the thing, THEY ALSO HAVE SOME GREAT IDEAS

SPECIFICALLY my imprint of NIGHTFIRE is very dang cool. yes, they are the head of a giant hydra of a BIG FIVE PUBLISHER, but nightfire is SO DANG ART-FOCUSED

there is no right or wrong way to be an artist, and my path is not the only one, but i can tell you what WORKS FOR ME. this is the advice i would give myself, and buckaroos can take it or leave it

here it is: never beg the big book publisher, or record label, or movie studio to pay attention to you

do not let it become a lotto ticket in your brain. do not think that you are some weak little creature and maybe if you trot just right they will scoop you up and take care of you. do not go to their door begging to be let in

LET THEM COME TO YOUR DOOR

create something so incredible and beautiful and honest and powerful and unique and important that they would be foolish to miss out. create a community or a system or a timeline or a world of imagination that thrives on its own and THEY SHOULD BE SO LUCKY TO BE A PART OF IT

then when you sit down at that board meeting it is not 'please brand me, ill do whatever you want'. instead, it is 'lets make a deal and see how much love we can prove together.'

now lets trot buckaroos

[enhas-pov]

enemies by blood

summary: born in a mafia family definitely wasn’t easy. especially when your dad’s enemy’s son, park sunghoon goes to your school. reader and sunghoon grew up hating each other due to their father’s bad past with each other, but what’s gonna happen when they want their kids to finish what they started?

warnings: (gang)violence, lots of fighting, murder, blood, drugs, money laundering, guns, kissing, usage of "oppa", pet names, bad ending

word count: 4.5k

note: i haven’t read through it‼️ ignore spelling mistakes

pt.2

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my whole life i`ve felt like an outsider. people always look at me weird, they give me dirty looks, but at the same time theyre afraid of me. all because of my family.. my dad to be specific. since before i was born, my dad has been a part of this mafia gang thingy where drugs, guns, killing, and all of that stuff was involved. so growing up i was taught most of those things. id say im pretty good at fighting, and using guns. my mom on the other hand died when i was 10, she was killed by some guy that my dad was having problems with.. ive never met someone who can relate to me whatsover, except for park sunghoon.

sunghoon goes to the same school as me and grew up exactly like i did, and when i say exactly i mean EXACTLY. his dad is a part of a mafia gang too, so sunghoon grew up involved with that as well just like i did, and guess what? his mom got killed by a guy his dad was having problems with as well. if you put two and two together.. my dad killed sunghoons mom so sunghoon`s dad killed my mom, which is one of the reasons why sunghoon and i grew up hating each other.

my dad told me that him and mr. park used to be a part of the same gang, they were actually really close friends until something happened between the two of them that ruined their friendship and caused them to turn on each other. basically, my dad and mr. park were planning a huge drug deal, but for some reason mr. park tipped off the cops to make sure all the money made off the drug deal would be his, so when my dad got arrested for it he spent 10 years in prison. and when he got out he killed sunghoons mom as revenge, but when mr. park killed my mom for revenge because of his wife`s death, it made things worse between the two.

i was sat in the backseat of the fancy car i was driven to school with everyday by my dads personal driver, min. i was not allowed to walk to school and especially not alone. my dad told me there are people who know about me and that since im his daughter they kinda want me dead.. which is understandable? i guess, considering the kind of shit my dad does to these people. "were here, miss y/l/n" my driver says, parked right in front of my school. "thank you-" i was two seconds away from getting out of the car before i was stopped by my drivers very concerned voice. "wait, mr. park is right behind us. would you like to wait?" i rolled my eyes at his words, not giving a care in the world about park fucking sunghoon. "i`m okay. thank you, min"

the second i made my way out of the car i was met with sunghoons tall figure stood not too far behind me. he threw a glare at me that i quickly returned which he rolled his eyes at. as we both started walking to the entryway of our school, we were pretty much walking next to each other, obviously, since we were going the same way. "thought the teacher told you to cover up?" he suddenly says, referring to my choice of clothing, his eyes looking straight ahead as hes avoiding any and all eye contact with me.

"you were the one who went complaining to our teacher about it, acting like what i was wearing wasn’t making your dick hard" he only chuckled at my words. once we reached the entryway, he opened the door and stood to the side. he grinned, "ladies first" he said. i gave him a fake smile and walked through the open door. right as he was about to walk in from behind me, i slammed the door shut in his face and locked it so he couldn`t get in no matter what. i watched him banging on the door and yelling at me to open it. "oppa! i think the back door is open" i said loud enough for him to hear, knowing its a good 5 minute walk to get there. i laughed at how furious he was before making my way to class.

i guess you could say me and sunghoon act childish with each other sometimes. we argue a lot over dumb, unnecessary and small shit for no reason. we could choose to ignore each other but since i have it out for him and he has it out for me, its hard not to say anything every time we come across each other. we`re not exactly like our dads. we dont pull a gun on each other every time we cross paths, but do not get me wrong. there are times when our silly little arguments have evolved and turned into something much bigger causing a physical fight ending in blood and injuries. but its always been between just the two of us, we`ve never involved our dads or anything because we seem to just handle it on our own.

"i hope everyone here studied for their exams, you had all week and i will be disappointed in you if you fail" our teacher was walking around and placing the exam papers on each one of our desks. suddenly, at the sound of the door being slammed open, everyone turned their heads just to see sunghoon standing by the door looking pissed. "mr. park! it is one thing to come late to my class to take your exam, but its another thing to slam my door open and interrupt me" watching our teacher yell at sunghoon really made my day, especially the embarassed look on his face which made me smile to myself.

"im sorry, miss. i had to come in through the back door since-" before he could rat me out, he got cut off by our teacher who decided to yell at him once again. "i don`t want to hear it mr. park. take your seat and be quiet" sunghoon glared at me silently before he made his way to his desk which just happened to be right next to mine. i was expecting him to start throwing childish insults at me, but to my surprise he looked down at the piece of paper in front of him in complete silence. odd, but i couldnt be bothered to start anything during our exams.

"you guys have 1 hour to finish your exams starting from now" the room went completely quiet once everyone turned their heads down and started writing down on the piece of paper. i was focused on my exam until i felt something press down on my foot. confused, i look underneath my desk to see that its someone whos pressing down on my foot with their own. of course when i look up to see who it is, its sunghoon. hes not looking at me as his eyes are stuck to the paper in front of him, instead he uses his pen to point at a tiny note right next to his paper. i can see that theres something written on it, but since i couldnt make it out i decided to lean over his table a bit. squinting my eyes, i read the words "shouldn`t have locked me out pretty thing" pretty thing? really? is he referring to me as a thing? what an ass..

"miss. ___ is looking at my papers" wait, what?! i look up at sunghoon whos smirking at me, ew.. before turning to our teacher who looks like shes actually about to kill me.

"miss, i wasn’t-"

"i dont want to hear it! detention now, miss y/l/n"

fucking unbelievable. if im gonna miss my exam and end up in detention, you sure as hell know sunghoon will too. i tried not to lose my shit, grabbing my backpack before "accidentally" tripping over sunghoons desk which kinda revealed a bit of my behind to everyone in class. "miss! sunghoon just tripped me on purpose.." i said, acting all shy and embarrassed about how my skirt flipped over. "shes fucking lying!" sunghoon stood up from his desk and i could tell he was gonna lash out on me.

"am not! you tripped me over that desk on purpose you fucking pervert-"

"watch your mouth you lying piece of shit!"

while me and sunghoon were lashing out on each other, we didn`t notice how our teacher was red in the face like she was about to explode out of anger. "that`s enough! you guys are grown enough to know not to be using that sort of language, nor to be arguing like little kids! you should know to act better. detention for the both of you right now!" she yelled in our faces while everyone else were sat staring at us awkwardly.

both me and sunghoon were now sat in detention. we also just happened to be the only ones here, along with a teacher tho.. sunghoon was sat on the other side of the classroom as he wished to not be near me at all, which i’m glad for. i was scrolling through my phone when the teacher suddenly got up from the chair he was sat on. “alright. i’ve got a wife and kids to get home to, so you two better behave on your own until school is finished” and then he left just like that, leaving me and sunghoon all alone. "cant believe i`m missing my exam because of you.." i spat, breaking the silence. "maybe if you hadn`t locked me out i wouldn`t have done what i did. besides, the stunt you pulled really just proves my point. you really are a slut-" and this is usually how our fights start.

gripping the book in my hands that was on my desk, i quickly threw it in sunghoons direction and his instincts kicked in instantly. he dodged the book which flew right past his head, hitting the wall with a harsh thud that left a noticeable mark. "nice try princess" he pushed his desk to the side and began walking towards me as he was visibly angry. i ducked as fast as i could when he swung his fist at me. i felt a rush of air across my face that his fist had missed. "a man hitting a woman? that`s not very man-like of you" i twisted my body as i attempted to throw a kick at his knee, but sunghoon was quick to jump back which resulted in my foot connecting with the wall instead. "fuck!"

"dont hurt yourself now" sunghoon smirked before his next punch successfully caught me across my cheek, causing a sharp pain which made me stumble backwards. suck it up.. i launched myself forward and managed to tackle him down. with sunghoon on the ground, i was now straddling him with my fists positioned in the air right above his face. we were both breathing heavily as sunghoon struggled to get away from underneath me. "are you getting weaker, park sunghoon?" i asked, lowering my fists before getting back up on my feet. "youre saying that as if you didnt take the most damage" he panted, sitting himself up against the wall. "yet i`m not the one whos out of breath" i grabbed my backpack and made my way out of the classroom as i couldn`t be bothered to deal with his bullshit anymore, and i could feel his eyes on me as i walked out.

"dad! im home" i walked into the kitchen with no sight of my dad. i jumped when i saw my dads personal driver sat at the kitchen table. "min? you scared me. wheres dad?" i sat down next to him, placing my backpack on the floor. "your dad is currently in a meeting, hell be back soon. how did your exam go?" i watched him eat his food as i had no idea what to say to that. "couldnt have gone better.." i lied. he hummed, "if youre wondering, then no, i didn`t tell your dad i saw you and mr. park having a conversation on your way inside" i furrowed my eyebrows at him. why did he think he had to keep something like that away from my dad? we weren`t exactly saying positive things to each other, unless he thinks..

"ew, no! its most definitely not like that. we do talk sometimes, but its just shit talking about each other to each others faces" i said, not missing the way he threw me a look that screamed "i don`t believe you". i rolled my eyes playfully,

"i do not like sunghoon whatsoever-"

"i`d hope so"

i heard a voice say. turning around, i saw my dad walking into the kitchen with a lot of papers in his hands. "min, these are for you" he handed him a few of the papers which min accepted and thanked him for before he got up from his chair. i watched my dad sit down on the chair min was just sat on, "what did i hear you talking about just now?" he questioned, placing the rest of the papers on the table in front of him as he started going through them one by one.

"my exam" i said, which wasn`t completeley a lie. he turned to look at me, raising his eyebrows before looking back at his papers. "i was meaning to talk to you about sunghoon" what? why sunghoon out of all people? "you were..?" i asked, feeling myself getting a little nervous. "you know, sunghoon is no different from his father. he`s just as bad as him" i hummed as i was trying not to show how desperate i was for him to get to the point. "i was originally planning on doing this myself, but i figured that it would be a better for you to do it, since you "do not like sunghoon whatsoever""

"well, ur right about that. what is it that you want me to do dad?" he paused before he took a deep breath. he turned to me slightly and placed his hand on my shoulder, "sweetheart". he finally said as curiosity started taking over me. he hesitated for a second and it kinda freaked me out. was this gonna be some sort of arranged marrige? did he know about our fight today? or maybe- "i want you to kill sunghoon" what?! kill sunghoon..? i’d lie if i say i didn`t hate him, but ive never gone as far as to actually wanting to murder him.. i never have, never will, never wanted to and never planned on taking someone’s life, even if it`s someone who i despise.

“i know i’m asking for a lot-“

“asking for a lot? dad, you’re asking me to take someone’s life..”

“sweetheart, i know. but unfortunately this isn’t a choice” i watched him in horror as no words were able to leave my mouth. “you will do what i’m asking you to do. you wouldn’t want to disappoint your father, right?” he stood up from his chair, looking down on me demanding that i give him an answer. “y-yes dad..” i managed to get out, not bothering to look at him. “very well then” his footsteps were heavy as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts. i can’t kill sunghoon.. but i have to? no. i don’t have to, i think? it’s what my dad wants me to do, does that mean i should? murder is wrong, but sunghoon is a bad person. does sunghoon deserve to die? shit..

“you want me to kill ___?” sunghoon’s dad had delivered the exact same news to his son. “that’s right. she’s no different from her father” sunghoon knew that what his father was asking him for was wrong. he couldn’t bring himself to kill ___, even tho he hated her he knew that it wasn’t the right thing to do.

“dad.. i don’t know if i can-“

“don’t start with me son. when i tell you to do something, you do it. don’t act like it’ll be hard, she’s a woman after all”

a woman who could easily beat my ass.. sunghoon thought to himself. “yes father” he said. “very well then” he watched his father walk out of the room, what was he gonna do now? should he kill her just because his father told him to do so? the guilt would be with him for the rest of his life if he did. but he wouldn’t want his dad to be disappointed in him, right?

“we’re here, miss y/l/n” min said, parked in front of my school. “thank you..” i made my way out of the car and prayed to god that i wouldn’t bump into sunghoon. a whole day had gone by and i still needed to process everything. i looked around as i made my way to the entryway with no sign of sunghoon, and i was relieved when i finally reached the door. but before i could open it myself, someone had opened it from the inside. looking up, my heart dropped at the sight of sunghoon stood in front of me. i swallowed nervously as we were both stood staring at each other in complete silence.

i tried to move past him, and so did he which caused our bodies to push up against each other. “sorry..” sorry? why the fuck did i apologize? “it’s alright..” he mumbled, moving to the side so i could walk past him. not wanting to make things even more awkward, i quickly walked past him and hurried my way over to class. wait, but.. why was sunghoon acting weird as well? maybe something happened and he was dealing with a personal matter.. don’t know, don’t care. he’ll be dead soon anyway.

i’m getting ready to start working out in what my dad calls "the den" its basically this underground gym/boxing place where my dad trains along with his men, but i usually show up after they’ve all left since i like being on my own. i had put on some black shorts and a white top that hung off my shoulder on one side. i reached for a hair tie and gathered all of my hair, putting it up in a high ponytail while some strands in the front were left loose. i then carefully started wrapping my hands in hand wraps and flexing my fingers afterwards. turning to the punching bag, i was getting ready to start my usual everyday practising, but that was until i heard footsteps coming from behind me. it was weird since i thought everyone had left, but when i turned around i was at a loss of words.

"how’d you get in here..?" my voice shook, watching sunghoons tall figure leaning against the door to the entryway. "wasn’t that hard. my men took out yours in the front pretty easily" he smirked at me, fidgeting with the gun in his hands. "you can’t bring a gun to a fist fight. thats why my men lost" one by one, i watched his men gather around him; all carrying guns. "this can go two ways" he said as he started walking towards me slowly "either it’ll just be the two of us and i’ll make it quick and painless, or ill have to bring my men on it and i guarantee that it’s gonna hurt" he was stood right in front of me while looking down on me with his head tilted slightly.

was sunghoon planning on killing me too? was he doing this because he somehow found out that i was planning on killing him first? there wasn’t enough time for me to think. right now i had to focus on just one thing, and that was to live. "did your men forget to take out the ones in the back too?" i watched the smirk on his lips disappear as my men started to gather around me as they had come in through the back. all though, they weren`t armed with guns like sunghoons men were which made me really nervous. sunghoon chuckled and began walking backwards until he was stood behind his men. i pulled the same move, which meant that our men were now gonna fight against each other to protect me and sunghoon.

"seems like you can’t face us without your guns" one of my men said who was stood in the very front. sunghoons men laughed, "let’s be fair about it then, shall we?" the sound of guns being thrown on the floor made me feel relieved. suddenly, the den exploded into chaos as our men went at each other with fists flying and bodies colliding. the men’s shouting and grunting filled the entire room while me and sunghoon were stood on each sides of the room watching them.

one of my men collapsed on the ground, but before he could get back up two men tripped over him which added to the pile of bodies that were already sprawled out across the floor. the den was a mess of sweaty, bloody, injured men that had mostly been beaten to death by each other. it went by faster than i expected, and worse than i expected. all that remained were either dead bodies or knocked out bodies with no one left standing except for me and sunghoon.

"what’s the matter princess? is this too much for you?" the sound of sunghoon’s voice brought me back to reality. i was distracted by the violent scene that was right in front of me. i took a deep breath, "nothing is too much for me" i said with my eyes looking straight at him from across the room. sunghoon looked at the gun in his hands before he threw it on the ground. "like my men said, lets be fair about it" he said, placing his hands in his pockets. "you can use the gun you know? i dont mind, since this will be your last fight after all.." the tension between us was heated. sunghoon only laughed at me, "give it all you’ve got baby" with each slow step, he was now walking towards me. "don’t call me that" i spat.

he paused dangerously close to me, our bodies almost making contact. "come on baby, don’t say that" he brought his hand up to my face, but i was quick to slap his hand away with mine. with no warning, sunghoon`s fist landed with a severse thud against my ribs and i felt the force knock my breath out of me. i whimpered when i was sent stumbling into a nearby table, gripping the edge of the table for balance. i wasted no time and launched myself back at him with a kick that grazed his shoulder. he let out a groan, quickly grabbing my leg and twisting it viciously.

i let out a cry as i fell to the floor. when sunghoon tried to get on top of me, i managed to wrench my leg free by kicking at his chest with my other foot. as he stumbled backwards, i got back up on my feet as fast as i could. we were both breathing heavily and our bodies were hot with sweat. "shit princess. you’re getting better at this" he panted, lifting his fists into the air. "thank you. it means a lot coming from you, oppa" i rushed forward, this time going low so i could tackle him. the second we both crashed onto the cold floor we started wrestled fiercly. our bodies were rolling on the floor as we tried to overpower each other.

suddenly, his hands found my neck. i felt his fingers squeezing as he pressed down. my eyes widened in panic and my hands quickly went flying to his wrists; clawing at them, desperate for air. i dug my nails into his skin until it started drawing blood. he hissed in pain and ended up loosening his grip just enough for me to shove him off. i started coughing and gasping for air before kicking him hard in his chest which caused him to also gasp for air when he felt himself not being able to breathe properly.

i charged at him once again, this time aiming my elbow at his face. he barley was able to block it with his forearm before i grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head backwards. "fuck!" he groaned, retaliating by grabbing my own hair and pulling it so hard that tears started forming in my eyes. "a-ah!" i let out a shriek. we were both struggling while using the grip on each others hair to cause each other pain. with a sudden move, sunghoon yanked my head to the side and slammed my head into the wall causing my grip on his hair to loosen. my chest was rising and falling, my body sprawled out on the floor with my hair being a tangled mess. my head was pounding horribly and i couldnt bare the pain i was feeling in my body.

sunghoon took the chance and got on top of me. he leaned down with his face so close to mine that the tip of our noses were touching. i felt his heavy breath against my lips before slightly flinching at the feeling of metal against my temple. his eyes looked into mine, a smirk forming on his lips. "this is the end for you baby" he mumbled before he cocked the gun. sunghoon raised his eyebrows when i sniffled. our eyes were locked in an intense gaze. he clenched his jaw slightly, the gun in his hand shaking when he tried pressing it further into my temple. i stood still, watching every move that he was making.

"kiss me goodbye?" i said, almost sounding like a whisper. he froze like he couldnt believe what had just come out of my mouth. his grip on the gun loosened, just for a second as if he was questioning whether to kill me or not. he stared at me with his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, unsure if i was joking or not. with the way i was looking into his eyes he could tell i was being serious when a tear rolled down my cheek. i leaned forward, my bloodied lips parting before they touched his. the kiss was soft as our lips moved together. i felt him deepening the kiss, parting his mouth as well. and with his lips still on mine, he pulled the trigger.

♡︎♡︎♡︎

i feel horrible i’m so sorry.. should i make it into a series orrr??

[inbabylontheywept]

your life stories are always so interesting so i shall poke a stick into the cage and ask for more. do you have any fun stories of near death experiences? personally i choked on a lifesaver as a child and could not breathe

personally? not really. ive got a pretty decent hospital story though.

see, my grandpa was in charge of the easter pageant in my state. its a big mormon thing, a lot of other churches come because its just good easter worship. anyway, in part of the pageant, theres a pony for jesus and mary to ride around on. technically supposed to be a donkey, but ponys are just so much more photogenic. anyway this happened when my little sister was going through her little-girl-pony phase, so this was so major-league shit to her. so much so that my grandpa, who i still miss so much, brought this pony to our house so she could ride it.

my little brother? he also wanted to ride it. and i didnt really want to ride it, but they were both so small someone kind of needed to hold those two onboard, and i was the lighest person capable of doing so, (didnt want to overload the pony) so i went on the back too.

and it was a stellar time until the donkey went under a tree, then my little sister hit her head on a branch and fell left, and her fall took my little brother out because he was holding onto her, and both of them took me out, so we all fell off the pony, but me with 2 kids on my left arm.

god blessed me with a third elbow that day.

here are the things that followed after the Miracle of the Third Elbow

my autistic dad came outside to check on me. id broken my arm the year before, so i knew what it was, and i knew what it felt like, so i was able to pretty clearly go "yeah, dad, i broke my arm." and he was able to go "whew. yeah. thats like, harry potter broken." and i was able to say "yeah. yeah it hurts pretty bad." and he said "oh, yeah, definitely. that looks horrible." and then i basically said something like "hopital" and he was like "right" and then we left. my memory after that gets weird.

i can remember driving up main street, and seeing this guy dancing. like, full on dancing down the street. and i asked my dad about why that guy was dancing, and he said that man was a schizophrenic, and he was medicated, but the medication had just made it so that his voices told him to dance instead of hurt himself. now he danced all the time. i should clarify that my dad worked in the ER so he knew a lot of the local homeless on a life-story kind of level. my dads a good guy.

i can remember sitting in the waiting room with a magician that had sliced his right hand open pretty bad while cooking. he was trying his best to keep us entertained with his cards, but because he was doing all his tricks left handed, he'd mess them up sometimes and it was actually kind of more fun to watch than just him in expert mode. another good guy. very friendly, but visibly repulsed by my arm.

i can remember being in a bed, and a nurse coming up to me and saying that they could give me some painkillers, which i was super stoked about, but the IV from the painkillers basically required being stabbed with a needle as thick around as a pencil. she recomended saying the alphabet backwards when she put the needle in, and i said i didn't know how, and then she stuck in the needle in. over 4 seconds i was able to go from z to c, a feat i have never since been able to replicate.

after the painkillers, i watched a tv show called Jackie Chan Adventures, which was an animated cartoon with an animated Jackie Chan, voiced by the real Jackie Chan, solving mysteries. i actually assumed that whole thing was a hallucination until i was an adult, and i was describing it to my wife, and she was like "no, that actually happened." which was funny to happen to me, because when me and her started dating, she just kind of dropped how awesome it was that obama was the first muslim president, and i was like what, no hes an episcopalian, and it turns out that her dad, who sucks for many reasons, had told her that obama was a muslim, and she was sweet enough to believe that, and also to just be like oh, neat, our president is black and a muslim, we are truly moving forward as a counry." i love her so much.

no memories of it after that. not even sure when i got home. just a straight up weird time.

[cassianig]

- Why Didn't You Wait for Me? -

Rindou Haitani - Words: 1405 warnings: uhh reader gets their drink spiked, dw nothing happens!! just a warning in general ive never been to a house party, never gotten my drink spiked so i did my best if its bad my bad.

no pronouns used rin calls reader pretty and ran calls her princess

hehe he poses so goofy. (got this off Pinterest ngl to u.)

You stand in front of the lively house, your phone in hand. You glance down at your phone and then back up at the house. This was the address Rindou had sent to meet at. You glance back at your phone looking over the messages you two had shared in the last hour.

———

[You]: [image]

[You]: does this look ok?

[Rinnie<3]: You look perfect. Now hurry up, you know I don’t like to wait.

[You]: are you sure they’re ok with meeting me?

[Rinnie<3]: Yes, they are happy to meet you.

[Rinnie<3]: Ran says to hurry up he wants to see you.

[You]: what was the location again?

[Rinnie<3]: ➤ Started Sharing a Live Location with you.

[You]: omw.

Read: 9:26 PM

———

You sigh and glance back at the building sending him a quick text, before you walk towards the front door. 

When you reach the front door, it’s cracked open. You push it open and step into the overly crowded two story house. You glance around scanning the crowd looking for either Rindou or his older brother. Your eyes flick from person to person, group to group. You bite onto your lip and glance back at your phone.

———

[You]: i'm walking in rn

[Rinnie<3]: Wait for me at the door.

[You]: ok hurry there's so many people

[Rinnie]: I’m wrapping something up just give me a min.

———

You stand by the door, awkward and out of place, nervously twisting your fingers and tapping your foot in waiting.

Your head turns when you hear a voice call out to you. “Hey there, you look lost. You looking for someone?”

You nod your head, “Yeah actually, well kind of.” 

“I know almost everyone here, shoot, I can probably point you in the right direction.” He gives you a charming smile, stepping right next to you, your shoulders almost touching.

“Well, my boyfriend said he’d meet me here,” You stated, unsure of whether or not you should tell him or just wait.

“C’mon, shoot!” He challenged rather confidently.

“Okay… I’m looking for Haitani Rindou and Ran, do you know where they might be?”

“Hmm,” He places a finger on his chin, “I think they might be in the kitchen, that's where I saw them last… Let me take you?”

You glance at your phone then back at him, “Yeah, alright.” 

He guides you through the mass of people around the house, you stick close to him as he leads you towards the kitchen. 

You pass through the archway that leads into the kitchen, you glance around and see no sign of your boyfriend.

“I don’t see him.” You voiced looking towards the guy. 

“He was just here, I swear I saw him.” He places his hands on his hips, “Here, I’ll help you look.”

“Ah- I should just go back to my waiting spot.” You point your thumb over your shoulder.

“I insist!” He remarks, reaching a hand out to which I just glance at. He retracts it and scratches the back of his neck. “Let me introduce myself, I’m Kenji. Would you like to get a drink and look for your boyfriend and his brother?”

You hesitate for a moment, “Yeah, alright.”

“Cool, what can I get ya?” He turns towards the liquor. 

“Oh- I don’t really drink.” You clarify, “Is there water or soda?”

“Oh, yeah that's cool, there's some coke over here,” He grabs a bottle of coca cola. “Ice, no ice?”

“Ice, please.” You tell with a smile.

“Gotcha.” He turns his back to you as he grabs the ice and puts it in the cup, then he turns and pours the soda. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” You take the glass from him with a small smile.

“No problem, let's go find this missing man, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, following him out of the kitchen and bringing the glass to your lips taking a small sip.

—

After a while of looking Kenji walks ahead of you with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, and stagger behind. Trying to keep up but your vision was starting to get blurry and your footing was beginning to turn wonky.

“Ken-Kenji.” You call in a slur, trying to get him to slow down.

“Hm?”

“You’re going so fast- I’m not- I’m not feeling well. Can we take a seat somewhere so I can text Rindou?” You slur, grasping onto the wall as you blink slowly, reaching behind you to grab your phone.

“Kenji?” You call.

No response.

“Ken-”

“Hey,” A gentle hand places on your shoulder turning you around, “Who’s Kenj- Whoa are you okay?”

Your eyes focus in on the figure in front of you spotting the glasses, the multi-colored hair, “R-Rinnie?” 

“What happened? I was looking for you.” He places his free hand on your other shoulder for stability, leaning you against the wall.

“I don’t feel so good, Rin-” You breathe in a slur, your hand clumsily coming to grasp one of his.

“I can see that, what happened?”

“I was looking for you, Kenji was helping,” You glanced at where Kenji was last. “Woah, Kenji is gone.”

“Kenji?”

“Some guy I met, he told me he knew where you were, and fixed me a drink and we were going to find you, and look I found you.” You smile up at him.

Rindou’s eyebrows furrow, “Fucking dead man, he must have spiked your drink, did he touch you? Are you okay?”

You shake your head, “Mm-mm.”

“He didn’t touch you or you’re not okay? Use your words, pretty.”

“Didn’t touch me. ‘M really really sorry.” You lean against him, “I was trying to be nice.”

“Well don't.” He speaks bluntly, “I don’t give a shit who it is if you don’t know them, don't go with them, don’t take drinks from them, and sure as hell don’t leave our meeting spot.”

You lean down the wall, and Rindou crouches in front of you, “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know, pretty. But why didn’t you wait for me? I was almost done, almost there.” He sighs out, tucking loose hair behind your ear.

“Didn’t want to rely on you. Or bother you, was gonna find you.” 

“(Y/N).” He speaks, tucking his index and middle fingers under your chin, lifting your head to look at him. “You could never be a bother, you know that?”

You nod, “‘m really, really sorry, Rinnie.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, pretty.”

He gently guides you to your feet, “Now, come on, we’re going to go find Ran and the others.”

You shake your head, “No… Can’t let them meet me like this.”

“It’s okay pretty, we’re only going to want a few answers.”

“Of what.”

“Kenji.”

—

Rindou leads you to a couch in the middle of a room with a group of people sitting at it. Ran notices you two first and stands to his feet walking up and wrapping an arm around you.

“What happened to you, princess?” Ran asked with a look of concern on his face.

“Some idiot spiked a drink and gave it to her.” Rindou answers for you.

“He seemed nice.” You slur.

“They all do.” Ran shook his head and they sat you on the couch.

“What was his name?” An unfamiliar voice calls.

“Kenji.” Rindou answered.

“What was he wearing? I’ll beat his ass. No one messes with my baby brother's future wife.”

“Huh?”

“Stay focused.”

“Sorry. He was- He was in a red jacket, it was poofy like this.” You gesture with your hands.

“That’s great, (Y/N). What else was he wearing?” Rindou asks.

“... Black pants, they were also poofy.”

“I know who that is.” Another unknown voice, you turn your head to see a guy with a tattoo on the side of his head, blonde.

“He had an ugly nose.”

The guy snorts, glancing at you, “Did he?”

“Mhm.”

“Take us to him, Shion.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay, pretty. You sit here with my friend Kakucho, okay?”

You nod, “Where are you going?”

“To go kick someone's ass.”

“Rindou-”

“Don’t worry about that pretty head of yours. We’ll be alright after all there's five of us and one of him.”

—

Let’s just say you had to meet them all again, they loved you and invited you out more!!

They also loved to make fun of Rindou for how much of a simp he is around you

Kenji was never seen again. Dun dun dun

[joonipertree]

idea for the Boxer!Katsuki and Artist!Reader AU! What if, ON TOP OF a rly bad day w college and being overwhelmed w work, we lost our paints :( n we luv our paints so we cry, but katsuki’s there to make us feel better and get us a new set :3

Thank you so fucking much for this. Idk if you knew but I'm actually making a portfolio for art school and Ive been crying every other night because of how stressed I am and how much I feel like I'm a bad artist. So writing this was cathartic

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: Dom/sub undertones, reader acting out and Bakugo being stern, a peak of what kind of shit I want with older men hsjsjsj, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft katsuki

Katsuki was one of the last people you wanted to see when you're in a bad mood. And that might sound terrible but it's because you never wanted to show such a harsh, negative side of yourself to someone you cared about. You were very much a 'feel and then reappear more regulated' type of person. But Katsuki never let you go home on your own anymore, picking you and dropping you off even on days where he had something to do.

So you trotted towards him with a scowl and no energy to fake anything and he noticed instantly, his own concerned scowl mirroring yours.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said and opened the door, closing it a bit too loudly. You cringed at the sound but buckled yourself in and turned away before the man got in the driver's seat.

"You're shit at lying."

"Fuck off."

Instant regret, a deep inhale from your part as you tensed.

Fuck.

His large hand came on your thigh and you stiffened, all he did was give it a warning squeeze before pulling away. The message was clear. 'Watch it'.

"I'm not willing to discipline you until I know nothing horrible happened but you do know I don't like that shit from you right?"

You said nothing.

"Give me an answer, doll."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah, you are. And you're a smart one that knows that we have rules. That I'd be taking you over my lap if you talked like that."

Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them away, not willing to turn your head to show him.

He knew anyways and he dropped the subject, starting the car and driving off.

Katsuki pulled to a stop at a place that wasn't anywhere near your apartment. You were confused as he got out of the car. Your eyes followed him just as he entered a boba shop.

Oh.

A couple minutes later, he came out with a drink for each of you. You remembered when he said that there just wasn't any point of it, that it seemed stupid and too sweet. But pretty soon, he had his own usual order, which was just Brown Sugar boba tea with the sweetness to a minimum.

Katsuki gave you the drink without even looking your way, sipping on his own. You stared at it for a total of ten seconds before timidly taking a sip. The sweetness broke you out of your sour mood, eyes blinking as you focused on the flavour of your favourite tea. The boba was chewy and soft and it grounded you a bit.

Only after you took a sip, did Katsuki start the car and drive.

When you reached home, the apartment the two of you had started sharing a month prior, Katsuki only gave you time to take off your shoes and put down your bag before he had you over his shoulder.

You struggled, hitting his back and asking him to let you go but he didn't listen...not even feeling it.

And when your ass plopped itself onto the couch, your attempt at running away failed when he easily manhandled you in place.

"I'm not patient enough to coax it out of you, so tell me why you're upset. I'll make it better."

You wanted to refuse but the tears were already dripping down your face.

"I'm so bad at art. I'm so f-fucking bad at it. I don't-" you sobbed and his arms were instantly around you, pulling you onto his lap as you cried into him.

"There's so many deadlines and so many things I have to do and nothing is working. And I don't even know if I'm cut out to be an artist. I'm not good enough, I was never good enough for it. I'm gonna fail-- Katsuki I'm so tired."

Your boyfriend rocked you back and forth, giving you kisses everywhere he could reach, on the side of your face and your head and your hair. And you let the tears fall, hiccuping violently and sobbing without restraint.

"I even lost my fucking paints and I can't live without them and I saved up for them and I'm just doing everything wrong."

You let Katsuki envelope you, squeeze you and warm your inside as you let it all out.

When your sobs died down, Katsuki didn't stop peppering kisses everywhere. It took him a second to speak.

"I didn't know shit about art. It all seemed like fancy, time consuming pictures to me. Hell, even now I don't know shit. But when I saw your art, I felt stuff I thought I didn't know how to feel. And that was the first time I realised that maybe life didn't have to be as shitty as it was. Maybe things didn't have to be ugly."

"When we went to those art galleries, yeah they were cool and pretty but not gonna lie, nothing ever left me speechless like your art did. And yeah...I'm biased as fuck, especially because I thought that the look in your eyes was the prettiest out of everything. That sounds cheesy as shit but you make me feel cheesy as shit."

You had stopped crying, left drained and nuzzled against Katsuki while you looked for an anchor to hold onto. And he held you.

"I like seeing you paint the most though, I like how you focus...I like how you curse under your breath, I like how you grin when something looks right, I like how you scan art supplies before you buy them. I like your paint stained hands and your paint water mugs even when I've accidently taken a sip from them. I like that how you laugh when I do that shit. I love that look of pride you have when you're done and staring at it.

It makes you happy so even if I don't understand the point of it, it means a lot to me because of that. So, whenever that thing stops being fun for you, and really stops being fun for you, I'll support you if you wanna stop. But I gotta keep seeing your work, baby, cuz it's like the inside of your head and it's really neat."

You let a few more tears drop, sniffling and looking into his eyes. There was no ingenuity, only pure emotion. And you let him kiss your tears away, you let him pat your head and you let him make you drink water and feed you.

Because it was never a burden for him to do those things, but a priveledge.

The very next day, the same set of paints were in your bag. Brand new and untouched. Along with three different watercolour paper books. 100% pure cotton, 350 gcm.

With a note that said 'you're still down for a spanking for that shitty mouth of yours. Don't make it a habit.'

[drdemonprince]

do you think it's worth it being nonbinary if you dont have like, body/physical dysphoria? Ive been identifying as nonbinary since i was 14 and when i was in high school it was great, i had my little liberal bubble queer friend group, and the rest of the school didnt pay much attention to me. My mom accepted me in the "i dont get it but whatever i dont want you to stop talking to me so i guess ill go along with it" sense, which while not perfect, its fine. But last september i started studying engineering and. Its really not going well. Like 85% of my classmates are straight guys and they range from thinking nonbinary people are cringe (and therefore they make fun of me when i walk by) to being extremely transphobic (im very scared of some of them.) And ive been trying to make friends with the girls in my class, and some of them are nice, but i can tell they also dont like that im nonbinary. One of them literally told me "i get that being a woman is hard, i dont like having periods or the ways guys look at me either, but you dont gain anything by denying yourself". So. I kind of think about that nearly every night now. Doubting whether im really nonbinary. And it really doesnt help knowing that basically every girl here either thinks that or just straight up thinks im gross and weird, ive literaly heard one of them go 'what is THAT doing in the womens' when i walked past her from the bathroom. I dont like going to class much.

Im thinking of detransisioning, i guess. I never started taking hormones (good luck getting those in eastern europe lol), so I could easily start looking like a cis girl again. These will be my coworkers and bosses, i cant live like this until i retire. i want to have fun uni experiences too. And ive been thinking so much lately about why im even doing this. Its just a few words that people call me by. Theres nonbinary people who use binary pronouns and pass as cis, i could be one of them and just not tell anyone that im actually nb. but on the other hand, it feels like im giving up on the trans community if i do this. Giving up on activism. Im sure im not the only one in this situation, if i detransition ill be letting them down completely. I dont want the next generation to be as fucked as this one. Also i came out very publicly to my entire class (i wanted to find other queer people to be friends with, i hoped that would do the trick maybe. I was so naive and stupid) and it will be so fucking humiliating to go back on that and im scared ill do all that and theyll keep treating me the same anyways because im already "tainted" by transness. So i would let so many people down for nothing.

The one other trans friend from my high school friend group solved this issue by paying more than ten fucking thousand euros per year to study in the netherlands btw. The exchange rate to our currency makes it somehow even worse than it sounds. Hes probably going to be able to start taking hormones before he gets his bachelors. I wish my mom was that rich :|

First of all, I want to say that I am so sorry anon that you are facing so much fucking exclusion and harassment. That kind of treatment pushes a lot of trans people into detransitioning, and it is brutal, and that this experience can happen to nonbinary people who are not on hormones but have otherwise transitioned is something that does not get acknowledged enough.

I can't tell you what you should do in your situation, because no outcome is great. But I think you might find some elements of this article from Kier Adrian Grey on ceasing their use of they/them pronouns (among the cis public!) interesting. They're an "ex anarchist" and a bit of an anti social justice dogma kinda person so I don't agree with them on many things, but I did like this point that they made:

"Hear me out: maybe the best way to understand they/them pronouns, within the context of a pluralistic democracy, is as a subcultural norm, a way for LGBT people to show respect for one another within our community. That sense of belonging I felt when I first found queer spaces was profound, and if using gender-neutral pronouns gives someone that gift, I am all for it. "But I do wonder if we are setting people up for hardship when we tell them that they should hope for, expect, or insist on they/them pronouns being used by everyone they encounter, and that they will be emotionally injured every time this fails to happen. In my thirteen years, misgendering was rarely malicious, and yet it still fed into a wounded identity and a suspicious worldview."

I don't think that what Kier has written about their experience applies to even most nonbinary people, and if taken too prescriptively by the wrong people it could be an awful dysphoria cope that leads a person to some pretty dark places. But! For someone whose feelings about it all are like Kier's, and whose life experiences have given them similar perspective, I think there is something to it. It's true that thinking a great deal about how one is gendered by others is crazy making and sometimes isolating, and if that's the sole way in which one's transness interfaces with the world, it's not always to the person's net benefit.

Here's the full piece:

I will say that based on all you had to say, anon, it would be a lot better for you if you could get around a lot of queer and trans people! What you're struggling with is not being seen and appreciated for who you are, and all the cis people undermining you are driving you crazy and making you doubt yourself. I'd MUCH prefer if you could find more local queer community or relocate if necessary to feel more appreciated as you are.

BUT if you find yourself resonating with this author's points and it feels like only being out to other trans and queer people would be good for you, that is okay to do. That isn't "detransitioning," it's being choosy about whom you trust. And many of us navigate those decisions. I'm not out as trans to everyone I meet! Most people just think I'm a cis guy. The big difference between you and me is that I have medically transitioned (and if you want to, I recommend ordering some hormones on India Mart!!!). You have some choices here about how much information you give to other people, how much you trust people who are incredibly ignorant, how much you will expose yourself to harm by making requests for treatment that might not happen, and how to build the community you need to survive this awful transphobic reality.

[broooooo]

Dronehood

____________________

In today's world , the world has been slowly taken over by drones, whether it was by force, choice or persuasion, men are being converted, covered in a shiny black latex, a second skin, a well built muscled body, constantly aroused and hard. The mind does seem to remain keeping the hosts personality, but there's a big focus of obeying the master and the pleasure of dronehood

At first the world was scared, but as the drone army expanded, it slowly became normal, as if it's a rite of passage for teenage, adult men. It's even become a kind of entertainment to watch a conversion happen, could inspire others , or worn them.

Then there's me

I am Aaron, 21, regular build, living in an apartment, IV never been opposed to the drone movement. It's interesting to watch.

Deep down I wouldn't mind becoming a drone myself, it genuinely sounds fun.

Iv watched my childhood friend, Jason, become one before my eyes, he had wanted it for a while, and decided to get a slow conversion, he wanted to experience all the feelings grow and build.

The conversion itself is simple, intercourse with a drone, you may or may not include leather articles of clothing such as gloves or boots for extra pleasure. When it's done, the new drone is given a serial number name, but can keep their human name for interactions with others, plus they can take off their head mask for easy identification.

I myself don't leave my room a lot, i just watch from my TV or the window, hearing it through my walls too at times. Jason's my roommate, but he's never home, he's busy converting others or just hanging out with other drones.

Somewhat makes me jealous, before his conversion , we were the same, locked in your rooms not doing much, it honestly is a better life for him, and I'm happy,

It's possible to request a drone conversion, many have done it, Idk why I haven't done it yet, I guess I want to keep my peace for a little while, but ik at some point it will get too much to bear and then I will know I'm ready.

_________________

It was a normal day for me, watching my conversions , and contemplating life. When suddenly I hear the front door open, I rush out to see him, Jason standing in the door way, his heavy leather boots stomping on the floor as he closes the door. He looks at me, I haven't seen his have a week's.

JASON!?* ITS been so long, how.. have you been?*

He smiles and embraces me in a hug

*Iv been well, I missed you*

My face goes flush red, as I hug him back.

His latex skin is soft and shiny , the feel of hard muscles, it makes my heart race.

We pull away and I ask*

What are you doing here Jason?* Don't you have missions ?*

Jason laughs and says * well I do live here, plus even drones need rest.*

I answer back"

Well that makes sense , yeah*

Jason goes sit on the couch to watch TV.

*mind getting me a sparkling lemon water Aaron?.

Oh? Ok sure , I'll make us both one *

I go the kitchen, fill two cups with soda and prepare to cut lemons, during all this my mind races with thoughts, the sudden appearance of Jason and the feeling of his skin, it felt great. I feel hot, almost dreaming of it

As I'm cutting lemons the knife slips and cuts my hand, breaking me out of my dream like state

GAH*

Jason turns and runs up to me concerned

Are you ok?*

I'm fine just cut my self.

I go to clean up the blood and find a bandage, but problem, we where out of bandages

*darn we're out of bandaids.

Well I have a suggestion*

I turn around to see Jason's bear hand outstretched holding a latex glove.

You took it off? Isn't that yours?

Don't worry, I get a new one, my body can create it naturally.

I look at the glove as I hold it, it's soft,

The glove has a healing effect to it, it protects us drones from major injuries.

Huh, convenient , as I smile* thanks

I put the glove over my disinfected hand, I move my fingers about feeling it, it was soft, silky and comfortable.

So this is how it feels?* I say

Yeah, it's quite the sensation isn't it?,

Very much so, no wonder many ppl become drones.

Jason helps me finish the drinks and we go sit on the couch together.

Have you thought about dronehood much Aaron?

I turn to him and choke a little ,

Have I thought about it? It's ALL I can think about xd* I say with laughter, I observe it happen from my room, since your never hear.

And before you ask, no, I don't think I'm ready yet.

Jason looks into this drink and back up to me, he leans a hand over to touch my shoulder,

He smiles and says, * when you're ready then, no force, I want you to enjoy it as much as possible.

I peek up, *I KNEW IT, you planned this, laughing.

You were always a trickster you, we both laugh

Well Aaron , I. Do hope you enjoy that glove, it will help you decide, I'm sure of it.

I turn to look out the window and smiles

*thanks, i-, will definitely have an answer soon I'm sure.

___________

Afterwards we hang out the rest of day, it was a fun reunion, full of talk and catching up untill sun down

We both go to bed , crashing instantly as I'd been so tired after today.

The next day Jason and I bid farewell as he leaves for a mission.

I'm left alone and go to my room , sitting on my bedroom couch

_____

Hm, planed or not, I'm happy I have this glove. I turn on the TV to watch some more conversions

I feel hot and steamy imagining it, before I know it I'm rubbing my bulge with the gloved hand , my dick getting erect from what pleasure I can muster,

And idea popped into my head, I head over to Jason's room, and my mind was validated when I saw them, an extra pair of leather boots,

*planned this too Jason? Well idc, thanks*

We happen to be the same size, even so is force my feet into them, the boots go up to my kne, tall and shiny, sliding my feet in, my heart and mind are racing , my dick is rock hard , the sensations are over powering, I lace them up tight, whist I remove my clothing.

I stand up to look to the mirror, naked with only a latex glove and leather boots on, the weight of the boots and the tightness, protecting me, I go to my bed,I start to edge off slowly, aroused to high heavens and enjoying it all. Whilst the sounds of conversions from the TV hum in the background.

I never realized it but the dream like state I was in of edging and leaking lasted 3 days, I was covered in pre, drooling and gooing out, the latex glove and boots has started to spread up my legs and arm, then came Jason, he stood in my bedroom doorway, smiling, he comes over and jumps on top of me, squeezing my nipples hard

I moan hard and leak over me

*ready Aaron?*

Laughing through the intense pleasure ,

*hehe yeah. Convert me friend* I'm ready*

Jason's glowing purple eyes look into mine,

___________

Jason's hard latex dick at the ready, and with a passionate kiss it commences, what felt like a. Eternity, lasted a week of slow intense sex and conversion. As I expected it all

By the end of it, we and the bed were wet in pre, drool and juices, through the days, the latex nanites from Jason's dick slowly transformed my body, spreading the latex all over whist giving my muscle to fit, the climax of the conversion was then.

Jason fucking my tight ass, we both prepared for it , cum

It was a screech of intense pleasure, black nantite filled cum sprayed in ropes out our dicks, lasting 69 minutes of constant cumming, fucking and kissing, and the cum pool around us and soak back up into our bodies, , strengthening the conversion.

When it was all over , we lay there together tired and in love

My eyes start to glow to an intense blue. My mind was reshaped and ready,

Looking to Jason's eyes I say.

* I am ready to obey , ready to spread , ready to cum alongside you *

Jason smiles and kisses me, *ik.. drone 6923..*

My eyes flash, * yes... My new name.. thank you..

Drone 8696..*

___________

In the end we two drones, continued to make out intensely, passionately, never running out of cum

Untill the next mission is handed to us, and. I join Jason on my first crusade, We will enjoy each other forever.

______

: D

I enjoyed this one , genuinely think it's one of my best works yet

Hope you enjoy it, fellow drones

[futterurl]

Hello! I absolutely love the future man writings you’ve done and wanted to request smut for josh futturman. I can just imagine for his first time getting intimate with a partner he just gets so overly eager that he ends up overstimulating himself and his partner hehe

sry ive been gone for a bit schools been kicking my ass ! anyways yeah i got a little carried away sry if this isnt what u rlly had in mind

WARNINGS: fem!reader, titplay, oral(f!receiving), virgin!josh, p in v, creampie, super soft

- - - - - - - - -

it had been a nice day, going out and spending the day with your boyfriend, josh. you two were sat in your apartment, watching a movie, him holding you in his arms while a bowl of popcorn sat in your lap. his hand held onto your forearm, rubbing back and forth lightly with his thumb.

you loved days like this. you loved your boyfriend. he was the sweetest guy you had ever met, and boy were you glad he was yours. he would constantly try to spend time with you, and would try to teach you about the video games that he played. you always looked up to him.

and to him? lord, you were a goddess. you were this kickass woman who was one of his well respected co-workers, you had such a beautiful personality, and you were drop dead gorgeous to him. he fell in love with you all over again whenever he looked at you.

you both tool each other in with your worries and guilts. he knew that you were more shy, and he did a majority of the talking in public, and wouldn’t try to pressure you with anything. he was so kind to you, you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

while you guys were snuggled up, you started to talk over the movie, not paying it much attention. just talking about funny stories that happened in the past.

“…and she caught me. jacking off. in my room. it was the worst thing ever.” josh was telling the unfortunate story of his poor mother just trying to bring him something, but seeing that mess instead. you couldn’t help but laugh.

“god, if that kinda stuff happened to me, i swear, i’d never look anyone in the eyes again.” you laughed.

“this is a random question, and sorry if it’s intrusive, but…have you ever had…like, sex before?” he asked you, sitting up on the couch so he could look you in your eyes.

you shifted, not used to being asked this question. “i…i have. once. it was a mistake. i don’t know why i did it.”

he started to look a little worried. “did he make you do that?” hoping it wasn’t that.

“oh, no! no! don’t worry, i was fine with it.” you reassured him. “i just…regret it, was all. it wasn’t all that good, just a heat of the moment thing, wanting to do it. we fucked, he came, and that was that. nothing special.”

“did he uh…did he make you…y’know…” he tried to ask in the most not awkward way possible, which was still very awkward.

“make me cum? uh, no. it wasn’t…wasn’t really a priority, i guess. just the experience.” you started to fidget with your hands.

“that’s…yeesh, that’s kinda fucked.” he was a little irritated. was it that difficult to focus on a girl for a few minutes to make her feel good? he didn’t understand it. “i’m sorry it wasn’t good. i just don’t get how he could finish and not care that you didn’t.”

“it’s fine. i don’t really care that much.” you were still a tad bit upset over it, but he was out of your life now. you didn’t have to worry shout him, only being in your happiest relationship yet with josh.

“what about you?” you asked him, curious.

“me? oh, uh, this is kinda sad, but i…haven’t done that kinda stuff.” he started. “it just never kinda…happened. moment was never really right. but now i’m here, with you. i couldn’t be happier.” he hugged you, kissing your jaw.

you rubbed the back of his head. you loved this man more than words could describe.

“i don’t know how to ask this in a way that isn’t awkward, but i’m just gonna go ahead…would you mind if i…if i, uh, made you…you cum?” he asked, looking at you.

you looked at him. “a-are you sure? you don’t have to if you feel bad or anything like that, it’s not your obligation to-”

he cut you off, holding your hands in his. “i…i want to do this. it’s not out of sadness or anger for you…”

you gave him an inquisitive stare.

“okay, maybe it is a little bit.” he admitted. “but i really do wanna do this. i’ve wanted to do this with you…for a little bit now, but i didn’t know how to ask, or bring it up. you feeling good makes me happy.”

it was like he was trying to make you fall in love again and again.

“josh, that’s really sweet…i…i do think i may be ready to try this stuff out with you.” you started to get a little shy.

“okay…okay…great.” he tried to hype himself up, telling himself that it’s real and this was happening. “just, uh, tell me if you’re uncomfortable or anything like that, and we can stop, go back to watching the movie, no questions asked, okay?”

you smiled, knowing he was your safe place. “thank you so much.” you gave him a kiss on his lips. he went and deepened the kiss, holding your frame in his arms.

you made out, him slowly getting on top of you, laying you in the couch. his hands went from holding your body to feeling around: touching your hips, your waist, your breasts, everything. he gently caressed one of your breasts, to which you let a moan out at.

“did you like that?” he asked.

you nodded, pulling your shirt up. “please.” you yanked it off your body. he stared at you with awe, your breasts clad with a bra. you looked so beautiful to him.

“can i…can i take this off?” he asked, fingers playing with your bra. you nodded, reaching back and unclasping it.

“how the hell do you unclasp that so easily?” he discarded your bra, asking while staring at your bare breasts.

“lots of practice, i guess. you get used to it after wearing these since the ripe age of 13.” you giggled.

his hand moved towards your breasts, but hesitated. he didn’t want to squeeze them too tight, or hurt you.

“you can touch then, josh. it’s okay. please. i want you to.” you reassured him, guiding his hand to gently caress your left tit. he played with it, new to the sense of it.

“it’s so soft…” his thumb ran over your nipple, causing you to shudder. he could tell you liked that.

“do you think i could…suck on them?” he asked, testing the waters. you nodded your head slowly.

“yes, please. whatever you like.”

“this is about you, though, not me. i want this to feel good for you.” he looked at you with concern in his eyes. sure, he was getting very caught up in the moment, but he knew he ultimately wanted you to have a good takeaway from this: you were someone he loved so much, he wanted to watch and make you feel good.

“josh, i want you to do this, don’t worry.” you smiled at him. he was so careful with you, it made you feel so delicate. so special.

he leaned his head down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. his lips wrapped around it while his tongue ran over it.

you ran your fingers through his hair. you had thought he’d be a boob guy, and this for sure proved it. he loved feeling them, the texture so foreign to him.

he moved on to the other breast, suckling onto your other nipple, to which you let out a gasp at. it felt…good.

he played with your other breast in his hand, giving it gentle squeezes. you let out a hushed moan. you didn’t think it’d feel good.

his head lifted up, kissing you again. it was a deep kiss, his hand digging to play with the hem of your pants.

“please, wanna make you feel good down there.” he pleaded, looking at you for permission.

you had never been like this before. someone focusing on you felt…unbelievable. it really did.

you nodded, unzipping your pants. “please, josh, want this so bad. want you so bad.”

he lifted your hips up, helping you shimmy out of your pants and panties. you were there, completely bare in front of him. he took his shirt off, trying to make you feel more comfortable. he stared at you with awe.

he couldn’t believe you were with him. you were so beautiful, and had an even better personality. he couldn’t believe that you loved him, and that you were willing to do this with him. he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“is this okay?” he asked, lowering himself, his head in between your legs. he rubbed your thighs, trying to help you stay comfortable. he could see your slick. he wanted to get a taste so badly.

“yes, please josh. please.” you wailed.

he obliged, taking a long lick up your slit.

“oh, fuck…” you moaned. loud. you hadn’t ever felt that good before.

“you okay?” he asked, making sure he didn’t do something wrong.

“i’m great, just felt really fucking good…holy shit.” you looked down at the sight of him, in between your thighs.

he dipped in again, this time bringing his tongue to lay flat on your clit. you shuddered, feeling all sorts of sensations. he held your hips steady, running his tongue in tight circles around your clit.

you swore to god, you could hear him groaning into your cunt. he was letting out little noises in exasperation as he pleasured you, rubbing your clit with his tongue, getting into a rhythm.

“jesus christ, josh, i’ve never felt so good, fuck…” you could barely get the words out in between moans.

he licked another stripe down your slit and ran his tongue on your entrance. you tugged at his hair a big, cautious yet excited to see where this was gonna go.

his tongue slowly crept inside of you, feeling around as you scratched at his scalp, letting little whimpers out. he held tightly onto your thigh as he started to tongue fuck you.

you threw your head back in pure ecstasy. you were starting to get close.

“josh…g’na come soon…fuck…” you panted out.

“please.” he said, moving his mouth up and tasting you all over. “do it f’ me. come on my face. please. you’re so hot. fuck. come all over me.”

he moved his mouth and latched onto your clit again. from there, he just sucked. your orgasm approached.

you let out a cry as your hips started to spasm ever so slightly, your body contorting. josh continued to suckle on your clit while you rode out your orgasm.

“oh my god…” you breathed. “how are you so fucking good at that?”

he lifted his head up, mouth coated in your cum. “don’t know. just pure talent i guess.”

you lightly pushed him. “fuck you.”

“i mean, if you’d be ever so kind.”

you looked at him, starting to laugh, but understanding what he wanted: you.

you moved yourself closer to him, closing the space in between you two.

“please.” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “i..i think i’m ready for this. fuck me, josh. please.”

“fuck, i’m so fucking hard for you right now, holy shit.” he kissed you, lying you back down on the couch. he pulled his pants down, huge erection standing up in his underwear.

“do you see how crazy you make me? you’re so perfect.” he looked down as he slowly started to take off his underwear, cock standing out.

you blushed. even in situations like this, he still made you feel so special.

he got on top of you, cock springing out, almost touching your delicate folds. you shuddered.

“a-are you sure you wanna do this, josh?” you asked him. doing something like this for the first time was really important to you, so you hoped you could make it important to him.

“yes, there’s no one i’d rather do this with than you.” he kissed you softly, sliding his cock through your slit, bumping his tip to your clit. you both groaned lightly.

“i…i’m gonna put it in now…okay?” he asked for permission.

you smiled. “yes. please.”

he used one of his hands to steady himself and his other one to hold yours as he slowly pushed inside of you. he was feeling all sorts of new sensations, all good like he’d never felt before. your walls clenched around him. he let out a moan as he slowly inched himself inside you.

you held his hand, gripping it tight. it had been awhile since you’d done this. it was a big stretch, but it felt so damn good to have him inside of you.

he finally bottomed out, cupping your cheek. “you’re so tight…oh my god…i knew it’d feel good but…didn’t expect this…” he was breathing heavily, catching up with his senses. he felt like he was going to cum just from being in you.

“josh, want you t’ start moving.” you pleaded, feeling so full but desperate for friction.

he obliged, giving experimental thrusts and letting out low groans in the process. your tight walls kept sucking him in, as if they didn’t want him to pull out.

“fuck, you feel so good. i love you so much.” he started to thrust a bit faster now, hands on your hips, holding you steady. every time his hips met yours you could feel yourself groan with delight. even though this was his first time, he wanted to take care of you.

he started to thrust hard, moaning sweet nothings into the room. every word he said professed his love for you and your body.

one thrust in particular hit a certain part inside you that made you let out a really high-pitched moan. he stopped, looking at you.

“shit, you okay?” he asked.

“yeah, m’ fine, that just felt really good.” you gave him a smile.

he tried to angle his hips to hit that sensitive spot again, which he was successful with after a few harsh thrusts. he abused that sweet spot with every thrust, leaving you a moaning mess. he took your lips into his, kissing you like your lives depended on it.

“josh, close, shit.” you could barely form words with how good you felt.

“me too, gonna cum, fuck.” he started to move incredibly fast, moving like there was no tomorrow. “please, cum on my cock.”

you could feel the knot on your stomach start to snap, riding out your orgasm. you were letting out these pornographic moans that were driving him insane, leading him to cum right after you did.

but he didn’t stop.

“feel too damn good. can’t stop. shit.” he continued his quick and deep thrusts, leaving you screaming.

“josh, can’t. already came. oh my god.” you were a moaning mess, feeling his cock penetrating your tight walls right after having an earth shattering orgasm.

“please, need you to cum again. wanna make you feel better than you’ve ever felt.” he moaned, trying to hit that spot inside you with every single thrust, making himself feel overstimulated in the process.

you felt another orgasm start to bubble up inside you as he kept going. the knot snapped yet again when he led his hand to your clit, rubbing it in circles with his thumb.

“cum for me, please. cum. wanna make you feel good. please. need you to cum on my cock again. i’ll do anything.” he begged and pleaded, bot stopping his aggression to your cunt.

you were practically screaming, head thrown back and breathing like a madman. he helped you ride through your orgasm, him taking a few extra seconds to reach his own again, as well.

he eventually stopped, laying on you carefully as to not hurt you.

“sorry, got…got a little carried away.” he said in between breaths. he felt so woozy.

“no, it felt really good josh. thank you.” you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as he lay on top of you.

“was it that good?” he asked, making sure you got as much satisfaction as he did.

“i’ve never felt that good in my life. serious.” you replied. he knew how to make you feel special and really good. “you’re amazing.”

he held you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “i hope you know how much you mean to me. i love you so much, and i wanna be with you forever.”

you were practically gushing. he was so darn cute. “i love you more.”

[dozing-marshmallow]

Pls i NEED more Chris McLean x reader. I NEED😭🙏 ive read everything of him on here😓

So pretty please something like chris mclean x wife reader and like, the whole tdi cast gets to meet her bc they didnt believe that Chris had a wife at first?😇

TRUST ME WHEN I SAY I feel the exact same way😫 I love Chris so much and it’s such a huge pleasure that I can write for him while having other people who love him enjoy it as welllll. I will be writing him for a very long time so you can always expect something new evolved around him to come up ;)<3

CHRIS MCLEAN X WIFE! READER ONE SHOT

Having your daily hug with Chris, the tender moment reminds you of what he told you earlier.

“Were you being serious when you told me the kids laughed at you when you told them you were married?"

“Mhmm.” he responds from underneath you,“They called it a sick joke and told me that stand up comedy was way out my league.”

“Aw darling.” you kiss his forehead,“I’m guessing you’re gonna ask a favour for me to stop by to prove them wrong?”

He raises an eyebrow,“What do you mean? Stand up comedy is in my league. I just don’t prefer it, doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.”

He can be so silly sometimes,“I meant your marital status, baby.”

“Oh, yeah...” he holds onto your wrists,“Please?”

You let your body relax completely on top of his, still smiling,“Your wish is my command.”

“Aw what’s the matter, McLean? Couldn’t your wife make it?” Duncan was the first to pick up on ridiculing Chris, eyes still puffy from his chronic cries of laughter from last night. On another circumstance, Chris would’ve been fuming, had he not have reason to smirk.

“How sweet of you to worry, Duncan!” the host begins off, clasping his hands,“But she’s made it in one piece!”

On cue, you walk into the mess hall, linking your arm with Chris’,“Hii everyone! So happy to finally see you all in person!”

All conversation died.

Everyone turns to you.

This woman they’ve never seen before... 

His... His wife?

Were they hearing that right?

No way... He was being serious?

Chris was rolling on the inside at the shared alike look of being slapped spread across the contestants, especially of the mocking kind.

“I...didn’t know you had enough space in your heart to love someone else!” Beth’s the first to break out of her ice of shock to chirp.

“Surprised?” Chris chuckled, allowing you to introduce yourself, which was not what you guys decided.

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N)! This hot mess’ wife...” turns out improvising in front of teenagers wasn’t as fun as it sounded,“Sorry, I’m...not too good with words, so...help yourself to these cupcakes I made for you guys. I made them as a way to say how huge of a pleasure it is to meet you all!”

As you turn around to unwrap the trays, Leshawna clears her throat to privately address the cohort,"One of two things are gonna happen. One, those cupcakes are filled with maggots and hair. Or two, it's the first actual food we're gettin’ on this set."

Everybody nods in agreement.

They were right to inspect the wrapping and texture with their noses and eyes.

Yet didn’t expect to have the flavour of delicate buttermilk crumble on their tongues.

Oh my God...

Maybe they were deprived from having treats so long on the show, but it was unanimously categorised as a whole new delicious nonetheless.

The punk delinquent scoffs over,“Yeah... I’m not buying that’s his wife.”

“That evil maniac with a permanent smile is probably holding her hostage!” The ginger geek dramatically pinpoints.

“I can see why, these are too die for!” Owen squeaks, scoffing down an entire cupcake, wrapping included, not comprehending what situation it would mean for you if you really were abducted.

“Hm... Maybe he’s paying her.” Gwen suggests alternatively after taking another glance at you: it was your arm around him. Too touchy to be forced...

“I’d understand if he was hot like me, but he’s not even halfway there! Where would he find someone willing to do all that for him? No amount of money should convince anyone to ever lose their dignity for the likes of him." Justin criticises out of his internal debate of skipping the cupcakes or not.

“You’d be shocked if you’ve seen the fansite.” Noah opposes like it was the most known thing.

Speaking of which,"Sierra.” Heather directs, taking sudden control of the situation and everyone’s eyes to peel towards the superfan whose mouth was staining in the same dye as her magenta hair, perking up from her snacking at the mention of her name,“You know everything about everybody. Say, is Chris paying that woman to pretend to be married to him for laughs?"

The girl whose lifeline was Total Drama quickly swallows the last portion of her cupcake to appease her idols with a packed answer,“Oh, no! It’s all true! Unfortunately. Those two got married way before Total Drama was aired. A lot's happened... My mom waited years for Chris to propose to her and there he goes, chasing after that nobody! Do you have any idea how painful it is to see my mom’s husband having an affair? (Y/N) is nothing but a block of concrete, blinding Chris from seeing his true soulmate! A.k.a my mom!” The last few sentences gradually grazed with personal prejudice, but not enough to throw the next cupcake away.

“Wait, but if Chris did get married to your mother... Wouldn’t that make you his stepdaughter-?“ Alejandro posited, already having a hard time imagining Chris take that role biologically.

"So Chris,” Cody interrupts the impending awkward ambient Alejandro’s phrasing would bring, steering the conversation back, still bewildered,“...really does have a wife."

Bridgette takes her slo mo time in grabbing another frosted vanilla good, rethinking, the same man that laughed at their pain,"I...honestly don't know how to feel about that."

"Huuu... I feel like I went overboard with cupcakes, Chris!” you freak out to your husband, fidgeting with the sleeves of your turtleneck,“Why did I pick to make something so childish? I should've picked something more formal... Like a dish from my home country..."

"Relaaaaax, no one else is thinking about that." Chris assured, biting into one of your delicacies.

You continued to murmur on,“I wanted to make something universal, a collection of sweets so in case one likes a certain flavour more than others... I thought teenagers around here liked cupcakes... I feel like such a fool... I hope they don’t think I see them as childish...”

He grabs one and holds it horizontally to your lips, painting them yellow,“It’s not just teenagers that like them, (Y/N). Besides, they are children. Children like things that are childish.”

That’s true... Your paranoia’s sunk,“Well... They seem to be enjoying themselves. I’ve been worrying for nothing.” you smile, drawing your finger on his stubble to take for licking,“You had some icing there.”

Turns out, you were really nice.

The angel to Chris’ devil.

The sun to Chris' moon.

The calm to Chris’ energetic.

“So (Y/N)... I just...have a quick question on behalf of everyone else.” The CIT girl shields her mouth with her hand, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“Of course, Courtney. Whatever would you like to know?” you welcome her, all kinds of possible questions cloud your mind.

She tightens your shoulders in her palms,“What the hell do you see in Chris?”

...You expected that one,“Why, I see a strong, handsome, hilarious man. A goal-driven, deep down caring, loving, in need of love man.”

Now the only true thing she heard was “goal-driven”- to kill them as spiritually as possible. Maybe even physically.

"You're not brainwashed, are you?" Her eyes widened like your answer had tossed her deeper in her horror.

"Get her to blink two times in a row if she needs help!" Tyler shouts, unintentionally defeating the purpose of being discreet from his clean intention.

"Hm?” Teenagers are so funny!,“It's not brainwash when it's love! After all, wouldn't you say you've found yourself in love with someone you never thought you'd be with?" You smile warmly at the type A when the butterflies fluttered an external reaction across her freckled face.

"Th-That's different!” she impulsively shrieked before closing her mouth in embarrassment. She looks around, and after making sure no one was judging her, she continues speaking, back to her whispering voice,“That’s Duncan. This is Chris.”

“Well, we both seem to have a type for the ones that went to jail, don’t we?” you wittily mention, giving her a wink to the similar parallel.

Leaving Courtney to her common dynamics contemplation, there was no better timing for Owen to ask if you had any more cupcakes to give.

“I’m so happy you liked them! I’ll tell you what, I can make more and send them to you."

“Don’t get too flattered. Bed crusher there would eat anything, even things you can’t call food.” The overruling antagonist scornfully gestures, her hair as black as her heart.

“...Ah, right.” you shouldn't have thought so highly of yourself over baking. To Owen, they probably weren’t good, just something to give his appetite.

“Well... That's not entirely true...” The foodie looks to the side uncomfortably for a moment from Heather’s harsh perspective,“Having eaten a lot of things gives me a solid judgement on a variety of tastes. With that said, I’d specifically be really happy to eat (Y/N)’s baked cupcakes again. You can't buy that kind of quality!"

Aw! “Thanks, Owen!” it’s no mystery why everyone was in his support back first season!

“You didn’t use any store bought cake mix, did you?” DJ asks, his naturally kind pitch of voice crunching up an otherwise accusing delivery his words may have played.

“Nope! If I was gonna have half of the ingredients already done for me, I may as well have just ordered the finish product.” the truth radiates through your magnetism, not as magnetizing as your husband, smothering you away in his arms.

For some reason, no one said anything right away. Like taking an exam, silence had scattered among these group of teenagers.

"I'm convinced she has Stockholm syndrome."

Up till Harold breaks it.

"Stockholm syndrome?! Come onn, you know that’s not a real thing!” Lindsay asserted, turning to Beth,“Is it a real thing?"

The nice-hearted nerd smacks a hand to her forehead. Rather than finding humor in uninformed Lindsay, Trent finds his eyes trapped on the sight of Chris’ hand holding onto yours, fingers locked, palms resting. Above all his faults, Chris...still had you.

That kind of love...hard to find, lucky to have.

[athenaistired]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂❞

— 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐭.𝟑 //

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: ᴅᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ, ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ ᴏꜰꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ.

art credit & word count: 2634

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ (ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ): ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ᴀʙᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪᴇꜰ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ

— 𝑴𝒀 𝑳𝑼𝑺𝑻𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 !3!

Donna woke up to the sunlight forcing its way through her eyelids. She was in an unfamiliar bed, with Diluc gone from her side, and with a strange string attached to her arm. Her memory was still hazy; the only thing that she could recall was that she was speaking to you about Diluc, but somehow she ended up here.

“You’re awake.” An unfamiliar man in a black suit was sitting in front of her bed on a chair, he seemed to be reading a book in another language with a drawing of a human’s head on the cover, “I’m Sebastian, personal doctor working for Master Y/N in case of emergencies. Just call me by my name. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Just a bit sore all over..” Donna mumbled back, to which the man nodded, “And.. My stomach kind of hurts..”

“That’s expected.” He reached for the paper laying by her nightstand, “You’ve been here for 32 hours, in and out of consciousness. Your medical record is missing information about your allergies, but considering that you and Master Y/N were having tea together, I’d say that you had quite an aggressive reaction towards some type of fruit which was used to make the blend.”

The moment he explained what had occurred hours prior — memories came rushing back in Donna’s mind, and she instantly felt more awake than ever.

“So.. It wasn’t poison?” She asked with hesitance, and the man almost dropped the mug which he was holding in his other hand.

“What kind of person do you think Master Y/N is to poison someone in a broad daylight, in their own home, with this many people around? Of course this was an accident.” The doctor scoffed and got up, “Anyways, leave whenever you feel like it. You seem more than fine to me.” He quickly detached the IV drip out of her hand, and bandaged up her elbow, “Try not to put any unnecessary strain on this arm.”

“A-Alright..”

Donna had actually never seen one of the proper doctors before in her life. Her family were strong believers in Herbology and Barbados’ will, so she wasn’t exactly sure why the doctor had concluded she was allergic to some fruit. Her whole life she tended to the gardens, sold massive varieties of flowers, and even once was a waitress at the bar with all kinds of drinks. Something didn’t seem to perfectly match what Sebastian had described, but maybe she just had to ask you what the two of you had that day to get to the bottom of this situation.

“Donna! Are you alright?!”

Suddenly, the doors bursted open with Diluc rushing inside. He looked even worse than last time she saw him. He was beginning to smell, his hair was forming mats and shining with grease, and his eyes were puffed and red; huge eye-bags forming above his cheeks.

“H-honey.. What has happened to you?” The woman gasped in shock at the appearance of her lover. He seemed to be taken with surprise by her reaction, and took a few steps back to stare at himself in the mirror.

The man froze.

Slowly, he reached to cup his own face as if he couldn’t recognize it.

“That dammed Y/N..” He mumbled to himself, “I am actually falling apart..” He whispered, while crouching down to take a seat on the ground. Now, Donna was more than worried. She got up from her bed and hugged her lover in a tight embrace, “Did they do something to you?” He pulled away to look deep into the woman’s eyes, “Did they hurt you?”

“I..” The brunette wasn’t sure what to say. Was she poised? Was this intentional? Accidental? Were you naturally hostile or angered by the circumstances? She had no clue. “I don’t know. Sebastian told me that I had an intense allergic reaction to something and that Y/N called in the medics to save me.”

“Oh.” Diluc blinked in surprise, “T-that’s confusing me even more now..”

“I know..” The woman sighed, “I know.”

-

You sat at the edge of your bed, as Marie kneeled before you with your right hand in her skillful palms. Your feet were soaking in a warm tub with rose petals floating above the water’s surface, and the maid gently trimmed your cuticles and the length of your nails to perfection. The two of you sat in silence throughout the whole procedure, as you stared at the flickering flame of a candle on your nightstand.

“What do you think, Marie? What are they going to do next?” You asked her a question, and she didn’t even bat an eye before answering to you.

“They are going to try to murder you, my Master.”

You didn’t expect such conclusion. Truly, your death seemed to be an only out for Diluc’s desperate cry for freedom. The moment he’d sign a contract provided by you — his life would be over. Staying in the same mansion with you would also ensure his and Donna’s suffering until their last breaths. But in order for him to be back in control of his future — he would need to erase you. You let out a bitter laugh, however, Marie’s expression remained as stoic as always.

“What do you think I should do?” You questioned further. You watched her grab a warm cloth, and rub your palms in gentle motion, as if trying to cleanse you of your sins.

“I am a mere servant, my Master.” She reminded you.

For a second, you saw red. Without a thought you slapped her hands away from yours’ and grabbed at her chin — forcing her to look you in the eyes. She didn’t tremble, she didn’t fight, she just froze. Your anger vanished, and slowly you melted into a fake smile. Your thumb hovered over her bottom lip, and you brought her closer to yourself, until you both could feel each others’ breaths.

“You’re my servant, Marie. I don’t keep fools around me, do I?” You then let go off her, making her lose her balance for a second, but she quickly gathered herself and bowed her head in submission, “Now, speak.” She rose her gaze, and you encouraged her once again with a raised brow.

“I believe for there to be two options.” Marie began her speech, and took your feet out the tub to place them on her thighs and wipe them dry, “You get rid of Master Diluc and send Mistress Donna back to Mondstat. Nobody would believe her that it was you who hurt Master Diluc, but even if they would, a single mention of his crimes across the world and that it was all done in self-defense would guarantee your innocence.”

She was finally done taking care of you, and proceeded to reach for freshly the ironed socks by her side.

“And second?”

“You get rid of Mistress Donna, and make Master Diluc fall into the deepest depths of despair, so that he won’t have anyone else to turn to for comfort — but you.” Marie buckled up your shoes, and stood up, instantly straightening her back, “The choice lies in whether you prefer to execute quick revenge and forget, or, to keep a hold of your revenge until your last breath.”

You laughed at her words.

“Do you believe for revenge to be a waste of time?”

“Many people who consider themselves above others would say that, but I solely believe that your decision is absolute, my Master. I believe a yearn for revenge made you into a person who you are today, and Master..” Marie locked her hands together by her chest, “You are an entity beyond my comprehension.”

“You flatter me, Marie.”

Looking at her, you saw emotions which Diluc had never expressed towards you. Yes, he loved you. But young love comes and goes. Meanwhile every single one of your servants in this house, were undoubtedly loyal to you. There was no hesitation that every single maid, butler, cook, and even the recently hired doctor would die for you. Kill for you. Live for you.

Diluc was never any of those things.

“I think I made my decision.”

You’ve made that decision long time ago, and there was no reason to back out on it now. Even if Diluc would put you in the casket, you would crawl out with a knife in your hand to continue to haunt him. You weren’t sure where this obsession was coming from. Perhaps it was boredom. Maybe, you were just that evil and prideful. Or even..

It was just fun.

-

Donna decided to finally leave Master Y/N house and go for a walk. They have been living in the mansion for a month now, and each day was worse than the previous one. She tried to make it work. She followed all lessons which you signed her up for, she learned the etiquette, she put herself on a diet, did her hair to the best of her ability, but one thing for sure — each day was more miserable than the other.

The moment that the sun would rise, she would feel the dread wash over her. Even when you weren’t at the mansion your spirit and your presence were felt everywhere. Your mere gaze was driving her insane, even giving her nightmares. She had a dream, where you were smirking at her with a maniacal glare in your eyes whilst holding a blade to her throat. Then, there were visions of you poisoning her, assassinating her, or hanging her off the ceiling.

Donna’s thoughts were getting darker and darker. From a light and careless girl, she has become something else entirely.

Perhaps, being with Diluc was the biggest mistake of her life.

As she finally stepped through the gates of Mondstat — the whispers began. Nobody in this city knew what you were truly like. How terrifying, how cruel, how manipulative. They all saw you from the best angle, meanwhile, Donna was seen from her worst.

“Homewrecker..”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

“To get together with a married man, no shame at all!”

“How can she even bear to come back here..”

Even though they were mere whispers, their voices seemed to be louder than her own thoughts. She had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself away from shedding tears. Her life had become so terrible. Although she was outside, it felt like the curtains were still drawn. She couldn’t see the sunlight as bright as it used to be. A part of her was still locked away in that mansion — forever caged.

She felt her heart rase, her breathing picking up — she was panicking. There were so many people, and they all hated her. Yes, she did a bad thing, but did she really deserve all of this? Were her good deeds before this now completely forgotten? Where did all of her friends go when she needed them the most?

She had no one.

She was so alone.

“Is Sister Barbara around?” Donna asked as she had finally reached the church. Her feet felt sore, and the base of her spine was aching.

“One second.” One of the nuns had ran off to get her. As Donna waited she took a seat and looked around the church. Perhaps, she should beg, no, plead Barbados for His guidance. For His help. For His involvement.

“She’s here.”

“Donna! I haven’t seen you in a while.” If there were someone who hadn’t changed their attitude towards her — it was all the nuns, especially Sister Barbara. Maybe she was just very good at hiding her real thoughts, but Donna preferred to indulge herself in a more positive light.

“Hi, Sister Barbara.” The brunette murmured shyly, “I sent you a letter a week ago..” She reminded the other, and at first Barbara seemed confused, until she remembered.

“Ah, yes, yes!” The young girl continuously nodded her head, “Let’s head to a more private room.” She gestured for Donna to follow her out the church, and into the next building.

Barbara wasn’t the only doctor in Mondstat, in fact, she wasn’t even an actual licensed professional how Sebastian was. However, people with healing hydro abilities were granted permission to accept patients and examine them if required. Donna didn’t trust Sebastian, so, she sent a letter ahead explaining her symptoms to the blonde girl and arranged time and date of their meeting.

Barbara made the woman lay down on the examination table, as she checked what worried her most. She applied pressure on different parts of her body, especially her stomach. Then, a frown covered her face and she spread out her palms across Donna’s stomach — hydro particles suddenly formed in the air and circled around each one of her fingers — until they had vanished. It seemed that the blonde had come to her conclusion, but was hesitating to speak.

“Donna..”

“What? What is it?” The brunette was already imaging the worst. Was she dying? She must be dying! “What’s wrong with me?” The longer she wasn’t hearing an answer, the more panicked she got.

“You’ve had a miscarriage.”

What.

“I.. I was pregnant?” Donna stared, and Barbara nodded, “What do you mean I had a miscarriage?” She breathed out a pained laugh, “I didn’t bleed or anything.. I..” And then — it hit her. She understood what happened. You didn’t poison her that day. Your intent wasn’t her assassination, but rather.. “N-no way..”

She was drowning.

Her lungs were getting filled with the sea of sorrow.

“NOOOOOooooOOoOOOooOOooo!” A howling, blood-curdling cry was heard echoing through the halls of the hospital. Her tears were running down her cheeks like a river, and Barbara’s comforting embrace felt like the last hold on her humanity.

That day Donna hadn’t just lost her past, but she also lost her future.

-

Donna came back home only a week later. She might have not even known her child, but the grief was weighting down at her heart. She always wanted to be a mother, and from a young age she was told to be infertile. She never said anything to Diluc about it, because the topic was never brought up. But now, she was finding out that her miracle baby was forcefully taken out of her. She felt violated, torn, and broken. Every part of her soul had shattered like glass with pieces scattered so far apart that they’ll never be fixed back together.

“Donna.. Finally.”

Diluc was hugging her, but she couldn’t even feel it. Her body just froze, meanwhile, her gaze and mind were elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about her lost child. Was it a girl, a boy, or twins? Were they going to have her brown her or their father’s crimson locks? What about their eyes, their height, their smiles? Were they going to grow up to be strong and powerful, or would they prefer a more standard and quiet life? Why did this happen to her? Why wasn’t she given a chance?

If only you had asked her to decide between her child and Diluc, she would have chosen her child in a heartbeat.

“Where have you been?” The man whispered into her ear, and she felt his tears falling onto her shoulder and soaking through her shirt. She hadn’t cried since that day. She hadn’t even said a word. Her whole world was stuck in that one moment, unable to move on, “What happened to you, my beautiful?” Diluc was playing with the locks of her hair, just how he used to.

He hadn’t changed, but she was now a different person. She was in grief. He was in despair.

“Can we kill them?”

Diluc instantly pulled away, and stared at Donna’s empty eyes. He blinked once, twice, but still couldn’t believe his ears.

“K-kill who?”

“Master Y/N. I want to take their life.“

FINAL CHAPTER !

[antiodote]

she can't finish and they fight - part IV

warnings: strong language, somewhat disturbing imagery

“what could go wrong? except for absolutely everything?”

part I, II & III

/ / /

y/n opened and closed the door as quietly as she possibly could. her effort of not waking her temporary roommate was in vain though, as jane was happily munching down on some takeout while rewatching her favourite episodes of new girl. without turning away from the TV, jane spoke.

“11:02 pm, that’s a new record, girl! do they chain you to your damn desks or what?” 

her remark makes y/n chuckle, more out of frustration than amusement, though. coming home at this hour on a monday night was indeed a new record for her. without saying a word, she leaves her bag and coat at the door and moves to sit next to her friend. she steals a slice of her pizza and digs in without much thought, staring straight ahead and trying to catch up on what was happening on the episode. both of them were aware, however, that she was entirely elsewhere, mentally. so, jane stops the episode to gain her friend’s attention. 

“rough day?” 

y/n turns to face her friend and sighs in defeat.

“rough day, week or month? honestly, I can’t even tell anymore.” her shoulders slump and her gaze wanders as she searches for a way to describe her current emotional well-being or lack thereof. “I just feel exhausted, like, all the time.” 

a short pause makes the air thick between them before jane comments.

“y/n…”

the exhausted one looks up to her friend to find her concerned expression etched deeply into her pretty features. suddenly, she feels a warm hand graze its way upwards the length of her arm, stopping to softly grab her shoulder. 

“you’re burnt out, angel. maybe take some time off, hm? I’m sure you’ll benefit from it-“

“jane, I can’t. you know that I can’t.”

her friend was not having it. “why not, y/n?”

“jane, please. can we not do this right now?”

“you always say that. you never let me help you-“

“you’re helping more than you know already! if it wasn’t for you I’d be homeless.” 

jane took a deep breath to brace herself for what she was about to say.

“and why is that, y/n?”

the girl looked at her friend, puzzled. 

“what are you on about?”

“why are you in this situation, y/n?”

she groaned. “don’t fucking make me say it.”

before jane could interject, y/n put her hand up in protest. it was as if the bare notion of speaking about the recent happenings in her life made her physically ill. and honestly, it did. 

they say a broken heart can kill. what about a broken soul? what does that do to a person? y/n didn’t know. all she did know was that she felt like the life had been sucked out of her, and not in a good way. 

it was terrible. so, so truly terrible and horrifying.

y/n looked at her friend, who looked at her apologetically. she sighed, her walls slowly crumbling. 

“I am in this situation, my dearest jane, because…”

y/n got up instantaneously to fetch herself a drink from the tiny bar cart right across from where they were sitting because it just felt like that kind of night. the silence felt thick and heavy and goopy and greasy and it felt like drowning in a pool of tar. however, as soon as the bitter taste of alcohol hit her tongue and ran down her throat, things felt a little less thick and heavy and goopy and greasy and like drowning in a pool of tar.

so, y/n chuckled. 

“I am here because my lovely boyfriend kicked me out. wonderful, right? now, why did you make me say it?” 

y/n drowns her drink before pouring herself another one. 

“and why did he do that, hmm? what made your angel of your boyfriend treat you like that?” 

y/n turned around, facing jane. she was honestly offended at what she was insinuating.

“are you seriously trying to blame me for what happened?”

“oh, don’t you dare. you know damn well why I’m bringing this up, y/n.”

“please, enlighten me.”  she said, as the third drink was in the process of being consumed. 

jane sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb. 

“god, y/n. look, I know you’re miss independent, as you should be! you’re strong and capable and one of the most resilient and successful people I know. however, and this is a big one, with how you don’t let your loved ones help you with anything at all, and with how you put work over anything, you’re doing yourself more harm than good. no, it doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, and it doesn’t make you incompetent to take a few steps back from work. you need a life, y/n. an actual life, not one where you keep running away from your problems and pretend like you’re the only person you can count on. it makes me feel like you’re shutting me out, and it probably made harry feel helpless as well. I’m not saying what he did was right, god no. what I am saying, though, is that the longer you keep doing this to yourself, the higher the chance is that you will end up alone.” 

y/n doesn’t think she owns a knife sharp enough to cut the tension in the room. she looks at jane, who is red in the face with frustration, and tries to find some sort of flaw in her logic. she doesn’t know if this is some sort of fight for dominance, or just a friend expressing her concerns. y/n wonders if she lost the ability to trust anyone. 

she truly wasn’t up for this kind of conversation right now.

“jesus, jane. time-out, please. I know you mean well, but I really can’t do this right now.”

jane sighs, y/n can no longer face her friend, and things feel uncomfortable. 

“look, y/n, I get it. I really do. but don’t let your trauma stand in the way of what you truly deserve. you deserve a fulfilling career, not a soul-crushing one, and you deserve help, especially when the people who love you want to do nothing more. it doesn’t matter if you feel like you need it or not, because everyone needs it. you’re human, dude. try acting like one.”

and with that, jane got up from the couch and made her way to her room. she turned around halfway to say an earnest “I love you” to her friend, but she was staring straight at the bottom of her glass in misery. 

the tears started flowing before she could help it, but she was entirely silent. she missed the time when things weren’t this messy. she missed feeling strong and most of all, happy. 

and she also missed him, terribly so. and this time, she couldn’t help but stare straight at the obvious: she missed him more and more, every day.

she also missed the person that she was when they were together and was starting to wonder if she needed him to get her back. 

/ / /

monday, 9:02 am. 

harry had not seen y/n since their fight and he had honestly almost gotten used to her absence. it didn’t feel good to not have her around, but it didn’t drive him to a near overdose anymore. 

where once used to be a feeling of existential dread and depression, now lives an ongoing flow of anxiety and panic. because he has to face her, today. for the sake of his friends. at least that’s what he tells himself.

a sudden sickness overcomes him for the umpteenth time within the last few days which makes him stop mid-run.  

in through the nose. hold your breath. one. two. three. release through the mouth. repeat. 

just like she had taught him. 

god fucking dammit. 

harry was now aggravated, more than anything. but he knew, no matter how negative his emotions were today, he had to go through with it. for mitch and sarah. and himself. 

he arrived back home and took an icy shower. he thought it might help him be less of a wuss and prepare for the task at hand. but alas, his balls were still buried somewhere deep within him. so, time passes. 

11 am.

12 pm. 

1 pm.

2 pm. 

3 pm. 

4 pm. 

by the time 5 pm rolled around, he had to chuckle bitterly. any other person would’ve been on their way home by now. but his lovely y/n was probably still buried knee-deep in any kind of work that was given to her. it pained him to think about her in stress and exhaustion. it pained him even more that she probably didn’t even realise how she was working herself to death.

he fondly remembers the time when she was the epitome of a free spirit; when nothing could worry her and life was a gift that she happily embraced with open arms. now, it seemed, she was trapped in a vicious cycle of self-destruction. it felt like the walls around her were at an all-time high. harry didn’t know if he could be the one to save her, if that was even within the realm of what she could possibly want. and honestly, for now, that didn’t even matter. they had a wedding to attend. everything else could be resolved afterwards. 

as soon as that very thought came to him, harry wanted to punch himself in the face for how utterly stupid and selfish he sounded. well, if he’s lucky, y/n will do that job for him. at least then he could feel her touch again.

6 pm. 

enough is enough.

harry fought the urge to throw up once more before he left the house. he decided to purposefully ignore the mind-numbing screams inside of his brain telling him to not leave the house ever again; to stay in his bed until he starved, shrivelled up and died without anybody ever having to look at his miserable figure again. the anxiety that has been constantly bubbling at the back of his throat like a jacuzzi in the french alps told him to never speak to y/n again. that they hurt each other and that he was in no way capable of fixing anything. as a matter of fact, he was certainly only going to make it worse. nevertheless, he pushed through, he had to. for mitch and sarah, or whatever. 

he arrived at her office building at 6:23 pm. before he could think too much about it, he left his car, headed towards the building, greeted the intern at the front desk, got into the elevator and pressed number seven in it to get to y/n. easy enough, so far. 

or so he thought.

when the elevator dinged to signal his arrival on the 7th floor, the sliding doors opened to reveal maude, y/n’s sweet coworker, who was probably leaving for the day. she saw him and harry wished he had just waited in the car for two more minutes. 

“harry! sweet boy, how are you? it’s been ages! give me a hug you handsome thing!”

while harry’s neck was dragged down by maude’s short arms, panic rose in his gut as he became painfully aware of how y/n must’ve been alerted of his presence with how loud maude had just greeted him. matter of fact, the whole office must be aware now. 

“hi maude, good to see you. I’m actually looking for y/n, is she still at her desk?”

unbeknownst to him, y/n was definitely aware of his presence. just like he had suspected, she was made aware by maude’s overly excited greeting. the second she figured he was here she wanted to hide, run, possibly jump out of the window. she wanted to do whatever she could to not face him. not right now, not ever. she wasn’t ready. so, while maude kindly offered to walk harry to y/n’s desk and bombard him with small talk in the meantime, she took the initiative and ran, as unsuspecting as possible, to the bathroom to at least try and get some proper air in her lungs. hopefully, no one saw the sheer panic in her expression.

harry and maude came to y/n’s desk to find it empty. 

“oh, this is weird. I swear she was here just a moment ago.” maude said, looking around the room in a confused manner. harry had an inkling that his earlier suspicions were indeed correct. she knew he was here.

“I’m sure she just went to the bathroom, maude. I can wait here, thank you.”

before harry could interject, maude offered to wait with him. “I don’t always get the chance to have you all to myself, harry! need to use it, don’t I?” 

they both laughed at her attempted, slightly inappropriate joke. harry shrugged it off and blamed it on the fact that the woman is the same age as some of her aunts or her mother, even. lord knows, maybe she genuinely enjoyed his presence. 

while they continued their chitchat, y/n had yet to properly calm down. what was she going to do? does she face him? could she? was there an alternative? not really, she thought. she had to come out before it raised any suspicion. not that people cared, really. she just didn’t want to make a fuss. however, the thought of facing him right now made her want to rip her nails out, one by one.

her frantic back and forth through the office bathroom came to a halt when someone else came in. she tried to smooth over her anxiety by pretending to have just left a stall and make her way to the sinks in a calm and collected fashion, though, anybody could probably smell her nerves from miles and miles away. she washes her hands, rapidly, and takes a good look at herself afterwards. her hair was in place, her suit somewhat clean and her makeup looked good enough. to strangers and coworkers, she probably looked fine. she knew, however, that harry would probably see the pain in her. she wonders what would cross his mind when he lays his eyes on her. then she thinks again, a sudden rage aflame within her. she shouldn’t care what he thinks. after all, the bastard kicked her out! the newfound emotion was enough to carry her feet from her current position to her desk. purposeful strides, stiff back and high nose.

here goes nothing.

when she gets back to her desk, she finds maude telling harry some story about a comically large fruit she saw at the farmers market. harry seemed to listen to every word until he found y/n to be standing in front of them. they looked at each other for the first time since their fight but had no time to dwell on any emotions as maude filled the silence instantaneously. 

“there you are! your lovely beau is here to pick you up, lucky girl! do you know where you’ll be having dinner tonight? oh, there is this wonderful italian place that I went to recently, let me give you the address!”

maude rummaged through her handbag to retrieve her phone and look up said address, which gave harry and y/n enough time to exchange glances. harry knew that she did not want to involve her coworkers in her personal life, which meant that as of right now, she was probably going to lie. 

“yeah, I’m one lucky girl, huh? don’t worry about the address, though. I’m sure harry’s made reservations somewhere. thank you, though!”

he did know her too well. 

the smile and tone she put on were enough to fool the average person, so it was good enough for now. and honestly, he was glad she took the initiative, as he truly did not feel like having lovely maude know anything about them on a personal level. so, he played along.

“yes, I think we’re all set. we’ve been wanting to go there for a while, anyways. thank you so much, still!”

maude stopped looking for a phone and looked up at the supposed couple. “alright if you say so! I’ll just give y/n the address tomorrow so you lot can go there some other time. anyways, I’ll leave you two to it! have fun!” 

she bid her goodbye and walked towards the elevators once more. one last time she turns around with a devilish smile on her face as she practically shouts through the entire office: “also, I want to hear wedding bells for you two, soon! chop, chop!” 

she laughed as the pair went pale in the face and happily went on her merry way home. what she didn’t know was that the suggestion currently made both of them nauseous for a multitude of reasons that they, however, could not dwell on for too long. once maude left the building, the two of them forcefully faced each other.

y/n tried to look strong and determined. whatever happened, she wanted to stand her ground. harry had a goal that he was going to reach no matter what. 

“how are you?” he tried to ask carefully, but y/n wanted none of it.

“what are you doing here?” she asked, bitterness seething from her tone. 

harry knew the fight was pointless and wanted to get straight to his point. 

“look, I need to talk to you about something. it’s really important.” 

y/n first looked at him and then around to figure out her next move. a sudden need for fresh air made her speak up. 

“let’s go to the roof.”

/ / /

harry’s heart was practically beating in his throat. her presence made him utterly nervous and the stakes were really high, unfortunately. the quiet journey to their current location at the rooftop terrace of her office was tense enough, and he just hoped their conversation would be a little less so. he looked at a questioning y/n who had her arms crossed over her chest with her bum leaning on the railing. she looked unamused, so he had no time to waste.

“the wedding. mitch and sarah’s. it’s on friday.”

a sudden glimmer of surprise washed over her features. much to harry’s surprise, she had forgotten. in an instant, her face found purchase in her hands, a languid sigh leaving her mouth.

“fuck, I completely forgot. and the rehearsal dinner is-“

“tomorrow, yeah.” harry finished. 

“god, that’s why sarah called me. I thought it had something to do with you! I was supposed to get some things sorted out for-“

“I took care of it.” harry, once again, finished her sentence and chose to ignore the bad aftertaste of her statement.

her rushed rambling came to a halt and y/n gave harry a puzzled look. before she could ask, he explained himself.

“I figured that you might have some other shit to deal with, so I took care of it. you also took tomorrow off months ago, so don’t worry about it.”

she let his words linger. for some reason, she was more confused than before.

“uh, okay. thank you. why are you here then? you came all this way just to remind me?”

“well, no.” 

harry paused briefly, a sudden wave of anxiety hitting him. maybe this was too ridiculous but there was no going back now. he looked up and spoke.

“look… I know that things aren’t good between us at the moment, hell, I don’t even really know if an “us” exists right now. and I also know I’m not in the position to ask for any favours because-“

“-you kicked me out, correct.” 

once again, a defining silence hung in the air.

y/n looked at harry in way that somehow combined hurt, anger, disgust and maybe a tiny bit of longing, or so harry imagined. his own shame that is attached to the situation by thick, heavy chains pulled him down into a very specific sort of depression once more, almost knocking the air out of his lungs. he tries to move on, desperately.

“look, y/n-“

“say it. say that you kicked me out. then we can continue this conversation. say it first.” she demanded.

harry swallowed hard, the weight of y/n’s demand heavy in his heart. he understood that she needed him to acknowledge his actions, his mistake before he could ask anything of her. but even now, amidst all of the shame he felt, he was still hurt, himself. he was hurt by the fact that the woman he considered to be his forever didn’t trust him. he was hurt because she lied. he was hurt because she wouldn’t let him help her. he was hurt because apparently he was just another man to him, after everything. it made sense with her past, but the naive part in him thought they moved past it. alas, it seems like they haven’t. so, he says what she wants to hear. he closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts, and tried to summon the strength to confront the truth.

“yes, y/n. things went even more to shit between us after I kicked you out. after we fought because you lied to me and because we haven’t properly spoken in weeks. after I freaked out and did something that I will probably spend the rest of my life apologising to you for because it was an idiotic thing to do and truly, I am sorry. unbelievably so.”

y/n understood that she wasn’t the only one who was hurting. she was painfully aware of the fact that she had previously done some things to bring him to that point of mental and emotional torment. she knew that he wouldn't just treat her like that out of the blue or without reason, but even with all of that knowledge in her mind, it didn't make the situation any less painful. she looked at him with a look that could only be described as purely and utterly defeated. she thought about arguing with him, right then in there. she wanted to scream at him, to slap him right across his cheek and tell him to go to hell and to never speak to her again. but alas, she refrained from doing so. instead, she sighed, deeply, wiped away the flyaways that were stuck to her forehead and looked at him one more time.

“right. what is it that you wanted to talk about, harry? I really don’t have time for this.”

harry chose to ignore how her complete ignorance for his apology or her statement of utter disinterest stung him deep in his chest and continued.

“what I was going to say is that I know that I am in no position to ask her any favours because of-“ he paused and closed his eyes: “because of what happened. but I need us to ignore our personal drama for their sake. just for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding, that’s all.” 

y/n’s brows scrunched up in confusion. “what do you mean?”

harry felt more and more stupid as the conversation went on.

“look, they're some of my closest friends and they’ve been waiting for this wedding for too long. I know that sarah always acts like she’s whatever about anything and that mitch pretends he’s too cool to actually want a nice wedding, but I know that they both secretly deeply care about it, and I don't want to be the person to spoil it all. I don't want to be the person who draws the attention onto himself. I don't want our personal lives taking any attention away from them and potentially ruin it all for them, I could never live with myself if I or we did that to them. so, I guess what I'm trying to ask you is: do you think there is a possibility that we could press pause on this whole thing? the fight, I mean. I'm not saying that we need to do it for the entire week, only for the rehearsal dinner and for the wedding. let’s just try to be normal and grit our teeth the entire way through, if we have to. I’m only asking because I know that sarah would do everything in her power to figure out what was wrong, even if she was in the middle of that fucking dance floor and is supposed to be having the night or for life. I know that they will probably pull us aside and ask us a million questions because they've done it before, but I cannot do that to them. not on their wedding day. not when we should be giving them all of our attention. we might’ve spoiled this for us but I cannot and will not do even the slightest bit to spoil it for them.”

harry paused his rant to look at y/n, almost entirely sure to get rejected. however, he’s surprised to find her deep in thought. almost as if she was actually considering it.

“so, what do you say?” 

y/n knew how ridiculous this entire thing would probably end up being. she knew that if she even had to pretend for a second to hold his hand, or to laugh at his jokes, to dance with him or - god forbid - kiss him, she would end up either crying in pure agony, throw up in a random corner, or actually go clinically insane. but, despite it all, she understood where he was coming from and she was well aware that his request was rooted in place of sincerity. hell, the selfish part in her was even excited because this way she’d have two more days with him. two more days of pretending like everything was fine and nothing was bothering them. because realistically, it would all be over afterwards, anyway. so, she did the unthinkable-

“okay, I’m in.”

harry stared in disbelief. “really? you’re absolutely sure?” 

without missing a beat, she nodded. “I mean, you do have a point. I wouldn't want to spoil their wedding plans either. I'll try my best to suck it up for two days and we'll see where we’ll go from there, deal?” 

she stretched her hand out for him to shake. he looked at it hesitantly and decided that now was the best time to ask for the other pressing request on his mind. so, before shaking her hand, he continued.

“there is one more thing, y/n…” 

she pulled her hand back and nodded for him to go on.

“listen, you can absolutely say no to this, but I just wanted to put it on the table in case you were interested. I- I don’t even know where you’re staying right now. are you at jane’s?” 

she nodded once more, annoyed at how well he could calculate her moves.

“right. so, you know that our home-“

“your place.” she deadpanned. “I really don’t think I can refer to that place as ‘home’ right now, but go on.” 

once again her words stung but he tried his best to understand.

“right, uh, my place. you know it’s about two hours from the venue and getting there from jane’s apartment would make the journey almost 40 minutes longer. also, all your stuff is still at my place and I might need some help carrying all the things that sarah asked me to collect. also, we were supposed to help with the setup-“

“are you asking me to stay over?”

truthfully, he was asking her to come back, but he knew that it wasn’t going to be this easy. maybe, at this point, it was entirely impossible. but he tried his best, anyway.” 

“I’m just saying it would make everything run a bit more smoothly tomorrow. like I said, you can say no. I’ll just come and pick you up from jane’s or we can meet up at mine beforehand… whatever works for you.” 

once again, y/n’s selfish side overtook her mind. she suddenly became hyperaware of the fact that she could possibly share a bed with him tonight, have him wrap his strong arms around her sleeping figure and feel peaceful for the first time in what feels like forever. in another reality he might even fuck her senseless, and she wouldn’t even have to fake her orgasm. in another reality she wasn’t constantly stressed because of work and wasn’t constantly anxious because everything was falling apart around her. in another world it was just harry and her spending the night together in their shared home, doing all the things that couples do, before they help their friends with their rehearsal dinner. harry would never have to lock himself up in his studio for hours on end to finish a song or be on tour for months and months on end, and y/n wouldn’t have to stare at a screen until her eyes were dry and work on reports and samples until the early hours of the morning. it would just be them, together, and it would be blissful.

she knew that none of those things were actually going to happen, but the sheer possibility was enough for her to agree to his proposal.

“you’re right, it’ll be easier this way. let’s do it. I’ll just have to pick up my stuff from jane’s but I’ll head to yours after.”

harry didn’t want to show it but he was filled to the brim with hope. maybe they could resolve things after all. 

“well then, we have a deal, y/n.”

this time, he was the one stretching out his hand for her to shake. she looked at it momentarily before meeting him in the middle and intertwining her hand with his. and then, they just stood there. hands interlocked and gazes on one another. time stops for a moment, both of them focusing on the feeling of touching each other again. neither of them really wanted to let go but eventually, they had to. y/n was the first one going for release but before she could let go, harry squeezed her hand tighter. he spoke before she could interject. 

“for what it’s worth, y/n, I’m willing to fight for this. until the very end. I don’t care how corny I sound, either. I mean it and I want you to know.” he said, pure and raw honesty dripping from his voice like honey. 

she couldn’t say anything, she couldn’t even look at him. all she could do was to let go of his hand and shift her gaze towards the sky. it was way too beautiful outside for her insides to feel as stormy as they did. 

“you should go, I’ll meet you at yours later.” 

her response left harry feeling cold all over. it was okay, though. he just hoped that they could be better, one day.

“right, then. see you tonight.”

/ / /

shortly after harry had left, she decided that her work day was over, as well. it was getting close to 7 pm and she’d finished her work so she wanted to leave as fast as she could. everyone else was already gone, anyway. so, she collected her belongings and made her way to her boss’s office to officially sign out for the day.

she knocked softly and was met with a cold “yes?”

y/n opened the door to find her boss, cynthia, at her desk with a coffee in one hand and future designs in the other. as always, the woman looked uninterested, bored and arrogant. a true the devil wears prada type of villain. y/n walked into her office, set any and all reports down on to her desk and tried to make her way out again when cynthia called for her, again. 

“where do you think you're going?”

y/n turned around, dreading what was coming next. 

“excuse me?”

“you need to look over maude’s mood boards. they’re sloppy and entirely useless. I need them done by tonight.”

y/n had no energy left. usually that meant that she would wordlessly do the overtime. right now, however, she wished for nothing more than to be asleep next to harry with his scent surrounding her and his warmth embracing her. so, she did something that she hadn’t done before.

“I won’t be able to do that, cynthia. please, ask maude to rework them. I have tomorrow off and need to be up early and-“

“I didn't ask for your entire life story y/n. I just need you to redo maude’s work, that is all.”

it was as if she couldn’t possibly fathom that y/n had denied her request. so, she went again.

“cynthia, I'm going to go home now. I honestly don't care who finishes that work for you but it won't be me. have a good night.”

adrenaline rushed through her veins as she made her way to the door. unfortunately, before she could leave, cynthia made sure to leave a mark.

“you know I gave you that promotion because I thought you were capable of handling it, right? not because I thought that you were going to end up being lazy once you have it. I can take it away from you just as fast as I gave it to you. I want you to know that before you decide to go home now and enjoy your day off tomorrow. we'll see how long you stay at this company with this kind of attitude.”

y/n turned around, red in the face with rage. “you can call me a lot of things cynthia. you can call me an overachiever or you can call me a pushover or a perfectionist or a crippling workaholic; all those things are true. I know one thing though, I am not lazy. since the day I started working here I have worked my ass off to prove myself. I don’t need your excuse for recognition, but I demand some fucking respect.”

cynthia and y/n looked at each other like gladiators would look at one another in the colosseum, fighting for their lives.

“y/n, if you seriously expect me to kiss your forehead and give you a gold star for doing the work I expect you to get done here, then you have chosen the wrong company to work for. I would suggest you start to toughen up a little and look alive if you see yourself having a career in this industry. no go, do whatever you need to do. I’ll get someone else to do the work that you were too incapable to do.”

y/n wanted to pour that piping hot coffee over her head and watch her scream. she didn’t, though. instead, she was left to think about a moment that harry and her shared about a year ago; a fond memory. 

“dude, I swear to god, she just fired the girl out of nowhere just because she couldn't get her the damn bag from the other city of the city in like 10 minutes which is, oh I don’t know, physically impossible!? and before she fired her she basically verbally abused her in front of the entire team, and I just had to stand there and say nothing! what kind of a person does this kind of thing? like, is she crazy? is she actually the devil?” 

y/n shoved another spoonful of pasta into her mouth while harry gave her an amused look. he tried desperately not to laugh, but the rosy tint on her cheeks that she got out of sheer frustration was nothing short of adorable. luckily, y/n started chuckling pretty quickly herself. 

“and then, oh my god, and then the girl just started crying and we all thought she would be a puddle on the floor, but no! she starts throwing shit on the floor and literally called cynthia a ‘raging fucking nitwit of a cunt that deserved to rot the deepest pits of hell’ and suddenly the entire office was involved!” - another laugh - “soon enough, security comes barging in and literally carry the girl out while she’s flailing in steve’s arms like a hyperactive, very angry puppy, and god, harry, I felt so bad! but it was so funny! not the fact that she was getting fired, god, no! but the way she handled it was so iconic! I wanted to kiss the ground she walked on!”

by the end of y/n’s story, both her and harry were laughing until their tummies hurt. harry continued to listen to her crazy work stories during dinner, after dinner when he washed the dishes, on the couch with her laying on his chest and him playing with her hair, and ideally, for the rest of his damn life.

the memory made y/n giggle. 

“something funny, dear? do you need a cordial invitation to get out of my office?”

y/n just smiled. 

“good night, cynthia.”

with that, she was on her merry way. 

///

“and you’re absolutely sure that this is a good idea?” 

jane stood before her in her doorway. y/n had told her everything as soon as she got home and they ended up talking for hours. 

“honestly, no. but I have a gut feeling that this might be the right thing to do.”

concern is etched deeply into jane’s face. a heavy sigh and a shake of her head later, she replied.

“look, just be careful. and no matter what, you can always come back. you have a key and my bed always has an open space for you. no shame.”

y/n felt so much love for her concerned friend in that moment that she stopped the act of tying her shoes to give her a tight hug. “I know.” she mumbled into her shoulder. “thank you.” 

they detangle and y/n grabs her duffle off the floor. one last knowing look is exchanged before y/n takes the first stride towards her car. jane waves her goodbye. when she sees y/n leaving her driveway she grabs her phone in an instant to send a text to the one and only. two words, and nothing but sincerity behind them.

“good luck.”

/ / /

6.3k, not entirely proofread, lowercase intended

after a billion million years, here's part four. i know it's a bit of a filler but I have some nice stuff planned for the remainder of this story, so please bear with me.

thank you and all the love <3

-ve !!

[getasbf]

OMGGG IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS the lack of geta x male reader (and gn reader let’s be honest…) is killing me aouuu

would you possibly write for a geta x childhood friend reader? Like they could be chilling then one of them is like “wait…I have feelings for him??” And then shenanigans ensue. Idk you could add plot and stuff I’m just spitballing lol. Feel free to change stuff around cuz honestly I’ll take anything!! 🩷

Whispers of Eternity | Emperor Geta x male!reader

Pairing: Emperor Geta x male!reader [childhood friends]

Summary: You discover that the meaning of love was always in front of you and you were just too confused about how to categorize it.

Notes: I’VE BEEN WAITING THIS MOMENTO TOO. My first OS in, actually, YEARS, i wish it’s not that bad. English is not my firts language. Fluff, fluff, fluff. Reader can be Acacius lil brother if you want, that information is not that deep or important. No content warning.

Word count: 1.3k

Love. One word, four syllables. The meaning can vary greatly, it all depends on the person, the type of relationship, the past and present with the person.

You always felt all the word, except in one specific area: romantic. It wasn't something that bothered you, nor did it matter much to you. You had your best friend and that was the only thing that mattered to you. But you grew up and understood that what you had felt for your best friend all your life was not friendship.

You felt true friendship whenever you saw his brother: Caracalla. When you played together you always had a good time with him, without any kind of upset in your stomach. Something that always happened to you when you were with Geta.

You could say that he stole your heart instantly since you met when you both were kids.

Right now you were watching him, you were sitting on some stairs out of sight of anyone, with the little privacy that being in a palace could give you.

He had his elbows resting on his knees, talking about something while looking ahead, feeling somewhat animated. You, on the other hand, had your elbows resting on the staircase and had your gaze fixed on him.

You carefully observed the way his lips moved, the small gestures he made with his hands to give a little emphasis to his explanation.

He realized that you were not answering his questions and he turned slightly annoyed for not getting your answer, he thought you were ignoring him. Your eyes met and stayed there for seconds, but it seemed like hours, even days.

"Why don't you answer me?" He spoke, staring at you.

God, how could you never notice the way his eyes looked at you was so unique? It made your heart skip a beat, creating a tickling sensation around your entire stomach and rising up to your chest.

“I like you.” The words slid off your tongue sweetly and reached his ears in the form of a melody. One he wanted to hear for the rest of his days.

They stayed silent, neither of them saying anything and their gazes never leaving each other’s. It felt like being in hell and heaven at the same time. It felt like being alive.

“I like you too.” The corner of his lips curved into a small smile, just as your expression lightened, causing the tension that neither of you knew had been there to go away.

Everything felt lighter now, and being alone felt more intimate than ever before.

☆

The two of you walked through the palace at a fast pace, giggling here and there. Holding hands and hiding, so that no one would see you. You came to a small intersection where there were three possible hallways. You both shared a look and Geta quickly yanked your hand away to start running again, this time to his chambers.

When you reached his chambers, you two abruptly lay down on Geta's bed and began to laugh uncontrollably. The laughter echoed off the walls, but it didn't matter. At that moment, the outside world seemed as distant as the stars.

Lying next to each other, you tried to calm your breathing as your eyes went to the ceiling, although you couldn't help but look away from it and look at Geta. He had his eyes closed, with a peaceful expression that he rarely showed in public. In the palace, he always carried the burden of being watched, analyzed, and judged, but here, in the privacy of his room, he seemed different. More human. More... yours.

He turned to you suddenly, catching you staring again. He smiled mischievously, that smile that seemed made to disarm you.

"What?" he asked softly, though his eyes shone with more than just curiosity.

"It's just..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. You didn't know how to express what you felt without making it seem insignificant or exaggerated.

He waited, his hand reaching for yours, intertwining your fingers naturally. That action gave you the courage to continue.

"It's just... being here with you feels good. More than good, actually. It's like everything else fades away, like nothing else matters."

"I'm afraid of growing up and having to be apart. I don't want to follow Father's wishes. I hate that he forces me to be a general like my brother…"

Geta didn't say anything at first, he just stared at you, with a mix of tenderness and something that seemed like pride. "You're really bad at keeping things to yourself, you know? But that's something I like about you. You've always been honest with me."

His thumb began to trace slow circles over the back of your hand, and although his gesture was gentle, you felt it light a fire inside you.

"I'll always be honest with you, Geta," you promised quietly.

He nodded, as if that statement was enough to sustain everything you were secretly building. Then, unexpectedly, he moved closer, his lips brushing yours so gently that you almost wondered if it had been real.

But there was no doubt. It had been real. His kiss, brief and full of promise, was enough to make you forget the entire world.

"Promise me something," he whispered, barely pulling away enough to speak.

"Anything."

"No matter what happens out there..." Geta nodded, indicating the doors that separated his world from the others, "we'll always be together in here."

You stared at him, your heart beating so hard it almost hurt. "I promise."

That moment was etched in your memory like a silent pact, an alliance that no palace intrigue could break.

From then on, laughter, furtive touches, and stolen kisses became your refuge, a spark of love that burned brighter in the shadows of power.

☆

The years passed, and although life in the palace was not easy, your bond remained. There were moments of tension, danger, doubt, but you always returned to each other, as if gravity itself united you.

Geta and his brother ascended to the throne, carrying the responsibilities of an empire on their shoulders, and you were at their side. Though, to be honest, you were always more at Geta's side, not as an official advisor, but as the invisible pillar that held him up in the moments of greatest uncertainty. In public, you were close allies; in private, you were two souls intertwined, sharing a love that neither power nor time could erode.

One night, in one of those strange moments when you could be alone, you found each other in the palace gardens. The stars shone brightly above you, and the air carried with it the scent of night flowers. The night was perfect, one where the wind blew just to make the landscape more beautiful. Geta took your hand, just like he did when you were teenagers, and looked at you with the same intensity as the first time you confessed your feelings.

"If I were born again," he said quietly, "I would look for you in any life, anywhere. It will always be you."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling your chest fill with warmth. "And I will find you, no matter how many times it takes."

The two of you drew closer, sealing your promise with a kiss beneath the endless sky. It was a love that had begun with furtive giggles and shy glances in your teens, and had now grown into an eternal bond, something that no emperor, enemy, or fate could break.

Geta was so much more than an emperor, and you were so much more than his lover. You were proof that even in a world ruled by power and politics, true love could flourish and endure.

Together, you faced life's challenges, knowing that as long as you had each other, there was no battle you couldn't win.