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tarotbyjam24 · 4 months ago

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Main paid readings' list

This is a main paid readings list ,every link of new paid readings are available in this post and you may navigate there through this post or you can dm me your queries I'm always here to help you find a solution love 🫶🏻

𐙚 ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ 𐙚

pick a piles free reading feedbacks paid reading feedbacks

𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚Free reading offers⠀𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

readings I offer ⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩

18+ readings

intuitive moodboard readings

pick a piles paid readings

2\3\5\7\10 cards readings

detailed pick a piles readings

astrology+ tarot reading combination

Mickey and co mystery box

tarot packages[scroll down to check them out ]:25 $ \1500 rs

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

HOW TO BOOK A READING : send me your questions + name\initilals via dms . I can send you your reading via dms or emails as per your wish

length of readings will depend on the things I'm able to pick up or I'll be allowed to pick up from your energy and it may differ from person to person. Length for free readings offer may vary ♡

I'm very grateful if you support me to earn my first 1k dollars which will be used to purchase my 1st ever laptop 🩷🥂

If you're not sure what questions you wanna ask I can suggest you few questions regarding your situations or you can take ideas from pick a piles posted on my blog <3

My e-mail: [email protected]

PAYMENT MODE : paypal \Google pay \upi \kofi

RULES───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────RULES

Regardless of the price and word limit I won't compromise with the quality and honesty . I'll be brutally honest and help you to show light at the end of tunnel .

You must pay before and send screenshot of payment before I start doing your reading

No refunds policy

clear and respectful conversation with no room for misunderstandings

you must provide me feedback after the reading as it'll help me to improve my abilites and attract more customers

Waiting period : most likely I'll do the reading few mins\hours later. appx time : 24 -72 hours after you've done payment but if there's any emergency then waiting period is of 1- 2 weeks .

if I've slots booked already and you want urgent reading within 15mins to 3 hr then fee is 100 rs \ 5 $ for small readings

and if you want urgent packages reading within 1 -5 hrs then fee is 300 rs\ 9 $.

No health\death\leagal\3rd party related questions

All the private information shared by clients will be kept confidential .

Readings are for guidance purposes only and do not replace professional advice (medical, legal, financial, psychological).

please have trust and patience in me while purchasing readings as it's my first time trying paid readings or anything of my own .

and lastly nothing's set in stone take the readings as guidance offered to you according to your current energies and what my cards had to tell you .

for 18+ readings you must be 18 or 18+

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Tarot reading packages

I'll answer all of your curiosity you can also ask for mini questions like why,where,when,who,etc to be added under those prompt's questions and specifically ask me to focus on any particular topic that you'd like to get more insight on . In case reading gets super lengthy or out of what I offer I suggest you to either curate your own another pacakge or purchase my 3\5\7 cards readings to get more clarity and focus on one aspect \ situation

delivery time is 2-7 days after payment is done incase of emergency waiting period is of 1-2 weeks

you can create your own package too . We can discuss it while you purchase your readings .

All packs can be edited [add or remove ] according to your taste,mood and vibe🫧

you can also get\create your own personalised pack of 4-6 pick a pile topics from my masterlist for same price too [ 25 $ \ 1200 rs (1200-2000 words ) ]

If you wanna add more questions but don't wanna pay more then I'll keep the reading length as stated below .

Every question add on costs 5$\250 rs

10 images moodboard along with tarot packages costs 5$ \100 rs and so on

rest all rules are same

1 pack price : 25 $ \ 1500 rs [ words : 1200 - 2000 ]

Reader's note : I feel I'll never be actually able to create perfect packs suitable to everyone's taste so yeah you can always add your spice and magic . I'll for surely come up with another solution for this issue in future 🌸

Intimacy────୨ৎ────Desires

[ These packages are customisable for any person you'd like to get reading upon ex : fs,crush,bf,gf, celebrity,etc ]

Totoro's Secrets

1. What are their late-night thoughts about you?

2. What would they do if you appeared in front of them for the first time?

3. What about you turns them on?

4. What would they find sexy about you?

Princess Mononoke's Wild Heart

1. What makes them horny about you?

2. How will they express jealousy and possessiveness?

3. What are their expectations in bed?

4. How will you fulfill their expectations?

Howl's Moving Castle of Relationships

1. How will they act when you two are in public vs alone ?

2. What are their kinks?

3. How will they handle conflicts for the first time? How will be your make up sex?

4. How would they aftercare you?

Hoshikage

1. What will they do when they catch you secretly pleasuring yourself? What will be their reaction?

2. What about you will make them have desire to pleasure themselves?

3. How clingy they'll be ?

4. How will they handle you when you act all bratty and bossy ?

5. What about you will make them hard\wet ?

Confessions────୨ৎ─────Roses

[ These packages are customisable for any person you'd like to get reading on ex : fs,crush,bf,gf, celebrity,etc ]

Ponyo's Ocean of Affection

1. How will they pursue you?

2. What are your FS's favorite things about you?

3. How will they confess their feelings?

4. What's their vision for your future together?

Whisper of the Heart's Promise

1. What's your wedding/engagement day with them be like?

2. What are their red and green flags?

3. How do they feel about you?

4. How will they spoil you?

5. What you and they'll feel on this special day

The sunlit hearth

1. how will they celebrate you and their all firsts ?

2. What will be their emotions on these special days ?

3. how will they treat you ?

4. How will you be treated by their people [parents\friends\siblings\relatives,etc ] ?

5. How will their people [parents\friends\siblings\relatives,etc] percieve you ?

Mind ────୨ৎ──── Body

Spirited Away's Journey of Self

1. What's your sexual appeal?

2.What makes you intimidating?

3. What are your red and green flags?

4. What do others find sexy about you?

5.What's your seducing style?

6. How do you serve ?

No-Face's Reflections

1. What's your reputation?

2.Why are you "that\it girl/boy"?

3. What are your most attractive traits?

4. What's unique about you?

5. How do others perceive you [ can be read for any specific person too like colleagues\crush\this stranger ]?

Ashitaka's Inner Turmoil

1. What's your current emotional state?

2. What's causing turmoil in your mind?

3. How can you regulate your emotions and these disarrays ?

4. Clarity regarding the situation you're stucked in

Grandma Hama's Ancient Wisdom

1. How does your higher self want to motivate you?

2. What's your inner child's dreams?

3. How can you nurture your inner child?

Universe────୨ৎ──── Energy

Zeniba and the Soot Sprites Within

1. What's the energy around you?

2. What upcoming surprises does the universe have in store for you?

3. What's happening in your life sectors?

4. What's something you should improve, let go, and adopt?

Mei's Little Blessings

1. What's the current state of your relationships?

2. What's blocking your blessings?

3. How can you navigate your life?

4. What's the outlook for your career and finances?

5. How can you invite more material abundance in your life?

Changes ────୨ৎ────Opportunities

Catbus's Unexpected Paths

1. What's the current state of your career?

2. What opportunities are coming your way?

3. How can you increase your financial abundance?

4. What's the outlook for your long-term career goals?

Nausicaä's Winds of Change

1. What's the biggest challenge you're facing right now?

2. How can you overcome your fears and doubts?

3. How can you develop a growth mindset ?

4. What's your vision for your life?

5. How can you cultivate mindfulness and presence?

6. What's the universe's message for you right now?

Manifestations ────୨ৎ──── and Shadows

Kodama's Forest Guidance

1. What's your spiritual purpose?

2. How can you connect with your higher self?

3. What's the universe's guidance for you right now?

4. How can you cultivate spiritual growth and awareness?

Calcifer's Fiery Purpose

1. What's your life purpose?

2. How can you align with your values and passions?

3. What's the meaning of your life experiences?

4. How can you find fulfillment and happiness?

Fio's Ingenious Empowerment

1. What are your strengths?

2. What are your weakness?

3. How can you empower yourself?

4. What's your personal mantra?

Kagemasa's Hidden Truths

1. What's your shadow self trying to tell you?

2. How can you heal your inner wounds?

3. What's the root cause of your fears and doubts?

4. How can you integrate your shadow self into your conscious awareness?

5. How can you develop self-compassion and self-forgiveness?

Lin's Golden Dreams

1. What's blocking your manifestations?

2. How can you attract abundance into your life?

3. What do you need to manifest your desires?

4. How can you maintain a positive mindset ?

Family and ────୨ৎ──── love life

The Yamada Family's Everyday Bonds

1. What's the current state of your family\ relatioship dynamics?

2. How can you improve your relationships with family members\lover ?

3. What's casuing of conflicts in your family\love life?

4. How can you maintain healthy boundaries in your family\love relationships?

Arrietty's Secret Connections

1. What's the current state of your love life?

2. Who's coming into your life romantically?

3. What's the potential for a long-term relationship?

4. How can you attract your ideal partner?

5. How can you improve your communication skills?

San's Deep Connection

1. How can you deepen intimacy with your partner?

2. What's blocking emotional connection in your relationship?

3. How can you communicate your desires effectively?

4. What's the key to maintaining a healthy and fulfilling sex life?

Self worth ────୨ৎ──── and growth

Osono's Warm Embrace

1. How can you cultivate self-worth and self-respect?

2. What's blocking your ability to receive love and affection?

3. How can you practice self-care and self-compassion?

4. What's no longer serving you ?

Chihiro's Great Transformation

1. What's the biggest area for personal growth in your life?

2. How can you overcome self-sabotaging patterns?

3. How can you transform your life?

4. How can you maintain motivation and momentum on your personal growth journey?

Jiji's Guiding Wisdom

1. What's your life purpose and how does it relate to your career?

2. How can you align your career with your passions and values?

3. What's the potential for success in your current career?

4. How can you make a career transition that aligns with your life purpose?

Celebrity ────୨ৎ──── and you

Baron's Inspiring Presence

1. What's the energetic connection between you and your favorite celebrity?

2. How can you embody the qualities you admire in your favorite celebrity?

3. What can you learn from your favorite celebrity's life experiences?

467 notes · View notes

lightlyblooming · 5 months ago

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What if it wasn't a joke?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: What if Natasha’s teasing wasn’t a joke?

Words: 2.1k

I tapped my fingers on the glossy wooden table in front of me, following the tempo of the conversation around me. The cacophony of voices flitted through my mind, going in one ear and out the other.

What was supposed to be a swift debriefing with the rest of the Avengers had stretched into its third hour. I’d lost my patience two and a half hours ago when Tony Stark started talking about possible technological improvements he could add to the Avenger’s headquarters. It had only gone down from there.

I stared down at my leather folder opened on the table, letting out a slightly too-loud sigh when I saw the two sentences of notes I’d managed to put down. Only two sentences of actually useful information. Three hours, two sentences. Three hours for two sentences.

My fingers curled into a fist. I picked up my pen, if only so that my frustration wouldn’t show. I hovered the pen over the clean piece of paper, but that only caused my anger to grow because there wasn’t anything to write.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dropped the pen, grateful for the distraction.

I leaned back in my chair and pulled out my phone, ignoring the sidelong glance I got from Steve Rogers. Phones technically weren’t allowed during meetings, but confidential information had stopped being shared hours ago. I doubted it’d matter if I leaked a conversation over what type of flavoured water they wanted in the lounge this month.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I read the notification that lit up the screen.

Natasha: Busy daydreaming about me?

I raised my eyes to Natasha, my smile growing further when I noticed she had already been watching me. Her blue eyes twinkled with humour, but her features betrayed nothing. Her expression was just as blank, severe, and stoic as it had been for the last few hours.

Natasha only held my eyes for a handful of moments before she turned away, returning her steady attention to the conversation.

I texted back: I’m just thinking about how this meeting could’ve been an email.

Natasha picked up her phone a few moments later. Her expression didn’t change, and I was too far away to notice any other minor changes. I looked back to the nearly blank paper in front of me.

Every second I spent waiting for her response felt like an eternity. I started to tap my fingers again.

After what felt like forever, my phone buzzed.

Natasha: I wouldn’t have seen you if it was an email.

A second later, she added: And I do enjoy watching you when you’re frustrated.

My eyes shot to her. She merely stared back at me, watching, waiting. I blinked at her, hoping she’d offer any kind of reaction for me to read. Instead, she picked her phone up, her fingers moving across the screen.

I lowered my eyes to the paper and put my phone on the empty sheet. I placed my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand. My leg, the traitorous thing, started to bounce. My body tensed with every moment that passed. My breaths grew shallow as I waited for that screen to light up.

What was taking her so long? She had to be writing an essay if it was taking her this long to finish. I couldn’t help but wonder if she liked leaving me waiting.

My heart skipped when the screen lit up, only for it to drop deep into my gut when I read the text.

Natasha: It’s even better when you get flustered and start blushing.

I shut off my phone and shoved it into my pocket.

My head thundered in my chest as heat prickled on my cheeks. I silently cursed myself for playing right into her hand.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise. She’d joke far too often about how easy it was to throw me off and the enjoyment she got from it wasn’t a secret. She always pushed it and tested it, seeing what measure of responses she could get. One glance. One smile. One whispered word. One step too close. A touch that lingered too long. For fuck’s sake, one sentence that toed the line between friendly banter and flirtatious teasing would leave me dumbed down and unable to speak for hours.

I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair, hating the way I shook. I focused on my breaths, reread those two stupid sentences written on the paper. I willed the heat to fall from my face. I counted through my breathing. I picked up my pen and clicked it over and over again.

I was a fool for being affected by her. It was nothing. It meant nothing. It was a game to her, just a way to fill time and push away excruciating boredom.

I reminded myself of all those moments Natasha had toyed with me, only to pull away a moment later.

I remembered the hours we had spent crouched in some dark hole, waiting out a mission, her faint touches oh-so-clear in the pitch black. I recalled the way she had looked at me days later when I had brought it up, her face flush with confusion and eyes so cold it was like looking at a stranger.

I remembered the first time we’d exchanged personal numbers after becoming part of the Avengers. It had only been a handful of years since we’d worked together in the Red Room, yet she treated me like she’d never seen me before.

I remembered the hours of texting we’d do in those fluid hours of the night when time lost all meaning. Then the absence of contact in the morning, followed by stilted small talk that’d build a chasm between us.

I glanced over at Natasha. My heart stung when I saw her stoic expression fixed on Wanda Maximoff.

I closed the folder and got to my feet. The rest of the Avengers at the table glared at me, but I ignored them. There was no reason for me to stay. The important parts of the meeting were done. I hadn’t needed to chime in for well over an hour. And I didn’t feel like torturing myself with Natasha’s cold distance for any longer.

⧗

I stirred my half-melted cocktail with the metal straw. The metal clicked against the glass. A chill wind brushed over my skin and rustled my hair, causing goosebumps to prickle along my arms.

The Avengers compound had long since settled into its peaceful night operations. All the lights had been dimmed, the large mass of day staff had been sent home or to their rooms, the headache-inducing sound of jets coming and going had finally stopped. These small hours of the night were the only time I got any solitude.

I watched the tarmac from the balcony, taking in the quinjets that had been left out and the skeleton crew that maintained them.

They always had to be ready, waiting, should the sky fall open and the Avengers had to be on the other side of the world in an hour. I always had to be ready to answer the call, be prepared for anything at any moment. I hadn’t even left the compound for a non-Avengers related reason for… months. It was too risky.

I looked down at the cocktail in my hand and braced my arm against the balcony railing. I sighed and pursed my lips at it.

Despite the small amount of alcohol I’d had, I could feel the warmth of drunkenness spreading through my limbs and a delightful buzz that clouded my mind. I was already too far gone to fly, or fight, or do any amount of strategic thinking. Drinking more would only multiply that and make my recovery take longer. If there was an emergency and I got called out--

The door to the balcony softly clicked open and I whipped my head around, muscles going taught.

The moment I laid my eyes on Natasha, who stood silently in the doorway, I let out a breath and allowed my shoulders to slump. The warm glow of the Avenger’s lounge silhouetted her form and took the sharp edges out of her appearance.

She almost seemed vulnerable there, in her sweatpants and loose t-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid. The light caught the loose strands of her hair, making it look like strings of spun gold. My eyes couldn’t help but wander to the smooth plane of her neck. I couldn’t stop the prying thoughts that wondered how it would feel, how it would taste, if she’d just let me get close enough.

I pressed my lips closed and squeezed my eyes. I gave myself a moment to breathe and settle my system before I turned around and fixed my eyes on the cocktail cradled in my hands.

The stupid drink, wiping away every ounce of self-preservation I had.

The door clicked shut and Natasha walked up beside me, bracing her arms on the railing, mirroring my position. A beer bottle hung from her fingers, dangling precariously over the distant ground. Natasha took a swig and from the sound of it, she was quite far into her drink as well. At least I wasn’t the only intoxicated one.

I sipped at my now fully melted cocktail. I winced at the overwhelmingly sweet liquid. Without the ice to break up the taste, it had turned into a cloying mixture of syrup and rum.

“Too hard for you?” Natasha’s voice was low and heavy.

Her voice tugged at something deep in the pit of my gut. My heart fluttered in my chest and my breaths shuddered. Heat prickled at my cheeks, and I prayed that Natasha thought it was because of the alcohol. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes and knew my prayers had fallen upon deaf ears when I saw the teasing tilt to her lips.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the illusion of sanctity the darkness granted, but the truth came out before I could even consider filtering my words, “A bit.”

Natasha’s ghost of a smile grew into a full-on grin. Her voice dipped into a sultry drawl that raked along my bones, “You should let me buy you a drink some time. I can show you what hard feels like.”

My hand tightened around the glass. I opened my mouth, prepared to spit out one of the million scripted rejections I had tucked in the back of my mind, but stopped short.

I schooled my features and turned towards Natasha. I took in her stance: her relaxed shoulders, fingers that fidgeted with the rim of the beer bottle, her ram-rod straight back, her attentive eyes, her welcoming smile, the way her head tilted just-so. She was expectant, waiting, and… nervous? A furrow ghosted in the space between her brows. Tiny fragments of uncertainty flashed across her face.

I swallowed and stared into her eyes. I tapped my thigh with my free hand. Silence stretched between us. My muscles tensed with every second that crept by.

I was such an idiot. A fool. My hesitation revealed more than I ever wanted Natasha to know. My growing silence stripped me bare and made me more naked than I would’ve been if I had merely removed my clothes.

“Or--” Natasha’s words were slow, hesitant, searching, “--you can buy me one of those cocktails you always get, we can get drunk, and I can stop calling you a lightweight.”

I pressed my lips together and searched Natasha’s expression. All I found was a gentle vulnerability. There was teasing, yes, but behind all that was an openness I’d never seen in her before.

What if, this time, it was a genuine offer? What if I said yes? Would she take me to a bar, let me order her a drink, and end the night with more than a painfully professional handshake? Or would she laugh and back off, making me look like a fool for even considering the offer?

My mind was too clouded to make a clear choice. I couldn’t discern anything more from her expression. I couldn’t calculate all the possible responses.

I let out a shuddering breath and, with the type of courage I could only get from the alcohol coursing through my system, said, “Only if you promise to show me the best places.”

Natasha let out a breath and straightened. All signs of tension smoothed from her face. A light seemed to spark in her eyes, bringing a glowing warmth to her features.

“Promise,” Natasha said, her voice strung with the softness and truth in her oath.

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lnightmrs · 26 days ago

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Caretaker (Yandere! Nanami x Reader)

You suffer a mental episode relapse after months of battling stress and you're too far from your family for them to help nurse you back to health. Luckily, your roommate has volunteered to assist you.

TW: sexual coercion, dubcon, yandere, fingering, manipulation, reader is mentally unwell and nanami is making it worse, dead dove: do not eat

You never thought it would’ve gotten this bad again. You thought that it had finally become manageable, that it was dormant enough for you to be able to live on your own again.

But you underestimated it, forgot how terrible it could get once it emerged. Not wanting to face the reality of it returning, you ignored the signs and symptoms in hopes that you wouldn’t have to put your half-baked plans to mitigate it to action. But distracting yourself with gallery deadlines and pretending that everything is fine could only do so much, and it only took one rejection email for everything to bubble up and burst through your chest, and for you to end up on the kitchen floor of your flat, knife dangerously close to your flesh, crying hysterically as Kento, your roommate, lurched towards you with terror in his eyes.

It was because of him that you weren’t dead. It was also because of him that you were now clad in a medical gown and grippy socks, laying against the rigid hospital bed, waiting for the doctor to come in and tell you that after 5 grueling days of tests and meds and various therapies, you can finally go home. When the doctor did finally emerge, Kento was at her side. The sight of him was no longer surprising, with him visiting you every day of your stay and playing advocate in place of your mother, who couldn’t make the trip into this side of the country due to her injured back.

“Came to listen in on my sentencing, Kento?” you greeted him. A tiny grin formed on his usually stoic face.

“A joke. You really are improving.” he responded. You smiled in response.

“Good news,” the doctor called your name. “Our test results do not indicate any need for further inpatient treatment. You’re free to leave. However, it’s heavily advised that you take your prescribed medication for the next 6 weeks for stabilization. It might be a bit tough for you to do it routinely, but you’re very lucky to have such a dedicated and loving partner here to aid you in your recovery.” she smiled.

Partner? You blushed in embarrassment at the mistake, but it was understandable that she would’ve come to that conclusion. It’s not exactly common for a simple roommate to go as far as he has in terms of checking up with you, and while you were far from ungrateful for his efforts, you did find it a bit odd. It didn’t help that he made no attempt to correct the doctor, opting to carry on the conversation with a stoic expression.

“Yes, Doctor. There’s no need to worry. I’ve followed your guidelines and made the necessary preparations.” He glanced at you, eyes softening.

“There’s nothing I won’t do to ensure that you recover properly.”

The car ride home was silent, awkwardly so. Kento made no effort to explain his behaviour at the hospital to you, and you felt it wouldn’t be in good taste to start questioning the man who saved your life as soon as you got discharged. You eventually gave up on mulling over it once your apartment building came into view, the prospect of a nice home cooked meal and the comfort of your own bed flooding your mind with relief.

Kento set your bags down near your bedroom door as you took a deep breath to let the comforting smell of your own space wash over you. The comfort didn’t last too long though, because when your eyes followed him moving towards the kitchen, feelings of guilt and embarrassment poked at your chest.

“Kento,” you started, looking down at your feet. “I’m really sorry that-”

“Are you hungry?” he cut you off, tying one of your aprons around his waist. “I’ll make you something. You should get some rest in the meantime. I’m sure you missed your bed.”

“Listen to me Kento,” you pushed. “I just want to-”

“If you want to apologise to me over something you had little control over, you’re wasting your time. I won’t accept it.” He stated.“I’m just glad that you’re safe. Now, go rest.”

When you finally woke up from your blissful nap, the sun had already set. As you stretched lazily, your eyes caught on to the changes that were made to your room that your prior tiredness prevented you from seeing before, the most notable change being the absence of some very important items.

“Hey, Ken,” you approached him at the table. “Where’s my laptop?”

“The doctor ordered that you stay away from the internet and work until the mood stabilizers settle you.” he replied nonchalantly as he continued to set the table. You scoff.

“No work, either? Is that why I can’t find my art supplies too?” you folded your arms.

“Exactly. You can’t use your phone either.” He pulled out one of the chairs, gesturing for you to sit.

“How am I supposed to talk to my mom, then? What exactly am I supposed to do in general?” you asked, sounding a bit more incensed than you hoped. Kento remained impassive, giving you a quick glance before returning his focus on plating the food.

“There’s no need to worry, I planned for all of this. You can use my phone to call your mother. I've been keeping in contact with her ever since your admission and I’ve promised to keep her updated. As for keeping you occupied, I’ve followed the guidelines that the doctor provided and organized some activities that you can do in the meantime. I know how much you crave creative expression, so I took extra measures to ensure that you can still freely do so. You’ll start tomorrow. I’ll also be working remotely from now on, so you can always come to me if you’d like to talk.”

You figured that you should be feeling grateful that he meticulously planned out everything for you, but all you felt was a familiar unease. Prior to all of this, the best and only way you could describe your relationship with Kento was that he was the perfect roommate; quiet, considerate, responsible, reserved. Despite living with him and being on a first-name basis with him, you knew little about his personal life and most of your conversations had never been more than polite banter, yet it was clear that all this time, he’s been observing you. Still, he was the only person who was available to help you, so you swallowed any remaining anxieties in favour of believing his intentions are pure.

“Let’s eat.” He cut through the silence.

As you looked down to pick up your utensils, you noticed what could only be another one of his preparations.

“A baby spoon and plate to eat oyakadon?” you looked at him, exasperated. His mouth twitched slightly. “I can’t trust you with anything too sharp right now. You understand, right?”

You sighed. It was going to be a long six weeks.

The rest of the night was uneventful. You took a shower, brushed your teeth, and decided not to acknowledge Kento standing outside your bathroom door the entire time. He watched you as you took your medication, making sure that you took every pill correctly. When you climbed into bed, he took a seat at your desk chair, saying that he just wanted to stay with you until you fell asleep. You were too tired to protest.

When you woke up in the morning, the world felt hazy, your body heavy. Side effects of the medication that would wear off in a few hours was what Kento told you when you made your way to the table for breakfast. Keeping true to his word, after you finished eating he let you call your mom, and you spent half of the phone call listening to her gush about how thoughtful of a man he was, how he called her everyday to soothe her worries about you, and that you were lucky to have him around while she couldn’t be there. The last part sounded as if she believed you two were a couple, but you didn’t have the energy or the heart to explain to her that Kento was just being a really thorough and kind guy. You doubt she’d believe you anyway. You barely believe it yourself.

When the grogginess started to clear up later in the morning, he introduced you to one of the activities that was supposed to help ‘satisfy your need for creative expression’; an assortment of colouring books, each one clearly designed for children under the age of six. Before you could open your mouth, Kento began to explain.

“Colouring is considered a very relaxing and stress-free activity. Your doctor suggested that completing a few pages a day should help you recover properly.”

“I get that part, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong, it’s just… I think I’d enjoy colouring in things that are a little more complicated than cartoon princesses and giant numbers, Ken.” you reply. He offered you a sympathetic smile.

“I understand that this is below your caliber but it’s only temporary. I suggest you give it a try.”

You sighed in response, reaching for the crayons. Kento’s face briefly softened before he turned his attention to his laptop. The two of you stayed in the living room like this for the rest of the morning, working mostly in silence, occasionally breaking it to make small talk about Kento’s work or your colouring progress.

As soon as noon arrived, you were given lunch, another preparation made by him. When you were done eating, you spent the rest of your afternoon doing crosswords and sudoku puzzles, or “brainteaser activities” as Kento called them. You were given a short break to follow the doctor’s recommended stretching routine, and then the two of you ate dinner while watching some lighthearted television. The rest of the night followed the same pattern as the one before; you cleaned up, took your meds in front of him, and fell asleep with him watching you.

Soon, this routine became the norm, with very little variation. But if it was helping you get better, you couldn’t tell. It was becoming more apparent that the side effects of the medication were starting to last longer, with the initial morning haziness now bleeding into the afternoons, and the monotony and simplicity of the activities given to you only amplified the feelings of dullness that permeated through your skull. Still, feeling numb was miles better than feeling suicidal, and Kento didn’t seem to have any concerns about your quieter demeanor, so you figured it would be best to simply rally through it.

Until you nearly cracked your skull open on the bathroom sink.

You barely even remembered it. You got up in the middle of the night with the intense urge to pee, which was rare these days thanks to your meds usually knocking you out until morning. You remember stumbling down the hallway and then waking up in Kento’s strong arms, your head pounding and his eyes bulging out as he shakily called your name, just as he did on the night of your breakdown.

The following morning, you were still laying in bed as Kento sat near the edge of it, his calloused fingers rubbing circles absentmindedly on your calf as he relayed to you the doctor’s new instructions. If it wasn’t for the constant throbbing in your head, you might’ve had the mental energy to feel confused about the intimacy of his touch, but right now it was taking all of your power to focus on what was being said.

“- so that’s why you’ll no longer take the antidepressant until your next ward review. You may experience some irritability and insomnia until then, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some additions to the routine.” You nodded in acknowledgment, your eyelids heavy. You wanted him to stop talking so you could sleep off the pain.

“Furthermore, until your next appointment, I will be accompanying you to all your trips to the bathroom.” Your eyes shot open. You were wide awake now.

“Kento,” you mustered your strength. “I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied nonchalantly. “Just call for me whenever you need to- “

“No, I mean I won’t let you do that. It’s too weird.” you asserted.

“There’s no reason to feel ashamed, there are many people who need assistance for things like this.” he responded, his tone still neutral.

“Well I’m not one of them! I’m not that ill!” you raised your voice.

“You nearly split open your forehead trying to use the bathroom.I think it’s reasonable to-”

“You’re not gonna watch me piss and that’s final. I’ve let you take the reins these past few weeks and I’ll be glad to let you continue but not on this. No.”

You were expecting some sort of retaliation, another lecture about the importance of a buddy system for toilet time perhaps, but Kento simply sighed, stood up and wordlessly made his way to the door.

You were unsure if to take his silence as a sign that you won, but at this point your head was pulsating too much to ponder about it.

When you woke up, you found yourself needing to use the bathroom again. Thankfully this time you were able to control your body more properly and you managed to make it down the hallway to the bathroom door without any stumbling. But when you turned the handle, it didn’t move.

“It’s locked.”

You turned your head to see Kento sitting on the recliner in the living room, pretending to be engrossed in the book on his lap. When you caught sight of the bathroom key dangling in his hand, you couldn’t help but flare your nostrils.

“Do you think this is funny? Unlock the door.” you spat.

“I don’t think you potentially hurting yourself because of your pride is funny, no.” he responded nonchalantly.

“Did you not see me walk down the hall without a scratch? I’m fine!” you bark, trying to ignore the pressure building in your pelvis.

“Your tone is becoming rather hostile,” he replied. “It’s a bit concerning.”

The pressure was growing stronger, fueling your panic. “Kento, please. This is insane, if you don’t open this door I’ll, I’ll-”

He sighed, rising from his seat to walk towards you.

‘If you don’t want to wet yourself, I could offer you some adult diapers. I had them prepared in case your medication caused any incontinence .” Your mouth fell open at the suggestion. He cut you off before you could protest.

“ Or ,if you find that to be too inconvenient, we can go back to the original proposed arrangement. It’s your call.” he gave the key a light twirl. For the first time since you’ve known him, you wanted to cuss him out, to scratch those hazel eyes that were currently looking down at you as if you were some miserable child. But the fear of being humiliated even further cancelled out your indignation.

“Fine! Fine!” you trembled, squeezing your thighs together. “You can come in, just please unlock-”

Before you finished your sentence, Kento had placed the key in the handle and turned it. You were on the toilet before he cracked the door fully open. True to his word, he stood near the sink, waiting for you. Your face burned.

“I apologise for my harshness.” he murmured as you washed your hands. “I only did it because I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kept your gaze to your feet as you hurried to your room before he could revoke your right to cry in private too.

The days following the incident were torturous. You knew now that Kento was capable of cruelty, and that put you on edge. The air felt thick and heavy whenever the two of you were in the same room, but if Kento was aware of the tension, he was doing an excellent job of not showing it. His perpetually composed demeanor left you unnerved and unable to decipher his true intentions, a far cry from the days where it used to soothe you, back when you believed he was just being kind, if not a little neurotic. It was because of this shift in your perception of him that you continued to diligently follow this ridiculous routine despite how frustrated and angry it made you. You could no longer safely predict how he’d react if you did otherwise.

But the routine was suffocating and Kento was suffocating. He bled into every inch of your existence, he was the first voice you’d hear in the morning, and the last thing you’d see at night. He followed you wherever you went, he’d supervise your calls with your mother, he had a front row seat to your bathroom breaks and even though he swears that he doesn’t look when you have to strip yourself to shower, you’ve felt his eyes linger on your back.

And you were tired. Tired of playing along to avoid any possible repercussions, tired of pretending that his care and activities were doing something to help you, and tired of these fucking insulting colouring books.

“Kento,” you called to him calmly from the dining table, crayon still in hand. “I’ve finished all of the colouring books you’ve given me. May I have my sketchbook and drawing pencils back? I’m ready to start drawing again.”

He glanced at you from his place on the couch. “I can’t. The doctor’s guidelines state that I am to give you activities that will not cause any stress.” You felt your eye twitch.

“I think I can handle some doodling, Kento.” you responded, fists clenched.

“I’m sorry but you don’t know what you can handle, not in your current state. I won’t-”

“When are you going to stop treating me like a fragile flower?” you were barely hanging on to your composure.

“When you no longer are in a fragile state.”

“I’m not fragile, you’re just being a condescending prick.” you spat, composure slipped.

“What I’m doing, ” he replied, annoyance dripping through his voice. “is trying to help you heal. Now please-”

Something in your chest snapped. Before you knew it, you had thrown your crayons directly at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

“You’re not helping me! You’re making me miserable! Just give me my fucking shit you fucking- you fucking-” the pounding in your ears and heat coursing through your chest made it difficult to remain coherent.

Kento just stood there, collected as usual, staring into your wild, bloodshot eyes as you continued to breathe shakily, as if he was assessing your existence. After 20 seconds of his scrutinizing stare, he completed his assessment.

“The medication must be making you irritable as the doctor said. Your poor sleep may also be a factor. Let’s see about taking a nap, that may calm you.” he strode towards you.

“I’m not a cranky toddler you piece of-” you didn’t get to finish your statement before he swiftly wrapped his arms around your torso and lifted you, his grip tight enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs. Before you could look up at him, he moved one of hands to the back of your head and pushed it to his chest, forcing you to inhale the crisp scent of his shirt as he headed down the hallway, shushing your muffled protests. You heard the sound of keys turning a lock and a door opening before he released you by tossing you onto what seemed to be a mattress on the floor.

This wasn’t your room. This was supposed to be the office space that the two of you agreed to share, but instead of a small desk and chair in the corner and some easels near the window, the room was bare save for a standing lamp that was securely strapped to the floor, a large stuffed animal in the corner, the mattress that you were landed on, which was covered in frilly bed sheets and the addition of burglar proof grates on the window. You heard a click, and turned to see that Kento had left, closing the door that now only locked from the outside.

“I apologise for how bare-bones it is, I didn’t have enough time to finish it.” He spoke from behind the door. “I was honestly hoping that we wouldn’t have to use a safe room but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Please try to get some rest. I’ll come back for you once you’ve calmed down.”

Rest was the last thing on your mind, not when your roommate basically placed you in a makeshift padded cell. You kicked, you banged and you screamed as many threats as you could to try.to get him to open the door, only to be met with silence on the other side of it. Eventually, your kicks and threats were reduced to weak knocks and pleas. When you saw the setting sun through the caged window, panic began to spread through your chest. It had been hours and Kento refused to even acknowledge your existence, and you had no idea how long he planned to keep you trapped in there. As time continued to pass slowly,there was little else to do aside from curl yourself up on the floor and wonder how things got so bad. Were you actually in the wrong about this? Was this actually your fault? Kento was just trying to help you, even if he was being a bit controlling about it. And you screamed in his face and threw things at him like a bratty child and he still didn’t get mad at you. He never gets mad, you’re the mad one. That’s why he locked you in here, you scared him. You scare everyone. You always scare everyone.

You should’ve never moved out of your mom’s house. You should’ve never felt guilty about the idea of her having to take care of you even in her old age. You should’ve never believed that you could live like a normal person. You’ll never be normal, you’ll never be healed no matter how many pills you take or routines you follow, you should’ve just finished what you were going to do before Kento walked in on you in the kitchen. At least that would’ve been quicker than starving to death in here and-

Click!

Your spiralling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. You found yourself at Kento’s feet, clinging to his pajama pants, tears spilling from your face, blubbering helplessly as your pride prevents you from properly apologising to him. You felt a hand rest at the top of your head, and through blurry eyes you looked up to see him looking down at you pitifully.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. “I know you can’t help it.” He helped you to your feet and took your hand to guide you back to your room. You were relieved, you were so incredibly relieved. He didn’t leave you to die, he wasn’t scared of you. He knows you can’t help it. He just wants to help.

You were sitting on your bed, freshly showered and properly fed when he spoke.

“I was going through the doctor’s guidelines on how to resolve your current issue.” he sat near the edge of the bed. “Unfortunately, even though you didn’t hurt me, your actions are considered to be violent.” Your eyes widened slightly. He continued. “It says that if you were to begin displaying violent tendencies, I am to contact the hospital to have you committed again. However, they will have to put you in seclusion, where you’ll be locked in a padded room that smells of filth and unlike me, they won’t hesitate to keep you in there for longer than two days. I don’t think you would want that, would you?”

You gulped. He was right, you didn’t want that.

“Please,” you rasped. “Is there anything you can do to avoid this?”

“Well, there is one last activity that I haven’t tried that is supposed to help soothe your symptoms. If it can calm your nerves effectively then I can delay having to call the hospital.” he inched closer.

“What is it?” you asked.

“We can add orgasm sessions to your routine.”

You blinked. You couldn’t have possibly heard that correctly.

“Add… what?”

He inched even closer, snaking a hand up your thigh. You tried not to recoil in disgust.

“It’s proven that orgasms release oxytocin and dopamine, which could help improve your mood and relax you. You could try to do it yourself, but if that’s not possible…” You caught a faint blush spread across his cheekbones, and your heart sank.

“I don’t- I don’t think I want-” you stammered to find the right words to reject this proposal without causing any repercussions. He took your inability to form a sentence as an invitation to get even closer, shifting himself so that he was now in the center of your bed and you were in his lap, your back pressed against his solid chest.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit nervous,” his voice was gentle above you, eerily so. “I will admit I don’t have much experience but I won’t hurt you.” You felt his hands slip under your shirt, trailing along your sides, causing you to squirm at the contact.

“Kento, please I’m not sure if this is-” your protest is cut off by the feeling of his hands groping your breasts.

“Shh, don’t think. Just focus on how it feels.” He pressed a kiss into your temple. “I want this to work as much as you do. I don’t want you to leave me again.”

You didn’t have the time to process his words before one of his hands dropped to your core. You shut your thighs closed on instinct, and you heard him tut against your earlobe as he spread them apart again.

“Uh uh, none of that. I’m doing this to help you, remember?” You were trying your hardest to remember, to convince yourself that this was just another activity to help you, but the way he was touching you so eagerly, how you could feel something hard pressing against your lower back, and how he groaned with every open wet kiss he placed on your skin as he sunk his fingers deeper into you made it very difficult.

And despite his self-proclaimed lack of experience, whatever he was doing was working. You eventually found yourself succumbing to his ministrations, your mind unable to do much but swim in the waves of pleasure that flooded your body. When you finally came, it was probably the hardest orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life, your vision burning white as his whispered praises barely registered in your brain. But most importantly, it was over. The way you laid limp and pliant on your bed as Kento moved from underneath you was hopefully enough to convince him that you didn’t need to be committed again. You were waiting to hear the sound of Kento closing the door behind him before you could fully drift into a hopefully dreamless sleep, but it was taking a while for him to leave. It was only when you felt a pair of rough hands pulling apart your legs, you realised that he wasn’t done.

He was now breathing heavily above you, his hair disheveled, his face flushed and his eyes now filled with hunger instead of apathy. Your eyes dropped to his lower half, where he was using one of his hands to hold up your leg while his other hand was occupied with pumping his now exposed leaking cock that was getting dangerously close to your entrance. You felt your heart shatter.

“Kento, what are you doing?!? I- I thought-”

“It’s okay. I just think you should have one more. Let me take care of it.” he strained, hardly containing himself as he sunk into you.

Kento was still asleep in your bed when you woke up. This was your only chance. You slid out of the covers as quietly as you could and made your way down the hall to his bedroom. You would’ve made a break for the door if you didn’t already know that he changed the passcode for it. Instead, you needed to find your phone and get someone else to help you get away from this monster.

You rummaged through his drawers, his wardrobe and the cabinets in his bathroom before finally finding what you were looking for in his closet. Your phone and laptop were laying neatly on the floor in a ziploc bag. You closed yourself in to hide and with shaky hands, pressed the power button on your phone. You sighed with relief when you saw the familiar boot up screen pop up.

You called your mom. She would be the only person who’d believe you. She’d be able to send someone to collect you, to take you away from this cursed flat and to safety. When you heard her soft voice through the speaker, it took everything to not start bawling in the closet.

“Mom, please listen to me. I don't have much time. I’ll explain everything when I’m out of here but I need you to send someone to get me. Or maybe call the police. I just can’t stay here anymore. It’s Kento, he’s-”

The closet door slid open and you shrieked. Kento grabbed your wrist and yanked you to your feet, grabbing your phone in the process. You could hear your mother’s confused shouts coming from the phone over your own protests as he tossed you onto his bed and straddled you, pressing his full weight onto you. Before you could scream to your mother for help, he swiftly shoved one of his socks that was lying around in your mouth, gagging you. Once he was done silencing you, he turned his attention to your panicked mother.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, I was hoping to avoid something like this happening.” he spoke calmly. “But now you’ve witnessed it for yourself. How much worse she’s getting.” If you weren’t so frazzled, you’d roll your eyes. There was no way your mother would believe that this was some episode-

“Oh my, this is the first time her paranoia has gotten that bad. Have you spoken with the doctors?”

You froze. Why wasn’t she suspicious? Why was she actually listening to him?

“Yes I have.” he lied. “We’re waiting til her review next week. Hopefully, a change in medication might resolve this.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am that she found someone as dedicated and responsible as you, Ken. I was worried that I would have to take care of her alone for the rest of my life. I can rest easy knowing her fiance will be there to care for her.”

You tried your best to tell your mother that this lunatic was not your fiance and that she was being lied to, but all you could manage to make were pathetic, muffled whines. Kento remained nonplussed.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Your daughter is in good hands.” He ended the call and tossed your phone somewhere on the floor, turning his full attention on you.

“Did you hear that?” he spoke, stroking your cheek. “Your mother just confessed that she was terrified of having to take care of you.” he gently pulled out the gag.

“That’s not true!” you wheezed, ignoring the burning dryness in your mouth. “She’s just being lied to!”

“And she believed it instantaneously. She didn’t even question why you never told her about our engagement yourself. She was all too happy to relinquish all of her duties to me.” he sounded as if he was disgusted. “I’m sorry, but she thinks of you as a burden. But it’s not just her.” He eased himself off of you and walked back to the closet. He kept talking even as you climbed out of the bed.

“Your friends, your coworkers, our neighbours. Everyone knew what happened to you and yet no one wanted to help you. No one even came to visit.” You ignored him and tried to pull open the door. He was behind you in an instant, placing one of his hands above you to push it back closed. You hesitantly turned to face him.

“Is that what you’re so desperate to return to? A world where no one cares about you?” he asked gently.

“I’d rather that than whatever the fuck is this.” you spat.

“Then you really are unwell.”

He swiftly took hold of your wrists, and that’s when you noticed what he was carrying in his arms. It resembled a sweater but its sleeves were way too long. A straitjacket.

You thrashed and kicked as much as you could to get out of his grip, but he was too strong, too overwhelming. You were soon restrained within the jacket, and Kento scooped you up into his arms as if picking up a swaddled baby. With the way you were crying, you might as well have been.

“That night I found you in the kitchen was the scariest night of my entire life.” he spoke softly as he carried you down the hallway. “The only person in the world that makes me feel worthy to feel alive and I nearly lost you because of your own mind, of all things. I was at a loss. I could protect you from other humans or accidents, but how could I protect you from yourself? Even now, I don’t know the answer.”

He opened a door. You were back in the poorly-constructed ‘safe room’ again. Your throat tightened.

“Regardless, I love you, and I want us to work. I want to enjoy your cooking again, I want to hear you laugh at the terrible sitcoms you make me watch. I want you to be perfect again.” He set you down on the mattress, and pressed a kiss to your temple. He made his way back to the door, and despite your desperate pleas, he once again closed it, leaving you trapped.

“And there’s nothing I won’t do to ensure that.”

A/N: Another repost from my old account! A new fic will be dropped soon dw <3

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere x reader #dark content #yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #tw: coercion #tw: dubcon

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usedpidemo · 1 year ago

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More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.

She absolutely loathes hearing it.

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.”

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?”

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

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thursdayinspace · 1 year ago

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every time I get an email from ao3 telling me somebody left a comment on one of my fics, every time I see that somebody reblogged something I wrote on tumblr, my day improves instantly. every time it makes me feel that I want to keep going. so I just want to say this to all of you who comment and reblog: I hope you know how important you are.

stories, art, meta -- those things aren't created in a vacuum. they are part of an ongoing conversation between the material, the fic/meta writers and artists, and the people who interact with what they read and see. and that's not just true for art and all forms of writing. the whole world is a big, intertextual web made of billions of voices. we react to each other and that's how we create community and art.

every time you react to something you've enjoyed, you contribute to that conversation. every time you do that in a positive way, you tell the writer or artist "I hear you and I care enough to respond." even if it's nothing more than "I love this." it means artists and writers know their voices aren't just being swallowed up by the great big void. it encourages people to keep expressing their takes on the conversation that is art and writing. it means we all get to have more of it.

all of this to say: commenters and rebloggers, you are superstars. thank you. I love you.

#on fandom #writing #I mean it #we're all in this together #it only works if we support each other

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mai505 · 3 days ago

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Now playing || Reflections by The Neighbourhood

Heimweh

or: A girl away from home finds one in a soldier

No one knew what exactly she was doing. Not her family and her friends were silent they might have known yet their mouths were sealed shut, unbudgingly not spilling a word.

Her parents didn’t even know. A question about her presence was enough to irk the middle aged adults. Her father’s face would scrunch in disgust before spitting something in his own language. Her mother would simply stop short a blank look forcing itself on her face before blocking rapidly the tears appearing in the corner of her dark eyes as she would pretend to now have heard the question and switch topics as fast as she could manage.

It wasn’t that they were ashamed well they certainly were no doubt but they found it quite easier to just forget her instead of embracing the life of shame their daughter led.

Now she yes she was thriving. Growing up under the harsh containments of her obsessive family and hurtful society she found her opening to freedom in no other place but the prison of a school. “Scholarship in Berlin” read the colourful banner as she had walked back from yet another depressive class of mixing alphabets with numbers. It was an opportunity a big one.

So she applied it was the last year of school anyways. She didn’t tell her parent nor her friends. The flyer plucked off the bulletin wall then lay on her desk as she hurriedly filled out the forms before her mother could come home. Then when the front door opened with a jolt the tired looking woman clutching a bag in her hands her gracious daughter didn’t mention that she had just sent off all her life details to a university half across the globe. Even as she sat her mother down the whistling kettle breaking up their conversation as the mother like everyday asked how her day in school was. This had gone on for weeks. She had made sure to keep her school in check she had a bit to get her grades back the academic validation a need for her plan.

So one night she wandered her hometown aimlessly her bag slung across her shoulders the heavy piano book filled with classics and markings of her teacher where he urged her to improve her playing. Her gentle fingers rustled in her jacket pocket as she walked by the neon illuminated grocery store blinking in the dark streets. Fishing the stale coins out of her pocket she swiftly held them to her eyes counting the amount second guessing if it was enough for a baked good. She had used the money for snacks at her piano lesson the fact that she hadn’t practised catching up to her as she buried her head in the thought of counting the M&Ms littering her hand.

Now the result of her snack showed as she picked up the cookie box the sugary treat promising American glee. Just then her phone pinged the loud sound making her flinch and look up at the other customers in embarrassment. Her mother’s consistency to keep her phone on loud had shown. Glaring at the screen she was about to call her mother making up a false excuse of how her bus was cancelled so she walked since it was quicker.

Of course that was a lie she just wanted to clear her head. She always did this and she had a faint feeling that every time her mother called to ask if she had gotten lost it was just to reassure her that her idiot daughter wanted a bit of a break. The screen lit up the proud label of email flashing. She usually didn’t check her email the junk mail folder overfilling yet the headline is what caught her attention. Berlin it read in white letters. Her hand started to shake the cookies a forgotten item in her arms as she opens the mail in the bright light of fluorescent blindness.

She stumbled across the long text searching for only one word „accepted“ there it stood proudly her name accepted. She was accepted. She would leave. She had the chance to leave. The chance to drown the town in a distant memory. To throw away the experiences the thoughts the past. She could start fresh. For the first time in a while hope played along her heartstrings as a wide smile slipped across her lips.

Walking up the bored out cashier she placed the cookies in front of him as he lazily scanned them. She held out the coins before he could respond. The cashier mustered her smiling face joy oozing from her pores. The judgemental stare didn’t go unnoticed by the young woman yet she was over the moon. Nothing could bring her down. Almost humming she walked the rest of the way until she reached the tall apartment blocks.

Outside stood her neighbour like every evening his thin fingers held a dying cigarette between his pale lips as he like the cashier took a double take on the girl. Especially her like clockwork she would come home every Thursday practically glooming muttering a quick hello to the shared building user before pushing the door open letting the metal snap closed. It was clear there was a difference in the way she held herself. Not only the fact that the man could now say he had saw the girl smile for the first time. The dimples deep indents in her cheeks giving her a youthful look.

At the age of 18 she had already slurred around like her daily life was in midst of a mid life crisis yet now she stopped infront of the puzzled man. Exclaiming a cheerful hello she waved at the man before offering him a cookie. It was a strange sight. The overjoyed young woman offering a Paling man cookies the depressing blocks of concrete complementing the dark atmosphere in the gloomy shreds of night. As the man didn’t move to accept her invitation a blank face still stretched upon his features she simply shrugged turning on her head before waving at him moving into the apartment block.

Taking the elevator which surely had broken down at least every month she stopped at the 14. Floor she continued the humming of unfortunate tune as she shuffled through her bag in search of her house keys. Her piano lesson had ended 2 hours ago her mother would be furious. Opening the door she came with no surprise that everyone was still awake. Her footsteps creaked on the dark wooden floor as she hastily undid the closed of knot. Just on time her mother rushed to the hallway catching her daughter in the midst of shrugging off her jacket.

With a pointed glare her mother raised an eyebrow waiting for the overpour of excuses and apologies. Yet it never came. Instead the young woman stood fairly still infront of her mother fidgeting with her jumper. This moved a frown over the older woman’s face at the sight of her usually careless daughter being nervous. It didn’t matter how her daughter tried to play it off she knew something was wrong. She was her mother after all. So in calming tone the young woman asked her adult to sit with her for a talk.

Moving to the old table littered with scratched over the passage of time she glanced at her siblings who seemed intact with themselves gazing at the old TV hanging from the wall. A familiar show played from the system as her brother eyed the sweet treat still unflung in her arms. Her appetite long gone she placed the cookies in her younger sister’s arms as the toddler cooed at her. A deep breath of confidence and bravery filled her as she faced her mother the frown an upset look anxiousness teasing at the corners of her aging face. She fished out her phone opens the email and instead of confronting the issue let her read.

With each passing word spun across the phone her mother got worried in her eyes her daughter was still young she didn’t want her to leave especially to this big city. After a gentle explanation the short fused daughter ignored her mother’s pleading words harshly explaining there was no point in discussing. She was leaving that was the end of it.

As her graduation rolled around her 18. Birthday did so aswell. Coincidentally it was both at the same day. She stood tall infront of her graying mirror the graduation gown signifying her years of hard work. Around the bustle of students she clambered onto her friends celebrating with them each individually proudly standing on the stage they once dreamed about. Yet the ceremony ended and she was left alone.

The deep ache and bitter taste in her mouth as she watched her friend with her family. Each smiling at each other the day one not to forget. The weight of her phone in her gown pocket became heavy as the text her mother had sent her flashed across her mind. A pathetic excuse of work being too much to handle. Her father was a lost cause she didn’t even spend her mind wondering where he was. Yet the hope she held for her mother hurt as her tears pressed against her eyes. Tomorrow she’d be gone. She knew it ,the booked ticket on her desk knew it ,her packed suitcase knew it.

The darkening clouds accompanied her home as the bus shook viciously crossing the gravel road. She stood still as a tree the old woman next to her mustering her since quite a while. “Your graduation?” The aging woman finally asked. With a nod of her head the old woman perked up retelling her graduation in great detail.

As the agonising bus ride came to an end she walked past her usual grocery store. The faint running of the bell signalling her presence as she roamed toward the sweet area picking out a box of muffins and a candle. It had become a weird tradition. When her 11. Birthday had ended with a suprising separation and hateful words from her father she had succumbed to her room lighting a tea candle and eating a chocolate muffin. Since then on her mother was either too busy to actually do something for her birthday or simply forgot to. She never complained though. Her mouth screwed shut internally exited for the little ritual of hers. Paying for the treat she wanders to her apartment knowing no one was waiting for her. Slipping off the gown and sitting in her bed she light the candle and shoved its wax end into the chewy muffin. Closing her eyes briefly she mumbled a wish under her breath before blowing the illuminating stick out. The deafening silence of the flat a familiar feeling as she peels the covers over her body. Tomorrow she promised herself. Tomorrow she leaves.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x oc #simon riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod

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uyuforu · 8 months ago

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Jungkook's Natal Chart: Virgo Mercury 8H, 7°

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Mercury is a planet that will represent our communication style, our voice, how we express ourselves, what we think about and talk about the most, how our minds work, etc.

Mercury in Virgo

JK's Mercury is in Virgo, which means he can be quite smart in general. Even if it’s a different kind of smart, he can just be smart even in his own way. Or you could feel like he is quite smart even academically. That means if JK has a strong interest in something, he will usually have less hard times to study it or learn it. Mercury being in his 8H with Virgo placement makes him want to know EVERYTHING about subjects he loves. Usually, those people can love animals and plants, but also nature. JK can love to organize and can need it when he works or studies, because he could work better this way. He can usually even like to organize everything in his life, because it can even help him to memorize things. So anything unpredictable or anything (or anyone) that is chaining in his habits and organization can be quite stressful for him. JK can be quite logical in general, or he could just act and speak in a very logical way, and he could come off as cold or detached sometimes. He is good at analyzing people as well, so he can usually read people well. He wants to be seen as smart and he always want to learn more because he wants to improve about his knowledge. Usually, those people love to each compliments about how smart they are. He also likes to correct people when they are wrong. Though he usually isn't good at taking criticism because he feels like he isn't good enough, and he should have known. We can often see that how JK can even often be his worst critic, always thinking he is never doing good enough. He often self criticizes and he can put some pressure on himself often.

Mercury 8H

Mercury in the 8H here makes JK's mind more deep than what we can think. I see often people saying JK can't lie, though this placement suggest JK is actually very good at keeping secrets. I am not saying he is a liar, but he just knows what to say and what to not say. He is def smart, and he is smarter than what people give him credit for. JK may actually enjoys people not exactly knowing him, he may be quite secretive. Mercury in 8H are very focused people; they are quite quiet with people they don’t know. If there are things they don’t want to reveal or talk about, forget about it because you will never know, like ever. JK doesn't like change much. He is def cold and will actually never talk to someone he hates. He can also be quite shy and won't talk much if there is someone he doesn't know. But he is very nice and generous with the people he loves. No fake with him, he will say things directly and be blunt. If he argues, he can indeed be aggressive with his words and the way he says things. He is collected and calm, knows how to translate his emotions in a logical and understandable way. JK could have a hard time with writing his emotions, or just translating his emotions with words. He can feel it's hard to express those, but easy to feel. So Art can actually help JK a lot on this. JK may care a lot about what he has and possesses, and he may talk about it often. This can also be a placement that can seem materialistic, but it’s important to talk about those things for JK. He can be very good at negotiating, and He handles money pretty well. Jungkook doesn’t speak for nothing, he will only share his ideas and thoughts if he does have some. He won’t make conversations if he doesn’t want to.

Mercury 7°

Mercury in 7°, a Libra degree, makes Jungkook very easy going, nice and very charming in the way he speaks. He speaks with a light voice a tone that is charming and melodious. He is someone very polite and hates rudeness, but also injustice. So, he will always try his best to speak in the fairest way and the nicest way possible. So even when someone is rude to him, he will try to “kill them with kindness”. He is the kind of person to love to listen to people. Also, he is very good with words, and how he uses those. He wants to make sure whatever he talks about will be pleasant for the other person, but that the way he speaks will not hurt a soul or not hurt anyone in this case. In the end, he is making sure that the conversation he has and how he talks will never cause an argument.

Thank you for reading!

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becauseimswagman1 · 5 months ago

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Illusion vs Reality: When Did the Lines Blur? (pt2)

Content Creator!Kelvin Harrison Jr x Virgin!Reader

Warnings: none.

A/N: the way I wanna give reader a name but idk

(Part 1)

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

He answered… your email. Like Kelvin personally and not his assistant. He’s actually agreeing to your nonsense as well. He wants to get into acting and this is exactly the type of thing that would be good for him to develop a “think on the fly” skill to have under his belt.

And just like that, a meeting was scheduled.

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

“Hey… Y/N, right?” Kelvin said when he sat down in front of you at this local cafe place in your city.

You sat up a little more in your seat, “Yeah, that’s me. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, actually. You’re gorgous by the way.”

You smiled, “Thank you! I’m surprised you even answered your email.”

“Yeah, I was on my own that day. I gave her the day off. If I’m being honest, she would’ve showed it to me anyways.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Really? An insane email like that?”

Kelvin smiled, “Yeah! She matches my energy more often than not.”

In the middle of the conversation, a waiter walked over, “Hi, what can I get you guys?”

“I’ll just have a lemonade.” you said

“And I’ll just have an iced tea.”

“That’ll be all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.” the waiter walked away.

“So, how is all this gonna work? Am I just gonna get a guide on ya know… you, and study it? Are we gonna have a backstory? OH! Can I make it up?”

You could see excited he was getting over this, which surprised you.

“Kelvin, Kelvin calm down. Let’s talk about the full extent of the agreement, first.”

He took a deep breath, “Okay okay. I’m calm.”

The waiter came over again, this time with your drinks, “Here you go.” he sat them down, “Is there anything else I can get y’all?”

You looked at Kelvin, silently asking if he wanted something else. Kelvin looked at the waiter, “Nah. We good.”

The waiter walked away.

“Okay, so we’ll be pretending to be a couple for Thanksgiving weekend. I need you to be prepared for my family to ask a shit ton of questions about you and your family. They won’t ask you anything about me, so don’t worry about knowing me any deeper than you have to.”

“But, I wanna know you. What’s the point in pretending if I’m not gonna commit properly?”

You took a sip of your lemonade, suddenly your throat is dry, “Right, right. Okay, well um, how long are you in town for?”

“Until December first.”

“Oh all month huh? Really committing to the bit?”

“Well, yeah. I empathize with your situation. I understand family pressures. I want to-”

“How far are we going with this? Holding hands? Kissing? Are you okay with sleeping in the same bed if it came down to it?” you were holding that in this whole time. This is truly what you were worried about.

Kelvin laughed, “Is that what you were thinking about?”

Nervously chuckling, “Yeah, actually.”

Kelvin sipped his drink, “I want you to be comfortable. I do think we should hold hands. Kissing is completely up to you. Personally, I wouldn’t mind kissing you, but like I said… I want you to be comfortable.”

“We can kiss and hold hands. Do what couples do. I think improv is best.”

“You serious about the whole “do what couples do” thing?”

“I am.” you nodded.

“Then… consider this our first date?”

You smiled, “Yeah. This can be our first date.”

He already had you falling kind of… this was gonna be hard.

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

Taglist (comment to be added, dm to be removed): @femdisa @luvrsluxe @gg-trini @sharmelasworld @papithetia @ayeeeitsmiracle @mzv11 @playingaymes @gaydakiss @iveseenstrangerthings @kneelarmhstrung

#becauseimswagman1 #x black reader #kelvin harrison jr x black!reader #kelvin harrison jr x reader #kelvin harrison jr.

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magic-shop-stories · 1 month ago

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You are amazing, I just love your writing so much, especially BTS Dad scenarios. I am addicted! So I wanted to ask if you could write some headcanons or short imagine of the BTS members having a child, their gender is up to you, that wants to race. Like they love F1 and racing in general and want to do it as well. I cannot get this out of my head and would die to read something like this. Preferably with Yoongi of Jungkook, but I leave that up to you. I hope that's not to weird, if so just ignore me but thanks in advance.

💌 Reply:

OH MY GOD THIS REQUEST MADE ME SQUEAL LIKE A 10-YEAR-OLD AT THEIR FIRST F1 RACE!!!! 🏎️ (Which, fun fact, was me. I had a Vettel poster on my wall and everything...) THANK YOU FOR THIS MASTERPIECE OF A PROMPT!!! I loved writing these headcanons and may have fallen into a 3-hour rabbit hole about Asian F4 teams? ADHD isn't a joke xD If you want a full imagine, my DMs are WIDE OPEN. 🏁 I hope it's what you wanted, if not - let me know. – c – 💜 ohh and THANK YOU P.S. tumblr decided to crumble every time I tried to add pics, and my migraine is currently killing me, so please forgive me for the missing pics...

BTS as Racing Dads Headcanons

Pairings: OT7 x Child!Reader (Parent/Child Dynamics) Rating: PG (K+) Genre: family fluff, sports drama, hurt/comfort Warnings: none

KIM NAMJOON (RM)

CHILD

Name: Soo-Yeon (she/her)

Team: Prema Racing (F4 → F3 → F2), Possible Future: Red Bull Junior Team (Engineering-Focused Development Route)

[note: she’ll probably be the only driver who sends Prema engineers correction emails with footnotes]

Personality:

cerebral introvert

quiet obsession for motorsport engineering

not drawn to the glamour of racing but to the physics of it

= fluid dynamics, tire compounds, energy recovery systems

bedroom walls plastered with diagrams of F1 aerodynamics

scribbles differential equations on her homework

HOW IT BEGINS

at age 12

she stumbles upon a documentary about Adrian Newey

becomes fixated

builds miniature wind tunnels out of cardboard and obsessively testing toy car designs

Namjoon finds her at 2 a.m.

= adjusting the angle of a paper rear wing with surgical precision

First Conversation

“Appa, did you know downforce is just controlled air resistance? It’s… math in motion.”

he blinks

coffee forgotten

“You… built this?”

kneels beside her

studying her makeshift lab

“Explain it to me. Slowly.”

NAMJOON’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a genius. A literal genius.”

Worry

“Racing is dangerous. What if she gets hurt? What if the world exploits her mind?”

Guilt

“Did I push her into overthinking? Is this my fault?”

What He Says

Day 1:

“Let’s start with the basics. What’s your favorite part? The engineering or the speed?”

Week 2:

“I found a junior karting team with a good engineer. Interested?”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

education first

enrolls her in STEM camps

tho lets her skip lectures to shadow a Hyundai N mechanic

“Experience is the best teacher.”

karting phase

buys a used kart

insists she designs the modifications herself

“You want to race? Build it first.”

they spend nights in the garage

her hands greasy, his glasses smudged

safety obsession

researches FIA safety protocols

gifts her a custom HANS device for her 15th birthday (Head and Neck Support device)

“Your brain is your greatest asset. Protect it.”

CONFLICTS

First Crash

she flips her kart during a test run

he sprints to the track

panic clawing his throat

finds her already out, scribbling notes on a clipboard

“The roll cage held! My calculations were right!”

His Response

Outward Calm

“Good. Now let’s improve the chassis.”

Inward Meltdown

calls Yoongi at 3 a.m

“Hyung, what if I’m failing her, what if she gets hurt?”

LEAP TO F4

at 15/16

recruited by a Formula 4 team

he negotiates her contract

adding clauses for academic continuity

“You’ll finish school. And change the game.”

Proudest Moment

watching her explain energy recovery systems to engineers twice her age

“That’s my kid...”

Quote to Her

“You’re not just a driver. You’re a visionary. Make them see it too.”

KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)

CHILD

Name: Ha-Eun (she/her)

Team: Kart Republic → Iron Dames (F4/F3), Possible Future: Ferrari Driver Academy (if she pushes herself hard)

Personality

bubbly, competitive extrovert

lives for the thrill of the race and the cheers of the crowd

she’s less about the mechanics

more about the drama

customizing her kart with glitter sticker

naming it “Pink Lightning”

trash-talking Jin (and the rest of Bangtan) during backyard races

her dream?

= be the first (female) F1 driver with a themed victory dance

HOW IT BEGINS

during a family outing at an amusement park

she drags Jin to the go-kart track

overtakes him on the final lap

“BYE, APPA!”

staff hands her a plastic trophy

“I’m gonna be a racing queen.”

First Conversation

Ha-Eun: “Appa, I’m faster than your dad jokes!” Jin: “Yah! That’s Worldwide Handsome’s kart you’re insulting!”

fake-pouts, then grins

“But fine. Let’s see if you can handle real competition.”

JIN’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a star. A sparkly, chaotic star.”

Panic

“What if she flips the kart? What if someone breathes on her wrong?”

Excitement

“Finally, a worthy rival for my Singin’ in the Rain karaoke crown.”

What He Says

Day 1:

“Okay, champ. Rule #1: Always let your Appa win. Rule #2: Never follow Rule #1.”

Week 2:

“I booked us matching racing suits. Yours has glitter. Mine has my face.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

themed training

turns practice into “Jin/ Ha-Eun Grand Prix” events

cones become “dinosaur obstacles”

pit stops involve juice boxes and dad-joke riddles

“What’s a race car’s favorite snack? Vroom-sticks!”

safety first (but make it fashion)

buys her a neon pink helmet with “PRINCESS OF SPEED” on the side

“Safety’s boring unless it’s fabulous.”

secretly researches the safest tracks

social media hype

posts slow-mo videos of her wins set to “I’m the Best” by 2NE1

caption: “Future F1 CEO. (P.S. I taught her everything.)”

CONFLICTS

First Loss

she loses a local race by 0.5 seconds

throws her gloves

yelling

“I HATE KARTING!”

Jin’s Response

outward calm

“Okay, let’s hate together. Dramatic sigh I hate… broccoli. And slow Wi-Fi.”

inward angst

texts Yoongi

“How do I fix a broken heart? Asking for a tiny dictator.”

solution

hosts a “Losers’ Party” with pizza, disco lights, and a dance-off

“Win the next race, and we’ll crash a real F1 party. Deal?”

LEAP TO COMPETITIVE KARTING

at 11

she joins a regional league

he becomes her hype man

waving a custom banners

“HA-EUN: FASTEST & PRETTIEST.”

Proudest Moment

watching her podium speech

“Thanks to my Appa, who’s almost as cool as my kart.”

he fake-sobs into the mic

“She’s lying! I’m cooler!”

Quote to Her

“Remember: If you’re not first, you’re… still my favorite. But always try to be first.”

note: definiteley plays EA F1 with her, or the sim but NEVER wins

MIN YOONGI (SUGA)

CHILD

Name: Yumi (she/her)

Team: Hitech GP or ART Grand Prix, Possible Future: Alpine Academy (quiet prodigy path)

[note: pit engineers start whispering, “She sees lines we don’t” after analyzing her onboard footage]

Personality

fierce, stubborn introvert with a gasoline-and-metal soul

she’s tactical

calculating lap times in her head during dinner

thrives under pressure

her idea of small talk?

“Appa, do you think Verstappen’s tire strategy in Singapore ’23 was reckless?”

HOW IT BEGINS

at 10 (after years of building Carrera tracks, and decorating her walls with team posters)

she discovers an old racing sim in Yoongi’s studio

he’d bought it years ago (probably for a one time try)

she sneaks in

cracks the top 10 global leaderboard under the username “SHADOWSPEED”

Yoongi finds her asleep at the rig

hands still gripping the controller

First Conversation

“…You did this?”

gestures to the screen where her lap record glows

Yumi: “It’s not hard. Just physics.” Yoongi: “Wear these. The engine sounds are better.”

silently hands her his noise-canceling headphones

YOONGI’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a goddamn prodigy.”

Terror

flashbacks of his own accident

= rain-slick roads, injured shoulder, the smell of burnt rubber

“What if she…?”

Resolve

“If she’s gonna do this, I’ll make sure she’s safe. Even if it kills me.”

What He Says

Day 1:

“You want to race? Fine. But you learn to fix the engine first.”

Week 2

slaps a fireproof racing suit on the kitchen table

“Try it on. Before you argue.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

karting phase

buys a secondhand kart

spends months reinforcing the chassis himself (with her)

“Safety isn’t optional. Ever.”

F4 debut

pulls all strings to get her a spot on a team

insists on meeting every engineer

“The car’s data system is shit. Upgrade it or I walk.”

rainy day ritual

texts her a single emoji before wet races: 🌧️

code for “Don’t be a hero. Just come home.”

CONFLICTS

Crash

she spins out during a monsoon-like F3 qualifier

Yoongi watches from the pit wall

jaw clenched so tight he almost cracks a molar

when she limps back, he barks

“You’re done.”

Her Rebellion

Yumi: “You don’t get it! This is my life!” Yoongi: “I do get it. I’ve..”

slams his fist on the table

voice shaking

rolls up his sleeve

shows the surgery scar on hie shoulder

“This is what ‘life’ looks like when it goes wrong.”

Resolution

they don’t speak for days

Yoongi appears at her door with a helmet

modified with extra impact padding

“Race smart. Or I’ll sell the sim.”

SUZUKA GIFT

her 14th birthday

he tosses her an envelope

inside, two VIP passes to the Japanese Grand Prix

“Pack your bags. And… bring a notebook. Take notes on the real pros.”

At Suzuka

she vibrates with excitement

scribbling notes on tire temps and apex speeds

Yoongi is silent

grips her hand during the start

“If you ever…”

he stops

clears his throat

“Just watch, yeah?”

that night, he admits it over ramen

“I hate this. But I'd hate seeing you not do it more.”

ONGOING SUPPORT

custom safety gear

commissions a fireproof suit

her name stitched inside

“For luck. Don’t tell the team.”

post-race ritual

plays her a lullaby-like piano track he composed

“Checkered Flag Lullaby”

it calms her adrenaline

legacy

secretly funds a junior racing scholarship in her name

“So the next kid doesn’t need a scared shitless dad to make it.”

JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)

CHILD

Name: Min-Jae (he/him)

Team: Williams Racing Young Design Talent → Karting Support Team Livery Artist → Mercedes Junior Creative Division, Possible Future: Lead Livery Director for Mercedes or independent design phenom running his own F1 visual branding agency

Personality

bubbly, hyper-creative whirlwind with a neon imagination

hands are perpetually stained with marker ink

tarted sketching liveries at 5

he talks a mile a minute about "making cars dance with colors!"

he names his designs things like “Rainbow Rocket” and “Glitter Shark”

HOW IT BEGINS

at 5

Min-Jae scribbles a chaotic, crayon masterpiece on the living room wall

= a race car with rainbow flames and polka-dot wheels

J-Hope, mid-dance practice, freezes

“Yah! Is that… a car?”

he beams

“Appa, it’s faster than your moves!”

First Conversation

“Explain this. Now.��

trying to sound stern but failing miserably

Min-Jae: “The polka dots are speed bubbles! And the rainbow is for when it flies!” J-Hope: “…You’re a genius. But never draw on walls again. Here, use this.”

hands him a F1 sketchbook

J-HOPE’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“My kid’s a creative monster! Look at those colors!”

Panic

“How do I nurture this without our house turning into a graffiti warzone?”

Excitement

“We’re gonna collab. Father-son design duo. Let’s go!”

What He Says

Day 1:

“Min-Jae-ya, let’s make a rule: Paper only. Unless it’s Appa’s dance shoes... those need glitter.”

Week 2:

“... gonna teach you about balance. No, not math... color balance! It’s like choreography for your eyes!”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

art studio overhaul

converts the guest room into “Min-Jae’s Mad Lab”

= walls covered in whiteboard paint

shelves stocked with every art supply known to humankind

J-Hope hangs a sign: “Caution: Genius at Work.”

field trips

takes him to the Seoul Auto Show

letting him interrogate designers

“Why is that car boring? It needs fangs!”

J-Hope translates

“He’s asking about… aerodynamic expression!”

matching kits

designs father-son overalls with “Team Hope-Jae” logos

Min-Jae adds doodles to J-Hope’s pair

= a tiny ARMY bomb with wings

CONFLICTS

Meltdown

Min-Jae throws a marker at a failed design

“It’s ugly! I hate it!”

J-Hope swoops in

spinning him in a chair

His Response

tough love

“Yah! Markers are for art, not tantrums.”

encouragement

“Remember when Appa fell during ‘Dope’? I ate the stage! You gotta own the mess!”

collaboration

they “trash” the design together

splattering paint everywhere

the result?

livery titled “Chaos Victory”

LEAP TO KARTING

at 9/10

local karting team asks Min-Jae to design their livery

J-Hope films the entire process for VLOG content

crying behind the camera

“That’s my son! Look at him glow!”

Proudest Moment

watching Min-Jae present his design

= a tiger-striped kart with holographic accents

team owner whispers

“He’s… ten?”

J-Hope grins

“Nine next week. Discount rate.”

Quote to Him

“You’re not just an artist. You’re joy on wheels. Make the world dance with you!”

PARK JIMIN

CHILD/TWINS

Names: Min-Jae (son) & Hae-Won (daughter)

Personalities

Min-Jae

Team: Red Bull Racing - Young Driver Programme, Possible Future: Red Bull Racing (F1) or AlphaTauri as his launchpad

[note: already has a penalty record in karting]

hot-headed

bold

fiercely competitive

drives for Red Bull Racing - Young Driver Programme

idolizes Max Verstappen’s aggression

wore his racing gloves during dinner when he was younger

Hae-Won

Team: McLaren - Young Driver Programme, Possible Future: McLaren F1 Team or Aston Martin (Talent-Precision Hybrid Route)

analytical

ice-cool under pressure

races for McLaren - Young Driver Programme

worships Lando Norris

keeps a race logbook titled “Emotion is Drag."

Dynamic

sibling rivalry on steroids

they debate tire strategies over breakfast

bet allowance money on lap times

refuse to carpool to the track

HOW IT BEGINS

at 4

they’re given toy karts for Christmas (Jungkooks gift)

Jimin films them racing around the living room

giggling as they crash into the couch

by 12, they’re dominating local karting leagues

Min-Jae wins by sheer grit

Hae-Won by calculating apex speeds

First Rivalry Flashpoint

during a regional final

Hae-Won blocks Min-Jae on the last lap

he retaliates, spinning her out

Jimin, watching in horror, sprints to the track

Jimin’s Reaction

outward:

forces them to shake hands

“You’re teammates first. Always.”

inward:

cries in the bathroom

texting Namjoon

“Hyung, what if I’m ruining them?”

JIMIN’S DAD MODE

Support System

dual team gear

wears a Red Bull cap and McLaren jacket to races

“I’m Switzerland. Neutral but fabulous.”

pre-race rituals

braids Hae-Won’s hair

for “aerodynamics”

tightens Min-Jae’s helmet strap

“Breathe. Think. Don’t murder each other.”

slips handwritten notes into their cars

“Proud of you. Love, Appa.”

Conflict Mediator

post-race debriefs

hosts “Family Meetings” with a whiteboard

“Min-Jae, stop dive-bombing. Hae-Won,stop smirking when he does.”

therapy sessions

drags them to family counseling

therapist quits after three sessions

“They’re… ´too passionate.”

JIMIN’S FEARS

safety

stares at crash compilations at 3 a.m.

“What if I lose them both in one day?”

sibling estrangement

finds Hae-Won crying after Min-Jae calls her a “robot”

Jimin tucks her into his side

“He doesn’t mean it. He’s just… bad at feelings.”

burnout

cancels a tour date to attend their first F3/2 race

“They’ll only be kids once. Priorities.”

BREAKTHROUGH

Monaco F2 Incident

Min-Jae and Hae-Won qualify P2 and P3

on lap 15, they battle through the hairpin

tires screeching, inches apart

Jimin clutches one of the members arms so hard he leaves bruises (they all came to watch)

Post-Race

they podium together

Hae-Won 1st, Min-Jae 3rd

instead of fighting, Min-Jae hugs her

“Don’t get used to it...”

Jimin sobs into a custom Red Bull-McLaren flag

Jimin’s Proudest Moment

overhearing Hae-Won defend Min-Jae to a reporter

“He’s the only driver I’d trust to race wheel-to-wheel with.”

KIM TAEHYUNG (V)

CHILD

Name: Min-Jae (he/him)

nicknamed "MJ" by the press

"Jae-Jae" by Taehyung

Team: Ferrari Driver Academy (F4 → F3 → F2)

Personality

firecracker with a Senna poster taped to his bedroom ceiling

brash, fearless

allergic to caution

MJ thrives on the edge

overtakes on the inside

revs engines like they’re percussion instruments

wears a permanent smirk under his helmet

media dubs him “The Little Phoenix” after he flips his kart in qualifiers only to podium the next day

Obsessions

Ayrton Senna’s 1988 Monaco GP

“He drove like it was jazz!”

customizing his gloves with paint splatters

“For luck. And style.”

collecting vintage racing helmets/suits

Tae turned his bedroom into a “museum” with display cases

HOW IT BEGINS

at 10

MJ finds Tae’s old Rush DVD

watches it 17 times in a week

then drags Tae to a go-kart track

he watches MJ lap seasoned adults while humming “Boy With Luv.”

First Conversation

MJ: “Appa, I wanna fly like Senna.” Taehyung: “…In a car? Or literally?”

TAEHYUNG’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Awe

“He’s a painting in motion. A… Pollock with a steering wheel.”

Terror

“He’s going to die. I’m going to watch my child die.”

Pride

texts the group chat

“MY SON’S A GOD. SUCK IT, KOOK.” (ofc banter)

What He Says

Day 1:

“You’re not allowed to die. Ever. It’s in the dad contract.”

Week 2:

“Let’s make your kart art. Pink flames? Gold tires? Yes.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

aesthetic overhaul

designs MJ’s kart livery

= neon splatter paint inspired by Basquiat

“If you’re gonna be fast, be iconic.”

mental health checks

hires a therapist who races

“Dr. Nara does donuts and CBT. Multitasking queen.”

Senna pilgrimage

takes MJ to São Paulo (his favourite track)

films him crying at Senna’s grave

posts it with “Legends recognize legends”

MJ threatens to leak his unfinishes tracks

CONFLICTS

MJ attempts a Senna-style “no-look overtake” in the rain

kart hydroplanes into a barrier

Tae, mid-photoshoot in Milan, flies home on a private jet

still wearing Gucci loafers in the ICU

His Response

outward:

“You’re grounded. To… the kart track. After you heal.”

inward:

paints a mural titled “Phoenix Rising” on MJ’s cast

“Scars are just proof you outran death.”

LEAP TO F4

at 14/15

MJ joins Formula 4

Tae negotiates a sponsorship deal

the car?

= a rolling canvas

abstract designs that shift under UV lights

Proudest Moment

MJ wins his first race

dedicates it to “Appa, who taught me crashes are just plot twists.”

Quote to Him

“You’re not just a driver. You’re a performance artist. The track’s your stage... burn it down.”

JEON JUNGKOOK

CHILD

Name: Haneul (Sky) (she/her)

Team: ART (Asia Racing Team) (F4 → F3 → F2)

Personality

spitfire with a lead foot and a chip on her shoulder

Haneul inherited Jungkook’s competitive strea

battles a storm of self-doubt in a male-dominated sport

she’s all grit behind the wheel

= aggressive overtakes, daring late brakes

off-track, she folds her race suits meticulously

as if perfection could armor her against the world’s whispers

“They don’t see a driver. They see a girl driver.”

HOW IT BEGINS

at 6

Haneul begs to ride shotgun in a Porsche GT3 during a track day

he lets her “steer” on a straightaway

her tiny hands gripping the wheel like it’s a lifeline

“Faster! Faster!”

she shrieks, and Jungkook grins

First Race

he buys her a junior kart for her 8th birthday

they paint it purple and gold

“Team Jeon colors”

he kneels in the gravel

teaching her heel-toe braking

“Smooth, Haneul-ah. Like dancing.”

JUNGKOOK’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a natural. Look at her lines...cleaner than mine at her age.”

Fear

“What if she gets hurt? What if they break her spirit?”

Protective Fury

“I’ll crash anyone who touches her.”

What He Says

After Her First Win (Age 10)

“You’re a monster out there. Proud of you, champ.”

When She Asks for F4 (Age 15)

“You sure? It’s not just speed. It’s war.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

training regimen

wakes her at 5 a.m. for endurance runs

then cooks galbi at midnight after sim sessions

“Champions don’t sleep. Naps.”

public persona

uses his fame to shield her

brings her on live, arm around her shoulders

“Meet my co-pilot. She’s better than me.”

tattoo

after her F4 debut

he inks her car number (#07) and chassis outline on his ribs

shows her post-race

“Now you’re always with me.”

CONFLICTS

First Slur

rival team owner mutters “Go back to makeup tutorials” during qualifying

Haneul pretends not to hear

Jungkook slams his fist into a garage locker

denting the metal

His Response

outward

storms into the stewards’ office

demands the man’s ban

“Apologize to my daughter. Or I’ll park my car in your pit lane.”

inward:

cries alone

“I should’ve protected her better.”

Haneul’s Breaking Point

she quits mid-season after online trolls photoshop her into a doll

Jungkook finds her dismantling her helmet in the garage

Dialogue

Haneul: “I’m not strong like you. I can’t just… ignore it.” Jungkook: “You think I don’t see the comments? ‘Washed-up idol. Failed racer.’”

COMEBACK

Training Redemption

Jungkook hires a female ex-F1 test driver as her coach (Jessica Hawkins)

“Learn from the best. Better than me.”

Proudest Moment

Haneul podium’s in F4

dedicating the win to “the Appa who taught me to never lift.”

Jungkook, wearing her #07 cap, sobs into his headset

Quote to Her

“You’re not ‘Jungkook’s kid.’ I’m Haneul’s dad. Remember that.”

34 notes · View notes

saey707 · 2 years ago

Note

I SEE YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN "HEARTSTEEL" I LOVE THEIR INTERACTIONS ON TWITTER AND EVERYTHING (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA) It's cool, just cool :') Well, the point is... could you do a Yone x fangirl!reader? (I've been thinking about an anonymous online friendship and then a BIG surprise when they just meet face to face) Anyway, have a good day <3 -🍄

✿ Prompt: You have a chance encounter with Yone ✿

♡ champion focus: yone ♡ tw: none! ♡ Gender-neutral reader

Author’s Note: YES HELLOOO! ૮₍´｡ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ｡`₎ა Thanks so much for requesting! I tried my best to get the premise of your idea in, but I did make some changes to improve the flow of the short and make it more authentic! Hope you enjoy! ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡

You and Yone met through an online board long before he went off the grid- hell, you met long before Yone even became legendary!

While it wasn't the conventional way to meet someone, you couldn't help but become fascinated by him and all the discussions he participated in. It's not every day you meet a (kind) man so invested in the history of Japanese warriors, DJ'ing, cold brew, and meditating!

You've never met Yone in person, but you figured from his messages alone he was either an old man or a kind soul... Even both. Every email Yone sent you was well punctuated and wise. He always knew exactly what to say, to an extent where you didn't know if he was just researching everything he was telling you or was telling you something based on his life experiences!

The day Yone sent a photo to you was the day you were convinced he was an old man now. It was clear that the photo was printed when he took a picture of it. His long, black hair was neatly kept, and he stood tall and sharp in a suit... Not to mention, there were orbs on the edge of the photo, and his eyes were as red as a demon!

You knew, eventually, your anonymous pen pal would stop replying one day, but it still hurt all the same. For years, you wondered if Yone was okay. You wondered where he was now, what amazing things he was doing. You wondered if one day he would ever email you back again... You wondered if he was dead.

"Hey, Warrior! I know it's been a few years since we last spoke. I know you won't respond, and I don't carry any grudges against you for it. I just can't help but wonder: How have you been? Were you ever able to get that red motorcycle you wanted? Are you still DJ'ing?"

That was the first email in years you sent to him... And you couldn't help but find some comfort in having a one-sided conversation. In a way, it felt like it healed the past few years you were left wondering and waiting.

"Hi, Warrior! You won't believe what happened yesterday: I finally got myself to meditate for 30 minutes straight! I'm still not sure how you can do it for an hour, but maybe someday I can get just as good as you. Hope you respond soon. I miss you!"

It became a regular habit for you to email him, even knowing you would never get a response. But maybe someday he'll be able to see what's going on in your life. Maybe someday, he'll open up his emails and respond to you... It's just wishful thinking.

"Have you seen the new band going viral? They're called Heartsteel! Their producer has the same name as you and even rides a red motorcycle in the music video! Isn't that cool? I know it isn't you, but at the very least I can imagine that it is you. I can imagine it's you out there doing great things with great people. And maybe it makes sense to me now why you won't respond. But just know I'm proud of you. No matter what you're doing out there. I'll email you again in a few days. Bye, Yone."

You sent the email, shutting your laptop now.

Waiting in line for a cold brew, it came as a surprise to you when you saw a man in front of you looking down at his phone, not even realizing that the line had already cut down to his turn to order.

You waited a few seconds... Then another. Then another.

Soon enough, you were annoyed. "Uhh, hey?! It's your turn to order..!" You tapped the man's shoulder, watching as he turned his head to you, confused as he shook himself from the alternate dimension his head was just in.

Your eyes widened as you stared at him for a moment, taking in the intricate details of his face. You recognized the sharp look in his eyes. You were familiar with the shape of his jawline. From the moment you got a good look at him, you knew it was him.

And while it seemed as if he didn't recognize you, the moment you spoke, his eyes lit up. It was you.

"Warrior?"

"Deer..."

#saeybaewrites #request #short #heartsteel #heartsteel yone #yone #heartsteel yone x reader #heartsteel x reader #yone lol #x reader #yone lol x reader #yone league of legends #lol x reader #yone league of legends x reader #league of legends x reader

322 notes · View notes

pikaclerc · 2 months ago

Text

You're not on Mclaren's contact list, stop emailing them

(Context: Lando fans have been emailing Mclaren about him being mistreated by the team)

I'm a tifosa. I'm used to seeing the tifosi at Maranello, communicating with the team, bringing signs, usually showing support. I'm not against fans trying to bring to the attention of their favorite team something that they disagree with or that they believe could be improved. But I believe this should be done when you have something to complain about. Lando fans, what do you have to complain about?

Let's go through some of the justifications I'm seeing. "Mclaren posted a photo where Lando is being covered by Oscar and they made it their banner". This is some Ferrari fans counting mechanics during podium ceremonies not realizing different tracks have different protocols or Sainz fans complaining that he wasn't the thumbnail for the Barcelona video from last year without realizing that Ferrari had a system where one week they'd have Charles as the thumbnail, the next they'd have Carlos and Barcelona just so happened to be on a Charles week, in a different font. Have none of you considered that maybe they did not have another high quality photo taken by Oscar of the team and they didn't think Lando being accidentally covered would lead to them being chased with pitchforks?

"Lando deserves to be in first not Oscar, because Lando basically built the car and this team". Couple things here. Like I've said in another post, while drivers are in a team and with a secured seat for the following season, they'll contribute to the development of the next car. I'm not against assigning some percentage of the credit to Lando, however this conversation has started to sound like "Lando built all of Mclaren's latest cars component by component, until he got it right". The people who deserve the most credit for the cars Mclaren have been driving in the past few months are the engineers who in less than 2 years managed to turn a car that needed 7 pit stops to stay alive through a race into a championship winning car. I'd also like to note that this entire process took place with Oscar already as a member of the team.

Lando deserves to win is a nice thing to say, but that's not how sports work in reality, F1 champions aren't crowned based solely on who's the most deserving. There's no mistreatment of Lando, what's happening is this: Oscar is performing at the level necessary to win a world championship, he's been able to in most weekends drive the Mclaren like the dominant car it is. Lando hasn't. That's not on the team, that's not on the car not being fast, that's not on Max Verstappen being annoying on track, that's on Lando. If you want to see Lando win, then he needs to improve as a driver, there's no other solution, you're wasting time on wild goose chases.

If I may offer some advice, if you support a driver you should have more faith in them. We're only a quarter of the way into the season, Lando is merely 16 points behind Oscar. I do not think there's a reason to be desperate right now and start sounding like you want Lando to be handed a championship by Mclaren on a silver platter when he's not even doing the minimum to be a world champion, which is beating his teammate.

As one last note, I'd like to ask you to please stop bringing mental health into this. Some drivers are more open about their mental health, some are less, there's no right answer for how much a driver chooses to share with the world about that topic. Implying or outright saying F1 championships should be decided based on how much a driver talks about mental health is contributing negatively to any activism you support.

#lando norris #oscar piastri #mclaren #f1

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sxfterhearts · 1 month ago

Text

intermission (never too late pt 1.5)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol!youngk x hair stylist!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: slight angst, fluff (soon!!)

♡ word count: 2,458 words

♡ author’s note: sorry it took me so long to get back to this series!! read part 1 here :>

───────────────

You were sweeping the floors, gathering any stray hairs you missed in the back corners of your salon into the dustpan. To be honest, the vacuum caught most of it, but you were nervous and your hands were looking for something to do.

So many thoughts were racing through your mind. What would you say? What would he say? What would he look like? What would you look like, in his eyes? Damn it, should you rush back home to shower and grab a change of clothes?

No. You shook those thoughts away. Clearly, you were overthinking. Sure, he texted you for the first time in over a year, but it didn’t mean anything. At least, you didn’t want to get too far ahead of yourself.

But there must’ve been a reason why he suddenly reached out. Why now, out of all times? And more importantly, why did you reply? Was it because you held on to the last glimmers of hope that things would be different between the two of you?

You cringed at the mere thought of how you acted throughout the end of your relationship. He had reached out constantly, through text, call, heck, he even emailed, and yet – time after time, you chose to leave him on read. You were cold and selfish, ignoring him without sparing a single thought.

The truth is, you had enough – enough of his absences, enough of his excuses, enough of feeling like you were always second best; of knowing that he didn’t prioritise you because he expected you to be forgiving and to always be waiting up for him, even after countless broken promises. You wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, for him to feel the gut-wrenching disappointment you felt in the pits of your stomach whenever he stood you up, shut you down or blew you off.

You loved, yes, you loved passionately, but you also fought with the same intensity. The two of you used to butt heads at how little attention you got from him, and how he would be whisked away at a moment’s notice for the band’s needs. It was always his job; his band, above all else.

Until one day, you simply had enough. The fight had left you. Instead of pushing back, you surrendered. Isn’t that what they always say? To love someone, is to set them free. So you set Younghyun free – free to do whatever he wishes with his time and himself, without the shackles of you and your relationship.

On one hand, you understood why he was the way he was. You were a workaholic yourself, choosing to spend much of your free time taking on new clients or attending courses and finding new ways to improve on your craft. But what you didn’t understand was how he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from his work and separate himself from it. If he was working on a new song, or recording demos, there was absolutely no way you could reach him.

Which would’ve been fine, if not for the fact that Wonpil was able to successfully call Young K when he was apparently “working on some lyrics”, or that Wonpil’s girlfriend had repeatedly interrupted band practice to ask Wonpil what time he’d be home for dinner (thanks to Dowoon’s blabbering mouth).

For what it was worth, while it was hard to overlook his obvious faults, Younghyun was an incredibly generous lover, once you caught his full attention, that is. He seemed to recall every single thing you said to him with incredible detail – even the smallest conversations you had wrapped up under a blanket, deep into the night. His voice stirred something deep within the cavities of your heart and urged you to partake in one too many late night dances around the kitchen. His eyes on you in a crowded room made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. He accepted you for you, wholeheartedly. He had the best restaurant recommendations and always knew exactly what you wanted to order, without you uttering a single word. Even after you studied the menu with careful eyes and knitted eyebrows, he knew. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

There were times where you were amazed at this simple fact. Like when he reached across the table to pass you the dipping sauce for the seafood pancake you were craving after work without exchanging a word. Or when you shivered in the cinema after a big gulp of iced cola, only to feel his warm hoodie draping across your shoulders, like the remnants of a warm hug. Or how whenever you felt down or sad, the sound of his voice could bring you out of the depths of your thoughts, and back into the light, helping you to appreciate the simple fact that you sometimes take for granted – that you are alive, that you are here, and that you have each other. Well, had.

Oh, where did it all go wrong?

───────────────

It all happened so fast. One minute, you were alone, arranging the bottles of shampoo and conditioners and hair masks on your shelf. The next, he was there, in your personal space.

Young K, all 180 centimetres of him, dressed in casual clothes and dark hair fluffy from a recent shower, carrying two plastic bags, standing, waiting expectantly in the middle of your salon – like nothing ever happened. Like he wasn’t completely absent throughout the past four hundred days of your life.

“Hey.”

And that was all it took for it all to come rushing back to you. Everything – your memories, his voice, your laughter, his smiles, the meals you shared, the movies you watched, the trips you took, the jokes he told, the glances you exchanged, the tears you shed.

You needed a minute to pull yourself together.

Resting your palm on the counter, you reached for your glass and took a huge gulp of water to calm your raging emotions.

With a nod, you motioned towards the coffee table at the waiting area, a space you occupied often when you wanted to wind down.

You crossed the room, avoiding his gaze. Your slipper-clad feet shuffled across the cement floor, as you remained quiet. You thought it best to refrain from speaking, fearing that too much of yourself might spill out and overflow in the process.

“I brought the goods.” He announced, setting the items on the table. One by one, he took the containers out. Fried chicken, rose tteokbokki, radishes and kimchi, and a bottle of your favourite soju – the only brand of soju that you drank. He remembered.

He passed you a plastic glove, and right on cue, your stomach grumbled audibly. You winced inwardly.

Young K tutted. “When did you have your last meal?”

You shrugged, still insisting on being non-verbal.

“An iced americano and sausage bread is not a proper meal.” He nagged in an all-too-familiar manner, referencing the breakfast meal deal that you often bought from Paris Baguette. Damn Kang Younghyun and his perfect memory.

As he lifted the lids, the fragrance of fried food and the spicy aroma of gochujang permeated through the air. You dug in right away, throwing caution to the wind. You were too hungry to care about manners or formalities. It wasn’t like Young K cared, anyway.

Wordlessly, the two of you munched on your food. Occasionally, you would both reach towards the same container at the same time, and you’d instinctively pull back. Young K would pick up a piece of food instead, and pass it over to you.

All the while, you felt his lingering gaze on you. Once or twice, you caught his eyes, only to look away in a split second, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

You supposed it wasn’t uncommon for people to eat in silence, especially when they were hungry. Thank goodness for the soap opera playing in the background, filling the space with at least some white noise.

You weren’t really in a chatty mood, after all. Young K however, was a whole different story.

He reached for the paper cups, and poured a shot of soju for you before pouring one for himself. He placed it in front of you, lifting his cup expectantly, hoping that you would accept his invite to cheers.

You did.

He took it as a green light to begin his soliloquy.

“The boys still ask about you.” Young K began, hoping to soften the blow by talking about anything or anyone other than himself or you, or your relationship.

You didn’t respond, so he just continued.

“We’re preparing something big. A six day concert in Seoul, starting next week. This is after an entire world tour.” He announced, heaving a huge sigh. His body slumps towards the sofa, boneless. “It’s tiring.” Young K admitted, mostly to himself.

You chewed on a piece of radish, giving no indication that you were listening, but none that you weren’t, either.

“The tours, the concerts, the performances. The media, the scandals, the cameras. This life, it’s tiring.” He said in a voice so small you could barely hear him. He sounded so fragile and uncertain. So unlike the Young K you met, got to know, dated, and fell in love with.

You stared at him, then. There was deep, raw honesty flowing through his words. You felt compelled to pay attention.

“I think about it sometimes, you know? What if we never came back from that trip in Jeju…” Young K toyed with a piece of radish between his fingers. “What if I quit and ran away from this life? We could set up a shop in that little hut in Jeju by the beach, maybe a restaurant, or a cafe. You’d design the interiors – you always had a good eye for those things. I’d craft the menu, and together we’d always make sure there were good tunes, accompanied by good food, to go with the great vibes by the ocean. We’d create an oasis; a place for people to relax and unplug from the outside world.” Young K spoke from his heart, his gaze distant, as though imagining this alternative storyline of his. “I think about it a lot, actually.” He locked eyes with you, dark pupils swirling with emotions and unresolved feelings. “I crave the simplicity of a life with you, away from this, all of this.”

Whilst compelling, you knew that he couldn’t bear to walk away from this life that he built for himself; this life that he fought tooth and nail, with bleeding fingertips for – literally.

Wordlessly, it seemed like he acknowledged your thoughts, and with slow bites of chicken and the squish of tteokbokki between his lips, solemn silence settled upon you.

“I could bring you with me, you know.” He proposed, the edges of his mouth tinted red from the tteokbokki sauce.

You scoffed. “Don’t be silly.” It was the longest sentence you uttered all night.

“I mean it. I could get you back on our styling team.”

You looked at him pointedly. “What are you gonna do about Kieun eonnie?” You referred to his current hairstylist, a former colleague of yours.

Young K shook his head, as though dismissing your thought. “She could use a break. Plus, I heard she’s adopting another dog in the summer – something about her current one being too lonely and having no one to play with. With the concerts coming up and potentially more tours later in the year, I think she’d prefer to stay home with her fur babies instead.”

“I don’t know, Young K…” You replied, uncertain. You fiddled with a piece of fishcake, pushing it around with your chopsticks. You were never a big seafood fan. In fact, you were a somewhat picky eater, only sticking to foods you tried and liked. It was Young K who pushed you to try new things; expand your horizons.

“Please, Younghyun to you. Never Young K.” He spoke gently, softly. He stole the fishcake from your chopsticks’ grasp, knowing that you weren’t going to eat it anyway. Catching your gaze, he looked into your eyes sincerely, piercing through your resolve. “Promise me you’ll take a few days to think about it.”

You always found it hard to deny him. “I’ll think about it.”

───────────────

“Where do you think we went wrong? What happened to us?”

Three glugs as the soju bottle emptied. The tap of paper cups, a silent toast. Two big gulps of soju, and a single sigh of relief.

“I got tired of waiting. Of being second.”

“Y/N, there was no one else. Only you – always you.” His tone was dead serious.

“Yes, there was.” You muttered sadly. “Your band; your job.”

He acknowledged it with a nod of his head. “Sometimes I wonder whether the sacrifices were worth it.” He toyed with the cap of the soju bottle. Suddenly, a memory interrupted his train of thought. A warm summer’s night. The buzz of a barbecue, outdoors. Clinks of shot glasses. And the metal ring from the soju bottle, formed into a perfect circle. He remembered sliding it onto your finger, and how smooth your skin felt. He remembered how your smile shined so bright in contrast to the dark skies. How much he wanted to recreate that scene, but with a real ring, and a shiny stone, in front of all the people you loved.

“You know it is.”

“Is it, though? As I grow older, I become more and more aware of all the things I gave up for this line of work. My life is as far from normal as it can be, and there’s no stopping; no limits to what I do, and how much I work. I love writing songs, I love making music, and I love the fans, but I also deeply miss a normal life. A life I will never have the privilege of living.”

“You’re not made for the normal life, Younghyun.”

“But I want a normal life, with you.”

───────────────

You sent him off that night, surrounded by the chilly night air, watching as his taxi drove off and rounded the corner.

The smell of his cologne still lingered on your nose from the hug he gave you before you parted. The same cologne he used when you were still together – Jo Malone, English Pear and Freesia.

He held you against his chest for what felt like an eternity, definitely way too long for it to just be a friendly hug, and yet somehow, you still felt like it was not long enough to replace his prolonged absence.

As you felt his heart beat against your own, you thought that perhaps your resolve had grown soft.

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rottenpumpkin13 · 1 year ago

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how's Father's Day going for the boys?

Not well.

Sephiroth stared at the screen, his eyes drawn to the email from Professor Hojo.

Subject: Happy Father's Day

Dearest Sephiroth,

Today marks an opportunity to contemplate the pivotal role fathers play in shaping the lives of their offspring. Beyond providing, a father’s duty encompasses the profound responsibility of guiding and molding their offspring into exceptional individuals. Sons, especially, should acknowledge the sacrifices and wisdom imparted by their paternal figures, appreciating the path laid before them and aspiring to surpass their achievements.

Remember, that as you progress and excel every success reflects the foundation established by paternal influence. Let today remind you of that.

Cordially,

Professor Hojo

“—displaying behavior that sours your image to the public,” Genesis quoted, followed by a scoff. “As if attending a pride parade is the worst thing I could do.” He rolled his chair over the extension cord attached to Sephiroth's computer rhythmically, as if the sound would be enough to drown out the memory of the conversation he just had with his father over the phone.

Every roll of the wheel dug into Angeal's skull, intensifying his headache. He groaned, but doubted they could hear it—not Genesis over the sound of his own voice or Sephiroth over his typing.

Sephiroth hummed critically. “Are you sure it wasn’t about the scandalous activity you were caught up in during the parade? What was it again, the impromptu dance-off on the float?”

Genesis huffed. “It was a celebration, Sephiroth, not a scandal. And I wasn’t caught up in anything scandalous. Just because I have a bit more fun than you doesn’t mean I’m tarnishing our image.”

Sephiroth stopped typing, a beat, then: “Whatever you say—though I think using that man as a dancing pole was a bit much.”

“Jealousy, jealousy,” Genesis sing-songed mockingly.

The typing persisted, as did Genesis rolling around on the chair. Angeal groaned again, stretching out and closing his eyes. “You two sound like an old married couple,” he muttered.

“We are, at most, divorced,” Sephiroth remarked dryly.

“You started it,” Genesis pointed out.

“Just making sure you know how to manage your reputation."

Genesis rolled his eyes dramatically before rolling behind the couch, also dramatically. “If being boring like you was anything to go by I'm sure my reputation would be squeaky clean.”

Angeal finally squeezed his eyes open just in time to catch Genesis roll by in a flash of red. “It’s Father’s Day, Gen. I’m sure your father was just worried. Maybe try seeing it from his perspective.”

Genesis started spinning, and from his peripheral view Angeal was certain he would fall over at any moment.

“You know better than anyone that I've been trying to do that all my life. It’s just... I wish he’d understand that I’m just being me.” he stopped spinning and planted his feet on the ground.

"At least our relationship has gotten better over time.” He looked up to meet Sephiroth’s curious eyes. “It used to be worse,” he clarified.

Sephiroth continued typing rapidly even as he nodded. "You know, there’s a study that shows people’s relationships with their parents tend to improve with age."

Genesis scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Is that the case for you? With Professor Hojo?"

Sephiroth laughed dryly. "Yes, it is. I’ve learned to ignore him much better with age."

Angeal didn't match the laughter they fell into. He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them, making himself as small as possible.

From a distance, anyone glancing his way would see nothing more than a huddled ball on the couch.

He huffed before digging his mouth into his arm. “At least they're alive,” he mumbled.

The sound of Sephiroth's typing stopped. Genesis’ office chair ceased its rolling, and the silence that followed was enough to make Angeal bite his tongue.

Genesis’ forced laugh caught him off guard. “Would you like a medal for that?”

Sephiroth spun around in his own chair. “That’s enough, Genesis.”

“Why? It’s true.” Genesis was looking at him now, Angeal could feel it. “You think Sephiroth wouldn’t trade his abusive father for a dead, good father?”

“You’re being insensitive,” Seph warned.

“Oh, am I?” Genesis shot back, standing up from his chair. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand. I’m tired of everyone walking on eggshells around this topic. We all have our issues with our fathers. No one gets to win the trauma olympics just because theirs are dead.”

Angeal slowly unfurled himself, sitting up to level Gen's glare. “Losing a parent isn’t something you can just brush off. I'm not saying I have it worse just because—”

“And living with a parent who doesn’t give a damn about you is any better?” Genesis’s voice was sharp, his eyes blazing as he swiftly cut him off. “At least you can remember your father fondly. At least you have good memories, old friend.”

Sephiroth stepped between them, his voice cold. “This isn’t helping anyone. Enough. This isn’t how we solve things.”

Genesis scoffed, his anger still simmering as he turned to Seph. “You’re one to talk about solving things, Sephiroth. You’ve never faced your issues head-on. You just ignore them and hope they go away.”

Sephiroth didn't bite, and Angeal would've commended him for it had he not wished Sephiroth would slap Genesis. “I deal with my issues in my own way. This isn’t about me. It’s about respecting each other’s pain.”

Angeal finally snapped. “Easy for you to say,” he stood up to look Sephiroth in the eye, “First thing out of my mouth when I saw you this morning was asking how you were feeling.”

He whirled around to meet Genesis, and from the way his friend looked at him, he could tell Genesis had gotten used to Angeal's silence. “And I told you that you didn't have to call your father if you didn't feel ready to, but you did it anyway.”

Sephiroth tried: “Angeal—”

“Not once did either of you ask about me.” Angeal reached up to wipe away a stubborn tear. “Because I have it handled, right? Is that what you think?” He tried to swallow down the onslaught of ugly words threatening to spill, but was unsuccessful.

“If we were to put everything into perspective, yeah, Sephiroth, you had it way worse, and still do because you have to look at that poor excuse for a father every week.”

Sephiroth didn't look away, but he didn't say anything either, which is when Genesis cut in.

“At least you had—”

“—both parents who loved me,” Angeal finished for him, biting his lip, nodding, and letting the tears fall freely. He was sick of this. “Can't complain can I?”

He pushed past them, breaking for the door as he threw it open. “I can never fucking complain.”

Angeal stumbled into the hallway, his vision blurred with tears. He put as much distance between himself and the conference room as possible, his sobs echoing softly as he tried his best to get them under control.

With trembling hands, he reached into his hoodie and pulled out the photograph, the once-vibrant colors now yellowed by time. He had been staring at it all morning, marveling at how the wounds of loss reopened fresh each time he did so.

It had been at the autumn festival in Banora, him and his father holding caramel Banora white apples, both smiling. His mother had taken the photo when he was about eight, a time he would give anything to relive, knowing that his father's health would come to deteriorate within the year.

Genesis had never experienced such loss, and Sephiroth had his share, with Professor Gast's being the reason him and Angeal found common ground after Angeal's father passed. This thought briefly made Angeal feel guilty for claiming they couldn't understand, yet the overwhelming pain and grief clouded his ability to judge as he normally would.

Grief was ugly. It was a veil of conflicting emotions tarnishing joyous memories with a cloud of sorrow and dread. It swept you away in waves of confusion and anger, and became a constant companion that never left your side no matter how much you willed it away.

Angeal was tired today; he was tired of being the pillar of support for everyone else, of pretending to embody what a father should be when he yearned for his own father's presence. Tired—and maybe he could use that excuse coupled with the unpredictability of grief to make peace with how unreasonable he had been.

Ironically, in response to his wish, Angeal's phone buzzed with a message from Dr. Hollander, summoning him to the laboratory.

Wiping away his tears, Angeal headed for the elevator, unaware that he was about to get his wish in the most twisted way—he was about to spend Father's Day with his father.

Back in the conference room, Sephiroth was stunned as he watched Angeal slam the door. The reverberation of the impact echoed in the silence, cutting through the silent tension left in the wake of their argument.

Genesis, flustered and defensive, began to spout a flurry of ugly words, trying to justify his own actions as he paced back and forth.

Sephiroth, barely listening to Genesis, walked back to his chair and sat down gingerly. For a moment, he simply stared at his computer screen, the words blurring together.

“Genesis,” Sephiroth said quietly, interrupting his frantic words. “Enough. Please.”

Genesis stopped mid-sentence, turning to face Sephiroth. “What?”

“Just... enough.” Sephiroth’s voice was soft but firm. “We’ve done enough damage for today.”

Genesis hesitated, his anger dissipating into uncertainty as he sank back down into his chair. “I... I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was just...angry. You know that, right?”

“Intent doesn’t change the impact,” Sephiroth said, turning back to his computer and the work he had left unfinished. Sephiroth scrolled up, his eyes landing on the half-written reply he had been avidly typing before the argument erupted.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Subject: Re: Happy Father's Day

Professor Hojo,

It is my belief that true fatherhood transcends mere biological ties—it is defined by compassion, guidance, and genuine support for one's child.

Fathers should aspire to create an environment where their children feel safe to explore, grow, and comfortably choose their own paths. This involves not only imparting wisdom but also fostering emotional security and unconditional love.

If one is unable to provide that, he is not a father.

If one does everything in his power to provide the opposite, I doubt he is worthy of being called a man.

Regards,

Your ‘offspring’

Sephiroth sighed, drawing his fingers upward to rub at his eyes. He had intended to have Angeal read over it for an opinion before sending it back. But now—

With a decisive click, Sephiroth highlighted the entire draft and pressed the delete key. The email vanished from his screen, leaving behind only a blank slate.

#writing #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #crisis core #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii

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