#composer dependency manager

[genderqueer-karma]

guys can i talk about that fucking guy. clap if you think i should talk about that fucking guy.

(accidental ramble in the tags. oops. don’t read if you don’t want to read a crisis.)

[cherrypikkins]

@dimiclaudeblaigan asked for a tutorial on how to begin drawing. Good news! If you can draw a funky looking stick man, you have already started!

I think that stick people are a great starting point for artists because of the things you can learn from them that will be important later on.

If you are able to draw a circle and a couple of lines, you can easily put together a stick person.

Congratulations! You have started to draw. :)

A stick person is a very minimal artistic representation of a real life person. It is simple yet recognizable, and is widely used in art, media, and signage.

But what can a stick person teach us about drawing people that look more like… well, people? Lets have a look!

By simply adding a few more lines, we can add a pair of eyes and a mouth. Maybe even a little triangle nose! Or half circles for ears. We can now draw a face, which provides a basis for all sorts of expressions.

These simple additions can allow us to explore the wide range of human emotion and individuality.

This may seem like the basics of the basics. But that is what we want! In order to get to the point where we are able to draw complex, elaborate representations of humans and objects, we will need to start with simple shapes like lines and circles and build our understanding from there.

For instance, lets give our stick person some cool new features, such as hands and feet. I chose little squiggly circles to represent hands, and triangles to represent feet.

We can go a step further and modify the body of the stick person to include shoulders, hips, elbows and knees. These parts of the human body are quite complex in real life But here, all we need to do is add a few simple lines and dots to our stick person.

The lines provide some additional structural elements to our stick person's body, which are the shoulders and the hips. The dots indicate the points of articulation - elbows and knees, the places where the arms and legs bend!

Now we can use our stick person to show us an even wider range of human movement, action, and expression.

Our little drawing of a human being is evolving! All it took was adding a few more lines and shapes here and there.

By elongating some of the existing lines and making the head an oval instead of a circle, we can give our stick person proportions that resemble that of a real life human.

By this point, we have managed to add more complexity to our stick person simply by using our ability to draw lines, circles, and other basic shapes!

These basic ideas are the building blocks that will enable us to create more complex shapes.

The next part may be a considerable step up if you are absolutely new to drawing, but I have decided to include it in order to show you how complex objects like the human body can be built from shapes that are a bit more complex than circles and lines.

For example. Two ovals and a rectangle can be combined to create a cylinder.

Six squares can be combined to create a cube, or a box. Here, each square is distorted slightly depending on which way the cube is facing.

Note that the back faces of the cube and the bottom of the cylinder are hidden. These shapes allow us to visualize that which should not normally visible.

A sphere from all perspectives can be represented by a circle. But we can make it more like a sphere by adding lighting and shadow if we so desire.

Cubes, cylinders, and spheres are examples of 'solid shapes' because they consist of 3 dimensions.

Lets see how these solid shapes can be used to compose the human body.

By stacking three cylindrical objects, we can create a torso. Two spheres have been added to form shoulders, while a smaller cylinder forms the neck.

An arm is an alternating sequence of spheres and cylinders connected together. Note that the hand has been simplified for this example.

We can apply these solid shapes to the rest of the body to give us a more recognizable representation of the human form. It doesn't even have to be perfect. And just like that, our stick figure now has a silhouette that is unmistakably a person!

In the above examples, notice that we kept the stick person at the beginning while building up the shapes and solids around it. This is because the stick person serves as a guide for positioning the body and its various parts -> also known as posing.

You can do the same thing to everyday objects! Here, I drew a wine glass by stacking these three dimensional solid shapes.

The cup and its contents are two ovoid shapes that were cut in half. The stem is a very thin cylinder shape. The base is a cylinder with a slightly wider bottom.

Solid shapes help inform us how objects and parts of the human body may appear from different perspectives.

For example, a sphere can be used to demonstrate how the human head appears when looking up or down, turned to the side, or tilted at an angle.

With these examples, I hope I have managed to convinced you that if you can draw a circle and a couple of lines, you can draw a person! You just have to train your eye to recognize the simple shapes within complex objects. Try it with everyday objects as well! Or even your favourite media! A drawing subject can be as simple or as complex as you envision it to be.

Once you have mastered that, there are many aspects of drawing you can explore from here that may require you to seek additional resources or a fellow artist's advice.

Last of all, remember that drawing is an iterative process. Even if you draw something correct the first time, you will need to draw it again and again to get it right all times! And by making small changes like the ones we explored in this tutorial, your drawings will gradually transform!

I hope what I've demonstrated here are enough to provide the basics of how to get started with drawing objects and people, and also to help refresh more experienced artists. :) Hopefully I didn't go too off topic with what was requested, and let me know if there are any more questions I can answer.

Cheers :3

[girltomboy]

This week has been better at taking my mind off the shit that was bothering me. My bf and I managed to work out the one thing that was on his mind and stressing me out, but I feel some type of way about the fact that I had to be upset about it and it had to waste our precious time. Also we've been having these mild and petty communication issues, like during our calls I barely get to talk about stuff cause he's either not paying attention or he's making these crude jokes that I've pointed out before. And he still makes them. And when I get visibly upset and tell him to stop he gets confused and doesn't even acknowledge what I'm saying. I don't like having to ask to be listened?? Especially when it comes to serious matters. Like maybe it's my fault for letting too much slide, but also common sense exists and he's familiar with it. I can't imagine he doesn't know that behaviour is icky. But anyway I'm gonna bring it up soon and repeat myself if I have to... But it's not that huge a deal, just stuff that piles up and builds resentment.

So this week I worked at the office again with my work bestie, and on Tuesday we went out for dinner and had the most amazing meal at this one really good high quality cheap place. And our ex coworker came to the city too and joined us to say hi and chat. It was a lot of fun and I missed him. On Wednesday we went to this pub for "a quick glass of wine" cause we had to meet our other friend at another pub and help her out with quiz night. So we ordered 2 Sambucas and 2 glasses of rosé. Sambuca was BAD I HATE IT but the wine was so delicious we ordered another one each 🤭 and there was this lady walking around, and my friend said she looks like this actress from my country, let's say Judy. Then the waiter comes to our table and asks if we want to have a free taste of some rosé wine, so we're like sure! In the meantime we were trying to have a serious conversation for once, and then my friend's labradorite bracelet snaps and breaks, sending labradorite balls everywhere. We never tried to talk seriously again after that. Lo and behold the lady from earlier comes over to our table, introduces herself as JUDY, and starts talking about wine. My friend and I could barely hold back from exploding into hollering laughter, so we went outside for a cigarette afterwards. That's where the waiter finds us again and gives us 2 shots on the house. At this point it's like the universe is conspiring to get us drunk. So we paid and left to meet our friend for her quiz night, but we were already quite tipsy so we could not stop laughing like hyenas during the quiz & intermission. But we did help our friend grade the papers and calculate total points. And we had 2 more glasses of rosé 💀 bold of us! Some ppl actually came up to us and were like "sorry we just wanna say we love your vibes and were hoping you'll stay for karaoke" my man I am focusing on putting one foot in front of the other! But thank you sincerely for the offer ❤️ and it was none other but the "eraserhead haircut" guy that my friend pointed out to me and made me slide under the table with laughter. Anyway, yesterday I was all hungover and could barely work but today I'm better and looking forward to resting and chilling during the weekend. And I might go visit my parents at their new house soon! So very excited about that 💜

[naughtyjjk]

testing nanami kento’s self-control

characters: nanami x fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, riding, cock tease, edging, orgasm denial, begging, creampie notes: it's just so hot to see a man who's always composed start to break down hehe

whenever nanami comes home, his suit and tie are always in pristine condition, even after a long day of work. there’s never a strand of hair out of place or a speck of dust to be found anywhere. that’s just how he is—precise and focused and meticulous, almost to a fault.

even when you’re undressing him, kissing him, bringing your bodies together, he still manages to be so put together that it’s honestly a little frustrating. it makes you want to tease him to the point of torture and go slow enough that he falls apart. so slow that he begs.

you want to see him lose control. you want to ruin him.

pushing nanami down on the bed, you climb on top of him and grab the lube, slicking his cock with a few strokes. he’s already so hard, flushed red and throbbing in your grasp, desperate for more. when he bucks his hips to try and fuck himself in your fist, you let go completely and tsk at him.

“don’t move,” you say, coaxing him. “let me take care of you today.”

sighing, nanami lies back down, hips going still. you shift yourself so that your pussy is lined up with his cock, using a hand to brush the tip against your folds, never going further than that. this goes on for agonizingly long as you tease the both of you, feeling his hard cockhead poking at your entrance.

you push down a little, applying the slightest of pressure, and hold it there until you hear nanami groan, his cock twitching with arousal. he’s looking at you with lidded eyes, expression dark and hungry. “darling…”

but you only grin and move again, this time almost allowing his cock to slip inside you. almost. so close, but not quite there. you drag the head past your entrance, dipping barely inside, before you lift your hips again. nanami’s breath hitches, chest heaving. he swallows thickly, arms tense by his side, fighting against his instincts to keep himself still.

“ah—f-fuck—”

leaning forward to kiss him, you catch his bottom lip and flick your tongue over it. meanwhile, you spread your legs a bit wider and finally, finally sink down so that the very tip nudges inside you. only the tip. nanami is moaning your name in broken pieces, mixed in with a few curses and whimpers.

then you stop. again.

nanami groans in frustration and his hips jerk up involuntarily, but you were expecting it. you move with him, keeping just the tip of his cock in you, maintaining the position and refusing to let him go any deeper.

“wh-what did i do to deserve this teasing?” nanami asks, looking like he’s about to lose it.

you lick your lips and reply honestly, “you’re always so composed, kento. i want to make you desperate for it, see you completely wrecked for me.”

for a few more seconds, you stay in the same position, unmoving. the stretch of his cock is nice; he’s hardly even really inside you yet, but your pussy is already adjusting to his size, opening up for him. it’s so tempting to take all of him like you’ve done many times in the past, to ride him and bring him straight to the edge. but no. not yet. you have a plan to follow through.

lowering your hips just the slightest, you sink down further, taking more of his cockhead until the crown is almost fully inside. you can feel him throbbing against your walls, wanting more but never getting it.

nanami lets out a broken moan, breath stuttering. “you’re being cruel. how long are you going to make me wait?”

“that,” you say, “depends on how long you can hold out.”

as if to punish him, you raise your hips again, smiling wickedly as you pull away until all of him is resting outside your entrance again. it’s hard for you, too; you miss the feeling of having him inside. but you remind yourself that you’re going slow, as slow as you possibly can. slow so that you can watch nanami break.

nanami groans, low and needy. his hands clench and unclench the bedsheets by his sides. “fuck.”

without warning, you drop down again suddenly, less than an inch just so that you have the tip of his cock in you again. nanami gasps, throwing his head back against the pillow. you take in all the sensations: the messy feeling of lube and precum, the way nanami’s hard cock twitches with desire. how he’s struggling and using every ounce of his willpower to not buck up and thrust into you.

“good boy,” you lean in to whisper right by nanami’s ear, watching with delight as he shudders in response. he’s breathing hard, every muscle in his body tensed up.

you keep him there inside you for what seems like forever. every tiny shift of movement is agonizing and extra sensitive, sending waves of pleasure from where you two connect to the rest of your body. you can tell that nanami also feels it, by the way he’s losing control more and more with each passing second.

and that’s exactly what you want. it’s working. you’re going to break him down piece by piece until he’s nothing but a shaking, writhing, horny mess beneath you.

it’s such a fucking turn on to see nanami’s self-control slipping, breaths growing ragged, waiting in anticipation for whatever you’re willing to give him next. it’s getting hard for you to hold back as well. you let just a tiny bit more of nanami’s cock into your pussy so that all of the head is nestled inside and then you start the shallowest, most torturously slow rhythm you’ve ever done in your life. hardly moving at all, the most miniscule rolls of your hips to take only the tip of his cock over and over again.

up… and down…

up… and down…

“o-oh god,” nanami curses, and he can’t help rocking his hips to follow your rhythm, matching your pace. he knows better now than to try for anything more, knows that you could take it all away from him at any moment.

each time his cock nudges its way back inside you, your pussy clenches around him. tight, like it doesn’t want to let him go. and nanami moans, feeling your walls clamp down on his cock, wishing that he could feel your warmth along the rest of his neglected shaft, too.

he looks delirious now, so fucking aroused with his mouth parted and his eyes hazy and unfocused. his cock throbs and pulses inside you, making him dizzy with pleasure. the shallow thrusts are getting to him, slowly but surely, the sensation building up in tingling layers, bringing him closer to the edge.

honestly, you’re teasing yourself as just much as you’re teasing nanami. with only short strokes of his cock that barely manage to penetrate you, you feel empty, craving for him to hit your deepest parts. on one hand, it’s so fucking hot to drag it out like this, so arousing to see nanami at your mercy. on the other hand, you’re reaching your limit, too.

“beg,” you say. “tell me how badly you need it. let me hear you beg, kento.”

there seems to be an internal battle going on within nanami as he grits his teeth, trying to resist. but it’s futile; you simply keep moving your hips in that slow, steady rhythm until it becomes unbearable and nanami gives in embarrassingly fast, mind clouded with lust.

“hah—p-please, i can’t—fuck, please—”

“mm,” you consider his words. “please what?”

nanami chokes out a moan. “i wanna fuck you—ah, please, your pussy—” he looks at his aching cock, the precum spilling down the sides, the way his cockhead disappears into you. “let me come—i-i need—” then he gasps, “oh shit—”

it’s beyond arousing to hear him like this. in that moment, you don’t let him finish his sentence as something snaps within you and you give in to your own desires. your hips slam down on him without warning, burying all of his cock inside you in a single, rapid movement.

an intense wave of pleasure rushes through both of you, every nerve ending igniting at once. you moan, overwhelmed. you’re filled so deep and so fast that it takes a second for you to return to your senses. and nanami—fuck, the sound he makes, low and guttural, a stuttering, broken moan that should be illegal. his abdomen clenches, thighs shaking. it’s only one full thrust, but you can tell that he almost came right then and there.

“fuck.” his voice sounds destroyed, fucked out. chest heaving, he wants so badly to buck his hips into you until he’s spilling his release into you. it won’t take much more to get him there. but he very carefully doesn’t move, still following your orders, still being good.

“k-kento,” you whine, staying there, the sensation of his cock pulsing and splitting you open driving you dangerously close to orgasm as well. you don’t dare to move until the pleasure simmers down into something more manageable, until you’re sure that you’ve fallen away from the edge.

that’s when you draw your hips up again. still going slow, so fucking slow that it almost breaks you—but it breaks nanami too, and that’s what you’re aiming for.

by this point, nanami’s composure has completely crumbled. he’s resigned himself to the torture as you restart the aching, brutally slow thrusts. the tip of his cock dips into you, as far as the crown of his cockhead, and then pulls out almost all the way. again and again and again.

you’re dripping wet, the teasing against your pussy reaching an unbearable degree. there’s nothing you want more than to take nanami fast and deep, to feel him hitting your most sensitive spots instead of just playing with the entrance. but you almost have nanami where you want him and you’re betting on him to give in first.

“please—ah, m-more—” nanami cries out, breathy and horny and frustrated, trembling from the effort of holding himself back.

you keep the same pace, not giving him what he wants. keeping him just on the edge of satisfaction, waiting him out. and it’s infinitely worse now that you’ve both had a taste of what you could be getting instead.

your hips move up. then down.

then up again.

the crown of his cockhead catches and releases from your pussy, delicious friction causing your head to spin. nanami’s neck is arched, looking at you with narrow eyes, aroused beyond his limits.

“f-fuck, fuck,” he rambles nonsensically, body so tense. “please—let me—i’m—i need—let me inside you—i c-can’t take it anymore—”

“just a little longer,” you tell him, and nanami groans. “you can hold out for a few more minutes, can’t you? be a good boy for me.”

those words make a desperate, wrecked sound escape from his lips and his self-control is slipping, slipping, slipping. he’s turning wild under you now, squirming, writhing, frenzied and starved for his release. your own willpower is dissolving at the sight of nanami’s desperation.

your hips descend on his cock again, clenching tight around the tip. nanami sucks in a sharp breath.

up, agonizingly slow, leaving him throbbing at the loss of contact. this time, you let out a moan, feeling so empty. god, it’s not enough for you either, not nearly fucking enough.

“need you—n-need to feel you,” nanami pleads, whimpering, chanting your name over and over. “please, please, i’m close—fuck, i’m so—”

he’s panting, cock twitching madly, and this —this is exactly what you had been waiting for the whole time: nanami completely ruined, nanami undone by your actions, nanami looking at you with pure hunger and lust, overtaken by arousal. he seems to be right on the edge of pleasure, so close to tipping over, body burning with an orgasm held at bay. you’re sure that when you finally allow him to come, it’ll be ecstasy like he’s never felt before, coming harder than he ever has in his life.

and that’s the end of your limits. you can’t deny either of you any longer.

you slam your hips down all at once, plunging nanami’s hard, aching cock inside you.

“ah—!”

“f-fuuuck—”   

nanami moans, loud and guttural and absolutely wrecked. it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. his cock splits you open, so hard and thick, and you fall forward on his chest as your pussy spasms around him.

the sensation is entirely overwhelming, your mind going blank, pleasure jolting along your nerves tenfold, having built up by the teasing and denial.

“o-oh god,” nanami pants. he bends his knees to drive his cock even deeper inside you, and the change in angle makes you fucking delirious. “good, so good—”

you’re all out of patience. there’s no more waiting, no more drawing this out.

looking at nanami, you say, “kento. take what you need. make yourself come.” you swirl your hips in a circular motion, feeling his cock hitting every corner inside you, and both of you moan at the same time. “fuck me.”

something sparks in nanami’s eyes, washed over by a fresh wave of arousal. before you know it, he’s flipped the two of you over so that you’re now lying on your back and he’s propped up above you. his eyes stare into yours, so intense, and that’s when you know: he’s going to devour you.

with a growl, nanami begins to move, pulling out his cock just enough to shove it back into you. hard and fast and so, so fucking deep. your mouth parts but no sound comes out. you can’t think straight; your pussy feels so full, stretched tight around his aching cock.

“kento—kento—”

but nanami isn’t listening to you anymore. he’s so wound up, so fucking turned on beyond reason, that he can’t hold back anymore. he starts thrusting wildly and unrestrained using short, quick rolls of his hips to drive his cock into you. each inch that enters you burns with pleasure and the room fills with the filthy sounds of your moans, of nanami pounding his cock into you again and again.

“this is payback,” he says, voice low and raspy. it makes you shudder to think about what he has in store for you. “i'm gonna—hah—gonna fuck you until you scream. fill you up with my come. shit, and i won’t stop until you’re coming on my cock like the naughty fucking girl you are.”

nanami’s hips are stuttering but his pace never falters. his next thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, making you arch off the bed and gasp, sparks of pleasure dancing along your spine. and now that nanami has found it, he aims there every time, knowing how sensitive it is, how it brings you that much closer to the edge.

moaning, it’s all you can to do keep up with the brutal thrusts. your stomach coils, orgasm building and building, threatening to take over your body. it feels so fucking good. nanami’s cock is pushing deep inside you, hard and fast, pulsing against your walls, stretching you open. he uses a hand to find your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub, and you cry out, hips bucking up to chase the sensation, clenching around his cock on instinct.

“oh—fuck, k-kento, i'm—i'm coming—”

the pleasure crests and your arousal spikes. you know that you won’t be able to endure it for much longer. and nanami is right there with you, thrusts turning erratic and desperate.

“m-me too,” he says, grunting. “come. don’t hold back. come for me, baby.”

one, two more thrusts and you’re moaning his name, body convulsing in waves. nanami fucks you through it, sending aftershocks to your nerves, and then he’s coming too, releasing everything that’s built up inside of him in spurts. he’s loud when he comes, mouth next to your ear; louder than you’ve ever heard him, riled up by all the teasing. his cock twitches inside you and his hips slow, eventually go still.

god, it’s so damn hot that it almost makes you want to fuck him all over again.

for a moment, both of you lie there, catching your breaths. then nanami pulls out slowly, careful not to overstimulate you. he holds you like that and you melt in his arms, all the strength leaving your body.

“next time,” nanami says, sounding defeated, “you’re going to be the one begging for it.”

.

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu

(comment to be added/removed)

[yuzujjn]

` ꣑꣒‎ ONE WIN, ONE DATE : 심재윤 ─── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

ʬʬ. football player!jake x cheerleader!reader 𖥔 ݁ ARCHiVE 7OO wordcount fluff . . . skinship, kisses ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ happy bday to jakey, && for my juni bby

YOU'RE STANDING ON THE SIDELINES, pom-poms in hand, watching jake tear through the field like he owns it. he’s got this intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse pick up because you know he’s giving it his all—just to win this game. all for one reason: he bet you that if he wins, he gets to ask you out.

it’s been a fun, flirty thing between you two for weeks now, but this? this is new. he made sure the whole team knew about his little bet, which has them teasing him endlessly about finally "making a move on his dream girl." you catch a few of his teammates smirking and nudging him before the game starts, and jake just rolls his eyes with a lopsided grin, eyes glancing at you every now and then. you swear you can feel his gaze even from across the field.

the game is close, way too close for your liking. you’re on edge, practically jumping each time he gets the ball, and maybe you’re clapping a little louder than anyone else (not that you liked him, or maybe you did). in the final minutes, it’s tied, and jake’s team has the ball. you watch as he gets the ball, weaving through the opposing team with an ease.

the crowd holds its breath, and so do you.

with a swift, clean kick, jake scores, sealing the win. the stadium erupts, but jake’s eyes find you instantly, a smug, triumphant smile on his face as he’s mobbed by his teammates. when they finally let him go, he sprints over to you, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“so…” he starts, leaning over, hands on his knees, slightly out of breath but still managing to look cocky. “still gonna pretend you’re not into me?”

you roll your eyes, though your cheeks are definitely giving you away. “who said i was ever into you?”

“i could tell.” jake flashes that heart-melting smile, moving closer. you’re aware of the other cheerleaders watching, and you’re definitely aware of his hand grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

“oh, yeah? you’re that confident?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice betrays you.

“confident enough to win a game for you,” he says with a smirk. “and i did say i’d ask you out if i won.”

“so ask away, sim,” you challenge, folding your arms.

he lets out a chuckle, his fingers brushing yours as if testing the waters. “okay, let me ask properly, then.” jake clears his throat dramatically, taking your hand in his. “y/n, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults, but you manage to keep your cool—sort of. “hmm… maybe. depends. what kind of date are we talking about?”

jake grins, squeezing your hand gently. “whatever you want. something fun. something that’ll make you smile like that.” he nods at you, obviously noticing the way your lips are curving, despite your attempt to stay composed.

“fine,” you say, relenting with a playful eye roll. “but only because you tried so hard.”

he leans in, closer than before, his voice just above a whisper. “only the best for you.”

your heart skips, and you glance down, trying to hide the way his words affect you. but jake isn’t done; he tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze. "guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“guess so,” you whisper, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s not moving back. his hand is still at your waist, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hip. the stadium is still loud around you, but it feels like it’s just the two of you here, his face inches from yours.

“think i can get a ‘good game’ kiss?” he asks with a wink, his voice teasing but hopeful. you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling now.

“don’t push your luck, sim.” but before he can respond, you lean up, giving him the quickest, softest peck on the lips. it’s barely there, but it’s enough to make his eyes widen in surprise and a smile spread across his face.

“you’re making me want to win every game now,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep scoring, then,” you reply with a grin, stepping back slightly, though your hand stays in his, fingers tangled together.

“oh, trust me, y/n,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you, “i’ll be scoring a lot.”

[ladysharmaa]

Heat

Jay Halstead x pregnant!reader

Summary: When Chicago is in a heat wave, Y/n feels unwell while pregnant, worrying Jay

It was definitely the hottest day of the year. Chicago was going through a heat wave and Y/n had never felt more miserable. It also didn't help that she was seven months pregnant with her husband's baby, Jay Halstead. She could feel the beads of sweat falling from her forehead and her face heating up so much that she must have looked like a walking tomato.

Jay warned her to stay at home and protect herself from the heat, but when the air conditioning broke, Y/n decided to go out to buy a fan. But she didn't know it would be so difficult to walk and even breathe on this hellish day. It seemed like with every breath she took, the air burned her lungs. She walked slowly, one hand on her stomach protectively, trying to at least get to the store that was a few blocks away.

Y/n knew Jay would be so upset if he knew she left the house in this weather. Since she became pregnant, the man has become even more protective than before. However, she knew he was having a busy day and couldn't leave work just because Y/n was hot — although he would do that if Y/n called him and asked to buy a fan.

But everything got worse when Y/n's vision became blurry and a feeling of nausea appeared. Jay's wife leaned against the wall next to her, trying to get some shade to compose herself. She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to breathe slowly to calm her heart that was beating rapidly against her chest.

"Miss! Miss, are you okay?" a man appeared in front of her, with a worried look. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, it's okay." she managed to whisper. "Could you help me get to Fire Station 51? It's just a two-minute walk." the man, already advanced in age, seemed friendly enough for Y/n to trust him. And the truth was that she had no other option, as it seemed like her legs were going to give out at any moment.

"Sure thing, ma'am. Here, lean on my arm." he agreed with a gentle smile, offering her his arm to help her walk. "In this heat, no one should be walking around. It could be dangerous, especially in your condition."

"I know." Y/n sighed, knowing that beyond this lecture, she was going to hear worse from Jay when he found out. "But I wanted to buy a fan. It wasn't even a five-minute walk."

The man patted her hand in understanding. "I don't judge you, dear. My wife has already had three children, and in all of them, she was very stubborn. I understand that you don't want to be dependent on us, poor husbands, but we just want you to be well."

The woman didn't respond, now feeling even more guilty for not calling Jay to ask for this favor. She didn't want to bother him, but the plan didn't go as expected. The rest of the short walk was done in silence, Y/n's cheeks becoming more flushed, and having difficulty breathing in the hot air.

When they finally saw the fire station, Jay's wife couldn't be more relieved. Gabby and Brett, who were getting out of the ambulance, having just arrived from a call, noticed Y/n's tired form and immediately took hurried steps towards her, helping to carry her and him into the shade.

"Y/n? What happened? Are you feeling okay?" Gabby asked worriedly, helping her into the back of the ambulance. Y/n sat down, one hand on her stomach and the other on her back, closing her eyes as she started to feel dizzy.

"I'll call Jay." she managed to hear Brett say, but she was more focused on not throwing up than responding to the paramedics.

Thankfully, the man who helped her took charge of explaining what had happened. Y/n had the strength to open her eyes and thank him deeply for his help, asking if she could do anything to repay him, but he just shook his head and smiled. Then he left, as Y/n was now with people who could help her medically.

"What are your symptoms, Y/n?"

"I don't feel well, Gabby." her voice shook, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm sick, dizzy, and a headache is forming."

After leaving the phone call, Brett began taking her vitals, while Gabby applied a cold compress to her forehead. "You're most likely dehydrated, we have to go to the hospital to put you on an IV and check the baby."

"But he's fine, right?" Y/n sobbed scared, clutching her belly as she looked at her friends with a frown.

"Yes, he seems fine. But just to be sure." Gabby comforted, starting to help Y/n lay down on the stretcher.

"What did Jay say?"

"Well, he—" the blonde paramedic started to say, but was interrupted by the sirens of a police car, getting closer and closer. "I guess that's your answer."

"How did he get here so fast?" Y/n thought out loud as he watched the police officer get out of the still moving car. He immediately looked around for his wife. When he saw them, he quickly broke into a run, his eyes wide in panic. Hailey got out of the driver's seat, right behind Jay.

"I'm really sorry."

"What, baby? You don't have to apologize." Jay knelt down next to Y/n, gently cupping her face with his hands so he could assess her condition. Unconsciously, his hand slid down to her round belly, finally managing to take a deep breath when he felt a light kick against his touch. "I shouldn't have left you alone in this weather. You're okay, baby."

When Brett called him to explain the situation, he felt a sense of fear like he had never felt before. Not even when he had been shot at, kidnapped or beaten. The most important people in his life being in danger was his worst nightmare.

Luckily, they were in the neighborhood and managed to get to the fire station in record time thanks to Hailey's driving. Over time, Y/n and the blonde had become very close, often ganging up together against Jay. Not that he minded, since hearing his wife's giggles and knowing she was more relaxed when Jay was working as she trusted his partner to protect him.

"We need to get them to the hospital. Y/n is showing signs of dehydration and the baby needs to be checked." Jay's head turned unusually quickly to Gabby in concern. She hurried to add, "They both seem to be fine, but I want to make sure."

"I'll go back to the police station and let Voight know you won't be working anymore this week." Hailey offered. "I hope you're okay, Y/n. I'll stop at the hospital to check on you."

"Thank you, Hails." Y/n smiled weakly.

"Let's go." The man nodded, kissing Y/n's forehead comfortingly. He climbed into the back of the ambulance with her and held her hand the whole way while Gabby got into the driver's seat and Brett checked some vital signs.

The ride was relatively calm, but Y/n was getting paler and sicker by the minute. Jay mumbled words in an attempt to calm her down, but inside, he felt like he couldn't breathe. They should have called two ambulances because he was close to passing out.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital where Maggie and Will were waiting for them at the entrance. In no time, she was already settled in and several doctors were checking everything they could. Jay stayed by her side the whole time, answering some questions from the doctors when necessary.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital were harsh against Y/n’s already sensitive eyes as she waited for someone to tell her what was going on. Jay never let go of her hand, his grip firm but gentle, his thumb softly brushing against her knuckles in a silent attempt to comfort her. Her heart was pounding, but the cool sheets of the hospital bed and his touch gave her some relief.

Will Halstead, dressed in his white coat and looking every bit the composed doctor he was, entered the room, clipboard in hand. His face softened the moment he saw Y/n and Jay.

"Hey," Will greeted, his tone warm yet professional. "How are we doing here?"

"Not great, Will," Y/n admitted, her voice weak as she tried to give him a small smile. "I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck."

Jay immediately turned to his brother. "What’s going on? Is she okay? Is the baby okay?" His words came out in a rush, and it was clear he was doing everything he could to keep his composure.

Will raised a hand to calm his younger brother. "Take a breath, Jay," he said, flipping through the chart. "We ran some tests and monitored Y/n’s vitals. She’s severely dehydrated, which is why she felt dizzy and nauseous. Her blood pressure dropped, but thankfully, the baby is doing great. The ultrasound shows a strong heartbeat."

Y/n let out a shaky breath of relief, her free hand instinctively moving to her belly. Jay visibly relaxed beside her, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"So, she’s okay? The baby’s okay?" Jay asked again, needing to hear it one more time to truly believe it.

"Yes," Will assured them with a kind smile. "We’re giving her IV fluids to rehydrate her, and she should start feeling better soon. I do want her to stay overnight for observation, just to be safe, but I’m confident she and the baby will be fine."

"Thank you, Will," Y/n said, her voice cracking slightly as tears of relief welled in her eyes.

Will reached out to pat her head. "No need to thank me, Y/n. Just promise me you’ll stay out of this heat, okay?"

She nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and gratitude. "I’ll try," she murmured, glancing at Jay.

Jay turned to Will. "Thanks, man."

"Anything for my sister-and-law and nephew." He winked at her before stepping back. "I’ll check on you in a bit, but for now, just rest."

As Will left, the room fell quiet, except for the soft beep of the monitors and the rhythmic drip of the IV. Jay pulled a chair close to the bed, sinking into it as he brought Y/n’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers.

"You scared me today," he said softly, his eyes glistening as they locked onto hers. "Don’t ever do that again, Y/n. Please."

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t mean to worry you. I just... I didn’t want to bother you at work."

Jay let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Bother me? Y/n, you and this baby are the most important things in my life. I’d drop everything in a heartbeat if you needed me."

Her lips trembled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. It was just a fan."

He leaned forward, cupping her face with both hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. "Listen to me," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Nothing is ‘just’ when it comes to you or our family. You’re my world. Promise me, no more trying to do everything on your own. I’m here for you. Always. Ask me to buy you a fan, food, a house, I don't care, I'll do it in a heartbeat."

She nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face. "I promise," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Jay leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his against hers. For a moment, they stayed like that, their breaths mingling as the world outside the hospital room faded away.

"I love you," she said softly, her hand finding its way to his cheek.

"I love you more," he replied, his voice low and full of sincerity. He placed a hand on her belly, feeling the soft flutter of movement beneath his palm. "And I love you, little one. But you’ve gotta cut your mom some slack, okay? No more giving her a hard time."

Y/n laughed weakly, the sound light and sweet. "Hear that?" she said, looking down at her bump. "You are already giving Daddy white hairs."

As the IV continued to drip and the monitors beeped steadily, the weight of the day began to lift. They were together and okay. That was all that they needed.

[hellsslibrary]

Hellooooo!! i just saw your post asking for requests and stuff, so uh

here i aaaaam :3

i was wondering if you can do sub! lucifer or barbatos :p

you can do like literally whatever but i am STARVED for sub composed men that eventually are not-so-composed (i wanna see grown men cry)

"Shh... Don't think that water will save us from others."

#a.n. : I'M SO FERAL ABOUT THIS ONE SHOWER CARD OMG.... So shower sex with Luci where you drive him crazy lol.

!!Warnings: Top!Dom!Male!Reader, Sub!Bottom!Lucifer, fingering, finger sucking, shower sex obviously, praise, teasing, a little crying, overstimulation (this is not mentioned but implied), no penetration, Reader is MC, this all take place after the events of the card with skateboards, open final.

The sound of groans and slight squelching sounds was heard in the bathroom. But everything is easily hidden from others outside this room by the sounds of water and a spell cast on the walls.

Your fingers have been moving inside Lucifer for God knows how long, and you made no attempt to stop. Not that Lucifer minded; the stamina of demons is much higher than that of humans, but damn, this was getting too good.

How many times did he cum? He doesn’t remember anymore, and you didn’t count either. Just the fact that you finally managed to convince him to take a break after he worked so wonderfully on creating the best skateboard is already a miracle. But Lucifer himself understood that he deserved it... And how could he disagree when you were so sensitive to making sure he took breaks while working earlier?

"M-MC...Are you ever going to stop?" He asks, still being able to somehow spit out a complete sentence without almost stumbling over the letters.

"Mmm... No, I guess. You're not even at your limit yet, why should I stop?" A rhetorical question comes from your lips, which makes Lucifer’s legs tremble with excitement.

He is clearly not at the limit of his strength, far from it. But you will spend a very long time here if you want to bring him to this line, which is what you actually wanted. You just wanted him to break, in the nicest sense of the word.

Your fingers slid so perfectly inside his already soaking wet walls, each time pressing on a tiny spot that made him moan with pleasure. His dick was constantly rubbing against the shower wall, smearing his cum from several orgasms all over the wall. Lucifer’s palms lay lazily on the wall, and he rested his forehead on them to hide his red little face, which of course you didn’t want, but you didn’t really mind.

"Are you already brought to a complete state of bliss, if you understand what I'm hinting at, Luci?" The only answer to your question was a shake of the head.

But little did you know that it was a lie.

Lucifer felt like he was ready to dissolve, turn into a puddle from the movement of your fingers in him. He felt his entire being being torn apart in the most pleasant sense of the word. He felt like his whole brain was ceasing to function, because he had not been aware of it for a long time.

He's not even sure he can control his own body. A rare moment of vulnerability for him.

Lucifer realizes that his mask will soon crack. It will break like a crack in glass that will break it sooner or later. His self-control will burst.

Or rather, it has already done it.

“Are you crying, precious? Very good, relax, no one will hurt you here...” You whisper when you see tears running down the part of his downward-leaning face that you can see.

He groans when he realizes your fingers are playing with his tongue, making him whine. Such a humiliating sound for him, the Avatar of Pride himself. He shouldn't make sounds like that, but honestly? Fuck it all.

His head leans back, resting on your shoulder. His back collides with your torso. His hips try to match the movement and rhythm of your fingers, moving with them. And his mouth sucks your fingers, as if his life depended on it... Although he will obviously remember this for a long time later.

“Come on, let go,” You whisper in his ear, kissing his cheek, feeling the salty taste of his tears and looking down, slightly surprised that he came at that very second, but absolutely satisfied.

Lucifer hums around your fingers in mock displeasure when you don't slow down your movements even for a moment. He understands that he will regret this.

But it feels so fucking good.

“MC... You... will break me...” He whispers, muffled by your fingers, barely able to form a simple sentence as he feels your fingers deliberately aiming specifically for his prostate.

“Hush, baby,” You coo, he wants to drown in your voice, he realizes that he can’t even hear the sound of water. "Just relax, I won't eat you, you're so fucking good."

He nods. The movement is convulsive, clearly not smooth, and so unusual for Lucifer. You just smirk at this, kissing his neck, making him whimper, wiping away his tears.

After all... Maybe he won't regret this experience as much as he thought.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Straight up torturing Dazai by only making him cum untouched

I have this problem while writing smut that I forget the character has a dick cuz I over-focus on something else, so most of my fics start out as cumming untouched and I change it later on lol thanks for saving me the trouble

Dom!reader x sub!dazai - reader is gn

Warning: semi public (in an alley), teasing, degrading, marking, hair pulling, choking, sub-space, dacryphilia, nipple play

Edit: does this fic even make sense?

Now he’s done it, fuck, what to do- he didn’t think you’d be this angry.

Normally you weren’t up for doing stuff in public, which is why he used that chance to annoy you to his hearts content. Whenever you two were going home from a mission, wandering down the streets of Yokohama, he’d start being all unbearable and flirty, and the next second he’d run off to god-knows-where to chase after another pretty woman. You were done with all these stunts he pulled, and sadly for him you weren’t as nice as kunikida.

Which is what got him into his current situation. Pinned to the wall in some random alley, you staring at him with an obviously angry expression and the buzzing noises of unaware passengers missing out this spectacle. “Ah fuck…” dazai didn’t know what you were planning on doing, but he had a precognition that it wouldn’t end well for him, so he tried to use his silver tongue to talk you out of it, “heyyyy, y/n~ What’s got you so mad? Don’t frown— come on, how about we take a break and fill our stomachs? I know a good pla-”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked on them, causing him to arch his back off the wall. It was so sudden that he had no time to prepare himself, and accidentally mewled, “ahh, god, y/n, don’t be so forceful with me.” He almost sang the last part, still bearing that annoying smile on his face. “You should have thought twice before acting up.” The grip you had on his locks tightened, making him bend forward to meet your eyes, “just because we are in public it doesn’t mean you are safe.”

That was a threat, right? That was definitely a threat. And yet- he was grinning from ear to ear, unable to stop himself from clenching his thighs together. “Whaaaat? Of course I’m safe, where is the threat huh?” The brunette chirped, and you clasped your hand over your face. “You really want this, don’t you?” You asked, glaring at him from between your fingers. He shrugged, playing dumb.

You stepped closer to him, bodies pressing against each other. “Will you behave after I punish you?” After these words left your mouth, a shiver ran down his back, and he fumbled with your clothing, “it all depends on you.” You smirked, not planning on backing down from such a challenge. And so you let go of his hair, roughly unbuttoning his blazer and shirt, but not pulling it completely off. Then you placed your hands on his hips, lips pressing against his collarbone.

Dazai grabbed a fistful of your clothes from your back and ran his other hand through his hair, panting softly while watching you trying to work him up. He felt you nibbling at his skin, leaving red bruise marks behind. “Haa-ah, haha… you are being too gentle dear.” His breathing hitched when he spoke, though otherwise he was still pretty composed. You payed him no mind, instead you moved lower to toy with a more sensitive part.

Pinching and flicking his pink buds while sucking on the other one, eating him up, watching his face flush so deliciously. “Ngh- not gonna answer me?” He teased, pulling at your hair to get your attention. You bit down as a result, to tell him to stop, yet he gripped down harder as he groaned, “mhhhm-aaahh~ fuuck.” What a nice reaction, you had to remember this. Slowly you managed to get him hard, seeing the bulge in his pants grow larger and larger. When you finally pulled back and stood straight, he was already sweating, all eager as he cursed at how long you took.

One look and you could tell he was needy, and pretty on edge. His flushed face was actually pretty cute, and his disheveled clothes hung from his shoulders like he was trying to appeal to you. Your hands didn’t stop exploring his body, like they have a mind of their own. Groping and touching his torso. “Look at you dazai, you look like a slut.” You mumbled with a smile, and his body twitched at that statement. “You are so mean y/n, in what world do I look like one?”

While saying that, he pushed his hips out and slipped his clothed further down his arm. “In every,” you answered and kissed his neck. He raised his chin to grunt and pant at the feels, head and back leaned back against the stoney wall with both hands on your shoulder. How annoying, you were still only doing the foreplay, isn’t it time to get past it? And when you sucked on a specific spot that drove him crazy, he was at his limit.

“F-fine, I guess I am a whore,” small break before he continued, “for you. So, touch me more, please?” The boy begged, looking a little embarrassed as he avoided your gaze. “I’ll think about it.” Was all you said in response, before you went back to meekly caressing him. “Uhhh.. y/n, that won’t cut it.” He tried to explain through his gasps and whines, and said, “I need more, something more extreme and lewd.”

“Hmm~? I dont know what you mean.” Using his own Methode against himself, how petty of you. He took your hand and guide you lower, muttering, “then I’ll show you how it’s done.” You shook his hand off and hummed, “I’m good, I’ll do it at my pace.” How devastated he looked, it seems he has finally realised what kind of mess he got himself into. He pouted as he slumped back, defeated, hiding his whimpers behind his palm as he kept on complaining, “how could this ever count as punishment?”

“You will see.”

He could swear he caught a glimpse of you smirking all mischievously, but before he knew it, he had been slammed further into the wall behind him. Followed by your hands squeezing around his neck. “Ah- y-y/n..?” “You are the one who wanted this.” Squeeze. With that you started applying more pressure to his neck. “HnnGh..! Ha-arghh..” He choked, eyes half lidded as he weakly pulled at your firm grip around him. A dumb grin spread across his face as his drool rolled down to his chin.

“Fu- urgh! Fuck, y/n~..!!” A wet spot formed on his pants, and his face twisted into one of raw pleasure. Tongue hanging out, eyes watery with heart shaped pupils and legs shaking, struggling to hold his own weight. “You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Then more strength was applied, then you whispered close to his face, “can you feel how your air is being cut off, and how your body is desperately trying to squirm free?” And you squeezed down even more, making him gag and choke again. “Haaa-nghhh..! K- kill me, guuUh, I dare you.”

He was still looking all competitive, though he won’t be able to hold out much longer. You pushed your body into his, leg slightly rubbing against his leaking bulge, stealing a loud groan from him. Followed by small whines of bliss, “MmnHhh..! Ah- hngG, uh-urgh.!” Such a naughty boy, enjoying all this. Your hands didn’t leave him alone while you kissed his tears away, the contrast of gentleness and ruthlessness made his head spinn. Poor little dazai was trembling so much, twitching and spasming all over.

“Are you turned on because I’m choking you, or because you want to die?” You mumbled against his skin, the vibrations of your voice tickling him, a small addition to the immense sensations he was already feeling. “Mhhff… haha- both?” He answered cheekily, his own strength leaving his body as his instinctive try to push you away failed. “I see~ well it’s time for the last course isn’t it?”

As the icing on top, you pressed down one last time, watching his eyes roll back as his consciousness slowly left him. His head was thrown back while his eyes slowly closed shut. That’s when you whispered into his ear, “cum for me, dazai.” And like a command he couldn’t disobey, his body shook heavily before a white fluid seeped through his pants, dirtying your leg, making it all sticky.

Right as he wanted to scream his lungs out, you clasped a hand over his swollen lips, reminding him how you two were still in public. He ripped his eyes open for a split second, then tightly shut them, and moaning into your forceful palm, “mnghMm, nghhmmmf…!♡♥︎♡”

Without giving him any time to calm down from his high, you pulled away, causing him to drop onto the floor. The only reason why he hadn’t fallen yet was because you were holding and pushing him up. But now his legs have finally given up. He was still unresponsive as you wiped your dirty hands on his clothes. After you were done, you took a last glance at his kneeling form, leaning against the rough wall for support. Some of his cum dripped onto the ground and he was still panting heavily.

These once fierce eyes were reduced to a melting one, full of desire and need. He wasn’t full yet huh. His clothes got dirty at the tips, and his body was marked from the top to the bottom, especially his neck bore a dark crimson ring of bruises. Some tears and other fluids were still flowing across his features, but it seems he was too tired to care right now. Judging by the state he was in, it���ll take a while before he can stand up and go home.

Though that was none of your business anymore, since this was going to be his punishment. You laughed a little before saying, “you better clean yourself up, osamu. I’ll get going first~”

All he could squeak out was a weak, soft whimper.

[astrobiscuits]

Astrocartography notes

🌍 Do you want to study abroad? Work abroad? Your MC lines show what domain to pursue:

Sun MC: photographer, actor; check the planet ruling your Sun's zodiac sign for more details

Moon MC: nurse, preschool/elementary teacher, childcare worker/nanny, doula, housekeeper

Mercury MC: librarian, language teacher, speech language pathologist, translator, working in academia, journalist, PR agent, receptionist, secretary, architect, economist, comedian

Venus MC: modelling, artist, fashion designer, hairstylist, makeup artist, art director, interior designer, garden designer, florist, wedding planner

Mars MC: surgeon, firefighter, working at the police, sportsman (the type of sport depends on the zodiac sign Mars is in your birth chart, for ex. Mars in Pisces = football, swimming; Mars in Libra = gymnastics); fitness instructor

Jupiter MC: international driver (driving to your Jupiter MC line brings bonusess💰💰), flight attendant, hotel manager, tour guide, philosopher

Saturn MC: general practitioner, dentist, law, working in the Parliament, working in public institutions, business (CEO), historian, construction worker

Uranus MC: STEM (engineering, ecology sciences, biology), electrician, weather presenter, astronomer/astrophysicist, astrologer, sociology, social worker, advocate for human rights/activist

Neptune MC: choreographer, scenographer, film/theater director, actor, ballet dancer, music composer, rehabilitation worker, bartender, yoga instructor, meditation teacher, reiki practitioner

Pluto MC: adult actor, therapist, psychiatrist, any job regarding forensics (detective, toxicologist, forensic accountant etc.), embalmer, funeral director, loan officer, research analyst

🌍 If you have no astrocartography lines passing through the country you lived for most of your life, you probably don't feel at home in that country and have always wanted to relocate to another country

🌍 When you have atleast 2 lines "conjuncting" each other through a certain country, the planet that is more dominant in your birth chart will have a higher effect in astrocartography

🌍 Mercury IC line can show where one of your siblings or cousins relocate at some point during their life

🌍 If you're a girl and you have daddy issues (hey, we don't judge here!!), travelling to Saturn DSC line will likely bring you lots of opportunities of meeting your perfect partner, but also harsh lessons regarding control in a relationship (this is a good line for you to heal your daddy issues)

🌍 If you want to meet your future spouse and you (personally) find international guys attractive, travelling to Jupiter DSC line is a very good idea. Your future spouse might also be a foreigner in that country, just like you :)

🌍 Sun ASC line shows you where you can find your life's purpose. Also your depression:📉📉 0%, while your happiness:📈📈 100% (unless your Sun is in your 8th or 12th house, then the mental health effect is the complete opposite)

🌍 You could give birth on your Moon IC line😳 or your mom could have given birth to you on that line

🌍 Venus ASC line shows you where you could take lots of pictures (of yourself, of the sightseeings). Also, where you could get diabetes where you will want to try every type of sweets you find there

🌍 You will either get very drunk, consume drugs or smoke some weird shit on your Neptune ASC line (pls take care of your health)

🌍 You could randomly meet an ex or someone who resembles your ex while travelling to your Chiron DSC line

[igibbydotcom]

Now that SOTR exposed a huge discrepancy between Victors games and their portrayals to the public, there seems to be a pattern. And following this pattern, we can safely assume that a vast majority of Victors are forced to go against everything they stand for. Which I know, duh. But this shows that they’ve already given us the blueprints of who they used to be.

Katniss is forced to be a lovestruck teenaged girl, eager to marry and have kids. But we know Katniss was fiercely independent and down-to-earth and was blatantly against having children because she couldn’t subject them to her cruel world.

Haymitch is a raging alcoholic, who used to be quite the rascal but is now a shell of a man and accepts that death is inevitable. But we know Haymitch was full of love and full of life, he didn’t like drinking and he didn’t just dream of a hopeful future, he fought for it.

Wiress is twitchy and neurotic and often can’t finish her own sentences. But we know she was very well-composed and an intellectual genius, who managed to go an entire games without killing because she outwitted the arena.

Finnick is a deviously charming playboy, infamous sweetheart of the Capitol that only cares for himself. But we know he’s warm and friendly and down to earth, he’s funny and can be trusted with anything.

Peeta managed to get through the games without sabotaging his personality in the process. But then he gets kidnapped and tortured. And then Peeta is angry and overemotional, he’s hateful and scared and doesn’t know what’s real anymore. But we know Peeta is kind and genuine, he’s gentle and he never wanted to be just another piece in their games.

The Johanna we know is angry and loud. She threatens the Capitol with no fear of retaliation and hasn’t loved anyone openly since her games. But we also know she still misses home and depends on drugs to escape reality— she doesn’t search for it like many characters. We hear that she pretended to be weak to win her games via surprise talent. What if she wasn’t pretending, and she really was a scared, emotional kid? What if she faltered once on camera and had to stick to the persona? Maybe she was just another kid the rebellion used. Maybe she was trusting and loving and quiet, and she lost all of that to the Capitol.

Annie is twitchy and anxious and overemotional, to the point that she can’t be trusted with secrets. They all said she lost her mind when her district partner was beheaded. She plays “real or not real” before Peeta does. I wonder if she used to be self-assured and brave and maybe reckless. Maybe the Capitol was taking away her signature ability to see how the world really worked and be someone people relied on.

I’ve seen people speculate that Enobaria filed her teeth into fangs to make herself less appealing, not just because it’s a mark of her signature kill. She voted yes for the games including Capitol children and we never get a read on her character except for her spite. Before the games, was she perhaps an approachable person, someone with empathy and a face that was easily read by others? A teeth-to-throat kill is a terrified, losing animal kill. Maybe she had to throw away all her humanity to survive her games and could never find herself again.

And what about the Victors with Morphling addictions? They were nameless and their identities were stolen entirely by their addictions. But in the girl’s final moments before death, she paints on Peeta’s arm. I wonder if she was an artist, full of wonder and deeply aware of the system she was trapped in. Maybe she loved life and went into her games unwilling to let people make her into a faceless dead tribute but she lost herself by winning.

How much was a cover up? How many Victors lost their lives long before they died? Probably all of them.

[itsnesss]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | while working on a project with dae in his dorm room, you unexpectedly encounter minho coming out of the bathroom shirtless, making you feel both uncomfortable and flustered. trying to compose yourself, you retreat to the bathroom, but minho follows, confronting you about your reaction

warnings | romantic tension, suggestive situations (but not explicit)

word count | 1.07 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You had known Dae since the first days at KISS. His friendly personality and willingness to help had quickly turned you into his close friend. Now, you were in his dorm room finishing a math project together, something that seemed simple but kept getting more complicated with your mind filled with equations and numbers that didn’t add up.

“Dae, I think I’m losing my mind,” you said, dropping your pencil on the desk.

He laughed. “It’s simple, you just have to follow the steps. Look, here…”

While he was explaining, you heard a noise from the next room. Turning around, you saw Min Ho, his roommate, coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. He was wearing sweatpants, and to your surprise, was shirtless. His tanned skin glowed with the leftover moisture, and his confidence as he walked left you speechless.

“Don’t you have to announce when you invite someone?” Min Ho asked, giving Dae a teasing look before focusing his gaze on you.

You tried not to appear affected, but your face started to burn. You barely managed to look away, focusing again on your notebook as if your life depended on it.

“Relax, Min Ho,” Dae said with a sigh. “We’re working on a project. Could you at least put a shirt on?”

Min Ho let out a soft laugh. “I’m not doing anything wrong. This is my room too, remember?”

Your discomfort grew. You could feel Min Ho’s eyes on you, which made it impossible to concentrate. The room, which had been cool a moment ago, now seemed to turn into an oven.

“I’ll go to the bathroom for a moment,” you said quickly, standing up before anyone could respond.

You entered and shut the door behind you, resting your forehead against the mirror. “Breathe, calm down,” you told yourself. But the images of Min Ho kept invading your mind: his teasing smile, the carefree tone in his voice, and of course, the way his skin seemed to shine under the light of the room.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, turning on the tap to splash cold water on your face.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you turn quickly. There he was, Min Ho, closing the door behind him with an expression that mixed amusement and something else... something that made your heart stop for a second.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed, although your voice trembled slightly.

He took a step toward you, crossing his arms. “I saw how you reacted. You’re not very good at hiding your emotions.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, stepping back until your back hit the wall.

Min Ho smiled, that arrogant smile that always seemed to ignite and infuriate you at the same time. “Oh really? Then why are you so red?”

“It’s hot,” you lied, although you knew it wasn’t believable.

“Really?” he asked, leaning in slightly toward you. You could feel the heat from his body, the closeness making it impossible to think clearly. “I could swear that…” his gaze dropped to your lips for a moment “…this isn’t just because of the heat.”

Your breaths mingled, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes also dropped to his lips. The tension between you two became unbearable, and it was he who broke the barrier.

His lips met yours in a kiss that took your breath away. It was intense, full of a passion you hadn’t anticipated, but that seemed to have been waiting for a long time. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingers.

Min Ho took you by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if the space between you was too much. His lips moved skillfully, exploring yours as one of his hands rested against the wall next to your head.

“I knew there was something between us,” he murmured against your lips, making you shiver.

“There’s… nothing,” you tried to say, though your body said otherwise, responding to every one of his movements.

“Sure? Because it doesn’t seem that way.”

His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made you release an involuntary sigh. Your mind screamed that this was wrong, that Dae was just on the other side of the door, but your body didn’t want to stop.

With effort, you placed your hands on his chest, gently pushing him away. “Min Ho, wait…”

He stopped immediately, looking at you with a mix of desire and concern. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, although your heart was still beating wildly. “This is… I don’t know if this should be happening.”

Min Ho smiled, but this time his usual arrogance seemed softened by something more genuine. “I didn’t plan for this to happen either, but I don’t want to pretend I don’t feel it.”

His words left you speechless. There was something in his tone that made you believe him, even though he seemed so different from the Min Ho you had known.

“Can we talk about this later?” you finally asked.

He nodded, taking a step back to give you space. “Sure. But don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

With that, he left the bathroom, leaving you alone to process what had just occurred. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, your face still red, your lips slightly swollen.

This was going to complicate things.

[a-d-nox]

mc persona chart observations (part two)

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💼 2h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or venus people have financial stability as a major priority. they prefer to create wealth slowly and steadily rather than chasing risky opportunities.

💼 2h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or venus people's financial success may stem from artistic, creative, and/or aesthetic endeavors. they might earn income through fields like art, design, fashion, and/or culinary work.

💼 2h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or venus indicates someone others see as dependable when it comes to managing money and resources. they are likely to gain professional opportunities because of their trustworthy reputation.

💼 2h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or venus people often make worthwhile investments in real estate or property.

💼 2h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter people view material resources as tools for growth, learning, and adventure. their career / public identity may center on using wealth/skill to pursue more meaningful, expansive goals.

💼 2h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter people view financial independence as deeply important. they prefer nonrestrictive career that allow for growth, travel, and/or exploration.

💼 2h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter people's income comes through fields connected to travel, education, philosophy, publishing, and/or anything that broadens horizons.

💼 2h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter people enjoy sharing their wealth or maybe even investing in causes that align with their values, which could sometimes strain their financial stability.

💼 2h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter people often do a lot of spending on travel, education, and/or experiences rather than material items for their career.

💼 2h sun and/or 2h ruler aspecting sun people's sense of self is directly tied to their material success.

💼 2h sun and/or 2h ruler aspecting sun people tend to over-prioritize financial stability at the expense of emotional or spiritual fulfillment.

💼 scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto people have plenty of challenges and setbacks that often become opportunities for growth and even self-empowerment.

💼 scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto people are drawn to careers that involve helping others heal others - emotionally, psychologically, or even financially.

💼 scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto people seek leadership positions or careers that allow them to influence others.

💼 scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto has a tendency to view situations as black-and-white which can limit their ability to navigate "gray" areas.

💼 people may admire the ability of a scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto person to remain composed in challenging situations and your ability to uncover solutions others might miss in their stress/panic.

💼 scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto people often prefer to work independently or in leadership roles where they have control over their work.

💼 a scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto people's strong urge to be in control in professional settings often leads to conflicts and/or resistance from others.

💼 scorpio (8°, 20°) sun and/or sun aspecting pluto people your intensity is a strength, but learning to manage it will help you avoid burnout and unnecessary conflicts.

💼 sagittarius (9°, 21°) sun and/or sun aspecting jupiter people are unlikely to thrive in restrictive environments/workplaces and may prefer careers that offer flexibility, travel, etc.

💼 sagittarius (9°, 21°) sun and/or sun aspecting jupiter benefit from a love of learning - it helps them continually grow and refine their skills.

💼 sagittarius (9°, 21°) sun and/or sun aspecting jupiter people tend to underestimate challenges they take on more than they can actually handle.

💼 sagittarius (9°, 21°) sun and/or sun aspecting jupiter people take risks others tend to overlook.

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[alistorz]

FRAGMENT OF US

(Aespa x Male Reader Fanfiction)

Chapter 2 - Hope, Not Lies

11821 words

~ “It’s strange how quiet the world feels when you’re waiting for something to change.” ~

A.N - First of all, huge sorry. Its been like more then a month. And this chapter, is a kind of a mess since it was rush. More notes at the end. Thank you.

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

They say time heals everything. 

But what if time only makes things worse? 

What if, the longer it stretches, the deeper the wounds become?

.

.

.

There’s no alarm sound. Nothing but silence.

Soft raindrops tapped against the window, their rhythmic patterning the only sound in the silent dorm room. Gray light seeped through the half-open blinds, casting a dull, lifeless glow over the space. The air was cold, damp, carrying the scent of rain-soaked concrete from outside.

Y/N lay on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. His body felt heavy, his limbs sinking into the stiff fabric of his sheets. His mind was awake, yet he lacked the will to move. He didn't know how long he'd been like this—minutes, maybe hours. Not that it mattered.

He wasn't avoiding sleep. Sleep had long abandoned him. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but every time he closed them, he heard it again.

"It’s getting worse… Surgery is the only option now."

His mother’s voice, strained yet trying to remain composed, echoed in his skull.

"It’s expensive, sweetheart… We don’t know what to do."

Neither did he.

He clenched his jaw, pressing his forearm over his eyes as if to block out the memories. But they remained. "I’ll figure it out." It had been a promise, spoken without thought. A desperate attempt to assure her—to assure himself—that he would find a way. That he wouldn’t just sit here, useless, while his father’s life depended on money they didn’t have.

But what if that was all he was? Useless?

The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the window. A distant rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. His cracked phone lay beside him, the dull screen reflecting his worn-out expression. He picked it up, swiping down to refresh his inbox.

No new emails. No job offers. No responses. Just silence.

Y/N exhaled sharply, sitting up. His body ached in protest, his muscles stiff from nights of tossing and turning. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, fingers briefly stopping at his temple, where a dull headache pulsed. He needed to move. To do something. Because if he sat here any longer, he might drown in his own thoughts.

—-

At first, he had been hopeful. The moment he ended that call with his mother, he hadn’t wasted a second. He had jumped onto every job website he could find, filling out applications until his fingers ached from typing. Cafés, convenience stores, delivery services, tutoring gigs—if the job existed, he applied. It didn’t matter if he was qualified or not. He just needed something.

But reality was cruel.

Some places responded, only to reject him outright. Others simply ignored his applications, leaving them to rot in the void of job portals.

A week into his search, Y/N started looking physically—walking into stores, asking managers face-to-face if they needed help.

The first café he entered had been promising. The place was small, cozy, and not too busy. Maybe, just maybe, they needed an extra hand.

"Excuse me," he had asked, forcing a polite smile at the barista behind the counter. "Are you hiring by any chance?"

The worker barely glanced at him before calling out, "Boss?" A man in his late 30s appeared from the back, his expression tired before Y/N even said a word.

"I was wondering if you had any job openings," Y/N explained quickly. "I can work part-time, full-time—whatever you need. I learn fast, I won’t cause trouble—"

"Not hiring," the boss cut in, voice flat, uninterested. "Try somewhere else."

Y/N hesitated. "Are you sure? I can work any—"

"Listen, kid." The man sighed. "I already have too many employees. Adding another one? That’s just extra baggage."

Y/N swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I understand. Thank you for your time."

He walked out feeling the sting of rejection, but he convinced himself it was just one failed attempt. But then came the second. And the third. And the tenth.

At a convenience store, the manager barely let him finish speaking before shaking his head. "We’re fully staffed. We don’t need another worker slowing us down."

At a delivery company, the receptionist didn’t even look up from her computer. "No foreigners, sorry."

A tutoring job at a local cram school? "We require a college degree."

He even tried a small diner run by an elderly couple. The old woman had been kind, but when he asked about work, she only gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I wish I could help, son, but times are hard. We’re barely making enough as it is."

It became a cycle. Wake up. Apply. Walk around. Ask. Get rejected. Repeat. Each day, his feet ached more. His motivation thinned. His savings shrank. Hope, once so determined, now felt like a candle struggling against the wind.

.

.

Y/N sighed, shaking himself from the memory. Outside, the rain still fell. The cold air seeped into the room, making his already drained body feel even heavier. His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since last night. He ignored it.

He grabbed his phone and refreshed his inbox one more time.

Nothing.

How much longer could he keep going? Was there even a point in trying anymore?

Y/N clenched his fists, inhaling sharply. He couldn't let himself break. Not yet.

He had to keep going.

Because the moment he stopped trying… everything would fall apart.

..

By the time Y/N returned to his dorm, he was soaked down to his skin. Again. His shoes squelched with every step down the corridor, drawing a few annoyed looks from fellow students passing by. He didn’t care. He barely even noticed.

It has become a routine now. The same damn routine.

Grey skies. Cold rain. A silent walk home with nothing but wet shoes and a heavier heart. It was like living inside a loop, a bad scene playing over and over. Each time he walked the same road, stood at the same doors, and heard the same answers.

He didn’t even flinch when the hallway light flickered above him as he stepped into the dorm. Everything was predictable now—his rejections, the silence that followed, and the familiar ache in his chest when he realized nothing had changed

The worst were the ones who didn’t even bother to respond. No emails. No callbacks. Just silence.

Y/N had scrolled through dozens of listings, applied to every job that didn’t explicitly say Korean native only, and even some that did—out of sheer desperation. He handed out resumes in person, walking for hours to save the cost of public transport. But in the end, every effort led back here: to a damp room, to soggy clothes, to silence.

As he reached for his phone to check for new replies—anything—a notification flashed across the top of the screen.

[1 New Email] – Professor Seonghyun (Academic Supervisor)

His heart skipped.

For a second, he thought maybe—just maybe—someone had referred him to a position, or maybe his professor wanted to help. He opened the email, eyes scanning fast.

But his heart quickly dropped.

—

Subject: Concern Regarding Your Recent Academic Performance

Y/N,

I hope you're well. I've noticed a decline in your performance and attendance over the past two weeks. Your recent midterm score was well below your average, and I’m concerned.

If there's something going on, please don’t hesitate to reach out. That said, improvement is crucial. Continued decline could affect your scholarship status.

Best, Prof. Seonghyun

—

He stared at the screen.

Of course. Of course that would start falling apart too.

His jaw tightened. He turned the screen off and tossed the phone onto the bed.

Was there anything in his life that wasn’t slipping away?

His grades. His home back in his country. His father’s health. His future. All crumbling, slowly and then all at once.

And now the very thing that brought him here—his scholarship—was at risk, too.

For a moment, Y/N just sat there, unmoving, letting the silence crawl into his lungs like smoke. The cheap ticking of the clock above his desk was the only sound in the room. He didn’t know how long he sat like that.

But eventually, he stood up.

Not out of motivation. Not out of hope.

Just because he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He moved toward the tiny kitchenette to make something warm—ramyeon again, the last packet. As the water boiled, he stared at the steam rising from the pot, eyes unfocused. The heat fogged his glasses slightly, but he didn’t bother wiping them.

In a few more days, he might not even be able to afford the water bill.

—---

He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Minutes? Hours? Time has stopped meaning anything lately. At some point, his body moved on its own. Not because he had a plan or destination in mind—he just needed to get out. He grabbed his hoodie—still damp—and stepped outside.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It never did, not these days. The skies above Seoul felt like they were syncing with his mood—gray, weeping, and indifferent.

Y/N walked. Not to submit another job application. Not to hand out resumes. Not even to check his phone. He just walked.

He passed glowing cafés filled with warmth and noise. Laughter behind glass. Friends chatting over coffee. Couples huddled close beneath umbrellas. The world was moving forward—unbothered, uninterrupted—while he felt like he was drifting through it like a ghost, unseen and unneeded.

The city around him buzzed with life, but it only made the silence inside his chest louder.

Eventually, his feet brought him to a familiar bench by a quiet bus stop. He didn’t remember choosing to go there. He just did.

Sitting down, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head heavy. His hoodie clung to him, soaked and uncomfortable, like everything else he couldn’t shake off. He wasn’t crying. Not really. But his lips parted just enough to let something slip out—barely audible under the sound of the rain.

“…What else do I even have left?”

No answer came. No one around seemed to notice or care. The sky above offered nothing but more rain. The bench gave no warmth. He sat in it for a while longer, then eventually stood up and wandered back to his dorm, not because he felt better—just because there was nowhere else to go.

Once home, he changed into dry clothes. Not out of comfort. Just… routine. Then he sat at his desk, eyes blank, laptop closed, his textbooks untouched. He couldn’t bring himself to try anymore.

That’s when his phone buzzed.

He barely noticed it at first, assuming it was another push notification or a job site reminding him of all the places that weren’t hiring him. But it didn’t stop.

He reached for it lazily, ready to silence whatever it was—but froze when he saw the screen.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]

No name. No label. Just a number.

He stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn’t want to pick it up. He had no energy left for another disappointment. But something—small, stubborn—kept him from letting it go.

The call was seconds from ending when he finally tapped the green button and raised the phone to his ear.

“…Hello?”

.

.

—----------------------------------------------------

The lights were blinding, the mics were off, and the final round of smiles had just been flashed to the cameras.

“Thank you for joining us, Aespa!” the host said brightly, their voice still riding the wave of on-air enthusiasm.

The girls waved back in unison — four polished smiles, picture-perfect.

Karina’s elegance led the curve of the moment, Winter’s quiet warmth followed behind it, Giselle’s smirk added the spark, and Ningning’s playful beam sealed the frame with energy.

The cameras cut. They bowed. And once they stepped away from the lights, out of frame and off the stage, the glow dulled.

.

.

Backstage was colder — both literally and metaphorically.

They entered the green room without a word, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Staff still moved around them in a rush — producers, stylists, camera operators — voices echoing off the walls with directions and calls for final wrap-ups. But Aespa themselves were still.

A small junior group passed by just as the girls entered. Fresh faces, wide eyes, that stage-sweat glow of adrenaline still on them. One of them bowed quickly and stammered, “You were amazing, sunbaenim!”

“Thank you,” Ningning replied with a kind smile, her voice airy but distant.

Another junior glanced toward Karina and said something about having grown up watching their performances. Karina smiled, nodded, and offered a soft “That’s sweet of you.”

Winter gave a quiet quip — something teasing about how they’re not that old yet — and the rookies laughed awkwardly before continuing down the hall.

Once the green room door closed, the masks slid off effortlessly.

Karina lowered herself onto the couch, smoothing out her outfit as she sat. Across from her, Winter tilted her head back and closed her eyes, saying nothing. Giselle sank into the corner of the L-shaped couch, scrolling through her phone with slow, distracted swipes. Ningning leaned against the wall and stared at her own screen, her thumb idle against it.

On the table in front of them, a tray of food and drinks had been left by one of the staff — neatly prepared, clearly with care. Fruit cups, boxed meals, vitamin drinks, and iced teas. Not one of the girls touched it.

The room was neither loud nor quiet — just... muted. Like a TV with the volume turned too low.

Karina watched them from her seat. Her members. Her sisters.

Giselle, who once couldn’t go five minutes without bantering with her, hadn’t said more than three words since the stage.

Ningning, who used to share memes during their breaks and lean into her shoulder like a younger sibling craving warmth, had barely glanced up from her screen. There was no teasing, no playful jabs, no sparkle.

And Winter — the one she shared the closest bond with, the one she once exchanged ridiculous jokes and tongue-tied inside gags with — now sat in complete silence, lost in her own space.

Karina's gaze softened. When did we stop filling the room with noise?

Giselle’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, exhaled quietly, and locked the screen again.

“That guy again?” Karina asked gently, breaking the stillness.

Giselle shrugged, eyes fixed forward. “It’s nothing.”

Karina didn’t press. But she could tell it wasn’t nothing.

Ningning spoke up, almost to herself, “My mom called earlier. I didn’t answer.”

Karina turned slightly toward her. “Why not?”

“I couldn’t fake a smile today,” she said simply, eyes still on her screen.

No one responded. Not because they didn’t care, but because they understood.

The sound of the door clicking open didn’t stir much of a reaction.

Harin stepped in with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes briefly scanning the quiet room. The girls were scattered — Ningning sitting on the makeup chair scrolling her phone, Winter curled up on one end of the couch with her arms folded, Giselle with her legs pulled up, head resting back, eyes half-lidded. Karina sat near the corner, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, quiet and still.

“Hey,” Harin greeted softly, mindful of her tone. “You all did great out there. Seriously.”

Ningning gave a small smile without looking up. Giselle lifted a hand in a half-wave. Winter nodded, almost imperceptibly. Karina met her eyes for a brief second and offered a tired but polite nod.

There was something in the air that Harin recognized immediately — a weight she’d seen too often lately.

She looked around at the scene — quiet, drained, heavy. She didn’t say it out loud, but her eyes lingered for a moment too long. She noticed the untouched water bottles, the barely eaten snack trays, and the silence that had settled like dust on everything.

She exhaled, then walked over a few steps and lowered her voice. “I came to tell you something — a bit of a heads-up.”

She hesitated before continuing. “So, uh… I wanted to let you know that the company’s HR team is in the middle of recruiting again. They’re searching for a new probationary manager.”

Giselle’s thumb paused mid-scroll.

Winter slowly blinked but said nothing.

Ningning turned slightly from the mirror, brows lifting. “Another one?”

Karina’s gaze sharpened. “What happened to the last one?”

Harin’s lips pressed together for a second before giving the answer. “He accepted an offer from HYBE. Better pay. Less chaos.”

Giselle scoffed under her breath and muttered something in English too quiet to catch.

“Wasn’t he only around for… two months?” Karina asked, straightening up.

“Forty-seven days,” Harin replied dryly. “Not even enough time to memorize your coffee orders.”

“So, what’s this one like?” Winter asked. Her voice was quiet, tinged with her usual dry sarcasm, but her eyes remained fixed on the wall.

“Unknown,” Harin admitted, rolling her tablet gently against her fingertips. “We haven’t hired anyone yet. The process just started. Could be male, female — idol-savvy or completely green. I just thought it was better you heard it from me before someone randomly shows up mid-schedule like a surprise group assignment.”

Ningning let out a long breath, leaning back in her chair with a tired tilt of her head. “And we’re the test subjects again…”

Karina leaned back, expression unreadable. “Do we even have time to train someone?”

“Not really,” Harin admitted, with a hollow chuckle. “But if we don’t… you’ll keep getting shuffled between twenty different assistants who don’t know the difference between a live mic and a prop.”

That earned a faint snort from Winter. Giselle shook her head slowly, lips twitching without humor.

“No one’s asking you to love them,” Harin added, her voice softening now, carrying a thread of sincerity. “Just… give them a chance. Even if they’re clueless. You never know — they might surprise you.”

Karina didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted over her members, then toward the untouched food on the table, the damp tissues scattered near the makeup kits, the space around them that felt full and empty at once.

That’s what they said about the last five.

And still, none of them stayed. None of them saw them. Not really.

I hoped for honey once, she thought. But all I got was sugar water.

Harin looked like she wanted to say more — there was a small crease between her brows that hadn’t left since she entered — but her tablet buzzed with a new alert, flashing urgent.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she said, glancing at the door. “And if something feels off, don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll do my best to make this one work.”

With a quiet wave, she stepped out of the room and disappeared into the hallway bustle.

The silence returned like a curtain falling. No one spoke for a while.

Winter leaned forward to grab her water bottle and unscrewed the cap slowly. “Forty-seven days,” she mumbled.

Giselle pulled her hoodie over her head. “That’s a record.”

Karina didn’t laugh. But a thought flickered through her mind — faint, fleeting.

What if this one’s different?

She didn’t say it aloud. She wouldn’t. Hope was dangerous like that.

But still… maybe this time, the sugar might not be so plain.

.

.

The dorm was silent when Jimin slipped out.

She left a quiet message in the group chat — just in case the others woke up and wondered. “Going for some air. Don’t wait up.”

No security. No staff. No assistant shadowing her every step.

Just her hoodie pulled low, her mask snug, and the weight of the day hanging off her shoulders like a wet coat she couldn’t shake.

The air outside wasn’t fresh. Seoul at midnight was thick with neon buzz and exhaust. But to her, it was still a relief — not the recycled chill of makeup rooms or the conditioned quiet of luxury vans. This was air that didn’t carry the scent of hairspray and pressure.

She walked aimlessly, letting her feet decide the direction. The city moved around her like a dream she wasn’t part of — couples sharing headphones, students lugging backpacks too big for their bodies, a man arguing softly on the phone, delivery scooters buzzing like flies. Life, raw and unfiltered, pulsed around her.

She paused near a small street stall — its striped tarp flapping in the breeze, steam curling from its tiny griddle. Karina’s steps slowed. The smell of tteokbokki — sweet and spicy — curled into her lungs. Her stomach gave the tiniest lurch.

A grandmother, no younger than her late 50s, waved at her like she’d been expecting her all night.

“Good evening, dear,” the woman said, her voice kind and familiar.

Jimin bowed slightly, her voice muffled through her mask. “A serving of tteokbokki, please.”

As the woman worked, the smell of gochujang sauce warmed the air around her. A few meters away, four students sat on plastic stools, laughing through mouthfuls of rice cakes, their chatter louder than the street noise. They looked barely twenty — probably still in high school. Carefree, still soft around the edges, not yet trimmed down by life. One of the girls spoke animatedly, arms flailing mid-story.

“I still think I’ll get into architecture,” one of them said.

“No way. You get stressed building IKEA shelves,” another teased.

“I’m serious! It’s either that or game design. I just want to make cool things.”

“I just want to live in a villa and wake up at noon.”

Karina’s lips tugged upward beneath her mask.

It reminded her — almost too much — of something she'd buried beneath all the comebacks and encores. Of her and Winter sneaking out late during trainee days. Pocket money in hand. Sitting just like that. Eating tteokbokki on a curb. Talking about dreams that still had blurry edges.

“Miss?”

She blinked, realizing the ajumma had called her more than once. She bowed quickly. “Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you.” She handed over the bills and accepted the warm tray in both hands.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, she stepped toward the group of students. They looked up, confused by her approach.

The four froze mid-bite, their expressions flickering with surprise. One girl blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

They hesitated — naturally. One of them even looked around as if checking for a hidden camera. 

Then, with a breath of courage, she lowered her mask just enough for them to see. 

“Mind if I join you for a minute?” Karina asked, amused by their confusion.

And four jaws hit the floor.

One gasped. “Oh my god.”

“No freaking way—”

“You’re—You’re Karina.”

“Are we being pranked right now?”

Karina laughed softly and waved a hand. “No prank. Just… saw you all talking, and it reminded me of someone I used to be. That’s all.”

Still dazed, they shuffled to make room on the curb. Karina sat, folding her legs beneath her.

One by one, they shared their dreams again — a teacher, a designer, a streamer, a nurse. Each story, sincere and raw and wrapped in the kind of hope Jimin hadn't heard in too long.

She sat with them for a few minutes longer, just listening. Laughing with them. Letting herself forget the things waiting for her back home.

When they asked for a photo, she didn’t hesitate. She took the pictures, signed their trays with a pen the vendor lent her, and waved them off as they bowed over and over in thanks.

Karina resumed her walk, biting into the soft, spicy rice cakes as she went. She passed an ad board flashing their comeback visuals — her own face blown up ten feet tall, polished and perfect. She didn’t look at it long. She turned her gaze away before it reminded her too much of the version of herself the world expected to see.

Further down, she spotted the flickering lights of a claw machine arcade.

She stepped inside.

The soft hum of whirring motors and cheap pop songs filled the space. Rows of claw machines gleamed under cool fluorescent lights, filled with pastel plushies, K-pop merch, and candy sets.

Karina lit up for the first time in hours.

She exchanged bills for coins and got to work — eyes narrowing with each grab attempt, mouth twitching when the claw slipped just a little too early. She cursed under her breath. Then laughed. Then tried again.

No cameras. No weight of expectations. Just her, a metal claw, and a helpless plush keychain caught in the middle.

It wasn’t much.

But it was hers.

Fourth try — success. The claw trembled, but it held.

She laughed softly as the plushie dropped into the chute — a round, squishy peach-colored bear with little angel wings. She picked it up, holding it close for a moment.

Then, without meaning to, she whispered, “The girls would love this.”

She imagined Yizhuo hugging it to sleep. Minjeong makes a dumb pun about its wings. Aeri trying to steal it with that smug little smirk. Ning pretended it was hers all along.

Even out here, even alone, they never left her heart.

For a few fleeting minutes, she felt real again.

Time passed — she didn’t know how much. When her last coin clinked inside the machine, she finally sighed, smiling as she pocketed her prize — a small bunny plush.

Sighing, she packed up the two plushies in a paper bag from the front desk and stepped back into the cool air.

On her way home, she passed a PC bang. Just as she neared it, the door slammed open without warning. She startled, jerking back a few steps.

A guy her age, maybe a little younger, rushed out. His hood was up, eyes tired, clearly in a rush — but he stopped the moment he noticed her.

“Oh— I’m so sorry, I didn’t see— are you okay?”

Jimin nodded quickly, waving both hands to reassure him. “It’s okay, I should’ve watched where I was walking.”

He waves a short, awkward bow before hurrying down the sidewalk.

She watched him go for a second. There was something about his rushed, slightly panicked energy that felt familiar.

But she didn’t dwell on it.

She kept walking.

As she approached the dorm entrance, the warmth from the plushie in her bag faded into the chill of the night. She thought about what Harin had said earlier — the new manager recruitment, the possibility of someone new popping up again.

She didn’t let herself get too curious. Didn’t wonder too hard.

After all, how different could one more new face be?

She stepped inside.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

The soles of his socks had memorized every inch of the floor.

Back and forth.

Corner to desk. Desk to window. Window to bed. Then all over again.

Y/N’s steps were restless, each turn sharper than the last, like the air in his room was thinning and the only way to breathe was to keep moving. His fingers raked through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day, muttering words to himself that only made sense inside his own head.

“Strong multitasking ability… fast learner… dependable, even under pressure… favorite food? Kimchi stew—no, that’s too random. Or is that good? Shows personality?”

He stopped pacing and groaned, pressing both palms to his face as he flopped onto the edge of his bed. The cracked ceiling above stared back, unsympathetic.

This was the tenth time today. Or maybe the twelfth. He’d lost count somewhere between “Tell us about yourself” and “Why do you want this job?”

"Hello, my name is Y/N. I'm currently a university student majoring in…" He cut himself off halfway, voice trailing into nothing. "No, no, no. That sounds like I’m reading off a script."

He stood again. Rolled his shoulders. Forced himself to look at the window across the room — not for the view, but for the faint reflection of himself in the dark glass. A silhouette barely held together. Still, he gave it his best attempt.

Confident tone. Open expression. Words that didn’t sound like desperation leaking through a paper-thin smile.

The truth was, he didn’t have time to fall apart.

Not now.

Not after the call that changed everything. That one call that gave him hope and new light.

This was the first real shot he’d had in months — the first reply that hadn’t ghosted him or slapped a “not qualified” label before even hearing him out.

The first real interview since everything began. The first opening that didn’t come with a “sorry, but…” attached to it. A chance, however small, to climb out of the hole he’d been sinking into for months.

It was probably a small matter to others.

But to him, it was everything.

Y/N sat back down, picking up the small stack of crumpled papers scattered on his desk — notes he’d scribbled in every spare moment since the call. Practice answers. Traits he thought sounded impressive. A few jokes that maybe, if the interviewer had a sense of humor, could land just right.

His hand shook slightly as he gripped the edge of the desk.

It wasn’t a job offer. It wasn’t even a second-round confirmation.

But it was hope.

And when hope’s all you’ve got left, even the smallest thread can feel like a lifeline.

He stared at the notes, then at the small clock in the corner of his desk. Almost midnight. He hadn’t eaten dinner, hadn’t showered, hadn’t done anything except rehearse the same lines on loop like a man stuck in a maze with only one possible way out.

He swallowed.

It had to go well. For him. For his father. For everything that was slipping further out of reach.

“Okay,” he whispered, sitting a little straighter. “One more round.”

And then he started again.

.

.

It all started with that one call.

Just one.

It was late, well past the time he usually silenced his phone and forced himself to sleep—or at least pretend to. The cracked screen of his ancient phone lit up the darkness of his room with a soft, ghostly glow. A number he didn’t recognize. He stared at it. No movement. No answer. Not at first.

He didn’t have the strength for this. Not tonight.

His thumb hovered over the reject button. But something—a feeling, a breath, a whisper only he could hear—told him to wait. To listen. A pull. Soft and strange, like the universe gently nudging him forward.

So he answered.

“Yeoboseyo?” a woman’s voice said on the other end, fluent and professional.

Y/N blinked, taken off guard by the Korean greeting. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. But his response came automatically, rusty but polite. “Annyeonghaseyo”

“Is this Mr. Y/N?” she asked, still in Korean.

His brow furrowed slightly. The uncertainty was already crawling up his spine, coiling in his chest. “…Yes,” he answered, keeping his tone simple, cautious.

“Thank you for confirming,” she said. “I’m calling from the HR department of SM Entertainment. We received a job application under your name recently, and I’d like to confirm—did you apply for a position with us?” She continued smoothly, asking whether he had submitted an application recently.

Silence.

Not on her end — she had just dropped the kind of news that usually makes people scream or gasp or break into a thousand thank-you’s. But Y/N was too stunned to respond. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. It was like the words had been robbed from him, stolen by disbelief.

An interview? With an actual company? Not a scam email. Not a rejection notice. Not a robotic message thanking him for his interest followed by a cold “we regret to inform you…”

His mind didn’t know what to do with this information. After all the rejections he had received — after being turned down over and over again in recent weeks — he had built up a quiet wall inside himself, a defense mechanism that told him not to hope anymore. Hope hurt too much. Hope could turn into something cruel when it shattered.

So he said nothing.

The woman must’ve sensed his hesitation because she kept going with a kind, steady tone. “If you're still interested, I can send you the interview details by email shortly after this call. It will be a group interview session — we’ll be seeing multiple applicants that day.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a second longer. His heart wanted to leap. His body was already halfway out the door. But his mind clung to caution like a lifeline.

What if it was fake? A prank? Some kind of phishing scam? Technology was terrifyingly advanced these days — you could find someone’s email and name with minimal digging.

But then she said his name again. Gently. Pulling him out of the spiral.

And finally, Y/N gave a small nod, as if she could see it through the phone. “Yes… I’d like to attend.”

“Wonderful. May I confirm your email address?”

He confirmed it, repeating the awkwardly long handle he’d created years ago. The woman read it back to him with no hint of judgment.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked.

He wanted to ask a hundred things. A thousand. But everything in his chest tangled up on the way to his mouth. “No… I don’t think so.”

There was a beat.

Then, just as she began to thank him again, he spoke up. “Wait — sorry. One question.”

“Of course,” she said patiently.

“What… exactly is this job about?”

There was a brief pause, then a smile in her voice. “Ah, I thought you already knew. It’s a managerial position for one of our idol groups. You’ll receive more details at the interview.”

His lips parted again, but no new question came. That was enough.

“No more questions,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The woman thanked him again, wished him luck, and the line went dead.

Silence filled the room once more.

Y/N lowered the phone slowly and just stared at it, at the cracks in the glass, at the faint reflection of himself on the screen. What had just happened? Was it real?

He stayed frozen like that for almost a minute.

Then, ping.

An email.

His heart skipped a beat.

His fingers trembled as he unlocked the screen, opened the mail app, and tapped on the new message.

His eyes scanned it quickly.

The logo. The address. The wording. Everything looked real. No broken grammar. No red flags. Just… legitimate instructions. A schedule. A dress code. A list of required documents.

The subject line read: Interview Invitation – Managerial Candidate

His vision blurred a little.

He couldn’t help it. A breathless, trembling smile broke across his face, spreading from ear to ear.

This was real.

This was really happening.

He was still cautious. Still not fully letting himself feel the relief. But some part of him—some deeper part—started to glow.

He stood up suddenly, his movements erratic, adrenaline flooding his system. Moments later he was suddenly at the dorm building. It almost seems like he is teleporting. 

He practically flew down the hall, ignoring the judgmental stares of others in the dorm building as he sprinted up the stairs and threw open his door like a man possessed.

He dropped to his knees in front of the old laptop he’d borrowed from a classmate. He was supposed to return it by morning, but that could wait.

Fingers flew across the keys.

The company name.

Search.

Articles. Photos. Achievements. History. A global presence.

Y/N sat back in awe. Was this really the kind of company that had called him?

He smiled again, softer this time. There was something warm rising in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

And then his smile faltered slightly.

“Managerial job…” he whispered. “Why would they pick me for that?”

He had no celebrity experience. He wasn’t majoring in entertainment or business. Sure, he’d had some project work related to logistics and people management, but… that was it.

Still.

He looked down at the photo frame next to his bed. A slightly faded picture of him, his mom, and his dad, taken during better days. He picked it up gently, holding it like a precious gem.

“I got it, Mom. Dad…” he said, his voice barely above a breath. “I think this is it. I think this is the chance.”

He smiled again, this time through a slight sheen of tears.

“I just need you both to believe in me—from wherever you are.”

And the room, once filled with silence and darkness, now felt different. Warmer. Brighter.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t walking in the dark anymore.

..

It was strange.

Y/N had always thought that receiving an interview offer from SM Entertainment—one of the most prestigious companies in the country—would bring relief. Joy, even. But all it did was make his stomach twist and his chest tighten.

He wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for a job he knew almost nothing about, surrounded by people who were born and bred in this world. Managers, trainees, idols. All of them moving at a pace he barely understood, let alone could keep up with.

He read the email at least a dozen times, not out of excitement, but panic.

The words didn’t change.

We are pleased to invite you to the first-round interview...

Pleased? He wasn’t even sure if he had enough clothes to look “interview appropriate.” Was there a dress code? Would they ask him about K-pop? Artist schedules? The only thing he knew how to manage was stress—and barely that.

For the first time since arriving in Korea, he started to feel the weight of everything. Not just the job. Not just the expectations. But the gnawing sense that he was way out of his depth.

He stayed up that night staring at his cracked ceiling, repeating the same thought over and over again:

How am I supposed to do this?

He didn’t sleep much after that. For the next few days, his mind was split between anxiety and frantic attempts to prepare—except he barely knew where to start. Most online guides for manager jobs were vague at best or aimed at entertainment veterans. And asking someone? Not an option.

His only comfort in the mess of his thoughts was the small, worn-out smartphone resting by his side.

It was old—ancient, really—but it had history. A couple of scratches on the corner. A battery that barely lasted half a day. A hairline crack across the screen from when he dropped it during his move to Korea.

And yet he still kept it polished like it was something sacred. Because it was.

His father had bought it for him years ago—not from a store, but from a scrapyard seller who was about to toss it with the rest of the junk. Y/N could still remember the way his father had handed it to him, all smiles and proud eyes.

“It’s not much... but it works. I figured it might help you stay in touch while you’re far away.” He hadn’t even asked for a phone. But his father knew. Knew he’d feel alone. Knew he’d need a lifeline.

Y/N ran his fingers across the cracked screen that night, guilt and longing rising in equal measure.

Appa... if you saw me now, would you still be proud?

It had been raining on and off for the past two days. The sky remained a permanent shade of grey, casting a dull, heavy silence over the city. Everything felt slower—slower buses, slower people, slower thoughts. It was like the world was moving through water. And Y/N was drowning in it.

He had only one thing on his mind that afternoon: borrow a laptop.

The interview was getting closer, and he had nothing. No solid background in artist management, no professional guidance, and no reliable way to prepare. The borrowed laptop he’d been using had already been returned yesterday—because students were only allowed to borrow once a week. He knew the rules, but still, he had to try again. Maybe someone at the desk would understand. Maybe they'd bend the rules.

So he went. Even in the rain.

His umbrella was missing—probably left in a lecture hall two days ago—so he tugged his hoodie tighter around his head and jogged across the wet pavement toward the campus library.

Water clung to his jeans. His socks were already soaked through.

By the time he reached the library front desk, he looked more like someone who’d crawled out of a drain than a student preparing for a future. The student worker behind the counter barely spared him a glance before delivering the blow:

“Sorry, you’ve already borrowed this week. We can’t give out another one.”

“But I—I returned it yesterday. I just need a few more hours. Just today.”

“I’m sorry,” the worker repeated, tapping something on the screen. “The system won’t let us.”

Just like that, the conversation was over.

Y/N stood there for a moment, dripping quietly onto the carpet. He gave a tight nod, whispered thanks, and turned back toward the doors.

The rain was heavier now. He stepped outside and winced as the cold hit his skin again.

Defeated, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket to check the time and look up the nearest PC bang.

And then, just like that— it slipped.

Maybe his fingers were too numb. Maybe his sleeve snagged the edge. Maybe the universe just hated him today.

But the phone tumbled from his hand, hit the edge of the steps, and skittered across the concrete— before landing face-down in a wide, murky puddle at the edge of the walkway.

Splash.

Y/N’s heart dropped with it.

“No—no, no—”

He crouched instantly, fingers scraping through cold water and wet leaves as he fished the phone out of the puddle.

He wiped the screen with shaking hands, pressed the power button.

A dim flicker. Then nothing.

He pressed again. And again. Harder this time.

“Come on,” he whispered, chest tightening. “Please, not now…”

He pulled off his hoodie and used the driest part of the sleeve to wipe it again. Still nothing. The water had gotten in—deep.

He sank onto the wet steps, phone in both hands, staring at it like he could will it back to life.

It wasn’t just a phone.

It was the only way the company could contact him. It was the only thing connecting him to a world he was trying so hard to be part of. And more than that—

It was a gift from his father. The last one, given just before Y/N left for Korea.

This phone had traveled continents with him. It held every message, every call, every blurry photo and saved voicemail from home. It had survived his first semester, homesickness, cultural shocks, and lonely nights.

And now it was dead. Just like that.

He sat there in the rain, hood forgotten, head bowed. His legs ached. His hands were freezing. And his heart— his heart felt like it had cracked open quietly, the way glass does when pressure builds too slowly to notice.

This wasn’t just a bad day. This was the kind of day that made everything feel impossible.

He stared at the lifeless screen, chest still heaving with short, shallow breaths. Rain dripped from his eyelashes, his soaked hoodie clinging tightly to his arms. But the cold wasn’t what hurt the most.

His fingers traced the cracked edge of the phone, already chilled and starting to stiffen. A quiet ache spread through his chest—not just from the day’s misfortune, but from what the phone had meant to him.

His mind drifted, uninvited, to a night not too long ago. Back home. 2 days just before he left.

He was sitting on the edge of his old bed, luggage half-zipped beside him. The room was dim, only lit by the yellow glow of the hallway light seeping through the cracked door.

His father stepped in, hesitating for a second like he always did when emotions were involved. Then, wordlessly, he walked over and sat beside Y/N. For a long while, neither of them said anything.

Then his dad pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it in Y/N’s palm.

An old smartphone. The back was scratched, the screen slightly chipped in one corner.

“It’s a little beat up,” his dad said, voice gruff. “Bought it secondhand from a guy at the scrapyard.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “You don’t even use a smartphone.”

“I don’t,” his dad replied. “But you’ll need one. To call. To find your way around. To talk to us.”

He paused, then added more softly, “Just... don’t forget to call sometimes.”

Y/N had smiled and promised he would. He hadn’t realized it then, but that moment was his father’s version of saying I love you.

Now, sitting alone on a concrete step halfway across the world, Y/N felt like that promise had cracked with the phone screen.

He swallowed hard, wiping a hand across his face to brush off the water—or the tears. He couldn’t tell which anymore.

"I'm sorry, Dad..." he whispered.

He clutched the broken phone tightly in his palm, pressing it to his chest for a moment—like holding it close could bring something back.

Then he stood up, slowly, shakily, and looked out at the grey horizon.

He didn’t know how he'd get through the rest of the week without it. But he had no other choice.

Not anymore.

.

The PC bang wasn’t far, just tucked off a side street past a convenience store with flickering lights. When he pushed the door open, the blast of warm air, LED lights, and rapid keyboard clicking almost made him turn around. It was loud. Claustrophobic. Every seat was filled with people shouting into headsets, hunched over glossy screens with glowing energy drinks beside them.

Y/N hesitated at the counter, glancing up at the price list. He could barely afford two visits between now and the interview. He’d have to make them count.

After paying for a few hours, he quietly took a seat in the far back corner. He pulled out a worn notebook and the stub of a pencil, then logged in.

The screen lit up, and so did his brain.

He started researching everything—idol schedules, manager expectations, how SM Entertainment structured their artist support. He jotted down terms he didn’t understand to study later. His fingers trembled from exhaustion and cold, but he kept typing.

Around him, people shouted, laughed, and played. But he stayed quiet, steady, focused. He didn’t have a choice.

Time melted away.

Eventually, the screen blurred in his eyes. His shoulders ached from hunching over, and the notes in his notebook had become messier with each line. He rubbed his temple, finally admitting to himself that he was too tired to keep going.

He saved his work on a cloud platform, logged out, and packed his things in silence. As he approached the glass door near the exit, the night outside looked darker than before—colder, lonelier. He took a breath, gripped the door handle, and stepped forward.

But he pushed too fast.

The door swung open with a sharp motion—and nearly struck someone walking right past.

“Oh—!” Y/N froze mid-step, jolting back. “Sorry! I didn’t see you—!”

The girl in front of him had instinctively raised her arm to block the door. Her hoodie was pulled up beneath a black coat, casting her features in shadow, but her eyes were sharp and startled, lips parted in surprise.

“No, no—it’s fine,” she said, quickly regaining her balance. “I should’ve been looking ahead.”

Their eyes met—briefly. Just a second. But it was long enough to register the exhaustion on both ends.

Y/N bowed slightly again out of habit. “Still… sorry.”

The girl gave a small, polite nod in return. “It’s alright. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

And just like that, they passed each other.

He walked home in silence, eyes on the ground.

Tomorrow, he'll come back. He only had one more shot at this. One more night to prepare. And no matter how tired he was—no matter how small he felt—he would take it.

The alarm clock buzzed with a shrill, robotic ring, echoing through the dorm room like a countdown. Y/N’s eyes blinked open instantly, his body jolting upright before his mind could catch up. He stared at the dim ceiling for a second, heart pounding.

Today.

It took him a few seconds to remember why his stomach felt like a knot had been tied in it overnight. The interview. The only one he managed to land despite weeks of searching, the one shot that could change everything—and he was going to try to make it work after two full classes, with no phone, no safety net, no idea if he’d even make it on time.

He rubbed his face, let out a breath, and climbed out of bed.

The first class wasn’t difficult to sit through. The professor lectured with his usual slow, melodic tone, and Y/N managed to nod along and take some notes, even if his handwriting wobbled a little more than usual. Still, the class was bearable, the minutes ticking by at a steady pace.

But it was hard to focus.

Every time he glanced at the clock on the wall, he felt a rising pressure behind his ribcage. He double-checked his schedule, the company’s address, the bus routes—all from memory. He had nothing written down, nowhere to double-check except his mind.

And if his memory failed, that was it.

He left the class quickly once it ended, nearly bolting from his seat, muttering apologies when he bumped shoulders with someone on the way out. There wasn’t time to waste.

Then came the second class—and everything began to spiral.

It was a required seminar. He had no choice but to attend, or risk penalties. Worse, the professor was notoriously unpredictable, always veering off-syllabus, sometimes talking for twenty minutes longer than scheduled just to hammer home a single theory.

Y/N sat near the back, hoping the class would pass quickly.

But halfway through, the professor paused mid-lecture and frowned at the class. “Before we wrap today, let’s take a moment to reflect. I’d like each of you to write a short paragraph on today’s discussion and submit it before you leave.”

There was a collective groan.

Y/N’s throat tightened.

He scribbled something down, mind racing. It wasn’t good. It barely even made sense. But he handed it in and slipped out the door the moment the professor waved dismissal.

He checked the time on his watch.

He was already behind schedule.

The sky was overcast when he stepped outside, the cold air biting at his face. He jogged down the sidewalk, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the nearest bus stop. He had planned everything down to the minute: which bus to take, how long the transfer would take, the buffer he left in case of traffic.

But the moment he reached the stop, his heart sank.

The next bus wasn’t coming for another fifteen minutes.

He turned around, looking wildly for alternatives. There was no money for a taxi. Walking would take too long. And if he missed the interview completely—

No. He didn’t even want to imagine it.

The bus eventually arrived, and he got on with shaking hands, clutching the pole as if it were the only thing holding him together. Traffic crawled. He tried to stay calm. He tried to breathe. But every red light felt like a curse from the universe itself, every delay a cruel joke.

By the time the bus rolled into the nearest stop near SM Entertainment, the sun was already starting to dip low on the horizon.

He jumped off, heart hammering, and sprinted toward the company building.

Now standing in front of the towering glass structure, Y/N realized with sudden horror—

He didn’t know where to go next.

There was no front desk visible from outside. No clear signage. Just a few people loitering near the entrance, all of them looking too busy or too important to approach. His eyes darted from person to person until they landed on a trio of women near the glass doors. Two were chatting quietly while the third stood slightly off to the side, checking something on her phone.

Summoning the last of his courage, Y/N hurried over.

“E-Excuse me,” he said, voice slightly winded as he bowed. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but—” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the one where he had printed out the interview email in case he couldn’t access it digitally. “I have an interview today, but I… I got lost. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

The woman—tall, sharply dressed, her lanyard catching the light—took the paper from him with a curious look.

Her eyes scanned the print. Her expression changed for the briefest moment—an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise—but she quickly masked it and glanced down at her watch.

“You’re running a bit late,” she said, voice calm. “But you might still make it. Come with me.”

Turning to the other two beside her, she gestured. “You two go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”

They nodded without question, continuing through the doors as she turned back to Y/N and motioned for him to follow.

They walked through the lobby in silence, her heels clicking lightly on the polished floor.

While they waited at the elevator, Y/N bowed again, this time more deeply. “Thank you so much. Seriously. I—I don’t even know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t run into you.”

His words came out quickly, almost stumbling over themselves, a little too earnest—but he didn’t care.

The woman gave him a brief sideways glance but offered a small smile. “It’s fine. Really. Not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She looked ahead again, then extended a hand. “I’m Harin, by the way. One of the managers here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh—! I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“You too. You’ll do fine,” she said, just as the elevator chimed with a soft ding.

He wanted to ask more—something about the interview format, what they might ask, how many people were in the room—but the doors opened before he could speak, and Harin stepped in without pause.

They rode up in silence.

When the elevator opened again, she stepped out, turned to the left, and pointed down the hallway.

“That’s your floor. Take the first left and head all the way down. The interview room should still be open if you’re quick.”

He nodded rapidly, already half-walking backwards. “Thank you again. Really. I’ll do my best.”

Harin offered one last small smile. “Good luck.”

And with that, Y/N turned and ran.

At the end of the hallway, double doors stood wide open. The space inside looked like some kind of multipurpose conference room. But instead of a bustling group of candidates, he saw rows of chairs already pushed back into stacks, and a pair of staff members—janitors, maybe—were rolling up a carpet runner near the podium.

Too late.

His stomach dropped.

He stepped inside slowly, eyes sweeping across the half-lit room, heart pounding in his ears.

No reception table. No waiting candidates. Not even a visible sign with the SM Entertainment logo. Just leftovers. Like the party ended before he was even invited.

No… no, no. Please.

Before he could spiral, the door on the far side opened, and three people stepped out. Two men in suits, one woman in business-casual, still holding a clipboard.

Y/N’s legs moved before his brain could catch up.

“Excuse me!” he called out, voice cracking. “Excuse me—sorry, I… I know I’m late.”

They all turned to look at him.

He bowed deeply, nearly a full 90 degrees. “Please, just give me a minute—I’m here for the interview. I had class, the traffic, I got lost—” His words were a blur, his voice trembling. “I printed the email—I showed someone downstairs—I swear I tried everything to get here on time—”

One of the men looked at his watch with a tired sigh. The other glanced toward the cleaning staff, then exchanged a look with the woman. She didn’t look annoyed—more like wary. Cautious.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “But we’ve already finished for the day.”

Y/N’s chest caved in.

No. He couldn’t let it end like this.

“Please,” he said again, stepping forward. “Just a chance. Five minutes. I… I know I don’t have experience like the others, but I prepared. I studied. I worked hard for this. Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

They hesitated.

He could feel it—that thin line between rejection and possibility.

The woman tilted her head slightly, studying him. Her expression softened.

…

“Five minutes,” she finally said.

Y/N blinked.

“Just five,” she repeated. “We’re already over time.”

He nodded rapidly, bowing again with a flurry of thank-yous tumbling from his mouth.

They exchanged a few quiet murmurs among themselves, then the woman motioned for him to follow them back into the room.

The chairs were gone. The lights dimmed slightly. Just a long rectangular table at the front, with their papers still spread across it.

Y/N stood before them.

His palms were sweating. His shirt stuck to his back. He couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the sprint from the lobby—but either way, it was time.

The door closed behind him.

The interview had begun.

The room was still.

Three interviewers sat in a clean, intimidating semi-circle across from him. Not a single one looked particularly pleased to be there.

Their suits were sharp, their expressions sharper.

Y/N sat upright in his chair, trying to steady his breath. His hands—tucked into his lap—were slightly damp with sweat. But his posture didn’t waver.

The woman in the center, name tag reading Jinhee – HR, glanced up from his resume, her tone void of warmth.

“Why were you late?”

No greeting. No smile. Just that.

Y/N bowed from where he sat, low and respectfully.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “There were... a few things that went wrong today. But none of them should be used as an excuse. I take full responsibility.”

A quiet scoff came from his right.

The man beside Jinhee—Mr. Nam, according to the nameplate—leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed.

“So, your first impression is this: irresponsible, late, and unprepared.” He stared at Y/N, deadpan. “Why are you even here?”

The words landed like a punch, but Y/N didn’t flinch. He paused, swallowing hard, then looked up and answered evenly.

“Because I believe I can contribute something of value here.”

Nam clicked his tongue. “You have no background in management. No experience. And you’re a student. What makes you think you’re better than the other twenty applicants we saw today?”

Y/N glanced down at his hands—open, trembling faintly—then back at the panel. His voice was low, but steady.

“I don’t think I’m better,” he said. “I think I’m different.”

That got their attention.

Jinhee blinked. Nam raised a brow, skeptical. The third interviewer—a younger man with soft features, Manager Seo—tilted his head slightly, more curious than annoyed.

“Different how?” he asked.

Y/N let a few seconds pass. He wasn’t here to bluff or sell a perfect image. So he didn’t.

“Most applicants probably came in with all the right skills, degrees, and training. I don’t have that.” 

He met their eyes, each one of them in turn. “What I have is pressure. And a reason to keep going when things fall apart.”

Jinhee narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does that mean?”

Y/N hesitated, just a moment—then answered honestly.

“It means I’ve had to keep moving while everything in my life was falling apart. I’ve spent the last few months balancing school, part-time jobs, helping with family matters back home... all while living alone in a foreign country, with no safety net.”

He took a slow breath.

“I don’t have the ideal resume. But I know how to endure. I know how to take care of things under pressure. I’m used to being tired, behind, and afraid—and still pushing forward anyway.”

This time, the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental. It was thoughtful.

Y/N leaned forward—not desperate, but grounded in his truth.

“What I lack in credentials, I’ll work twice as hard to earn. What I don’t know, I’ll learn. But if what you need is someone who can stay grounded when things get chaotic, who won’t walk away when it gets hard… that’s me. Because I’m already living it.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

And then the just moment moved on.

The woman on the left — the sharpest one so far — leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"Let’s say you get the job," she began, her voice cool. "It’s been a rough week. The group’s schedule has been a mess, one of the members is having a breakdown backstage, and you're the only manager nearby. Fans are screaming outside, the stylists are late, and your head manager is unreachable. What do you do?"

Y/N blinked.

He didn’t respond right away. Not because he didn’t have something to say, but because he understood what this was. This wasn’t just a situational question — it was a trap. A test of composure. They were seeing if he would flinch.

He sat a little straighter, folding his hands on his lap.

“I think…” he began slowly, carefully, “…that the most important thing in a situation like that isn’t to fix everything all at once. It’s to decide who needs you most in that exact moment.”

There was a pause. The man on the right tapped a pen against his notepad, eyes not leaving Y/N’s face.

“You’d leave the rest of the problems alone?” the woman asked, skeptical.

“No,” Y/N said quickly, but still calm. “I’d prioritize. If a member’s having a breakdown, that’s a mental health crisis. That has to come first, no matter what. I’d get her somewhere quiet, stay close but not push. Just be a person in the room who isn’t panicking.”

“And what about the others?” the man pressed.

“I’d call backup while handling her. Or text whoever I could from the staff. After that, I’d start checking off whatever I can do. Stylists are late? I’d ask if we can prep the basics ourselves. Fans outside? I’d contact security or venue staff for help. But the key is not to freeze. Just… move. One step at a time. Let the member feel safe, and don’t let the rest fall apart while you’re at it.”

Another pause. It wasn’t heavy — it was quiet in a different way now. Even the pen stopped tapping.

The woman leaned back slowly. “You’ve never managed anyone before, right?”

Y/N nodded. “No, ma’am.”

“You speak like you have.”

“I just…” Y/N gave a small shrug. “People are people. You don’t need a title to treat someone like a human.”

One of the interviewers, the man who had been mostly quiet until now, finally looked up from his notes. He had a faint furrow in his brow as he leaned forward slightly.

"You speak well," he said, voice calm but edged. "And you clearly know how to navigate people. But…" He tapped his pen lightly on the table. “Don’t get your hopes up too high just because you can read people or say the right things under pressure.”

Y/N’s expression stiffened.

“This job isn’t built on kindness and instincts alone,” the man continued. “It’s logistics. Planning. Coordination. You’re expected to juggle scheduling conflicts, location changes, live broadcast windows, visa renewals, budget reports, vehicle routes, staff rosters, costume management, health reports, backup plans, emergency plans—sometimes all in the same hour. It’s high-speed, no-hand holding, no safety net.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “I understand. I know I don’t have all of that knowledge yet, but I’m willing to—”

“Yes, I know you’re willing to learn,” the man cut in, his voice even but firm. “But this isn’t a school.”

He leaned forward slightly, the table between them feeling thinner now.

“This isn’t a university class where someone teaches you from A to Z. We don’t have the time, or the luxury. It’s just work. Fast, chaotic, unforgiving work. You either pick it up as you go or you get left behind. And if you mess up…” He paused for a moment. “It’s not just your problem. It becomes the artists’ problem.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything so far.

Y/N didn’t have anything to say this time. He just bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the weight of the warning, letting it settle into his bones.

There was no silence this time — just a small, mutual stillness. One of the women let out a quiet exhale, almost like she’d been holding it in. The man nodded once, his gaze steady.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s all from us.”

Y/N stood quickly and bowed, deeper than necessary. “Thank you for your time. Thank you for letting me speak even when I was—”

“Go,” the woman on the left cut in, but not unkindly. “Before we all change our minds.”

He blinked. Then let out a quiet, shaky breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

Just as he turned to leave, Y/N paused and looked back at them.

“Ah—sorry, just one thing. My phone isn’t working right now, so… if there’s any update, could you please contact me through the email I applied with? I don’t have a backup at the moment.”

There was a beat of silence. The middle-aged man gave a small nod. “Noted.”

That was it. No smile, no comment—just a quiet acknowledgment.

Y/N gave a final bow again. “Thank you for your time.”

As he stepped out of the room, the hallway lights felt too bright, too white. He didn’t know what to make of what just happened. Didn’t know if he did well, or if he’d just embarrassed himself trying.

But he hadn’t backed down. He’d stayed honest. Said what he believed.

And as he walked away, unsure of what came next… that was the only thing he could hold on to.

As Y/N stepped out of the elevator and into the spacious lobby, his steps gradually slowed. The weight of the long day had started to settle into his shoulders, but something else tugged at his thoughts—something small, but persistent.

He hadn’t properly thanked her.

Turning around briefly, he glanced toward the hallway he came from, half-considering trying to find her again. But the place was a maze, and he didn’t even know where she had gone. With a quiet sigh, he made his way toward the front counter near the building’s entrance.

A woman sat behind the desk, typing something into her computer. She looked up as he approached.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Uh… yeah, sorry.” He offered her a polite nod, adjusting his posture. “I know this might sound a bit odd, but… is there a staff member here named Harin?”

Her expression shifted into something between curiosity and caution. “And who are you?”

“My name’s Y/N. I had an interview just now, and… she helped me find the way. I was kind of a mess when I got here. I didn’t get the chance to thank her properly.”

The woman studied him for a moment, clearly debating whether this was some strange excuse or something sincere. After a beat, her expression eased.

“I think I remember. You two rushed through the lobby earlier, right?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. That was us.”

“What did you want exactly?”

“Nothing much, honestly,” he said. “I just… wanted to ask if you could pass along a message. Just to say thank you. For helping me, even when she didn’t have to.”

There was a moment of pause before she gave a small shrug. “Alright. I’ll let her know.”

Y/N let out a soft breath and bowed slightly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

With that, he stepped back and headed toward the glass doors. The sky had dimmed outside, casting the street in early evening tones. And though the outcome of the day was still uncertain, there was a quiet sense of relief in knowing he had at least done this one thing right.

The moment Y/N stepped outside the building, it felt like the world finally gave him permission to breathe.

He tilted his head back slightly, took in a deep inhale, and let it out slow. The city was still buzzing around him—cars rolling past, conversations drifting in waves, horns and footsteps and life all moving on as if nothing in the world had changed. But something had shifted inside him.

That was when it hit him.

The exhaustion.

It came crashing down like a slow, heavy wave—no warning, no chance to brace for it. His legs felt heavier than they had a moment ago, his arms loose at his sides, and his mind buzzing with the dull hum of everything that had just happened. The sleepless nights, the rush to make it here, the stress, the ache in his feet from walking too far in shoes too thin—all of it had stacked up quietly behind his determination.

Now that he had nothing left to chase, the weight caught up to him.

He stood still for a long second, blinking at the sky. The clouds had deepened into a soft charcoal gray, swallowing what little daylight remained. People still hurried past him, brushing by with backpacks, coffee cups, business calls echoing from phone screens. But he felt… still. Like he didn’t quite belong in the motion anymore.

What now?

He didn’t know. He really didn’t. There was no sense of victory. No relief. But no defeat either. Just this strange, quiet blankness—the kind that came after giving everything you had and still not knowing whether it would be enough.

His fingers twitched slightly as he curled them into his palms. He looked one more time at the building behind him, then turned away.

He started walking—slowly, this time—blending back into the city’s rhythm, heading toward his dorm.

—-

By the time Harin reached the practice room, the sounds of idle conversation and warm-up stretches greeted her. The four members of Aespa were already inside, scattered around the room in their usual rhythm—Karina doing slow stretches by the mirror, Giselle sitting cross-legged and scrolling through her phone, Ningning humming as she adjusted her in-ears, and Winter, quietly tying her shoes by the wall.

Giselle looked up first when Harin entered. “Unnie, who was that guy you were with earlier?”

Ningning perked up at the mention, spinning around with interest. “Yeah, we saw you walking in with someone. Looked kinda rushed.”

Harin blinked, not surprised they caught it. “Oh, that? Just someone who asked for help. He was late for a manager interview.”

“For real?” Ningning tilted her head. “Was he Korean?”

“Not sure,” Harin replied as she stepped further into the room. “His Korean was decent, but his accent definitely sounded foreign.”

Karina, stretching her arms out, glanced over. “Was it for that opening you told us about? The one possibly for our team?���

“If I remember the paper he showed me right… yeah, I think so.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “Can foreigners even join the management team?”

Harin shrugged as she opened her tablet. “It’s possible. Not common, but not impossible. That’s more HR’s call than mine.”

Giselle leaned forward slightly. “So the interview’s over?”

“Yeah,” Harin nodded. “All the candidates went in already. The team will evaluate everyone today or tomorrow.”

No one said anything after that. The room returned to its earlier calm as they each sank into their own space again. The quiet was filled only with the subtle scuff of sneakers on polished wood and the low hum of the speaker system booting up.

Harin settled into her usual spot near the wall, tapping through the schedule on her tablet.

Before she could focus, though, her eyes flicked to Winter.

The girl hadn’t said a word through the entire conversation. She wasn’t looking at anyone, wasn’t frowning or smiling—just calmly lacing up her shoes, almost detached. But Harin noticed. She always noticed.

She knew the reason why…. but chose not to hold onto it for long.

—-

A few days passed.

With each silent hour, the hope inside Y/N began to fade a little more. There had been no call, no email—nothing. And without a working phone, there wasn’t much else he could do but wait and wonder. Had they forgotten him? Or worse, had they already made their choice?

He told himself not to think about it. He had other things to focus on—classes, assignments, surviving day by day. So when the university’s computer lab finally reopened after maintenance, he slipped in quietly, found an empty seat, and logged in. The screen glowed to life.

First thing he did was check his email. Just another day, just another assignment waiting for him.

But then— His breath caught.

His eyes stuck on the screen.

An email. From SM Entertainment.

He froze. For a second, he just stared at it, heart pounding in his chest. A dozen thoughts rushed through his mind, each louder than the last. Then, with trembling fingers, he clicked it open.

.

.

Congratulations. After careful evaluation, we are pleased to inform you…

And there it was.

Words he had to reread. Once. Twice. Three times. Until they finally sank in.

He got it.

He got the job.

His chest caved in with a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A strangled laugh crawled out of his throat, mixed with something dangerously close to a sob. His hands flew to his face, clutching it like he could hold himself together just a second longer.

His shoulders shook. His vision blurred.

He wanted to scream. To cry. To collapse.

To run outside and yell it to the sky— That something finally went right.

After everything. After the sleepless nights, the empty stomachs, the quiet breakdowns, the way the world seemed like it was closing in on him—

He made it.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a maybe. It was real.

He whispered it to himself, over and over again, just to believe it.

“I got it… I really got it…”

For the first time in a long, long time— Hope didn’t feel like a lie.

…

To be continued... --

Notes,

Thank you once again for taking your time reading this story.

I just wanted to take a moment to sincerely apologize for how long it took to finally release this chapter. I know the wait has been long, and truthfully, this chapter didn’t turn out the way I hoped. It feels messy, a bit rushed, and far from my best work.

I’m also sorry for stepping away from this story for so long without any updates. Coming back after that break with a chapter that feels less than average is something I feel bad about—but I still wanted to share it, even if it’s imperfect.

Thank you so much for your patience, for reading, and for sticking with this story. I hope, despite everything, you still found something to enjoy in it.

More to come soon—hopefully better.

[skeletonh0e]

A little request relating to the weather I’m dealing with the rn.

The boys reacting to their first thunderstorm/tornado. Especially with a Y/N who is just used to them. Sleeps through loud ass storms and goes through the protocol for a tornado yawning. Not ignoring the boy’s distress(if they have any) but just very used to it themselves. 🌪️⛈️

Heard about the crazy ass weather, thankfully I'm on the other side of it. Ya'll stay safe out there.

Some of these boys are gonna be IN for it considering the underground does uh, not have tornados lol. Gender neutral reader

The boys vs the Weather

Classic Sans:

He's heard of storms yeah and even made his own little tiny tornado, but uh-

The weather in the underline hardly changes and everything here is so chaotic what in the god damn

He's composed but definitely a sense of worry there

The fact you remain so chill is extremely off putting to him at first but it helps as it can show him this isn't anything to panic over

Plus also probably a good idea one of you knows what to do

Asks for advice on how you manage to sleep so peacefully through them, he'd like to do too but he'll settle for snuggling up to while you sleep waiting for it to pass

Underswap Sans:

P A N I C

The magnificent Sans isn't ready for this! What gods have the humans offended to deserve this!?

You'll have to talk him down, but thankfully it won't take him too long to recover. Though he'll be a bit jump

Listens to you explain the precautions intensely, definitely having a game plan for next time

Probably starts an epic speech about you two being the ultimate power couple going through this then yelps when something hits the window

He'll just uh....stay close to you for now

Underfell Sans:

"What the fuck is this bullshit!?"

Honestly though less anger and more genuinely being flabbergasted

And you're used to this!? Really!? You're so weird what the fuck (you will have to deal with him bitching and complaining the entire time)

Grumpily takes some safety protocols and keeps a close on the progression of the storm as if trying to determine his own right move

He can handle it and learn to adjust the best probably but still grouchy a bit

Might use it as an excuse to day drink after its over (you could both probably use it depending on the storm tbh)

Underlust Sans:

Oh he doesn't like this at all

Not shitting his pants with fear or anything but he definitely is more on edge during the whole thing

Cool that you're used to this, but he's not. Don't mind him, just idly hovering close to you constantly double checking about everything.

He'll be kinda noisy and ask how you manage to stay calm, how many times have you been through these, blah, blah

Honestly keeping him distracted with conversation will help

Maybe listen to some music with him to block out the noise while you snuggle up, he might just be able to fall asleep with you

Horrortale Sans:

The fuck? Doesn't know whether to be impressed, concerned or just annoyed by the inconvenience of it all.

Whatever he's definitely sticking near you, protective primal instincts have been activated

Won't ask for it but probably also give him some reassurance, tell him things will be fine. He naturally has come to expect the worst outcome due to trauma.

Type to stare out the window with a blank expression, just watching the harsh wind tearing everything to shreds....it's a little concerning....

Silent for the most part but does occasionally ask questions and ask if you're okay

Glad you're calm but also wants be there for you too

Fresh Sans:

Here comes the hurricane bitch(tm) starts playing

Okay there's A LITTLE concern, less on his end and more for your own but the fact that you're just chill about it kinda puts him at ease

But ya know....he can dimension jump, you really don't gotta deal with it.

You don't wanna end up in Oz (though he'll happily be the wizard while you're dorothy or...the scarecrow?....or something idk the reference joke got away from him)

Might wanna keep an eye on him though as he gonna skateboard in a tornado if you ain't looking but also he like nearly completely indestructible so

Might hover over you while you sleep through an particularly extreme storm, a rare protective moment from him

Killer Sans:

Pretty.....

Like actually low key fascinated by storm and the sheer amount of destruction they cause, the type to watch the forecast of the outcomes the same way ppl might watch a light show

Maybe if you freaked out he'd be a bit worried but for the most part you seem to know what you're doing so-

As long as you aren't in any active harm or visible distress

He's content to just watch the storms and the panic they cause

Though of course he can always use his short cuts to get you out of there if worst comes to worst

Dust Sans:

Nooooope

Too much anxiety for this, the two of you are LEAVING

You're uh, kinda not given much of the choice in the matter.

If you insist on staying anyway, he might just let you with a huffy "have fun dying" before he storms off

Uh lil reminder none of the bad sanses are 100% healthy partners

He will actually come to your rescue if the storm is extremely severe to the point you might be in legit danger, but even ignoring that he'll do something to apologize non verbally. What kind of depends on how salty you are about it.

Nightmare Sans:

Also in the camp of "not dealing with this" and instantly drags you to his realm

If you try to stay, well here's the thing-

He's not asking

Also not the healthiest partner out there but this is all coming from a good place. Besides he's not wrong in that this is the easiest option

Stay in his castle, everything is handled.

Admittedly a little.....impressed? (For lack of a better word) by your abilitt to stay calm even during such extreme storms though even if he doesn't experience this side of you fully

[elikajinnie]

Note: Hello! Just posting this birthday fic before I start my journey to London! Happy birthday @ikeuverse !!! luv u bay boo <3 Hope you enjoy this dark fic as a present!

Warnings: Office au, Violence, Obsession, Suggestive Content, Needy Behaviour, Pet names, Blood, Choking, Crazy Man in Love, Murder

Synopsis: Jay prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions and impulses in check, even the ones dark enough to ruin his image. But every man has a breaking point, and his was you. You awaken something in him—something unstrained and dangerous.

Jay considered himself a patient man—steadfast, composed, and reliable in almost any situation. A colleague dumping extra workload on him? No problem, he could stay an extra hour to finish it. The coffee machine running out right before his turn? He’d refill it without complaint. His computer crashing, and IT dragging their feet to fix it? Fine, he could manage.

He could handle all of it.

But what he couldn’t handle—what made his patience snap like a dry twig—was seeing someone ruin your day.

You, the person who had his heart entirely, even if you didn’t know it yet.

The first day you’d walked into the office, he swore it was love at first sight. There was something about you—so effortlessly beautiful, so free yet reserved. You weren’t loud or attention-seeking like some of the others in the office. You simply came in, did your work and left.

And the fact that you didn’t talk to many of your colleagues? That you seemed to reserve most of your conversations for him?

That pleased him more than he’d care to admit.

Because the truth was, Jay wasn’t a good man. Not in the way people thought. He wore the mask of the perfect coworker, the dependable guy, the one you could always count on. But underneath, in the shadows of his mind, there were thoughts he’d never dare to voice. Things no one needed to know.

They didn’t need to know what he thought when he saw someone laughing too loudly near your desk, stealing your attention away from him. They didn’t need to know how his jaw tightened when another colleague asked you out for lunch, or how his stomach churned when you smiled politely but didn’t refuse.

And they definitely didn’t need to know what he imagined doing to the coworker who’d made you frown earlier today.

It wasn’t much—just a small comment, a careless remark about your work that Jay knew wasn’t fair. But he saw the way your shoulders slumped, the way your smile faltered for the rest of the day. It was enough to ignite something dangerous inside him, something he fought hard to suppress.

No one got to hurt you.

Jay’s hands flexed against the desk, his knuckles turning white. He took a slow, measured breath. No one had to know what was going on in his head. Not you, not the person who’d hurt you, no one.

No, no one could find out. And no one would find out.

Jay repeated that mantra in his head like a lifeline, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the desk as if the movement could ground him. If he just held his patience, if he kept his emotions under control, everything would be fine. He was good at hiding things, good at maintaining the mask of normalcy.

But he shouldn’t have underestimated how much his feelings for you overthrew his rational thinking.

It wasn’t just admiration or a harmless crush anymore. It was deeper, sharper, something that dug into his very being and left him restless. It consumed him, made him hyperaware of every glance you gave someone else, every moment you looked even the slightest bit upset.

And when he saw the person who’d hurt you walking past his desk, laughing as if they hadn’t just wrecked your mood, that feeling boiled over.

His fingers stilled, his jaw tightening. He didn’t know when he stood up or when he started walking. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to think this through, to sit back down before he did something he couldn’t take back. But that part of him was no match for the storm brewing in his chest.

He caught up to them in the hallway, his voice calm, measured, almost too controlled. “Hey.”

The coworker turned, their expression a mixture of confusion and faint unease. “Hey?”

Jay smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Got a minute?”

They hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly as if sensing something was off. Jay's smile didn't waver. "It's important," he added, voice still smooth but carrying an undertone that left little room for argument.

Reluctantly, they nodded, following him into one of the empty meeting rooms. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in a bubble of tense silence.

Jay leaned against the door casually, arms crossed, tilting his head as he studied them. "You know," he began, his tone deceptively light, "I noticed you had a lot to say to her today."

Confusion flickered in their eyes before it shifted into indifference. "What? It was just a comment. It’s not that serious."

Jay chuckled quietly, the sound low and cold. "Not serious to you, maybe."

"Look, man, if she’s upset, that’s not my problem." They moved as if to leave, but Jay didn’t budge.

His smile faded.

"See, that's where you're wrong." His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "It is your problem now."

The coworker’s bravado faltered for a second.

Jay leaned in slightly, his eyes sharp and unblinking. "I’m going to give you a piece of advice—free of charge. You’re going to stay far away from her. No comments, no jokes, no anything. Understand?"

They scoffed, trying to mask their unease. "Are you threatening me?"

Jay’s lips curled into a slow smirk. "Threatening?" He let the word hang in the air. "No. I’m just making sure we understand each other."

The tension in the room thickened. Jay didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared until the other man shifted uncomfortably.

"Fine. Whatever," they muttered, pushing past him. Jay let them go, listening to their hurried footsteps fade down the hall.

Slowly, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. The tightness in his chest eased, but only slightly.

That should be enough—for now.

But deep down, Jay knew this feeling wasn’t going away.

And to Jay's dismay, the warning didn’t stick.

The coworker didn’t stop.

Oh, they were smarter about it now—waiting until Jay wasn’t around to make their comments, keeping their voice low, making sure their jabs seemed like harmless jokes to anyone else. But Jay knew better.

Because Jay always knew.

He was always watching. Always listening.

Always watching you.

It wasn’t difficult. He knew your schedule, your habits, the way you tucked yourself into quieter corners of the office during breaks. He knew which paths you took to avoid unnecessary conversation, which meetings you hated sitting through, and which tasks weighed you down.

And he knew when something was wrong.

Like now.

Jay watched from across the office as that same coworker leaned in a little too close to you at the copier, their smirk too smug, their voice just low enough that no one else could catch the words.

But Jay could read your body language—the way you stiffened, how your eyes didn’t meet theirs, how your hands faltered as you shuffled papers.

That was enough.

Jay’s vision tunneled, the hum of the office dulling into static. His hands tightened into fists at his sides.

They thought they could get away with it, thought he wasn’t paying attention.

But Jay was always paying attention.

And now?

They’d crossed a line.

Without thinking, without hesitation, Jay was moving, his steps steady. He didn’t care about the people around him, didn’t care if anyone noticed the shift in his expression—cold, and dangerously calm.

This time, a warning wouldn’t be enough. No, this time Jay would make sure they understood.

Permanently.

His steps were silent as he closed the distance between you and the coworker.

He saw it—the subtle shift in their stance, the way their hand moved just slightly, as if they were about to reach out.

To touch you.

His.

Jay’s hand shot out, clapping down on the coworker’s shoulder with more force than necessary.

“Is there a problem here?” Jay’s voice was calm, smooth, but laced with something colder beneath the surface.

The coworker jolted slightly, caught off guard, and quickly shook their head. “No, no problem. Just talking.”

Jay’s grip didn’t loosen. His smile was polite, but his eyes were sharp, piercing. “Funny. It didn’t look like talking.”

The coworker shifted uncomfortably under his hold, glancing at you for some sort of support, but you said nothing. Jay noticed how you subtly moved closer to him, putting a few more inches of space between yourself and the other man.

Oh, how that pleased him.

Something dark and satisfied coiled deep within Jay’s chest.

You felt safe near him.

Exactly where you belonged.

Jay leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for the coworker to hear. “I think it’s best if you get back to work. Before I decide to take this to HR. I’m sure they’d love to hear about how you’ve been treating your coworkers.”

The blood drained from the man’s face. “It’s not like that—”

Jay’s grip tightened, just for a second. “Now.”

The coworker stumbled back, muttering something under their breath before practically fleeing the area.

Jay let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back, and turned his attention to you. His expression softened instantly, concern replacing the coldness in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice gentler now.

You nodded slowly, still a bit shaken. “Yeah… thanks, Jay.”

That small, grateful smile you gave him nearly made his heart stop.

“Of course,” he murmured, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch you—your hand, your arm, anything. But the way you stayed close to him, the way you trusted him to handle it?

It was more than enough for now.

Jay would deal with the persistent coworker in due time.

He was a patient man, after all. He could bide his time, wait for the perfect moment—when there were no interruptions, no prying eyes, and no one to witness what he intended to do.

Because Jay hated repeating himself.

The coworker hadn’t heeded his warning, and now Jay had to escalate things. He didn’t want to resort to this, but they’d left him no choice.

For you, though? It was worth it.

It was always worth it.

Jay kept his routine flawless, his demeanor at work unbothered and professional. No one suspected a thing as he continued his tasks, chatting with colleagues, even offering his usual polite smile to you when you passed by his desk.

But beneath the surface, he was calculating.

When the time came, it was almost too easy.

The coworker stayed late one evening, likely trying to catch up on the workload they’d neglected while harassing others. Jay lingered too, casually packing his things, waiting for the office to empty out. When the last employee left and it was just the two of them, Jay approached. “Working late?” he asked, his tone friendly but his eyes sharp.

The coworker glanced up, startled, before nodding hesitantly. “Yeah, just finishing up.”

Jay nodded, stepping closer, his presence filling the room. “That’s good. Means we have a chance to chat without anyone interrupting.”

The coworker stiffened, the unease in their expression growing. “Look, if this is about previously—”

“Oh, it’s definitely about previously.” Jay’s voice dropped, losing any trace of friendliness. He leaned down, placing his hands flat on the desk. “I warned you, didn’t I?” His voice was quiet, almost conversational, but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone. “I told you to stay away from her. No comments. No games. Nothing.”

The coworker stammered, trying to explain, but Jay cut him off.

“And yet, you didn’t listen. You thought I was bluffing.” He straightened, his gaze cold and unyielding. “I never bluff.”

The coworker’s mouth moved, spitting out excuses—something about misunderstanding, about it being harmless—but Jay wasn’t listening.

Not really.

He only pretended to listen, his expression carefully composed, nodding faintly as if he was weighing the words.

But his eyes drifted, scanning the dim office. The quiet hum of machines in sleep mode filled the space. The hall was empty. The cleaning crew wouldn’t arrive for a few hours.

Perfect.

His hand moved slowly, deliberately, fingers curling around the cold metal of the stapler sitting carelessly on the edge of the desk. He gripped it tightly, feeling the weight of it, the solid heft pressing into his palm.

And his mind spiraled.

You.

You, who always greeted him first in the morning, your voice soft but warm.

You, who smiled at him every time he placed your favorite drink on your desk, pretending it was nothing.

You, who leaned in close to help him when the printer jammed, your fingers brushing his.

You, who tensed, shoulders rising when this man got too close, discomfort flashing in your eyes.

You. You. You.

Everything about Jay had become built around you.

Every thought. Every choice. Every breath.

And if making you happy meant eliminating what made you uncomfortable, what hurt you… then it was simple.

Jay’s grip on the stapler tightened.

Without hesitation, without a second thought, he swung.

The solid crack of metal against bone echoed in the empty office. The coworker barely had time to cry out before Jay brought the stapler down again. And again.

Each hit was harder than the last, fueled by something dark and burning inside him.

You.

Even when the coworker’s body slumped, weak and broken, Jay didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not until the coworker was nothing more than a twisted, crumpled body on the cold office floor—still, silent, and broken.

Jay slowly straightened up, his breathing steady, calm. The bloodied stapler slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull, wet thud.

He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it back casually, not caring about the smears of blood staining his skin or clothes.

His eyes stayed fixed on the body.

Unmoving. Silent.

Good.

His mind, once a storm of spiraling thoughts, was quiet now. Peaceful.

A slow, satisfied smile crept onto his lips.

This was right.

This was necessary.

He tilted his head slightly, admiring his work for a moment longer before pulling himself away.

No panic. No guilt.

Just clarity.

Because now, the problem was gone.

And you—sweet, perfect you—would never have to feel uncomfortable again.

Jay turned away, already thinking about how easily this would disappear.

He was careful. He was smart.

And most importantly, he was patient.

No one would know.

And tomorrow, when you smiled at him in the office, when you thanked him for the coffee, when you leaned close to help him with the printer—he would smile back.

Because this?

This was all for you.

And you would never need to know.

At least that was what he planned, until the sharp, broken sound of a gasp shattered the stillness.

Jay’s head snapped toward the sound.

There you were.

Frozen by the exit, your coat still on, bag slung over your shoulder—just as it had been when you left the office an hour ago.

But you hadn’t left.

Or maybe you had and come back.

Why?

Jay’s mind, so quiet a moment ago, now whirled with questions.

Why were you back?

How much had you seen?

How long had you been standing there?

Your wide, horrified eyes flicked between the mangled body on the floor and Jay’s bloodied figure.

His chest rose slowly with a deep, steady breath.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

For a fleeting second, Jay considered stepping forward, saying something—anything—but his feet remained planted.

The silence between you stretched painfully thin.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Jay’s mind sharpened, cutting through the static.

He couldn’t let you be afraid of him.

Not you.

Slowly, deliberately, Jay raised his blood-streaked hands in front of him, palms out as if calming a startled animal. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and soft. “I can explain.”

But could he?

Could he explain that this was for you? That every swing of that stapler, every brutal hit, was to protect you?

Would you understand?

His heart beat steadily in his chest, not with panic—but with focus.

This was just another problem to solve.

Like the one lying cold and unmoving on the floor.

Jay’s eyes didn’t leave yours. He smiled. Slowly. Softly. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he murmured.

Now, he had to decide what to do next. With you.

His jaw clenched as he prepared himself for the worst.

The scream.

The panic.

The rush for your phone to call the police.

He was ready to take it all.

If you ran, he wouldn’t chase.

If you screamed, he wouldn’t silence you.

Because he had done what needed to be done. He had removed the problem.

For you.

But then—

You did something he never expected.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the ground with a soft thud.

Slowly, cautiously, you stepped toward him.

Jay didn’t move.

Not when your trembling hands reached up. Not when your soft fingers cupped his blood-smeared cheeks.

Your eyes searched his, wide and filled with something between fear and disbelief. “Jay…” you whispered, barely audible. “What… what did you do?”

Jay blinked, his breath shallow under your touch. His lips parted, and the words spilled out. “I… I did it for you.” His voice was quiet. “He wouldn’t leave you alone. He didn’t listen. I… I had to stop him.”

The room seemed to freeze.

You didn’t recoil.

You didn’t scream.

You just stared, shocked, processing the weight of his words.

Jay searched your face, looking for disgust, horror—anything. But it wasn’t there. And that broke something inside him.

Before you could speak, before doubt could flicker in your eyes, Jay moved. His arms shot forward, wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. One hand slid up, cradling the back of your head, gently but firmly turning your face away from the mangled body on the floor.

“You shouldn’t look at that,” he murmured against your hair, his voice softer now but tinged with something.

Protective.

Possessive.

His grip tightened, holding you like you might slip away.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Jay whispered, his thumb brushing against your temple. “You’re mine to protect. No one gets to make you uncomfortable. Not him. Not anyone.”

He held you close, his body warm and solid against yours, his gaze piercing as if he could see into the deepest parts of your soul. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “You don’t need to be scared.” He closed his eyes, savoring how perfectly you fit in his arms.

He’d do anything to keep you here.

Anything.

His hand slowly stroked the back of your head, a soothing motion that contrasted sharply with the violence that had just taken place. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t run.

Jay’s grip tightened, his mind racing. Maybe you understood. Maybe deep down, you knew he had done this for you. “I… I couldn’t let him near you anymore,” he confessed, voice barely a whisper. “He didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away.

Jay’s hand, still cradling your head, slid down to gently cup your cheek—thumb brushing over your skin, leaving a faint smear of blood. “But it’s okay now,” he murmured, tilting his head. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding, for acceptance.

And when you still didn’t pull away, when your body stayed close to his—Jay’s lips curved into a slow smile. “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked softly, almost childlike in tone. His fingers pressed just slightly against your skin, his need for reassurance growing heavier. “Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know I did this for you.”

The room seemed to close in, the silence suffocating. But Jay’s breath was steady, his hold firm.

He would wait.

He was patient.

But not forever.

Not with you.

Because now that you knew, now that you had seen this part of him, he couldn’t let you go.

And if you didn’t say what he needed to hear… Well.

Jay could be persuasive.

“I… I believe you,” you whispered eventually, the words shaky, barely holding together.

And that was enough.

Enough for Jay.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something unhinged sparking within them.

A slow, shaky breath left his lips as a grin stretched across his face—wide, relieved, and far too dangerous. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured.

In one slow, fluid motion, his blood-slicked hand slid to the side of your neck, fingers curling possessively around your throat. He then leaned in, so close that your noses brushed, his breath hot against your lips. “Say it again,” he whispered, voice cracking with need. “Please… say it again.”

You gasped softly, wide-eyed, frozen beneath the weight of his stare. But before you could form another word, Jay couldn’t wait anymore. His lips crashed into yours, desperate and unrelenting. It wasn’t a kiss meant to be sweet or careful—it was starving, as if he was finally taking something he’d been denied for far too long.

His other arm tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, crushing you against him as he groaned into your mouth, the sound guttural, like he’d been holding it in for years.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath, your hands instinctively clutching at his shirt as his grip on your neck tightened—not to hurt, but to keep you there, to feel you.

His lips moved hungrily against yours, consuming, devouring, as if this kiss could erase everything else.

The blood on his hands smeared against your skin, staining you, marking you as his. And that thought—oh, that thought—made Jay shudder.

Finally, finally, you were his.

His lips moved to brush against your ear as he whispered, his voice heavy with desire. “You’ll never have to worry again, do you understand?”

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. His hand, still resting on your neck, felt like a constant reminder of how much he owned this moment. How much he owned you.

You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat, overwhelmed by his presence, and the weight of everything that had just happened.

And Jay noticed.

A flicker of understanding crossed his face, and his lips curled into a grin. “I know you’re shocked,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur. “I know. But you don’t have to be. Not anymore.” His thumb brushed over your lips, tracing the curve, as if memorizing every part of you. There was no room for doubt anymore. This was what he’d been working for. What he’d needed to do to make you his.

The thought of you, fully his, made him tremble.

And there was nothing left but the need to keep you close, to never let you go.

Jay gently pulled you back, guiding you until your back met the wall behind you. His lips found yours again—feverish, desperate. The kiss was a claim, a mark, an ownership. He wanted to feel you beneath him, to know that no one else would ever get to see you like this. His kiss deepened, growing rougher, more demanding, as though he could pour every dark thought and overwhelming need into you.

Jay wanted more.

No—he needed more.

The thought of anyone else seeing you like this, touching you, even looking at you—it made his grip tighten, made his breath grow heavier.

His mouth trailed down, kissing along your jaw, to the soft skin just below your ear. He lingered there, lips brushing your pulse, his teeth grazed your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. That sound—your gasp—ignited something in him.

He wanted to burn himself into you.

To make sure you would never forget.

Jay’s lips crashed back onto yours, fiercer, deeper, as if he could devour every breath you took.

“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, his voice low and rough. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your waist so tightly it almost hurt, the other wrapped firmly around your throat. “Baby…” he murmured between kisses, lips barely pulling away before claiming you again.

You gasped, trying to pull back, your hands pressing against his chest. “Jay—”

But his grip on your throat tightened, holding you in place as he swallowed your protest with another bruising kiss. “Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice dripping with hunger. “Don’t say my name like that. Makes me crazy.” His lips dragged along your jaw, down to your neck, where he bit down—not too hard, but hard enough to make you whimper. “Good girl,” he breathed, lips curling into a dark smile against your skin.

You squirmed slightly, your hands trembling as they gripped his arms. “Jay...please—”

“Oh, princess, now you beg?” he chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hand still cradled your throat, his thumb brushing along your pulse. “You’re not going anywhere.” Then his mouth was on yours again, more desperate, more claiming. “My sweet girl,” he mumbled.

You tried to turn your head, tried to catch your breath, but Jay wouldn’t let you. His grip on your throat kept you exactly where he wanted you.“Don’t pull away,” he groaned, biting your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“You belong here. With me.”

Another kiss.

“You understand that, don’t you, baby?” His hand flexed on your throat, a silent warning. His breath was ragged, lips swollen, eyes dark with obsession.

Jay wasn’t asking this time.

He was demanding.

And he wasn’t going to stop until you gave him what he wanted.

Until you surrendered.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as Jay’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse race. His thumb stroked your skin slowly, in stark contrast to the desperate, punishing kisses he pressed against your lips.

“Say it,” he murmured again, lips ghosting over yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You swallowed hard, the words tangled in your throat. “I`m—”

That was all you managed before his hand flexed. “No, baby,” he rasped, his tone unyielding. “Not like that.” His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. “Say it like you mean it,” he whispered against your mouth. “Tell me you belong to me like you mean it.” Jay’s breath turned ragged, his grip trembling slightly as if even he was starting to lose control. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible but heavy with desperation. His thumb brushed over your pulse point, feeling it quicken under his touch. "I need to hear it. Need you to say it."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. The hesitation in your eyes made something in him crack.

"Baby," he breathed out shakily. "You're mine. Mine. I'll say it a thousand times, scream it until my throat bleeds if I have to." His voice was hoarse and strained. "But I need you to say it back. Just once. Please."

His lips ghosted over yours, softer now, but his hands trembled where they held you. "Tell me you belong to me. Tell me before I lose my mind." His lips pressed desperately against your jaw, your cheek, your lips—frantic, as if trying to draw the words from you. "I can't—" he choked, pulling back just enough to search your eyes. "I can't breathe without you. Just say it, baby. Please."

"Say you're mine."

Every time you tried to pull away, tried to catch your breath, Jay wouldn’t allow it. His grip on your throat anchored you, holding you exactly where he wanted you—his. “Come on, princess,” he murmured. “You know it’s true. You’ve always been mine.”

His lips brushed over your cheek, down to your ear.

“Mine to protect.”

Another kiss, softer this time.

“Mine to touch.”

His hand squeezed your hip, dragging you impossibly closer.

“Mine to love.”

The way he said it—love—sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was dark, consuming.

You felt breathless, overwhelmed.

And yet… you didn’t speak.

Jay leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his own burning with need. “I won’t ask again, baby,” he murmured, voice like velvet over steel. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, smearing blood along your skin.

“Say it.”

And in that suffocating silence, with his grip steady and his eyes locked on yours, you knew you had no choice.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Like he would burn the world down if you didn’t.

Your breath trembled, your mind spinning. Jay’s hand on your throat was firm, his body pressed so tightly against yours that there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Say it.

His words echoed in your head, each one heavier than the last. And somehow, despite the fear, despite the chaos in your chest, your lips parted. “I…” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Jay’s grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make your pulse quicken. “Louder, sweetheart.” His voice was a low growl, his lips brushing against yours. “Say it so I know it’s real.”

Your chest heaved, and for a brief second, your gaze flickered to the dark stain on the floor behind him. The body. The blood.

But then Jay’s hand shifted, his thumb stroking along your jaw, pulling your attention back to him.

To the man who had done all of this for you.

To the man who would do it again.

And something inside you cracked.

“I’m yours,” you breathed.

Jay froze.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence between you.

Then, slowly, his lips pulled into a wicked, satisfied smile.

“That’s my girl.”

Before you could take another breath, his mouth was on yours again, brutal and hungry. His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, his other hand still warm and solid around your throat.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he muttered between kisses, voice rough and uneven. “Hearing you say it…fuck...” He kissed you again, harsher this time, as if the words you spoke had completely undone him.

Jay was losing control, and he didn’t care.

Because now you were his.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, making sure you felt every inch of his need. “Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing over your cheek, down to your neck. His teeth scraped against your skin, sending a shiver through you.

“Jay—”

He growled at the sound of his name, his hand around your throat flexing.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

Jay let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours as he laughed—low, dark, and completely unhinged.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, “you’re mine.” His breath grew heavier, ragged against your skin.

Being this close—feeling you against him, hearing you say you were his—shattered whatever thread of control he had left.

His mind spiraled, drowning in the intoxicating thought that you belonged to him.

Only him.

His mouth smashed against yours again, bruising and desperate, like he was trying to crawl inside you, to erase any space that could ever exist between you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

Jay broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his hands roaming everywhere—gripping, pulling, needing. His lips found your jaw, your neck, biting and kissing until your skin bloomed with marks.

“You don’t understand what you do to me,” he growled, his teeth scraping along your throat. “I can’t think when I’m around you. I can’t fucking breathe without wanting to touch you.”

His hands gripped the fabric of your clothes so tightly they shook, like he might rip them off just to feel more of you. “Fuck, baby…” His voice cracked, breath ragged. “I need you. Right now.”

His mouth found yours again, messier this time, all teeth and tongue and need.

You whimpered, trying to turn your head, overwhelmed by how hard he was pressing you into the wall.

But Jay wasn’t having it.

His hand shot up, fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back to meet his lips again. “Don’t pull away from me.” His voice was a warning, but there was something desperate beneath it. “You said you’re mine.”

He kissed you harder, punishing, needy.

“So act like it.”

His hand slid under your shirt, rough and fast, gripping your skin like he could mold you into him, his mind spinning with every sound you made, every shiver he felt under his hands.

And it still wasn’t enough.

“I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

“I want them to look at you and know they’ll never fucking have you.”

His grip on your waist tightened, his breathing quick and shallow.

“Because you’re mine.”

Jay’s lips crashed into yours again, wild and unrelenting, his hands gripping you like he’d fall apart if he let go.

And in that moment, you realized—

There was nothing left of Jay’s control.

Only you.

Only this.

And he would burn everything down to keep it.

...and the twisted part? You didn’t feel guilty. Not even a little.

The memory of that night lingered like smoke in the back of your mind, heavy and intoxicating. Jay’s wild energy, the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world—sent a shiver down your spine every time you thought about it.

The office had grown quieter since then. People whispered about the sudden disappearance of your colleague, speculating everything from a sudden transfer to something more sinister. You kept your head down, your lips sealed, and Jay? Jay acted like nothing had ever happened, except when it came to you.

You felt him everywhere. His gaze burned into you during meetings, his hand brushed yours at the coffee machine, his voice low and dangerous when he spoke your name. It was suffocating and addictive all at once.

“You’re distracted,” Jay murmured one afternoon, his voice startling you. He was leaning against your desk, his tie slightly loosened, looking every bit like the confident, composed professional everyone thought he was. But his eyes—they told a different story. They always did.

“I’m just tired,” you lied, trying to focus on your computer screen, though the heat of his presence made it impossible.

“Liar.” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it. He leaned closer, his fingers trailing along the edge of your desk. “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t need one. Jay was good at reading you, too good.

“You should come by my place tonight,” he said casually, like he was suggesting something as mundane as grabbing a coffee. But there was nothing casual about the way his fingers brushed your wrist, the way his tone promised so much more than just conversation.

“Why?” you managed to ask, your voice steadier than you thought possible.

“Because,” he said, his lips curling into that devilish smirk that always sent your thoughts spiraling, “I like having you close. And you like it too, don’t you?”

There it was—Jay’s true colors, bold and unapologetic. He was dangerous, unrelenting, and completely unhinged. And yet, you couldn’t say no.

Because deep down, a part of you liked it. Maybe even loved it.

That night, you found yourself outside Jay’s apartment door, your heart pounding harder than you’d ever admit. You hadn’t even fully decided to come until your legs had taken you here on autopilot. Something about the way he consumed you, mind and soul, left no room for logical thought.

Before you could knock, the door swung open. Jay stood there, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his chest, his hair slightly disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it.

“You’re late,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“You didn’t give me a time,” you shot back, feigning confidence you didn’t really feel.

He chuckled low, a sound that made your stomach flip. “Touché. Come in.”

You stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind you, the sound feeling heavier than it should have. His place was exactly what you expected—sleek, modern, and meticulously clean, but somehow it still felt like him. The air was warm, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered everywhere, pulling you further under his spell.

“Drink?” he offered, already heading toward the kitchen.

“No, I’m good,” you replied, shifting awkwardly on your feet.

He returned moments later, empty-handed, but his eyes were locked on you like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re tense,” he observed, closing the space between you in a few long strides.

“I wonder why,” you said sarcastically, though your voice wavered.

Jay tilted his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “What? Are you scared?”

Your breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers ghosting over your jaw before tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be,” he murmured, his voice soft. “I’d never hurt you.”

The way he said it, so certain and sincere, made your chest ache. It was the truth, but it was also a lie. Jay would never hurt you, no. But the lengths he’d go to for you? Those would destroy everything—and everyone—in his path.

“I should go,” you said, the words barely audible, even to yourself.

“But you won’t.” His hands were on your waist now, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat radiating off him. “Because you don’t want to.”

He was right. You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to run. You wanted him, in all his terrifying, obsessive glory.

“Jay—”

“Shh.” He silenced you with a kiss, his lips rough and demanding, stealing whatever protests you thought you had. His hands gripped you tighter, his body pressing yours against the wall as if he couldn’t stand even a fraction of space between you.

You let yourself melt into him, into the chaos and the fire. Because with Jay, that’s all there ever was—chaos and fire.

And, God help you, you craved it.

Jay’s kisses grew wilder, more desperate, like he was a man starved, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His grip on your waist tightened, almost bruising, and his body pressed you harder against the wall, leaving no room to breathe—not that you cared.

“It’s been too long,” he rasped against your lips, his voice raw with need. His hands roamed over you, searing through the fabric of your clothes. “So beautiful...”

Your response came out as a broken gasp when his teeth grazed your neck, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue. His hands tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch into him, and his low growl sent shivers down your spine.

“Jay—” you managed to choke out, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance as his lips trailed down your neck to your collarbone.

“I can’t stop,” he confessed, his voice strained like he was losing a battle with himself. “Not when it’s you. Never when it’s you.”

His words ignited something deep inside you, both fear and exhilaration that only Jay could elicit. He lifted you effortlessly as he carried you toward the couch, his eyes never leaving yours.

He laid you down gently, hovering over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “You don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, his weight pressing you into the cushions, his lips trailing a path down your jawline.

“It’s been too long since I could touch you like this,” he murmured, his voice rough and shaky. “Too long since I could feel you, taste you, claim you.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into his touch. His hand slid under your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours making you shiver.

“Say you want this,” he demanded, his voice low but commanding. “Say you want me.”

“I do,” you whispered, the words barely audible but enough to send a dark smile curling his lips.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he growled, and then he was kissing you again, harder, deeper, as if he was trying to consume every part of you.

And you let him, because in that moment, Jay was everything—your fire, your chaos, your undoing.

a/n: Happy birthday bayyy! Hope today goes amazing for you! Love yaaa <333

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[saturnville]

georgia peach.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc (lola monroe) summary: he's a boy from london. she's a girl from georgia, and she's a sight to behold. warnings: none. reference: georgia peach by latto tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neewrites @cocobutterqwueen an: we may expand on this, we may not. depends on the reception of it all. enjoy

The lights were dim. The air was thick with the smell of expensive champagne, spilled Crown Royal, and the low hum of conversation and loud laughs among the guest’s inhabitants. It was another spring night among socialites, close friends, and acquaintances. A get-together to welcome the warm weather and good vibes. It just so happened to have fallen on a day when he won the race. The thrill of victory seemed routine; ass-kissers and loud claps on his back and shoulders of pride and congratulations. Not much seemed to change. Until she walked in. 

The room seemed to tilt the moment her silhouette appeared in the doorway. His head snapped to the entrance, and for a moment, the chaos of the function faded into the background. He was unfamiliar with her, but she was nothing like the women who usually orbited his world. There was a southern sway in her walk that was slow, deliberate, and oozing with confidence. Her hips curved in ways that made his heart race, and the sparkle from the grillz that adorned her teeth caught the low light, matching his own. 

Then, she spoke.

“Y’all out here celebrating without me?” Her voice was a melody of sweet Southern charm, the accent like honey on his ears.

He had seen her, but never like this. The rumors floated around about her—some girl from Georgia who had recently taken the marketing world by storm—but he had never paid much attention. Tonight, though, she was all he could see.

Lewis tried to remain composed, but when her eyes met his, a slow smile curled her lips, revealing those grillz. Damn. She wore them better than he ever could. She was temptation incarnate, and he knew he was in trouble the moment she began to walk toward him, her scent intoxicatingly close. Every step she took seemed to pull him further into her orbit, until they were standing face to face, inches apart.

“I hear you’re the man of the hour.” Her tone was teasing, like she already knew the effect she had on him. “Congratulations.”

His usual quick wit abandoned him. He nodded, eyes fixated on hers. He couldn't help but notice the way her lips parted slightly as she spoke, the smooth cadence of her voice. The thickness of her lip gloss caught his eye. And her curves, unapologetically bold, made his palms itch. He wanted to reach out, to feel if the softness he imagined matched what he saw.

"That’s what they say." He finally managed, his voice a little rougher than intended.

She smirked, catching him in a moment of weakness. "You gonna stand there all night, or offer me a drink?"

Lewis chuckled. “What’s your preference?” He led her to the bar which was littered with half-empty glasses and covered with sticky liquid, sugar, and failed date requests. The smell was strong, to which he grimanced. She raised an eyebrow. “Not a drinker?” 

Lewis shook his head. “Gave it up a while ago.”

She nodded once. She, too, gave up drinking, at least frequently some time ago. She had the party phase during her undergraduate and graduate days, but one day after her 30th birthday, she decided she’d only drink twice a month in social settings, with a limit of one drink. She couldn’t believe she was using her last drink pass of the month and it was only the 17th, but for a chance to see how far under his skin she could get, she’d take it. 

“Understood. I’ll take a lemon drop.” She kept her eyes on him as he interacted with the bartender on her behalf. “Thank you.” 

“So,” he started cooly. “I see your face. Don’t know your name.” 

She paused to thank the bartender, took a sip, and moaned lowly. Lewis closed his eyes momentarily. To hear that sound once again. It was quiet, but it managed to rumble his loins. “Lola Monroe,” she said after some time. 

“Lola Monroe.” Lewis tasted her name on his tongue. Savory with a hint of sweetness. There must have been some lingering beneath her seemingly hard exterior. “That’s pretty. Real pretty."

“Thank you,” she replied bashfully. She recovered quickly and brought the glass to her lips, her gaze trained on his as the rim covered the lower half of her face. Her dark eyes bore into his, and he could feel his inhibitions slipping. Her eyes were beautiful, a dark shade of brown with hints of honey that one might mistake for flirtation. She had long eyelashes, too. With every bat of them, Lewis’s knees nearly buckled. She knew how to sweep a man off his feet. 

Lewis cleared his throat and took a step toward her. He studied her reaction. She hadn’t moved an inch. “You always hold staring contests with the guys you see?” 

Lola’s lips curled into a smirk as she lowered her glass, maintaining eye contact. The corners of her mouth hinted at the mischief that swirled through her mind. She was aware of her actions. He knew it. She knew it. She tilted her head slightly, her voice low and laced with a challenge. 

“Only those who look like them can be taken down a notch…or two.” That thick, Southern draw wrapped around her words like a warm hug, but the underlying confidence did not go unnoticed. 

Lewis’s interest piqued. Not only was this woman a whirlwind, but she was not phased by him, his status, or the money in his pocket. In fact, it wasn’t of interest at all. She found joy in interacting with him as if he was just a regular guy. That drew him in. 

“Is that right?” He leaned in, testing her boundaries. His lips parted as his tongue circled on the grillz that covered his teeth. Her eyes lowered. “Are you sure you want to keep testing me, Lola?”

Lola brought her lips to the glass again, this time making sure she had his attention as her tongue caressed the rim. “Do you think you’re the only one capable of a challenge, Mr. Hamilton?” Yet again, her tone and demeanor showed she wasn’t phased by him. The tension was there, and it cut like a knife. 

The race chuckled lowly. He tried to keep his cool; he indeed did, but the attraction was undeniable. The women he’d seen were diverse, but Lola Monroe was something else. She was a force.

“Is that what you think?” His voice dropped lower, teasing the air between them. She looked him up and down, taking in his jawline and the intensity in his eyes. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips as she leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower. Her lips brushed against his ear as she said, “I don’t think. I know.”