#wow this was fun but i spent way more time on it than i meant to whoops

[yojeongin]

playing dangerous | k.dy

→bff��s stepdad!doyoung x f!reader

genre: smut, semi-angst, some fluff, forbidden affair, semi-character study

synopsis: summers are meant to be spent having fun with your best friend not fooling around with her step father.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! cheating, age gap (not focused between mcs), yearning, power imbalance, massive frued psychosexual theory undertones (that old man won), morally grey characters, alluding to cycle of predation and abuse of power, manipulation, lowkey ageism, doyoung heavy mommy issues (worrying actually), oral (m receiving), cum kiss, fingering, foot play, unprotected sex, creampie, voyeurism.

wc: 15.8k || anthology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3

© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: sorry this took longer than expected, im 3hrs late oops. the corporate lifestyle has been kicking my ass so bad (im so fucking miserable) and i wasn't satisfied with what i was going to post last week anyway so hope this is better (hope).

“Are you sure that’s your step dad and not step brother?”

Disbelief was too soft of a word for what you truly thought. When your friend had given you notice that her mother had married her boyfriend of two years (news to you), you had expected the man to be decrepit and gray haired. Not someone not too much older than what you were. 

Earlier you had confused him with one of the movers who helped bring in your friend’s and her mother’s items into the new home. You went as far as shooting him a flirty smile while making way to your friend who sat peacefully on the porch swing with a glass of cold lemonade to aid her from this horrid summer heat. 

“Yeah…“ she whines, throwing her head back enough to hit herself a tad with the backrest. “He makes her happy. As long as he does, I don’t care how old he is.” She felt judged by your constant questioning. As if she was the one marrying the man. As if she was living through her mother and her decisions to wed someone significantly younger than her. You were the last person she wanted to feel judged by, however could they truly blame your incessant curiosity and shock? Specifically when you never knew her mother was dating. What kind of best friend are you to not be as close as you believed?

Meghan wasn’t the youngest, the woman was sixty and this man looked to be in his late twenties. How could they blame you for your curiosity? 

“So how old is he?” You shift beside her, the swing rocking with every move. “He turned thirty in February. She hasn’t had a partner since I can remember, this is good for her.” Her words attempt to convince her more than you, emphasized by the harsh desperate slurping within the empty glass.

Your friend turned 25 in February too.

“Oh wow, so since he was a kid too?” You joke. It doesn’t land.

“Y/n!” She hits your arm, you laugh in return. “What?!” You whine through laughs, this time purposely rocking the swing. “Come on…” It aches like nails on a chalkboard if she thinks about it. Meghan is her mother, she could easily be Doyoung’s mother as well. She knew Doyoung's mother.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She sighs, hands and glass on her lap. “Yes, the age gap is insane but… they’re old enough.” Your friend frowns, another attempt to convince herself and failing miserably.

Raising your hands in defeat, she smiles, continuing her playful acts of harm. “Want a glass?” She offers, you decline, your mind stuck on the beautiful man standing roughly a few feet away from where you two sat. Your head struggles to not turn his way and gawk like you’ve done earlier. It's difficult, you'll find throughout these months.

You knew you shouldn’t be fawning the way you are. After all, he is now Meghan’s husband. Meghan who has treated you like her own child since Pre-K. But God, you couldn’t help admire the way sweat rolled down his face and the way he wiped it away with the back of his delicate hands. 

At this moment, you’re not too bitter about your summer plans being halted. Not when he’s noticed your covetous glances and sly grins. Perhaps that's what started it all. Your restraint, pulling him step by step to where you sat. Sweat adorning his face and forcing his hair to frame his beautiful features, glistening in this sun.

A tender smile to the public eye but a reciprocative grin to you, “Welcome girls.” He smiles, wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up from the airport.” He turns halfway to look at the movers entering the home. “Duty calls.”

He was cliche with his words, yet smooth enough to make your grin widen. Like a white collar in those vintage Hollywood movies. His voice, softer than imagined. He drew you in the same way you drew him. It was bound to happen.

Tina shook her head, a dismissive and polite smile. She covers her eyes from the sun which did not ambush either. Rather, it was a futile attempt to shield her emotions, easily projected onto her eyes. It’s not resentment she felt towards him. Discomfort and confusion for his decisions is.

Doyoung looks at you briefly, as if to say “I suppose we are not there yet?”, answered by your own polite smile. He dismissed it immediately, shaking his head with a slight chuckle which forced Tina to uncover her eyes, confused.

“Will you be a dear and get me a drink?” He asks when their eyes finally meet. If it means that he won’t read her any longer, Tina nods standing up. She’s out of the picture faster than he had asked without a care that Doyoung took her spot next to you. 

Doyoung smiles your way, his knee bumping into yours while he settles. You return the smile, looking at the contact. Your legs criss-crossed on the swing and his rocking you both. It’s silent besides the movers and Meghan’s music inside the home. Nevertheless, this feels comfortable, scarily so for a first-time meeting.

“I’m sorry for being the reason you two had to cancel your trip.” Doyoung leans over, elbows on his thighs. His back is on full display, wet shirt clinging to the wide muscles that force your lower lip in between your upper teeth.

Your eyes don’t unglue from him, chills running across your body for such a warm day. You sigh, following a streak and bead of sweat from his temple down to his neck. “It's fine, we didn't want to walk around for hours and see old buildings.” You reassure sarcastically, although the tone deadpans.

“No? But Italy is very beauteous. Meghan recounted, you two had been planning on it as an incentive to get through grad school. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Doyoung did not expect to be met with laughter. He was soft spoken, tender, genuinely sorrowful, and a welcoming host. Why must you laugh at him? He’s not too sure.

His quizzical look does not subside, “I was joking, Mr. Kim.” You giggle, wiping at your threatening tears. His eyebrows furrow, yet, folds his handkerchief to a clean corner, doing the task for you. He's so close. So comfortable with being this near to a complete stranger.

“You’re narrowly five years younger than I. Please don't call me that.” He defends petulantly, forgetting about what brought you both to this topic. It sounds insane and dumb to be called that as if he was his father or an old man, he was only thirty.

It is insane and so is marrying a woman who was his current age when he was born.

You hum a response, turning away from him with a slow nod. “Do you always talk like that?” Your voice lures him again, craning his head to look at you. “Like you’re a pretentious liberal arts professor.” It’s lighthearted and mocking at the same time. Your smile slowly forms and he mirrors it.

“My father is a professor. Not for the liberal arts though but perhaps it rubbed off.” “Perhaps.”

He laughs softly in light of your continuing mockery, “Y/n, correct? I fear I haven’t properly introduced myself.” Doyoung shifts in his spot, his body facing you. He extends his hand and you take it. His fingers are nimble and long, his palms clammy but soft, and his grasp is strong but delicate against your own. 

Your smile doesn’t falter, thumb caressing his knuckles, an act he replicates against your own. “Yes… beautiful house by the way. What do you do for a living?" You ask curiously, met by a scolding shriek when Tina and Meghan come out with glasses of lemonade, something you did not want. Lemonade and their interruption, it's interchangeable.

"Y/n those things are not asked!" Meghan scolds, handing Doyoung his glass. He laughs, shaking his head while taking a sip. You watch some of it slip from the corner of his lip. He is such an unfortunate person when it comes to liquids, it seems. Regardless, you wondered what it would be like to clean it off of him…

Someone cleanse you of these thoughts, this is forbidden grounds.

"Why not?" You ask confusedly, looking at the components inside the cup. Nothing but murky pulp-filled sweet water. Your emotions present on your face, perceived wrongly by the only man there who felt it was your response to being scolded. "It's completely fine to ask that now, don't worry." Meghan shoots him a look, irksome at the use of 'now'. She doesn't have to wonder what he meant, only in dissecting his tone.

"I'm an aerodynamicist. Right now we're working on finding a solution to reduce the consumption of fuel." His voice is a pitch higher, tossing that pretentious tone to his words, forgetting his drink while fully turning to everyone as he excitedly gets into the topic. "The main culprit —or so we think��� is the wings… let's say the wings of an aircraft. Their shape to be specific contributes to th—" Before he could finish, Meghan hums interrupting. Her words later followed, "Yeah, yeah, sounds fun. Dinner is ready so it's best we stop the chit-chat if we want something warm to eat."

Both you and Tina turn to her mother, a quick glance full of judgment and some surprise. She's never interrupted any of you when passionately speaking about your interests, this was new. Tina doesn't dare look at Doyoung though, she simply walks back inside with her still full drink in hand. Meghan on the other hand waits for him to stand up and follow her. His shoulders slumped and head low, a reassuring smile thrown your way but his dull eyes say otherwise.

"We're glad to have you girls here." Doyoung utters with a nod, turning to follow his wife. "Welcome." The only thing that leaves Meghan's lips. At the time it sounded like that, a welcoming. Now you realize she was responding to the expected devout gratitude for taking you in all those years ago and even now.

What a way to introduce their relationship to you. What a way to cement the reality of the dynamics between all.

There was a foreign air after that fateful day, something you had never expected when it came to spending time with your best friend and her mother. This was stuffy and suffocating. You chopped it to the different location, you will soon find it's the repressed feelings of everyone in this house and of those that lived before.

Meghan tried her best to not show her unwillingness towards her husband, yet it was evident to all that she held animosity for some odd reason. No amount of smiles and reassuring pats could tell any of you otherwise but they satiated him and no one would interfere with that.

Doyoung was doting and sweet. He immersed in conversations to learn more about his guests and later rewarded them with things mentioned in passing. This was his way of showing his affection. It became paternal in a way that you didn't like and in a way that made Tina uncomfortable but which she could understand. Odd, extremely so, considering he could easily be her brother. If she was to voice her dilemmas, Doyoung would fully understand. Yet like you've told her before: "If you don't speak, God won't hear you."

To you, Doyoung was yet another guy that could have been in your college classes. He made sure to act like it when he finally got comfortable and that resulted in joking and lax conversations about his interests and yours, similar to the first day. Giggles and lingering touches, too close at times for two strangers. This way he felt young and correct again.

The downside came the following day, going back to that paternal and reserved front as if he was the same age as his wife and not what he portrayed with you. Treating you and Tina like kids and that's what you both loathed about his time with Meghan. She only seemed to suck the life out of him when night fell.

Doyoung pandered to her and was at her feet with anything she asked, yet she still patronized him and shut him down when he spoke of his career and parents. Meghan never outright spoke of it but she loathed when he brought up his parents. She hated the house, the basement, the attic, the garden, and the greenhouse. She hated that damn greenhouse more than anything.

You couldn't understand where her feelings stood. She had a family, a complete family. A loving and providing husband, a daughter that would always be there for her, and an established and stable home that was all hers for the time being. What more could she ask for?

Despite Meghan's and Tina's inability to feel at home, you found yourself to fit right in in every groove.

Your bare feet are met with soft dewy kisses from the garden's grass as you sprint inside the house towards Doyoung's study. Leaving a trail of dew on the wooden floorboards. Meghan observes you from the kitchen island, pursed lips and raised glasses as you turn the corner and to the hall where those dark panel mahogany double doors greet you, brightening with every knock.

It takes three rhythmic knocks for him to know it's you. Uttering a 'come in' with a light hum. Instinctively, you smile to yourself, hand turning the now golden door knob. Not feeling the grooves of mosaic crystal and cold copper makes you frown. So does the untouched silver tray of breakfast.

You step over it when making your way inside, closing the door behind you and leaning against the cold wood when he does not turn around. Sunlight peaks through the large glass stained bow windows, his desk perfectly curved to fit into the space. The decor on the windows are your favorite.

The greens and pinks perfectly project onto his skin, making him look diaphanous. The lilies and hummingbird paint a story of near-to-death flowers seeking ailment before they perish and like the knights they are, the hummingbirds come to their aid to bring them back to life. He explained it in the way his father had, revealing his mother to be the hummingbird and his father to be the lilies saved from the misery he was in. That explains the devout love his parents had, manifested all throughout the house and the one Doyoung sought.

He now finds the story to be the other way around with no happily ever after. There's no salvation this time.

When he finally turns, he greets you with a tired smile, shoulders slumped and neck aching. He slept on the chaise lounge. The uncomfortable and awfully warm upholstered leather chaise lounge that's too short for his height. He's been there the entire day after last night's argument with Meghan over her trying to clear out his mother's greenhouse and build a shed for her crafts room. She's not content with the basement and she is not content with him giving you your individual room.

"Found you some critters." You open, his smile widens when you pull out the worn paper bag he gave you to put them in. Walking towards him, he takes it from your hands, nimble fingers gracing your drying ones. "Found these stiff on the tomato pots." You point at the caterpillars. "This butterfly was stuck to the tree trunk. Is it acting or actually dead?" Doyoung lets out a sly hum. "No… it does seem like it's near death, though." taking the butterfly out of the bag.

He looks at it for a moment, noticing the lower wings are damaged but covered by the upper wings. "There… clipped." He gently moves the upper wings with the tweezers. "Rather dramatic if you ask me. She is fine to fly but a little caring should not be bad." He stands from his seat, knees cracking to indicate his lack of movement. He places her in the terrarium, it hops around seeking the flowers you've helped him pick.

It's silent for a moment, he hums a melody while scolding the butterfly as he feeds her sugar water. You sit on his desk chair, swiveling while drumming around the taxidermy scalpels — A few of these have left some scratches on your fingers. He makes sure to lock his items inside his desk drawers, Meghan has explained her disdain and disgust for his hobby and in fear of her digging through and tossing them like she's done with the taxidermy decor, he takes extra precautions.

"Why haven't you eaten?"

Your voice makes him turn, closing the door to the terrarium. He leans against the table, crossing his arms across his chest and taking a grasp of his jaw. Rubbing it as if he was thinking of an answer. He can't lie to you though, he knows you're able to see through his lies. At least surface level, it's the small things he grants you.

"I don't like omelettes. She knows that." He confesses. "I don't like black tea and that is what's on the tray." Your leg raises, feet now dry but stained with that yellow-green hue. Your cheek rests against your bruised knee while taking in his words. He watches all your actions, biting the inside of his cheek as punishment for looking at your limbs.

"Want me to make you anything?" There's some innocence in your voice that warms his chest. Interlaced with your desire to please. Please, please, please.

He smiles fondly, eyes fluttering, and a warm feeling in his chest.

"Don't coddle me." "Generosity."

He slowly approaches you, rearranging the scalpels you played with. He looks down, analyzing you like you were one of his dissected butterflies. Pretty, soft, and delicate. Doyoung knows it's wrong to think of you this way. He's allowed Meghan to fuck the thoughts away from him but they cling to his brain while they're at it. It's vile and disgusting. The act to be precise.

"Is she still upset about the room?" You look up at him, resting against the backrest. He takes a closer look at your outfit. Denim high rise shorts, white lace short strap top, and red ribbon in your hair that he wrapped around the strands a while ago and you never got rid of. The same one he uses to decorate bigger taxidermy species like the squirrels the neighborhood cat leaves laying on the porch. You want to think it's metaphoric but you sound stupid trying to find a connection despite the words lingering in the tip of your tongue. Fresh and clear on his mind.

"I don't mind taking the attic, it's nice and cozy. Your dad did a good job decorating it." A reassuring smile that he does not accept. "What are you, Harry Potter? It's your room and it's my house." That first day during dinner, Doyoung expressed his gratitude to you for being part of their family. It did not pertain to him, he believed family deserved their own space.

His actions worked to ease and win Tina over even if it was a tad but Meghan felt a stabbing sense in her lower stomach and a scratch in her brain that made a whirling dark orb manifest. It's the same feeling that brews the longer she stands behind those mahogany doors hoping to hear what is said but the whispered mutters and her aged ear drums hand no aid.

Doyoung pulls his footstool, taking a seat before you. His hands trickle down to your foot, picking off the remaining blades that stain his own hands. He looks up at you when he reaches for a wipe, the green stains cling when the fabric graces the arch of your sole.

"It tickles." You state, he hums. Fingers press harder. "Better?" You nod. He looks at you during the ministration, putting your foot down delicately to do the same with the other. You watch his every move and he receives your gaze with a smile when he meets it. "My mom would do this when I would run around the garden. She hated when I left stains on the floors. Said they wouldn't come off but when I would go to sleep she painted over the footprints and re-stain the floor." He smiles fondly, warming up your skin from the cold, damp wipe. His fond touch doing most of the job.

"It sounds like a prank that turned into preservation. Maybe she liked seeing your growth. Meghan marked our growth on the walls of her apartment. I'm sure the landlord has painted over them now."

He hums, taking in the comparison. It's cute, nice and nostalgic but it highlights the passage of time and how mortal things seem around you and the other two. How mortal things around him can be too.

Doyoung is doting and sweet. Soft and gentle, immersing himself in his actions to not hurt the other. You envy Meghan, you're sure of it now.

"You should really put shoes on, I can't keep cleaning your feet." "You have no obligation."

He looks at you the way Mary Magdalene did when washing Jesus' feet. He looks at you like his savior and redeemer, you're not sure why or you haven't been able to fully understand him yet.

He nods, his growing finger nails pinching below your toes. You wince, confusedly looking at him. "The critters will recognize your pattern and their missing friends. Don't cry when you're pinched," He playfully scolds the way his parents used to do; voice lowering upon seeing a shadow come from under the doors. "I won't be able to kiss the pain away." He raises your foot, the action new but comforting to your taste. His eyes don't tear away when his plush lips come in contact with your newly cleaned feet. It's soft, warm, sort of wet but nice enough for you to let your hand reach for where he touches.

This is wrong, plentiful wrong but Adam (Doyoung) will drag you to take a bite of that forbidden fruit if he keeps going.

Something ate away at Meghan the longer she stood behind those thick doors. The same way ants crawled around the food she had made him earlier. That made her aching worse and if she didn't open those doors now, she won't remain sane.

She takes a few breaths in, noise seizing to come through, making things far more unsettling. Decidedly, she pushes through, opening both doors dramatically, taking in the image of her husband and faux daughter. Her eyes waver as her voice wants to do. Impotence and defeat.

Nothing.

"Must you punish me?" She directly questions. Her eyes fleeting to your lax position on his chair, recognizing the ribbon from the decor she threw out and his proximity to you. "You can't knock?" He turns his attention back to his craft, as if he had not been kneeling before you seconds prior. "Rehydration solution, Y/n."

With a syringe, he injects it onto the body of the second butterfly while you wet a paper towel, taking a beaker of solution to the other side of the room. You don't speak, following the steps he's taught you in the process.

"It's my house." Meghan states. "It's my house." Doyoung corrects.

The older woman glares. If looks could kill, the house would be hers once and for all.

"The ants are eating your breakfast." "Oh good, they'll stay away from the peonies."

He smiles to himself, Meghan can't see it but she's sure of it and that irks her more. She turns to your moving figure, handing him a warmer solution to pour in the container and put the critters in. Taking in the interaction, her eye spasms. The green stains on his slacks and your clean feet. She has no proof nor a concrete case but she knows it was nothing decent. Disturbed by the bond, she swallows her huff but not the irking orb that eats away her love for you.

"Y/n, give us some alone time." She bites, her words laced with the venom of the centipede he's wrapping around stiff caterpillars. "We're not done with this." He tuts. Meghan, appalled by his opposition, allows her jaw to slack. Her emotions are rampant and fiery that he would contradict her. That he found it in himself to not slouch his shoulders and go along with her decisions.

Your gaze flits between them, their glaring not seizing. The tension is palpable, leading you to fumble the cloth holding onto the piping hot beaker. You know how hot glass can be but when you're the magnetic pull that's causing this, it's something you don't focus on.

Your shriek forces them to break their combat, that motherly look Meghan often had returns when she sees your irritated hand and the way you fall back onto his chair the moment the scalding solution splashes over your bare feet.

They rush towards you, watching their step over the broken pieces of glass. While Meghan attempts to question if you're okay, Doyoung is already in the process of rubbing Silvadene over the light burn of your palm. She watches in amazement how delicate he is. His fingers grace over the skin, if it wasn't stinging you'd repeat that it tickles. And if his wife wasn't here, he'd replicate the image of soothing your aching feet with kisses.

With every passing second, Meghan feels that obscure orb grow and grow. Her motherly instinct is consumed by it, disgusted queries plaguing her heart and soul seeing him sit on the foot stool and place your feet over his lap. This is how the stains on his slacks came to be. His nimble digits rubbing the ointment on noticeable ailments and on spots you pointed at with minute pained whimper that she'll take as pleasure.

This isn't right. Meghan no longer feels like a mother to you. And this is only one of many instances her feelings are reassured.

Doyoung didn’t want to argue any longer in the dark depths of his cold bedroom. It was amazing how quickly his marriage was falling apart in the span of a few weeks when the two shared a beautiful —so he’s forcing himself to think— relationship. Now all he can do is whisper his grievances to his wife who finds it disrespectful that he’s rebutting her own arguments due to his age.

Meghan will never say it out loud but she respects Doyoung less and expects him to treat her like his superior for said gap, forgetting they were in a relationship and should both treat each other accordingly and not like mother-son; disgustingly.

Said argument is what led a tired Doyoung to sigh heavily on his way out of the bedroom in hopes of relaxation by either watching something in the media room or basking in the night’s breeze while sitting on the porch swing with a glass of whiskey on the rocks or an ice cold beer.

The latter makes him smile fondly.

Decidedly, Doyoung pads towards the kitchen, his bare feet absorbing the coldness of the wooden floors, ignoring his scolding after you burnt your feet. The closer he got to the large room, the sound of his padding mellowed out compared to the rummaging of items. For a second he feared they'd gotten an infestation of mice. It would not be the first time the house had any.

His inquiries were disposed of once reaching the kitchen when he saw such a pretty image that made him relax. And similar to the mice he once fended against years ago with his father, you sat in front of the fridge, feasting, with a bottle of whipped cream at hand. Allowing the sweet dairy to fall upon a strawberry that you indelicately shoved into your mouth without a care that its juice spilled from the corner of your lips and the dairy followed behind, creating a light pink ribbon to decorate your pretty lips the way those glosses you often smear do.

It oddly reminds him of the first day you two met. He looks at you the same way you looked at him. Lingering and foreign attraction, although it's not so foreign now.

It's not right, but you're closer and closer to taking a bite out of that apple.

You don't bother cleaning the cream off, continuing to push the berries into your mouth. One after another as your stomach yearns for more. You could’ve continued, although halt at his endeared chuckle. You're startled, feeling a cold sweat wash through your entire body. If there was one thing you hated was people catching you eating late at night. More so when you're filling your aching body with self targeted disgust and sweets. Like a child, the one he treats you as when the other two are near but forgotten about when it's just you two.

This is what holds you back, the apple seems so rotten and further at times.

Doyoung doesn't speak, walking towards you with a napkin in hand, taken on his way. He crouches down to your level, making you break out of that frozen state. “I’m sorry…” you whisper, eyes following his, seeking any reaction. “For what?” He questions sweetly, hand cupping your jaw softly. Shooting you a quick glance and smile before continuing his ministration.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come down to eat in secrecy.” You swallow hard, a lump formed in your throat with his touch, unaware of when. “I know she doesn't like it but usually she comes up to tell me dinner was ready and…” You shrug, meek voice making his chest compress, he senses unwarranted guilt. As if it was your fault his wife kept using food as punishment.

Meghan had told him you were asleep, not that she didn't let you know dinner was ready and that disquiets him. His eyebrows furrow, other hand reaches your face, softly wiping the strawberry juice with his thumb. Licking it beforehand. Doyoung is closer and closer with every passing day. Just last night his touch lingered in between your thigh and knee, you imagine he'll reward you and slip his fingers between your lips soon. Whichever ones and you won't be opposed to it like prior times.

Doyoung gives you a semi-scolding look, “I've told you before. It's my house, you can eat whenever and whatever you want, Y/n." He pats your cheek, pecking it for reassurance. The action startles you every time. They never feel soft and innocent. Always intentional but when he pulls back and gives you a reassuring smile, it forces you to ponder how much you want his generosity to be more than that? It's wrong, you're aware of it, always will be.

His touch lingers a little longer, fleeting stares from your own eyes to lips as his pads waltz across your skin until he finally finds it in himself to let go. “Still hungry?” He asks, helping you up. Ready to deny, your stomach rumbles loudly, giving you no time to privy it of its rights for yet another day. Doyoung simply nods with a smile, cocking his head to the entrance.

“Put your shoes on, let's see what's open at this hour.” “It’s very late to eat a big meal, Mr.Kim…”

The smile on his lips attempts not to falter at what you call him. Doyoung hated it with his entire soul. You weren't going to seize as long as he didn't seize treating you like Tina, like you're his stepdaughter too. Although, in this instant it's punishment for making you feel so ill and needy.

You want more, you crave more, but you can't have more.

It's odd to you how both can easily bask in the delicacy of tense intimacy and this… disgusting forced idea of a familial relationship at times. Especially when they would intertwine like it is now. You hate him for it sometimes. 'Coward' is what bounces in your head often when his touch lingers just to treat you like he treats Tina when his sick brain tells him to.

Regardless, Doyoung doesn't get to respond or scold, his bedroom door slams and Meghan has reached the kitchen watching as he crouches over you. She sees the dirtied napkin and your red lips. She sees his hand ghosting over your cheek and the (bitter) smile he had falters when his eyes land on her. While with you it was full of fondness and amusement (she believes), disgust greets her. She's been aware of it for a while now.

"Y/n go to your room." She demands lowly, her hands clinging to her sleeping pants. "No." Doyoung interferes, and like that day in his study, Meghan glares at him, offended by his insistence on speaking back to her like a child disrespecting their elders. "Go to sleep." She grits out, turning to you. You stand up, keeping a distance from Doyoung who immediately speaks. "Go put your shoes on, let's go get you something to eat."

Meghan's lips fall ajar. A scoff and slight cackle hearing his words and the soft look he shoots you. "Are you fucking serious right now?" She asks infuriated, walking closer and slapping his hand off of your arm which aided in stabilizing you when getting up.

"She's hungry, Meghan." Doyoung spits back, disgust building in his gaze. His wife shoots him a response with hers, almost saying "That's not my concern." but the words don't leave her for she knows it will push things further. It's futile, Doyoung scowls and his head slowly shakes the longer he looks at her. There it is, that disgust once again and it eats away at her.

"You told me she was asleep. I didn't take you for someone gluttonous." Meghan could only describe the brewing feeling as embarrassment and pure seething rage. Who did Doyoung think he was to confront her like this? Implication full of disgust and hitting her where he knew it hurt. More so in front of the one causing all the problems. With your faux naivety and innocent looks. With that cunning smile you shoot her when around him. Meghan knows what you are, she knows what men like and she's experiencing it before her eyes. Men are weak.

If you were to peak inside her head and heart, that obscure growing orb was nothing but rotting tar.

"Don't be insolent. Don't bring that up in front of her!" She spits out, "Y/n go to your room!" Disturbed by being undermined by two people she deemed lesser than her. Doyoung attempts to stop you again, his grip a bit harsher than before. You look at where his hand is. This is familiar, revoltingly so. You feel like a child in the middle of their parents' argument. Getting pulled left and right until they tear you apart stitch by stitch. It's painful in all senses and when Meghan opens her mouth to yell at her husband, you screw your eyes, shaking your head and freeing yourself from his grasp.

"I'll go. I'll go… I'll go. Please." You repeat like a mantra, hoping your words will make it all end. The latter begging them to not include you, to leave you alone and forget that your existence is brewing something between them.

You always wonder how Tina is able to sleep through this and not wake up from their screaming. They no longer attempt to hide the potency of their vocal chords nor their words. You know they talk about you when the muffled voices take over or when Doyoung tells her to lower her voice while she laughs maliciously about how much of a vile, disgusting, and infelicitous asshole he is. Otherwise, you know their problems stem from their joint resentment about the power dynamics.

When two people want the same thing at the same time, things are bound to burn over.

Doyoung didn't take long to walk out after she called him those names again. Throwing in his face that he's a pretentious brat with nothing worth fighting for. Meghan has found going against his upbringing to be successful in debilitating him. The only downside is that he loathes her more and more and respects her as much as she does him. Very little to null.

Sleep fleets away. Fear floods you with the idea that Meghan was capable of barging into your room any second now and reproach you for ruining her marriage. She doesn't tell you directly and neither do the other two in the house but her demeanor change is more than clear. Her warm smiles are officially gone, cold and resentful glares replace them. And she no longer cares that they call her out for ignoring you.

Her hugs are foreign to you and her food no longer is edible. That love she once poured into her meals is gone with her motherly instincts. It aches, horribly so. You've known her and Tina since you began your academic career. When your parents couldn't pick you up or take you to school, Meghan was there. Summers were spent with them like this one with the exception that they were the happiest memories.

You have Tina, you know that. She's your sister. Although, you would prefer to not see her argue with her mother about you or see them give each other the cold shoulder after. You don't want her relationship with her mother to worsen, that's the last thing you want but you can't control what people feel. You're aware of that, Meghan isn't.

It's 1:00AM when sleep finally comes back to you and you feel safe enough. The comforter brings you the warmth you're lacking but isn't able to fill your chest. Soft lamentable sighs have left your lips all night over how horrid this summer has turned.

A part of you blames Doyoung. His addition has ruined the balance the three of you had. His cowardice of accepting Meghan's punches and seeking her motherly care during those years blinded him of the bigger picture — it's quite obvious now, confirmation is all you needed.

The other part of you accepts that Meghan is a decrepit insecure woman who seeks power and control of anyone that isn't her and that fills you with both anger and hurt, feeling no immense remorse for threading around Doyoung the way you do. You're allowed to indulge yourself from time to time.

Meghan wants puppets, not family.

Immersed in your pity and vexation, you don't notice when your bedroom window opens. The latch closing is what makes you turn around startled. A dark figure creeping through the shadows, tall and slim. Fright replaces the sleep you felt, manifested in an attempt to scream until your mouth is hastily covered with warm clammy hands that you instantly recognize by the bony nimble fingers. Doyoung.

A finger to his lips, shushes you, he sits on the corner of your bed. You swallow, your head spinning and light front the freight he just caused you. When you relax, you shake your head with a silent laugh. "You scared me," 'Asshole' silently balanced on your tongue. "For a second you made me believe Nosferatu was real." You joke, "But that would mean an old hag has been haunting me for ages, and I just met you." He pats your cheek almost condescendingly without saying sorry but meaning it. At least you think he's sorry.

"Here." He smiles — the most he does to entertain you—, handing you a bag you hadn't noticed earlier. That may explain the sweet smell of warm blueberries waltzing through the room to sedate you and make you more receptive to what he offers. "You didn't have to." You protest, he meets it with a shake of his head and raises a hand letting you know to just be quiet and take it. He does it with a smile on his face and it irritates you but it's also very beautiful that you oblige. "Thank you." You croon, a smile involuntarily creeping on your face. He responds to your words with a caress of your cheek.

"I've told you to not call me Mr. Kim before, haven't I?" His words slow down your movement, smile faltering. "Is that not your name?" You quip, giving him a quick glance while cutting the waffle into squares. It's warm and soft, as he is. Unfortunately if it's left in the open for too long, it will harden and rot. As he will.

There's some tenderness in his gaze, muddled with the same irascibility Meghan looks at him with when he talks back to subvert her. It makes your eyebrows furrow while you slowly chew, it's an odd feeling. Unfortunately for you, he's smart enough to read a person and divert the conversation. It so happens to be that he doesn't do it with Meghan anymore because he enjoys seeing her peeved and red.

He's become so cynical. The things marriage does to you.

"Regardless, please don't call me that, you make me feel old." "You are old." Your teasing makes him gasp, jaw slack with semi-offense before ruffling your hair, destroying the braid. You laugh at his actions, successfully forgetting his earlier look.

"I'm only five years older than you!" He whisper-yells, offense still imprinted onto his being. "Then don't treat me like you're much older." Spoken in between laughs, your words do settle in his mind. Doyoung knows this happens often, it disgusts him but at the same time it keeps him morally sane.

Yes, he touches you more than he should. But he balances it out by indulging your childish attributes that make you act bubbly and younger around him.

Yes, he looks at you with rapidly growing attraction and lust. But he balances it by teaching you step by step on how to maintain perfectly taxidermied insects the way paternal figures do.

He understands and feels that underlying disgust. It's self-punishment for thinking about you when he is married despite loathing the woman. His attraction to you is punishment for that alone.

He should still remain a good man. He is a good man.

Until he learns to enjoy the power trip. He can somewhat understand his wife for that.

Coward.

His smile begins to lose its intensity, nodding while getting comfortable on your bed. He's receptive when you feed him squares here and there, making sure to look directly in your eyes when he takes them into his mouth. Lips wrapping around the black plastic fork and lapping at the syrup hiding between the backside grooves just to watch you immediately replicate his actions. It's a soothing dance, ego indulgent to know you take what he gives.

"Listen," You feed him again. "I'm sorry for earlier." He covers his mouth, "For continuing to put you in those situations, truly sorry." His hand goes up to his chest, his wedding band is gone, causing a warm feeling to brew in your stomach, manifested as an involuntary smile on your lips.

You shrug, nonchalantly as if it didn't matter when you knew it did. "Not my first rodeo." You mutter, feeding him the last bit before placing the tray on the nightstand. He looks at you, taking in your reactions and the stuck sigh that you finally release when he doesn't prod.

You never spoke of your own family. It was always Meghan and Tina this, Meghan and Tina that. At the beginning he wondered if they would be preoccupied knowing you were here, meeting a stranger despite being in safe hands. Yet after a month he noticed the conflicting projected emotions on your face when he spoke about his parents and how loving to each other they've always been. He could tell admiration and resentment were bigger emotions you carried. Now it does not surprise him that you're saying this. More so, it's confirmation.

"How did you even meet her, by the way? I just can't think of a scenario where you'd meet a woman like Meghan."

Curiosity and petulance lace your voice. He smiles to himself, taking your hand into his, reassured he was taking the right steps when you reluctantly relax against his touch. "My mom grew up in a house with four brothers. She always felt the need to prove she was as important as them. You know, rough housing, sports, academics, that sort of thing." He shrugs, "Futile because my grandparents loved and supported her no matter what she did. There truly was no difference in their treatment of the five — very progressive, they were. Kind of holistic— she simply made that rivalry up in her head."

You'd ask what any of this had to do with your question, but Doyoung likes to speak, he likes to speak about his parents. Even if it was a simple redaction.

"So she spent her entire life doing things that would put her far away from those related to housewives. Never learned how to cook, clean, gardening was her only token but that's because she was a botanist. My dad did everything else." He laughs, fond memories of seeing his dad in frilly aprons and pink mittens. He chose them, all the decor was his pick. Doyoung only ever lets you use them when you're in the kitchen.

"This was ten years ago, I was visiting them from college for the summer when I found she had created a crafts room out of this room." His free hand points around the walls of your room, wallpaper in a quilt design explaining it all. "She said she was too old to not know basic things like mending a hole in dad's socks or helping him with dinner. That he was getting old and weak too, it was a job for two to get anything out of the oven."

He hums, gaze on your interlocked hands. "So I drove her daily to these classes at the community center. That's when I first met Meghan, she was there to teach the classes. Nothing went past pleasantries and my mom joking about how I'd look good with Tina."

Selfish you are for letting vile manifest and spread through your chest when hearing those words. Tina… Tina couldn't handle Doyoung. They can't even stand to be in a room together without it being awkward. So selfish of you to make this about yourself, squeezing his hand scolding. He takes it with humor, feigning not noticing for the sake of his ego.

"Of course my mom didn't know Tina's age, when she realized how much younger she was, she stopped the jokes. They became somewhat friends, never seeing each other outside the community center to my knowledge. I didn't see Meghan for years after that but three years ago when my mom's Alzheimer's worsened and she had forgotten the difference between toxic versus non toxic liquids, she ended up poisoning herself by drinking insecticide. Later we found cleaning supplies with her lipstick on the mouth. It's at the funeral that I saw Meghan again and she was there for my dad and I…"

You didn't imagine this would take that turn. He always spoke so fondly of his parents like they were still around somewhere. Never said where but still around. You now realize it's their lingering presence around everything here.

"I'm sorry, Doyoung…" He dismisses you, shaking his head and kissing your hand. He's trying to control his labored breathing, warm and harsh against your skin, his hand clammy.

"Dad felt so guilty for it all. He taught about the development of the human brain, did neuroscience studies for the university and certain labs here and there all his life and he couldn't save his own wife. So… he left me too. He left for a study, who knows where and I haven't heard from him since." He smiles, a sort of bitterness that he didn't want to have for his father. Reluctance to accept that it was perhaps more than a trip. "Lawyers came days after he left, everything left to my name on both their ends. Meghan had been the only one to check in on me besides extended family but they live far away, there's not much they could do."

Guilt floods you. Why couldn't you just push back that desire to belittle Meghan more in your mind. The worst part is that your brain won't stop telling you that she only took advantage of his vulnerability. Sweet, vulnerable Doyoung who lost his parents in a span of weeks left to rot on his own with a huge house, assets, and a desire to give and give to anyone willing to comfort him. Convenient.

Doyoung hums, sitting up. The silence helps him admire you, or simply distract himself from this gushing open wound. The braid he destroyed, cascading over your shoulder. Shoulder covered in a thick light yellow lace strap with matching ribbons on the chest. He smiles noticing the small details, he recalls helping you sneak into Meghan's craft room to make that night gown. Fabric and ribbon he took from his mother's stash.

She would like you, he believes so.

"You've made good use of the marigold dye." Doyoung smiles, his hand reaching to touch the strap. His fingers dance over it, letting them touch your skin. It's cruel and mean but very elating. He's been playing this teasing game and unfortunately, it's you who wants it more. From then on, they inch closer to the ribbon. Fingers jumping on every spot and ending on the bow, delicately admiring it.

Truth be told he kept his touch there to feel the increase of your respiration. Chest moving up and down faster than previously. He smiles to himself, almost mischievously when he notices a new item around your neck. "The roses too… my mother would have been so content with you." He giggles, patting your cheek prior to giving himself the liberty to touch the rose beads that form a necklace.

She would like you, he's sure of it.

"Very ingenious, so good." Doyoung hums, his hand trails to hold your neck. You nod slowly, entranced in your humiliating arousal from just his touch. You feel pubescent, frothing at the mouth from one touch. Stupid. He's just another man… a man that coddles and holds you in secrecy. It's the forbidden excitement laced with guilt at how treacherous the human mind and body can be.

Clearing your throat, you look around, avoiding his gaze. "Yes, well, she has a lovely and fruitful garden… Greenhouse too, I found some purple cabbages from the spring season, they'd make a lovely dye." You divert but his touch doesn't fall, his other hand opts to join on your cheek, cradling it.

Instinctively you lean into it, forcing you to look at him. There's no teasing or patronizing looks on his end and you're thankful for it. It's full blown admiration and desire in those dark orbs that pull you closer to him while he caresses you. They allow themselves to rake your face. Every feature but most of all your lips and eyes, longing to land on your pupils as to bless whatever you see. On your forehead to reassure that he is your safe haven as you are becoming his. It oddly reminds you of the looks he gave when cleaning your feet before the accident. Like Mary Magdalene admiring her savior.

Doyoung thinks he is allowed this indulgence for once. He can punish himself after but he can no longer go without tasting your skin on his lips, he feels so famished. Letting out a shaky breath, he softly rises, bringing your head closer to him. Breath labored with every move and warm against your skin when he's mere centimeters from it. Shutting his eyes and pursing his lips, letting them fall on your eyelids.

Velvet and moist, that's how his lips feel. You sigh in relief, unaware you had been holding your breath. His lip travels to the other eyelid, it's quick unlike prior, for he rushes to kiss your forehead, lingering for as long as he can before letting out a content sigh of his own, and a liberated smile. He wants to laugh at how absurd he is being but that would only keep wasting time.

Doyoung is so close to your lips when he decides it is best to take the full risk, however you both hear the soft knocks against your door and the rattling of the doorknob. He can't describe the feeling as freight, more so irreverent wrath.

"Y/n? Y/n why is the door locked?"

Tina.

The man instantly pulls away. His touch burns you both and guilt manifests itself through blown out pupils — your own, not his. Your lips are ajar when he places his finger up to his own, like the way he entered your room and disappears the same way. He says nothing and neither do you, opening the door when he's not in view.

The doorknob continues to rattle until she feels the weight of your hand on it. You sigh heavily before opening the door, looking at her blankly which she notices but does not mention. She never does.

"I heard voices." "I'm watching a movie."

She hums. She believes you. She believes you. She does…

"Why was the door locked?" She asks, concern on her face. When your eyes divert from hers, she can tell something had gone on. You usually enjoy having her know everything about you. That's what best friends do, yet at the moment you loathe her for it. That's what sisters do. That gnawing disturbance of frustration and impotency. The type she's felt this entire summer break.

You simply hum, she giggles.

"How bad was it now?" She now finds humor in knowing she always sleeps through their arguments. It's not so funny to you. "Nothing special, I was in the kitchen when he stormed out then she followed behind and they went at it after I left." She giggles once more. Unsure now if it's because she actually finds it comedic or she doesn't know how to respond.

This is her mother and her happiness they're talking about. This is you, her best friend and your friendship on the line.

It’s not like you can tell her that her stepfather defending you from her mom for the millionth time isn’t pushing her into deeper hatred. It’s not like you can tell her that her mother purposely starved you for the day out of pure unadulterated jealousy because her husband desires you more than her. No, can you? No. Silence and lies will do.

"Hey, did you know how Meghan and Doyoung met?" You ask, looking at where had laid. Tina shrugs, "She told me they saw each other at a coffee shop from time to time and talked since then. She doesn't like coffee though." She shrugs again.

Oh Tina. Willfully ignorant and avoidant. Perhaps the story is right but you're sure that if Tina fully knew her mother had met doyoung ten years younger with baby fat still on his cheeks and younger than she is, her dilemma would only worsen. Coward.

Unlike Tina, Meghan didn't hesitate in barging in after a few minutes. It leaves you and her daughter dumbfounded when the angry look becomes bewildered and disappointed, like she had expected to find something (or someone) to prove her suspicions.

"Mom?"

Meghan acknowledges it with a sigh, "Go to sleep, it's late." Making you both feel ten again at one of multiple sleepovers during school nights. Tina responds with a nod. You, you look at her for any trace of something. There's worry, that's for sure. And there's also anger. Nothing new.

The front door is slammed downstairs, causing Tina to get a startled look on her face that is reassured when Meghan shakes her head, dismissively. She opens her mouth to calm her daughter when a disgusting thought tells you to do the talking for her. She deserves even this bit.

"It's Doyoung, don't worry."

And it's disturbing to Meghan that you spoke her thoughts, word for word while looking at her.

Meghan has gotten her confirmation for the night.

That night had given some clarity to Doyoung. Arguments with his wife seized for the most part and before they could begin, he was out the door for his nightly runs. That's what she believed at least. He tampered with his smartwatch to mark his steps knowing she would look through it.

Reality is that he crept up the trellis to your room. Spending the nights under the covers with earphones in, door locked, lights off, and a movie lulling you to sleep while getting a few whispered conversations in here and there. His lips or yours pressed against each other's ear. It was the closest to kissing you would get at.

When you do fall asleep, he tucks you in. Caresses your hair and kisses your forehead goodnight before crawling back down the trellis and entering through the front door. To continue his reality of being married to a woman that no longer treats him with the care he sought but at least he can provide it for you and that you've slowly been returning.

Doyoung has taken that into account and rewards you for it. The gifts were small at first, snacks that Meghan wouldn't allow into the house, books in your wish list. They later became more intricate. Your personal taxidermy and diaphonization kits (locked in his study), pendants of the critters utilized, a camera to document your process, and the most recent being two chickens and doves.

The animals irked his wife more than anything. She has spent the past two months arguing about tearing down the greenhouse and it only took you a mention of the excess of caterpillars and worms in there for him to bring in the chickens. You looked after them, sure, however the chickens with free range left their eggs and droppings everywhere. It felt intentional how she found them laying on her clean laundry, pecked her if they saw her, and worse off stained all of her fabric. They abhor her as much as she does them.

At least the bleeding-heart doves are lovely to look at despite their cold shoulder towards her. Tina gets a ruffle of feathers, you and Doyoung some crooning, and spooning among each other when it's you and him peering upon them. It's the small things that drive her deeper into her madness.

Like seeing you sit criss-crossed on the plush bright grass. It's dewy again, much taller now than it was before but he promised to mow soon. Right now he's too busy hammering in old nails onto stained wood and footprints —yours and his— to create a coup for the chickens. Not by her demand, no. He'd never take hers seriously, but yours.

"Diaphonized insects are horrid. They're all brown. I think I should give wet species a chance." Doyoung takes your words in, a simple chuckle looking at your pout. Petulant and spoiled. "Y/n, you're not drying them fast enough." He corrects, you shrug knowing he may be right but working with insects has bored you. "Either way, centipedes and spiders look disgusting in those vials."

The chickens flock around you, pecking the ground. Their clucking became louder, frustrated the longer they weren't able to obtain what they wanted. Doyoung gives them a quick glance, a fastidious kind of melody, one he isn't used to. Neither are you according to the stink eye you give them. It's pleasant to Meghan, leaning against the sink with peering bright eyes, it feels like justice for once.

It's a delicacy. Your desperate attempts to calm them down, Doyoung's hammering exasperating the chickens, and finally… A loud and pained screech from you, pushing away the hen that victoriously clucks as it swallows the culprit of your scream. One of the neighbor's centipedes.

Doyoung drops his tools, rushing to your aid. He watches you tumble, attempting to stand, however the aching sting and burn on your foot doesn't allow it. Meghan watches every movement from you both. Your disgruntled whines and moans, his shushes in an attempt to calm you down. Hands clasping around your feet, soothing the inflamed bump in hopes it did something. It didn't, it irritated the wound further.

"I told you the critters would recognize your feet." He jokes, scolding in the process. The stinging is intense enough that waspishly, you huff, pouting his way. "Nuh-uh." You reply, rolling your eyes when he throws in a glare. He shakes his head, finally sitting, his knees aching. Like the day you burnt your feet, he takes your feet in his lap, looking over the wound while your soles leave stains again.

He smiles to himself, an airy laugh as if he was coming up with something, fingers waltzing over the bite. "I told you to put shoes on, I won't always be here to help you." Smile turns into a grin, teasing as he lets his lips fall over the wound.

It stings. The warmth of his own flesh against the boiling fire of yours, it's not pleasant and you make it known. With the exception that it comes out strangled and pleasured. Much to his delight, making his lips part, tongue gracing the area just to add more pain and more pretty sounds to leave you.

It's an erotic image to anyone who experiences and sees it. Meghan feels the boiling pain in her chest, the same way you do on your foot. The only difference is that Doyoung won't attempt to soothe hers. He won't even acknowledge it.

Doyoung is looking up at you with a curling smile, lips pulling apart from your skin, eyes raking the expanse of your exposed thigh when the dress rode up. " Met with a harsh pull, Meghan reaches both of you, hands on Doyoung who stumbles to stand up. It's hard to decipher what her expressions read, all emotions coursing through like a bad acid trip, colors roaming around in a slew.

Anger, disgust, pain, defeat, resentment. It made no difference, it was all negative.

"How do you plan on defending this now, huh?" She asks, wavering voice when she looks between you two. "What could you possibly say to make this look normal, Doyoung?!" Her voice rose, startling Tina who had been in the entertainment room when she heard your scream. Like usual, she opts to remain where she's at. It's no use involving herself when she's known how this would all end since the beginning.

"Sucking the venom out, Meghan. Fuck me, why do you have to make everything so salacious?" Doyoung grits, a tone she had not fallen for years ago.

His speech and tone has changed within these months. He no longer spoke like a poised character, he spoke like you. He smelt like you and his quirks adapted to yours. Doyoung was no longer Meghan's and that's a fact she's finding difficult to deal with. Similar to how parents aren't able to understand the autonomy of a child as they grow.

Frustratingly so, his response made sense to her. She's seen it in movies, she's read about it — so she thinks. Unfortunately for her, this was only a sting, like a mosquito or a bee sting, something that will subside with ointment just like your burns weeks prior. There was nothing to suck out nor was it recommended.

"How convenient." She scoffs. Meghan hated how upset she was. She knew this was bound to happen and why she kept her relationship hidden from you for the past two years.

Meghan knew your interests, knew your beliefs, and knew you her entire life. She knew how drawn everyone instantly is to you and woefully, she knew Doyoung would be one of those people too. She was proven right the first day when she saw him approach you on that swing and converse so easily. Touch you so easily…

It never got better as the days went by. Why was it so easy for him to cave and give you a room? A room meant for her hobbies. A room meant for hobbies, as his mother had wanted. Why did he allow you into his study without hesitance when she could only remain for five minutes or so? Why did he have to please you by offering dinner? It's been a while since he's taken her out to dinner. Yes, it was wrong of her to privy you of basic needs but earlier in the day she had seen you so content in that stupid greenhouse and understood fully why he kept refusing to tear it down besides grief. You kept it alive just like his mother did.

Her jealousy doesn't outweigh her disdain for being undermined. Like a person working night and day, loyal to one job for years on end and aging throughout them to be replaced like nothing by a new set of fresh meat. A kick to the rear and a big "Fuck you, you're no longer useful and too old for us to care about your opinion." That's how her relationship with Doyoung felt when he met you.

When they started dating, Doyoung sought her sweet reassuring words and pet names. Her gentle touches and pats when he did a good job. Her comforting food and the affection she gave Tina. It was pleasant, she knew what he wanted all along and she was more than willing to give it to him as long as he reciprocated her own desires. Surrendering control and devotion.

Those things no longer belonged to her. His devotion shifted to you —she's witnessed it on multiple accounts— and control is his again. That's one way of looking at things. He moves her and Tina into his home, doesn't let her make any changes and instead rubs it in her face that you adore the house and its quirks. His house and his quirks.

If everything reminded her already of his parents, it now reminds her of you too and how much more power ghosts and a child have rather than her.

Meghan scoffs and huffs every now and then while rebutting his arguments. He mimics them to show her how absurd she is being. It's a never ending cycle they've grown comfortable with but that needs to stop. This isn't what either signed up for when they legally bound their love. If you can even call it that, it's more than clear both were pitifully lonely and disturbed.

"Are you even hearing yourself, seriously?" Doyoung sighs, offended at the implications she kept throwing at him. His thoughts may be vile and depraved when it comes to you but he's punished himself enough. Meghan doesn't seem to understand that while he now recognizes he never did love her, rather sought the affection of a mother, he was bound to honor those vows.

But he was only a man and men are weak.

Meghan has double the years of experience he does and she knows that if you ever stop seeing her with those same eyes Doyoung once saw her with and which Tina is bound to by the universe's request, and gave him free reign, he'd take the opportunity without a thought.

"No, are you hearing yourself? Better yet, do you see what you do?!" She glares, "You enable her to do whatever she wants. Parade around my home as if it was hers. Make a mess of the floorboards, lock herself with you in that stupid study, for what? Your disgusting bugs? Really, Doyoung it's odd how much time you two spend together, you don't even spend that time with your own stepdaughter, neither of you have spent time with Tina. She’s supposed to be Tina’s best friend."

Doyoung felt his frontal lobe develop for the second time in his life. Stepdaughter… Fuck, he was only thirty with a twenty-five year old stepdaughter. Does anyone see how disturbing and odd this fucking is? No, he definitely cannot stay in this for much longer.

"And you know what? Jesus, you're acting like a fucking brat yourself." She scoffs. "The longer you spend with her, the more immature you become. Genuinely, what use was it for your parents to give if you're going to act like a child." She shrugs.

"Don't even bring my parents into this, fuck off." Doyoung disturbed glares at her. "Don't fucking do that. It only seems that way because you hate when anyone is better than you. Smarter and secure than you, get a grip, Meghan. Don’t forget that I’m closer to her age than yours. I’m allowed to be childish, remember that… Don't fucking bring them up ever again."

He was right but that's exactly what she hated most.

"Honestly Meghan," Dumbfounded, Doyoung sighs, hands rubbing upon his face exhausted. "You've known Y/n longer than me. If you don't plan on trusting me, at least trust her. What kind of mother are you if you can't offer her that?"

His tone quickly twisted into condescension, the sheer feeling of being talked down upon by someone who knows nothing about life irking her furthermore and the slight consideration that gnawed at the back of her head was ultimately consumed by that twisted rotten tar in her soul.

"Well she isn't my daughter is she?" Meghan spews without thinking. "She's not my fucking daughter. Not by blood, not metaphorically, nor by law. Tina is my daughter and you know what my daughter doesn't do? Throw herself at my shithead of a husband like any other hussy does!" Her hands meet with his shoulders multiple times, abrasive like every word. No regard that those words were loud and clear for you who remained on the grass and Tina in the entertainment room with the TV on full blast. No longer able to hide and ignore like she's done all along.

Doyoung doesn't mind the contact or the harsh words towards him. What he does mind is her rejection of motherhood. Yes, she's correct to an extent, however how harsh must one be to deny the impact their motherly doting has left on a young and impressionable child? He has fairly understood your restraint and guilt after each encounter is interlaced with your respect towards Meghan and now all he can think about is how that shattering reality will affect you.

Will affect him…

It's disgust and resentment that meets Meghan— she takes it with pride. It's empathy that meets you when he turns to face you. Seeing the instant heartache aflame in your eyes and through the cracks of your chest.

Pity is what you take it as. Disturbed by such, you stand up, the walk of shame towards that stupid greenhouse his wife detests so much. A soft shut is what makes him turn back to Meghan, disdain so palpable that Tina can feel it as she peers through the window. Relenting to the reality she's been trying to avoid these months. It's odd to be a background character in something that affects her directly. She knows there's more to come and when it's done, she'll have two options, only one right answer.

Her mother or her best friend… her sister.

Their words are muffled on the further end of the greenhouse. You imagine this is what Tina would hardly hear in her slumber and it was nice to an extent. You've always admired her discipline. You can't say you admire it now, many of those arguments could have been prevented if she spoke up about her discomfort towards her mother dating a man near her age, a man that sought the affection she was given. A grieving man.

Tina was disciplined but she was also a coward just the way Meghan wanted her to be. The way Meghan wanted all of you to be. Fearing yet adoring her. Devout like a disciple to their God.

Meghan was nowhere near a God. She was closer to a pathetic haggard with no accomplishments in life besides her daughter's, living vicariously through her. She attempted to do the same with Doyoung and it may have worked for a while. She soon realized that she couldn't do such a thing with someone that's always had more opportunities than she's had.

Doyoung had two loving parents his entire life. Just like you.

Regrettably, they weren't able to be near him as much as he would have liked them to be due to their career. Just like you.

However, they provided no matter what — even in the after life — and it showed throughout the house and the love he still holds for them. Their presence is felt in the grooves of doorknobs she replaces, the carvings on the wooden doors she plans on modernizing, the stained windows she'll break, the chips on the kitchen island she will fix, the garden with horrid flamboyant flowers that are eaten away by pests, and that ghastly greenhouse with plants that pretentiously have to mean something.

There's no grasp of control in a house that is meant to exude security, love, and reassurance. No grasp if she's not the one to plant that seed.

Fortunately for you, the house welcomed you in and now you don't care how much you rub it in her face. This was meant for you and if she thought of you as the complete opposite of what she's groomed you into, you'll let the entire world know that Doyoung and everything she wanted to obtain is yours by prophecy.

"How's your foot?" The soft voice that greets you nightly approaches you, his warm fingers taking your shoulder, spinning you around and forcing the pen in your hand to drop. The solemn look on your face and the exaggerated pout makes him sigh, your shrug forcing his touch away. "Better."

Doyoung nods as a response, approaching and taking you in a tight embrace to reassure you that it was all going to be okay, that Meghan was nothing but bitter and defeated.

"I'm sorry…" He whispers against your hair, leaving kisses here and there. Your sigh, tightening his embrace. "It's not you who said it." You expel, burying your head in his chest the way your doves do. He kisses your head again, reward for such a sweet action.

"But it's my fault she did." "It doesn't matter now."

Doyoung peels away as much as he can without breaking the embrace. His eyes search yours for a hint of sadness, however all he can see is fiery anger and vindictiveness.

His hand takes your cheek, both warm and soft. "It does..." He hums, "You know it does." Eyebrows furrowed, concerned with how easily you've given it up. He knew you'd be upset but relent is not what he expected. No, he does not like this.

You pout, grip on his torso tightening to leave the feeling of your touch lingering for as long as it could. "It'll pass."

Doyoung truly didn't know how to fix this on his own, it's not his duty to do so either. Yet, the last thing he wanted was to see you upset over the words of someone so vile who did not deserve any strong emotion conveyed. Prior times he was able to pacify you with his gifts or embraces, nowadays it's been a bit harder.

"Will it?" "It has to. I'll have time to mourn later."

Mourn.

Doyoung thinks about the last time he allowed himself to mourn. He wonders if you'll follow in his footsteps and ignore it, falling in the embrace of a rancid older person who will only take advantage over the loss of a profound relationship. He doesn't want you to do that, you should seek comfort in the arms of someone who can oddly comprehend you despite the hierarchy being completely different.

It should be him.

Decidedly, Doyoung leans in, like that first night in your room. His lips don't linger above your features or your lips like last time. This time he dives in, taking your lips into his in a slow and tender kiss. You reciprocate it instantly, holding onto him for dear life, afraid to be tossed around once more.

Your lips part slightly, seeking air although inviting him further in. Doyoung moans into the kiss when your hands creep under his shirt, they're peculiarly cold for such a hot summer. Alluding to the death that floods you from Meghan's rejection. He can tell you're replaying her words over and over every time your kisses get hungrier. Tongue overlapping his and savoring him further. Fingernails raking his smooth pale back. He'd be glad to parade those pink streaks, it's the least he could do.

He wasn't far off. It's interesting how easy one can hate someone they've loved for so long. All you had in mind was punishing Meghan for what she just said. She's killed you. She's killed that little girl that looked up at her like a mother. Mother's are supposed to be nurturing and kind. But like she's said, she doesn't owe it to you. You're not her daughter, never were.

Cruel, cold, and a bitch she was. You could be that too, you've become aware of it with every cold shoulder and scowl from her. You'll be what she truly sees you as if that'll make her happy.

Men are weak, you've known this too. She's taught it to you. So why not start proving it with her husband? Giving him that chance everyone knew he awaits.

Your hands warm up the longer they roam around his torso, ripping the buttons off his shirt. He doesn't seem to care, not when it's a piece Meghan made him. "Will you make me feel better, Doie? Will you help me forget? I think we both need to forget?" You whisper against his lips, his labored breathing mixing with yours, chasing your lips as a response.

He whines like a pet being denied a treat, teased and laughed at. To satiate him, you peck his lips, nipping them and earning another whine, pleased this time. He nods fervently, his own hands grasping your body, making sure you're here with him.

Swollen lips leave open mouthed kisses along his jaw, trailing to his throat. Nipping softly at the taut skin. He hisses and gasps here and there but he never pushes you away. He takes what you give, just like you.

Thankful for such, it's time you take a bite of that apple, rotten and all.

Doyoung groans when he feels your teeth cling to his Adam's apple, fingers pressing into your own skin. His body is now cold, similar to how your hands were at the beginning, it's infectious but delicious. He needs more of whatever you give him. Greedy, greedy, greedy.

It's easy to read his mind, the way those eyes look at you, ten times more intense than before. Enough to push you into creating a trail down his torso, similar to the stream of sweat that clung to him that first day you met. This felt nice against his cold skin. The warmth of your mouth and delicacy of lust intermingled into making his groin harden. You notice the need, fingers clumsily toying with the belt buckle until it's gone.

You tease here and there, fingers clinging to the hem of his underwear, scratching above his pubic hair and making him hunch over, only stopped by the feeling of your forehead on his exposed torso, purposefully giggling to have your breath tickle his greedy skin.

"It tickles." He utters, looking down at you with blown pupils. You smile, looking up at him with wide eyes, pressing your knuckles into his skin. "Better?" You question, he grins and nods.

You use his shirt as a cushion underneath your knees, it's futile and barely aids but it's better than bare concrete. Seeing there was no use to taunt him any longer, your fingers crawl within his underwear, grasping the phallic in much need of attention. He hisses feeling your grasp, it's soft but firm, tugging him out brusquely on purpose. He liked that.

Doyoung pants, attempting to control his breathing. It's been so long since he's been touched, any time Meghan attempted he was flooded with disgust and self hatred, pushing her off when she aimed to at least kiss him. He could live with it, believing his sex drive had died before you came into the picture. But with you around the house and him 24/7, it was becoming very difficult to do anything about his increased sex drive.

"You're so hard… When's the last time you had any action?" You ask casually, hand rhythmically rocking against his shaft, thumb collecting any drop of pre-come to smear against him. He's reluctant and embarrassed to answer but your sweet smile is so convincing that he responds with a guttural moan.

"I see." You hum, kissing his tip as a reward, eliciting another moan. Masturbating in the shower was not enough. Sometimes Meghan tried to get in there with him and it would make him flaccid immediately. It seemed the only times he could ever relieve himself was in the comfort of his study. His favorite times when you and Tina took advantage of the pool and sun bathed with his research papers in hand. That excited him most, the image of you in a skimpy swimsuit in front of his window and reading his thoughts on a subject you couldn't care for as much but would take just because it was made by him. You took anything he gave you.

The memory alone made him twitch in your hand, a giggle leaving your pretty lips. Like this, he would get so much harder like this. "I get it, Doie. I won't stall any longer." You relent, leaning further to take him in your mouth. The damp and warm cavity force a moan out of his own, holding onto your hair as he throws his head back. Fuck, he's been craving this for so long.

Doyoung feels his ears ring. His own breathing along the squelching of your throat floods them. He thinks this is heaven, although he doubts an act like this would allow any of you in. Right, it wouldn't. Not after you both submit to the temptation of forbidden fruit. But it's better this way, what fun is there in being a garden when you can't have what makes you feel good? Even if it is a sin.

He relishes in the feeling of your mouth around him, head bobbing on its own despite your free hand giving him permission to push as much as he wants. Your tongue swirls around his cock, pressing firmly against the veins and dancing around the rest. It tickles, but he's sure you're aware. It is your favorite game after all.

He looks as pretty as the first day you met him. Beads of sweat rolling down his face, forcing his hair to frame and emphasize those pretty features of his. His ragged moans sound like those of an angel, pushing you further down his cock. It feels suffocating, he's not as girthy but he is long and it makes it much harder to push through. Even so, you want to be good for him, you've always wanted to be. This forces you to push through, gagging a few times but persevering until your nose hits his pubic bone.

Doyoung feels elated at this new found feeling. Your throat is so tight and warm, it feels like a reward for all he's endured. Sadly for him, it's torn apart, gifting him with an image of you teary eyed, gasping for air and a mixture of come and spit threading you both. He couldn't think he could get any more hard but this image alone makes him spurt pre-come onto your chin.

You give him a quick glance, smiling sweetly at him. "Close?" You ask, "You can come in my mouth, Doie." You utter, leaning in to take him in. He closes his eyes feeling your mouth around him again, dizzy and seeing stars. He feels the breeze enter from the windows of the greenhouse, whirling around you both. He finds that his body is no longer cold, it's scorching as yours.

Doyoung didn't think he could be so overstimulated before coming, it may be with the fact that he hasn't been touched for so long or how one of your hands clutches his into your hair, yanking to feel arousal from the sting. He swears can see a bead of your wetness roll down your leg when he looks down at you, cursing and bucking forward.

It hurts, you won't lie but that is exactly what made you keep taking him and pulling back out. The strain against your throat elating until he finally took it within himself to do as you wanted. His jutting forward with a harsh grasp on your hair, fucking your face and forcing you to gag while one of your hands plays with his testicles, only pushing him to go faster. Your other hand pushing aside your soiled panties and playing with your clit. It's a slick sticky mess, uncomfortable at best but the feeling alone does enough for you.

Doyoung mutters curses here and there. Pretty words too which you receive with moans that make him increase the pace. Both of his hands are on your hair when he finally feels himself spill in your mouth. His moan is so loud you wouldn't doubt that anyone outside of the greenhouse could hear him. You squeal, taken by surprise and also feeling yourself suffocate. Even when he's still inside of you, some of his come spills from the sides of your mouth, rushing out like water from a broken dam when he rips himself apart from you.

He feels out of it, trying to calm himself after such an intense orgasm as you are. Head thrown back, gasping for air without spilling any come still in your mouth. When you think you're stable enough, he helps you up. Kissing your soiled cheeks and licking his lips to savor himself. The image makes your pupils dilate. Taking himself in like it was melted ice cream, without a care. No one is as receptive to taste themselves but he was.

You hadn't come yet, and this image only made you want to reach that high more and more. Doyoung cluelessly smiles at you, appreciative of what you've done. It's wiped away when you take his face into your hands, kissing him. Instinctively, his lips part, allowing you to push his own cum into his mouth from yours. He's taken aback but weirdly aroused.

Narcissistic, egocentric, or whatever anyone wants to call it. It does not change the fact that Doyoung immediately hardens at the taste of himself mixed with the taste of your spit. The sweet tones of the lingering chocolate you two ate with the saltiness of his orgasm. Similar to a disgusting and corrupted salted caramel dark chocolate. It's not for everyone but it is meant for you two.

Hastily, he helps you up on the data table. Pulling down your wet panties and rubbing them along his hard and aching cock. He moans into the kiss, ragged and needy while he jerks himself off to increase the feeling. His tongue mingling with yours, swirling his come around both your mouths until it becomes warmer and lesser.

Fingers intertwined in your hair, tugging to hear more of you. Desire to hear more and more leads to shaking nimble fingers to trail the inside of your thighs. He smiles into the kiss feeling the scorching warmth within. Claiming and begging to be touched. He's no cruel man, not all the time at least, so he grants you this reward after all the ones you've given him.

Slowly, his ring and middle finger enter you easily with the slickness he's caused. The intrusion causes you to moan against his mouth this time, giving him the advantage to nip your tongue. It doesn't take Doyoung long to allow his fingers to move within you, pumping relentlessly to hear your pretty sounds. Guttural with the remaining come you two interchange.

You've always thought he had pretty fingers, since you met. Purposefully scraping yourself and staining your feet with grass to have him touch you. Nimble, long, and delicate enough to curl within your walls and cause a shiver down your spine. With the length, it doesn't take him long to reach your sweet spot. His pistoning motion and curl forcing cries and withering beneath him. Doyoung isn't as cruel or sadistic but this… he can understand why sadism exists.

Your legs don't seize to shake, a sheer layer of perspiration coating your body and face. He needs to let you finish, he just has to. It's not long until your body gives out, you need this or you'll probably pass out on this table alone.

But Doyoung allows himself to indulge that sadism he's contemplated for the past few minutes – enjoying his contradiction on cruelty. Halting his moves and ripping his hand away, taking the last drop of remaining come into his mouth to greet you with a cheshire grin as you look at him in surprise and betrayal. Every nerve in your body stings you left and right, punishing and taunting you for the lost glory.

"What the actual fuck?!" You gasp, looking at him, panting harshly with a body ready to explore from heat and desire.

He doesn't respond, letting the come and his spit trickle down to his glowing red cock, slacks and underwear pooled around his ankles. Now that his mouth is free, he chuckles. "Had to save some for lube." He shrugs, positioning himself between your legs. He kisses your cheek reassuringly, rubbing the come around him until he pushes within you. It feels different than his fingers and your mouth for the both of you. Surely, nothing will ever be as good as the actual thing.

Doyoung doesn't move just yet. Allowing you to get comfortable while he contemplates on whether you should leave the red gingham dress on. It's too pretty and he was there when you made it. Meghan had hated when you told her he allowed you to use his mother's machine and fabric. She hated that you were taking over her on her own craft.

Hm… yes, just for that he'll let you keep it on.

"Come on, Doie… Fuck me as hard as you can." You lean in, whispering against his ear, biting his earlobe. That was enough incentive for Doyoung to begin thrusting. It's slow but hard at first, setting the pace. It doesn't take long for him to quicken it, increasing your moans with it. You hold onto him tightly as he pounds into you. So deep into the pleasure of being full again that neither of you speak.

Legs pushed wide open against the table, his glute muscles flexing with every hard stroke. He kisses you here and there, licking away the beads of sweat from your neck like a starved animal in need of more.

The taste of your skin drives him insane, nipping and licking until he reaches your breasts. Pushing down the fabric of the dress to take one into his mouth. Engulfing it, harsh suction that leaves you wanting more. His teeth aren't as kind to your nipples but you don't mind as long as he is well fed. As long as you're able to please him.

"You feel so good, Y/n… I won't ever be able to get enough of you." He pants, thrusts hardening, hips swiveling to get closer to you, enough that his pubic bone creates friction against your needy clit. That intensifies the feeling that pushes you further into an orgasm. Doyoung feels it when you squeeze around him and moan his name like a mantra, pulling at his hair like he's done to yours.

"Please… I've been good. Please, let me come, Doie." You beg, implore. You couldn't handle it any longer. He's come once before, when this is finished, he'll have two orgasms. Yet all you have is aching, an overdue orgasm that will knock you out soon if you don't release it.

Pretending to ponder your prayer as he harshly pounds into you, lips consuming yours. Tongue gracing yours in search for a sliver of his come's taste still lingering within you. It's not as evident as before but he eventually finds it, smiling into the kiss and nodding.

"Let it go, baby." He croons, shushes leaving his lips as he keeps fucking you. His permission setting your body free that each thrust makes you feel so sensitive and it's not until he reverts back to those initial harsh and deep thrusts that you squeal and moan loudly. Clinging to his body for dear life while your legs spasm and come around him. The image sends him into his own orgasm. Feeling your body tremble against his while you cry out in pleasure from something he's caused. It's beautiful and if possible, he'd have you as the main piece with those pretty red ribbons you love so much on your hair, surrounded by his taxidermy as the main attraction because you're precious enough to preserve.

The thought peeves him but he won't dwell, not when you still feel so warm and good around his spent cock.

"Has she ever made you come this much?" You ask between giggles, looking at the pool of cum seeping into the wooden table and dripping onto the concrete floor. Doyoung groans remembering his reality. "No. I don't even touch her, why do you think there's so much?" He glowers, shaking his head in the process. "I don't want to think about her. Not now… with you so pretty and open for me." He grins, leaning in for a kiss.

You hum against his lips, wrapping your arms around him. "All this come for me?" You question sweetly, faking naivety, he nods, a light chuckle. "Only you have made me feel so alive and hot." He utters, burying his face in your chest, kissing your tits slowly.

A content sigh leaves you, eyelids fluttering, a malicious grin when you look forward.

There she is, five feet away with a dull and dead look on her face, Meghan.

"I bet." 

taglist: @ant-onie @cookydream @luv4rj @bacons-thighs @ilikekpop-c @valentinetown @bluedbliss @shiningnono @parkitonandy @the-universe-in-you-jjh @slut4hee @yukisroom97 @ddolbyong @bananinhazz @weiweific @sugaringgcaramel @sweetdreamczennie @revlada @shadysnoopyy @neostraytiny @suhwife @the-divine-femme-fatale @flaminghotyourmom @fatbixchwithanopinion @mi1kteaa @deny4l4 @aliexsblog

cant tag: @junmyeonssushi @moonlitmousee @ks1ut @kyungsooislifeu @hwangful @toodleeee @squishysweetricecake @numberoneprincessenthusiast

feel free to join the immoral tales taglist, form in anthology masterlist! ☆

[storiesofthev01d]

I'd Rather Be Sleeping

Pairing- Daryl x GN! Medic! Reader

Summary- As tired as you are, it's still your job to help those who need it as medic. You're unsure whether to be grateful or not it's someone you're constantly bantering with, though.

TW- off-character Daryl? Mentions of blood and medical procedures

A/N~ wow I don't know how to conclude stories lol 😔 this was meant to be out like a week ago but I accidently just kept extending the story. Oh well!

The casual ruckus of being pulled around from place to place was an endless energy you were used to. Whether it be something as simple as a few scratches or having to amputate someone's arm without hesitation, you were there. With the way everybody always seemed to need you, being one of the few remaining doctors, it'd be easy to think you never got any rest. This is normally true. Not today, however.

You were, admittedly, quite proud of yourself as you sat back with a deep sigh. The plush of the couch was slightly rustic, but *so* much better than how you'd be on your feet. Moving quickly from place to place with adrenaline rushing through your system for hours at a time wasn't something you'd recommend for fun. You had, finally, for the first time in who knows how long, gotten some time to yourself. Where all other scrapes of time had been spent passed out on the nearest surface, sometimes even standing up, being able to just breath felt like watching a sunset on a Californian beach. Something beautiful that you had earned, a soft smile playing your lips as you felt your eyelids begin to weigh down.

The cool air still lingered with the heat of the day, mixing into almost a blanket-like warmth to the atmosphere. The sky faded into one of those classic pinkish-yellow pastels that you'd expect to see in those cheesy romance movies, but you couldn't complain. The soft colours were much nicer than the deep red of draining blood you saw oh-too-often. Old springs gave muffled creaks as you shifted on the faded sofa, welcoming the idea of a restful sleep you've been so deprived of for the past weeks.

Which you *would've had*, if not for the door shooting open like a stray bullet, startling you and almost toppling off the couch.

"So sorry to bug you, but, uhm- the archer guy just come back from their scavenging, and- well, he's not looking too good."

You stuff your face in the couch cushions and groan with a tired longing before forcing yourself up, rubbing your temples and brushing off the young recruit.

"Mhm, yeah," you mumble, your body fighting with the urge to just let the person go but knowing you had a job to do. Your feet moved quickly to the medical tent almost on instinct, already knowing who to expect there but holding onto that sliver of hope that maybe it was just your sleep-deprived mind playing with you.

No. Of course not. You were a doctor, it was your job to keep tabs on people who frequently visited. And Daryl Dixon was one of them.

Okay. Maybe you were overexaggerating how often he ended up in the medical tent, with the way he was so good on his own. And even if he did get injured, it was usually something small, or he patched himself up. But it only took you one time to watch him try to stitch a deep cut on his own that you decided, yeah, he needed more help than he'd let himself.

Your relationship was... *interesting*, to put it politely. You maybe pushed a bit too much to make sure he was alright, which resulted in pointless banter between the two of you often. But to be fair, it was for his own good! He claimed he didn't need help, you said he was gonna get himself infected. He got himself infected as you said, and you scolded him. He refused your medical knowledge for his pride and you tended to him in spite of it. The whole while throwing meaningless insults at each other. Regardless- there was still a mutual respect for the work you both did.

"Daryl," you greeted with that hint of fading tolerance you held special for him.

He only gave a quiet huff to acknowledge your presence, always hating 'wasting time' in the medical tent.

"Charming as ever, I see," you mutter under your breath, your eyes examining the man infront of you with a trained practice for any immediate signs of injury. It's not hard to notice the way he favours his right side, his lower left arm covered in blood and dirt and shrapnel and whatever else he got into in those woods.

You give a soft click of your tongue, not sure whether to ask what happened or make fun of the usually so-careful archer.

"'What, 'cha explode somethin' recently?" You give a soft scoff of amusement, moving beside him to begin taking out the shards impaling his skin. Your hands move with a careful though quick ease, noting the way Daryl tenses and takes a quiet breath in, though refuses to give any signs he's in pain.

"You'd be interested too if'ya saw a firework stand just waitin' there," He rolls his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "You can do a lot with a lighter. You certainly seem to know that," He teases, poking fun at the way you accidentally set your tent on fire last week. You could still feel the flickering hear of the flames that had grown much quicker than you had thought would've. Thankfully, there wasn't really any lasting damage beside some light burns on your hands and arms and getting scolded.

You give a light hum, a smirk playing on your lips as the air between you sparks with a playful challenge.

"Fireworks, huh? That's a shame, then. Maybe if you had stepped a bit closer-"

"Maybe if you had been in the stand when it happened-"

"Maybe if you had taken me with you, I would've-"

"Maybe if- *ow*-"

"Sorry."

You finished taking out the shrapnel, now cleaning the dirt and blood off with a rag. The sharp sting of hydrogen peroxide you used to help clean the wounds took Daryl off guard, the banter dropping from there.

Minutes passed in a comfortable silence as you worked, Daryl just watching with a faint interest as you applied some salve to the worst of the cuts and bruises.

"M'kay, well..." You hum, after a bit, taking a step back to check if you missed anything. "I'd say try to take it easy, but I doubt you'll do that."

Daryl stands up and stretches, your eyes darting away and trying to ignore the way his torn clothes and toned body is unfairly hot- what, who said that-

"'S jus'a few scratches. On'y reason I'm 'ere 's 'cause your little assistant got nervous," the archer spoke plainly, moving to stand at the entrance way of the medical tent. The sun had went from a bright, hot afternoon, to a more hazy evening. The sky dripped with pastels that faded into each other, seconds slowly dragging the sun down the horizon alike curtains closing on a performance. The bustle of the people usually constant had now lessened as daylight waned with the persistent progression of time.

"Kyle?" You chuckle softly, remembering the way the young protégé had burst into the room when you were so ready for some proper rest. He was definetly a bit jumpier than what you'd recommend for the tasks he wanted to learn, but he was so insistent and determined... who were you to deny one knowledge of healing? "He means well. Just a bit nervous," you summed up. Daryl just gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, silence falling onto both once more.

You leaned on a nearby tree that provided shade in the hotter days as the year grew closer to summer. The lack of talk between you two was normal- you didn't really need to to feel comfortable with the other- but today's seemed... different, in a way. The noiseless air stretched on, and you glanced at Daryl only to see him quickly look away when you caught his eye. He looked as if he wanted to say something. He had a lot recently- lingering near the medical tent, fidgeting with the hem of his torn jacket as if waiting for the right moment to approach you. But for the past week, you've been busy and tired and just looking for the next moment of rest. Looking back, you felt a bit bad you didn't pay as much attention as you usually did to the loner.

You shift in your spot, the silence evolving to be more awkward than before.

"...you alright?" You speak out of nowhere.

"What? Uh- yeah. 'Course," Daryl scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching as the sun began to dip on the edge of the sky.

"Riiiight," you hummed, though laying off on the question. Maybe another time. For now, all you could do was take in the fading daylight and finally let yourself rest.

[johns-prince]

Tara vs. John: Paul's LSD Experience

One night, after closing time, Paul was back at Eaton Row with a party that included Sir Mark Palmer; Patrick Kerr, the dancer from Ready Steady Go!; and Viv Prince, the drummer with The Pretty Things; as well as a bunch of girls who had become attached to them in the Scotch. Tara was taking acid on blotting paper in the toilet, McCartney remembered in Many Years From Now, and offered him some. McCartney was unsure, but he accepted. According to Nicki, Tara didn’t actually take it that night. ‘Because it was Paul’s first time,’ she said, ‘he felt it was important for him to stay lucid just in case Paul had a bad trip. And what Paul did was he spent his whole trip looking at this art book of mine called Private View. He wasn’t interested in any of the females there. He wasn’t interested in listening to music either. He was just staring at this art book. I wish it had been more fun for him.’ Paul stayed up all night having what he described as a ‘spacy’ experience. He told Barry Miles that he saw paisley shapes and was super-sensitive to the fact that his shirtsleeves were dirty. He had an engagement the following day, but he couldn’t get it together. When Brian Epstein’s secretary tracked him down to Tara and Nicki’s mews, he told her he had flu and asked her to cancel his commitments for the day. John later said he thought Paul regretted taking it. Paul said it was something that he wouldn’t want to have missed but he would always have mixed feelings about what happened in Tara’s house that night. For all his ambivalence about taking acid, it would have a profound effect on him.

—I Read the News Today, Oh Boy, Paul Howard (source)

I was more ready for the drink or a little bit of pot or something. I’d not wanted to do it, I’d held off like a lot of people were trying to, but there was massive peer pressure. And within a band, it’s more than peer pressure, it’s fear pressure. It becomes trebled, more than just your mates, it’s, 'Hey, man, this whole band’s had acid, why are you holding out? What’s the reason, what is it about you?’ So I knew I would have to out of peer pressure alone. And that night I thought, well, this is as good a time as any, so I said, 'Go on then, fine.’ So we all did it. . . . It was such a mind-expanding thing. I saw paisley shapes and weird things, and for a guy who wasn’t that keen on getting that weird, there was a disturbing element to it. I remember looking at my shirtsleeves and seeing they were dirty and not being too pleased with that, whereas normally you wouldn’t even notice. But you noticed and you heard. Everything was supersensitive.

—Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles (source)

“We stood there for a minute or two, with John swaying gently against my arm. ‘I’m feeling better,’ he announced. Then he looked up at the stars. 'Wow..’ he intoned. 'Look at that! Isn’t that amazing?“ I followed his gaze. The stars did look good but they didn’t look that good. It was very unlike John to be over the top in that way. I stared at him. He was wired-pin-sharp and quivering, resonating away like a human tuning fork. No sooner had John uttered his immortal words about the stars than George and Paul came bursting out on the roof. They had come tearing up from the studio as soon as they found out where we were. They knew why John was feeling unwell. Maybe everyone else did, too - everyone except for father-figure George Martin here! It was very simple. John was tripping on LSD. He had taken it by mistake, they said - he had meant to take an amphetamine tablet. That hardly made any difference, frankly; the fact was that John was only too likely to imagine he could fly, and launch himself off the low parapet that ran around the roof. They had been absolutely terrified that he might do so.  I spoke to Paul about this night many years later, and he confirmed that he and George had been shaken rigid when they found out we were up on the roof. They knew John was having a what you might call a bad trip. John didn’t go back to Weybridge that night; Paul took him home to his place, in nearby Cavendish Road. They were intensely close, remember, and Paul would do almost anything for John. So, once they were safe inside, Paul took a tablet of LSD for the first time, 'So I could get with John’ as he put it- be with him in his misery and fear. What about that for friendship?”

—George Martin, Anthology (source) (source)

"I thought, Maybe this is the moment where I should take a trip with him. It’s been coming for a long time. It’s often the best way, without thinking about it too much, just slip into it. John’s on it already, so I��ll sort of catch up. It was my first trip with John, or with any of the guys. We stayed up all night, sat around and hallucinated a lot.  Me and John, we’d known each other for a long time. Along with George and Ringo, we were best mates. And we looked into each other’s eyes, the eye contact thing we used to do, which is fairly mind-boggling. You dissolve into each other. But that’s what we did, round about that time, that’s what we did a lot. And it was amazing. You’re looking into each other’s eyes and you would want to look away, but you wouldn’t, and you could see yourself in the other person. It was a very freaky experience and I was totally blown away.  There’s something disturbing about it. You ask yourself, 'How do you come back from it? How do you then lead a normal life after that?’ And the answer is, you don’t. After that you’ve got to get trepanned or you’ve got to meditate for the rest of your life. You’ve got to make a decision which way you’re going to go.  I would walk out into the garden - 'Oh no, I’ve got to go back in.’ It was very tiring, walking made me very tired, wasted me, always wasted me. But 'I’ve got to do it, for my well-being.’ In the meantime John had been sitting around very enigmatically and I had a big vision of him as a king, the absolute Emperor of Eternity. It was a good trip. It was great but I wanted to go to bed after a while.   I’d just had enough after about four or five hours. John was quite amazed that it had struck me in that way. John said, 'Go to bed? You won’t sleep!’ 'I know that, I’ve still got to go to bed.’ I thought, now that’s enough fun and partying, now … It’s like with drink. That’s enough. That was a lot of fun, now I gotta go and sleep this off. But of course you don’t just sleep off an acid trip so I went to bed and hallucinated a lot in bed. I remember Mal coming up and checking that I was all right. 'Yeah, I think so.’ I mean, I could feel every inch of the house, and John seemed like some sort of emperor in control of it all. It was quite strange. Of course he was just sitting there, very inscrutably.”

—Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles (source) (source)

Paul and Mal Evans came to stay with us somewhere in the late spring of 1967. (…) Paul and Mal, this time, were full of tales of this here LSD and what it could do. Unrecognisable psyches on familiar heads and shoulders: the voice was Paul’s but the tone was … God’s? Paul said he and John had had ‘this fantastic thing’; which really wasn’t very informative, so I pressed him to flesh it out. ‘Incredible, really, just locked into each other’s eyes … Like, just staring and then saying, “I know, man” and then laughing … And it was great , you know.’ … Realising he wasn’t getting through, Paul said, ‘You’ll just have to try it.

—Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift, 1983. (source)

“When I came back after five months, Paul had changed so much. He was on LSD which I hadn’t shared. I was jealous of the spiritual experiences he’d had with John.”

—Jane Asher, The Beatles Hunter Davies. (source)

[holylulusworld]

Every Breath you take (21)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, domestic life

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every Breath you take (20)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Three months later, you and Bucky found a rhythm, literally. You’re slow dancing together, swaying to one of his favorite songs. Resting your head against his chest, you close your eyes and let Bucky guide your body.

Dancing aside, you found a rhythm to follow for your future together.

Trust is the key. You promised each other to have faith in your relationship. Bucky and you are in this together.

Maybe you started your relationship the crazy way, but this doesn’t mean it won’t last. His obsession and your level of devotion match.

You sigh, remembering all the nights you spent tangled in each other over the last months, as you sway.

“Doll, are you hungry?” Bucky murmurs, bringing you out of your daydreams. You place your head on his chest, smiling as you can hear his heartbeat. “We could have a snack, or do you want to cook together?”

You blink your eyes open and lift your head from his chest. “Hmmm…” you nod and rest your head back against his chest. “We could cook together again. Maybe we won’t burn it this time.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” he chuckles. “You distracted me with your wandering hands. How can a man resist if you call him sweet names and touch him like you do?

You giggle. Bucky is putty in your hands, and you love it. Both of you touch-starved to an extent; you can’t keep your hands to yourself most of the time.

Maybe it’s only the honeymoon phase, but you believe it’s more than this. Bucky and you are meant to be together; you just know it.

“We have the vegetables from the farmer’s market, chicken, and lots of cheese. Let’s look online if we find a good recipe.”

“You forgot the plums,” Bucky teases because you love to steal his favorite fruits. “Lots of them, baby doll. We can eat them for dessert.”

“Oh, I found a nice recipe for a plum cobbler with whipped cream. It sounds deliciously, Bucky. We could try to make it too. It’s not hard to make.”

“Do not forget, we are beginners,” Bucky jokes. “We don’t want to burn down the house.” He chuckles when you look up at him and stick your tongue out. “Last time you ended up burning the dishtowel.”

“That was an accident,” you point out. “Accidents happen, Bucky. Especially in the kitchen. We have to be more careful while cooking from now on. No distractions this time.”

“No more distractions,” Bucky nuzzles your hair. “I promise to not fall for you. I’ll focus on cooking, not my sexy girlfriend. He gropes your ass with both hands and purrs your name. “Let’s find a recipe, doll.”

“Wow! We made it,” Bucky hums while happily tasting the food you made. It doesn’t look bad. “Hmm... the cheesy chicken and vegetable pasta bake recipe you found is great.”

“I knew you’d like it.” You smile happily. Cooking with Bucky was fun. He even cracked a joke and told you a little more about his past. Mostly from his childhood, and how he loved to watch his mom cook. “We should do this more often.”

Bucky smiles. This is exactly what he had dreamed of for so long—sharing his life with someone he loves and filling the home he built with love.

All he misses is a little one running around your home. There is plenty of time to talk about children with you, too. For now, he must be patient and wait for the right time to ask you to have his child.

He’ll propose first, of course. Bucky is still a gentleman out of time. He won’t fill you with his baby without putting a ring on your finger.

“I’m so full,” you say, and rub your belly. “I bet that’s how you feel when pregnant.” You pat your belly, giggling. “What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky stares at your belly. He licks his lips, imagining you all swollen with his child. Something else stirs in his belly than hunger—or rather, a different kind of hunger. “You think so?” His voice is a little rougher when he looks at you. “Do you think you’ll like feeling a baby inside your belly?”

“Bucky,” you purr his name. You crook your finger to lure him in. “Do you want to have a baby one day?”

“Yeah—” he husks. “So bad. I can see you all swollen, breasts leaking milk. I’d rub your belly while…”

You whimper and shift in your seat. “Uh—we don’t have to have one right now, but…” You smirk and pucker your lips. “I’d like you to breed me tonight…”

Next: Every Breath You Take (22)

Tags in reblog.

[prodbyton]

🎀's topic for today/tonight: rich bf!Anton 🫡 yes, this stems from my deep-seated desire to have a man who pays for everything i could possibly want and is obsessed with me.

rich bf!Anton for sure experienced love at first sight when he met you for the first time through a mutual friend (Sohee bc i said so). he just knew you two were meant to be. Anton shyly asked you out the second time you met. that was the first (and only) time you got a gift from a guy on the first date. when he told you he would bring you a surprise to your date, you expected flowers or a teddy bear, not earrings that cost more than you could make in a year.

after that, all hell broke loose. every single date, before you made it official, was preceded by an extravagant gift. when you agreed to be his girlfriend, he almost fell to his knees in euphoria. he started buying even more gifts. you got a gift on your anniversary every month, every couple holiday, anytime he thought you were cute which was virtually every second of every day. anytime you off-handedly mention something you want, it gets delivered to your apartment the next day. you used to feel bad before you realized how much he loved spending money on you.

Beyoncé's "Dangerously In Love" is exactly what Anton embodies. he was literally whipped by day one! his friends make fun of him for it, but they'll just never know just how much he loves it. you took note early on that he was always so happy to gift you something. he'd always grin so wide with ears so red they could pass for tomatoes. the more he spent on you the happier he was.

you remember one particular night he popped a boner while looking over his bank statements. you were in his lap and pointing out which thousand-dollar purchases were yours (a monthly ritual since you started dating). you thought sitting on his lap was doing it for him, but the farther you got down the list, the tighter he held you to his lap. the two of you never finished the list because he dragged you over to the bed. that night he went down on you like it was his last meal and fucked you as his life depended on it. you never confronted him about poorly disguised kink, you just made sure to use his card a bit more than usual.

-🎀 (the way i just casually (and accidentally) write whole essays about these mfs is crazy and should studied)

i woke up last night at 3am, read this and giggled until i fell back asleep and wow… just wow u really eat these up every time 🤭

lowkey wanna make this into a fic fr so i wont share my thoughts and ill just leave this here… like findom except you don’t even realize whats going on until you see how turned he is while you whine about how he spends so much on you and that there was no reason for him to give you his card… he tells you that you that you don’t even have to work anymore cuz he’ll take care of everything 😵‍💫

[psychicwavementality]

※ Ch149 WBK spoilers/leaks, endosaku/endochika talk. +my nickname for chika is chiitan btw

Can't believe edsk neg diffed every sakura cp in 4 pages what the fukk

This is really fun for me to interpret...! in my view, i think that endo equates love to full-blown attention and bloodlust. since sakura is known to lock in on his opponents which was painted as a flaw (im unsure when, around keel arc was it? i rmb he realized he had to protect everyone and not just charge in by himself), this very flaw unfortunately pulled endo in

Like, endo practically spent less than 2 hours??? Face to face with sakura???? And then he's already calling him a man he "values from the bottom of his heart" before acknowledging he can never have the things he truly loves (chiitan and sakura standing side by side, and we already know his feelings for the former are Not merely platonic)

If chiitan is an unobtainable god of worship in a higher plane for endo, i suppose sakura would be the human embodiment of said god... and chiitan never gave endo the attention he categorized as love, but endo still fell first after seeing his bloodlust (the other part of his love)

When endo sees sakura with the same bloodlust, this time directed at him with full attention, he realizes for the first time in his life that he also wants to be desired by the person he's taken an interest in; i believe this was repressed after all those years with chiitan. even tho he was satisfied chasing after and worshipping chiitan, he was never truly happy because those pair of eyes would never look the same way as sakura had looked at him, with the same intense fervor.

Yet endo can't have both of them, his feelings will never be mutual. Sakura's whole spiel in the beginning was how he could never meet another person's eyes, but everyone (with "everyone" being the things sakura loves—the people who care for him) was looking at him—and now endo, who never had the eyes of the thing(s) he loves looking at him, experiences it for the first time, and sakura's gaze is trained fully on him. he's looking his way for the first time in his life, but at the same time, what endo wants will never be reciprocated. I think it's ... wow! Wow u make me HOME A PHONIC

Fucking hell this disaster gayfailure makes me insane. I am homophobic now. I hate him /lh

Edit: me and my friend talked a bit...

I like how the image of endo embracing chiitan is religiously inclined (the title, the pose, the robes, the painting). It's the beginning of the chapter, the largest image. It's clearly depicting worship. Whereas sakura's one is in the middle of a chapter. It's mundane, it's human, it's something fleeting yet all-encompassing, a potential pedestal of worship and idolization. Endo's in normal clothes sitting in front of Sakura's bust. There could potentially be more people around him but the spotlight right now is on sakura, his attention has narrowed down to him and him only

I like how Sakura is also a bust and not a painting... he's more 3 dimensional, perhaps more nuanced even, more developed; he's observable from multiple angles and his features are more defined. But chiitan's a painting—and it kind of fits since we don't know much about him at all. We've only heard of him from tales and other potentially skewed perspectives like how religious paintings depict religious figures

My friend mentioned, Sakura being a bust on a mount could be because endo can topple it down and break him, similar to the panel how a sakura twig can be snapped. Paintings are meant to be hung and admired from afar.

Another friend of mine pointed out that the kanji for chiitan's name contains 焱, while the kanji for endo's has 棪. 木 = wood and 火 = fire... It's like he's firewood as fuel for chiitan's inferno, but at the same time, endo's hurting himself and turning into cinders

Fire (chiitan) is beautiful when admired but painful to touch, but endo's been shown to worship and grasp at it even if it almost kills him.

But Endo uses words like "submerge" and "bathe" when it comes to sakura... he's like water if chiitan is fire. I don't know about the JP originals but endo does mention feeling "joy" upon meeting chiitan (a brief spark) and sakura brings "happiness" (a more prolonged thing) if eng TLs are accurate

What I'm saying is... if chiitan is truly symbolized in the painting and endo is searing himself away through worship—i'd dare say that the best way to destroy a painting, too, is to burn it.

[may-russell]

Just the two of us… 🎶☕️

You work at a coffee shop and once Hamzah notices you, he becomes a regular.

Word count: 2744 (sorry if it's too long)

!hamzah x fem reader.

Part 3/3:

You had spent a few days texting and facetiming just to get to know each other a bit more.

Every new thing Hamzah learned about you, was just another reason why he liked you. It was scary, he was experiencing so many feelings in such a short amount of time. It was the first time someone had swept him off his feet, but you brought him so much peace that focusing on anything other than the way his chest felt everytime he thought about you was pointless. Time was relative.

On Thursday, as you were finishing a long day at work, your phone rang. It was Hamzah. His voice alone was enough to calm you.

"Hey y/n, how was work?" he asked.

"Hi... ugh, it was rough. I'm exhausted, but it was good. I like staying busy, you know? I never run out of things to do."

"Haha, I don't know how you do it, but I'm glad you enjoy your job. You should get some rest though; you'll need it for tomorrow..."

You could hear the smile in his voice, hinting that he had something planned.

"Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?"

"...Our big date!! If you're free... Are you free for dinner tomorrow? I found this place I think you'd really like."

Your heart started racing. It was finally happening. Initially, you had doubts, but Hamzah had given you the time and space to get to know him, and you appreciated that. He was patient and understanding, passionate about his job, and struck a perfect balance between fun and serious. Though you hadn't known each other for long, you trusted him enough to say yes.

"Yeah," you said with a big smile—the same one he always complimented you on. You had once confided in him about your insecurity growing up, and he had made it a point to always appreciate it. "Where are we going?"

"Well, you're always talking about jazz, so I asked around and found this 'invitation-only jazz club'... and I managed to get us invites!"

"Oh... Wow! I see being an influencer has its perks. I've always wanted to go to a place like that."

"Haha, I knew you'd like it. Meet you at 7?"

"You know me well. Yeah, text me the address and I'll meet you there."

"Great. See you tomorrow then."

"See ya!"

The date was set.

Saying you were excited was an understatement; you had always dreamed of meeting someone who wasn't afraid to show genuine interest in you, someone who listened and cared deeply about your feelings. It felt surreal. Sometimes, you thought about the "random" ways the universe worked—what were the chances of Hamzah walking into THAT coffee shop on THAT particular day and time? If not for that serendipitous moment, your paths might never have crossed, and your life wouldn't be this nice.

As soon as you got home, you couldn't wait to share the news with Anna, your roommate and best friend. Her eyes lit up with happiness for you. “It’s good seeing you like this y/n, it was time you finally met a nice guy,” You could see it in her eyes, she meant that. “Do you know what you’re wearing yet?. “I have a few ideas” You said.

The excitement was mutual, as soon as you hung up Hamzah texted Martin. “GUESS WHO HAS A DATE TOMORROW!!!!” He had gotten a haircut the day before to make sure it looked nice by Friday, and already had an outfit in mind, he had planned on picking you up with some flowers, him walking up to your door and surprising you with them, giving you a big hug and smelling your perfume. But you told him you’d meet him there instead, so he had to come up with a new plan to fantasize about.  

FRIDAY

The time leading to the date seemed like an eternity, work was slower than usual, everything was quiet, except for the incessant ticking of the big clock on the cold, white wall in front of you. Across the room, your coworker in her fifties, mindlessly scrolling on facebook on her phone, the screen glaring brightly as she burst into laughter at every funny post. You and Anna had joked about her contagious, "funnier-than-the-joke" laugh just last night.

Hamzah would text you every once in a while throughout the day, and you’d reply trying not to show your excitement, but you were giggling all day long, your mind kept drifting away from your tasks to the infinite possibilities of what could happen tonight, what he’d wear, how he’d react to what you’d be wearing, would the food be good? Would you guys dance? Or just talk and enjoy the music in the background. You kept trying not to get your hopes too high up, in case anything went wrong, what if he canceled last minute?What if–Stop overthinking- You told yourself, -Let’s find something else to do instead-. Hamzah had awaken a lot of feelings within you, most of them sweet and cheesy, but you had found yourself feeling more self-conscious than usual at times, not because of him. First dates are always nerve wracking.

Finally, the workday came to an end. You packed up your things, said your goodbyes, and headed out to the parking lot. Unlocking your car, you climbed in and took a deep breath. As you turn the engine on, you noticed a weird sound, but chose to ignore it. The drive home was filled with a mix of nervous excitement and cautious optimism.

Arriving at your apartment, you hurried inside. You kicked off your shoes and headed straight for the kitchen, were Anna was already heating up lunch for the two of you, she gets off work earlier than you, and she loves cooking, something you were very grateful for. As you both ate your meals, you checked your phone again—another text from Hamzah.

"Hey, are you getting excited? I can't wait to see you tonight 😊"

You smiled at his message, feeling a rush of warmth. Quickly composing yourself, you replied, "Definitely excited! Looking forward to it 😄"

Anna noticed your distracted state and teased, "Someone's got a big date tonight, huh?"

You chuckled nervously. "Yeah, it's just... I really hope it goes well."

Anna grinned knowingly. "It will. Hamzah seems like a great guy. Relax and enjoy yourself."

Over lunch, you shared the latest updates with Anna, including Hamzah's thoughtful messages throughout the day. After eating, you took an “everything shower” and went to your room to decide on an outfit for the evening.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of multiple outfit changes and fleeting thoughts about the evening ahead. After a few moments of deliberation, you settled on a black backless dress, heels and you hair in a messy but stylish bun.

With a final glance in the mirror, you grabbed your purse and phone, checking for any last-minute messages. There it was—a text from Hamzah.

"Heyy, I'm almost there! Can't wait to see you. I'll be by the entrance."

Your heart skipped a beat as you read his message. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you replied, "On my way! See you soon 😊"

You headed out the door, the cool evening air adding to the anticipation building within you. As you got into you car, you could feel something was off, you tried to turn it on but it wasn’t working –Shit.- You quickly grabbed your phone again and ordered an uber, luckily there was one just a couple blocks away from you.

After a few minutes, you were finally there. You got off the car, spotting Hamzah waiting just as he described, wearing the cutest glasses, your nerves eased. His smile widened as he saw you approaching, and you couldn't help but smile back.

"Hey," he greeted warmly, reaching out to give you a gentle hug. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a flush of happiness. "So do you."

“I wanted to get you an actual bouquet,” He says, revealing a red rose he was hiding behind his back. “But I thought it would get in the way when we started dancing. I’ll get you one for next time though.”

“We’re dancing?!” You said with a huuuugeee smile, “God I love your smile-OF COURSE we’re dancing! I didn’t look up ‘How to dance to jazz tutorials’ for nothing”.

“Thanks, really” It’s all you managed to say, staring into his eyes, the night had just started and it was already everything you’d dream of. “Come on, let’s go inside” He said as he wraped his arm around you and led you in.

As you entered the jazz club together, the soft strains of music enveloped you. The ambiance was cozy, with dim lighting casting a warm glow over the intimate tables. Hamzah led you to a table near the stage, where you settled in comfortably. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of good food and the gentle hum of conversations.

The evening unfolded beautifully as you and Hamzah delved into meaningful conversations, sharing stories and discovering mutual interests. You told him about you car breaking down and he offered you a ride back home. He was attentive and sweet, making you feel at ease with his genuine charm and personality.

Dinner arrived—a delicious spread of gourmet dishes that delighted your taste buds. Between bites and sips of wine, laughter bubbled up naturally between you, punctuated by moments of shared glances, soft innocent touches and smiles that spoke volumes.

As the music shifted to a soulful jazz melody, ‘Just the Two of Us’ ;) Hamzah stood up, extending his hand to you with a playful grin. "Care for a dance?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his invitation. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch as he led you to the small dance floor beside the stage. In the soft glow of the club lights, you swayed together to the rhythm of the music, feeling the subtle electricity between you.

For a few blissful moments, the world outside faded away as you immersed yourself in the magic of the night. Hamzah's movements were graceful yet assured, his hand on your waist guiding you across the floor. Your hand in his and your foreheads touching. You couldn't help but admire how his eyes sparkled with genuine happiness, mirroring your own.

As you moved together in sync with the music, the distance between you seemed to dissolve. Each step was a testament to the growing bond between you, a silent promise of more moments like this to come. The rhythm of the jazz, the soft glow of the club lights, and the subtle scent of his cologne enveloped you in a cocoon of intimacy.

In the quiet pauses between songs, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "You're an amazing dancer," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "You're not so bad yourself," you teased softly, the playful banter adding to the lightness of the occasion.

As the music continued, you found yourself lost in the dance, savoring each fleeting second as if trying to capture the essence of this perfect evening. The world outside seemed distant and insignificant compared to the connection you shared in that moment.

Eventually, the song ended, as you returned to your table, hand in hand, the evening continued with a renewed sense of closeness and connection. The jazz club buzzed with life around you, yet it felt like the two of you were in your own little world, cocooned in the warmth of newfound companionship.

As the night came to an end, and the jazz club began to empty, y/n and Hamzah stepped out into the crisp night air, their breath visible in the glow of city lights. The date had been enchanting, filled with laughter, shared stories, and a dance that seemed to suspend time itself.

As they walked towards Hamzah's car, y/n's thoughts flickered back to the Uber ride that had brought her here. She had enjoyed the evening and was grateful for Hamzah's company. The offer of a ride home from him now felt like a continuation of his thoughtfulness.

Reaching the car, Hamzah unlocked the door and held it open for y/n with a gallant gesture. She smiled appreciatively, settling into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car enveloped them both as Hamzah started the engine, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"I hope you enjoyed tonight," Hamzah said, glancing over at y/n with a gentle smile.

"I did," y/n replied softly, her gaze meeting his. "Thank you for inviting me and for the ride home."

"My pleasure," Hamzah replied warmly, his eyes reflecting the streetlights as they drove through the quiet night. "I'm glad we had this time together."

As they navigated through the familiar streets towards y/n's apartment, conversation flowed between them. They discussed their favorite jazz tunes from the night, shared funny anecdotes, and delved into deeper topics that revealed more about their passions and dreams.

The drive seemed to pass in a blur, the connection between y/n and Hamzah growing stronger with each passing minute. By the time they arrived at y/n's apartment building, she couldn't help but feel a sense of reluctance to say goodbye.

"Here we are," he said softly, pulling up to the curb outside y/n's building. He turned off the engine and turned to face her, his expression earnest. Hamzah hesitated for a moment, stepping out, he hurried around to y/n's side and opened the door for her, offering his hand to help her out. She accepted, feeling a flutter of warmth at his gesture.

"Thank you," y/n said softly as she stood beside him, their eyes meeting in the dim glow of the streetlights.

"You're welcome," Hamzah replied, his voice gentle. "Let me walk you to your door."

Together, they walked towards the entrance of the apartment building, the night air cool around them. The silence between them now felt comfortable, filled with a shared understanding and the promise of more to come.

As they reached y/n's door, she turned to face Hamzah with a smile. Him looking at her as if contemplating his next words. "Thank you again for tonight. I really enjoyed your company."

"Me too," y/n replied sincerely, moving closer to him, a warm smile gracing her lips. "I had a great time."

"Would you like to do this again sometime?” He said, his hand gracing hers.

Y/n felt a rush of excitement at his suggestion. "I would love that," she answered.

"Great," Hamzah said with a smile, relief evident in his voice.

Their closeness drew them together naturally, and suddenly, y/n found herself wrapped in Hamzah's embrace. Her arms were around his neck, fingers gently caressing the curls at the back of his head. His arms encircled her waist, drawing her in as she rested her head against his chest. The intimacy of the moment enveloped them both, a silent acknowledgment of the connection they had forged over the course of the evening.

“Y/n?” Hamzah murmured softly.

“Yeah?” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

Their hearts raced in unison, the anticipation palpable between them. Y/n lifted her head, meeting Hamzah's gaze with unwavering certainty. Their noses brushed against each other's, their breath mingling in the quiet space between them. And then, without hesitation, Hamzah closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as they shared this intimate moment, the world outside fading away. The kiss was gentle yet filled with passion, a culmination of the emotions they had both been feeling throughout the night.

As they pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting together, y/n couldn't help but smile. It felt right, being in Hamzah's arms, their hearts beating as one.

Hamzah brushed a strand of hair away from y/n's face, his touch tender. “I'm glad I met you, y/n.”

"Me too," y/n replied softly, her fingers tracing the line of Hamzah's jaw. "I'm really glad."

They stood there for a moment longer, savoring the closeness and the newfound connection between them. In that quiet moment, they both knew that tonight had been more than just a date—it had been the beginning of something beautiful.

Thank you for reading!! This was so much fun.

[runningfrom2am]

getaway car (r.c)

summary: You and Rafe, who are alike in more ways than you think, get kicked out of class together.

pairing: rafe x reader

wc: 1.8k

tags/warnings: mean!kook!reader, bullying i guess?, highschool!au, swearing

requests

nav/masterlists

This particular morning, something in the cool morning breeze woke you up at four am. Wide awake. By the time you paced into your English classroom at 8:01, your uniform perfectly fit (besides the rolled-up waistband on your skirt that had previously landed at a horribly unflattering place above your knees) and an iced coffee in hand, you’d already had enough of the day.

You’d spent the first hour of your day in an everything shower and doing your makeup just the way you liked, all for one boy in hopes you could pass him in the hall and grab his attention. Who was absolutely not Rafe Cameron.

“Oh wow, Y/N- are those fake eyelashes?” The always annoying, better-than-thou attitude having girl who sits in front of you, Ally, asks as you approach your desk.

“Obviously. Same ones I wear everyday.” You reply sarcastically, slamming your stuff down on your desk so it yanks on her hair that she has placed on it. “Dumb bitch.” You mutter under your breath, earning a chuckle from the boys sitting next to you and the seat behind that one- Kelce and Rafe.

“Y/N, let me see!” Your friend who sits behind you says, tapping on your shoulder. You smile as you turn around, avoiding eye contact with either of the boys who were laughing at your comment a moment earlier.

“Oh they’re lovely! They look so soft too! What brand are they?” Bella asks, smiling genuinely and ignoring the scoff the girl in front of you lets out. Bella is the friends with everyone, sickeningly sweet girl, who’s been your best friend since you met at soccer tryouts in freshman year. She had stepped on your toe in her cleats, and stopped the drill to insist you step on her foot back so you were even because she felt so guilty. Obviously, you refused and laughed it off. Everyone loves her- and she’s kind to everyone, no matter what. You don’t know why she’s friends with you, but you balance each other out beautifully.

“Juvias Place.” You reply, fluttering your lashes at her and resting your hand under your chin. “They’re my fave- I’m probably on my eighth pair. And! And they’re like fifteen bucks! Isn’t that crazy?” You grin, letting go of the clearly negative comment the girl in front of you was making.

“Oh wow- yeah that’s crazy.” Rafe cuts in sarcastically and you shoot him a glare.

“Right?” Bella giggles, clearly not getting that he was making fun of you guys. “That’s a really good deal!” She smiles at him, which he returns with a nod, flipping his expression once her eyes land on him. Rafe had always liked Bella as well. He was making fun of her, yes, but he didn’t have the heart to let her know that if she didn’t pick up on the social cues. She just sees the best in everyone all the time, in the way that he doesn’t, and you also don’t.

Sometimes it frustrates you, the way he waves at her in the halls or shouts her name across the field when either of our teams are practicing, (not because you like him or anything, gross) because you know he either A. is making fun of her or B. has bad intentions, which you doubt because he’s never laid a hand on her- as much of an asshole as he is.

You just hate the idea of anyone taking advantage of her kindness. And it’s not like you’re a particularly mean person, but with Bella around, you try and fill that role to protect her. You’re scared that one day she’ll need it, and you’re not afraid to throw hands with anyone who does her wrong.

Class starts and it’s clear that the teacher doesn’t feel like talking this morning, because she just says to discuss the readings in partners that you got to pick yourselves. You instantly turn in your seat to face Bella’s desk, crossing your legs on the chair. “Yay! Okay, we were meant to read chapters 5-10 for today…” Bella starts, pulling the novel from her bag and opening it up.

“Mind giving me the run down? After practice last night I was swamped.” You say, smiling at her hopefully.

“Oh, yeah! For sure.” Bella nods. “First though- down to business, I saw you talking to Quinton this morning.” She whispers, leaning closer.

“Oh, yeah, I brought him coffee.” You shrug and she rolls her eyes at you.

“Okay, duh! Tell me why, tell me everything, did he text you and ask? Or did you text him and offer? Because those are very different. And was it snap? Or did he use your number?” Bella bombs you with questions.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, smiling at her fondly. “Okay, he texted me, number, not snap, and then I offered because I was driving Vanessa and we were stopping for coffee anyways.”

“Number! This is big.” She smiles excitedly, nudging your shoulder. “Next thing you know, he’ll be down on one knee and we’ll be planning your wedding!”

Rafe is glaring over at the two of you, eyes locked onto those fake lashes that he must admit, do look very soft. He rolls his eyes in an effort to get himself to focus on the task at hand, discussing readings he also didn’t do. He couldn’t focus very long considering his partner was fully ignoring him, on his phone still facing the front of the room.

Why do you even like Quinton anyways? That guy’s an idiot- Rafe knows him well, and he knows that besides being a half decent defenseman, Quin is nothing special and is actually known to cheat on his past girlfriends. Why would you waste your time around a douchebag like that?

“Dude- would you stop?” Kelce groans, turning to look at Rafe who is repeatedly punching his back, which started with one hit to get his attention, but continued as his mind wandered and he needed to vent his frustrations.

“No, fuck off. You’re so annoying.” Rafe mumbles, continuing to hit his friend in the back.

“Rafe- for fucks sake, leave him alone.” Your voice distracts him and he stops, shocked that you got involved.

“Why’s it matter to you? Kelce was pissing me off.” Rafe defends, looking at you as you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I literally did not do anything!”

“Exactly- we’re doing group work.”

“Well neither of us read it so what will we talk about?” Kelce says, turning in his seat and trying to rub the aching out of his back.

“Believe it or not, you punching the crap out of your friend because you need endless amounts of attention can be distracting to others.” You say, impulsively reaching back and pulling Rafe’s binder from his desk. It’s always bothered you that he left the sheet that it came with in the front, a flimsy piece of plastic sheet with large graphic letters saying the binders brand and how many sheets of paper it can hold.

“Hey!” Rafe spits, reaching out for it as you pull the plastic sheet out, crumpling it up and throwing it back at him before putting handing his binder back.

“That was bothering me.” You say, and he snatches the binder out of your hands.

“I liked it there.” He mumbles, fully pouting now.

“It did look stupid.” Kelce agrees with you, making Rafe smack the back of his head.

“Rafe, c’mon.” Bella shakes her head at him, hardly looking up from the book.

“Maybe you drooling over Quinton is distracting, have you ever considered that?” Rafe says to you, ignoring her at this point.

“That’s your business how?”

“Oh my god, Y/N, would you shut up for like four seconds? Jesus Christ, you are a walking nightmare!” Ally hisses, turning and smacking her hands on your desk, making you jump.

“That’s actually truly funny coming from you, Ally. Your hair looks like a crows nest and you fucking smell like you haven’t washed your uniform in months. Personally, I’d watch my mouth if I was you.” You spit back, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

Kelce and Bella simultaneously smack a hand over their mouths, trying to stifle their laughter. Rafe makes no such attempts, laughing and nodding, reaching out and gently shoving your shoulder.

“Shut up, Rafe. You’re just mad because I don’t kiss the ground you walk on.” Ally snaps, turning around again to face the front.

“True.” He says, coming down from his laughing fit. “I just kind of think it’s weird, though, that you make fun of Y/N’s makeup when you’re not even pretty to begin with. At least she doesn’t need it.” Rafe says, throwing the balled-up paper you just tossed at him at the back of her head.

You avoid eye contact with him as your cheeks burn from the implications of his comment.

You watch as Ally sniffles, her hand shooting up into the air. “Miss! Y/N and Rafe are calling me ugly!” She shouts out, grabbing the teachers attention when she doesn’t immediately see her hand.

You both simultaneously groan as everyone turns to look at you, the teacher standing up from her desk and pointing towards the door. “You two! Office. Go!”

“I’ll get some notes for you.” Bella whispers as you stand, shoving your books into your bag.

“Thanks, Bells.” You smile sadly at her. Rafe brushes past you as he moves to the door, past Ally’s desk as she looks at him smugly. You follow a few moments behind, stopping at the door as she watches you, pretending to look down and spit into your hand before flipping her off.

“Miss Y/L/N, out. Now!” The teacher urges you out, and you roll your eyes as you step out, adjusting the weight of your backpack on your shoulder with your coffee in your other hand.

You didn’t expect to see Rafe waiting for you, but it makes you smile anyways. Despite your bickering, you are decently good friends. You run in some of the same circles, and honestly you think you have a lot in common. Not that you hangout very much.

“So.” Rafe says, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Are we actually going to the office?”

“Fuck no.” You giggle, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not.”

“Thank god. Me neither.” Rafe laughs as you make your way down the hallway in the direction of the exit to the parking lot. “Are you hungry? We could go get something to eat.”

“Sure. Why not.” You agree, smiling up at him as he pushes the door open for you. “I’ll drive. I’m not getting on that rolling death trap you call a bike.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” He chuckles, following you toward your car.

part two

A/N: i hammered this out this morning and i think it's just so cute

taglist: @slut4drudy , @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @sadfury (i just tagged some mutuals who like my other stuff so if you want to be added or removed lmk!!)

reblogs and feedback are very appreciated as always :)

[tracybirds]

It's nearing the end of the year and I'm thrilled to have finished up my little Thunderbirds Reading Challenge yesterday! It's been a whirlwind year with major lows but also some cherished highs and I'm still finding my feet a bit but we're getting there <3 I'm looking forward to 2025 and getting to dive into this world that I love once more!

I want to chatter about my thoughts on each book so I'll do that under the cut <3

Also this is my second year of making prompts for myself and I do plan on doing it again next year, so let me know if you want to be tagged in a post for that.

On to the books!

---

Thunderbird One: A book with silver lettering on the spine

My pick for this was A Zoologist's Guide To The Galaxy by Arik Kershenbaum. This was a book a biology teacher friend had recommended to me and so when I spotted it at the library and saw the silver lettering, it felt like it was meant to be and I snagged it! And I'm so glad she did tell me to read this one - I had so much fun dipping into the concepts and ideas this book presented. It was a really interesting way to explore key biological principals in the context of evolution on an alien world.

My favourite chapters were related to movement and communication, but there were so many fascinating tidbits of information and incredible solutions that life on Earth has come up with, that is gave me a whole new appreciation for the variation present on our own world!

This book has gone on my wishlist to purchase and I think everyone with an interest in natural sciences should check it out :D

Thunderbird Two: A book featuring a musician

For this I chose the appropriately named The Instrumentalist by Harriet Constable. This caught my eye as a new release and it was the setting that interested me most. The focus was on Venice, in the time period when Antonio Vivaldi was active, and that setting has some nostalgia for me as my family owned a CD audio drama set in the same period and place, designed to introduce children to Vivaldi's music. Not only that, but I was fortunate enough to visit Venice this year and so the environment was fresh in my mind.

This novel is based on Anna Maria della Pieta who was an orphan and violinist taught by Vivaldi. I've thought about this book a lot since I've read it - it's beautiful and the depictions of how music can consume you is truly stunning, but it's not a beautiful book, it's brutal and dark and doesn't shy away from the struggle that women in the time and place in which it's set. More than music, I think this book covered the soaring heights and despicable depths of what humanity can be, and demonstrates how easily one could become trapped by their circumstances.

As an aside, I did also cry when I read the author's acknowledgements at the end, they were absolutely stunning and I read them out loud to my friend and wow they hit home. I really enjoyed this one too <3

Thunderbird Three: A book you had to read in high school

I knew The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien would be the book I chose as soon as I wrote the prompt. I first read this book in my final year of high school as part of a study on short stories, and it was one of my first real exposures to the Vietnam War. I knew the bare bones of the conflict secondhand from friends who were studying history, I'd heard it mentioned a dozen times in TV and books, but in NZ when it came to military history we spent a lot more time discussing the events of Gallipoli and the ANZACs in WWI and of course the Holocaust in WWII (We can have a discussion another day about why we didn't even learn about the New Zealand Wars but whatever). So when I read it for the first time, I was struck by the raw brutality of it all, and it made a deep impact on me.

Now that I'm older, more than a decade on, I wanted to revisit it.

I know a lot of people who would want to analyse this book with a political framework, and I don't think it's wrong to do so, but I do think that if you do that you miss what this book is. The non-linear nature, the ruminating and revisions inherent in every story told, the oscillation between being blase and being horrifically scared and being alight with a monstrous rage and so on and so on and so on. It's a confronting novel and the way it meanders and feels so pointless at times was something I really struggled with this time around.

But then it's a story about drafted soldiers, trapped in a war they didn't choose and couldn't escape. What else could it have been?

Thunderbird Four: A book exploring somewhere new

The Apollo Missions: In the Astronaut's Own Words by Rod Pyle was not what I expected my pick to be. Even after I read it, I didn't immediately realise how well this fit the prompt. It's such a cool little nonfiction book, taking the transcripts of key points during each of the Apollo missions and pairing the astronauts' awe and wonder (and humour!) with photos from each of the missions was such a cool way to learn more about the goals, the successes and the failures faced in exploring the lunar surface for the first time.

It's such an incredible project that I still can't believe NASA achieved and I love learning more about it <3

(And from a Thunderbirds perspective... it was very fun to see some familiar names cropping up too!)

Thunderbird Five: A book featuring a non-organic lifeform

I won't lie, I 100% thought I was going to reread Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir for this one. But then, a book that had been sitting on my shelf for two years found its way into my suitcase when I went to Italy, and to my surprise it featured a non-organic lifeform! Kind of. I'm still not really sure what exactly the Fremda were...

I don't remember very much of this book to be honest. While the premise was interesting, I found the story got pretty bogged down fairly quickly and although it was fine and I enjoyed it enough to finish, I knew I wouldn't be continuing on with the series.

They can't all be winners I suppose ahaha

Anyway, that's my Thunderbirds Reading Challenge for 2024 all wrapped up! Hope you enjoyed a little foray into something different and once again let me know if you want to be tagged when I make the 2025 prompts <3

[ghostphys]

Update after a week of doing this:

So it’s finally update time! Thank you all for the support on my post about this, it really meant a lot!!

I’m going to list the pros and cons of my little experiment, then add a summary/TLDR at the end of the post. This is probably going to be quite a long post as it was definitely an interesting 5 days. P.S, if you have any questions please ask! I’m 100% willing to answer.

Pros:

• My time spent studying over doubled this week. This was the most obvious pro (and the one I was kind of hoping for the most) and I’m so proud of myself for how much I managed to get done. I studied for an average of 4hours/day, whereas before I was only doing 2.

• Studying felt so much more relaxing and productive at night. This probably contributed to the increase in studying; I found I enjoyed studying more, was able to pay attention for longer periods of time, and it started to feel less like a chore, and more like a hobby.

• I started to feel more present in the moment, especially on the bus travelling to/from uni. This wasn’t something I was really expecting, but I think also was partially a result of me deleting social media (which i can totally make another post on if that’s of interest). But where I used to sleep on the bus, or even just daydream, I started to read books, look over notes, and just feel a lot more present in general, which was a fresh of breath air honestly.

• I actually felt a lot less tired while at uni. I think this is most likely due to having been awake for a while before even travelling, so I had plenty of time to wake up. As someone who suffers from both physical and mental health issues, this was really important to me and i was so so much more focused during lectures and just generally wow it was amazing.

Cons:

• Although I found it easier to study, I dedicated a lot less time to keeping my room/study area tidy. I’m not sure exactly why this was, I think maybe just moving around to tidy up at 2/3am felt a bit wrong as I was scared to make too much noise? I think the way around this would be to just tidy right before sleeping at around 6pm, but this was probably my least favourite of the cons:(

• No time for social life outside of uni. Unless your friends are all also borderline nocturnal, then yeah if you are a person who loves going out etc then this is not the schedule for you. Fortunately for me my friends already know i sleep a lot, so most of our socialising happens in between lectures during uni time. (And by that I mean going to cafés and doing even more studying).

• It was kind of hard to figure out mealtimes? Eventually I settled on only having two meals a day, but just increasing portions sizes, and having more snacks in between. This is just what worked best for me, and this wasn’t a huge con tbh, just kind of confusing at first.

• It was so much easier to just hit snooze on my alarms. Because I didn’t have to worry about a bus to catch or anything forcing me to wake up, I found myself saying ‘just five more minutes’ way more times than I should have. I definitely slept in one day sadly. I think this is definitely preventable, I’m sure there are special alarm apps to help with this sort of thing, and i’ll probably be checking that out.

Summary/TLDR: This was such a fun experience for me, I’m really super proud of myself for trying this out and for improving my studying! All in all I definitely found this to be a positive experience, obviously that’s a personal thing so please don’t take my word to be truth! But just in my experience I really found it to help my mental aspect of studying as well as just physically doing more. Although my room got a bit messier, and I kind of just got disoriented about the time of day sometimes, I definitely think these are things that could have been fixed.

Disclaimer: I only tried this for a week which is definitely not enough time to fully change your sleep schedule, and I am obviously not a professional in this field or in research. This was just a fun little experiment and a chance for me to talk about my personal experience. I’m not encouraging this behaviour or saying it is healthy. (I am not informed about the effects on health this would have long term). Do not take some random person on tumblr’s experience as a holy grail of truth or something like that.

[iwanttobepersephone]

So I sent this message to @findingcrow

And I ended up explaining literally all of the emojis. Here they are (in order of explained, not order of how they were put). I spent 3 hours explaining this and it's a LONG post, so, sorry lol

👯‍♀️-The twins are just a pair of dancers, and I love the vibes of Scar and Grian dancing together in the desert

🫧-The bubbles are because their love has the same vibes as the way a child loves bubbles. The child thinks bubbles are pretty and fun, but often pops them due to a lack of understanding of their fragility

⚖️- The scale is a symbol for justice, something that Grian had the intention of bringing to the server, and yet, in the end, he hated following through with it (killing Scar)

🪬- The hand is called a hamsa, as far as I'm aware, and is a symbol for protection and guidance, something that Grian offered to Scar throughout the entire time they knew each other

✨️- The sparkles are about how attractive and nice their love seemed to Grian, how shiny the prospect of loving Scar was

💌- Well, to me, it feels like keeping his love hidden inside him, leaving only hints of its existence. You cannot read what's inside the envelope until you open it, but the heart implies it was sealed with love. He hides his feelings in the envelope like a letter never meant to be read

💃- Ok, so, the dancing one is the same as the pair dancing

🌌- The galaxy is about his home, as I like to think the Watchers live in sorta in space-ish. I think a lot about Grian routinely going up on the roof in any season of the series and just, staring at the stars. "Oh wow," he'll say, "it's so much more beautiful looking up than down"

🫀- I tend to use the real heart for situations when my love feels, well, *real*, more so than the typical cartoons heart can express. When it feels almost as if the other person is less of a loved one, more of a part of me, like we've become so very intertwined that I can never forget them. I think you can guess why that applies to Scar and Grian

🎭- The drama masks are, once again, about how he hid his feelings. "No," he said, "I'm not in love. He's just my partner in crime." It's also about how he acted out a personality that fit his needs, too. He always wanted to win, and Scar was a part of that. "I made a deal, I have to live up on it" while he's actively helping kill people, knocking down the number of who he'll have to kill once he's red. In the end, all his actions were for his own gain, but slowly the facade he put on them of being for Scar became real, the mask became his face

🕯- And the candles, well, "the light of the server." A candle in the dark. A fire, something so fierce and destructive, becoming passive and helpful. Something so necessary for some. Plus, they're often associated with magic and rituals, a tool for manifestation and summoning and communication. But a fallen candle, a flame forgotten before bed, it can become destructive again. That's what burns down houses, what takes lives. And if it doesn't lose control, it burns, and burns, and keeps burning until all of itself has melted, until it's nothing

⚔️- For the swords, I thought mostly of when Grian attacked him. Y'know, "YOU TRAITOR!". #1, I like to think of it as him putting his sword to Scars throat, so swords are obvious there. #2, he also was guarding himself! He trusted Scar, showed him parts of himself he never showed anyone else (maybe even revealed he's a watcher?????), and then Scar KILLED HIM! As part of a stupid game! (Yes I'm aware of the irony there it drives me insane I can rant about that themes about that for so so so so long and the guilt Grian feels for being the cause the games Rzaurskr74us4s4ua). So, obviously, he started to guard his heart, like swords across an entrance

⚰️- Coffin is 2 things, first, the way their love died as Scar did. I like to think that Grian tried to bury him a little, Scars final resting place was also the resting place of their love (at least, the final resting place of SCARS love). The second thing is that Scar would sell coffins, remember? But he never got one. He never got what he gave, but he did get everything Grian had

🎠- So, the horse isn't JUST a horse, it's a merry-go-round horse. Y'know, from a carousel? So, in all the seasons, their relationship kinda follows the same main story-beats, right?

•Early betrayal/beginning of a grudge

•They're forced to make up, even if just briefly

•Help each other out with something

•They fall out again

•They die (sometimes being the CAUSE of the others death, even if indirect)

It happens again and again.... like how a carousel goes around and around and around. You CHOSE to get on the carousel, Grian, and you can't get off until it's over, you know that, Grian

🏜- Anywas, for the desert, well, they're the desert duo

🦙- For the Llama, don't tell me you forgot about Pizza!

🌓- Ok the half moon, Let's see how effectively we can put this into words. So it's 2 sides of the moon, right? It's the same thing at its core, the moon, but two entirely separate appearances, light and dark. It's the same thing at its core, a game, but two entirely separate experiences, the player and the creator. 2 sides of the same coin sorta deal, yeah? They both play the game, too, and in my mind, Scar sorta creates the game, too, in his own way. Would Grian have ever stuck around the game the way he did if Scar weren't there? Scar kept things interesting for him, kept him from getting bored. Grian bent and created new rules to make sure Scar had fun, the game was created just as much for Scar as it was for Grian. And again, Grian plays too! Grian has plans blow up in his face, Grian faces punishments of breaking the rules, and despite what the other players may say, Grian lost, too. It's the same thing at its core, a game, unwinnable, but malleable

❤️‍🩹- The bandaged heart is a bit more on the nose,

I like to think both Grian and Scar were, in some way, hurt when they met. Maybe Grian had become used to the ultimately selfish love of the watchers, and had trouble believing that any other sort of love could exist. Maybe Scar hated his namesake, and wished he could hide it. (Examples, I can't quite decide on what I wanna do with it, lol. But as they grew closer, that changed. Grian began to believe in selflessness, and Scar began to find beauty in every part of him. They bandaged each others wounds and healed each others hearts

🧨- So, the dynamite is also pretty obvious, I feel like, like it's Grian. Now I COULD do some sort of deep meaning, pretty easily in fact (blowing up in the emotional way instead of the physical way, losing control of his emotions, once again circling back to "YOU TRAITOR"), but that's really not what I had in mind when I put it there

🏳️‍🌈- The queer flag.... do I need to explain that

🕰- So, the clock is a really cool one, because Grian knew from the very beginning that this would never last. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had a timer in the back of his mind, constantly ticking, for when it was all gonna end. It was only ever a matter of time, but he pretended it wasn't. He pretended it would last forever. Maybe, if he hoped for long enough, the clock would stop ticking, but it didn't

⏳️- Now, the sand timer has, once again, a very similar meaning. It's a timer till the end of it all, the knowledge that it will always run out, *always*. But he still joins the games, over and over again. He flips the hourglass over and restarts the timer. The sand will keep pouring, it will never change, it will end the same, always

[bengiyo]

Knock Knock Boys Ep 5 Stray Thoughts

Last week, we squarely sorted our housemates into two pairs and gave Almond a proper shake to make him get over Jumper. Almond spent the first chunk of the episode following Latte, and watched him give a talk to a club about pansexuality. He and Almond had a good moment after that, and Latte found himself getting jealous of Jumper at the barbecue they hosted later. Meanwhile, Thanwa is still looking for work but had an excellent moment with Peak in a closet where Peak apologized for taking a kiss from him earlier and asking for a new one. We left at Jane reentering the picture.

I do love their cold opens that are for a later scene in the episode. It feels so assured every time. I like the anticipation of paying attention to the moments so I know what that cold open is meant to provide as payoff.

I love Latte so much. He wakes up from sleeping on Almond and only gives a pleased smile about it. These two faking sleep are ridiculous. I know Almond was gonna toss his ass when the Now Kisstm moment started

Using the shirt to provide a barrier during a pratfall kiss is novel. I’m glad the first time their lips actually touch won’t be accidental, and that Latte got injured. We’ve only seen someone bleeding after a pratfall kiss in a few instances (Love Stage!! TH comes to mind).

Fiancée? I am ready for the drama.

These boys are nosy as hell!

The energy Jane gives off is so knowing. I am compelled.

Almond, the rich kid, took his shirt off to pretend to clean the walls with it after rolling away from the door. Incredible.

She is so ready to fight this man. They do not feel like they are romantically involved.

I feel bad for Thanwa. He’s staying out of the way, and even waited a bit for answers before calling.

Finally, someone acknowledged that every goddamn mosquito would be flying in through those open doors.

Morning wood in my BL? It’s more likely than  you think.

Almond, we see you still smiling about what you saw.

I’m with Almond. I wouldn’t want to eat breakfast at this tense table. However, I am also with Latte just trying to get some food in before walking to class.

Thanwa feels so properly gay to me. He’s being so careful about being neutral in his interactions with Jane.

I don’t like Max.

I like Lukpeach taking her offense to their sexual health club and talking about how improper it is to film people’s private moments and post them for clout.

Almond, focus please!

These two have a fun dynamic. Almond is still clearly thinking about Latte’s dick, and I love Latte being upfront that he’s down to play if Almond wants.

An unfortunate t-shirt choice there, costuming department.

This framing with the bed scene is excellent. Thanwa is still willing to offer Peak shelter, but he’s made it clear that they can’t have any more closeness while this situation with Jane remains unresolved.

Yes, put on your glasses so you can see his back properly. This show is very good at communicating that the characters are feeling multiple things.

Baby’s first dildo!

I don’t think they’re talking about the job anymore, guys.

This boy is skipping home to use his new toy! I love that for him.

You’re gonna need more Vaseline than that, baby boy.

I really love that Almond is allowed to explore his body this way. He lucked out on his roommates, too. Latte was worried when he heard him scream, and I love him teasing Almond about helping. It’s so cool that Almond is made to feel like he is desirable in some way.

And now Jane is covering for Peak, and didn’t react much about Almond saying he kissed Thanwa. She knows.

Oh no. Almond, do not go check that locker room. You are gonna get your little heart broken.

Glad I called that Jumper was already with his friend.

Almond….no… You were just at a meeting about consent.

That’s interesting. I thought we would find out about Jumper and Shawn via the clip, not that Almond would have already seen them together.

Wow, that’s a difficult cliffhanger. You could see Latte pulling away from Almond.

The preview is not promising!

Wow, I was not expecting the show to go beyond the “don’t film people” PSA aside. Having Almond overstep that boundary in a moment of jealousy and be caught for it is ripe with tension. I like that it’s Latte who catches it first, because he’s been dealing with Almond overstepping boundaries with him for multiple episodes with him following him places and trying to see his dick. Even if there’s been brewing sexual tension between them, Almond has been very firm about saying no to Latte. To have him then film and post Jumper like this is egregious, but in line with his earlier behavior. I’m excited to see where we go with them. As for Thanwa, I love that he still likes Peak even if he’s holding on his own line as well. This show whips ass.

[ficfield]

Against protocol - Part 2 - The interrogation

this was a fun one to write, was loving the whole vibe of it. Enjoy my lovelies!

BSAA detention facility – 0400 hours

Chris sat across from her, arms folded, expression unreadable. The room was cold, sterile, nothing more than a steel table, two chairs, and a single flickering light overhead.

She had been sitting there for hours, hands cuffed to the table, but she didn’t look tired. If anything, she looked bored.

“you’re not like the others,” Chris finally said, breaking the silence. 

She arched a brow. “And you’re not like others in your squad.” 

“how’s that?”

“You didn’t shoot me on sight.”

Chris exhaled, leaning back. “Still trying to decide if that was a mistake.” 

She smirked. “It wasn’t.” 

His jaw tensed. He hated this, hated not knowing what she was, what she was capable of. But more than that, he hated that his instincts were telling him that she wasn’t the enemy. 

“The BSAA wants you classified as a bioweapon,” he said. “Which means you don’t leave this place unless it’s in a body bag or research lab.” 

Her expression didn’t change, but something flickered in her eyes. Something tired. 

“You gonna let them do that?” she asked.

Chris didn’t answer right away.

It was protocol. It was safe. Every single B.O.W. he’d encountered before was a threat, mindless, uncontrollable, a danger to everyone around them. But she has saved his men. She had stopped something worse from being unleashed.

She wasn’t a thing. 

She was a person. 

“Tell me everything.” He said.

She leaned forward, resting her cuffed hands on the table. “You won’t believe me.” 

“Try me.”

A slow exhale. Then, finally,

“I was made in a lab, like the things you hunt,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t meant to be a weapon. I was meant to be better, smarter, stronger, in control.” A pause. “They failed.” 

Chris frowned. “Failed how?”

She glanced at the two-way mirror, knowing damn well they were being watched. “I wasn’t obedient enough.” 

That settled uncomfortably in his gut. 

“They wanted something they could control. Something they could unleash and call back. But I was aware, I knew what they were doing, and I fought back.” 

Chris stared at her.

“So, they tried to get rid of me,” she continued. “Dumped me in a cell, left me to rot, then the black market got their hands on me. they wanted to see what I could do.” She smirked bitterly. “They got their answer.” 

Chris knew what that meant. They pushed you too far, and you fought back. 

“That facility,” he said. “You weren’t a prisoner, were you?” 

She shook her head. “I was the experiment. Until I wasn’t.” 

The silence stretched between them.

Chris ran a hand down his face. The BSAA was never going to let her walk. Even if she had a conscience, even if she had control, they would never trust her.

“Then what do you want?” he asked.

Her eyes locked onto his. “To help.”

Chris blinked.

“I have these abilities, these powers. I could be a monster, but I don’t want to be,” she said. “I don’t want to be what they made me. but if I can use this to stop the people who are monsters? The ones making more of me? then I should.”

Chris had spent his entire career fighting horrors made in labs, watching good people die because of them. And now, sitting in front of him, was the first bioweapon that wanted to fight back with him.

If she was telling the truth, if she meant it, then maybe she wasn’t a threat. Maybe she was something else entirely.

But the BSAA would never see it that way.

“You know if I let you go, they’ll call me a traitor,” he muttered. 

She tilted her head. “Would it be the first time you went against orders?”

Chris huffed a dry laugh. She had him there.

He looked toward the security camera in the corner of the room, knowing there were people behind it just waiting for him to make the call.

He stood up, walking toward the door.

“Stay here,” he said.

She blinked, caught off guard. “You’re seriously leaving me cuffed to a table?” 

“Just for a little while.”

She scoffed. “Wow. Trust issues much?”

Chris gave her a pointed look before knocking on the door. It opened, and he stepped out, greeted immediately by a BSAA officer.

“What’s the call, Captain?”

Chris exhaled.

He knew what he should say. That she was a risk. That she was dangerous. That the BSAA should do whatever they wanted with her, and he’d walk away.

But he also knew what was right.

He looked at the officer. 

“She’s coming with me.”

The man stiffened. “Sir, that’s against protocol-“

“Then rewrite the goddamn protocol.”

The officer hesitated. Chris Redfield had earned his reputation, nobody in the BSAA would dare call him soft, but when he made a decision, he meant it.

“She’s not our enemy,” Chris said firmly. “We need people who can fight the real threats, not lock them up.” 

The officer hesitated, then nodded.

Chris walked back into the room, arms crossed.

“Well?” she asked.

“You work for me now,” he said. “You go where I say, you do what I say. You prove to me you’re not a threat, and I make sure the BSAA doesn’t put you in a lab.” 

She smirked. “Sounds like a terrible idea.” 

Chris shrugged. “Probably.”

She held up her cuffed wrists. “First rule of trust, maybe don’t keep me chained up.”

He sighed, stepping forward and unlocking the cuffs. 

As she rubbed her wrists, she gave him a curious look.

“You really believe I’m not a monster?” she asked. 

Chris met her gaze. “I’ve fought monsters before. You’re not one of them.” 

Something unreadable passed across her face, something she quickly masked with a smirk.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we” 

Chris exhaled.

Yeah, they would. 

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d just gotten himself into. 

[lovelacebarbee]

Sometime ago, we created the undead gene roe au in the ww2 rpf server. Its sad, funny, thoughful and more!

We are having fun over there making our favourite medics life hell.Thank you to all and specially to @upontherisers , @leftenantjopson and @corrosivesaints, you guys have helped me so much.

A bit of context, in this au besides gene, babe is cursed to be reincarnated, this scene takes place before gene and Anthony Mayfield, our ww1 babe ship out to war.

But thats enough of me talking, lets get on with the fic!

----------------------------------------------------------

There is no greater sorrow than thinking back upon a happy time in misery- Dante, the Divine Comedy

"You got me a gift?

"Yeah, i mean it will be a while before we get back to the States, and well, I know you usually dont go out much, so i figured I might get something for you."

He handed me a expensive looking bag, probably from some of those found in the richer parts of the city, the parts were i would never go.

"Thats.... Very nice of you, Anthony"

"Well this is what friends do for each other. And please dont call me Anthony, I told already you you can just call me babe......... Well get on with it, open It !!!"

"Right now?"

I felt that this was too intimate of a gesture to do in public, a gesture meant between two lovers, not two soldiers ready to go to war.

"Well, we might not get another time to relax and be alone once we board that boat"

Seeing as i wasnt moving, he grabbed me and we started wrestreling, he was stronger but i was faster, and i had more experience fighting dirty.

We ended up on the floor, my hands keeping his arms behind his back. We spent a couple of seconds breathing heavily, i could feel his exahustion in the way his shoulders relaxed. Then, after the adreline had worn off, i realiced the position we were both in, and i quickly got Up and release Anthony.

"Okay, okay, leave me alone, I will open it"

I grabbed the bag that had been dropped during our previous activities.

Inside the bag was a small blue box, tied toguether with a matching ribbon. It looked expensive, sure, i knew Anthony had some money, at least much more than i had, but this was excessive, even for him.

I slowly opened the box, revealing a beautiful ornate lighter. Brand new. I grabbed it and spun It so i could see it more clearly. And then i saw it.

On its side, there were two intertwined letters. A G and a T. Gene and Tally.

"Wow, thats very beautiful"

"Do you like It? I figured you would like that. You keep talking of that sister of yours and that way you can keep her close during the war"

Somehow, that declaration was the worst of it. So intimate, the way he had remembered me talking about Tally. I couldnt say i loved the gift. Not to him. But what to say?

I looked at him. We were both too young, his face hopeful expecting my answer. He didnt know death like i did. He still had hope that we would make It somehow.

But today was not the day i reminded him of that. Today we were two boys happily enjoying our last days of freedom.

"It Will be handy for sure. Thank you, really, It means a lot"

"Well as long as you dont lose it somewhere in Europe my friend, i Will be happy"

He slung his arm around me. I had to force my mouth shut as not to say that i would be happy so long as i had him with me.

[ejzah]

A/N: Well, after more than two years, this story is slowly coming to a close.

***

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 37

The start of summer break meant more late nights and juggling of the different schedules. Deeks tried not to leave Caleb with his sitter too often, so he took him to the office whenever possible. When she wasn’t teaching college classes, Kensi also offered to stay with Caleb some of the time, insisting that it wouldnt be any trouble.

They spent the majority of their time outside of work together. More often than not, Kensi ended up at Deeks’ house, but she was getting a little more comfortable with letting him into her apartment, messiness aside.

Today, Deeks had a late meeting with a new client that kept him in the office until after six. He knew Caleb was fine and perfectly happy with Kensi, but he missed them both.

“Wow, you really are whipped, aren’t you?” Talia mused, when she found him hurriedly packing up his bag. As usual, she made herself at home, plopping in his desk chair.

“Yep. You jealous?”

“As if.” She scoffed at the suggestion, but Deeks noticed she shifted a little uncomfortably.

“That reminds me, how are things going with Sabatino? I heard he took you to that swanky little Japanese place,” Deeks said.

“Oh no, we are not talking about my love life.”

“Which implies that there’s a love life to talk about.”

“God, I hate lawyers,” she sighed. “So, what are you and the teacher doing tonight?”

“You could call her Kensi, you know,” Deeks reminded her without any heat.

“Eh, that’s no fun.”

“We’re going to a movie in the park. They’ve got some food trucks around and free popcorn. Caleb’s super excited.”

“How domestic,” Talia drawled.

“You’re welcome to come if you want,” Deeks offered. He imagined Talia sitting on a blanket in the grass and nearly snorted.

“Thanks, but I’m more of a IMAX kind of girl.” Tilting her head, she gave him a genuine smile. “You know, I don’t usually do the whole sappy, lovey-dovey thing—”

“Oh and here I thought the tongue girl thing was just an act,” he interrupted, and she flashed him a scowl, jabbing her finger at him.

“Hush. I’m being genuine here.” Without missing a beat, she continued, “I’m glad that you found someone who makes you this happy. You and Caleb deserve it.”

“Well, thanks, Talia.”

“Not to mention, I was getting really sick of your mopey, single father act.”

“As always, I feel so loved,” he said, slipping the strap of his bag over his head and settling it firmly on his shoulder. “See you later.”

***

The park was pretty full by the time Kensi, Deeks, and Caleb got themselves together, but they managed to find a nice square of grass to lay a blanket on and a couple chair. Predictably, Caleb has zero interest in staying put or the snacks Deeks had packed. He’d already eaten a taco, cheese sticks, and a snow cone and now was running back and forth at the back of the plot with a couple of other children.

He glanced over at Kensi, who sat cross-legged, her knee brushing against his, steadily working her way through a bag of trail mix. She dropped her head on his shoulder, tracking Caleb’s progress across the ground. He tumbled to the ground with an overly dramatic grunt and giggled when one of his new friends fell on top of him.

“You think he’ll make it to the movie?” she asked.

“Eh, I give it 50/50 odds. Especially if the sugar crash kicks in soon.”

“If he does fall asleep, then we can snuggle.”

“Nothing stopping us from snuggling now,” Deeks said. Wrapping his arms around Kensi’s waist, he fell back, taking her with him. Kensi went easily, tucking her legs through his and wriggling closer.

“Mm, this is nice,” she sighed. “I’m glad we don’t have to worry about someone seeing us and getting upset.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to mess with those PTO ladies,” he joked, and he felt Kensi snort against his cheek.

“Oh yeah, they’re terrifying.” She kissed the edge of his jaw. “You had those women eating out of your hands.” Deeks shrugged modestly at the assessment.

Moving around, Kensi made herself comfortable on his chest. Deeks closed his eyes, basking in the moment.

“How was class today?” he asked, eyes still closed. She’d just started a new section that would last eight weeks long, along with two other sections that ran for the majority of the summer.

“I have three students who could probably teach the class better than me, a bunch of athletic kids who have zero interest in learning Spanish during the summer, and then a handful who either seem genuinely engaged or at least want to pass,” Kensi answered.

He opened his eyes so he could look down at the top of Kensi’s head.

“Hey, don’t group all the athletic kids together. I played hockey and basketball in high school and I loved my foreign language class.”

Without lifting her head, Kensi added, “One of the football players fell asleep five minutes in and another tried to sneak in during the last five minutes just so he could take the quiz.”

“Ok, maybe they’re not the most dedicated of students,” Deeks allowed with a chuckle. “Are you still enjoying it at least?”

“Yes.” Kensi nodded into his shoulder. “Plus there’s the added benefit of getting paid.”

“Always nice.”

“How was the visitation yesterday? Caleb told me you were all going to a museum, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him about it today,” Kensi said.

Deeks sighed, his good mood slightly dampened by the mention of Monica.

According to their updated visitation contract, Monica had shown up at the library at the first week exactly at the time they’d agreed on beforehand. The entire visit, she’d been pleasant and engaged with Caleb, and he seemed to sincerely enjoy himself. However, Deeks had the sense she’d been trying to prove something as well. Or maybe that was just his bias and bitterness speaking. The next visit, she’d been 20 minutes late and the most recent one…

“She didn’t come.”

Kensi pushed up on his chest and gave him an incredulous look.

“I know,” he said, interpreting her expression. Even though he’d known it could be a possibility, he’d still be furious when they waited over an hour before she finally sent a short text saying she couldn’t make it.

“How was Caleb?”

“He seems to take it alright.” Deeks shrugged and shook his head, eyes flicking to Caleb playing. “I mean, he was disappointed at first, but after a little bit, he said he’d seen her another time. I did offer to let her come tomorrow instead, but she hasn’t responded yet.”

“I can’t believe it.” He heard the anger he felt in her voice. She snaked an arm up his chest to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yeah. I was furious in the moment. Now,” he shrugged. “I’m reigned to who Monica is. I can’t change that. I just hope Caleb doesn’t get too confused.”

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” Kensi said. He rolled her use of “we” around in his head, the thought of them working together as a unit, and smiled.

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, kissing the side of Kensi’s head.

A few minutes later, the opening credits of the movie started, and Caleb made his way back to their blanket. He threw himself on top of them, wedging his little body between them.

“Oof, call your shots, kiddo!”

They rearranged themselves into a more comfortable configuration, settling down to watch the movie. With one arm behind Kensi’s back, and Caleb snuggled firmly between them, he knew this was true happiness.

[coral-nerd]

okay, rant-anon here, thank you so much for answering :D

and so sorry for the incoming long rant right back :D

I'm honestly a chronic restarter of games so I haven't actually gotten through year 1 yet (yet, I swear I'll get there soon) but I've played the beginning of the game a bunch of times now, so pretty much the main impression that I usually get is that everything just feels so *big* at the beginning - I remember feeling really really overwhelmed during my first playthrough, then a little less the next time, and now I have it figured out to the point where I've finally stopped worrying about rushing stuff and I'm just having fun now

I agree with your point of it being meant to be slow-paced in terms of gameplay, because wow, I spent so so so much time trying to win balap karung when it was still 1.0 (I feel like something about the minigame has changed since then? I think the bar doesn't speed up as much anymore or smth but that's irrelevant) and got so frustrated :D so I'm definitely playing it more relaxed now, just wanting to take my time when I know that things aren't going to run away from me if I don't do them immediately

one major pet peeve I have is fishing. oh my god I hate fishing so far because it feels so tedious for such a tiny reward T-T I really hope it improves as the rank goes up or something, because right now (since I've never gotten the end-game stuff) the fishing is just a four to one ratio of trash to fish, and I have to donate/offer most of the catch I get so fishing day usually ends up feeling more like a waste (I've decided not to fish until I get a better rod or smth, because this frustrates me to no end)

On another hand, though, I love the art and the different areas, it all feels so bright and so nice and does a really good job of distracting me from real life :'D

So far I've really loved the mines, though, it feels like a parallel with diving except to me, it's just more fun, I don't know if it's the sound the rocks make when they break or there's just more immediate reward, but that's how I feel (I just cleared the mines in mid-summer year 1, it's so fun to mine :D)

speaking of diving - I'm kinda mixed about it? I love the concept, I don't love the mechanic *per se*; I really enjoy collecting the little beacons (forgot the name) and I like the critters - I feel like the beacon paths can get a bit excessive towards the end (osmium and gold areas) with them circling like the whole map before they finally settle T-T

I also feel like with the merfolk, it's kind of out of hand? I have literally no reason to visit the kingdom (other than the very beautiful and lovely npcs ofc) now that I've opened it, and it just feels a liiiittle bit like a chore at the moment, but thankfully not enough to make me hate it, so I'm bearing with it right now

I do love having the chance to get my own mermaid tail, though, that's a fun one :D

...you're apologizing for the thing I specifically requested??? Rude!

That feeling of Coral Island being so BIG has definitely put a lot of people off it! And it just kinda keeps Being big, getting bigger and bigger, and then just- suddenly stops. And then there's nothing. And it feels so Weird.

So in this case I think being a chronic re-starter is almost the only way to play! I said in another post how I enjoyed the updates coming out slowly so I could get used to each thing at a time; if I'd had to face the entire game all at once I might've given up!

I LOVE fishing! But I simply will not do it until I have an osmium rod and at least Rank C, because otherwise it's entirely pointless. Unless you want to be irritated, ig. But once you've got the good rod and rank, you can find so many utterly gorgeous fishing spots! (See my post about my favorite fishing spots XD). And the computer helps with the museum grind.

Mines are SO satisfying! And I love how different each aesthetic is! Especially the Secret mine :3 But it gets very grindy by the end, and I've done too much mining so now I basically have the layouts memorised. Except for those levels that are scarily big. But it is fun to see how fast you can get through it, especially if you don't upgrade the pickax much!

Diving I think definitely needs a bit of a re-work; I think ideally they would make it so other npcs could help you slash that trash. And I think there used to be speculation that there would be other mechanics to clear large swaths at a time. But right now it gets really tedious, even for me, who earns the Big Bucks by doing all the long repetitive tasks everyone hates.

!!! Oh wait that's exactly how I've been feeling about the merfolk!!! I just didn't Realise! 'Cause like, on land you naturally run into townies on your way to do whatever you gotta do, and that's how friendships build. You can Choose to seek out a specific character, but they're mostly out there living their lives.

But merfolk... yeah they're all in a tiny space doing the same thing every day with no variation. You won't naturally run into them anywhere, even when you unlock the shops. And if you try to seek them out on purpose, odds are they're in a room you can't reach because your friendship isn't high enough. Which means your friendship can't get high enough. Endless loop!

I think I'd really like to see your thoughts on the farmer questionnaire I have pinned, 'cause you kind of just naturally answered half of it already!