#posting all my old art that I was too nervous to post on any other platforms other than yt or in general challenge let’s go!

[peekaboo6293]

old queer people redraw from a year ago

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙under their wings | OB87˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: ollie bearman x fem y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship

warnings: 2025 grid, teen reader (18)

summary: in which your taken under the wings of the other wags during your first half season as the youngest wag in the paddock 💓

a/n: loveeee this request omg had to write it straight away!! kind of short but think it fits :)

request!!!: smau fic set in 2025 in which ollie bearmans gf is quite young like 18/19 and people just react to how young the two of them are compared to the other drivers and wags?? like her hanging out with kika and alex and people just thinking it’s very cute they’re taking her under their wing ❤️

my masterlist

fc: agathe renou

instagram ->

olliebearman 📍 melbourne

liked by estebanocon, charles_leclerc, and others

olliebearman in the points for the first race of the season! 😎

view all comments

user1 omgggg i alr love the 2025 season

user2 same i love having ollie on the grid fr

user3 so cute is that his gf on the last slide

estebanocon a great first race!

olliebearman a true pleasure :)

charles_leclerc congratulations ollie ❤️

olliebearman thanks father🥹

alexandrasaintmleux 😂

user4 so obsessed with them

user5 the other drivers r all so sweet to ollie 🥺

oscarpiastri what a first race of the season!

olliebearman means too much 🤍

landonorris congrats!! keep pushing 👊

olliebearman 'preciate it 🔥

yourusername 🥹soso proud of u

olliebearman couldnt do it without you x

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, lilymhe, and others

yourusername 🦒 we've been travelling!!

tagged: olliebearman

view all comments

user11 ppl who r new to ollie & y/n, welcome 😎

lilymhe your hair is everyyyyythingggg !!

yourusername im blushing soso badly

francisca.cgomes u little beauty <3

yourusername 🥹🥹

alexandrasaintmleux the cutest!!!

yourusername lyyy

user12 omg the wags r so sweet

user13 omg squealing at all the wags

user14 it's too cute omg

charles_leclerc is that toffee the giraffe?

yourusername yea omg lolll embarrassing much

charles_leclerc embarrassing?! do you know who you're talking to 🤔

olliebearman true

alexandrasaintmleux yup

user15 HAHAH this is so cute & funny

user16 toffee the giraffe omg im obsessed

olliebearman love my favs!!

yourusername kisses from me & toffee :))

user17 too adorable 😭

f1wagupdates

liked by user11, user2, user8, and others

f1wagupdates every time ollie bearman's girlfriend y/n y/l/n has been seen out in public with other f1 wags!

1. y/n out shopping with pierre gasly's girlfriend & model, kika gomes!

2. y/n seen for lunch with carlos sainz's wag & model, rebecca donaldson

3. y/n seen out in nyc with alex albon's girlfriend and golfer, lily muni he

4. y/n seen out again with kika gomes and alexandra saint mleux, charles leclerc's model & art enthusiast girlfriend ❤️

tagged: yourusername, francisca.cgomes, iamrebeccad, lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux

views all comments

user18 omg i love themmmm

user19 this is jus the sweetest thing

user20 i love how they've taken her under their wing!!

user21 fr coz she must've been so nervous in the f1 paddock especially coz she's soo young

user22 fr i feel like there's barely any super young drivers on the grid atm for her & ollie to bond with

user23 literally omg it's so sweet of the wags <3

user24 how old is y/n?

user25 18 🥹

user26 oh to be y/n

user27 built in besties 😭

user28 i'd kill to be in the paddock with this wag lineup

user29 fr it's so iconic

user30 y/n & ollie being the grid babies and everyone adopting them is so personal to meeee

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by francisca.cgomes, olliebearman, and others

alexandrasaintmleux aww our lil babies 🥹💓

yourusername 😂 you & charles are taking the parent thing very literal

alexandrasaintmleux it's a very important job!

olliebearman love you baby

yourusername i love uuu

user32 me when omg

user33 goals much

landonorris he's such a simp

yourusername dont be a meanie lando!!

landonorris my bad. it's my natural instinct

yourusername i know but dont u worry ur little head! ur getting better 😇

olliebearman

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and others

olliebearman little life update

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

user34 toffee!!!

user35 toffee & y/n appearances <33

user36 cant expect much else from an ollie post 😂

user37 true

arthur_leclerc catch up during summer break? 😎

olliebearman yes definitely ! 👍

francisca.cgomes the y/n pic did not disappoint!

olliebearman 😂 you guys are in love with my girl!

alexandrasaintmleux not true we can just appreciate true art :)

yourusername oh guys ur making me blush

olliebearman your beauty transcends language

yourusername ???

olliebearman nvm. charles told me to put that

alexandrasaintmleux 😂😂😂

user38 LOLLLL omg charles leclerc rizz

user39 i love these 2 😭

estebanocon what a season so far

olliebearman 🕺

user40 hahahaha love them

yourusername posted a story

liked by lilymhe, iamrebeccad, and others

lilymhe i hear you girl 😴

yourusername need ollie to myself for once 😂

lilymhe literallyyyyy! f1 is exhausting!

alexandrasaintmleux same i can't go through border control again i might breakdown

yourusername yup. like ask me my reason for travelling one more time 👊

alexandrasaintmleux 😂😂😂

user41 so gorgeous

user42 ur glowinggg

liked by yourusername

user43 we'll miss u during break!!

olliebearman can't wait to spend summer with you my loveee 🥰

yourusername a well deserved rest baby 💓

yourusername 📍 hungary

liked by olliebearman, estebanocon, and others

yourusername that's that done (for now) 🥰

tagged: olliebearman

view all comments

estebanocon so great having you in the garage this season!

yourusername thanks for making us feel so welcome estie 🥹

user44 too cute

user45 she's too stunning wow

lilymhe once again, your hair 😻

yourusername 🙈

charles_leclerc im sure we'll be seeing you both during the break

yourusername i imagine so 😇

carlossainz55 here's to summer break 🥂

liked by yourusername

francisca.cgomes 😘 im sure me & pierre will find u in europe this summer

yourusername oh 100% 💓

user46 she's made so many friends it's adorable 🥹🥹🥹

user47 ily y/n i wish i was uuuu

user48 my fav wag fr

user49 same she's won my heart so fast

olliebearman will be a summer to remember im sure ❤️ love you so much

yourusername ☀️ i love you!!

THE END 🤍

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (1)

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

Next

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

Yoongi,  

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

— Jin  

---

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

Dear Professor Kim,  

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

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

Attached are my CV and transcript.  

Thank you!  

Y/N Y/L/N  

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was going to suck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.

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

Hoseok snorted but kept eating.

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

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

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

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

“She’s a baby.”

“Is she a cute baby?”

“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”

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

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which samples?” 

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

“I-I just mov—”

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

“L-la-labile?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi,  

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

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

Jin  

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

Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your project for the next few weeks.” 

Her face lit up with excitement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know what PCR is?” 

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

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

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

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

She was going to drive me insane. 

“Do you know how to use the pipettes?” 

She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly. 

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

We were never going to get anywhere like this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fucking smiley face.

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

“Is that what you’re wearing?” 

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

“It has holes in it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here we go again.

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

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

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

“Okay, okay... let’s go then.” 

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

“I’m telling you to relax.” 

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. What was her name again?

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

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

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

Now, what was her name again? Damn it.

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could undergrads get any weirder?

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.

“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.

“Got her number?”

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

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

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

“Is she up for grabs?”

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

“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”

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

“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”

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

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

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

Fucking creep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, what do I do now?”

“You start over.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

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

Oh, no...

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you walk?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Say something funny." 

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

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

"You're not?" 

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

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

"What do you want me to say?" 

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

"No." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This better be good," she warned teasingly.

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

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

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

"Did it work?" 

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

"Oh! Do you like The Police?" 

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

"Yeah…" 

"As in the profession?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goddammit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I should have known...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarcasm. Just lovely.

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

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

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

How the hell do I fix this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”

“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

Great… she’s making fun of me.

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

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

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

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

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

I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.

Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?

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

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

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

Fuck my life...

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

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

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

God, I’ve been such an asshole.

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

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

I want to make her smile?

First The Carpenters, now this?

When did I turn into such a marshmallow?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”

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

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

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

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

What the hell was happening to me?

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

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

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

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

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

When did I become such a creep?

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

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

Well, so much for miracles.

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

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

I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? NO!”

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

“Hoseok, what does that—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay… I’ve really lost it now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right… the lab coat.

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

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m getting you a new one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?

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

I should have burned the damn thing.

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

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

How do I keep up with her?

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

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

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

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

“Please say you’re kidding.”

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

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

I really must have lost it now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hells to the yeah!" 

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

"I might learn something."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like what I do."

"Do you love it?"

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

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

"I’m walking."

"I’m walking too. Let’s go."

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

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

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

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

"Very cute, Y/N."

"It’s not cute. It’s true."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We walked on in silence until we reached her building.

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

"No. I live in Portage Bay."

"Oh… we passed that already."

"I know."

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

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

Here it comes…

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

Is that really what she thought?

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

"I know you are."

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

"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.

Keep walking… don’t look back.

I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.

God, she had no clue.

Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.

It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.

As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”

With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?

“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.

In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.

When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.

“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.

“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.

Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.

As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.

“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.

She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?

Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.

“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.

I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”

My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.

“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand. 

God, I needed help.

You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.

This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.

As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.

“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.

“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.

“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.

“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.

“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.

“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.

“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.

Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”

“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.

“Fine. It’s Y/N.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.

“She’s... I don’t know.”

“Come on, man. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”

“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”

“Puh-lease. Who cares?” 

“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.

“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Disgusting.”

“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”

Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.

“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.

“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.” 

“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.

“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.

“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.

“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.

“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.

“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.

“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.

“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.

“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”

“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.

“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you, Serena.”

“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”

When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.

“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”

“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”

“Why?” 

“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.

“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.

I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.

Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?

The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.

I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.

Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.

What a nightmare!

I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races. 

“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.

“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.

“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.

“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.

“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.

“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.

Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.

“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”

“Are you saying I sent you that text?” 

“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.

Well, great…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?” 

“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”

“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.

“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.

“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”

“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”

“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.

“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”

“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.

“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”

“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”

“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.

“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”

“I could use some help.”

Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.

For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.

I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.

Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”

“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”

“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.

“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.

Was Y/N checking me out?

“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”

“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”

She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.

“Shit…” she whispers.

“What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.

I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.

“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.

A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.

Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.

God, what is she doing to me?

I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.

Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.

This isn’t real… it can’t be.

She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.

But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.

“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”

I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.

But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.

I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.

“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.

I guess the show is over…

I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.

When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.

As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.

Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade. 

"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."

"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.

"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.

"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.

Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking. 

"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.

Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

What was I doing?

I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.

No, stop! This is wrong!

I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have��� Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.

Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.

I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.

Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.

Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides. 

"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.

Jimin… shit…

I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.

"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.

I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"

I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.

Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."

"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.

"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.

What the hell just happened?

A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.

What the hell had I been thinking?

Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.

God, I could still taste her on my lips.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.

I was doomed.

This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.

No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…

God, this was all so messed up!

I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.

It would never happen again.

I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.

I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?

If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.

And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.

I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…

With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.

When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.

I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.

I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.

Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.

But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.

I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?

Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us. 

"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing. 

"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."

"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?" 

"I was never mean to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...

"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.

"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart. 

When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."

That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.

But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.

As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.

"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.

"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.

"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.

Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes. 

Shit, that was uncalled for...

"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.

"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."

She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.

"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.

Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.

I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"

Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.

"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.

"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."

"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."

"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.

I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.

Fucking Jungkook Jeon.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.

Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.

What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.

I had to go to this party.

At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok. 

"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.

"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.

"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.

"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.

"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."

"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.

"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.

"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.

I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me. 

"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."

"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’

"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."

"Yes."

"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.

I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.

"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."

The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.

"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.

"Exactly."

"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.

"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.

"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"

My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."

"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."

"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.

"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."

I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[kaitsawamura]

🪞 🔮 🍅 🧺 🍯 🌱 The Farmer & The Wizard

❦ SUMMARY ❦

You need a change, a big one. When your estranged grandfather passes away and bequeaths you his farm in a little town just south of the middle of nowhere, you take it as the sign you needed to make a change instead of waiting for one.

The farm, while having fallen into a state of disrepair, is just the thing to cure your modern-world ailments. The people are kind and always ready to offer help, if a bit unusual. They have old superstitions, a haunted community center, and a resident wizard. Spoiler alert: those last two on the list take some getting used to.

Yes, things are different here but you have a sneaking suspicion that the slow pace and a certain alchemical practitioner are going to remind you that sometimes, all you need is time and a little bit of magic.

THIS SCROLL WAS LAST UPDATED: 6/1/24

❦ STATS ❦

Pairing: Wizard!Gojo Satoru x Farmer!Reader

Rating: M for Mature, 18+ only minors do not interact

Warnings: Fantasy/Stardew Valley violence, sexual content, angst (maybe like just a tiny lil bit)

Tags: Stardew Valley AU, strangers to friends to lovers, red thread of fate, soulmates (kinda) eventual smut, fluff focused, canon divergent, more tags to come (literally am too excited, I need to get this masterlist post out in the world lol)

Projected Word Count: 100K

Author’s Note: In unsurprising news, I have still been in the trenches with my Stardew Valley hyperfixation. Then, along comes this lovely PC Gojo mod and the fate of this fic was sealed. It's going to be inspired a touch by that mod (which I will link below, full credit to that amazing modder) and will heavily follow a standard Stardew Valley play through timeline. I'm a lil nervous to write Gojo since he doesn't fall neatly into the character type I normally am drawn to but I have WRITING HANDS (like jazz hands but for writers :P ) and so I'm adding another fic to my WIPs list.

Important Note: This fic is part of this blog's contribution to the @ficsforgaza initiative!

❦ LINKS ❦

Fics for Gaza Masterlist <- now linked! ->

GOJO MOD FOR PC'ERS

JJK Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Playlist

Moodboard

❦ TABLE OF CONTENTS ❦

SPRING

Part 1: In Which You Unexpectedly Receive The Deed to A Farm

Part 2 | In Progress | TBL

SUMMER

Placeholder

AUTUMN

Placeholder

WINTER

Placeholder

This work and its digital elements (credit for pixel art to ConcernedApe) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2020-PRESENT. I do not own any rights to Stardew Valley and any subsequent settings/characters, but this work is heavily inspired by that amazing game. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.

[thedeskofaltoclef]

Hello to the desk. I write in all good things I promise I'm just nervous. But you make me smile every time you come up on any of my timelines. And me and my sibling share your posts with each other when we find something silly. But all that is to say...

I think you're pretty neat, and lots of other people do too. And if they decide to be mean... I say we make them go kaboomies. (Not actually, this is a joke). Anyways have a good day/night/whatever time it is- you do great things and keep making people smile. :]

I am very glad to hear you say that. Warms the old thumping meat sack in my chest. I think you humans call it a he-art or something lol.

You never, ever have to be nervous with me. Ever. I am just a dude who likes to act a fool. Nothing more and nothing less. If it makes you feel better I promise that I've made much a bigger ass of myself when I first met Author so I promise NOTHING you all can do would pale in comparison to that. But yeah, I'm just a old, fuzzy guy who likes to hang. Never be afraid to speak to me. I am always around and willing to listen if need be.

And we do not need to make those people go kaboomies. That is not what they need. If it were to get out who they are I would personally go after anyone who went to them because I left their names out for a reason. Our job in this community is not to damn others but to uplift others. If these people want redemption they deserve a second chance.

I'll use Clef as an example. Most people follow the 4231 line. Francis/Clef was given a second chance at life. In that story he was a part of one of the worst things imaginable and now is reveared as one of, if not the most popular SCP doctor. (We don't talk about the bad one on the Desk's blog)

If we can look at this character and watch him grow through his tales then we can learn from that and go "You know what, yeah, these people may suck. These people may have done terrible, terrible things... but I do not want to be like them."

I would rather people continue to trash my name than have any of you lower yourselves.

I'll bare the bullets, you all live and be good for me :-D

[marclef]

new About Me post time!!!

hello there! i'm Marclef/Marcus/Marc/whatever you wanna call me, i'm 24 yrs. old, he/him pronouns, and welcome to my blog! here i mainly post fanart as well as dumb things i like, here's a little bit about me!

my biggest interest right now is Pizza Tower, which is probably what most stuff i draw is gonna be, but i may end up doing more in the future! the main tag you can find all of my art here is #my art !

i also do a lot of OC art! the OC i post most about is Eyhm the Cat, who i've been mainly using for Pizza Tower art lately! here's some information/references for her though if you need them!

feel free to draw her (and any other OCs i might post) if you want, i absolutely love seeing other people's art!!

BUT, importantly, here's some important Rules and information you'll need to know while you're here!

i'm proudly and openly Transmasc! 💙💗🤍💗💙 this means you'll probably see me reblogging a lot of silly posts and art i can relate to. if you have a problem with that, i strongly suggest you leave. ANY hate or otherwise offensive speech i see on here will result in an automatic block!

as an adult, i may also sometimes reblog/draw some raunchier content, so if you're younger, please be aware of that! i WILL allow those 17 and younger to follow me, as long as you behave and don't get upset just for the "weirder" things i might post! once again, any misbehaving here will result in a block!

on a similar note.... i will admit that i'm kinda a big Weirdo sometimes. but, if i ever draw/post something that's especially weird, i will make sure to properly warn you about it, so if you still look at it and get weirded out, that's on you!!! please do not leave any rude/weird comments on anything i post or reblog though. likewise, any disrespectful comments on any art here (mine or otherwise) will likely result in a block, so PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL!

i'm still a little shy around new people, but i do like getting messages and talking about my art! feel free to send me asks/messages about stuff, i'll do my best to respond! if i don't, either i don't want to answer, or i'm too nervous to respond right away, but i do see everything that gets sent to me! i might be a bit slow to respond to asks as well, please be patient, but i will try to answer as many of them as i can!

i'm open to art trades, but be aware that i usually only accept if you ask for characters i know! generally this means OCs or characters from stuff mentioned above, i'm more likely to respond if you're somebody i know as well. sorry, i'm still a bit socially anxious, so please don't get upset if i don't respond to you about them!

any other questions you might have though, feel free to ask!

oh, and here's some important links to look at as well!! ⬇⬇⬇

My KO-FI (please feel free to support my art if you like it!!!)

My Artfight

DUMB STUFF I'VE DONE!!! :

Pizza Towerria (Pizza Tower texture pack for Terraria)

Fake Peppino for Don't Starve Together

Monster (short story about Fake Peppino, Peppino, and Eyhm)

other than that, as long as you follow my rules and respect everything, we should be good here! have fun checking out my blog, and feel free to message me with art requests if you'd like! but... HAVE FUN!!! ✨✨✨

[vintageaurelia]

knitting club (Thomas Thorne x Reader drabble)

note: hi fellas. this is my first time writing something like this and POSTING it. I'm a little nervous ngl! But just bear with me I swear I'll improve 😊. anywho! feel free to shoot some silly little requests my way!

Also! apologies if you don't have any clue about knitting, I personally do and I based this off a singular Thomas quote LOL.

------

The club meetings Alison was hosting in the home proved to be bothersome for some of the ghosts, annoyed at how many people were visiting the house every day. Between the AA meetings and just the most random topics you could ever think of being discussed, it was something not everyone was entirely interested in. Though everyone loved to tune into the AA meeting every once in a while, for some juicy stories. 

You on the other hand? You stuck around for all the art based clubs, it reminded you of when you were alive and could do all this work with your hands.

The knitting club proved to be one that you could watch for hours, it's one of the hobbies you missed a lot. Looking around at all of the cute creations everyone was making and talking about their families and different stories they had from the day filled your soul with a sort of warmth. 

As this week's meeting began, you sat on the old beat up couch, watching all the young, old, women and men fill the seats, excited about what progress they made over the week. Unbeknownst to you though, a certain poet was walking past the room to see you sitting in there alone, with the group that had no idea you were there.

Thomas was never really fond of the knitting club, he felt it was boring and it wasn’t worth his time to sit and watch other people knit while talking about their grandkids or their in-laws. But maybe he could learn to like it? Maybe just for you?

He walked into the room silently as you were enchanted by all the people getting ready to start the meeting. “Good evening dear (Y/N),” Thomas greets you with a slight bow and a polite smile on his face. You light up and wave to him “Hi! Are you here for the knitting club? I thought you didn’t like them?” Thomas freezes up before responding with a quick agreement. “I just thought I might’ve judged them a little too hard at first, so I thought I would give them another chance,” this makes you smile and you go back to watching the group. 

He had to admit it's not as boring as he remembered, but it still wasn’t super enjoyable for him. But boy did it make him gleam seeing you get up and tell him what everyone was making and why.

By the end of the meeting, he learned one of the older women was making a blanket for her new grandson, and a young man was making a hat for his wife as a Christmas gift. Part of him wished he could do something like that for you, just because he realized how excited you get about this stuff.

“Say (Y/N), did you know how to knit when you were living? You seem to know quite a bit.” You nod, “It was a big hobby of mine. I spent a lot of time and money on blankets and hats, which now thinking about it, probably paid off. Because now my family has something handmade to remember me.” You smile, but it hurts to think about sometimes. 

Thomas reads you like a book, he realizes how emotional you are getting. He places a supportive hand on your shoulder. 

You both lock eyes, getting lost with one another. Thomas soon breaks eye contact to glance over at the people knitting mindlessly.

“I know that being stuck here isn’t ideal, and not being able to do the things you love isn’t ideal either. But isn’t it splendid you can still appreciate it? Even if you cannot do it, isn’t the true gift appreciation?” He states, so matter of factly you can’t even begin to argue. “That was actually very poetic.” Both of you smile at each other. 

“I also appreciate you, Thomas.” 

“I feel the same exact way, my dearest.”

-----

I hope you all enjoyed! Probably not the best work ever, but I thought it was cute :)

[the-fiction-witch]

Sugar

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating SWEET AF

Requested Could you do a Jack Dawkins imagine where Jack meets Y/n in a side street when taking a break from the hospital (and ykyk they both get to start liking each other). But then Jack consents for a kiss but she kinda gets all nervous cause she's never had a first kiss...

I smiled as I sat on the little stone wall my back against the metal posts watching the clouds roll on by for a while. I heard the door behind me and perked up, turning to see a familiar figure.

"Ohh Afternoon Dr Dawkins," I greeted with a smile,

"Oh, Afternoon Y/n. What were you doing out here?" he asked as he came down the stairs still shook his hands off from freshly washed them inside clearly just got done with something and just cleaned off his hands. 

"Just on a breath, the scent of blood, bile and bodily fluid takes you after a while in there."

"Well you're not wrong." he chuckled and sat down beside me with a pleasant smile, "Prof likes it like that."

"Good for him, does he lack a nose? Mouth? and eyes?"

"He has them whether or not any of them work is highly debatable," 

"What about Sneed?"

"Ohh Sneed doesn't come down to the ward," He laughed, "Mr high and Mighty, Mr Fancy Britches, Mr don't Ether People. He thinks he is too good for the ward."

"what about you? Doesn't it bother you?"

"It bothers me, not much I can do about it, I clean it He'll fire me and put it back how it was in two days." He explained, "Besides, Sort of desensitized to much of it now."

"I imagine you likely are." 

"You get used to it over time." 

"I'm sure I will, what are you doing out here?"

"Ohh you know, just cut a guy's arm off. Felt like having a minute." 

"That's fair," I nodded, 

"I never imagined you wanting to work here."

"Becuase I'm a girl?"

"No, Becuase you're sweet."

"Shouldn't a nurse be sweet?"

"A nurse should be sweet, she should have a good bedside manner. But... You are too sweet."

"Too sweet?"

"You care about everyone, to a fault. In a hospital that's dangerous. Yes you want your nurses to care for patients be sweet and kind to them and it does always help if your nurse is sweet to you." he winked which made me blush, "But you're so sweet, that you care for everyone no matter anything else, you want to do what's for them. And yes that is a fantastic quality to have..." he explained,

"But?"

"But, You haven't been here that long, you're still new to nursing and what you will find out soon enough is that... you can't save everyone as much as we want to." he explained, "And yes believe me that takes time to get used to more than the smells, the sights, the blood. The first time you lose a patient it will never ever sit right with you. Every doctor, every Nurse, carries the weight of everyone they've lost..." he explained, "You can't blame yourself, but you do." 

"You shouldn't blame yourself, Jack. One lost patient means that maybe ten more won't die the same way." 

He smiled briefly, "That's a sweet way to look at it." he nodded, 

"Well, I have a sweet way to look at most things," I smiled,

"You do, and you do a lot to help people, you are very kind and caring, and Very Very Sweet."

"I can always help Jack,"

"But it worries me."

"Why?"

"I worry, the first time you lose someone you'll never get over it I tell you that now as a twenty-eight-year-old surgeon who started training on a ship at fourteen. That first one never quite leaves you." he explained, "I worry that you're so sweet it'll change you." 

"Change me?"

"But you're so sweet that... what's gonna happen when you have a patient you can't help. sometimes you can't help people. Sometimes there is nothing you can do but hold their hand and see them into the next life. Sometimes you have to sit and watch them die slowly and in agony staring into their eyes as their life leaves them knowing there is nothing you can do. You have to sit there and stare into the eyes of a child as they beg you for dead, knowing you can't do anything to help them. And you can't just sit back and think of them as bodies, they were people a person is below your fingers, with a life, dreams, hopes, a family." He explained, "How sweet will you be after all the things you'll witness here." 

"I don't know," I answered,

"How sweet will you be if we save someone, some man from losing his arm, only to find out he'll go home and use that arm to abuse his wife? How sweet will you be saving a girl's life with a surgery that will make her infertile and telling her she'll never get the have children because of what you've done to save her? How sweet will you be watching someone walk out of the hospital refusing treatment knowing they will die without help but knowing you can't force them? A nurse needs a good bedside manner I will not deny but this work is cruel, harsh, and bitter. And I am afraid you will not be so sweet after a few weeks here." 

"Would it be so bad if I wasn't so sweet anymore?"

"I think it would, I don't think the world should lose someone as sweet as you," 

"Maybe I'll still be sweet after all this, maybe all this horror will make me sweeter to see the world for what it is."

"That's a long shot."

"But not impossible."

"No... Not impossible."

"How do you stay so sweet?" 

He chuckled, "You think I'm sweet?"

"You are to me." 

"It's easy to be back to someone who's so sweet to start with." he smiled, and for a while, we just sat watching the clouds together, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," 

"do you taste like sugar?"

"What?" I giggled,

"You're so sweet, I'm curious if you taste like sugar?"

I giggled and licked my hand, "I just taste soap." 

He laughed at me, "Could I kiss you?"

"Hum?" I asked as I hadn't really been listening, 

"Could I kiss you?"

"Why?"

"I wanna know if you taste like sugar or not?" he shrugged with a playful smile, "So? would you let me kiss you?"

"Ohhhh i uhhh I uuhhhh I ummmmm" I stuttered blushing bright red, 

"Whats wrong?" he chuckled,

"I uhhh I'm just auhhh I uhhhhh" I nervously blushed, 

"I'm sorry Y/n." He said, "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." He smiled, "It's perfectly fine, I shouldn't have asked anyway."

"No no! No, it's not that I'm uncomfortable I just uhh I'm sorry I..."

"What is it?" he asked seeming concerned, 

"I've never kissed anyone before."

"What?" He chuckled, 

"I've never been kissed before."

"Never?"

"No."

"Not ever?"

"No."

"In your whole life!"

"No..."

"Awww, You sweet little thing." he cooed, 

"I uhhh I wouldn't mind kissing you."

"You wouldn't?" 

"No,"

"Really, I'd be honoured to get to be the first one to kiss you."

"You would?"

"Of course, such an honour to be a girl's first kiss." 

"Well, I would like you to kiss me."

"Then I'll happily kiss you," he smiled, he took my hand and gently kissed it, "Ohh your right very soapy."

"I washed my hands before I came out," I giggled,

"well they are very soft," he smiled as he stoked his thumb across my hand, he moved a little closer and fixed the hair behind my ear, and his hand stroked my cheek, He smiled and moved closer to the tip of his nose stroked my own "May I kiss you Y/n?"

"You May Jack..." I blushed,

He nodded and smiled before he closed the gap between us and pressed his lips to mine, they were a little cracked but still very smooth, he tasted like oranges and had a metallic sting of blood, his skin smoothly smooth, the tip of his hair tickled my forehead a little his hand still stroked mine, I kissed back gently still a little taken back but I was on cloud nine so very thrilled and happy. He pulled back and smiled, he ran the tip of his nose across the bridge of mine and smiled widely, 

"That was... Amazing..." I gasped,

He chuckled, "I'm glad you liked it, I did too. I must say for your first kiss you were very good." he nodded,

"Thank you," I blushed, 

"And I can confirm, you do taste like sugar." he smiled, 

I giggled a little "I do?"

"You do, My sweet little sugar Nurse." 

"Awww," I blushed, "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"May I kiss you?"

"You may," He smiled, 

I was nervous but I moved closer and pressed my lips to his, he happily smiled and kissed me back. The two of us just sat for a while in the sweet sun kissing for what could have been hours I didn't care I never wanted this moment to end. 

We pulled back as the door opened and we both glanced at the door to see Tim at the door, we both blushed a little to think we had been caught,

"Jack, Man's come in with a shattered foot." 

"Coming," Jack nodded,

Tim headed in which left us alone again, and Jack smiled and offered his hand.

"You-"

"I need my sweet sugar nurse with me don't I?"

I giggled and took his hand, he stood us both up and gave my lips a final kiss before we rushed inside to deal with this. 

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Some Things About Mary

You know, it occurred to me that my ideas about Mary Phoenix have evolved a bit since I first introduced her, especially since I decided to make the reincarnation storyline canon for Sunshine in Hell. Why don't I point out a couple differences that I referenced in some subsequent posts that talk about her?

Content Warnings: There will be talk of death, murder, chronic illness, fatphobia, toxic family relationships, drug usage, sex work, and other such heavy topics. There's also some good old spicy OTP fluff and smut to offset the darker stuff, and maybe a little writing if the mood takes me.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

As alluded to in this short fic - Grand Pas de Deux - Mary is the one who got Joseph the part of Jack in the SunnyTime Crew Show. Much like when Alice comes across Jack purely by chance when she finds the tape, Mary stumbled across Joseph while he was hitchhiking on the side of the road - as shown in this unnamed fic.

Instead of working with the art department of the show like the initial ramble about her, Mary is on the writing staff, though she did make drawings of characters for the show when developing the idea.

Sunshine in Hell's continuity differs from the game's demo in a number of ways. One of the biggest divergences is that Mary is the person who came up with the original concept of the SunnyTime Crew Show. In fact, the character of Sunny Day Jack was inspired by Joseph. Whenever she hears the nickname "Sunshine" she thinks of him, for obvious reasons, and he always managed to brighten up her day, so "Sunny Day Jack" felt like an appropriate name for the character.

Sure, Mary could've used a star motif to reference her nickname for Joseph - Starlight - but that felt too personal, in a way, too much like she was just writing about Joseph. Sunny Day Jack is a character based off of how warm and cared for her friendship with Joseph made her feel. The character isn't actually him.

Until, you know, she managed to pull some strings and get him the part in the upcoming TV show.

It sort of all fell into place when Mary came across Joseph again. He had nowhere to go, next to no money to his name. He was willing to do any sort of work he could get. Of course Mary wanted to help him out, so she encouraged him to try out for the part. It just so happened that they were working on the casting call, so the timing was perfect.

Despite Joseph's uncertainty that he could get the role and worries that he'll do right by the child audience, he nailed the audition. Sure he was nervous, but he was desperate to succeed. It wasn't just that he needed the job to survive, but he needed it to stay close to Mary. He couldn't let anything separate them again after he finally found his sunshine.

Joseph was a bundle of nerves before the audition, but Mary managed to bolster his confidence.

...

"Hey," Mary whispered, causing Joseph to flinch and the script to crinkle in his fist. She offered him a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on his arm. "You're going to be great. I know it."

With that, Mary got onto her tiptoes to give Joseph a quick peck on the lips before throwing him a wink. "Knock 'em dead, Starlight."

For a moment, Joseph could only stare in wonder at Mary. It still felt like a dream that she really was there in front of him after all this time. He reached out for her, ready to pull her in for another kiss to reaffirm just how real and warm she was when he heard his name being called for his turn.

Well... his current name. It was going to take him some time to get used to being called James Haberdae.

But that was fine. Joseph, James, Jack... it didn't matter what name he used. All Joseph needed from his old life was standing right in front of him, beaming like a sunny day. Mary's smile lit up the whole world and gave him hope that things were finally going to change for the better.

"I won't let you down, Sunshine," Joseph said as he gave Mary his sunniest smile. Reluctantly, he let her go, but only for now. It was show time, and the world was waiting to see him as Sunny Day Jack.

...

Needless to say, Joseph nailed the audition. ;3

Mary wasn't the only writer on the show of course. It's common for there to be a lot of writers for a TV show, even if there's one writer who came up with the initial concept for the story and characters. I strongly suspect that this lovely lady to the left in this artwork Sauce shared with us is the show's original creator in the game. In Sunshine in Hell's telling, Mary befriended her as a surrogate aunt or mother figure after she and her family moved away when she was a teenager. This lovely lady who shall remain nameless helped Mary in a lot of ways that her own parents didn't, including helping her develop the concept and character ideas Mary had into a TV show pitch. The show wouldn't have happened without her help, so she's one of the head writers.

That's all say about that particular character in this post, or the blond in the picture with her on the right. After all, the current demo that has a scene about these two is in closed beta right now for kickstarter backers and members of the patreon. No spoilers here, folks!

Well, no game spoilers. I'm spoiling the heck out of Sunshine in Hell on this blog.

Another difference between the game and Sunshine in Hell is the factor of chronic illness in the narrative. Mary and Alice both suffer from the same unnamed chronic condition. While in the present it's for the most part manageable, aside from the occasional flare up, in the 1980's, it was entirely an unknown ailment. There was no name, and thus no real treatment.

Doctors aren't necessarily the best at dealing with unknowns. They can also be pretty judgmental, taking one look at a patient and writing them off. It's even easier to write someone off when they're chubby and blame all their woes on their weight. Just lose some pounds, and the pain will go away, they're keen to say, so they don't see why they should waste their time.

Needless to say, Mary hasn't had the best luck with doctors. Between being told she wouldn't live to adulthood when she was a child, painful tests and experimental medications, and doctors basically blaming her for being sick and in pain, she's for the most part had to deal with things on her own. That means gritting her teeth and forcing herself through the day, taking painkillers when it gets too much for her to handle.

It's hard enough doing work for an average job, but a studio like LambsWork works their employees to the bone. Hours upon hours of overtime, often without any extra pay to show for it. The actors aren't the only ones being worked to the bone. Scripts need to be written, details for sets, costumes, guests need to be brought in and catered to, and all sorts of things that force Mary to have many late nights.

It's too much for Mary, but she can't give it up. This might be her one and only chance to make it, to really share one of her stories to the world. She had dreamed of writing and publishing a novel, but this is so, so much more. If she lets this opportunity slip through her fingers, she'll never have another one like it ever again. She has to make this show work. She has to put everything into it, even if it costs her health.

But that's something Mary is used to at this point. She's learned to deal with the pain, to push through when she's suffering. Her parents always claimed she was exaggerating the pain, overplaying her illness, even faking being sick at all to get out of work, so she had to learn how to push through the pain.

That's another reason why Mary can't fail. She can't let her parents be right about her being a lazy failure.

Mary is low contact with her family, citing the show as reason for it. Her mom and dad are narcissists, so they're satisfied with her success, as it reflects well on them as parents. They're happy as long as they get something out of it, like money, reputation, connections, etc.

Really, it's the period in time when Mary has gotten the most "love" and approval from those two. It's another reason why she can't let the show fail.

Mary is aware her parents aren't very good people. She has been for a while now, but... she still loves them. It's so hard to let go of a relationship when there are some happy moments there, times when she can let herself believe the lie that this is simply how families are. This is what love is... or at least love of a family.

It's the connections Mary makes outside of her family that shake up that perception. First there was Joseph's friendship that blossomed into romantic love. Then there was her mentor figure I mentioned earlier who became more of a mother to her than her real mother. Now she has other friends she's made while working on the set of the SunnyTime Crew Show. The actors and others working on the show are all so nice and sincere, not just Joseph. They become like a big family... one that feels more like a family than Mary's ever was.

Though Mary still can't quite cut off her parents. It's not that easy.

It's that found family and not wanting to let any of them down that pushes Mary so hard. She winds up pushing herself too hard. She takes over the counter painkillers on the daily, knowing that it's not good for her in the long term. Least of the issues with taking them all the time is their diminishing effectiveness. They take away less pain over time as she pushes her body harder and harder to its breaking point...

Mary and Joseph do wind up living together and taking care of one another. He's aware that she's pushing herself too hard, downplaying her own symptoms and pain. He sees how often empty medicine bottles appear in the trash can and hears the whimpers she can't contain when she's struggling to sleep at night.

Joseph wants to protect Mary, but there's little he can do to take away her pain. He helps her as best he can with taking care of the house and the cooking, but he's overworked as well. There's promotional gigs, autograph signings, interviews, filming episodes, rehearsals... Their days are so busy that often times they're left exhausted by the time they get home late at night, too tired to do more than just lie in bed in each other's arms.

That isn't to say that they don't steal a moment or two in their busy lives to make love. Mary might be on the aroace spectrum, but the pleasure Joseph makes her feel allows her to forget the pain she's in all the time, at least for a little while. Joseph, with his high libido, is only too happy to show her love in the most intimate of ways.

Well... after he gets over a bit of guilt. Though Mary did greet Joseph with a kiss when they reunited, and they resumed their relationship right where they left off, it didn't erase the years that they were apart... or the things Joseph had to do to survive life on the streets.

As I mentioned in Jack's section of the big Love and Sex Headcanons post, Joseph had to do some pretty unsavory things in order to survive. Though he puts up a good confident front, even to himself, this man has many insecurities underneath his bad boy looking exterior. There's some guilt that he went looking for love in someone else when he was separated from Mary, and those relationships always ended badly. He also sold his body, exchanging sexual favors for as little as a roof over his head and a meal for a night.

Not to mention the other awful things he did in his past, such as the reason why he ran away from Haberdae High...

Joseph is unclean, at least in his opinion. He's been told he's worthless, not good enough, and other insults... and he embraced that out of spite. He hurt people badly, caused harm he can't undo, sold himself for cheap, allowed people to use him and then throw him away...

In a way, Joseph doesn't feel worthy of Mary... but damned if he's going to let her go ever again.

Things change for Joseph once Mary finds him. His life takes a turn he never expected, brings him hope and light when he struggled to find either. For all his fears that he won't do right by the kids after all he's done, he finds his groove right away, connecting with the children in ways that he never thought he could. He worries about hurting Mary again, losing her again, not being worthy of her after all he's done... he worries about letting her down and the friends he made, the children who admire him.

Mary shows Joseph love and unwavering faith in him that he never felt even for himself. She helps him see that there's more to him than he ever realizes, and he so badly wants to be the man that she believes he is.

Joseph didn't want to push his sexual urges on Mary at the start of their relationship, determined to take things slow and do it right. He had extra pressure from learning that she was still a virgin... and guilt because he was not.

They were each other's first kiss, but Joseph slept around with many, many other people while Mary did not.

Despite this internalized self-loathing, Joseph did his best to be better for Mary, and for himself. He wanted to be the man that she saw him as, the special wish come true that she always said he was for her life. He'd grant her every wish and make her the happiest anyone could ever be. He'd protect her from the world, from illness, and even from his own darker urges.

Joseph did his best to hold himself back, which led to plenty of awkward boners to hide before they finally progressed to the point of making love. More than once he felt as if he was going to go crazy with how badly he wanted her, while also feeling guilty about lusting for Mary like some animal in heat. He was extra careful and delicate about their first time, worshipping every inch of her body and making sure to repay all the love she gave him.

One good thing about all his experience was that Joseph knew how to pleasure his partner very well. Mary was surprised that her first time wasn't painful like she expected it to be (aside from chronic pain, but he made her forget about that for a while too). He practically turned her into a quivering pile of goo by the time he was through with her. He couldn't stop after just one round, not after how many times he had gotten blue balls waiting until they were both ready for this.

Joseph might not have the empathy powers that share all his horny feelings during this time period, but he can still encourage Mary's libido to increase the old fashioned way. Though he takes the lead most of the time, he's very happy when she initiates. He gets quite the guilty thrill when his sunshine gets a bit jealous and possessive of him.

What Joseph has with Mary is such a different feeling from the dismissive relationships he had before that only saw his body. He's not a piece of meat to her. He's not property paid for. She makes him feel irreplaceable, like someone worth waiting for, someone to miss and long for. She cares deeply for what he wants and is so tender and loving...

Joseph desperately wants to be someone worthy of all the love Mary shows him.

He is even more desperate not to lose his sunshine again.

The rumor that Mary died when they were in high school might have been false, but that memory of loss still haunts Joseph. It comes to mind every time she has a flare up. He's left helpless but to just offer comfort and do what little he can while she whimpers and cries, praying that the pain passes soon...

The doctors are useless. Joseph gets so frustrated by their condescension and bumbling. He wants to save up money to take care of the both of them, give them a better life, and actually find someone who can actually do something about this damn illness. They're just sticking their thumbs up their asses and shrugging their shoulders while giving gormless looks as they suggest another test, another specialist...

And the bills just keep racking up.

It doesn't help that so much of their time is taken up working. Joseph worries about how hard Mary is pushing herself, how her attacks are coming more and more frequently. He sees her pushing herself too hard even while she tries to smile through the pain. She tries to be optimistic, saying there's nothing they can do about it, so they've just got to push through. He can see that she's given up on finding answers or a cure. He can't give up. He won't.

Mary hates that she worries Joseph so much about her health, especially since it seems so hopeless. She tries not to acknowledge her own worries and fears. There are times when she nearly breaks down from the pressure of keeping the show together and her fears that her body might be dying and the doctors are clueless. Is this symptom a sign of something dangerous or more of the same? Are they missing something all this time? Can they really afford to throw away more money just to get more apathetic shrugs instead of answers?

Stress leads to vices. Joseph drinks more coffee and alcohol to make it through. He keeps trying to kick the cigarette addiction, as it costs a lot of money they need for other things, but every time he does, the withdrawal symptoms get bad, and he has to take a puff to feel normal again. He tries at least to not smoke around Mary since he knows cigarettes are poison to the body, and she's already in delicate enough health as it is. She's his biggest motivation to quit, while the stress of his job the biggest reason why he can never quite manage it.

It's not just Joseph who falls victim to vices to make it through. Mary hates the taste of coffee but chokes it down like medicine in the morning to make it through the day. She avoids alcohol to not mess with whatever medicine she's currently on to keep the symptoms down, and sometimes she has to drop the coffee too if it interferes with the medicine.

Coffee isn't Mary's biggest vice. She tries different medications, sometimes prescribed, but most often just over the counter painkillers. Taking them too much lessens their effectiveness, and with the job pushing her harder and harder, her health is only degrading, forcing her to take more than what is safe.

Eventually, the over the counter meds aren't enough. A "friend" at the studio, one of the higher ups above Mary who runs her ragged notices her struggling and offers some "help."

Mary was no stranger to trying new types of medicines. The doctors all failed her, often times giving her things that resulted in side-effects that made things worse for her. The pain was getting worse, and she was desperate to feel better... to keep the show going and to be a success.

Mary never thought she would ever take illicit substances. Drugs are bad for you and lead to a dark road, she knew it from all the warnings teachers and even television gave her while growing up, but... she was already starting to break. She was barely holding things together for Joseph, for her friends, the show, the people counting on her, her parents...

They're just some pills, she's assured. A pharmacist friend of the "friend" is certain they're effective. Just try it and see.

They help. These pills from a sketchy source work better than anything Mary has ever tried before. She feels good for once, better than ever. The pain disappears for a while, and she's energized, happy. Why the hell did the doctors never prescribe these to her?

Unfortunately, as what happens when taking pills regularly, it stops being quite as effective. The dosage needs to be increased after a while to get the same high. The side-effects start to cause further issues, particularly as the dosage increases. The body gets strained, and the withdrawal symptoms of going without are agonizing.

Joseph does find out about the pills eventually... and he's far from happy about it, or what they've done to Mary.

Yes, Mary gets addicted to drugs. Show business unfortunately has a habit of doing that to people. The "friend" took the drugs recreationally and shared the "fun" with Mary.

The sad thing is Mary likely turned down things like this before when they were offered as a "party favor" at some gathering. Doing drugs to chase a high never tempted her. It was suffering and desperation that pushed her to make one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

Between drug usage, stress, pushing her body to the breaking point, chronic illness, and other such factors... Mary's health degraded. It was only a matter of time until her body couldn't take it anymore.

Joseph's murder was the breaking point for everything. When he died, a part of Mary died with him, along with all her hopes and dreams. For all the struggles, they did hope for a future together where they could live happily together... maybe raise a family. Even when they were forced apart years ago, she always kept that little hope in her heart that maybe someday she'd find him again.

This time... there was no finding him again. Joseph was dead. He was gone. Forever. Her starlight, her other half, her wish come true...

As if to rub salt in the wound, the studio ended the show. Not only that, they buried everything about it. They erased it... as if it never happened. As if none of the effort and pain and sacrifices ever existed at all. All of her work, Joseph's work, her friends' work... all reduced to ash. LambsWork recalled merch, tapes, etc. and destroyed them, erased the very name of the show, its characters, and those who worked on it from everywhere money and connections could reach. There was no internet to allow for independent archiving.

LambsWork produced new shows, created new distractions. The world moved on to the next big thing. The coworkers Mary and Joseph had grown to love were silenced by NDAs and threats, and were forced to move on.

Mary hoped to create a story that would live on after she died. When she got that death sentence from a doctor as a child, it was her one goal in life, to leave something of herself behind. Now it was gone... as was the person who loved her more than anyone else in the world.

Her wishes, her dreams, her love... it was all dead.

What did Mary have left to live for?

Without hope, Mary lost the will to live. She stopped fighting. The damage that had been done to her body was too much, and the wound to her heart simply refused to heal.

The friends she made when creating the show came to see her. They offered what little support they could in her final days, but they couldn't help her. No one could.

Her parents never visited her even once. They distanced themselves from her the same way LambsWork did. What good was she to them now? Their child helped them get connections in the entertainment industry, but she could do nothing for them now. She could have done more for them to actually be useful to them for once in her life. They wouldn't even bother with her "theatrics" after that "hooligan" died. Good riddance, they say.

It's a tragic ending where good people suffered terrible fates while awful people lived on, pocketing their ill gotten gains as they moved on without so much as a backward glance.

Of course I'm not satisfied with this sort of ending, so I'm decreeing that karma does get all these assholes eventually. I'm not quite sure how just yet, but I like the idea that the Phoenix parents eventually learned the meaning of regret, even if they never learn what it means to actually love anyone else but themselves.

Trust me, I'm gonna make sure they get some form of payback, as well as Joseph's neglectful and abusive parents.

As for LambsWork and the people there... their karma will also come as I develop more details of the story and flesh out more characters. It's developing, though slowly, as I admittedly keep getting distracted by fluff with my OTP.

Naturally, karma comes back around for Joseph and Mary in the form of Jack and Alice. It won't necessarily be an easy road for them, but the two of them will make it work in their next lives. The game might have multiple different endings, with some probably ending in a lot of gore and guts, but Sunshine in Hell's ending will be a happy one where Jack and Alice get to have the bright and shining future that was stolen from them.

Yes, that future does include babies ever after. Jack worried he would be bad around kids, but he eventually becomes the best daddy a child could ever ask for, and the best partner Alice could ever ask for.

Alice might wonder if someone as good as Jack could actually be real, but he's going to remind her that he's always been her wish come true. This time, nothing is going to stop them from achieving their dreams and being happy, together.

Although, if you would rather see a kinder world where Mary and Joseph don't have to wait until their next lives to have their happy ending, here's an AU where they manage to reach their golden years together.

I think I'll wrap things up on that warm and fuzzy note. I hope you enjoyed reading a bit more about Mary and Joseph and their entanglement with LambsWork Productions.

[beebundt]

Self rec time <3 TAKE TWO

Rules: Share five of your own works (OF ANY KIND CUZ I WANT TO SEE YOUR HYPE). Then, tag five more people to share the things they’ve made.

1. Something you absolutely adore:

2. Something that was challenging to create:

3. Something that makes you laugh or smile:

4. Something that surprised you (how it turned out, how other liked it, etc.):

5. Something you want other people to see:

THANK KEW UR SO KIND FR!!!! THIS SOUNDS FUN SO I LOOKED THRU AND TRIED TO PICK THE MOST FITTING THINGS.......... they're all within a year, maybe 2 or so bc i have very little pieces i still like past that point 🥲

1. i made this during my first year of college, i wanted to do something kind of warm and sweet as a submission for my club's art magazine. i dont think anyone cared abt it too much bc the lgbt population there is. Small to say the least lmao. but i still liked how it turned out! i cant discredit myself for trying to experiment!

2. WHEWWW this one was an art trade and it took 2 months (i felt so bad and still do) and was the first time in a long time doing a big rendered piece so i was super nervous and unsure how i wanted it look. but i think it turned out ok!

3. i love looking back on the very first art from 2 years ago i made of my first active (and still) dnd pc, mimyr!! i still didnt know how i wanted to draw firbolgs' ears yet so you def see a transition there. shes grown and ive grown. i love her 🥺 old on left, newest on right for reference

4. the post these 3 are in is currently sitting at 39k+ notes which is just. so bizarre 😭 i do like how these sketches turned out but i feel like tumblr users will see a titty and go rabid. woman lovers unite

5. I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO FOR THIS ONE SO ..... I CHOSE ONE OF MY FAVS IN RECENT YEARS TO SHOW OFF .? this was just a mindless doodle in a group canvas session but i still look back on this all the time bc its one of the most fun ive done in a Long time. been really trying to push myself to experiment with color/brushes that im unfamiliar with and be more sketchy again bc over-rendering makes me so miserable..... this is my happy place for sure

TBH IDK WHO WOULD BE OKAY WITH BEING TAGGED SO . i will leave this open for anyone who wants to join in on it and @ me so i can see too!! 🫵

[sunnytheopossum]

Been here for a little bit now so I figured it’s probably time I make an introduction post!

Hi, I’m Harvey, but I also go by Sunny or just “Sun”.  I’m currently 21 years old, male, aroace, and I’m most comfortable with he/him pronouns (but anything works tbh).  I’m a digital artist from the states, but I’m currently stationed in the UK for school (majoring in Game Arts)!  Please feel free to ask me any questions about myself, my work, or anything else, I’m always happy to respond ^^

The only major “disclaimers” that I think might be worth mentioning here are that I have ADHD as well as some undiagnosed (unmedicated) anxiety disorder of some kind, which means I might forget (or be too nervous) to respond to messages, DMs, or mentions.  Don’t be afraid to ping me or message me privately if I left you hanging for whatever reason!

Also important: I have photo-sensitive epilepsy!  I’m medicated, I have the proper tags filtered, and I’m usually in a safe place when scrolling through Tumblr, but while I do genuinely adore eyestrain in art and stuff like that, just keep that I mind that I might need a bit of a warning before you share anything with me that has untagged flashing/flickering lights just in case I’m not in a safe place to view it! 

Current Fandoms: Marble Hornets - The Murderbot Diaries - Pokémon

Toyhouse: https://toyhou.se/SunnyTheOpossum

ArtFight: https://artfight.net/~SunnyTheOpossum

YouTube: https://youtube.com/@sunnytheopossum?si=clqSY12RTKxczsGj

Commissions: https://toyhou.se/21010083.suns-art-commissions

Main Tags:

#My Art - All my art (reblogs only if I contribute art)

#My Post - All of my posts in general, including art, discussions, etc (no reblogs)

#Discussion - Usually a reblogged thing where I have a back-and-forth with someone

#Fanart - my own fanart specifically, not including OCs

#OC - My kids!

#Amazing Art By Others - Reblogs of art that I think are exceptional and I wanna show to everyone; usually art that I had an extreme physical/emotional reaction to

#Asks - Responding to asks!  Usually accompanied by a little doodle~

#Marble Hornets - My main fandom atm

#TOTHEARK DOWNPOUR - My WIP canon-compliant Marble Hornets fan comic that shows the founding, operation, and eventual downfall of totheark from their perspective. 

[determunition]

Hi so I’ve curious, (Been nervous about starting my own AU) When you first started posting OFH (on twitter/ao3) how did you get the courage to post it? Were you ever afraid of getting called ‘cringe’ or ‘weird’ or anything else negative? If so how were you able to get over it? (Btw I do love this AU with all my heart!) Sorry if any of these questions are too sensitive!

hi!! thanks for the questions, i'm flattered to be considered a source of wisdom about this x3

OFH/retyrement, like most fandom things i do, started as kind of a silly shitpost thing; i love human AUs, and when my buddy squid_hug made that original text post about the retirement home it tickled me too much to ignore. objectively the scrybes being human old people bickering in a retirement home is a goofy, silly idea, and that's how it started as an AU, down to the written fic. i think that in itself made it a bit easier to post about

however! even with that, when i started posting the first pieces of art it was definitely a "do it scared" situation lmao; i don't remember where i heard this, but in some cases it takes even more courage to do something new when you're already known for something than it does to start something new with no presence at all, and that was definitely true with the retyrement AU. it was my first contribution to the fandom too! i was definitely worried it wouldn't go over well with anyone bc it was so damn niche lolol

my main piece of advice for getting over this fear (besides just doing it scared until you're not scared anymore) is to get yourself a hype squad lmao; though maybe the more accurate term would be a mutual AU ecosystem. i had squid to develop a lot of the AU with me at the start and we bounced a lot of silly ideas off of each other, and now i have a lot more folks around to crack jokes and hype each other up about our art and fics! also at the beginning i had a point where i was feeling a little self-conscious about continuing to post (the AU had a painfully small amount of engagement at the beginning lol), but as soon as i got one (1) ask saying "i wanna see more of this" i took that as my green light to get as silly with it as possible lmao

so ig my TL;DR advice is: don't take shit too seriously, remember it's all in good fun, and surround yourself with folks who enjoy funny lil AUs as much as you do! the second thing can be hard, as it involves uh, putting yourself out there in the first place, but embracing that discomfort is a necessary evil for having a good-ass time! if you can successfully kill the part of yourself that cringes then you'll never be cringe again

godspeed on your own AU endeavors, the digital world is always better for having another crazy creative alternate universe in it <3

[redbowkid-27]

My oc progress from old and until now and a little news

This is going to be long, so keep scrolling if it didn't catch yor attention :]

Have a nice day

My apologies if im pretty suck at English while making this

Oh hello thanks for looking

So this my oc progress, from aster to liam!

=================================

So when i was bored i draw this lil fella and i was inspired by Enderman from Minecraft

Then when i get to play among us again bc nostalgia from 2020,i upgrade him to this kind of alien playing role as an imposter.

And thats when i gave him a new ability to shape shift, also for the name i combined some spacey stuff name like Celestial, star, Orion,and more then boom theres the name and i pick Astra

Then this

And finally this!

Got to make him have two eyes

=================================

And i eventually make lore for him ( the lore it self doesn't make any sense yet, i just take the point only )

This is where his name astra became liam,the name Astra is too spacey for a human name and thats the reason i changed it to Liam

And that lil fellas name is Azy. Got to make them became friend then sibling which is liam is the older brother and Azy is the youngest

So a lil bit from the role these two get in trouble

Where Liam get killed and tortured then thrown to the deep dark abyss void pit where he then slowly decays as the time pass by, but he still survive with his hope from his little brother little Necklace, remembering that he always be there for him

I call it ( Rotten Forgotten )

Then he meet with (someone) who help him from the void

And this is them now

Update : astra will be a nickname when liam changes

Well thats all of it!

=================================

And i want to say many thanks to ppl who always support me with my little art!

Actually you know what? i was literally making this account just for fun only, which is i dont really care about username and stuff so i just use my oc,s name Astra with Y in front. Knowing that this account wont be last very long

But when i post my first ever freakin art for fun its literally goes up to 6.000+ notes, like wtf i was very surprised, i had no idea how was that going to be that good for a first try, life have a lots of surprise was it

Then i have no other idea so im running this account, im literally very very nervous showing my art to ppl.

But hey, i think i make a good decision to keep running this account, i improve my artstyle and more bc of y'all supports!

And bc of that I'll be soon using my real username

And thats all! All i can say is just Thank you very much for you guys that always there to support me and my art! 🌟

Hope that wont be too long for you guys haha

Again! Thank you and have a nice day :]

[cbk1000]

Anyway, here is another preview of the infamous Train Fic. (There are three or so others I've posted previous to this; if you search the tag 'preview' on my blog, you can find all of them as well as some other bits and bobs.)

“So. Speaking of. Last night. And this morning. Are you--is this…some kind of experimentation? Because it’s fine. If it is,” Merlin said. “Obviously I wouldn’t say anything to anyone. If you just need to. I dunno. Burn off some frustrations.”

The shirt was open; and came down with Arthur's back still turned, with the voice coming to him from the room which simultaneously was too small and vast a thing between them. He imagined turning round, and saying openly into the open, that Merlin as usual was a gibbering cunt; was so obtuse, so worryingly, so curiously a devotee of that ancient art of mouth breathing that his brain, when last its feeble struggle was ended, ought to be given to science. It was not doing much good for him; but somewhere in a jar it might do good for human learning. But he would have to put himself, naked and trembling, into the world where Merlin would feel obligated to tenderness; and though he could have qualified the, ‘No, I love you’ with a blistering ‘you tit’ still he would have had to offer it hopelessly in the first place. And so he said, whilst he was folding up the shirt to go beside the tie and jacket, “Yeah, sure.”

“Yeah. Ok. That’s Fine.” There was a little rustling, and then: “I guess you’re not as much of a prude about your sexuality as I thought. I mean, I don’t know if you remember, it was like a decade ago, but you did snog me just to convince my ex we were together at that Halloween party. Remember, the one where you went as like a zombie footballer or something and I was a vampire and I had to take my teeth out?”

“Vaguely,” said Arthur, who would have gone home with him after those ten transcendent seconds of tongue, and given up heterosexuality and virginity at once. 

“Yeah, I was trying to make him jealous, remember, so you went as my fake boyfriend, and he was like, ‘That’s your hetero footie mate you hang out with all the time, you pathetic arsehole’ and you walked up and put your arm round my shoulders and tried to kiss me but the teeth were in the way so I took them out and we made out a bit and it was kind of awful but he was really pissed off, so I won.”

“It was kind of awful?” Arthur demanded, throwing the shirt down. “Nobody has ever complained before.”

“Yeah, look, it was pretty obvious you’d never kissed a guy before. Plus you drank that really manky thing Morgana made out of, what was it, red wine and Coke? Your mouth was the scene of a crime.”

“What crime, the drink, or my kissing?” Arthur snapped.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, you were a 20-year-old straight guy; none of those kiss very well. And if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t the worst I ever had. Do you remember Anna? She was that girl I started dating shortly after we moved in together? The blonde? Doing Asian and Middle Eastern Studies?”

Arthur, who remembered everyone who had slept with Merlin, whilst he put a pillow over his ear, to crush out the sound of others’ enjoyment, said, “Sounds a bit familiar, I suppose.”

“Yeah, well she used to, I dunno, almost unhinge her jaw or something, every time we snogged I felt like she was going to swallow my whole head, and it was like, ok, the sex is actually pretty good, what the hell is going on with her kissing, it was so bad I had to start avoiding it, because I tried to, you know, direct her a bit, like, look, you don’t have to actually put your whole mouth over my whole mouth and shove your tongue down my throat as hard as you can, and she never seemed to get that, so good luck to whoever the next bloke was, I guess. Anyway, all you did was use a little too much tongue.”

He was running to babble the way he always did when he was nervous, or trying to sell one of those absurd lies which he always pulled out of orifices even more indiscriminate than his arse, which never would have told a copper he was in the library after hours because he had been chasing after a stray cat: undoubtedly the criminal who had not only smashed the window, but made off with the librarian’s Jaffa Cakes. He was still standing in the doorway to the bathroom with one shoulder casually leant on the frame, as if he did not see much excitement in this new line which they were about to cross in their friendship; but the mouth was going on, quite independent of his brain, which must have been observing the tragedy in defenceless horror. It had gone to Oxford; not only gone, but winnowed out one of those firsts which were achieved by so small a percentage of students. Somehow the brain had done that, and was also doing this.

“You know what the proper amount of tongue is, then,” Arthur said, to preclude hearing anything else which might turn his stomach, or penis; and turning now to raise an eyebrow at the figure in the doorway, which finally had done the nigh on miraculous, and shut up.

“You want me to demonstrate or something?” Merlin asked, and shifted in the doorway. One of his hands in his pockets noticeably flinched; and he crossed one foot over the other, then crossed the other foot over the one foot. He took out one of his hands, to itch under his chin and at the nape of his neck. 

[basement-buddy]

did you ever run into art block when you first started posting art online? if so, do you have any advice for getting out of it? i recently decided to push through my anxiety and make an art account but found myself unable to draw anything because of how harsh of a critic i turned into thinking its not worth to post even trying to change my style bc my current one doesnt seem nice enough ( ;´ - `;) so im not able to motivate to draw at all these days ;;

I hit art block all of the time and I know this might not work for everyone, but honestly the only way I get through it is just by drawing whatever, even if it doesn’t meet my standards. Take this time to try some new things, learn some new stuff, draw whatever you want without pressure. Don’t worry about posting anything for a bit and just go head first into a bunch of new stuff. And don’t worry about it looking perfect or anything, or trying to meet your own standards or appease the critic inside you. I know that’s harder said than done, but if nothing is going to turn out how you want it right now, anyway, then why not just try something new?

This helps with your style dilemma, too, every few months I get upset about my artstyle, so I just do some studies or follow some anatomy tutorials, some nature drawing videos, get used to seeing something else on the paper in front of you, you know? If you go a while without seeing your style, when you finally get back to it, you can see less of the flaws. Or better yet, you’ve learned some new things that could help fix the things you don’t like about it.

Sometimes it also helps to look at my old art. The younger me would’ve done anything to draw how I am drawing now, and I’m sure it applies to you as well. You’re always improving no matter how much you’re not vibing with your work.

Most importantly, don’t put too much pressure on yourself! Creating something at all is wonderful. No matter how it turns out, you’ve done something most others just mourn not ever trying. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve created an art account, and I’m super happy that you want to share your art with the world, but don’t beat yourself up too hard. Don’t draw something with the intention to post, draw it for you! Back when I first started, I was nervous enough that I wouldn’t post things for upwards of half a year. I would sit on drawings because I was too shy to show them. If it helps, don’t post at all unless you absolutely want to. When you sit down to draw, don’t imagine the reactions, or other artists with other styles, imagine just what you want out of that particular drawing. I had to learn the hard way that posting should ALWAYS be an afterthought.

Sorry if this was rambly, I’m very very experienced with artblock and there’s just so many ways I’ve personally learned to deal with it that it’s hard to organize my thoughts properly. A lot of these are easier said than done, so just take it one step at a time, and remember that you’re doing awesome, that YOU’RE awesome, and no matter how you feel about it, your art is awesome, too! Take it at your own pace and be easy on yourself. ♥️

[thatrandomlemononyourcounter1]

Keepers of the Lost Cities Chapter 1

Here it is folks. The beginning. I really really hope this goes well ;-;.

UPDATE: I'm dropping the link to the fic on google docs so I don't abuse Tumblr :)

UPDATE UPDATE: We're up to chapter 6! Once we get to chapter 10, I might attempt to draw something. Sidenote, I might actually cry if someone made fan art of my oc or any of the 'bonus scenes' I add into the book.

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE: Y'all, we're at chapter 8 now. I might randomly post two chapters in a day, depending on the length of the chapters.

KOTLC BOOK REWRITE!!

Chapter 1

Sophie

“Miss Foster!” Mr. Sweeney’s nasal voice cut through Sophie’s blaring music as he yanked her earbuds out by the cords. “Have you decided that you’re too smart to pay attention to this information?”

Sophie forced her eyes open. She tried not to wince as the bright fluorescents reflected off the unnecessarily vivid blue walls of the museum, amplifying the throbbing headache she was hiding.

“No, Mr. Sweeney,” she mumbled, shrinking under the glares of her now staring classmates. She pulled her shoulder-length blond hair around her face, wishing she could hide behind it. 

This was exactly the kind of attention she went out of her way to avoid. Why she wore dull colors and lurked in the back, blocked by the other kids who were at least a foot taller than her. 

It was the only way to survive as a twelve-year-old high school senior. 

“Then perhaps you can explain why you were listening to your iPod instead of following along?” Mr. Sweeney held up her earbuds like they were evidence in a crime. 

Although to him, they probably were. 

He’d dragged Sophie’s class to the Natural History Museum in Balboa Park, assuming his students would be excited about the all-day field trip. He didn’t seem to realize that unless the giant dinosaur replicas came to life and started eating people, no one cared. 

Sophie tugged out a loose eyelash—a nervous habit—and stared at her feet.

There was no way to make Mr. Sweeney understand why she needed the music to cancel the noise. 

He couldn’t even hear the noise. 

Chatter from dozens of tourists echoed off the fossil-lined walls and splashed around the cavernous room. But their mental voices were the real problem. 

Scattered, disconnected pieces of thoughts broadcast straight into Sophie’s brain—like being in a room with hundreds of TVs blaring different shows at the same time. They sliced into her consciousness, leaving sharp pains in their wake. 

She was a freak. 

It’d been her secret—her burden—since she fell and hit her head when she was five years old. She’d tried blocking the noise. Tried ignoring it. Nothing helped. And she could never tell anyone. They wouldn’t understand. 

“Since you’ve decided you’re above this lecture, why don’t you give it?” Mr. Sweeney asked. He pointed to the enormous orange dinosaur with a duckbill in the center of the room. “Explain to the class how the Lambeosaurus differs from the other dinosaurs we’ve studied.” 

Sophie repressed a sigh as her mind flashed to an image of the information card in front of the display. She’d glanced at it when they entered the museum, and her photographic memory recorded every detail. 

As she recited the facts in a droning tone, Mr. Sweeney’s face twisted into a scowl, and she could hear her classmates’ thoughts grow increasingly sour. They weren’t exactly fans of their resident child prodigy. 

They called her Curvebuster. 

She finished her answer, and Mr. Sweeney grumbled something that sounded like “know-it-all” as he stalked off to the exhibit in the next room over. Sophie didn’t follow. 

The thin walls separating the two rooms didn’t block the noise, but they muffled it. She grabbed what little relief she could. 

“Nice job, superfreak,” Garwin Chang—a boy wearing a T-shirt that said BACK OFF! I’M GONNA FART—sneered as he shoved past her to join their classmates. “Maybe they’ll write another article about you. ‘Child Prodigy Teaches Class About the Lame-o-saurus.’” 

“Hah. You only wish they’d write articles about you Chang.” A short blonde walked up to Sophie’s side, tilting her head towards her. “Don’t worry about him, Soph.” 

Quinn Parker was a presence not easily ignored. She was also Sophie’s only friend.

They were both only twelve, and seniors in high school, navigating the world with strange abilities together. 

Quinn could feel what other people were feeling if she got within close proximity of them, and knowing what others were feeling was, to quote Quinn, ‘Not fun.’ 

Sophie figured that must be almost as bad as having to hear other people’s thoughts. 

She tugged out another eyelash. 

Quinn shook her head and grabbed Sophie’s wrist to stop her from pulling any more. “He’s stupid anyway.” 

“I guess.” Sophie whispered. 

“I’m serious. You’re way smarter than anyone else I know.” Quinn reassured her, not letting go until Sophie begrudgingly nodded. “Okay, well, I know you probably want some relief from your headache, so I’ll leave you be. Don’t do anything dumb.”

Sophie sighed as she saw Quinn approaching Garwin, and had a feeling that she was going to start a problem that really didn’t need to be started.  Even if Garwin really was being a jerk. 

Garwin was still bitter Yale had offered her a full scholarship while his rejection letter had arrived a few weeks before. 

Not that she was allowed to go. 

Her parents said it was too much attention, too much pressure, and she was too young. 

End of discussion. 

So she’d be attending the much closer, much smaller San Diego City College next year—a fact some annoying reporter found newsworthy enough to post in the local paper the day before—CHILD PRODIGY CHOOSES CITY COLLEGE OVER IVY LEAGUE—complete with her senior photo.

 Her parents freaked when they found it. “Freaked” wasn’t even a strong enough word. More than half their rules were to help Sophie “avoid unnecessary attention.” Front-page articles were pretty much their worst nightmare. They’d even called the newspaper to complain. 

The editor had seemed almost as unhappy as they were. 

The story was run in place of an article on the arsonist terrorizing the city—and they were still trying to figure out how the mistake had happened. Bizarre fires with white-hot flames and smoke that smelled like burnt sugar took priority over everything. Especially a story about an unimportant little girl most people went out of their way to ignore. 

Or, they used to at least. 

Across the museum, Sophie caught sight of a tall, dark-haired, sepia-skinned, boy reading yesterday’s newspaper with the embarrassing black-and-white photo of her on the front. Then he looked up and stared straight at her. She’d never seen eyes that particular shade of blue before—teal, like the smooth pieces of sea glass she’d found on the beach—and they were so bright they glittered. 

Something flickered across his expression when he caught her gaze. Disappointment? Before she could decide what to make of it, he shrugged off the display he’d been leaning against and closed the distance between them. The smile he flashed belonged on a movie screen, and Sophie’s heart did a weird fluttery thing. 

“Is this you?” he asked, pointing to the picture. Sophie nodded, feeling tongue-tied. He was probably fifteen, and by far the cutest boy she’d ever seen, so why was he talking to her? 

“I thought so.” He squinted at the picture, then back at her. “I didn’t realize your eyes were brown.” 

“Uh . . . yeah,” she said, not sure what to say. “Why?” 

He shrugged. “No reason.” 

Something felt off about the conversation, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. And she couldn’t place his accent. Kind of British, but different somehow. Crisper? Which bothered her—but she didn’t know why. 

“Are you in this class?” she asked, wishing she could suck the words back as soon as they left her mouth. Of course he wasn’t in her class. She’d never seen him before. She wasn’t used to talking to boys—especially cute boys—and it made her brain a little mushy.  

His perfect smile returned as he told her, “No.” Then he pointed to the hulking greenish figure they were standing in front of. An Albertosaurus, in all its giant, lizardesque glory. “Tell me something. Do you really think that’s what they looked like? It’s a little absurd, isn’t it?” 

“Not really,” Sophie said, trying to see what he saw. It looked like a small T. rex: big mouth, sharp teeth, ridiculously short arms. Seemed fine to her. “Why? What do you think they looked like?” 

He laughed. “Never mind. I’ll let you get back to your class. It was nice to meet you, Sophie.” He turned to leave just as two classes of kindergartners barreled into the fossil exhibit. 

The crushing wave of screaming voices was enough to knock Sophie back a step. But their mental voices were a whole other realm of pain. Kids’ thoughts were stinging, high-pitched needles—and so many at once was like an angry porcupine attacking her brain. 

So much for relief… 

 Sophie closed her eyes as her hands darted to her head, rubbing her temples to ease the stabbings in her skull. Then she remembered she wasn’t alone. 

She glanced around to see if anyone noticed her reaction and locked eyes with the boy. His hands were at his forehead, and his face wore the same pained expression she imagined she’d had only a few seconds before. 

“Did you just . . . hear that?” he asked, his voice hushed. 

She physically felt the blood drain from her face. 

He couldn’t mean . . . It had to be the screaming kids. They created plenty of racket on their own. Shrieks and squeals and giggles, plus sixty or so individual voices chattering away. 

Voices. 

She gasped and took another step back as her brain solved her earlier problem. 

She could hear the thoughts of everyone in the room. But she couldn’t hear the boy’s distinct, accented voice unless he was speaking. His mind was totally and completely silent. 

That had only happened with one other person.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

 His eyes widened. “You did—didn’t you?” He moved closer, leaning in to whisper. “Are you a Telepath?” 

She flinched. 

The word made her skin itch. And her reaction gave her away.

 “You are! I can’t believe it,” he whispered. 

Sophie backed toward the exit. She wasn’t about to reveal her secret to a total stranger. It had taken her months- no- years to trust Quinn enough to tell her. 

“It’s okay,” he said, holding out his hands as he moved closer, like she was some sort of wild animal he was trying to calm. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m one too.” 

Sophie froze. 

“My name’s Fitz,” he added, stepping closer still. 

Fitz? What kind of a name was Fitz? 

She studied his face, searching for some sign that this was all part of a joke. 

“I’m not joking,” he said, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. 

Maybe he did.

She wobbled on her feet. She’d spent the past seven years wishing she could find someone else like her —someone who could do what she could. Now that she’d found him, she felt like the world had tilted sideways. 

He grabbed her arms to steady her. “It’s okay, Sophie. I’m here to help you. We’ve been looking for you for twelve years.” 

Twelve years? And what did he mean by “we”? Better question: What did he want with her? 

The walls closed in and the room started to spin. Air. She needed air. She jerked away and bolted through the museum, running straight into Quinn. 

“Soph? You okay? What’s wrong?” 

Great.  

Sophie couldn’t respond. She just ran, ignoring Quinn’s shouting for her to come back. 

Sophie shot out of the museum’s ginormous doors, nearly tripping in the process. She sucked in giant breaths as she ran down the stairs in front of the museum. The smoke from the fires burned her lungs and white bits of ash flew in her face, but she ignored them. She wanted as much space between her and the strange boy as possible. 

“Sophie, come back!” Fitz shouted behind her. 

She picked up her pace as she raced through the courtyard at the base of the steps, past the wide fountain and over the grassy knolls to the sidewalk. No one got in her way—everyone was inside because of the poor air quality. But she could still hear his footsteps gaining on her. 

“Wait,” Fitz called. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 

She ignored him, pouring all her energy into her sprint and fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder to see how far back he was. 

She made it halfway through a crosswalk before she heard Quinn’s terrified voice calling her name.

 The sound of screeching tires reminded her she hadn’t looked both ways. Her head turned and she locked eyes with a terrified driver struggling to stop his car before it plowed right over her. 

She was going to die.

And there ya go folks. Consider yourselves fed. No but fr I accept all criticism (unless you're being a douche) and I love knowing other people's opinions. (Please tell me if it sucks :)) One thing I forgot to mention is that I moved up the timing a bit, mostly so we could have newer music and a Nintendo switch in the fic. (I wanted the gang to play Mario kart don't come for me.) So right now the current timing is September of 2017.