#she was made to be the villain in that year

[dolche-tejada]

"I respect shirakumosolos opinion because he's realistic"

Saying villains shouldn't get an happy ending because it's unfair isn't realistic, it's just moral. And claiming these villains deserved to die because "an eye for an eye" isn't either, it's the classic edgy teenager bs you can find everyday on the Punisher subreddit.

"and I also see what you're trying to convey but the world didn't work like that."

Yes and that's kinda the problem in MHA. The Hero Society is consistently framed as heavily fucked up but in the end, problems are either swept under the rug or superficially addressed. Yet Horikoshi treats this situation as if everything was fixed or soon to be when no, shit barely changed.

"You are disappointed with the ending of the manga because the Hero is alive and well after they save the world from the villains."

Nope, I'm actually disappointed by how villains are either dead or incarcerated for life in miserable conditions despite Horikoshi spending hundreds of chapters building up themes and a development for them which should have logically resulted with them being saved.

If a story promise its audience something only to do a 180° at the last minute and pretend it was the logical conclusion, it's perfectly legitimate to call out this bullshit for what it is.

And since this is the topic of this post, I'm also annoyed by how Horikoshi unfairly favored the heroes with a blatant lack of consequences for their actions and stakes overall while the villains suffered from them at every corner. Not by the heroes winning a conflict they were obviously going to win at the end...

"Villains who caused the mass destruction in Japan, which in turn cause harm to the public."

Which doesn't change anything to my point. Yes the LoV committed atrocious crimes across the plot, it's undeniable. But the thing is it isn't the point, the question wasn't about whether they should be forgiven or if they deserved a redemption. Hell Tomura, Toya or Toga never even asked for that to begin with, none of them seeked forgiveness (at least not for killing people).

Their entire point was about them being saved by Deku, Shoto and Toga, this was literally their arc but they weren't. Horikoshi can sugarcoat that with all the "Toga was truly happy thanks to Ochako", "Toya got to reunite with his family" or "Tomura got his soul saved by Deku", it's just narrative gaslighting.

Despite all his speeches about trying to understand and rescue Tomura, Deku didn't save him. Worst, he never made a proper plan to save Tomura or tried to talk with him despite this being literally his goal for weeks

The only thing Deku did during the final arc was beating the shit out of him so hard his body crumbled to dust. That and taking a look at his backstory...

Toya spending some time with his family is sweet but it would have been way more coherent if Horikoshi wrote an ending where he was actually saved by them like they textually intended to. Instead of painfully keeping him alive for a few years before passing out offscreen...

As for Toga, I'm pretty sure that suicide doesn't count as "being saved" either, even if it's to save someone you care about.

"I see your point and I truly wanted the Lov to live but they already redeemed themselves by saving the people they care about.

Except again, that was never the point, this story wasn't a redemption one about a group of "evil" characters trying to be better and actually doing so by sacrificing themselves at the end.

It was a story about a new generation of heroes learning from the mistakes of the previous one and improving society by saving villains instead of just beating them to a pulp (something textually framed as wrong many times) among other things.

But again, it just didn't happen. None of them were saved.

"Toga bleeding to death trying to save Ochako not because she scared of Tartarus"

Meanwhile Toga a few instants before sacrificing herself

"because she finally have someone who understands her and sees her. A friend."

And because from her own admission, she knew dying was still better than rotting her whole life in prison, even with Ochako for friend.

"Shigaraki is free from AFO control. Cool."

And he died like 15 seconds afterwards due to Deku beating him into dust so it may just be me but I don't get how he's supposed to be free now.

"No concrete proof that villaint will murder innocent people. Didn't Dabi confessed on the live TV that he killed 30 peoples include innocent people?"

This point concerned Twice, why are you switching the subject on Dabi ?

"The hero shouldn't kill the villain but the villain can kill the hero?"

When your job is literally neutralizing criminals without killing them, that you can effortlessly subdue them at any point and that they are trying to run away, yes stabbing them in the back is rationally not justified, in addition to being also outright fucked up.

"I can't take the logic because look at Batman and Joker."

Yes and Batman isn't in the wrong for not murdering him. I've already had this debate hundreds of times, I won't refute the same eternal bs arguments once again.

"Eye for an eye."

Believe it or not but most modern societies have evolved over the last few centuries beyond this childish and stupid approach of justice.

Also for someone who truly wanted the LoV to live, it's strange that you're reasoning exactly like the people who wanted them dead.

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[arilevenatz]

Outscored 𝟏┃C.JH

Pairing: jock!Jongho x Reader

Genre/trope: enemies to lovers au

Word Count: 25.7k (💀) [it's gonna be a 2 parter]

Warnings: biker jongho (need I say more?), he is also a bit annoying, but he becomes a MAN at the end

AN: Ok I'm a sucker for jongho, u guys know it. And after he posted his picture I had a seizure. And I kinda slipped and wrote this whole thing. And yeah this is for all the jongho girlies out there like me. Please please please love this as I spent a lot of time writing this!

This is part one. Read part two here-

one | two

The brisk winter air nipped at YN’s cheeks as she stood at the entrance of her new college. The towering brick building seemed almost menacing in the gray morning light, but she pushed the uneasiness aside. This was her fresh start—a chance to prove herself in a new environment. With her books clutched tightly to her chest, she took a deep breath and walked inside.

The first few days were a whirlwind of introductions, lectures, and navigating unfamiliar hallways. YN quickly found herself bonding with Hanni, a bright and cheerful girl who seemed to know everyone. Hanni made the transition easier, guiding YN through the social intricacies of the campus.

By the end of the week, YN noticed something odd. Every time a certain group walked down the hall, conversations died, students avoided eye contact, and some even went as far as turning around to take another route. She spotted them from a distance—eight guys, each exuding an air of dominance that seemed to make the air thicker. They moved like a pack, and the energy around them was impossible to ignore.

"Who are they?" YN finally asked Hanni during lunch, her curiosity outweighing her hesitance.

Hanni’s face turned serious as she glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “That’s Ateez,” she whispered. “They’re…well, the jocks of the college. Everyone fears them.”

YN frowned. “Why?”

“They’re not just athletes. They’re...intense. If someone so much as looks at them the wrong way, things don’t end well.” Hanni hesitated, lowering her voice further. “I heard someone got sent to the hospital last year because of an argument with one of them.”

YN’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Hongjoong is their leader. He’s smart but scary. Seonghwa, his second-in-command, always has this calm but intimidating vibe. Yunho and Mingi are the muscle—you don’t want to get on their bad side. San and Wooyoung? Absolute chaos, always ready to start something. Yeosang is quiet, but people say he’s the sharpest one of them all. And Jongho…he’s the enforcer. If Hongjoong gives the word, Jongho makes sure it’s done.”

YN’s stomach twisted uneasily. “They sound like villains in a movie.”

Hanni shrugged. “It’s best to steer clear of them. Just focus on your studies and don’t give them a reason to notice you.”

YN didn’t respond to Hanni’s warning, opting instead to stay quiet and let the conversation drift to safer topics. Deep down, she wasn’t sure how she felt about this so-called fearsome group. They sounded like trouble, but she didn’t see how avoiding them would be difficult—she wasn’t the type to get involved with people like that anyway.

Later that afternoon, YN walked into her next lecture, the chill of the earlier conversation still lingering. She found her usual spot near the back of the classroom, quietly unpacking her notebook and pen. The room slowly filled with students, but the air shifted when a group entered.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Whispers and nervous glances rippled through the class, and her pulse quickened.

For the first time, YN let herself take a cautious look. There he was—Jongho. He was hard to miss, even without the murmurs. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried an aura of icy indifference, his sharp jawline and piercing gaze giving him an almost unapproachable air. He wore a simple hoodie, but somehow, it only emphasized his muscular frame.

YN quickly looked away, her heart pounding. So this is what Hanni meant. She had shared a class with him all week but hadn’t even realized it. She must have been too absorbed in adjusting to the new college life to notice.

Jongho took a seat a few rows ahead of her, close enough that she could see the subtle tension in his posture. He didn’t speak to anyone, his focus completely on the empty whiteboard at the front of the room. He radiated a coldness that seemed to push everyone away, yet she noticed how other students carefully avoided sitting near him.

Deciding to stick to her original plan, YN ignored his presence, keeping her eyes firmly on her notes throughout the lecture. But as the weeks passed, it became harder to pretend he wasn’t there. He was in more of her classes than she’d realized, and his presence was impossible to miss.

Jongho never caused a scene—he was silent, focused, and distant. Yet there was something about him that made her uneasy. He wasn’t just another student. There was a weight to him, a quiet strength that made the air feel heavier when he walked into a room.

And whether she wanted to admit it or not, YN was beginning to notice him more and more.

Jongho had never paid much attention to his classmates. He came to class, did what was required, and left—never lingering or engaging unless absolutely necessary. To him, school was simply a task to complete, something to cross off his list.

But one day, during a particularly grueling economics lecture, something caught his attention. The professor had asked a question—a tricky one that made most of the class go silent, their heads sinking lower to avoid eye contact.

And then, she spoke.

"Isn’t the answer related to the supply-demand equilibrium in a perfectly competitive market?"

Her voice was calm and self-assured, and when Jongho glanced up from his notebook, he saw her. She sat near the back, her expression thoughtful as she explained her reasoning. The professor nodded, impressed, and praised her for her detailed response.

Jongho’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t even considered answering that question—it had seemed too abstract to bother with. Yet, there she was, providing answers with ease.

At first, he shrugged it off. Maybe she just got lucky. But over the next few classes, he noticed it happening again. The professor would pose a difficult question, and before anyone else could muster the courage to speak, she’d answer it. Every time.

It started to bother him.

Jongho prided himself on being one of the smartest students in his classes, even if he didn’t flaunt it. He hated drawing attention to himself, but deep down, he knew he was sharp—more than capable of holding his own against anyone. Yet this transfer student, who barely even seemed to acknowledge anyone in the room, was constantly one step ahead.

“Who does she think she is?” he muttered under his breath after one particularly frustrating class.

From then on, Jongho found himself paying closer attention to her. He wasn’t sure if it was out of curiosity or sheer annoyance, but he started to notice little things about her. The way her hand shot up the moment a question was asked. The quiet determination in her eyes as she scribbled down notes. The slight smile she gave when the professor praised her responses.

It wasn’t just that she was smart—she was confident in her knowledge, and it was infuriating.

For the first time in a long time, Jongho felt like someone was challenging him. And he didn’t like it.

The buzz around campus was electric when the exam results were finally posted on the bulletin board. Students crowded around, eagerly scanning the list of names and scores. YN was among the last to approach, her usual calm demeanor giving way to quiet excitement.

When she finally found her name at the very top of the list, her heart soared. She had done it—topped her first major exam at the new college. Her efforts, countless late nights of studying, and meticulous note-taking had paid off.

Hanni squealed in delight when she saw the results. “YN! You’re at the top! I told you you’re a genius!”

YN laughed, the joy bubbling up inside her. “It’s just one exam, Hanni.”

“Doesn’t matter! You crushed it!” Hanni grinned and tugged her arm. “We’re celebrating. There’s this cute cafe nearby—my treat!”

They walked to the cafe, the chill of the winter day melting into the warmth of good company and coffee. YN felt proud, her confidence growing as Hanni hyped her up about her success.

But across campus, in a quieter corner of the library, Jongho wasn’t in such a celebratory mood.

He stared at the results list on his phone, his jaw clenched. Second place. He’d never been second. Not once. For as long as he could remember, his name had always been at the top. It was his thing—the one thing no one could take from him.

But now, there it was. YN. A name he hadn’t even bothered to remember until recently. The transfer student had dethroned him, and it stung.

Jongho closed his phone and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His mind replayed the last few weeks: her quick answers in class, the way she always seemed to know everything, her calm confidence. He had brushed it off at first, but now it was clear—she wasn’t just smart. She was better than him, at least academically.

And Jongho hated losing.

“She’s just a transfer,” he muttered to himself, trying to shake off the irritation. “It’s probably beginner’s luck.”

But the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. It wasn’t just the results—it was the way she seemed so unaffected by everything. While he was stewing in his frustration, she was probably out there celebrating, not even thinking twice about the fact that she had knocked him down.

For the first time in a long time, Jongho felt something unfamiliar—a mix of annoyance and determination. He wasn’t about to let this stand.

“Fine,” he thought, his jaw tightening. “Let’s see how long she can keep this up.”

Jongho's frustration only grew as the weeks turned into months. Every test, every quiz, every exam—YN was always at the top. It didn’t matter how much he studied or how hard he tried to reclaim his spot. Her name remained above his, and it gnawed at him.

His friends noticed the change in him.

During one of their usual hangouts, Wooyoung nudged Jongho with his elbow. “You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Jongho muttered, not bothering to look up from his phone.

San leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Don’t tell me it’s about those scores again. You’re still stuck on that, aren’t you?”

“I said it’s nothing,” Jongho snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s definitely something. You’ve been sulking since those results came out. What’s the deal with her? Did she do something to you?”

Jongho sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No, she didn’t do anything. She just—she keeps beating me. It’s annoying.”

Yeosang, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “So what? You’re not used to competition?”

“It’s not just competition,” Jongho muttered. “It’s like…no matter what I do, she’s always one step ahead.”

The room fell silent for a moment before San shrugged. “Then maybe talk to her. Figure out what she’s doing that you’re not.”

Jongho scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, like I’m going to go up to her and ask for advice. She’s the reason I’m in this mess.”

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew San had a point. He couldn’t keep letting this get to him. If he wanted to understand why she was always on top, he’d have to confront her eventually.

Two months had passed since the first exam results, and YN’s streak hadn’t faltered. Every high score, every bit of praise from the professors only added to Jongho’s growing frustration. He’d tried ignoring it, tried telling himself it didn’t matter, but the truth was, it did.

He finally decided he couldn’t take it anymore. After class one afternoon, as the students began to trickle out of the lecture hall, Jongho stayed behind, his eyes fixed on YN as she packed her things.

She was just about to leave when he stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over her desk.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady.

YN looked up, surprised to see him standing there. “Oh, hi.”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had spent so long stewing in his own thoughts that now, face-to-face with her, he felt unprepared.

“You’re YN, right?” he finally asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her expression curious. “Yeah. And you’re Jongho.”

He was slightly taken aback that she knew his name, but he didn’t let it show. “We need to talk,” he said, his tone firm.

YN blinked, clearly confused. “About what?”

“About how you keep getting the highest scores,” he said bluntly. “And why you’re always ahead of me.”

Jongho froze as YN’s words echoed in his mind.

"Maybe it’s because you’re not studying enough."

She had said it so casually, so effortlessly, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and walking out of the room, leaving him standing there like a statue.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at the empty doorway. Then, something inside him snapped. A laugh escaped his lips, low and disbelieving at first, before growing louder.

When he walked out of the lecture hall and joined his friends, they immediately noticed something was off.

“Uh…why are you laughing like a maniac?” Wooyoung asked, leaning away from him as if Jongho had finally lost it.

“Did you finally crack under the pressure?” San teased, though there was genuine concern in his voice.

Jongho shook his head, the grin still lingering on his face. “She told me I don’t study enough,” he said, almost in disbelief, as if saying it out loud would make it sound less ridiculous.

Wooyoung blinked. “Wait. She said that?”

“The nerve,” San muttered, shaking his head.

Mingi, who had been quietly listening, tilted his head thoughtfully. “So…do you want us to talk to her? You know, scare her a bit? Make her think twice before pulling that again?”

Jongho’s laughter stopped abruptly. His expression hardened, and he gave Mingi a sharp look. “No.”

“No?” Wooyoung echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Jongho repeated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not stooping to that level. I don’t need to threaten her to get what I want.”

“But she insulted you!” Wooyoung said, throwing his hands in the air.

“She didn’t insult me. She just…” Jongho paused, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. “She got under my skin.”

Yeosang, who had been leaning against the wall silently, finally spoke. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Jongho exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to beat her.”

“Hold up man what-” San frowned.

“In the next exam,” Jongho clarified, his eyes narrowing with determination. “I’m going to study harder than I ever have, and I’m going to take that top spot back. She thinks I’m not studying enough? Fine. I’ll show her exactly what I’m capable of.”

His friends exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity and concern on their faces.

Wooyoung leaned closer to San and whispered, “I give him three days before he snaps again.”

But Jongho ignored them, his mind already racing with plans. This wasn’t just about pride anymore. It was about proving to himself—and to her—that he was the best.

When Hanni heard what YN had said to Jongho, she nearly dropped her phone in shock.

“You told Jongho—the cold, terrifying Jongho—that he doesn’t study enough?” Hanni exclaimed, pacing back and forth in YN’s dorm room. Her voice was a mix of disbelief and panic, her hands flailing in the air.

YN, sitting calmly on her bed, shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “Yeah, I did. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Hanni stopped pacing and stared at her friend like she had grown a second head. “YN, you don’t just say that to someone like him! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? This is Jongho! The guy who could probably crush someone’s desk in half with his bare hands!”

YN smiled slightly, setting her cup down. “You’re exaggerating. He’s just another student, Hanni. Besides, it’s not like I insulted him. I gave him constructive criticism.”

“Constructive—YN, are you listening to yourself?!” Hanni groaned, clutching her head as if she could physically hold in her frustration. “I’m scared for you! What if he gets mad? What if his friends get involved? They’re not exactly known for handling things peacefully.”

“It’s fine,” YN said, her tone steady. “I don’t think he’s the type to do anything rash over something like this. He seems too...proud for that.”

“Proud?” Hanni snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.”

YN chuckled softly, leaning back against her pillows. “Look, Hanni, I appreciate you worrying about me, but it’s not a big deal. He’ll get over it. If anything, maybe it’ll motivate him to work harder.”

Hanni sat down heavily on the edge of YN’s bed, her arms crossed. “I hope you’re right. But if he so much as looks at you funny, I’m grabbing your hand and running for the hills. Got it?”

YN laughed, nudging her friend’s shoulder. “Got it. But trust me, I can handle myself.”

Hanni gave her a wary look but eventually sighed in defeat. “You’re way too calm about this. I don’t know whether to admire you or scream at you.”

YN just smiled, her confidence unwavering. Little did she know, Jongho wasn’t the type to let something like this go unnoticed—and he had no intention of backing down.

Jongho's determination was like a fire, burning through his focus as he buried himself in his books for weeks leading up to the next exam. He studied longer, harder—pushing his limits. He felt the tension, the pressure building in his chest every day. The thought of losing to YN again fueled his resolve. This time, he would prove he was the best.

But when the results came in, his stomach sank.

There it was again—YN's name at the top. Not his.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the paper with frustration boiling inside him. He had done everything right. He had pushed himself to the breaking point. And yet, once again, she had beaten him.

This time, it was different. This time, it wasn’t just about pride. Jongho could feel something snapping inside him, the pressure and disappointment manifesting as a tight ball of anger in his chest.

That day in class, he couldn’t focus. The words the professor spoke seemed distant and irrelevant, his mind consumed by the crushing weight of defeat. As he stared at the floor, barely registering the lecture, one of his classmates—someone who had clearly noticed his mood—decided to test him.

The guy leaned over and smirked, a sharp edge to his tone. "So, Jongho, how does it feel to be second to a girl? Maybe you should quit studying and leave it to the real people, huh?"

The words hit Jongho like a punch to the gut.

Before he could even think, he stood up, his chair scraping violently against the floor. His hands balled into fists. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. The guy barely had time to react before Jongho stood up, took the guy's phone, slammed it to the ground, and crushed it under his boot.

The silence in the classroom was deafening.

But it wasn’t over.

Once class was dismissed, Jongho stormed out of the building, his anger blinding him. He found the guy outside, lurking near the campus gates, laughing to his friends about how "easy" it was to get under Jongho’s skin.

Jongho didn’t hesitate. He charged at the guy, grabbing him by the throat and pushing him against the nearest wall. The punches came fast and brutal, each one landing with a sickening thud.

The guy didn’t stand a chance.

It wasn’t until he was gasping for breath, barely conscious, that Jongho stopped. His knuckles were bloody, his anger slowly subsiding as the reality of what he had done set in.

When word of the fight spread through campus, it didn’t take long for YN to hear about it.

She had been in the library when a group of students started whispering, talking about how Jongho had beaten up some guy for talking trash about him. Her stomach twisted, and an unease settled in her chest.

The image of the cold, calculating Jongho she had always seen in class—silent, intense, and distant—was nothing compared to the picture that now formed in her mind. The guy had provoked him, sure, but it didn’t make the violence any less jarring.

That night, as she walked back to her dorm, her mind was racing. Jongho had never struck her as the violent type, but now she wasn’t so sure. The thought of him losing control scared her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

YN leaned against the door of her room, her hand lingering on the knob. She wanted to shake the unease off, tell herself it was just a one-off thing. But a part of her couldn’t stop wondering what else lay beneath the surface of his cold exterior.

For the first time, she was genuinely afraid.

And as she lay in bed that night, trying to push the thoughts away, one question lingered in her mind: What would happen if he ever lost control around her?

The tension between YN and Jongho had been building for weeks, and it finally reached a boiling point. The news of the fight still fresh in YN's mind, she couldn't shake the unease every time she saw Jongho. His cold, imposing presence was something she'd learned to ignore—until now.

It was an ordinary afternoon when she walked through the halls, lost in thought, heading to her next class. The campus was quieter than usual, most students already in their lecture halls. As she turned down a less-traveled corridor, she froze. Jongho stood at the far end, his broad frame blocking the only way out.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her with that unreadable expression. YN’s heart rate quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. She could feel the familiar tension rising in her chest, the uneasy flutter of anxiety that crept in whenever she had to face him. But this time, it felt different. She could sense that something had shifted.

She instinctively took a step back, her back pressing against the cold wall. Jongho’s eyes flickered for a moment, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a scowl. He started walking toward her, each step deliberate, the weight of his presence sending a chill down her spine.

"You really think you're better than me, huh?" Jongho's voice was low, almost menacing. His height loomed over her as he stopped just inches away, trapping her between his muscular frame and the wall.

YN’s breath caught in her throat, but she held her ground. Her legs were tense, her mind racing for a way to escape this moment. "I didn’t say that," she replied, her voice shaky but firm. "I just did my best. It’s not my fault you can’t handle it."

Jongho’s eyes darkened, his arms leaning on the wall beside her, the air between them thick with a charged tension. "You think it’s just about scores?" he growled. "You think I care about that little competition? You’re making me look weak, YN. And I don’t like that."

YN's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her fear and anger mixing into a potent cocktail. I have to stand my ground, she thought. I can't let him intimidate me like this.

"You don't scare me, Jongho," she said, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. Her words were quieter than she wanted, but there was strength behind them. "If you have a problem with me, then deal with it without resorting to violence."

The moment she said it, Jongho’s smirk widened, a flash of something darker crossing his features. "Oh, but I do have a problem with you. You think you can just waltz in here and take what’s mine, huh? You think you're better than me because you’re smarter? You think you can just walk around untouched?"

YN’s breath quickened as she realized how cornered she truly was. She had thought she could handle him, but now, with him standing so close, all she could feel was the overwhelming presence of his body. The intimidating way he leaned into her personal space, his arms just above her shoulders, blocking any escape.

"I’m not afraid of you," she said again, though she could feel the doubt creeping in. She was scared—terrified, even—but she refused to let him see that.

Jongho leaned in closer, his face hovering just inches from hers. "You should be," he whispered. "You’ve made me look like a fool twice now. You’ve gone and crossed a line, YN."

For a split second, she could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Was he going to hurt her? Was he finally going to break the calm facade he always wore? But before she could react, something in him shifted, and his grip loosened just slightly.

“Don’t make me do this again,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to leave her with a sliver of space. The tension didn’t fully dissolve, but it was a temporary reprieve.

The silence between them was thick, each of them locked in their own thoughts. YN’s mind was racing. What just happened? She had stood up to him, but had it been enough? Would he let this go, or would this feud only escalate?

Jongho finally straightened up, casting one last look at her. "You’re not getting away with this, you know," he muttered before turning and walking away.

YN let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her legs were trembling, but she stood tall, refusing to let herself appear weak in front of him.

This was only the beginning. She knew that now. The rivalry between them had officially begun, and it would take everything she had to survive it.

The tension between YN and Jongho simmered beneath the surface, manifesting in small, irritating ways at first. It started with the little things—her pens went missing, her notes rearranged in ways that made no sense, and every now and then, she’d find her books out of order. At first, she thought it was just her imagination, or maybe even her own forgetfulness. But the longer it went on, the more she began to suspect that it wasn’t just random.

Then, one day, she was walking between classes when one of Jongho’s friends—Mingi, she recognized him from class—deliberately bumped into her, causing her to drop her bag and its contents. Papers scattered across the hallway, and YN scrambled to collect them, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Oops, sorry,” Mingi said, his tone dripping with false sweetness, though his grin said otherwise.

YN said nothing, biting her lip and standing up straight, trying to keep her composure. She quickly gathered her things, but as she bent down to pick up the last few papers, she saw the same smirk on his face, as if he were enjoying the scene.

It was deliberate, she thought, clenching her jaw as she stood up.

She could feel his gaze still on her as she gathered the rest of her things in silence. But she didn’t let it show—she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. When she walked away, she could sense his eyes lingering, but she kept her head high.

The following week, she arrived in class to find her desk had been vandalized. Not in a big, obvious way, but enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth. There were scribbles in the margins of her textbooks—crude drawings, insults, and even a few threatening words that made her skin crawl.

Jongho.

She didn’t have proof, but there was no mistaking it. She could feel his influence, like a shadow following her at every turn. And the worst part? It wasn’t just him. It was his friends, too. They were all in on it—targeting her, testing her patience, pushing her to the edge. They’d figured out how to get to her without crossing the line too far.

The final straw came one afternoon when she sat down at her desk and found her pencil case had been emptied out. It wasn’t just the pens this time; it was everything—everything scattered across the floor. When she picked up the pieces, her hands trembling, she saw a note hidden inside.

"Better luck next time, genius."

Her blood ran cold.

This time, it wasn’t just annoying. It was personal.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her fists clenching. She could take a lot of things—insults, small pranks—but this was pushing it. This was harassment.

YN’s mind raced with determination as she walked through the campus, every step firm and resolute. The pencil case incident had been the last straw. Jongho and his friends had pushed her to her limits, and she wasn’t going to let them get away with it any longer.

She had been debating it for days, but now she was certain—she had to confront him, face to face. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Hanni had tried to stop her, pleading with her to let things go. But YN couldn’t back down. She couldn’t let herself be intimidated. Not anymore.

She entered the cafeteria with a clear purpose, scanning the room until her eyes landed on him. Jongho sat at the head of a table, surrounded by his friends, laughing and joking as if everything were normal. The sight of him made her blood boil, but she didn’t hesitate. She walked straight up to the table, her steps loud and deliberate.

When she reached the center, she slammed her hands down on the table, the sound of it echoing through the cafeteria, drawing the attention of everyone around. The chatter died down, all eyes on her. Jongho’s friends froze, surprised by the sudden boldness. YN stood there, staring at Jongho with unwavering defiance.

"Stop these pathetic games and face me like a man!" she declared, her voice strong and clear.

The room fell silent, everyone waiting for Jongho’s reaction. His friends exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to expect, while Jongho himself leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, everything felt frozen. Then, slowly, Jongho stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. His height towered over hers, and for a second, the sheer difference in their sizes was almost comical. He was a giant compared to her, and yet, there she was, standing tall and not backing down.

He studied her for a moment, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. His lips curled into that familiar, confident smirk. "So, you want me to face you, huh?" he said, his voice low but full of challenge. "Well, I guess I can give you what you want."

His friends were stunned, clearly not expecting YN to show such boldness. Some of them exchanged worried looks, while others couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Jongho didn’t look worried, though. He stepped closer to her, his towering presence making her feel even smaller. Yet, YN stood her ground, refusing to let her fear show.

“You’re brave,” Jongho said, his voice rough, but there was something almost impressed in it. "I’ll give you that." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “But be careful what you wish for. You really want me to face you, YN? You sure about that?”

YN didn’t flinch. She locked eyes with him, her heart pounding in her chest. "I’m sure.”

For a long moment, they just stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The tension between them was thick, palpable. It wasn’t about the score anymore, not about the pranks or the harassment—it was about proving who had the upper hand.

Finally, Jongho broke the silence. He stepped back, crossing his arms. "Alright, YN. You’ve got my attention," he said, his voice cold but not dismissive. "You wanted me to face you. So I will."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and YN’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t over. It was only just beginning. She could feel the shift in their dynamic now, the lines of the feud being drawn more clearly than ever.

His friends remained silent, watching the exchange with bated breath. Jongho didn’t seem like he was going to back down either, and YN knew this wouldn’t end easily. But for the first time in a long while, she felt empowered. She had stood up to him, and he hadn’t crushed her. That meant something.

With a final glance at Jongho, YN turned away but not before she threw one last remark over her shoulder.

"I’m not afraid of you.”

The moment YN turned to leave, feeling the adrenaline of her bold confrontation, she felt a sudden, strong grip on her wrist. Before she could react, Jongho yanked her back with ease, his hand tightening around her wrist as he dragged her out of the cafeteria.

"Hey!" YN protested, trying to pull away, but his grip was unyielding, his strength overwhelming. She tugged harder, her steps stumbling as she struggled to break free, but it was no use—Jongho was far stronger than she could have imagined.

The cafeteria had fallen silent, all eyes still on them, but Jongho’s friends were the only ones who seemed unfazed. They continued their conversation as though nothing unusual was happening. It was clear to YN now—their group operated on a different set of rules, and no one dared challenge them.

Jongho didn’t look back, his focus entirely on pulling her out of the building. "Stop resisting," he muttered, his voice low and commanding. "If you wanted to talk, you should've done it differently."

YN’s heart raced in her chest. She had expected a confrontation, but not like this. Being dragged out of the cafeteria, humiliated in front of everyone—it was more than just a challenge now. It felt like an outright power play, a move to remind her of who really held the control.

“Let go of me!” she shouted again, trying to wrench her arm from his grip, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pulled her toward the exit, his jaw set in a hard line.

Once they were outside, the cool air hit her face, but the storm in her chest only grew stronger. She was angry, more than she had been in weeks. She had finally stood up to him, and now he was treating it like some twisted game.

Jongho stopped in the middle of the empty courtyard, releasing her wrist abruptly. YN stumbled slightly, but caught herself before she could fall. Her hand instinctively rubbed where his grip had been, the sting of it still fresh.

"That’s the problem with you," Jongho said, his voice cold, but there was an edge to it now. "You think you can just challenge me like that, without consequences? You think you can walk in here and take everything, without anyone pushing back?"

YN glared at him, her pulse still racing. "I didn’t want to take anything. I just wanted you to stop being a coward. To face me without all your games."

Jongho’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew more intense. "You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about you and me. This is about who owns this place. Who holds the power."

He took a step closer to her, towering over her as usual. The same sense of intimidation that had always been there was present now, but something in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper—made her pause for a second.

"What happens next, YN? You think you can win this? Because right now, you’re just poking the bear, and trust me, you don’t want to go any further." His voice was dangerously calm, like he was warning her—threatening her.

For a moment, YN’s breath caught. She had been so focused on proving herself, on standing up to him, that she hadn’t considered what would come next. She had no idea what kind of person Jongho really was, and now, facing him in this quiet courtyard, she realized just how deep the game went.

But despite the fear clawing at her chest, she wasn’t ready to back down. Not now. Not after everything she had endured.

"I’m not scared of you, Jongho," she said, her voice unwavering. "You want to play? Then let’s play. But I’m not going to let you intimidate me anymore."

Jongho stood there for a long moment, studying her as if trying to figure her out. Then, without another word, he turned and began to walk away, his back to her.

But as he reached the entrance to the building, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

"You’ll regret this," he said quietly, his voice carrying an almost unrecognizable note of warning. "You have no idea who you're dealing with.”

YN stood there, watching him go, the weight of his words sinking in. But even with that warning hanging in the air, she wasn’t going to back down. Not now.

She had made her choice. And from here on out, she would face the consequences.

The days following their confrontation marked the beginning of something far more sinister than YN had ever anticipated. What started as small pranks—missing books, random notes, pens vanishing from her desk—soon escalated into something far more calculated. Jongho wasn’t just trying to annoy her anymore. Now, it was as if he were playing a psychological game with her, testing her limits, breaking her down bit by bit.

At first, it was subtle. During class, Jongho would sit behind her and drop her textbooks just enough to cause a distraction, so she’d lose her focus. When she turned around, he’d act like it was an accident, offering a lazy apology that barely sounded sincere. The worst part was, he didn’t stop when she asked him to. Instead, the “accidents” seemed to happen more frequently, each one wearing her down, bit by bit.

Then came the whispers. At lunch, when YN walked into the cafeteria, she’d overhear Jongho’s friends whispering just loud enough for her to catch snippets of conversation. They’d talk about her in the most degrading way, not even bothering to hide it, knowing she could hear. She’d try to ignore them, but every word they said lingered in her mind. They called her a nerd, mocked her for thinking she could take on Jongho. But what stung the most was when they started to question her sanity, insinuating that she was unstable, that maybe she was imagining things.

The insults didn’t end there. As days passed, YN would arrive at her locker to find it had been vandalized again—her carefully written notes defaced with sarcastic messages, her books covered in nonsensical drawings, and sometimes, there would be personal remarks, comments that hit too close to home.

She was starting to feel it—the isolation. The feeling that she was being targeted by something darker than just school pranks. Every time she walked into class, she could feel eyes on her. Jongho’s eyes. He had made it clear that he enjoyed the game, that he enjoyed seeing her squirm.

But what was worse was how it started to affect her. She’d find herself unable to concentrate in class, the constant weight of his presence in the background. She started second-guessing her every move, wondering if her classmates could see the cracks forming in her façade. Her hands trembled when she reached for her books, and she found herself waking up in the middle of the night, heart racing, thinking she’d heard footsteps outside her door, as if he was watching her even when she wasn’t at school.

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal round of pranks in class, YN was heading to the library to get some quiet time. But as she turned the corner, she froze. Jongho was leaning against the wall, blocking her way. His usual smirk was replaced with something darker, a glint in his eyes that sent a chill down her spine.

"Thought you could escape?" he said softly, the words hanging in the air like a threat. "You’re mine now, YN. You’re not going to get away from me that easily." His tone was low, but there was a certainty to it, a finality that made her stomach twist.

She took a step back, trying to ignore the panic rising in her chest. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice shaky despite her best efforts to remain calm.

Jongho pushed off the wall and walked toward her slowly, his steps measured. "I want you to understand who’s in control," he said, his voice quiet but full of malice. "You don’t get to come in here, challenge me, and expect it to end like a fairy tale. You want to keep playing? Fine. But you better be prepared to lose. And when you do, I’ll be here to remind you."

Her heart raced as he took another step forward, his presence looming over her. There was no escape, no way to fight back. He had already won in ways she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She stood frozen, a mix of fear and anger coursing through her veins.

She didn’t say anything more as Jongho turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with her heart pounding in her chest. The quiet moments after he left felt more oppressive than any of the pranks or insults he’d thrown her way. She could feel the weight of his words settling on her, knowing that he had marked her as his target, and there would be no way to avoid his wrath.

Jongho was playing a game, but this time, it wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was about control—and he was determined to make YN realize just how powerless she truly was.

The day had come. YN could feel herself on the edge, the constant psychological torment, the pranks, the whispers, the humiliation—it had all built up to this moment. Her hands shook slightly as she sat in class, trying to focus on the lecture, but her mind was clouded with frustration. She had been walking around with a constant knot in her stomach for weeks, dreading every moment she stepped into class, every glance that was thrown her way.

Jongho had been especially persistent that day. The moment she sat down, he was there, taking his usual seat behind her. His presence felt like a weight pressing down on her, and she could almost feel his eyes on her back, waiting for the perfect moment to start.

Then, it happened. Just like every other time, he shook her desk, hard enough to make her papers tremble and her drink teeter dangerously on the edge. But this time, something inside her snapped.

Her hand gripped the cup tighter than she realized, the warmth of the coffee almost burning her palm, but it didn’t matter. In one swift motion, she turned around and dumped the entire contents of her coffee on Jongho’s desk. The liquid splashed across his notes, seeping into the wood and staining everything in its path. The room went completely silent.

Jongho froze, his expression blank for a moment, as the coffee soaked into his things. The other students in the class watched in shock, unsure of how to react. YN's breath was coming fast and ragged, her heart racing in her chest. She had done it. She had finally snapped.

Jongho’s face twisted in anger, but there was something else in his eyes—surprise, maybe even a flicker of respect. He looked up at her, his jaw clenched.

“You think this is funny?” he growled, his voice low, dark with frustration.

But YN didn’t flinch. She didn’t back down. The tension in the room was palpable, but for the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of control. Her voice came out calm, but her eyes were fiery.

“Do you think this is funny, Jongho?” she shot back, her words sharp like daggers. “Do you think it’s funny what you’ve been doing to me all this time? The pranks, the insults, the mind games? You think I’m just going to sit here and take it? Well, I’m done.”

The class was dead silent, no one daring to speak. Jongho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slowly stood up, towering over her. His friends, who had been silent spectators until now, shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing at each other.

"You’re really testing me now, YN," Jongho said, his voice controlled but filled with an edge that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "You think this is the end of it? You think dumping coffee on my desk will make me back off?"

YN stood her ground, her posture strong, though inside she could feel a storm brewing. “Maybe it won’t make you back off, but it’ll make you think twice. You’re not invincible, Jongho. And I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger and frustration in his gaze palpable, before he finally spoke again, his voice low but cold.

"Don’t think this is over," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "You just made it worse for yourself."

But YN didn’t care anymore. She had finally spoken up, finally taken a stand. For the first time, she wasn’t the quiet, submissive girl she had been before. She had fought back, and even though she knew things were far from over, a small part of her felt empowered.

As Jongho turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, YN stayed seated for a moment, her heart still racing. She didn’t know what was coming next, but she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn’t let him control her anymore. She had drawn a line in the sand, and this time, she wasn’t going to let him cross it.

As YN and Jongho stood there, the tension between them thickening with every word exchanged, neither of them willing to back down, the professor’s voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife.

"Enough," the professor said, standing up from behind the desk. "Both of you, stay after class. You're clearly not focused on the lesson, so you're going to stay behind and finish your homework together. You’ll leave once you both complete it. Understood?"

The class seemed to hold its collective breath, eyes darting between the two of them. The professor’s order caught both YN and Jongho off guard, but neither could afford to challenge it. Both were still seething from their confrontation, their tempers flaring, but the professor had made it clear that there would be consequences if they didn’t comply.

Jongho shot YN one last, heated look, his jaw clenched tightly, before muttering under his breath, "This isn’t over."

YN didn't bother to respond. She was too exhausted, emotionally and mentally, to keep fighting. Instead, she gathered her things quickly and retook her seat, ignoring the whispers that started circulating through the room. Jongho, reluctantly, sat down beside her, though the air between them was still thick with animosity.

The professor, seemingly unfazed by the tension between the two students, resumed the lesson, but the entire class was distracted by the palpable conflict unfolding before them. Time dragged on as YN tried to focus on her work, her hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline that still buzzed in her veins. Her eyes kept darting toward Jongho, who was scribbling furiously in his notebook, as though the homework could somehow take his mind off the encounter.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, but the professor gestured for them both to stay. The students filed out of the room, leaving just the two of them alone, and the silence between YN and Jongho grew even more awkward. Neither of them spoke as they began working on the homework, the atmosphere charged with tension.

For the first few minutes, it was clear that neither was ready to engage in any form of conversation. YN focused on her paper, trying to ignore the weight of Jongho's presence beside her. But every now and then, she felt the heat of his gaze, the intensity of it making her skin prickle. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was still watching her, trying to figure out what she would do next.

Eventually, the silence became unbearable. Jongho broke it, his voice low but dripping with frustration.

"This is your fault, you know," he muttered, his pen tapping against the desk in agitation. "If you hadn’t made a scene, none of this would’ve happened."

YN didn’t look up from her paper, her focus unwavering. She had long stopped caring about his blame. "I didn’t make a scene. You pushed me to it. I didn’t ask for this," she shot back, her voice steady but edged with annoyance.

Jongho let out a low, frustrated growl. "You think I care about your excuses?" he snapped. "You think I won’t make you regret this?"

YN met his gaze, her own expression hardening. "I’m done with you trying to make me regret everything I do. You don’t scare me, Jongho."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension crackling between them like electricity. It was clear that neither of them had the intention of backing down, but there was something else, too—something unspoken, a shift that neither could quite understand.

Jongho let out a deep breath, finally turning back to his homework. The air between them wasn’t any less tense, but at least it was quiet now, with both of them trying to get through the task at hand.

Time dragged on, and the silence remained. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, YN finished her homework. She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and started to gather her things.

"Done," she said curtly, not bothering to look at him as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

Jongho followed suit, packing up his things, but his movements were stiff, like he was still holding something back. He didn’t say anything as YN turned to leave, but she could feel his gaze burning into her back.

"See you around, YN," he said, his tone low, a challenge lingering in his words.

YN paused at the door, her hand on the handle. She turned to face him, her expression cold but firm. "You’ll never get me to back down, Jongho," she said, her voice steady. "And one day, you’ll realize that."

Without another word, she stepped out into the hallway, leaving Jongho standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, trying to understand the weight of her words. The conflict between them was far from over, but somehow, YN felt like she had taken a small step toward taking back control. She didn’t know what would happen next, but for the first time, she felt like she could face whatever came her way.

After that tense punishment session, YN made a firm decision—she was done engaging with Jongho. She’d had enough of his games, his constant attempts to rattle her, and the exhausting back-and-forth that seemed to follow them everywhere. From that day forward, she resolved to ignore him completely.

She wouldn’t look at him during class. If she felt his gaze on her, she’d keep her head down and focus on her notes. If his friends tried to whisper snide remarks as she passed by, she’d pretend not to hear. She even started taking different routes to her classes to avoid crossing paths with him altogether.

At first, it seemed to work. Jongho didn’t immediately escalate things, and YN began to feel a small sense of relief. Hanni noticed the change too and encouraged her to keep at it.

“It’s the best way to deal with guys like him,” Hanni said one afternoon as they studied together in the library. “They thrive on attention. If you don’t give him any, he’ll eventually get bored and move on.”

YN nodded, determined to stick to her plan. She was finally starting to feel like she could breathe again, even if the occasional encounter with Jongho still made her stomach twist.

But, of course, Jongho noticed.

At first, he thought her silence was just a phase, a temporary retreat before she would come back swinging. But as days turned into weeks, he realized she was serious. She wasn’t reacting to him at all. No glares, no comebacks, no confrontations. It was like he didn’t exist to her anymore.

And it infuriated him.

In class, he’d purposely drop his pen near her desk, just to see if she’d flinch. She didn’t. He’d make loud remarks to his friends, knowing she could hear, but she never looked his way. Even during group projects, when they were forced to interact, she kept her responses curt and professional, refusing to engage in any unnecessary conversation.

The more she ignored him, the more it ate at him. Jongho wasn’t used to being dismissed like this. People either feared him, admired him, or tried to stay on his good side. But YN? She acted like he didn’t even matter.

One day, during a particularly dull lecture, Jongho found himself staring at her from across the room. She was diligently taking notes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Something about her calm, focused demeanor made his irritation bubble to the surface. How could she be so unaffected?

After class, as YN packed up her things, Jongho lingered by the door, waiting for her to leave. When she finally stepped into the hallway, he fell into step beside her, his presence impossible to ignore.

“You think ignoring me is going to make me stop?” he asked, his tone low and almost teasing.

YN didn’t even glance at him. “I don’t care what you do, Jongho. Do whatever you want. It doesn’t concern me anymore.”

As YN took a step to walk away, Jongho’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist—not harshly, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks. She froze, her eyes darting to where his fingers wrapped around her wrist before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“What is it now?” she asked sharply, her voice tinged with exasperation. “I talk to you, you make my life miserable. I ignore you, and now you’re bothering me again. What do you want from me, Jongho?”

Her words hung in the air, cutting through the bustling noise of students in the hallway. Jongho didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. For a moment, it seemed like he was struggling to find the right words, his usual confidence faltering.

“I…” he started, but then stopped, his frustration evident. He released her wrist, running a hand through his hair as if trying to compose himself.

“You’re so irritating,” he finally said, his tone low but not as sharp as usual.

YN blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected response. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice growing more frustrated. “You’re irritating. You come in here, acting like you’re better than everyone—"

“I never acted like that!” YN cut him off, her voice rising. “All I’ve done is mind my own business and try to survive in this place. You’re the one who decided to make me your target. And for what? Because I’m smarter than you? Because I beat you on a few exams? Get over it, Jongho!”

Her words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, Jongho just stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t back down, her chest rising and falling with anger, her gaze steady and unwavering.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“Then explain it to me,” YN snapped, crossing her arms. “Because I’ve had enough of your nonsense. If you’ve got something to say, just say it already.”

Jongho looked at her, his expression unreadable. His usual arrogance seemed to waver, replaced by something more vulnerable, though he masked it quickly.

“You’re the first person who’s ever beaten me,” he said finally, his voice quieter than she expected. “I’ve always been at the top, always been the one everyone looked up to. And then you show up, and suddenly… I’m not.”

YN blinked, her anger softening just slightly. She hadn’t expected him to admit that, least of all to her.

“That’s what this is about?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “Your ego?”

Jongho’s jaw clenched, and he looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I do understand,” YN said, her voice firm but calmer now. “You’re used to being the best, and when you’re not, you don’t know how to handle it. But that doesn’t give you the right to make my life hell. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, just like you. If you have a problem with me, deal with it in a healthy way. Compete with me in class, not by… whatever this is.”

Her words seemed to strike a chord, and for the first time, Jongho didn’t have a retort. He just stood there, staring at her, his expression unreadable.

“Are we done here?” YN asked after a moment, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion.

Jongho hesitated, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Fine,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

Jongho watched her go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. For the first time, he felt… uncertain. He couldn’t explain it, but something about her words lingered, gnawing at him in a way that nothing ever had before.

Jongho sat with his friends at their usual spot in the cafeteria, poking at his food absentmindedly. The others were chatting and laughing, but his brooding silence didn’t go unnoticed.

Wooyoung was the first to comment, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Alright, spill it. What’s got you looking like someone stole your protein powder, Jongho?”

“Yeah,” Mingi chimed in, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. “You’ve been weird lately. Is it because of that girl again?”

At the mention of YN, Jongho’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up, but his grip on his fork visibly tensed.

San raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s definitely about her. The way you keep glaring at her during class could set fire to her notebook.”

“Shut up,” Jongho muttered, shoving a piece of food into his mouth to avoid saying anything more.

But his friends weren’t about to let it go.

“It’s not healthy, man,” Yunho said, leaning forward with a concerned look. “You’re obsessed. Every time she walks into a room, you lose your mind. What’s the deal?”

Jongho finally looked up, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Everything about her bothers me,” he said sharply. “The way she talks, the way she’s always so perfect in class, the way she acts like she doesn’t care about anything—”

“Or the way she beat you?” Seonghwa interjected calmly, raising an eyebrow.

Jongho shot him a glare but didn’t respond.

“Sounds personal,” Wooyoung teased, grinning mischievously. “Are you sure this isn’t just… you know, a crush?”

The table fell silent for a moment, and Jongho froze, his expression caught somewhere between shock and denial. “What?” he said, his tone sharp.

“You heard him,” Hongjoong said, smirking slightly. “All this energy you’re putting into her… are you sure it’s not something else?”

“No,” Jongho said immediately, his voice firm. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” San asked, leaning his chin on his hand. “I mean, it’s classic, isn’t it? The whole ‘I can’t stand her, but I can’t stop thinking about her’ thing. Sounds like a crush to me.”

“I don’t like her,” Jongho snapped, his ears tinging red. “She’s annoying, and she thinks she’s better than everyone else. That’s all.”

His friends exchanged knowing looks, clearly unconvinced.

“Whatever you say,” Wooyoung said with a shrug, his grin widening. “But I’ve seen this before. Denial is step one.”

“Step two is overcompensating,” Mingi added with a laugh.

“And step three,” Yeosang said smoothly, “is realizing you’ve been an idiot the whole time.”

Jongho scowled, shoving his chair back and standing up. “You’re all delusional. There’s nothing going on.”

He grabbed his tray and stormed off, leaving his friends laughing behind him.

But as he walked away, his thoughts betrayed him. Their words replayed in his mind, and for the first time, he wondered if there was a kernel of truth in what they said. No, he told himself firmly. It’s not that. It can’t be.

Still, the idea lingered, unsettling him in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

The next day, Jongho walked into college with a heavy sense of unease. His friends’ words from the day before replayed in his mind like an annoying song he couldn’t shake. A crush? On her? The idea was absurd—laughable even. There was no way that was true.

Yet, as he walked into the classroom and his eyes instinctively searched for her, he felt a strange tightness in his chest when he saw her sitting at her desk, completely focused on her notes. She was chewing on the end of her pen, her brows slightly furrowed, clearly deep in thought.

Jongho shook his head and looked away. No. Absolutely not.

But throughout the lecture, he found his gaze drifting back to her, no matter how hard he tried to stop himself. He told himself he was just observing her—nothing more. But every time she raised her hand to answer a question or leaned over to highlight something in her book, he found himself questioning his own thoughts.

Why am I looking at her? Why does it bother me that she doesn’t even glance in my direction anymore?

He denied it over and over. It’s not that. I’m just annoyed with her. That’s all. She’s competition, and I don’t like losing. That’s it.

But then, during a group discussion, she laughed at something one of her friends said, and Jongho froze. It wasn’t loud or attention-grabbing, but something about the way her face lit up made him stop and stare for just a second too long. His chest felt… weird.

He immediately snapped his head down to his notebook, gripping his pen tightly. No. No way.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, but the thought refused to leave his mind. Every time he saw her—whether in class, in the hallway, or even at lunch—his brain kept returning to the same annoying question: Why do I care so much?

By the time the final bell rang, Jongho was more frustrated with himself than he’d ever been. He stormed out of the building, ignoring his friends’ calls, and headed straight to the gym. He needed to work off this confusion, to get his head back in the game.

But even as he threw punches at the bag, the image of her wouldn’t leave his mind. Her voice, her laugh, her determination—it all haunted him.

And as much as he tried to deny it, a small, nagging voice in the back of his head whispered the truth he didn’t want to hear.

Maybe his friends were right.

The evening was calm as YN sat across from Hanni in their favorite cafe, sipping on iced coffee and chatting about everything and nothing. The warm ambiance of the cafe felt like a comforting bubble where YN could momentarily forget about the chaos that had become her college life.

As they wrapped up their time together, Hanni gave her a playful warning. "Don’t overthink things, okay? And if that Jongho guy gives you trouble again, call me. I’ll—well, I can’t fight, but I’ll be there for moral support."

YN laughed. “Thanks, Hanni. I think I’ll be fine.”

She hailed a cab outside the cafe and slid into the backseat, giving the driver her address. The night was cool, the faint hum of the city filling the silence as the cab moved through traffic. YN rested her head against the window, her thoughts wandering as the streetlights blurred into streaks of gold.

At a red light, the cab came to a halt. Absentmindedly, she glanced out the window, her eyes tracing the silhouettes of vehicles and pedestrians passing by. Then, her gaze locked on a sleek black motorcycle that pulled up beside her.

The bike was spotless, its polished surface gleaming under the streetlights. The rider wore an all-black outfit—leather jacket, gloves, and boots—and a black helmet that seemed to swallow the light. His presence was almost magnetic, drawing her attention without effort.

And then, as if he could feel her gaze, the rider tilted his head slightly in her direction. He reached up and flipped open the visor of his helmet.

Her breath hitched.

All she could see were his eyes, but that alone was enough to captivate her. They were sharp, intense, and utterly mesmerizing, framed by long lashes that made them look almost unreal. The dim glow of the streetlights reflected in his dark irises, giving them an almost smoldering effect. It was a gaze that carried an effortless power, like he didn’t need to say a word to command attention.

It took her a moment to realize she recognized those eyes.

Jongho.

Her heart skipped a beat. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but the weight of his stare was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t hostile or challenging like she was used to; it was unreadable, calm, yet undeniably strong.

She couldn’t look away.

The light turned green, and the cab started moving again, breaking the spell. YN turned her head back toward the window, her mind racing. She could still feel his gaze lingering even as the cab sped away.

What was he doing out here? Why was he on that bike? And why, of all things, did the memory of his eyes make her cheeks burn?

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. It’s just Jongho. Stop overthinking it, YN.

But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t be able to shake the image of him so easily.

The lecture hall buzzed with excitement as the professor announced the group assignment. "Alright, everyone! Pair up into groups of two for this project. You’ll be working together for the next two weeks, so choose wisely."

YN sat up straighter in her seat, mentally scanning the room for Hanni or anyone else she could team up with. She had barely turned her head to search when someone pulled the chair next to hers with an air of finality.

She glanced over, and her stomach flipped. Jongho.

Without so much as a greeting, he dropped his bag on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "I’m your partner," he said, his tone making it clear it wasn’t up for debate.

YN blinked at him, startled. "You didn’t even ask me. What if I already had a partner?"

He raised an eyebrow, his expression indifferent. "You don’t."

Her jaw dropped slightly. "And how do you know that?"

Jongho shrugged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "Because I got here first. Problem?"

YN’s fingers tightened around her pen. His confidence was maddening, the way he acted as if he had every right to make decisions for her. "Actually, yes, I do have a problem," she shot back.

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Too bad. We’re already partners. Let’s just get this over with."

YN stared at him, torn between frustration and disbelief. Of all people, why did he have to be the one to claim her as his partner?

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Fine. But don’t think you can just boss me around, Jongho."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and almost teasing. "Wouldn’t dream of it," he said, though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

As the professor continued explaining the assignment, YN couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He sat there, completely relaxed, as if he hadn’t just bulldozed his way into her plans.

Two weeks with him, she thought, resisting the urge to groan. This was going to be a long project.

As the lecture ended and the other pairs started discussing their plans, Jongho turned to YN, his expression as composed and commanding as ever.

"We’ll get started this weekend," he said, packing up his things. "Meet me outside campus. I’ll take you to my place."

YN blinked at him, confused. "Your place?"

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly. "You live in the dorms, right? Too cramped to work there. My place is better."

She hesitated, her instincts screaming that this was a bad idea. "Wait… how am I supposed to get there?"

Jongho slung his bag over his shoulder, looking at her like the answer was obvious. "I’ll take you on my bike."

Her eyes widened. "Your bike? No way."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her protest. "What’s the problem?"

"The problem," she said, crossing her arms, "is that you’re probably going to crash it on purpose just to mess with me."

At that, Jongho actually laughed—a low, deep sound that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Seriously? You think I’d risk my bike just to scare you?"

"Yes," she said flatly.

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. "I’m not crashing my bike, YN. Trust me, I take care of it better than I take care of myself."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Still, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I can just take a cab or something."

Jongho shook his head, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Cabs take too long. Besides, this way, I know you’ll actually show up."

YN frowned, feeling cornered. She hated how he always had a way of making her feel like she didn’t have a choice. "I don’t even like bikes," she mumbled.

"Then it’s about time you got used to them," he said with a smirk. "I’ll pick you up Saturday at noon. Don’t be late."

And with that, he walked away, leaving her standing there, staring after him in disbelief.

As much as she wanted to refuse, she knew Jongho wouldn’t take no for an answer. She sighed, already dreading the weekend. This is going to be a nightmare.

Saturday rolled around, and YN begrudgingly got ready for the day. She decided to keep it casual but cute, pairing a skirt with a cozy sweater and boots. She knew Jongho would probably make some snarky comment no matter what she wore, but she didn’t care.

When she walked out to the dorm entrance, there he was—leaning against his sleek black bike, arms crossed, looking effortlessly intimidating. His leather jacket fit perfectly, and the helmet tucked under his arm completed the look.

Jongho’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, and before she could say anything, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you really wearing that skirt?"

YN frowned, her hands going to her hips. "What’s that supposed to mean? Are you shitting on my fashion choices now?"

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, it’s not that. But if you want your skirt to ride up every time we hit a bump and your legs to freeze in the wind, then go ahead. Your choice."

She blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. "Oh, how cute," she said sarcastically. "You’re looking out for me now?"

Jongho smirked, leaning slightly closer. "Don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t want to deal with you whining the whole ride."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Fine, fine. I’ll change. You’re so thoughtful," she added with a dramatic flair of sarcasm before turning to head back inside.

As she walked back to her room, she muttered to herself. He really has a way of ruining a perfectly good morning.

As YN walked back out in her new outfit, Jongho was already waiting, his fingers tapping idly against his helmet. When he saw her, he wordlessly handed her a second helmet.

"Put it on," he said curtly.

She took it with a slight glare and slid it over her head, fumbling with the straps under her chin. It wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, and she struggled to fasten it securely.

Jongho tsked, stepping closer. "You’re hopeless," he muttered, reaching out to fix it himself. His fingers worked deftly, fastening the hook with ease. YN stood frozen as he worked, her cheeks warming at the proximity.

"There," he said, stepping back and grabbing his own helmet. "Try not to mess it up."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Jongho climbed onto the bike, motioning for her to get on. Reluctantly, she swung her leg over and settled onto the seat behind him. The bike rumbled beneath them, the vibrations already making her nervous.

"Hold on," he said, glancing over his shoulder.

"No, thanks," she replied stiffly, gripping the edges of her seat instead.

Jongho chuckled darkly. "Suit yourself."

Before she could react, he revved the engine, and the bike lurched forward. YN yelped, her hands instinctively flying to his waist as the sudden acceleration caught her off guard.

"Thought so," Jongho said smugly, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine.

"Shut up!" she yelled back, her grip tightening as they sped down the street.

The wind whipped past them, and YN had no choice but to hold onto him as they weaved through the city. Despite her earlier reluctance, she couldn’t deny that the ride was thrilling—though she’d never admit that to Jongho.

As they rode on, she felt a mix of frustration and something she couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, she chalked it up to the adrenaline. For now, she just wanted the ride to end without incident.

The bike came to a smooth stop in front of an upscale apartment complex. YN’s eyes widened as she took in the towering building, its modern design complete with sleek glass panels and a luxurious entrance. It was easily one of the nicest places she’d ever seen.

"You live here?" she blurted out as she climbed off the bike, staring up at the building in disbelief.

Jongho removed his helmet, shaking out his hair as he turned to her. "Yeah. Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, still gawking. "How can you afford a place like this at your age? Are you secretly some kind of heir or something?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

YN rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but feel even more intrigued. She followed him as he led the way to the entrance, her curiosity growing with every step.

The lobby was just as impressive as the exterior—polished floors, tasteful decor, and a front desk manned by a professional-looking concierge. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing around, taking it all in.

"This is… insane," she muttered under her breath.

Jongho glanced over his shoulder, his smirk still firmly in place. "You coming, or are you just going to stand there gawking?"

She shot him a glare and hurried to catch up, determined not to let him get under her skin any more than he already had. But as they stepped into the elevator and ascended to his floor, she couldn’t help but wonder just how much she didn’t know about him.

As the door to Jongho’s apartment swung open, YN stepped inside and took a moment to take everything in. The interior was sleek and minimalistic, with a predominantly black and gray color scheme. There was gym equipment neatly set up in one corner, a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a couch that looked both comfortable and expensive. The only thing that stood out amidst the masculine decor was a small potted plant on the windowsill and a couple of oddly cute figurines on the shelf.

"This is so… you," YN said, her voice filled with curiosity as she walked further in, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the sleek black counter in the kitchen. "Gym equipment in the living room, all black interiors, and—wait, are those little figurines?"

Jongho leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she explored his space. "Don’t touch those," he said, his voice calm but firm.

"Relax," she said, giving him a playful glance. "I’m just looking."

Her curiosity and the way she looked at everything with awe made Jongho pause. His arms were crossed, but his gaze softened as he observed her. There was something about the way she moved—so full of energy, yet grounded—that made it hard for him to look away.

He caught himself staring and frowned slightly. What is wrong with me? he thought.

His mind wandered to his friends' teasing words from before. Did he actually like her, or was she just annoyingly cute today? The way she had stood up to him earlier, the way she looked at him with fire in her eyes, and now the way her curiosity lit up his apartment like she belonged there—everything about her was throwing him off.

YN turned around, catching him looking at her. "What?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Nothing," Jongho muttered, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Are you done looking around, or are we actually going to work on this project?"

She raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. "I don’t know… maybe I should take a closer look at those figurines."

"Don’t even think about it," he warned, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

As she laughed and turned back to the desk he had cleared for their work, Jongho found himself wondering just how long he could keep denying whatever it was he was feeling.

As they sat down at the desk to start their project, Jongho found himself unexpectedly captivated by YN. At first, he had been irritated by her sharp tongue and unrelenting determination to beat him at everything. But now, as she leaned over the papers, her brows furrowed in concentration, he noticed the small things—how her hair framed her face, the way her lips pursed as she thought, and how her intelligence shone through every word she spoke.

She was explaining something about their topic, her voice steady and confident. He nodded along, but his focus wasn’t on the words—it was on her.

She’s not just smart, he thought to himself. She’s… beautiful.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until YN looked up, catching his gaze.

"Jongho?" she asked, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you even listening?"

He blinked, quickly snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah, of course. You were saying… something about this part of the project?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but let it slide. "Right… anyway, we’ll need to gather some more sources for this section."

As the hours went on, Jongho found himself getting more comfortable around her. The way she approached problems with a mix of logic and creativity impressed him, and he started to appreciate her little quirks—the way she tapped her pen against the table when she was thinking or the way she smiled triumphantly whenever she solved something tricky.

Unbeknownst to him, his initial irritation toward her was transforming into something else entirely. He liked having her around. Her presence, her energy, the way she challenged him—it all felt… right.

But he didn’t recognize it for what it was. Not yet.

He told himself it was just admiration, just a growing respect for her intelligence. But deep down, something was changing. Jongho was falling, and he didn’t even realize it.

Jongho leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms as he scrolled through food delivery apps on his phone. "I’m starving," he muttered. "I’m thinking of ordering something. What do you want? Pizza? Burgers?"

When he didn’t hear a response, he glanced up, only to find YN wasn’t in her seat anymore. Confused, he turned his head and saw her standing in his kitchen, opening cabinets and peeking into the fridge.

"What are you doing?" he asked, getting up and walking toward her.

YN glanced over her shoulder, tilting her head slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Let me cook. Don’t waste your money."

He blinked, caught off guard. "You can cook?"

"Of course," she said, pulling out a few ingredients she had found—a carton of eggs, some vegetables, and a pack of noodles. "It’s not going to be anything fancy, but it’ll be better than spending money on overpriced takeout."

Jongho leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched her move around his kitchen like she owned the place. "You don’t have to do that," he said, though there was no real protest in his tone.

"I want to," YN replied simply, giving him a quick glance. "Besides, it’s the least I can do since I’m using your space for this project."

Jongho didn’t argue further. Instead, he stood there, watching her as she chopped vegetables with practiced ease. There was something oddly comforting about the sight of her cooking in his kitchen, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself, a rare, genuine smile. This girl really knows how to surprise me, he thought.

As the aroma of the food filled the apartment, Jongho realized that for the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind sharing his space with someone else. And as much as he tried to deny it, he was starting to like the feeling.

As YN stirred the pot, she glanced over her shoulder to see Jongho still standing there, arms crossed, watching her like she was a show on TV. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why don’t you stop standing there like a statue and help me out, Jongho?" she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Jongho straightened up, clearly caught off guard. "Help? Me? You’re the one who insisted on cooking."

"And you’re the one with two perfectly working hands," she shot back, turning to point the spoon at him. "Come on, big guy. Chop some vegetables or something. Or do you only know how to lift weights?"

His jaw clenched slightly, more out of mock annoyance than anything else. "Fine," he muttered, stepping closer. He grabbed a knife and the vegetables she handed him.

"Careful," she said, watching him for a moment. "I don’t need you ruining my masterpiece."

Jongho gave her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You really like bossing me around, don’t you?"

"Someone has to," she quipped, going back to her cooking.

He smirked but didn’t say anything, focusing instead on cutting the vegetables as precisely as possible. For a guy who spent most of his free time in the gym or with his friends, he was surprisingly good with a knife.

As they worked side by side in the kitchen, a strange sense of ease settled between them. The usual tension was still there, but it felt lighter somehow, almost playful.

"See?" YN said as she tossed the chopped vegetables into the pan. "Teamwork makes the dream work."

Jongho rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head."

But deep down, he couldn’t ignore how natural it felt to be here with her, working together like this. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, he liked it. Maybe a little too much.

As they sat down at the coffee table to eat, Jongho casually turned on the TV and scrolled through the streaming options. “Might as well put on something while we eat,” he said, settling on an action movie.

YN nodded, already digging into the meal she had prepared. She took a bite, and at first, everything was fine—until the spice hit her. Her face betrayed her struggle as her lips parted slightly, and her eyes darted toward her glass of water.

Jongho noticed immediately. He paused mid-bite, watching her subtle struggle. Without a word, he stood up and walked to the kitchen. YN blinked, confused for a moment, but didn’t say anything as she reached for her water.

When he returned, he was holding a small tub of ice cream and a spoon. He set it in front of her without meeting her eyes, sitting back down like it was no big deal.

She looked at the ice cream, then at him. “You… got this for me?”

“Don’t read too much into it,” he muttered, focusing on his food. “You looked like you were about to set your mouth on fire.”

Despite his dismissive tone, YN couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” she said softly, taking a spoonful of the ice cream. The cool sweetness instantly soothed her, and she let out a small sigh of relief.

Jongho glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to stay engrossed in the movie. But he noticed everything—the way her shoulders relaxed, the small smile playing on her lips, the way her eyes brightened as she ate.

It wasn’t the first time he had paid attention to her without realizing it, but it was the first time he felt… something. A warmth in his chest he couldn’t explain.

Why am I doing this? he thought, shoving another bite of food into his mouth as if that would quiet his mind.

Every little thing about her was starting to stick with him. The way she challenged him, the way she surprised him, the way she smiled. And now, the way she sat across from him, enjoying the ice cream he’d fetched without a second thought.

He shook his head slightly, trying to brush it off. It’s nothing, he told himself. It’s just… habit. Or pity. Or… something.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 2)

Synopsis: What starts as a night of drinks and reminiscing quickly turns into something else. The usual back-and-forth with Agatha was supposed to be just that—until one comment lands too hard. 

Word count: 2.9k 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Mild language, Heated arguments, Unresolved tension.  

A/N: If anyone would like to be added to the tag list for the next chapter, please comment on this post. Thanks!

The email sat open on your laptop screen, cursor blinking over the words like it was taunting you. 

You had read it at least ten times now, rereading every unnecessary detail—flights arranged, itinerary still flexible, accommodations covered. The only thing required was your presence. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go. Jennifer had been one of your closest friends for years, and if anyone deserved a ridiculously indulgent, drawn-out bachelorette trip, it was her. 

But two weeks. 

Two weeks of beach sunsets and overpriced cocktails. Two weeks of old memories creeping back in. Two weeks in the same space as her. 

You exhaled slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

You had every excuse to decline. Work was hectic. Deals needed closing. You were literally the CEO of a billion-dollar company. But Jennifer knew you too well, and she wouldn’t buy it. Not when she had seen you drop everything for less. 

Your phone buzzed before you could make a decision. 

Jennifer Kale added you to the group chat "Coven." 

Jennifer: Look who finally got dragged in 😏 

Your brows furrowed. What— 

Wanda: Didn’t even RSVP first. Just got yanked straight into hell. 

Lilia: Unfair. I got tricked into this. 

You scoffed, shaking your head. Typical Jennifer. She didn’t even wait for a response—just decided for you. 

You: I didn’t even say yes yet. 

Jennifer: Didn’t need to. You’re coming. 

Alice: That’s kinda cult behavior, babe. 

Jennifer: Oh, please. You love it. 

You hesitated, staring at the chat. You could still back out. You could still claim some last-minute emergency. 

But you wouldn’t. 

Because despite everything—despite Agatha, despite the weight of things unsaid—you knew you’d go. You always did. 

Your fingers moved before you could overthink it. 

You: Fine. But I reserve the right to bail if Agatha becomes unbearable. 

It took three seconds. 

Agatha: Then don’t come. Simple. 

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. Some things never changed. 

Wanda: Oh, here we go. Round one. 

Jennifer: You two are exhausting. 

Lilia: We should start placing bets on when they’ll actually kill each other. 

The conversation spiraled into teasing and logistics, confirmations rolling in one by one. It was official. 

In a week, you’d be in Malibu. 

Two weeks with Agatha Harkness. 

The week passed in a blur. 

Between finalizing meetings, wrapping up loose ends at work, and half-heartedly packing, you barely had time to process what you were walking into. Or maybe that was the point—keep busy, don’t overthink, just go. 

The jet’s engines whined behind you as you descended the steps, the heat of Malibu already curling around your skin. The air smelled of salt and jet fuel, the kind of contrast that made your shoulders ease—expensive travel and the promise of the ocean. 

Lined up in front of you were five sleek black SUVs, one for each of you, because of course Jennifer had arranged for the most dramatic transportation possible. 

You adjusted your sunglasses, breathing in the salty air as you pulled your suitcase behind you. 

The others were already there, leaning against their respective vehicles, mid-conversation. The instant familiarity of it all made something in your chest clench—too sharp, too sudden. 

Jennifer spotted you first. “Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.” 

“Still showing up like a billionaire villain, I see,” a voice called out. 

You turned, smirking as Wanda approached first, arms open. Despite years apart, the familiarity was instant. You hugged her tightly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. 

“Didn’t want to disappoint,” you murmured. 

“Don’t worry, you never do.” 

Before you could respond, Lilia nearly knocked the wind out of you, pulling you into a crushing embrace. “Finally.” 

“Jesus—okay, okay, I get it. You missed me.” 

Jennifer, Alice, and Wanda quickly followed, overlapping greetings, half-teasing insults, and laughter filling the space. It was overwhelming in the best way—nostalgic, like slipping into a worn-in leather jacket that still fit perfectly despite the years. 

And then— 

“Look who decided to show up.” 

The voice cut through the warmth like a blade, smooth and unimpressed. 

Agatha. 

You turned, and there she was. 

She stood beside her SUV, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her nose. A linen button-up rolled at the sleeves, slacks effortlessly pressed. She looked every bit the polished politician she had become, but beneath it—beneath all of it—she was still her. 

Your stomach clenched—not that you’d ever admit it. 

A smirk tugged at your lips. “Mrs. Governor. What a surprise. Thought you’d be too busy kissing babies and pretending to care about the working class.” 

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “And yet, here I am.” 

Jennifer groaned. “Oh, for the love of—can you two at least pretend to like each other for five minutes?” 

Neither of you broke eye contact. 

Not once. 

“Not a chance,” you said in unison. 

Lilia sighed, already reaching for her SUV door. “This is going to be a long two weeks.” 

And just like that, it began.

 

The resort was obnoxiously luxurious—all sleek glass walls, private villas, and a view of the ocean so perfect it almost looked artificial. The kind of place that whispered exclusivity, where the air smelled like money and the staff greeted you with just the right amount of deference. 

You adjusted your sunglasses, stepping out of your SUV as the warm Malibu air settled around you. A valet—probably trained to cater to the world’s elite—opened your door, offering a practiced smile. 

“Welcome to Celeste Resort, Ms. L/N. Your luggage will be sent to your villa.” 

You gave a small nod, barely glancing at him. You’d been to places like this a hundred times over. Nothing about it fazed you. 

The others spilled out of their cars, stretching, adjusting sunglasses, exchanging looks that teetered between excitement and unease. Jennifer, ever the diplomat, clapped her hands together. “Alright, ladies. Two weeks in paradise. Try not to kill each other.” 

Your gaze flickered over to her. 

Agatha stood near the entrance, speaking in low tones to a staff member, her expression unreadable behind dark aviators. She fit into this setting too well—controlled, composed, untouchable. 

Her blouse, crisp and perfectly tailored, caught the breeze just enough to make her look effortlessly put together. You hated how your eyes lingered, how you caught yourself mapping out the curve of her throat, the sharp line of her jaw. 

Seventeen years of watching her from afar. 

Seventeen years of pretending you didn’t. 

Jennifer handed out room keys, breaking your focus. “Everyone gets their own villa, obviously. We have an itinerary, but honestly, I expect most of us to ignore it.” 

Lilia took hers and smirked. “So, standard protocol.” 

A quiet chuckle rippled through the group. 

You took your key without much thought, but as you glanced up again—Agatha was already looking at you. 

Not speaking. Not moving. Just watching. 

Your grip on the keycard tightened, but you forced a smirk. “Something on my face, Mrs. Governor?” 

Her mouth quirked, just slightly, before she slipped back into her usual unimpressed tone. “Just mentally preparing for the next two weeks of your bullshit.” 

You let out a low laugh, shaking your head as you turned away. 

You wouldn’t let yourself be pulled into her orbit again. Not this time. 

But as you walked toward the villa, you still felt her eyes on you. 

Always watching. 

Just like you. 

Your villa was extravagant—floor-to-ceiling windows, a private pool, and a view that stretched across the Malibu coastline. The kind of place people would kill to vacation in. 

And yet, as you stood on the balcony, watching the sun dip below the horizon, you felt nothing. 

A soft ding from your phone pulled you from your thoughts. 

Jennifer: Dinner at the bar. Don’t be late. 

Right. The first night.  

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating a response, before locking the screen without typing anything. 

Instead, you exhaled, turning on your heel and heading inside. You peeled off your clothes, stepping into the shower, letting the hot water scald away the exhaustion that had settled deep in your bones. 

By the time you were dressed—something effortlessly expensive, casual but still refined—the sky outside had darkened, the stars breaking through. 

It was time. 

The resto-bar was the kind of place that didn’t need to advertise itself. Exclusive, discreet, a sanctuary for the wealthy who wanted to drink without the prying eyes of the world. 

Jennifer had rented the entire space for the night. A power move, but not surprising. She had always been one to orchestrate things, to take control of the narrative before it could slip through her fingers. 

The bar itself was all warm lighting, dark wood, and hushed conversation, the faint hum of jazz floating through the air. 

You spotted the group immediately. 

Jennifer sat at the head of the table, already swirling a glass of wine in her hand, a picture of effortless control. Lilia and Alice were deep in conversation, their laughter punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware. Wanda, ever observant, sipped her cocktail with a knowing smirk. 

And then there was her. 

Agatha. 

She was seated near the end of the table, fingers lazily wrapped around a whiskey glass. 

You hadn’t spoken since earlier, but you could feel her presence, like a static charge in the air. 

The years had settled on her well—too well. The sharp cut of her blazer, the way she carried herself with the kind of confidence that came from knowing people would listen when she spoke. 

She looked up just as you approached, and for a split second, you swore she was already watching. 

You didn’t acknowledge it. 

Instead, you slid into the open seat across from her, leaning back with an air of nonchalance. A waiter appeared at your side almost immediately, offering an extensive menu of aged wines and handcrafted cocktails. 

“Whiskey,” you murmured, not even glancing at the options. “Neat.” 

There was a flicker of something in Agatha’s gaze, gone before you could place it. 

The conversation around the table ebbed and flowed—catching up, reminiscing, but there was an underlying stiffness to it. Years apart had done that, built invisible walls that no one quite knew how to break down. 

Until Jennifer, ever the strategist, decided to do it for them. 

She stood, raising her glass, her voice effortlessly cutting through the noise. 

“A toast,” she said, tilting her glass toward the center. 

You barely registered the words, only catching pieces. 

“…to old friends, new beginnings…” she declared. 

You should be listening. 

Instead, your fingers idly traced the condensation on your glass, thoughts drifting—past the dim glow of the restaurant, past the people surrounding you, past the years that had led you here. 

You had known Agatha for twenty years. 

But you had been in love with her for seventeen. 

And for fifteen years, you had been forced to watch her build a life with someone else. 

Not that she ever knew. 

There was a time before this—before the ache, before the jealousy, before you had to master the art of keeping your face carefully blank whenever she mentioned him. 

She had always been Agatha to you—sharp-tongued, insufferable, impossible to ignore. And you? You had always made it your mission to challenge her, to needle her just enough to get a reaction. It had been your dynamic from the start, a constant back and forth, a battle neither of you had ever truly wanted to win. 

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being just a game. 

You remembered the moment clearly—not because it was special, not because it should have meant anything. But it did. And you never understood why. 

But from that day on, something shifted. 

And then, she met him. 

Her husband wasn’t the first man you resented, but he was the one who took her away for good. 

You had spent years watching her fall for the wrong men, telling yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care. 

But when she married him, you knew. 

You had lost. 

Seventeen years of pretending it didn’t matter. 

It did. 

It still did. 

And then—Agatha lifted her glass. 

You forced your grip to stay loose around your drink, watching as she clinked it against Jennifer’s, then Lilia’s. Around the table, one by one. 

Until she reached you. 

For a moment, she hesitated. Just the briefest pause, something almost imperceptible. 

But you saw it. 

You always saw it. 

Her gaze met yours, cold and unreadable. 

You smirked, lifting your glass a fraction higher. “To old friends.” 

And just because you couldn’t help yourself, you added, “And to you, Mrs. Governor.” 

Her expression didn’t change, but the air between you did. 

Then, as if dismissing whatever unspoken thing had just passed, Agatha cleared her throat, turned to the rest of the table, and straightened slightly. 

“Since we’re making speeches,” she said, voice smooth, measured, practiced, “I suppose I should add one more.” 

Jennifer grinned. “By all means, Madam Governor.” 

Agatha rolled her eyes but lifted her glass again. “To Jennifer. For somehow managing to wrangle all of us back together after all this time. And for reminding us that, despite everything—” 

A pause. A moment too long. 

Her eyes flickered over the group, then landed on you for a second before moving on. 

“—some things don’t change.” 

The words were neutral. Perfectly balanced. And yet, they settled into your chest like a weight. 

The group raised their glasses. “To Jennifer.” 

“To old friends.” 

You lifted yours along with them, but your mind was elsewhere. 

Agatha didn’t look at you again. 

After dinner, the night shifted. 

Drinks flowed more freely, laughter grew louder, and the carefully maintained politeness of reunion started to fray at the edges. The private bar Jennifer had rented was buzzing with conversation, the expensive liquor softening years of distance between old friends. 

You had settled into your seat with another drink in hand, idly watching as Agatha checked her phone for the third time in ten minutes. The glow of the screen reflected in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. 

You hated that you noticed. 

Ralph. 

Of course, it was Ralph. 

You exhaled, forcing your gaze away, but it was no use. The irritation curled in your chest, familiar and sharp. 

“Tell me,” You drawled, leaning back in your seat. “Does your husband always check in this much, or is he just afraid you’ll remember what it’s like to have actual fun?” 

Agatha didn’t look up right away. Instead, she finished typing her response—a brief one, from the look of it—before locking her phone and setting it face down on the table. 

“If this is your idea of small talk, I can see why you’re still single,” she shot back, reaching for her drink. 

You smirked. “Oh, I have plenty of company. Just not the kind that texts me every five minutes like an insecure teenager.” 

Agatha exhaled through her nose, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “He’s my husband. We check in on each other. It’s called communication.” 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” you mused, taking a sip of your drink. “Because the last time I saw you, you were ranting about him being jobless and about how you practically kept your household running. What changed?” 

That landed. 

Agatha’s grip on her glass tightened, just for a fraction of a second, before she masked it with a wry smile. “Seven years, for one. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Commitment isn’t really in your skillset.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “Right. Because settling for mediocrity is so much more admirable.” 

Her expression flickered—just for a second. 

Then, as if deciding this conversation wasn’t worth the energy, Agatha leaned back, took a slow sip of her drink, and let silence settle between you. 

You should have left it at that. Should have let the moment pass. 

But you never did know when to stop. 

“He still jobless?” 

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, but you didn’t regret them either. 

Agatha’s jaw tensed. “He’s a stay-at-home dad.” 

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Is that the official term for it?” 

Agatha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s called a mutual decision.” 

You scoffed. “A decision that just so happens to mean you do all the work while he stays at home?” 

Agatha’s grip tightened around her glass. “He’s taking care of our children.” 

“Right. Stay-at-home dad. Because getting an actual job is just too much to ask.” 

“Y/N—” Lilia’s voice held a warning, but you barely heard it. 

“And you’re okay with that?” you pressed. “Governor Harkness, running an entire state, while he—what? Watches TV?” 

Agatha’s eyes darkened, and for a second, you thought she’d hurl her drink at you. But then, instead of the usual sharp retort, she just stared. Something flickered in her gaze—hurt? Anger? Something else? 

Then, without a word, she downed the rest of her drink, set the glass down with a soft clink, and stood up. 

The air shifted. The group, once entertained, now sat in uneasy silence. 

“Agatha—” Jennifer tried, but Agatha was already walking away, leaving only the scent of her perfume and the tension that crackled in her absence. 

You watched her go, the weight of your words settling in your chest like a stone. 

For the first time that night, you wished you had just kept your mouth shut. 

[makethemhoesmad]

Souls Aren’t Supposed to Attract on Accident

“I was never the villain. You just chose to believe your hero.” -Azzi Fudd

Read Azzi Fudd’s Long Awaited Interview here:

Interviewer(I): So, Azzi, as I’ve heard, this is quite the long story. Any specific place you’d like to start?

Azzi(A): I’d like to start at the beginning of the end. 2025-2026 college season

I: Alright, let’s start there.

A: Well, obviously I wanna clarify the rumors first. Yes, Paige and I dated from 2021 all the way up until April of 2026. That’s right, ladies. Your heartbroken star dumped me right after I’d won a second championship, and right before my rookie season.

~

“Aren’t you so proud of me, baby?” Azzi asks, gleefully dancing around in championship confetti.

“Yeah, babe, mhm. Listen, Az, can we talk?” Paige asks, placing her hands on Azzi’s shoulders to still her. 

“What’s up?” Azzi questions. She knows what’s coming, obviously. She just really doesn’t want it to happen the same night she’s just won her second natty in a row.

“I just don’t think it’s gonna work between us, y’know? Especially when we’re in the W and playing against each other so much. Right?” Azzi hates the way she words it like she’s fucking stupid, like she’s slow in the head. 

“Let’s just talk about this later, Paige. I want to enjoy this.”

~

I: Do you believe that breakup impacted your rookie season play at all?

A: If it did, it was only for the better.

~

“Do you really fucking hate yourself that much?” Azzi nearly shouts. Paige backs away, hands up as if she’s calming an animal, as though she hasn’t just rationalized a breakup being because of competition. They’ve been competing for years now. Is Paige just afraid Azzi will win?

“Are you really so mad I won that you’re going to end what we have? You’re never getting something like this again, Paige!” Still, Paige stands, stoic. Azzi grunts, frustrated, turning on her heel to leave.

“Your loss, Bueckers,” she calls over her shoulder. 

As she leaves the hotel she now knows why Paige insisted on booking, she vows that no matter what Paige does, she will always, always have to be second to Azzi.

~

A: Back to my last season of college. Obviously, Paige and I had just started the whole ‘long distance’ thing. It wasn’t too awful, because her season ended right when mine started, so we had time for each other. Sort of, at least. We fought quite a bit during that last season for me.

I: What changed when you went to the W, considering that the Valkyries and Sparks are much closer?

A: Part of it, I think, was Paige’s ego. She’s supposed to be this huge UCONN star, and in her five years there, she only won the natty once. When I did it twice, it pissed her off.

I: So you don’t believe distance played a part in it?

A: No. I think we could have easily made it through the physical separation, if Paige weren’t so damn jealous.

~

“Good game tonight, Paige.” Azzi says respectfully in the handshake line, nodding at her former teammate and love. Paige only grunts in response, refusing to meet her eyes.

~

I: So, 2026, your first meeting with the Sparks, and your team wins. In the post-game press conference, reporters ask Paige how she feels about your success as a rookie, and she declines to comment. Was this significant to you?

A: No. She didn’t want to say that I was having a good season, because my rookie season was going better than hers did. It would have been like telling herself I was better, and that would have torn her apart.

I: Right, because Paige didn’t win Rookie of the Year in 2025. Sonia Citron of the Indiana Fever did, because they were the WNBA champions that year. 

A: Exactly. I was already on course for Rookie of the Year at that point, but the previous year, all eyes had been turned to Olivia and Sonia.

I: And then, of course, we can’t talk about your first WNBA game against Paige without bringing up what fans dubbed the “repost war” started by current Washington Mystic KK Arnold and Ice Brady of the Seattle Storm.

A: Yeah, my old teammates reposting about being children of divorce. To be honest, I wasn’t all that fazed by it. I know Paige went off on KK for it once, but I genuinely didn’t give a fuck.

~

“Azzi, I wish you could still call Paige off like a dog,” KK laments, flashing her phone screen at Azzi. 

“Damn, all that for a repost about being a child of divorce?” Azzi says, squinting to read the string of profanity Paige had texted her former teammate. 

“Yeah, she’s gone off the deep end. Someone’s gotta help her.” 

“Well, it’s never gonna be me.”

~

I: And then nothing really happened at all, right? Not until 2028?

A: I mean, not to the public.

I: What do you mean by that? Anything to do with the 2027 news article titled “Paige Bueckers Spotted Outside of Valkyries Hotel”? 

~

“Azzi, you don’t know what you’re doing to me!” Paige screams, backing Azzi into the wall of her own hotel room.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, Paige? I don’t know that my rookie season was about a million times better than yours, and you’re too fucking weak minded to let me be happy about it?” Paige recoils at the defiance in her voice. She expected Azzi to balk at her fury, maybe try and lick her wounds. She never expected Azzi to fight her on it.

“That’s a lie and you know it. You know how the media spins things, Az. I just really fucking miss you. I’m going crazy without you, really.” Azzi scoffs when Paige kneels down in front of her, groveling like it would change her mind.

“Get up, Paige. And make sure you close the door when you leave.”

~

A: No, nothing about that. One of my teammates said they saw her in the lobby, but I never saw her.

I: Then the next year, you were both selected for the 2028 Olympic team. 

A: The funny thing about that was, it didn’t even cross my mind that she was also on the team until we had the first meeting all together. I was just so over the moon about getting chosen.

I: Was there tension at said meetings?

A: Maybe some, but when we got onto the court it fizzled out because even after all that happened we still worked together really, really well.

I: Yes, and of course the infamous “Is Pazzi Back?” article.

A: I didn’t even read it. Sonia, who’s now my teammate, showed it to me, and I waved it off. Wasn’t too concerned.

~

“So,” Paige says, wiggling her eyebrows at Azzi as she thunks down onto the cardboard bed they’re given to prevent intercourse between athletes. “Is Pazzi really back?” 

Azzi snorts at the absurd suggestion, even if some small part of her heart is screaming for her to say yes and throw herself on top of Paige. “Yeah right. I mean, seriously? They create a rivalry between us since I get drafted and the second we’re back on the court they think we’re fucking again?” Her voice shakes ever so slightly when she says again, unnoticeable to anyone except for someone who knows her well, body and mind. Like Paige used to.

“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to teammates this time,” Azzi scoffs, pointing Paige out the door.

“Aw, baby, you want me to beg? I can beg, you know I’m good at it.” Paige kneels down in front of her, remembering the way she was in this position in front of Azzi in a hotel room, about a year ago. Azzi must be remembering too, because she kicks Paige in the side and strides out of her own room.

~

I: Some critics said that Olympic team was one of the best ever, but when they look to credit players, they mention the Citron-Fudd connection almost more than the Bueckers-Fudd connection.

A: Well, yeah, Soni and I play well together. We’ve proven that over and over on the Valkyries.

~

“I’m getting a call from a blocked number, what the fuck.” Azzi gripes, showing Sonia her phone. 

“Answer it, you only live once.”

Azzi slides the call to answer, then hits the speaker button.

“Azzi, I swear to God if you’re fuckin’ that straight bitch Citron you better just own up to it now,” a slurred, familiar voices crackles. Azzi’s eyebrows raise, but she’s spent some time around Paige Bueckers and alcohol, enough to know exactly what she sounds like when she’s drunk and jealous. Sonia looks insulted, but before she can say anything, Paige speaks again.

“She don’t even make as much money as you, Az, so I don’t know why you’re even goin’ for her. I bet she don’t make your pussy feel the way I made it feel, huh?”

“Paige, you’re drunk. Fucking go to bed and call again in the morning if you still care.” Azzi ends the call, immediately beginning to apologize to the very insulted Sonia on her couch. 

“I’m so sorry she said that shit, bro, sometimes she just calls and says that stuff.”

“And you let her? Girl, I don’t know how you don’t slap the shit out of her when we play.”

“Maybe next time I will, you know, ‘cause we’re buddies again.”

~

I: Then, July 2029 when Paige went onto a podcast for an interview, she told the camera “yeah, never date your teammate”

A: I watched that, and nodded along. She was right, it wasn’t really going to do much for our careers, though I guess neither of us realized that until later.

~

‘Never date your teammate’ huh? Is what Azzi types into Paige’s Instagram DMs at midnight after watching that podcast episode. 

“No way she doesn’t even fucking open it,” Azzi curses to herself. She’s mad, obviously because Paige mentioned her a frustrating amount of times in that interview, considering she has a girlfriend to go home to now. Yep, cute little LA up-and-coming actress. She’s 5’2 on a good day, and the sweetest little bitch you’ll ever meet. One time, she had the audacity to comment ‘you’re so gorgeous’ on Azzi’s Instagram post. But Azzi obviously doesn’t care

~

I: Basically radio silence from you for quite a bit after that season, no one saw you doing anything until you commented on a fellow Valkyrie’s post.

A: I took a long break from social media, because I felt like the toxicity of it was hurting more than it was helping anything. When I finally did come back, it was because I couldn’t resist supporting my long-time friend Kate Martin and her firstborn!

I: It was right into this past season then, right?

A: Absolutely, I’ve always had a very championship-based mindset. I want to be the best, and I want to do it well. Nothing really messes with my head during the season, I just get so driven.

~

Paige messages back three months later, with a snide comment about Azzi being easily distracted. Azzi doesn’t justify it with a response. Really, she looks down on three-months-ago Azzi. She’s matured a lot since then. She’s deleted every media outlet from her phone, gone ‘off the grid’, buried herself in workouts. She tells herself it’s because her team didn’t make it to the finals this year, and that she needs to. It helps her sleep at night. Sometimes.

~

I: And now here we are, where we can finally talk about this year’s riveting WNBA finals. Neck-and-neck until the end, with you putting up some of your best performances.

A: I love to win. Anyone who’s close to me knows that. It’s my number one source of dopamine.

I: So I bet a win like that, over a team like that, must’ve felt really, really good, right?

A: Oh, it felt like I was riding the world’s best high.

~

The handshake line of the seventh game is an emotional roller coaster every year, opposing players hugging each other, cheering, sobbing, confetti. Everything is going both 100 miles per hour and seems to stop at the same time. 

But when Azzi catches that brief glimpse of Paige, leaning down so, so low to hug her girlfriend, she knows the celebration won’t be what she remembers most. For just a moment, she lets a long-suppressed memory play, of the 2025 National Championship. When they were teammates, when they ran to each other, instead of barely grazing hands and inclining heads in the handshake line, as if they had never met.

~

I: And that brings us to right here, right now. What are your future plans? 

A: As everyone knows, the WNBA free agency trading period always gets intense. This year, my team is rebuilding and recreating, moving people around. While I will always love the Valkyries, I’m making a change. You’re looking at a member of the Los Angeles Sparks!

~

Azzi scrolls through DMs in the hours following her interview release. Some congratulatory, some spiteful, some simply conspiratorial. One name catches her eye, nearly lost in a sea of words.

paigebueckers: Welcome to LA, Az.

___________________________________________ taglist: @purple-paige-purple @overtimenatalie @fuddfanatic35 @azzilov @ldapper @forpsheturnpesbian @rhyxanwaters @bu3ckersgirl @rosemariiaa @paigebaby5 @tndaqlwifwy

[alilabaroli]

You were supposed to retire. After nine years of living on the outskirts and hoping your past wouldn't catch up to you, you decided to call it quits — your biggest nightmare was proclaimed dead, old faces forgot you, and you were nothing more than folklore by now. But life wouldn't be this easy. Not when a letter from your old tutor arrived, asking for help and raising suspicions, forcing you into your past again.  It's been almost a decade, but you're still Atlas Fyndor. You're still a vision of seers. You're still everything they're afraid of.

Play as a “retired” soldier whose future was taken away, and force your way through court intrigues, messy political matters, and personal vendettas to find your tutor and uncover the mysteries surrounding their disappearance. Prove yourself as a curse or a blessing to the people of Braeles, and see the chance to kill what has been killing you for the past decade.

choose your appearance, sexuality, pronouns, alias, personality and skills;

forge platonic relationships from enemies to foes, gathering enough people to help you with your objectives or to make you the villain;

befriend or romance “one” out of six characters, each one with a unique route and obstacles;

have a bird! A good pet that loves you and clings to you like a child does their mother's skirt;

explore a world full of magic, fantasy, and culture while discovering the mystery behind your tutor's disappearance and your brother's death.

SILVER COMMANDER (the guilt), [they/he], RO., demon.

— There's whispering about the new Head Commander; how their shoulders don't stiff, how their head doesn't bow, and how their cowardice makes him the most deplorable thing in the Army. Regardless, they were chosen by the ruler herself, and no one would dare contest the Queen.

LADY VAMPIRE (the fuel), [she/her], RO., sensitive.

— No person in Braeles wouldn't know about Caroline Dourado's accomplishments. An unfortunate mage who made her way through thick and thin to get where she was. Being under her employee, the rumors weren't entirely far-fetched – Caroline was extremely rude and arrogant. But she was your only way to your objectives.

MADAM DELACORTE (the means), [she/her], RO., human.

— You never thought someone as well-known as Jacqueline Delacorte would require such low-fitting services. As the blossom, the rose, and the charm of Braeles, the deals Jacqueline hid behind her white gloves and flowered fan made you second-guess noble families. But you weren't about to bite the hand that fed you.

FEATHERHANDS (the memory), [he/him], RO., human.

— He glued on you against your will; a laid-back, good-humored thief, Alyk forced his way into your low-profile life until you had no other option but to keep him. It wasn't all in waste, at least – if there's one thing Alyk can do, is to make everything you ask him to. A loyal dog to the end. There's only one way this can go.

EMIR'S HOUND (the blade), [he/him], RO., dragon.

— You may be the worst thing the army could make, but you were never a dog – not like him, not like Terra. And you hate him for it. You hate his loyalty, you hate his fear and you hate the love he swore to have for you. You hate him like it's a religion all by itself; no wonder that still to this day he’s known as Icarus Emir's good dog.

DIAMOND COMMANDER (the mirror), [she/her], RO., obscura.

— As the second in command of the Head Guard, Rhoda Nihiri is a valuable asset to the Crown Circle. She's not to be underestimated, nor cast aside – if her skills aren't enough a reason, then for her connection with Raisa Nihiri, the in-command of the Royal Guard.

DEMO (TBA) | [as of now: I have the Prologue and Chapter 1 half-way through. If everything goes according to plan, I may be able to drop it around march/april. For february, the main focus is the character's introduction posts.]

reblogs are much appreciated :)

[main tag: 'af:atog']

[dekaydk]

When It Rains It Pours ep 6

That was a tough watch and I am still having thoughts about it, but it was, for me, really good.

So, first, an admission: I was down on Ep 5 for the "they finally have sex" moment being emotionally underwhelming. I'm still not entirely satisfied, BUT after watching Ep. 6 I'm much more in my original camp of "the showrunners have a perspective and know what they're doing" for multiple reasons.

First, I think that they wanted it to feel a little emotionally lacking, because both men, Sei especially, are not quite letting themselves feel as much in the moment. It's a lot to process for both of them, and in different ways and from different perspectives. The unpacking of this crossing of the Rubicon is not something that happens all at once and immediately it's wine and roses time. We get to see this in the morning after scene where they finally really kiss. That's actually yet another Rubicon: sex is one thing, but for both men, kissing has more emotion to it.

Second, the cultural differences are something that I personally don't always account for, because it's not easy. I usually love subtlety and this show by and large delivers. Yes, Ep 5 is a Rubicon, but it's part of a longer journey and you don't break years of habit and conditioning overnight, especially when you haven't really reckoned with where your feelings are or will go until after you're on the opposite shore. Would I have preferred that there be a little more of a Western drama feel? Sure, but in post Ep 6-hindsight, the way the episode goes feels much more like a valid and understandable choice.

Spoilers for Episode 6 ahead.

Episode 6 Things I Liked

Not letting Kaori be a villain. Like everyone else she's complicated, and was letting her fears control her too much. But she talked about it. They communicated, finally. It's too late and even had it not been, she might not have been able to help bridge the gap (in the bedroom!!!) because she still hasn't accepted responsibility for her feelings about Hagiwara's genitals (this was pointed out by multiple Japanese speakers as a mistranslation: not being his "manly" behavior, but actually him having a dick). She has some (ahem) unresolved issues here and maybe this will help her along. She made him state his position, which is actually kind of fair since he's the one who has broken the matrix they were suspended in.

When Fujisawa tells Sei that he knows what's been happening, Sei is typically blunt and direct. Perhaps even too harsh, but after all he's been through with Fujisawa, resentment and anger are foremost, perhaps even regret that he wasted time with Fujisawa. For Sei, this isn't just honesty, it's something of an attack. Fujisawa is not having this, to put it mildly. What's weird is how he's homophobic about Sei having sex with a man: dude, he wants to have sex with you and you're a man. (In contrast, I get Kaori's confusion, because I think many people would. (The Tumblr community is "nobody cares about gender" but this is decidedly not true of the larger population.)) Fujisawa is so angered about the loss of control over his pet, to the point that his previous (apparent) aversion to sex is cast aside in favor of violence and (it is implied) forcing himself on Sei.

The episode ends with Sei in a weird state, even for him. Fujisawa seriously traumatized him (we didn't see the extent of it but it's clear some bad stuff happened off camera) and that's hugely difficult to handle for someone who's spent years not really reckoning with the fact that he's willingly become a bird in a cage. On top of it all, now Fujisawa wants to take even the little freedom he has away.

Hagiwara continues to be honest and direct with Sei, and equally importantly, observant and perceptive. He figured out that Sei was in a bad state and confronted that, directly but gently, without making it about himself. Once again, he recognizes that Sei is feeling much more than he's letting on and tries to help Sei confront it. But unlike Fujisawa, he will not try to control Sei.

Everyone is in pain and it's not clear where things go next, but at least everyone's self-deceptions are (mostly, except perhaps for Fujisawa) at least exposed.

[cantfightmoonlight]

"Actually you told the both of us during White Elephant two years ago. I was sitting right next to her," She explained. "And I could have, but I trusted you and, as I know now, I shouldn't have," She stated, pressing her lips together as she gave her a small shrug. "It's called a hyperbole. You know, a mild exaggeration for dramatic effect? And I'm well aware when you became advisor. I'm not attacking you. I'm simply pointing out the obvious," She explained calmly. "We both know you don't really care about me, so why bother with the pretend?" Bri reasoned. She already had to question pretty much every relationship in her life. Why add another to the rather long list?

"See. That doesn't exactly sound like you care. Though as for whether or not I would have taken a rational suggestion in that moment, did you even give me a chance to? I lunged at Frankie because she caught me off guard, my emotions got the best of me and I was starving. But, I stopped the moment I-" she paused. Her eyes momentarily drifted to the floor as she muttered under her breath, "Shoved Poppy. Just before you stepped in and, I'm not saying I don't appreciate the advice or the fact that you did, but I also know that, while people came to comfort me, not one actually told him to stop when he was strewing a list of insults my way. Instead, you essentially told me to 'suck it up' and I get it. That's pretty much the only advice anyone ever seems to give around here. 'Suck it up and get over yourself'. But, that doesn't exactly make me want to hang out with other vampires let alone ask them for any other tips. No offense." She had tried to. She had asked Ken to show her how to reverse compulsion and he pretty much rolled his eyes at her and made it abundantly clear she should know how already, though he had been more helpful than most. Ronnie and Safiye were just as lost as she was and Ralph, she was fairly certain was off in some other world.

"And that, right there, is why I've been figuring it out my own. I might have wanted you to teach me control before that ominous as fuck warning? Seriously?" She asked, she shook her head the smallest bit back and forth. "You clearly don't want to help me and I don't even think you could even if I did volunteer for your hellish bootcamp which seems unnecessarily menacing. I was never meant to be this and don't think I haven't notice how my body is still actively rejecting it. I was supposed to die a human and, if it wasn't for the Sheriff's spell, I would have."

"You're awfully defense, you know that?" She pointed out softly, though her voice took on a far sharper tone as she called Ben a 'droll boy toy'. "Though, I'm sorry, a droll boy toy? Go fuck yourself and just because it's art, doesn't mean it's not tacky. While as for catacombs, they're... sad. All of those skeletons piled on top of each other until they practically form of wall of mismatched limbs you can't tell apart from one another? Unless they were some notable official, they become lost amongst the many. Faceless skulls that will go on being unremembered," She wrapped her arms across her chest as she thought of how similar it would have been for her if she hadn't been brought back. No one would have even known where she was buried. "I don't see you as a villain. Maybe, a bit of a bitch, but to be fair, you do like to insult my boyfriend a great deal, so... next you're going to tell me you're like Shrek. An onion with many layers," She mumbled under her breath, not bothering to point out Aaliyah saying that her questions was an 'exercise in self-flagellation' she had outgrown, she was further supporting Bri's entitled bitch theory.

Instead, she stood there quietly. Her gaze hyper-fixated on the crowd with her arms crossed over her chest. It was only when she was told that people cared about her, that she cut Aaliyah off. "No. They don't," Her dark brown eyes met Aaliyah's as she told her, point blank, "You've heard the eulogies. Majority of this town either doesn't give a fuck about me or hates me and they have since the first day I was resurrected. You want to talk about a complaint box? I've been called pretty much every name in the book, not to mentioned was told I smell of death which was an added dose of prejudice for no apparent reason. My friends have forgotten my birthday, stabbed me, mooched off of me, admitted to being afraid of me and fucked my boyfriend before we got together and I do mean plural friends for that one. The only family I have in town left unsure if they'd ever return, knowing they'd forget about me, and they said goodbye for what might have been forever if they hadn't come back over a note. The only person I have in my life who I know for certain loves me unconditionally and would never leave is Ben and he's missing his fucking leg now because of this godforsaken town. So, when I say why bother it is because there is literally no point. I know plenty about myself. I know I've spent the past three years trying to be liked by you god awful people and it doesn't change anything. It doesn't matter how I act. It doesn't matter what I do, all roads end the same. So, why bother? You can call it self-flagellation, if you want to, but I call it me no longer giving a fuck because there are a very few of you who are actually worth it."

"I wasn't in there throwing a fucking pity party. I was saying goodbye to the girl who died, which was originally supposed to be the whole point of this thing," She rolled her eyes as she kicked herself up off of the booth she had been leaning again. "I never had a funeral, though... wow. Are you going to be condescending this entire conversation? Because at this point, I might as well make it into a drinking game," A dry laugh broke from her lips. It was truly ironic how much Aaliyah seemed to think she had a read on the situation. "I've been letting myself 'feel it' for the past three years and I've been to nearly everybody else. Gia's unhinged, Ken barely puts up with me, Ralph and Ernie are still living in 1955, Meena's recovering from being malled by a wolf, Rio's often to busy to even get a coffee let alone fill me in and Saf and Ronnie are just as new at this as I am. So, save the whole 'I've got to want it and seek it out' pep talk. I've been seeking it out. What more do I have to do? Invest in a literal bat signal? Carry around a flashing neon sign that says 'help'?"

"No, I don't remember that," Aaliyah mused, nonplussed by Bri's reaction. "Mostly because I didn't tell you, I told one of your friends. You could have confirmed that with literally any other vampire in town. But, really? It takes time to 'burn to a crisp.' You didn't think that, I don't know, you should possibly head on inside when the skin irritation started sinking in?" she asked, eyebrow raised. "I also wasn't the clan's advisor at that time, just a member. But, please, keep the critiques coming. I do so love to hear about all the things I'm doing wrong for our esteemed organization." She laughed. "And I would have snapped your neck, too, if the moment required it because you were not thinking rationally, and you would not have taken a rational suggestion at that moment. I offered you help after, too, if you recall. But fine. You want me to teach you control? I'll teach you about control. You won't like it," she said, her tone lacking any sort of bite. It wasn't a threat. It was just a fact. So few with a lack of control had other issues within themselves that they needed to work through, and coming to terms with their own inner turmoil was hardly easy. "But, again, please. Keep it coming. I should open up a complaints box, start up a petition to have me replaced. Wanna be the first signature?"

She wondered if Brielle noticed that she'd left the confessional. Perhaps instigating Bri wasn't the kindest thing in the world, but Aaliyah was of the mindset that what we needed, really needed, was what was kind to us. Kindness was good, sure. But it wouldn't help someone who refused to accept it. "I thought you and that droll boy toy of yours were appreciative of the arts and history. Tacky gothic architecture. Please, it's art. And catacombs used to be reverent. Horror movies making them into something, well, horrific is... so basic. There's nothing scary about the dead or the places that house them. It doesn't have to be cheerful." She looked at Bri before shrugging. "I like metal. Some of the new stuff's pretty good. I like a lot of things, though. I know you see me as some one note villain, but the tragedy of it all is that I, against my will, contain multitudes." Layers and faces and people built on top of people to construct the person that she was, for better or for worse.

Aaliyah just sighed. "Bri, constantly asking yourself 'why bother' is an exercise in self-flagellation that I've outgrown. But let's just go through with it. Fine. Why bother?" Aaliyah raised her hands up and looked around. "Because people care about you. Because I was under the assumption that you care about people. Please, though, correct me if I'm wrong. I fucking love Council gossip." It wasn't the truth, but if it could push a button or two, then fine. "Why bother? Because you have a lot left to learn, and a lot left to live." She looked at Bri, her face a mask. "You know nothing about me. What I give a damn about, what I don't. I'm almost positive that you know nothing about yourself, either." Aaliyah brushed a speck of dirt from her jacket.

"You are allowed to do this, by the way," she said off-handedly. "This pity-party at your birthday party. Not because it's you're birthday, but because you're a person and you're allowed to feel shit, even if it feels like shit. But I will tell you that it won't stay like this. Not in a 'chin up, kiddo, it won't stay like this forever!' kind of way, but in the fact that nothing stays the same kind of way. Even us. You will, of course, outwardly remain as you are now, but all the stuff inside that makes you a person? That changes. Constantly." She stepped forward, taking Bri in, the sort of beat down attitude that she had. "So feel it. Or don't. But those issues that you have with your control? Some of that stems from other shit that you should work on figuring out. If you don't want to do it with me, that's fine. Meena's available. There are other, older vampires in the clan that have been through similar shit that are around, and only most of them are assholes. But you've got to want it, and you've got to seek it out."

[sunshineandlyrics]

Cher Lloyd about asking for money to promote her album in America x

The 'Cher Lloyd Exclusive. The truth about Xfactor with One Direction! I refused to be nothing' interview on the We Need To Talk podcast (28 January 2025) x x

Cher competed on Xfactor in 2010 with One Direction (she came in fourth place). She mentions how the boys were caring and lovely guys who loved to sing like her. She also shared some fond memories of living and hanging out with the boys.

[iristial]

What I like about episode 5 is that even though Bouche supposedly had noble intentions for making Michiru and Shouma miserable for years, he still hurt them and Shouma's feelings aren't rendered invalid because "Bouche did it out of love". An explanation isn't going to erase the years Shouma spent seeing his mother cry for countless nights - or resolve his trauma and helplessness when his half siblings murdered his mother, even though she didn't qualify as good Dark Snack spice (therefore rendering Bouche's efforts moot; it just delayed the inevitable, sadistic actions of his other children)

I also like how Shouma, by deciding he wants to keep making people happy despite the risks, is breaking away from perpetuating a cycle created by his father? Bouche thought letting Michiru and Shouma be happy would put them in danger, but rather than gathering his resolve to protect them with everything he had - or send them far away - or at the very least shut down the very company profiting off the deaths of humans - he isolated them and treated them horribly. In a similar vein, Shouma tried to isolate himself from humans; initially because he saw himself as a monster (which ties into his poor self-image), then because his presence made humans prime Dark Snack ingredients. However, how effective is that strategy when Shouma's left lonely and with no way of really moving forward from the past, while the people he made new connections with are left wondering if they did something wrong, and possibly develop misconceptions about him? It's ultimately a useless course of action, and if anything continues to pin the blame on Shouma and other targeted humans when the fault truly lies with a family relying on the happiness of the 'weak' to assert their superiority

[houseofmad]

Tbh I keep forgetting to post anything on my tumblr. I have a backlog of drawings I don’t think I’ve posted here cause I just forget but taking a break from the usual Fate posting to uhhh do post the other fandom eating my brain atm. {I will color the above drawing someday}.

Silly relationship chart thingy

Silly quick doodles I did today cause I’m off from work and university.

[proodence]

I'm rewatching Alex Rider for like the 7th time but with my boyfriend and guys season 2 is so fucking good SEASON 2 IS SOOO GOOD

Alex being such a cheeky brat with the department and Alan Blunt losing his mind because Alex is being so clever and annoying

The slowly building mystery with all the pieces that gradually come together

Alex and Kyra being so cute with the washer and "survivors club" and "keeping score" of who has saved each other's life the most (and the end scene where he's looking up at her from the stage🥹😭)

Jack having her own storyline that actually serves the story and gives her character a purpose

Tom and Kyra both helping to progress the plot in ways that are genuinely required from them and makes sense for their characters

The subtle hints that Yassen is going to wind up helping Alex in the end, the way his character gradually becomes more complex with each episode

Alex just generally being so smart, so resourceful, so capable and just really encompassing his character, not to mention the genuine depth that comes from his trauma + him accidentally getting people killed over the course of the season (Blunt telling him he has blood on his hands)

The tension that builds within The Department as Smithers and Mrs. Jones start keeping secrets from Blunt about Alex

Damian Cray just getting absolutely dogpiled by Alex and the gang who just keep screwing over his plan again and again

Alex and Yassen FINALLY having a full conversation and it holds so much weight and hits so good

The part where Sabina cracks Anders over the head with her own laptop (honorable mention)

All the cheeky light hearted bits where the kids are just being shitheads with too much power, like cutting off the electricity to the whole postal code just to use the computer lab

And then on the flip the angst that comes from literally no one believing Alex about anything for like 60% of the season

It's just scene after scene of "oH THIS PARTS SO GOOD" and it doesn't stop until the very end

has it been long enough that I can say that season 3 just doesn't hit the same😭

[marblerose-rue]

got asked to draw two of my old wc rp ocs :-) left is cicadahop, right is scallopstar

[navree]

i need pepe larraz to draw for doctor strange more because this is the hottest clea has looked, on god

[luv-again]

came to the shocking revelation that I've been writing fanfic for almost 10 years

[seaweedstarshine]

RIP Krakoa 🌹 I can’t lie I’ve been kinda behind since midway through Fall of X I’m gonna catch up before my first SDCC this summer but I hear Vulcan didn’t see much action anyway. Anyway my hand slipped and I found myself looking into the eyes of my canonically psychotic son the best Summers brother who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, (he’s done lotsa wrong things but I love him more for it)

[whippedcloudsofcream]

Finding Bo-Katan fans that despise Satine is so ???? Bo-Katan would hate your ass 😭