#not one brain cell is functioning between them right now

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “distraction ”.

| summary | Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now. | cw | fluff, talkative reader. | a/n | so... is it the same ship or not?

“And you know what else?” you looked at him with raised brows, your eyes glowing with excitement, happiness, and curiosity. “The Ship of Theseus.”

“The Ship of Theseus?” he repeated, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you.

He’d been sitting there on the couch for a while now, elbow resting on the backrest, cheek nestled in the palm of his hand, just listening to you ramble with a kind of captivated patience. In the past hour alone, he’d learned that octopuses have three hearts (each with a different function), that you shouldn’t boil water in the microwave, and that there’s a post office underwater in the Bahamas. That, and a dozen other strange little facts you’d gathered from the corners of the internet or your own imagination.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[xgryffinwhore]

Study break

Summary: Johnny and his girlfriend take a break form studying to go out to eat, but it turns into something else.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, angst, mentions of violence

Word Count: 7.8k

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows of Johnny step dad, Sid’s house, lighting up the group scattered across the living room. Textbooks, notebooks, and snack wrappers were spread out around them as they attempted to cram for the upcoming biology exam. The focus had been strong at first, but as the minutes wore on, everyone’s attention started to wane.

Johnny Lawrence sat on the floor beside her, a biology textbook open in his lap, though he barely glanced at it. Every few moments, his gaze drifted to her, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. They had been dating for a few months now, but he still looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

Her friend groaned from the couch, tossing her pen aside in frustration. “Alright, seriously, does anyone understand photosynthesis?” she asked, looking around the room for help.

Johnny rolled his eyes, nudging her knee with his. “I don’t get why plants have to be so complicated,” he said with a grin, leaning closer to her as his voice softened. “You’re the smart one here—think you could explain it to me, or is my brain a lost cause?”

He slipped his hand over hers, his thumb tracing light circles against her skin. “Or,” he added in a low, conspiratorial tone, “maybe we could ditch this study session, sneak out, and grab a burger. My treat.”

He looked at her, his blue eyes full of mischief and warmth, that familiar boyish charm in his smile. It was clear that, even surrounded by friends and endless biology notes, he only had eyes for her

She blushed at his offer, it definitely wasn't rational, they're biology exam was at the end of the week. But she could hardly resist his lopsided smile, he really used his charasma to his advantage.

 "That doesn't sound terrible right now" she said quietly. 

He squeezed her hand gently, his thumb continuing to trace lazy circles on her skin as he leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper that only she could hear. “You sure?” he teased, already feeling the excitement building between them. “You *never* skip studying.”

She knows he's right, she's a little *too* academically responsible. Johnny awoke something in here that made her want to live on the edge, even if the edge was the diner. She whispered back to him, "I think I can make an exception."

“You won’t regret it,” he responded, giving her hand one last gentle squeeze before pulling back. He looked up to the group on the couch, clearing his throat loudly to draw their attention. “Hey, we’re gonna head out for a bit.”

Jimmy looked up from his notes, smirking at the couple "You sure you don't want to stick around for cell functions?" he teased. 

Johnny shot him a mocking glance, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, no thanks,” he said, making a show of closing his textbook. “If I have to hear the word *mitochondria* one more time, my brain might actually explode.”

They make their way out to Johnny's firebird, he opens the door for her as she gets in. The loud roar of his engine booming through the neighborhood. "So where are you thinking? The diner?" she asks. 

"You know me too well," he replied, jamming the keys into the ignition and revving the engine enthusiastically. "Dinner it is."

He pulled out of the driveway and into the street, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as the car picked up speed. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the neighborhood, but he barely noticed it—his focus was firmly on the road ahead and the girl beside him.

As they pulled up to the diner, Johnny got out and opened the door for her. He held the small of her back as they walked toward the restaurant, she lingered on his touch. They slide into the booth, the vinyl seats creaking softly beneath their weight. Johnny reached across the table and took her hand in his, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He had been itching to get some alone time with her all day, and now that they were finally out and away from their friends, he wasn't going to waste a single moment.

"I swear," he said, his thumb tracing small circles over the back of her hand, "I was losing my mind back there. I can only study biology for so long before I feel my brain cells start dying."

She laughed at his phrase, his little dumb blonde moments rising to meet the surface. "Isn't learning like- the opposite of your brain cells dying? They make new connections when you study, you know that right?" She chuckles at him, looking over the menu.

Johnny chuckled along with her, squeezing her hand gently. "Yeah, yeah," he said with a mock eye roll. "I know, I know. Learning is good for your brain or whatever. But you gotta admit, there's a limit to how much biology a guy can take in one day."

He leaned back against the booth, a mischievous smirk on his lips. "Besides, we both know I'm much better at other things than studying."

"Johnny, shut up" She jokes, a blush spreading across her face. She sets down the menu after she's made her decision. The waiter comes over to take food orders.

Johnny chuckled again at her blush, pride swelling within him as he saw the way her cheeks tinted pink. He was the only one who could make her flustered so easily, and he loved it.

As the waiter approached and he gave his order, he made sure to keep his hand in hers, their fingers intertwined on top of the table. Once the waiter left, he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looked at her. "You're cute when you blush, you know that?"

She darts her tongue out at him playfully, too shy to say much else. She'd always been that way, promiscuous topics making her sheepish. She loved how different they were from each other, it made their chemistry more roused.  

He could practically see the shyness radiating off of her, and he knew exactly how to push her buttons to make her more flustered.

With a devilish sparkle in his eyes, he leaned forward even further, closing the distance between them. "You know," he said in a low, teasing tone, "there are plenty of other things I'd like to see that tongue do instead of just sticking it at me."

She gave his hand a warning squeeze, she loathed how he loved to toy with her in public. "We're in a restaurant you know, people all around us" she cautioned him. 

Johnny continued to lean closer. "So?" he teased, his voice still low and suggestive. "We're in a booth in the back—they're not paying attention to us."

His gaze flicked around the room, taking in the other diners. Sure enough, they were either absorbed in their own conversations or focused on their food. He turned his attention back to her, a cocky smirk on his lips. "Nobody's gonna care if I flirt with my girlfriend."

"You're trying to kill me" she giggles, he had always been so direct. That's another reason she loved Johnny, he was bold. 

His thumb traced over her lips, his touch light but deliberate. "You know I can't help it," he murmured, his voice still holding that edge of mischief. "You're just so damn cute when you're blushing. I gotta have my fun."

The love they shared was so pure, well for most of it, she couldn't help but give him a crooked smile back. "Anyway" She says, hoping to get the heat off of herself "We still have lots of studying to do, so we better make this quick."

Johnny gave her cheek a final, affectionate caress before reluctantly pulling his hand away, a small pout on his lips. "Alright, fine," he conceded, feigning a sigh of acceptance. "I guess I can behave myself for a while."

He leaned back in his seat, unraveling his silverware with impatience. "Let's hope the food comes quickly, though. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you."

The food comes out a few moments later, it looks utterly delicious. Something about greasy diner food always makes you want to come back for more. She takes a bite of her fries and closes her eyes entranced with the salty relief. "Thank god, i'm starving" she sighed.

He picked up his burger and took a large bite, relishing the greasy, meaty taste. "Same here," he mumbled through a mouthful of food, his words muffled. "I was starving for more than just food, but this works too."

She rolled her eyes, he never stops. 

Johnny chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as she caught onto his double entendre. "What? I can't help it," he said, his voice laced with innocence. He took another bite of his burger, grinning. "You make me hungry, and not just for food."

Her faulter fake annoyance. They continue to eat, clearing their plates and sitting back completely full. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna use the bathroom before we leave, okay?" She stands up, walking to the restroom. 

Johnny watches as she gets up from the booth and heads towards the restroom. He nods in acknowledgment, his eyes following her path until she disappears behind the door. He stretches his arms above his head, the diner food sitting comfortably in his stomach as he waits for her to return.

As she finishes using the bathroom and comes out, the waiter stops her outside of the bathroom entrance. He looked around their age, probably went to North Valley. "So, what a guy like me gotta do to get your number?" he asks, a menacing smile forming across his lips. 

His question hit her like a ton of bricks, surprising her. Normally no one dared to approach her like this, but here he was. 

"Oh," she said, her voice soft as she paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, I’m actually see—" 

The words caught in her throat as his smile turned menacing, a shiver running down her spine.

"Already have a boyfriend," she finished weakly, her eyes darting around the diner. Johnny was still sitting in the booth, happily oblivious to the interaction by the bathroom.

He nodded, seeming unphased by that information. She went to sit back down, fumbling with her hands nervously, Johnny can't know, if he does, he'll flip. She collected herself and sat down, smiling sweetly at her boyfriend.

Johnny looked up as she slid back into the booth across from him, a small smile on his face. Her smile seemed forced, and her hands were fidgeting nervously in her lap.

His smile faded slightly, replaced with a hint of concern. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with worry.

She wouldn't let him know, he'd probably damn near kill the guy. He had a real bad temper, the type that he took out in karate, or it got him in trouble. "Yeah baby, everything's alright" she chirped. 

A few moments later, the waiter came by with the check, and a side of a sly smile. "Here's the bill, oh and if you change your mind" he leans in a little closer to her "My numbers on the back of the receipt." He winks, walking away. Her eyes bolt to Johnnys, she's praying he doesn't snap, not here, not now.

She gulps, this can not be good. "Johnny wait, I can explain"

Johnny's eyes darkened as he scanned the back of the receipt, finding the waiter's number scribbled on there. He slammed the check down on the table with a thud, his jaw clenching.

"Explain what?" he said through gritted teeth. "Why some guy is handing you his number and winking to you?"

Johnny sat up straighter in his seat, his body tense and coiled. He knew she'd told the guy she had a boyfriend. He trusted her. But the sight of the waiter's number and that damned wink... It unleashed something primal within him. 

"I told him I have a boyfriend!" she defended. But she knows Johnny, she's seen him beat guys to a pulp for much less.

"I know you did," he said through clenched teeth. "But that didn't stop him, did it? And you didn't tell me about it either."

"It just happened, I didn't want you to be upset Johnny" she reaches over and rubs his knuckle, its white from his grip on the table. She can tell he's trying hard to hold back.

Her touch on his knuckle was soothing, but it was like trying to cool down a raging wildfire with a squirt gun. His grip on the table loosen slightly, but his anger still simmered just below the surface. 

"I'm already upset," he muttered, his voice low and tight. "But not at you." 

He looked down at the check again, that number mocking him like a taunt.

"Just please don't do anything irrational" She begged, she knew he was beyond saving but she hoped her words would somehow get through to him. 

Her pleading words fell on deaf ears, her attempt to calm him only fueling the storm within him. The fire in his eyes flared as he clenched his fists, the rage coursing through his veins. 

"Don't do anything irrational?" he repeated, his voice barely containing the dangerous edge. "That ship already sailed, doll." 

He rose from his seat abruptly, his body tense like a spring coiled tight.

"Johnny!" she pleads, people from other tables turning their heads to watch the comotion. She can't believe that this is happening again, his hot head making him do things that he couldn't take back.

He zeroed in on the waiter as he moved across the diner, his jaw clenched tight. He could see the waiter's cocky grin from here, a target for all his pent-up frustration and anger.

"Hey, punk" he spat.

The waiter looked up, startled as Johnny approached him with menacing steps. He swallowed, a flash of fear crossing his eyes. 

"Y-yeah?" he replied nervously, his bravado vanishing under Johnny's intense gaze.

"You got a lot of nerve, handin' my girl your number like that." 

Johnny's voice was cold, his eyes narrowing as he loomed over the waiter, practically daring him to speak.

The waiter seemed to shrink under Johnny's glare, all his earlier confidence gone. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. 

Johnny continued, his voice like a razor's edge. "You thought she would be interested in you, huh? Thought you had a shot?"

The waiter found his voice again, although it trembled slightly under the weight of Johnny's anger. 

"I-I didn't think—"

But Johnny cut him off with a sharp gesture. "You didn't think, period, dumbass."

The other diners in the diner grew quiet, the usually bustling atmosphere now replaced with an eerie silence as they watched the confrontation unfold. 

Johnny leaned in closer to the waiter, his tone dropping into a menacing whisper. "You ever try that again, you'll look at her again, and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor. Got it?"

She couldn't handle watching this anymore, she prayed for the waiter's sake that he didn't talk back. She rushed outside, her heart rate picking up, hoping he was only a few steps behind her and not a few inches into this guy's face.

Johnny's gaze remained locked on the waiter for a moment longer, the threat hanging heavy in the air. It took every ounce of restraint to stop himself from acting on his anger right there. 

Finally, he turned away from the waiter, his eyes scanning the tables for her. He saw her slip outside, and he pushed through the exit after her, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Why'd you run off like that?" he demanded, his voice gruff.

"Dammit Johnny" she cursed, turning around at him with rage. "Do you always have to cause a scene like that?"

"Hey, watch the tone." 

Johnny bristled at her anger, his irritation rising in response. "That jack-ass needed to be taught a lesson. I was just making sure he wouldn’t bother you ever again."

She shakes her head with bitterness, a resentful smirk on her lips "Well it's not like we can ever go back there again, after the shit you just pulled."

He took a step closer to her, his expression dark. "What about that guy giving you his number? You weren't worried about that?"

"It's not like I was going to take it Johnny, Jesus," she huffs, storming to his car.

Johnny followed her to his car, his anger notching up a level with her tone. He stalked after her, his steps fast and purposeful. 

"I know you wouldn't take it," he said, his voice tight. "But it's the fact that he thought he had a chance that pisses me off."

She opens the passenger door, aggravated with his stubbornness. "Well we both know he didn't, and that should be all that matters" she says quietly, stepping into his car.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He knew he hadn't handled the situation the best he could, but the idea of her dealing with another guy hitting on her made his blood boil.

He got into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. "Yeah, I know that," he muttered begrudgingly.

She crossed her arms, facing the window. She loved him, she really did, but it was so hard with him always getting into these altercations. His temper always got the better of him.

Johnny started the car, the engine roaring to life. The tension between them was palpable, a suffocating silence taking over. 

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, the veins in his arms standing out as he drove. He glances over at her, her body turned away from him, her arms crossed defensively. 

"You're pissed at me," he stated, his voice low.

Her gaze stayed out the window, she knew if she looked at him she would soften. That's how it was, he did something dumb, she looked at him for too long, and all of her defenses came crashing down. "Yeah, I am."

Johnny clenched his jaw, her words like a punch to his gut. Her unwillingness to look at him only added insult to injury.

He let out a heavy sigh, his anger mixing with guilt. "I just... I can't stand seeing other guys looking at you like that. It drives me nuts."

His words made her weak in the knees, she secretly loves it when he gets all jealous, when he wants to be the only boy in her world. She finds her voice "Lots of things to do."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he tried to keep his emotions in check. "Don't start," he warned, his voice a low rumble.

"*I* did not start anything Johnny" she said his name like it was a cuss. 

His jaw clenched tight, the way she said his name making him want to simultaneously strangle her and kiss her senseless. 

He kept his gaze focused on the road, the car's engine rumbling as he pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder than necessary. 

"You're pushing it, doll," he ground out, his voice tight.

A scorn breath leaves her lips, she doesn't know how she's going to go back and study when he's acting erratic like this. Like he always does.

He pulls off the road, they can't go back in this state.

"Just... can you just—" he cut himself off, swallowing his words. He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching again. "Just stop for a minute, and look at me."

She slowly turned to meet his gaze, still keeping her distance as her arms stayed glued on top of each other.

His eyes lock on hers, his chest tightening at the sight of her. Every fiber in his being is screaming to reach out and pull her closer, but her arms crossed and the look in her eyes are keeping him at bay. 

He runs a hand through his hair, his voice tight. "I just... I can't stand the thought of another guy looking at you the way I do, okay?"

"I know, Johnny" She sighs softly, the wall she built slowly falling over. Damn him for those gorgeous eyes.

She reaches out and rubs his shoulder, trying to offer some foundation for his feelings. Sure, he was a little crazy, but it all came from a good place.

He lets out a low growl, his body twitching involuntarily under her touch. "You're not helping," he mutters, his voice hoarse.

She flinches back her hand, not willing to be a victim of his crossfire "Sorry.." 

"No, you don't —" he says, cutting himself off. He takes a hand through his hair, frustration and desire warring in his chest. "No, don't apologize. Just... come here."

She unbuckles, sliding across the connected seat (the 80s, right?) to sit on his lap. She straddles either side of his legs, stroking his blonde locks to put some ease to the fire that burned within Johnny.

His breath hitches as she settles on his lap, the weight of her body on his making desire flare through him like a bolt of lightning. 

He lets out a low, approving hum when she starts to touch his hair, his tense muscles loosening almost immediately. He lets his hands come to rest on her hips, his fingers clenching against the fabric of her skirt.

As he starts to relax under her touch, she admires the way his features soften. Only then, does she really start to see the power she holds over him. He might act like he is in the driver's seat, but she knows now she's the one pressing the gas. 

She lines his features lightly with one hand, and caresses his hair with the other.

Every touch from her is like a match to his already burning desire. He lets out a soft, almost pained groan as she explores his features with her gentle hands. He feels like he’s falling apart beneath her touch in the best kind of way. 

He leans into her grasp, his eyes fluttering shut as her fingers glide through his hair. He tightens his grip on her hips, pulling her a little closer on his lap.

"Feeling a little more calm now?" she quizzes, lining his jaw with her index finger. 

He nods slightly, his body responding to her touch like it always does. He lets out a shaky breath as she continues to caress his face. 

"Yeah, doll," he mutters, his voice thick with desire. "You're pretty damn good at calming me down, I'll give you that."

She chuckles at his attitude. "Well, good" she whispers as she kisses him on the cheek.

He tilts his head to capture her mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. 

His hands slide up from her hips, up her sides and around to her back to pull her closer still, the need for her building to the point of aching.

Her hands moved to his shoulders as she deepened the kiss, a kiss they both needed after all of that. 

He groans into the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. 

He nips at her bottom lip, his hands moving lower to grip her hips again, his fingers digging, almost possessively.

She breaks the kiss, "We have to get back to the study group" she says breathlessly, her lips plump from assault. 

"Study group can wait," he mutters. He leans down to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, his lips and tongue working against her skin.

She gasps at the contact, his lips felt sinful going down the thin skin of her neck. It was insane how easily he made her forget about everything else with just his tongue.

His lips roam down her neck, nipping, kissing and sucking as they go, marking her flesh with his mouth. 

His hands slide up her body just enough to slide under her shirt, his fingers tracing the warm expanse of her bare skin.

A gasp escaped her lips as she felt his fingers travel, her hips rock involuntarily against him. He knew how to get her all hot and bothered, her thoughts of him and only him.

He lets out a low groan at the feeling of her hips rocking against him, the friction driving him wild. He nips at the sensitive spot under her ear, his teeth grazing against her skin. 

His hands continue to roam her body, his touch almost reverent as they caress her soft flesh. He wishes that guy from the diner were here to see this, to show him that she belonged to Johnny, and never anyone else.

She leans back, providing him with more access as her eyes screweed shut in gratification. Her skirt rides up as she presses herself against the steering wheel.

He takes full advantage of the new space, his mouth moving lower, nipping and sucking at her collarbone and the sensitive spot at her neck. His hands slide back down her body to the hem of her skirt, his fingers dipping underneath to run along the smooth skin of her thighs.

Her body quakes at his touch, her thighs begging for him, needing him. She parts her legs even further, completely driven by desire. She can't fully grasp the effect he has on her, but she knows it's more than anyone else ever could or will.

His fingers trace the edge of her panties, teasing, taunting. “Mmm, you want something, doll?” he murmurs against her skin, his voice low and dangerous.

Her head nods feverishly as she pulls her skirt up so it sits around her waist. She's desperate for some relief.

His breath hitches at the sight of her skirt around her waist, her hips rocking against him again. He swears under his breath, his own need for her building to almost painful heights. 

He moves one hand from her thigh, bringing it up to her stomach. He dips his fingers under the edge of her panties, his touch light as he teases her aching flesh. “You’re begging for it aren’t you, doll?” he purrs against her ear.

Her body trembles, he is really teasing her today, but she can't put up a fight. "Johnny please" she whimpers, desperation lacing her voice.

His chest tightens at the sound of her whimper, her begging him almost undoing him. He can’t resist her, not when she’s like this. 

He moves his fingers lower, seeking the spot he knows will make her fall apart. “You want me to make you feel good, doll?” he whispers, his breath hot against her skin.

"More than anything, Johnny" she pleads, the tension building in her increasing rapidly. 

He lets out a low growl, her pleading making something primal flare up within him. He slips his fingers further down, finding the sweet spot that he knew would drive her wild. 

His long fingers plunging in and out of her heat, his movements slow and deliberate, wanting to draw out her pleasure as long as he can. “You’re so sensitive, doll,” he murmurs in her ear.

She lets out a soft moan, it overpowers the sound of the thunderbirds engine. His words work to undo her almost as good as his fingers are.

His fingers move a little harder, a little faster. “You sound so good, doll,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I could listen to those little sounds you make all damn day.”

"Please dont stop.. dont stop talking" she groans, lost in her own pleasure. Normally, she would have a fit doing this on the side of the road, but with him hitting that spot right against her walls, she didn't really give a damn.

He can’t help but let out a low chuckle at her plea, the sound of her begging him music to his ears. He has her at his mercy, and we're enjoying every second of it. 

"You like my voice, doll?" Johnny murmurs against her ear, his mouth brushing her skin. "You like it when I talk to you like this?" 

His fingers maintain their pace, keeping her on the edge, his thumb adding just a hint of extra pressure.

"God yes, Johnny" she moans like a prayer. His fingers driving her to the brink, but she's aching for more of him. Every inch of him.

He slows his pace just slightly, his fingers swirling and flicking against her sensitive flesh. "You want more dolls?" Johnny murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "You want more of me?"

"Yes" she accords, her hands flying to release him from his jeans. Her  small hands unzip his pants, shaking from the pleasure only Johnny can provide.

The feeling of her small hands on him, freeing him from his jeans makes him groan low in throat. Her skin against his is like fire, his body responding to her touch with a fierce intensity. 

He moves his fingers back down, his calloused touch teasing her in slow, steady circles. He wants her, wants to be inside her, but he won't give in yet. "Is this what you want, doll?" Johnny's voice is rough and heavy. 

"Please, oh my god, please" she begs, pulling him out of his briefs. Her eyes gush as she sees how aroused he is from pleasing her. 

Seeing her gaze on him, her eyes wide and her lips parted just so, drives him wild. He's ready to throw her in the backseat and take her right there, but he holds back just long enough to take in the sight of her. 

He moans at her words, her begging almost sending him over the edge. He groans her name, his voice thick with desire. "You want me, doll," Johnny purrs. "You need me, don't you?"

She begins to stroke him, trying to halt his teasing. "I need you, now."

He groans at her hands, pleasing him, his desire overcoming his arrogance. 

Her words and her touch have the desired effect, her hands driving him wild. He can't hold back anymore, he needs her too badly. 

He lets out a low growl, his body tight with need. Johnny grabs her hips and lifts her up, moving her to a more comfortable position straddling his lap. "Tell me you're mine," he mutters, his voice hot and possessive.

She sinks down on him, taking in a harsh breath as she feels her brain go fuzzy from the pressure. "I'm yours Johnny" she gasps, taking him fully.

The feeling of her around him makes him groan, the sensation overwhelming. He grips her hips tightly, anchoring her in place as he takes a moment to regain some composure. 

He looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Mine," he growls, repeating the word like a declaration. He snaps his hips into her, a scream shoots from her lips. 

The feeling of him coming and going with each bounce of her hips, she can barely take him.

Johnny can feel himself getting closer with each buck of her hips, her body like a vice around him. "You're mine," he mutters, the words rough against her skin. "You belong to me, don't you?”

"I belong to you, Johnny" she cries, her core tightening as she gets close to her demise. The feeling of him that she never gets used to, that she craves and needs, it's the same every time. Always so good.

He loves hearing her say it, the fact that she belongs to him sears through his brain like a branding iron. He takes possession of her mouth, his tongue claiming hers in a hot and desperate kiss. 

He can feel himself getting closer, his body on the edge of release. "You're so good," he growls against her mouth, his voice ragged. "So goddamn good."

She returns the kiss 10 fold, a sloppy, sexy, erotic lock of lips. She rides Johnny faster, trying to bring him to where she's about to be. "Johnny.. I'm gonna.."

He moans into the kiss, his body responding to her movements with an intensity he can hardly control. Johnny can feel his own release building, his body thrumming like a live wire. 

He nips at her bottom lip, his own breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come for me, doll," he mutters against her mouth, his thumb moving to her clit to make her combust.

She lets out a shriek, Johnny's name, and curses falling from her lips as she rides out her high, her body feels like it's on fire. The waves of ecstacy travel from her head to her toes.

Johnny's wild beneath her, the feeling of her convulsing and wrapping around him pushes him to the edge. Her body against his is like a flame, his mind a dizzy mix of pleasure and desire. Johnny grips her hips tightly, his hands almost digging into her skin as he helps guide her movements. "Doll, I can't last.." he mutters, his voice rough and uneven. 

Her breath ragged, still coming down from her high, but still riding him like there's no tomorrow. "Come Johnny, just come in me.." she whimpers.

 He's hanging on by a thread, his muscles tense and straining. "You want it, doll? You want me to fill you up?"

"Fill me up baby, fill me with your come" she begs, eager to please him just as he did her.

The sound of her begging pushes him over the edge, his brain exploding like a grenade, his body erupting with pleasure. Johnny tightens his grip on her hips as he releases thick ropes to come deep within her. He's lost in the feeling of his release, Johnny's body bucking and shuddering beneath her. He comes buried deep inside her, her name coming from his lips. "Fuck," he gasps out. 

He's breathing hard, his body spent and sated, his mind still spinning with pleasure. He holds her tightly to him, burying his face in her neck, his breath hot and rasping against her skin.

She holds Johnny close, feeling his liquid drip out of her and back onto him. She breathes deeply in bliss.

The sticky mess between them is a reminder of what they just shared. He runs his hand down her back, his touch gentle and affectionate.

"Fuck, doll.." Johnny breathes. "You're gonna kill me one day, y'know that?"

"Let's hope not" she giggles, holding his sandy hair and taking in the scent. 

"I'm a serious doll," he mutters, his voice muffled against her skin. "One of these days, you're gonna finish me off for good."

She giggles at his dramatics, another thing she loved about him. They relished in the moment for a few minutes, catching their breath. She slowly got off of him, fixing her shirt and skirt, trying to appear as if they weren't doing what they were just doing.  

He tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping them up. He leans back against the seat, Johnny's eyes roaming over her body, still taking in the sight of her.

"We should probably head back," he reasons. "They're gonna start wondering where we are."

She grimaces about having to go back and study "Yeah, we've been gone for too long.. hopefully they won't give us shit for it" she laughs, knowing fully well their friends will.

Johnny chuckles slowly, knowing full well that they're gonna get teased for being gone so long.

"I'd be surprised if they didn't give us hell for it," he mutters, a slight grin on his lips. "Especially Dutch."

Her eyes roll, knowing he is right "Well," she huffs "better face the lions sooner than later."

Johnny lets out a long sigh, his body still a little sluggish from their activities. He knows she's right, but he's in no hurry to go back to studying.

"Fine," he grumbles, his hand still on her knee. "But just so you know, I'm gonna be thinking about this all throughout the study group."

She smirks as he begins to drive off.

As he pulls back onto the road, he can't help but steal a few glances over at her. The memory of what they just did is still fresh in his mind. He can't focus on anything else, his body still humming with leftover pleasure.

They pull up back to Johnny's step fathers house, reluctantly getting out and going back inside.

Johnny leads the way inside, his hand on the small of her back. As soon as they enter, they're met with the rest of the group, all of them throwing teasing looks and quipping their way.

"Well, look who decided to join us," Dutch quips, his eyebrows raised knowingly.

"Yeah, how was your food?" Her friend questions them, fully knowing.

Johnny rolls his eyes, a slight smirk on his lips. He knows they all know what they were up to, and he doesn't really care. 

"Food was delicious," he replies, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "But we got hungry after, so we had some dessert." He lets his eyes slide over to her, a subtle reminder of what he's referring to.

Her face turned bright red, his audacity was applaudable. The whole group gives knowing giggles and glances. "Subtle Johnny, real subtle" she groans, sitting back down.

Johnny grins widely, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He knows he's being blatantly obvious, and he doesn't care. He's not ashamed of what they just did, and he definitely doesn't mind rubbing it in the rest of the group's faces.

"What can I say? I'm a subtle guy," he quips, his smirk still in place. "You know me doll."

Dutch chuckles at Johnny's attitude, shaking his head. "Yeah, as subtle as a brick to the head," he remarks. "You're lucky we didn't go over much while you two where on your *break*."

Johnny's smirk only widens at Dutch's jab. "Yeah, I'm sure we would've been heartbroken if we missed some of your valuable input, Dutch." His tone is playful, but there's an edge of snark to it.

"Hey, my input is very valuable," Dutch protests. "I'm full of wisdom."  

Johnny snorts. "Yeah, that's one word for it. 'Full of it' is more like it."

She laughs at the group's banter back in full swing, like they never left. She picks up her notebook, beginning to look over her notes again. "Okay guys, so where did you make it to?"

The rest of the group quiets down, shifting back into "study mode." They continue discussing the notes and materials, delving into the subject.

Johnny does his best to focus, but his mind has other ideas. He can't help but glance over at her, his eyes straying to her lips, remembering the way she tasted. His mind wanders, his thoughts far from academics.

She glances over at him, seeing that dark look in his eyes. "Focus Johnny, you had a break, it's time to get back to studying" she says with a mix of stern and playfulness. 

"Yeah, yeah, Doll," he grumbles, "I'm focused." But his eyes are still roaming over her, the memories from their little "break" still fresh in his mind.

She shakes her head at him, flipping to her notes on mitosis and meiosis. 

Johnny tries his best to concentrate on the notes in front of him, but his thoughts keep drifting back to her. The way she looked, the way she sounded, the way she felt. He can't help but steal glances at her, his eyes always straying to her lips, his mind wandering down dirty paths.

He shifts in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself in his jeans. He's only half paying attention to the material now, his focus split between studying and fantasizing about her.

"What comes first again?" she asks the group "Interphase or Prophase?" She bites the tip of her eraser. 

Jimmy answers; "Interphase. The phase where the cell grows and copies the DNA or something."

The rest of the group nods in agreement, but Johnny's too preoccupied to respond. His eyes are glued to her, watching her bite her eraser. He can't help but imagine that it's his finger instead... His mind starts to wander again, his thoughts becoming dirtier by the second.

She looks over at him, noticing his eyes on her, she quirks her brow at him. 'What?' she mouths to Johnny discreetly.

He quickly glances around at the rest of the group, making sure no one else noticed.

He gives her a little smile, his eyes still dark with lingering desire. He mouths back at her, 'You're distracting.'

'How?' she mouths again at him.

Johnny lets out a small huff of breath, his eyes raking over her. 'You know how.' he mouths back.

He shifts again in his seat, trying to subtly adjust himself in his jeans again. The sight of her is driving him crazy, and he's finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

She looks down at him fixing himself, a familiar burn comes back to haunt her.  She scans the room to make sure no one is seeing this. 'I'm not doing anything' she mouths.

Johnny watches her eyes glance at his lap, her expression shifting at the sight of him adjusting. He can see the same heat in her eyes that he feels. 

He mouths back to her, 'You're biting that damn eraser.'

His gaze is intense, full of desire and a hint of frustration. He nods to the eraser she was chewing on.

She looks down at it, 'So?' she mouths to Johnny.

He mouths back, 'It's distracting me.'

'Look away' she mouths back, sort of enjoying the secret banter.

He looks back at her, the corner of his lips rising in a sly smirk. 'I can't.' he mouths back. 

She softly bites the tip of the eraser, looking at him, pressing his buttons.

Johnny bites his lip, leaning back on the couch, his legs spreading open slightly, a subtle invitation.

'Not fair' she mouths and shakes her head.

'You started it,' he mouths, his smirk still in place.

He looks around again, but no one else seems to be paying attention. He lets his eyes linger on her for a few more moments, his gaze dark with desire. He shifts once again, the bulge in his jeans more obvious this time.

Her eyes darted down to his growing member. 'Stop. It. Now.' she mouths, her throat feeling dry.

Johnny's smirk widens, noticing the effects of his body on her. 'Why should I?' he mouths back, his eyes holding a mischievous gleam.

He lets his legs spread even further apart, his hand resting on his lap casually. He glances down at himself, and then looks back up at her, a silent challenge in his eyes.

She bites the eraser harder, trying to keep control and composure. 'Johnny. No.' she mouths.

Seeing her mouth 'no' only makes him want her more. He shifts again, the pressure in his jeans getting to be almost unbearable.

He mouths back, 'Why not?' 

He gives her a sidelong glance, a hint of defiance in his eyes.

'Study' she shoots him a warning glare, her eyes wandering to his lap once again.

He mouths back, 'Can't concentrate.'

He leans back in his seat, his legs spreading a little further apart. It's like he's daring her to look again.

She cant help but look, dammit it was right in front of her, tempting her, in front of everyone. She looked around to make sure they were still in the clear. 'Stop' she mouths, her eyes trying hard to look anywhere but his jeans.

He mouths back at her, 'Nah.'

Johnny lets his hand slide over his lap, his thumb pressing down against the hard bulge in his jeans. Just a casual move, but enough to send a message.

Two can play at this game. she leans back her notebook not so accidently, catching on her skirt as it rides up her thigh. 

Johnny's eyes immediately snap down to her skirt, the fabric riding up and exposing more of her skin. He lets out a low growl under his breath, his fingers digging into the couch.

He looks up at her, his eyes dark with lust. He mouths, 'That's cheating.'

'I'm not doing anything,' she mouths, feigning innocence as she notes to bring the notebook closer, her skirt coming with it. It's dangerously close to her upper thigh. 

Johnny's eyes are glued to her skirt, watching as it creeps higher and higher up her thigh. He clenches his jaw, his body tense with desire. 

He mouths back at her, 'Bullshit.' 

He shifts forward a little in his seat, getting a better view of her bare skin.

She decides to push him further, knowing he can't do a damn thing but watch. She brings the notebook up, her skirt revealing the lining of her white panties. 

He shakes his head, the words 'Stop it.' visible on his lips.

She looks around at all of their friends, deep in their books. 'Make me' she mouths, elongating every lip movement. 

Johnny watches her lips, the way they move as she mouths the challenge. He shakes his head again, his jaw clenching in a mixture of frustration and arousal.

But the look on her face, the challenge in her eyes, it's like fuel to the fire roaring inside him. He shifts forward a little more, his leg brushing against hers.

She moves her skirt back down standing up, it catches Johnny by surprise. "Be right back, just gonna go to the bathroom" she tells the group, they barely look up from their studies. She saunters away.

Johnny watches her strut away, his eyes glued to her legs as she walks. He lets out a frustrated huff, his body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire.

He looks around at the others, making sure they're still focused on their study material. He waits a few minutes, trying to compose himself, but the memory of her skirt hitched up and her panties in view is seared in his brain. He can't take it anymore.

Finally, he stands up, feigning a yawn. "Hey, I'm gonna go take a piss real quick," he calls out to the group, trying to act casual.

As Johnny makes his way towards the door, he looks back at their friends, making sure no one is watching. He slips out into the hallway, his heart pounding with anticipation.

He knocks on the closed door.

She opens it, her smirk widens when she sees her boyfriend. "Took you long enough," she whispered.

His eyes rake over her, taking in the sight of her standing in the doorway. His hands reach out automatically to grab her, pulling her closer.

"Shut up," he mutters, his voice low. "You're driving me crazy in there, doll."

"Well you better finish what *you* started" she dares.

He lets out a low growl, his eyes narrowing at her words. "Oh, I will," he mutters, his hands gripping her waist.

He pushes her back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

[retroellie]

Polluted

Summary: After a long day of work, Spencer comes home and fucks his stresses away.

A/N: This was written in literally 45 minutes but I had this idea and I couldn't make it into a full fic, my mind could only think of the smut part lmao. Enjoy!!! :)

Warnings: NSFW, slapping, degradation, squirting, unprotected sex, mean!spencer

Word count: 1.9K

Prison changed Spencer Reid, plain and simple. This is not the man you came to love. He was cruel, possessive, completely and utterly damaged. You hoped that prison wouldn't taint Spencer too much, you hoped that he would continue to be sweet little Dr. Spencer Reid. But you knew what prison could do to a person, for you locked people up daily. You knew that the system would take Spencer's old soul and soft heart into its muddy hands, squeezing them until they became one. Although sometimes in the right lighting, in the right moment, you can see a hint of Spencer in his light brown eyes.

You can't say that you hated the change in Spencer, obviously there was much work to be done before Spencer could truly be himself again. However, you could live with this change. He was hungry, feeling as though your body was the only thing that could fill that hunger. It was extremely attractive to you, his sudden hunger for you. Spencer was always using you, using your body or your mouth or your hands... just you. There was always an excuse for him to be inside of you in his mind. A man thought of looking at you? He bent you over the kitchen table. You wore a shirt that showed a bit of your chest? He dragged you into the bathroom and forced you onto your knees. You smiled at him? He would shove his face between your thighs until you couldn't even see straight.

Even on the way back home after he had gotten out of prison, he bent you over the backseat on the side of the road and fucked you roughly. It felt like you were stepping on eggshells every time around him because you never know what can set him off... it was oddly scandalous, almost arousing as the thought of how he'd fuck you next was always on your mind. A big plus was that spencer dug himself into your brain, pulling out your deepest and darkest kinks, and using them to give you earth-shattering, mind-blowing, life-changing orgasms. Now you don't think you two could ever go back to just plain sex. He had ruined you, ruined your body so much that only the thought of being hurt could get you off now.

"Fucking bitch..." Spencer spat out, his hand spreading your legs further open as his cock drilled into your soaked cunt. "That bitch looked at me like I was fucking stupid..."

His words came out breathy and jagged as he fucked into you at an animalistic pace. Spencer came home today upset, his tie being ripped off and thrown down as soon as he got into the door. You knew something was up by this action, but also the look on his face. He seemed to have a frown sewn onto his face, something that he wore most days. You asked what was wrong but you were met with him ripping off your clothes, hinting that he didn't want to talk but to fuck his frustrations into you. Now here you were, panties ripped off, legs wide open, Spencer deep inside you with his hand placed on your neck.

You couldn't tell how many times you came just in this position alone, you couldn't keep count. His hand gripped your through, affecting the way your brain functioned. You felt with every thrust of Spencer's hips you would lose brain cells... creating the dumb cock whore that Spencer ached to achieve. Spencer's hand applied more pressure to your throat as he thought of what happened at work, how while section chief Erin Strauss critiqued his work, people were being murdered.

"As if my 187 IQ wasn't enough for her." He started, his hand on your thigh being slammed down past your face and into the wooden table he was drilling you into. " I mean, I've been at this place for over 10 years... I know what I'm fucking doing"

You came again, not able to keep yourself from unraveling now. His hand on your throat was constricting your moans, completely silencing them as the only thing that could come out of your mouth was soft gurgles. You loved this feeling, knowing that at any moment if you didn't like it you could alert Spencer and he'd stop immediately. I guess you could say that Spencer's care for you never disappeared after prison, he would go on to say that it strengthened his love for you. He had this picture of you that you had sent him in one of your many letters, he kept it with him everywhere he went for it was the only thing that kept him sane.

One time a fellow inmate saw it, snatched it from him, and digested every single inch of you. He went on to explain the disgusting things he would do to you if he got the chance, that is exactly why Spencer came home to fuck you nice and good every night. Because if he wasn't the one to do it, he knew that other people would take you for granted, they would spend only minutes with you... ignoring what you needed and taking what they wanted. You would feel incomplete, unsatisfied, and completely in denial that love existed. You would assume love was only made for books and movies, that no one could show you the love you deserved. This is the love you deserve. You deserve a love that could have you coming undone over and over again, a harsh and mean kind of love but that always ended with soft kisses and a nice hot bath. A love that was sour at first but ended sweet, making sure that the words "i love you" were carved onto your skin.

"You wouldn't do that would you?" He whispered into your ear, his grip on your throat as he waited for your response. " You don't think I'm stupid ...hmm?"

His cock was too deep inside you, it was deep enough to have you going cross-eyed and unable to speak. Your moans became audible now, no longer being stuck in your throat due to his pressure being released. His pace was still inhumanly fast, not stopping even for a second. The table had started to shit forward, being scrapped across the floor and probably worrying the downstairs neighbors. You were on the verge of cumming again, your mind not even able to comprehend his question until you felt a harsh sting on your cheek. Spencer had slapped you across the face, growing impatient while waiting for your answer.

"Answer me...." He hissed out, leaning down and taking his lips to yours. He bit down on your lip, creating a pain that shot through your body. "Or I'm going to make you cum over and over and over again until you can't think of anything else besides my cock deep inside your tight little pussy..."

You could taste blood now, your lip bleeding and seeping into your mouth. His words created this deep, rough knot in your stomach. It wasn't like the rest of the orgasms you had tonight, no it was more intense. It hurt, painful with every thrust of his cock. It created a deep pain and pleasure dynamic in your body but felt like something was trying to claw itself out of your body.

"Fuck..." You screamed out, grabbing onto him and digging your fingernails into his back. "No I wouldn't! Fuck... I wouldn't! I won't!"

You finally replied, hoping with those words he would deepen his thrust if that was even possible. Spencer just grinned down at you, placing his head in between your shoulder blade and your neck. He set soft kisses to the skin, his warm lips against your burning skin. Spencer was close, your words pushing him further to the edge. The feeling inside your stomach didn't stop or dull, it only got worse. You were screaming now, Spencer's hand lingering on your neck but sitting gently on your skin. Spencer picked up his speed, the table scraping against the floor even harder.

You couldn't handle it, everything around you becoming so far away yet being so close. The feeling got to a point of feeling terrifyingly painful but also so potent of pleasure and so bewitching that you didn't want it to end now. A couple more of Spencer's deep and harsh thrusts sent you over the edge, the painful knot in your stomach snapping and shooting liquid out of your body. It was the first time you had ever squirted, the feeling so glorious that you wished it would happen every time. Your vision went out, only seeing light and hearing Spencer's soft moans as he finished inside of you. The world felt like it ended, nothing to be seen or to be experienced... just emptiness but complete fullness all at the same time.

"Good girl..." You heard Spencer's words echo through your now-empty mind. You couldn't tell if your eyes were closed or not. "You did so good for me honey... I'm so proud of you."

Those single words were all you needed to hear as you floated back to earth and into your body, you blinked a couple times... forgetting where and who you were for a split second. You came back to see Spencer brushing your hair back from your sweaty face, his face inches from yours as his face filled with concern that maybe he had broken you finally.

"There she is..." He chuckled softly, kissing your lips softly. " There's my girl..."

You gave him a weak smile, raise your hand to rest on his cheek. You rubbed it softly, feeling the growing stubble on his face. He was just as sweaty as you, his body hot to the touch. You two probably looked insane, one of you barely able to walk looking beat the hell up and the other one scratched up and drenched with liquids. Spencer gently slid himself out of you, watching you wince softly as it felt like he was connected to you at this point.

"Sorry..." He whispered, taking your hand in his as he rubbed your thigh gently "I was too rough huh?"

Rough was not even close to what Spencer was. He was brutal, sadistic, barbaric but you couldn't deny that you would choose it over compassion any day. You began to think that maybe prison was the best thing that could've happened to Spencer Reid, not only was he a genius but he now had a powerful glow to him. Shy kisses and longing gazes were a thing of the past for you two, Spencer knew what he wanted and he was going to get it.

"You were just rough enough..." I chuckled, feeling nothing but content and at peace in this moment.

Spencer laughed with you, pecking your lips one last time before pulling away from you. He looked around, his eyes landing on the couch. He smiled, walking over and leaving you but only for a second. He came back with a blanket, wrapping it around you then picking you up bridal style. You thanked him silently because you knew there was no way you were getting off the table without some kind of help.

"To the bath you go..." He joked, holding you close to him as he walked you to your shared bathroom. 

You looked into his eyes and at the right lighting, the right moment, you looked into his light brown eyes... realizing that this is Spencer Reid. This is Spencer Reid damaged, polluted, and bruised... but it was still the man you fell in love with all those years ago.

[mosaickiwi]

Hi again! Hope you've been doing okay!

First off I just wanna say that you always deliver, I mean "Fall Unto Me"?? Four part+an epilogue of me being torn between wanting to baul my eyes out and wanting to melt into a puddle from the feels :')

But as for the request, could I ask for Angel and [REDACTED] redecorating his appartment? Getting rid of the gaudy furniture once and for all!

Don't forget to drink water and take breaks whenever you need to! My brain is also 105% filled with this skrunkly but the trick is to keep two neurons in a cell reserved for this >:] /silly

HEHE I’ve been ok! Hope you are too!! <3 thank u for appreciating my (deranged) brainrotting fic c: the suffering is my favorite part. I’m drinking lots of water cause summer hates my ass. 💖 Also sorry this is long I am clearly not winning at the "be normal" challenge.

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Redecorating

“This one?”

The dark haired man peered at the laptop in your hands for a long moment. “It's… nice.”

“Yes…? You called the last three couches nice, too. Any other thoughts?” You gently goaded your partner.

Choosing new furniture with [REDACTED] was supposed to be easy. You'd pick something, and he'd agree. Except you wanted it to feel like home for both of you. He didn't have to say the mushy, obvious line: as long as you were there, it was home. So progress was challenging with some things. You were sitting together on the current couch—the ugly, lifeless one that came with his apartment for some reason. 

His brow crinkled as he searched for different words. Those soft blue eyes went back and forth across the screen until he said, “It’s cozy yet functional.”

“Did you just summarize the description to me?”

He confessed to the crime with a sigh. “Angel, all I think when I look at it is you. And how cute you'd look sitting on it. Like y’do right now.”

“I'm always cute. Focus on the couch, please. Not me,” you insisted.

“No promises.”

“Let's see…” You had to find some way to get through to them. An idea came to mind that you knew he wouldn't like very much, but you had to try. “Pretend we're not dating. Or maybe I don't exist? You come home—don't make that face! I said pretend—so, you come home after a very terrible day and you see this couch. Is it nice then?”

[REDACTED] still made that face as he answered you. “Annoying as fuck to clean.”

It was progress. You didn't want to dwell on why that would be what they thought about after getting home. “Did the first one I showed you seem annoying to clean?”

“Mm... a bit.” They reached forward to change the webpage back for another look. “Y’never showed me these.” 

You leaned over to see what he was talking about. There were a few humongous bean bag chairs on the furniture wish list you’d made. “I just thought they looked fun to take a nap in. But I’m not sure we’d both fit, so it’d be silly," you explained and tapped the mouse to continue skimming through your other selections. “We can think about the couch later. I found some wall art that doesn’t look like it came from a dentist’s office.”

His eyes carefully followed the scrolling page until the bean bags disappeared at the bottom of the screen, but he didn’t protest.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

The new furniture had arrived—and been efficiently assembled by your boyfriend, despite your protest—while you were at the library, so you were excited to get home. [REDACTED] held one hand over your eyes as he unlocked the apartment’s door.

“I already know what all the furniture looks like, Ren.” Even so, you didn’t wave their hand away.

You could hear the door click as he guided you into the foyer. “I may have added a few extra things,” he hummed while you blindly struggled and failed to take off your shoes. “Actually… close your eyes f’me.”

“O—kayy?!” Just as you closed your eyes the floor slipped away under you, replaced by familiar arms cradling you to their chest. His quiet footsteps barely echoed against the marble as you got your wits about you. The living room wasn’t that far, so you were certain where he took you without seeing anything. You just didn’t know where exactly in the room.

They turned and came to a stop, rooted in place for a moment as if thinking to themself. “Y’gonna scream if I drop you?” 

“...Yes. Maybe.”

Without another word he let go. There wasn’t enough time to scream as you immediately landed against plush fabric with the faint crinkle of something below it. The fabric crinkled some more as you felt your shoes being taken off.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked. You could already tell what one of the ‘extra things’ was. It felt like heaven.

“Sure, love.” Their voice was a little farther away than you expected. Probably from hurrying to put your shoes in the closet.

You found yourself nestled on one side of the room, with a perfect view of his handiwork.

A couch that was easy to clean, in a color you insisted he decide on, draped with a luxurious looking blanket that wasn’t in your list. A coffee table with rounded corners so they wouldn’t keep hitting their leg on it. Some wall art of Attack on Giants—with extra pieces from a show you sort of recognized, but definitely suited the man's tastes. A few shelves to show off merchandise from another of your favorites. And the enormous, navy blue bean bag he’d so rudely dropped you in moments ago.

Your darling hacker stepped in from the foyer and tossed their hoodie onto the new couch. “Everything good?” he asked, piercings pulling up in a smile.

“I think I love it.” Your eyes scanned the room again and eventually landed on the pictures. “And I love that you added your own stuff.” It didn’t seem to be a clone of your apartment that he just happened to live in, like you worried about. “What about you?”

“S’better than before. ‘Course, the best part is that I don’t have t’see some shitty couch when I open the door—I get to come home to you, trapped in a bean bag.” He stood up and walked over, eyeing you playfully from above. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, then immediately yelped when he fell forwards. Just before you were squished, he caught himself on tattooed arms, caging you in the crinkly, soft material. You only felt some of their weight on you like a heavy blanket. A soft laugh slipped past your lips as he got comfortable himself, clinging to you as best he could while you both sank further into the depths of the bean bag. It’d be impossible to get out.

You wiggled your legs, straining to even find the damn floor. No doubt a futile effort, you had to sigh, “At least we both fit on it."

[REDACTED] didn’t speak, already yawning from the exhaustion of setting everything up before meeting you at work. The walk to and from the library certainly didn’t do him any favors, either. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep in what surely felt akin to a nest, all four lanky limbs wrapped around you like a snake.

[mythicalmisery]

Bull Rider AU: GhostxSoap

AO3

Bull rider Ghost and clueless Soap who doesn’t know the hat rule. 

Soap had a stupid smile on his face as he picked up a discarded, black cowboy hat and put it on his head while turning to Gaz. They had been heading back to their seats after a quick snack break when Soap had spotted it, unable to help himself. 

 “Ye think I can pull it off?” he asked grinning, completely unaware of the hulking figure that had appeared at his back only moments later. 

Soap froze at the deep, yet still whispered, “Don’t think that belongs to ya, mate,” spoken right beside his ear. He could feel the other’s hot breath on his skin.

His eyes went wide, pleading, as he looked at Gaz for a lifeline. His friend had the same expression reflecting back at him, unsure what to do either. Without any help from Gaz  Soap turned around.

His eyes met a broad chest clasped in a black leather vest, decorated with various patches of brands and sponsors he had never heard of. He slowly lifted his gaze to the man’s face, or at least what was showing of it. The lower half was covered in a black bandana with a skull design painted onto it.

It was real dusty and the man was clearly one of the riders competing, so Soap didn’t think twice about it. Hell, he wished he had one right now to hide his own embarrassment that was surely written all over his face.

The only thing he could make out underneath the stadium lights were amber eyes and blond lashes that matched his mop of sweat-clumped hair that stuck to his forehead. Those eyes that pinned Soap to where he stood and felt like burning flames licking at his skin.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice coming out dry and crackly despite his efforts. “Sorry mate, didn’t mean to offend anyone,” he tossed out in an attempt of easement.

He grabbed the hat off his head, stretching out his hand and offering it back to its rightful owner. The man didn’t remove his gaze from Soap once as he took his hat back. 

Soap was all too aware he had been holding his breath during the whole interaction. He was hoping the man wasn’t offended by Soap touching his property. A fight was the last thing he needed right now, especially three beers into his night. His internal panicking was interrupted by the stranger’s gruff voice.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya not to go ‘round touching things that don’t belong to ya?” Soap took a reflexive step back when the man took a step forward. 

He could still see Gaz out of the corner of his eye, which helped a little knowing he wasn’t alone if things went to shite. Although, he would feel really bad if he made Gaz get into an altercation and ruin their night out due to him being an idiot. 

Soap laughed nervously. “Always seemed to have a problem with authority and rules.”

That had the other raising a brow. “That right?”

There were alarm bells ringing in Soap’s head. The adrenaline pumping through his veins should have been warning enough but he never claimed to be smart. The man glanced over Soap top to bottom, as if he was assessing him. The undivided attention had goosebumps breaking out over Soap’s skin. 

He leaned in closer, invading the already non existent space between them. 

“Do ya know what the hat rule is, mate?” he asked with a smirk, like he already knew Soap didn’t.

“Uh, n-no.” Soap felt like a bumbling idiot. 

The man simply nodded at the answer he was already expecting. He lowered himself until he was looking over Soap’s left shoulder, speaking directly into his ear.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” 

Soap could feel the heat flood his face like a dam opening. 

Oh fuck.

It was as if Soap’s mind, mouth, and pretty much whole body went offline. He couldn’t seem to get anything to work after the other man’s words had registered. Well, except maybe one body part, that seemed to be working just fine.

After standing frozen like an idiot once again for too long, he somehow managed to stoke the last dying embers of a functioning brain cell and took control over his body once again.

With a nervous laugh he took a staggered step back, his arms outstretched in a placating way. The man wasn’t angry, but fucking hell was he intimidating and Soap needed some space to breath especially after that comment. 

“Oh, well that’s.. uh.. ye know, we really should be getting back to our seats,” he spewed out while grabbing Gaz by the shoulder. Soap didn’t wait for the man to say anything else, leaving him to stand and watch as he scurried away like a coward. 

He made a beeline for their section in the stands, subtly adjusting his now uncomfortably tight pants. He glared at Gaz when he made a comment at his flustered appearance, doing his best to block out his incessant teasing. He felt like he was fifteen years old again, popping boners when the wind blew just a little too strongly.

The announcer came back on over the intercom speakers, introducing the next round of riders as they finally reached their seats. Soap did his best to try and focus on the riders in the dirt down below, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of that man’s breath on his neck, the way his voice was that deep even at a whisper, the way his eyes made his skin feel like it was lit aflame.

And as if God was playing a cruel trick on him, his gaze was drawn to the rider getting ready to mount the bull in queue. It was him. 

He couldn’t make out too many details from this far up, but he was able to spot that familiar mask on the jumbo screen hanging in the center of the arena. The man had his hat on this time. The same hat that Soap had just been wearing. He couldn’t deny it, the man looked good in it. 

The announcer chimed in, getting the crowd going. Gaz leaned over, hitting Soap’s shoulder as he whispered, “There’s your man.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth at his friend’s words. Soap glanced back up to the screen, eyes scanning until he found what he was looking for in big, bold letters. 

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Simon. Fuck. Even his name was hot. 

He looked back down to the roping box, the bull that - Simon? Ghost? - was about to ride. It was fucking massive. He could see it already bucking and ramming the sides of the fence from up in the stands and on the screen, clearly pissed off. 

The anticipation in the arena was electric, the crowd buzzing with excitement as Ghost settled himself on the bull. While the men around him steadied him with their hands,  Soap’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t even know the man but his stomach was twisting into knots. 

He watched as Ghost adjusted his grip on the bull rope and flexed his hand, his muscles tensing under the strain displayed on the big screen.

Soap’s breath stuttered as the gate flew open, the bull exploding out into the arena twisting and bucking with raw power. Ghost moved with fluid precision; the man’s arm raised into the air, his waist snapping back and forth in perfect sync with the bull’s wild movements. Soap couldn’t tear his eyes away, completely captivated by the sight.

The crowd roared around him, cheering and shouting their encouragement as Ghost held on. Soap found himself leaning forward in his seat, his breath caught in his lungs. He silently willed Simon to stay on just a few seconds longer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the ride. Ghost leaped off the bull, landing as gracefully as one could while running from a crazed animal with horns. Soap’s heart was still pounding as he watched Ghost run back toward the gate, somehow still maintaining his casual demeanor as he climbed over. 

He watched as the rider disappeared behind the gate and out of sight. Gaz elbowed him playfully, a knowing grin on his face. “Go congratulate your cowboy, he just one first place,” he said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Soap whipped his head to the scoreboard, eyes scanning before he saw Ghost’s name jump to the top as his points were entered. He couldn’t help the stupid smile spreading across his face. 

“Ye sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, already standing up. Gaz scoffed, “Get the fuck outta here Soap.”

Soap put his hands together in a mock prayer. “Thank you, Garrick.”

He turned around and nearly sprinted down the stairs, cursing the crowds blocking his way. He had to make it down there before the rider left.

Soap finally managed to make it down to the ground floor, booking it to the area cornered off for the riders and their crew. He got farther than he thought he would before security stopped him, asking for his pass that he clearly didn’t have. 

He tried a handful of excuses but there wasn’t any reasoning with the man. He was about to ask if he could at least pass on a message for him before he felt someone brush up against his back. 

“He’s with me.” 

Soap swallowed. That low, gravelly voice back in his ear. Right where he wanted it.

The security guard stood there a moment before he nodded at Ghost and walked away, as if Soap wasn’t even there. 

It took a herculean effort for Soap to turn around. He was very close to losing his nerve and chickening out of this whole ordeal. Hell, he didn’t know this man. What was he doing? 

“Now, what are ya doing all the way over here. Breaking more of those rules, I see,” he said forcing Soap to take a step backwards. 

Soap cleared his throat, voice coming out surprisingly steady. “Well, I figured I would congratulate the winner.”

“That so?” he asked with a tilt to his head.

Soap took a step forward in a random burst of boldness. Now or never. 

“Aye, I also think I owe ye a debt,” he punctuated by grabbing the hat off the man’s head and placing it upon his own.

Soap wasn’t sure if it was the passing headlights from the sea of cars and trailers behind them, but he swore Ghost’s eyes flashed at his words. He leaned down in a mirror image of their earlier interaction, a strained “Follow me,” was spoken in his ear.

Soap let out a deep breath as he watched the man walk away. Not ashamed to admit he enjoyed watching him as he did so. Fuck. This was happening. 

They walked through a dirt and gravel lot off to the side of the arena. Soap observed the ranchers loading the livestock back into trailers under the parking lot lights as they passed through.

They ended up on the outer edge of the lot, the closest light post was a few cars down so it wasn’t overly bright where they were. Soap nearly missed it when Ghost turned a corner around a large parked trailer. 

He followed suit, unable to stop the embarrassing yelp that left his mouth as he was thrown against the side of said trailer. All thoughts of cursing the man out disappeared when Ghost’s lips were crashing against his. The initial impact had him grunting, the sounds immediately swallowed by Ghost’s domineering mouth. 

Soap couldn’t breathe, and normally he wouldn’t have any complaints about the matter given the situation, but he was starting to get lightheaded. He reached his hands up, gripping onto that leather vest and regretfully pushed the man off of him. He gasped at the separation, greedily filling his lungs at the first opportunity.

“Air, air is good,” he wheezed out.

The bastard huffed a laughed right in Soap’s face. Between the night sky and Soap’s racing mind, he hadn’t quite registered that Ghost had taken off the bandana from earlier. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, just barely making out the details of the face currently six inches from his own. 

He was fucking beautiful. 

Soap didn’t need sunlight to come to that conclusion. He had strong features; a Roman nose that had clearly been broken one too many times and never healed quite right, full lips that had a small scar running across the bottom as if it had been split in a fist fight and never got the proper stitches. He had another scar going from his chin to his neck, the moonlight illuminating the silvery healed skin that was no doubt part of an impressive collection. 

Soap couldn’t help the heat rushing to his face when he realized how blatantly he’d been checking out the other man. To his credit, Ghost just stood there; not saying a word while letting him have his fill. 

His attention drifted back to reality when a wave of lights and shadows danced across their faces as a car drove by. Soap unconsciously grabbed onto Ghost’s vest, pulling him onto himself while trying to melt into the trailer out of fear of getting caught. 

“Relax,” Ghost whispered. 

His mouth moved down to Soap’s jaw, kissing his way across his flushed skin until he reached his ear. Soap couldn’t help the full body shutter that racked through him as the man licked up the shell of his ear before biting down on the tender cartilage.

He turned his face slightly to the right in a poor attempt at stifling his moan in Ghost’s shoulder as the other slotted his knee right between his legs. 

Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how hard he was before Ghost started grinding against him.

The friction was almost unbearable, just the right amount of pain to still be pleasurable but still not enough. “More,” he groaned out. All reservations about sounding too desperate were out the door, he needed this man. Now.

Ghost turned his head to stare directly at Soap with a smirk plastered on that stupidly handsome face. 

“Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” he teased. 

He didn’t even give Soap time to defend himself before he was reaching down to undo his belt buckle and slide his hand down Soap’s boxers. 

“Fuuuck,” Soap hissed out as Ghost gripped his cock with those rough and calloused hands. Every twist of the man’s wrist had a jolt of pleasure shooting up Soap’s spine. His hand had felt like a branding iron, scorching to the touch and Soap had no complaints over the claim.

He was full on panting now. The only air he could manage to get was what Ghost allowed him when his lips granted reprieve. 

Soap was gradually nearing his breaking point. He normally would have been embarrassed for not lasting longer, but he decided to give himself a break when he’d been sporting a semi nearly the entire second half of the event. No thanks to the bastard who currently had his tongue shoved down his throat. 

Soap hadn’t even realized the involuntary bucking of his hips, his body’s feeble attempt to get off. The shallow thrusts got quicker, insinuating his building release. Just as Soap was about to reach that blissful moment he had been craving all night, Ghost snatched his hand away and removed them from Soap’s pants entirely.

“Oh, you fuckin’ bastard,” Soap spat out at the other man. 

Ghost stood straight before clicking his tongue. “We have a debt that needs paid now don’t we, darling?” he cooed at Soap who did his best to not let the pet name affect him too much.

Soap groaned in frustration. “Then hurry the fuck up cause I’m not gonna last much longer, ya fucker,” he growled out.

Ghost shook his head at him. “Ya sure do have a mouth on ya,” he stated.

“Aye, ye can do something about it next time.” Soap didn’t really care that he just left an opening for this to occur again, mind too preoccupied on the fact his balls felt like they were about to explode. 

Ghost had that smug look back on face as he reached into his pocket for something. He pulled out a set of black keys and pressed a button, the black truck behind him flashing its lights twice before he put them back. 

“Are ye kidding me? Your car was here the whole time?,” Soap whined. 

“Sounds an awful lot like complaining, mate. Not a fan of being watched, are ya?” Ghost taunted. The way he talked to Soap like he was a child was some fucked up mix of extremely hot and infuriating. 

Soap glared at the man. “Get the fuck in the back seat. Now.” 

Despite Ghost narrowing his eyes, Soap didn’t leave any room for argument and the other man complied with no further complaints. 

Ghost climbed into the back of the truck, spreading out across the seats with his hands resting behind his head as he looked at Soap. Well, didn’t he just look like the cat who got the cream. 

God, he was fucking hot.

Soap climbed in after him without another word. With the door closed, the lights in the truck went out and the space was filled with darkness once again. Soap was straddling the man’s massive thighs, nearly hanging off the edge. It was cramped, barely any room to move but he would make it work. Had to make it work. 

“Just gonna sit there and look pretty, darling?,” Ghost snarked, breaking the silence. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Soap replied with no real heat. He reached out to undo Ghost’s belt, hoping the way his throat bobbed at the clear outline in the man’s pants wasn’t visible in the moonlight. Good lord he was massive. That earlier apprehension started to slowly creep back in and wash away his false confidence. 

Ghost made another one of those clicking sounds with his tongue that had Soap freezing his movements. When he looked up into the man’s eyes, he couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped. Ghost had a way of looking at him that sent every warning bell and nerve in his body off like a crack of lightning. Like a predator finally catching his prey after having it in its sights for too long.

“Get undressed,” Ghost demanded.

Normally, Soap would put up a fight just to be an ass, but he didn’t have much fight left in him at this point. He was so on edge, so close to finally getting off he was honestly scared what he would do just to make it happen. With nothing more than a roll of his eyes in complaint, he started undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was only a matter of minutes before Soap was spread across the man’s lap in the back seat, completely naked. 

He felt like his brain was melting. There shouldn’t have been something so hot about the fact he was completely naked and bare while Ghost hadn’t even removed so much as his hat during all this. He could feel the rough denim on the sensitive skin of his thighs, the cold buckle from the man’s belt when he leaned forward just an inch. Soap wasn’t even ashamed when he realized he had been slowly grinding himself against the man, anything to ease his burning desire.  

Ghost finally spoke up, but Soap didn’t even stop his movements. “What’s your name?” he asked with that low and rough voice. Soap’s own ego was slightly stroked, he could hear the strain in the man’s voice despite the calm demeanor he was trying to convey. 

“John, but most people call me Soap,” he breathed out. He was two seconds away from ripping the clothes off this man himself.

“Soap? What kind of nickname is that?”

“Says the man called Ghost?” he quipped back.

“Alright, I’ll give ya that one. Why don’t you go on and get yourself ready for me, darling?,” he asked, but they both knew it was another command.

Soap couldn’t help the pointed stare he threw at the man. “Ye gonna make me do all the work, is that it?”

Ghost’s lopsided smile was answer enough. “I’m not the one who picked up the hat, Johnny.”

Johnny.

Fuck, why was that so hot to hear coming from his mouth? He really needed to get this thing moving.

Soap held his fingers out in front of the man’s mouth. When all he got was a questioning look in response, he rolled his eyes and pushed them against his lips. “Suck,” was all he said, patience wearing thin now.

Ghost opened his mouth slowly, letting Soap glide his fingers over his tongue. They were probably dirty as hell, covered in germs and popcorn butter but he didn’t really care at this point. The bastard would live. 

He was mesmerized as he watched Ghost work his tongue across his fingers. His mouth was hot, but nothing compared to the flames dancing across his skin as Ghost never lost eye contact during the whole ordeal. He could probably cum from this alone.

Before that thought became reality, Soap pulled his hand back. Watching the string of spit connecting his fingers to Ghost’s mouth glisten in the moonlight. 

He cursed lowly as he gripped himself in one hand, rising slightly before reaching around. He entered himself without a fuss, moaning at the friction as he slid his fingers in further. It burned a little, Ghost’s spit only helping ease the way so much. He preened like a peacock when he felt, more like heard, the other man’s sharp inhale below him. 

He started moving with a little more urgency at that, opening himself up while rocking his body back and forth. He wasn’t overly moaning like a whore, but he wasn’t exactly trying to hold back anything either. Quite enjoying the sharp little intakes of air and jerky movements of the man beneath him. He managed to get up to three fingers before he found that particular spot inside him. This time, his moans might have been a little porn starry. Ghost finally lifted his hands at that, gripping onto Soap’s hips like he was his lifeline. 

Soap wasn’t having any of that. He swatted the man’s hands away, pushing down on his chest with the hand not currently inside him when Ghost tried to protest. “No touching,” he scolded, taking great pleasure in the frustrated look on his face. 

Ghost grunted in response, like a damn toddler who didn’t get his way. “Awww,” Soap cooed at him, “Needy little thing, aren’t ye?” he said, throwing the other man’s words against him.

Ghost narrowed his eyes at that, but didn’t complain any further. “Funny.”

“I’d like to think so,” Soap replied. 

This time, when he went to undo Ghost’s belt, he wasn’t met with any resistance. With quick movements, he had Ghost pulled out in no time. Fucking hell. Massive was an understatement. It took everything in Soap to school his emotions. He wasn’t letting this bastard know how intimidated and equally impressed he was. He must have done a shit job cause Ghost had that satisfied, smug look back on his face. He could probably read minds for all he knew.

Soap gave a few quick pumps to Ghost’s cock before he lined himself up. He froze just as the other man was about to enter him. 

“The hat,” he said. It took a while before Ghost could tear his eyes away from where Soap hovered over his cock, the words finally registering before he reached up and placed his hat on Soap’s sweat-slicked mohawk. 

They were both burning up, feeling like a damn sauna in the backseat of the truck. The windows had fogged up a while ago as they swapped air in the small space, thankfully providing a thin form of privacy. 

Soap smiled as he adjusted the hat with one hand, the other still lining Ghost up as he slowly lowered himself down. 

Fuck.

They both moaned in chorus as Soap’s still too-tight heat enveloped Ghost’s cock. He sunk lower and lower at a glacial pace, letting gravity do the work and take some of the strain off his shaky legs.

He bottomed out eventually, resting on Ghost’s hips as he caught his breath. Ghost was panting below him, chest heaving as his body was strung tight with tension. Soap knew the man was dying to take control. Too fucking bad.

When Soap’s world wasn’t spinning anymore, he lifted himself back up before repeating the process all over again while setting a steady pace. He wasn’t going very fast, but he didn’t really need to. Ghost was so big that he reached all the spots he needed him too, the stretch and burn sending bolts shooting up his spine was enough for him.

He gripped tightly onto Ghost’s leather vest with his right hand, his own make shift bull rope as his left held onto the black hat resting on his head. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Ghost, but he still had to lean and bend at a weird angle to fit in the cramped space. He started to pick up a little speed, his movements mimicking Ghost’s from when he rode the bull earlier. Soap snapped his own hips back and forth, occasionally grinding down in a circular motion that had Ghost groaning unabashedly. 

He wasn’t normally one to be overly cocky, but he basked in the satisfaction of ruining this man. That calm and collected demeanor washed away by the panting, barely held back animal beneath him. Hell, he was equally just as ruined. He couldn’t contain the little punched out moans that escaped every time Ghost hit his prostate on each rock backward. He wouldn’t last a minute longer and judging by the shaking man before him, he wasn’t the only one. 

“S-Simon, pleaaase,” Soap groaned out between moans. He tried to convey everything he was thinking and wanted in that one word. Ghost being the mind reader he was picked up on it without dropping a beat. Like he was waiting for it.

He immediately grabbed onto Soap’s hips with enough force to bruise. Fuck, Soap wished they would. With one last glance at the man below him, Soap closed his eyes as Ghost started jackhammering into him. The car was a symphony of curses, moans, and grunts. Neither man holding back now. Soap removed his hand from the hat and pushed it against the ceiling, trying desperately to find purchase and not fall over. The rough movements had the sweat from his forehead running down his face, beads dropping onto Ghost’s chest off his nose and chin. He couldn’t find a single fiber of his being that cared.

His end was nearing and he wasn’t going to deny it this time. “Fuuuck, don’t s-stop,” he moaned as Ghost abused his prostate at the angle they were in. If Ghost decided now was a good time to tease the man, Soap would probably end up committing murder.

He could tell Ghost was almost at his breaking point as well. The man’s thrusts started to become wild, losing all sense of coordination as he chased his release. Soap screamed out when Ghost lifted his hand off his hip and grabbed his cock, pumping it in an off beat against his thrusts, never allowing Soap a second of reprieve from overwhelming sensation. 

“Go on, cum for me, Johnny,” he rasped out. Who was Soap to deny him?

Soap’s whole body seized as Ghost slammed into that bundle of nerves harder than he’d done all night. It felt like lightning was shooting through his body as his vision whited out. He didn’t even feel bad that he made a mess all over Ghost’s vest, too blissed out to even care. Ghost lasted around three and a half thrusts more before he was following Soap over the edge as well, cursing his name as he did. It was the best thing Soap had ever heard in his life. He responded with a groan as he felt Ghost empty out inside him. The feeling making his own spent cock twitch in response. Round two was not an option currently on the table. Soap felt like rolling over on the floor right there and taking a twenty hour nap after this. He didn’t think Ghost would mind very much.

They sat there for a few minutes, chests heaving and skin sweaty where they were still connected. Soap started looking around, his eyes scanning the man’s truck before he found what he was looking for in the center console. He popped the lid off and held it between his teeth as he unzipped Ghost’s soiled vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He ignored the curious eyes watching his movements. With the man’s chest now bear, Soap moved the marker to scribble out his number in his chicken scratch. He pulled back, looking down at his work with a satisfied expression as he capped the marker and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“Give me a call next time you’re in town, cowboy,” he said as he slowly raised himself off of Ghost’s softening cock. 

He wasn’t sure if the man had even heard him. His attention drawn to where he pulled out of Soap, his cum slowly starting to drip down his thighs. It was gonna be an uncomfortable ride home. He glanced around and grabbed his discarded clothes, doing his best to put them back on in the limited space. Ghost just sat there watching him, lounging across his backseat without a care in the world. 

Soap finally managed to put his shoes back on, pulling out his phone and ordering an Uber ride. He turned down Ghost’s offer to drive him home, he needed to get away from the man so his brain wasn’t mush anymore. With one last glance around, he leaned over Ghost on his knees. 

“Ye know, I like this hat. I think it’s mine now,” he stated.

“That so?” Ghost asked as he looked up at Soap.

“Yeah, it’s mine. Ye know what that means?” 

“What?” Ghost responded, genuinely curious. 

Soap lifted up the hat before lowering down, placing it back onto Ghost’s head as he whispered low in his ear. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

Soap didn’t say anything else as he exited the vehicle. The smile was uncontrollable as he walked across the gravel lot back to the car pick up zone.

 A man with a short circuiting brain laid in the backseat of his car behind him.

[bradleysass]

stun - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 581

It was supposed to be a quiet study session. Keyword: supposed to.

They had taken over a tucked-away corner in the Hogwarts library. James and Remus sat across from each other, textbooks open but barely touched, quills doodling nonsense instead of notes. Sirius lounged on a nearby armchair like he was posing for a wizarding magazine, tossing a small golden snitch-like stress ball between his fingers, while Regulus sat neatly beside him, legs crossed, inkpot uncapped, already halfway through his Charms essay.

Everything was going suspiciously smooth until Sirius leaned over and muttered something to Regulus about skipping the essay and sneaking into the kitchens instead.

Regulus didn’t even blink. He responded without looking up— In French.

Soft and elegant, the words rolled off his tongue in a perfect Parisian lilt. Sirius cackled in response and shot back something equally smooth. The two of them traded a handful of sentences, voices low and conspiratorial, like they were plotting something only French-speaking devils could comprehend.

James blinked once. Then twice. Then his jaw slowly dropped.

“Since when can you speak French?” he asked, turning to Regulus with the full force of his stunned betrayal. “You don’t even have the accent.”

Regulus finally looked up from his parchment, eyebrows arching in mild amusement. “Since always?” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Since always?!” James nearly knocked over his ink. “I’ve known you for years, and you’ve never—not once—said anything in French. I thought you were terrible at languages!”

“I am terrible at languages,” Regulus said matter-of-factly. “Except French.”

“Except—” James flailed. “You don’t even pronounce your R’s like a pretentious aristocrat! You sound—normal!”

“That’s the point,” Regulus said coolly. “I am French. It’d be embarrassing to butcher my own language.”

Sirius snorted. “We had a tutor growing up. Mum made sure we could recite Rousseau by age six.”

“I hated Rousseau,” Regulus muttered.

“I thought your insults sounded fancy,” Remus added, smirking into his book.

James was still frozen, scandalized, betrayed, and a little bit in love. “So all this time you could’ve been whispering sweet nothings to me in French and chose not to?”

Regulus finally set his quill down, eyes glittering. “Do you want me to?”

James, very much flustered and now red in the ears, opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “...No, I mean, yes. I mean—that’s not the point! The point is you’ve been hiding your sexy secret language powers!”

“I didn’t think you could handle it.”

Sirius wheezed.

Remus muttered, “He’s right, though.”

Regulus leaned over the table, all mischief and challenge, and murmured something low and musical right in James’ ear.

James promptly forgot how to function.

“What—what did he say?” he asked, looking around like someone else might translate.

Sirius smirked. “Oh, you don’t want to know.”

Remus coughed pointedly. “Definitely not safe for library settings.”

Regulus sat back down, smug and serene, like he hadn’t just scrambled every single one of James’ brain cells. “Now, can we get back to studying?”

James, red-faced and speechless, picked up his quill. And promptly drew a crooked heart with “J + R” in the middle.

Remus saw it. Didn’t comment. But grinned quietly to himself.

And Sirius? Sirius just whispered another line of French to Regulus, who smirked in return.

James groaned. “This is going to become a thing, isn’t it?”

“Oh, mon amour,” Regulus purred, definitely leaning into the accent now. “It already is.”

[thevoidstaredback]

There's a feeling that people who have died and come back feel. It's not easily shared or described, but it's there. It feels different to each person. To Jason, it feels like a cup of hot chocolate that's fresh off the stove, the smell of old books, waking up in the morning and being just so warm.

Before he'd been killed, he remembered that everything was bright. It was bright and magical and he always felt like he was being hugged by his mom when she was lucid. Then, after he'd died, after he'd come back, everything was cold and empty and dull. He’d honestly forgotten what colors looked like.

He had no idea what happened, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care or be upset. The Pit that had lingered in the back of his mind, rearing its ugly head when emotions got too high, was gone. It didn’t leave a hole or anything, but he knew it was gone.

In his dreams, he remembered hearing a voice. He didn’t know what they said, just that he felt lighter.

Jason found Danny in the library just after breakfast. Bruce and Tim, with Alfred confirming, had both said that he was still in the Manor and Jason needed to talk with him.

“What are you?” he asked the second the door closed behind him.

Danny didn’t look up from the book he was reading. “A psychopomp. Why?”

Well, that explained a few things. It also brought up so many more questions. “Did you do something to me?”

“To you? No. To that memorial in the Cave? Yes.”

It was weird to not feel the Pit stirring at the mention of the case. He took a seat on the chair opposite where Danny was sitting. “What did you do? I feel lighter, and the Pit’s gone.”

Danny turned the page in his book, raising his eyebrow as he said, “‘The Pit’?” Jason shook his head and Danny continued, “You feel lighter because it’s gone. The corrupt emotions plaguing your mind? I got rid of them for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job.”

“Your job? I thought you were King?”

Finally, Danny closed his book and put it on top of the other four on the table next to him. “As King, my primary function is to guide Souls. The method varies depending on the task. Sometimes I council, other times I make a rule. Souls are free to do as they please as long as they don’t upset the balance.”

“Okay..?”

“You’re a very well learned man, Jason. Tell me, what’s a psychopomp do?”

“Guide souls to the afterlife?”

“We act as bridges, free to cross between Realms as needed, privileged to help and maintain. You feel lighter because you’re no longer lost.”

“That’s,” Jason began, “That’s a lot of information.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the least I could do.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one came to get you when you were fourteen, and you were forced to wander.”

The silence between them fell heavy.

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not okay! It’s my job to make sure no one gets looked over- that everyone finds their peace, and yet-”

“So maybe it’s not entirely ‘okay’, but it’s what I got! Besides, now I can get away with making zombie jokes and no one can say otherwise.”

Danny snorted. “Death jokes are the best.”

“Right? Especially because no one can refute them.”

The two laughed.

***

The members of the Justice League Dark were in the kitchen when he arrived, pizza and soda and wine sitting on the counter despite it being ten in the morning.

“Good marrow, everyone,” Phantom yawned.

The others in the room all started yawning and he smirked. It worked every time.

“You’re sounding very Kingly this morning.” Deadman said, “Something happen?”

“Meh,” he shrugged, “It comes and goes.”

There was a tiny smile on Raven’s face. “Just like the one brain cell you have?”

“Exactly!” Phantom grinned, “She gets it!”

Zaranna gasped dramatically. “You have a functioning brain cell?!”

“Sometimes,”

“Alright, alright,” Constantine said through another yawn, starting everyone else up again, “Have some pizza and tell us what the hell you meant last night.”

Phantom looked at the wine. “This early in the morning?”

Pulling the bottle closer to herself, Zatanna scowled, “Shut up.”

Raven yawned again. “Isn’t there something to stop all this yawning?”

The answer, somehow, is no. Not in any of the Infinite Realms is there a way to make yawning not contagious.

Sitting at the table, Phantom retold his night. Obviously, he left out details that didn’t include them, skipping over them with the explanation of Kingly Duties. After a full hour of talking, the discussion was finally opened to the table.

“Let me get this straight,” Deadman said, “Batman’s father-in-law is maybe probably trying to get into the Realms to challenge you to a duel?”

Phantom shrugged, “I mean, yeah? Baty and his cauldron think so at least. And the evidence points to them, so I’m inclined to believe.”

“That’s great and all,” Zatanna interrupted, “But what about the Coma Case? There are still new reports coming in every day,”

“That’s what I don’t get about this,” Phantom agreed, “I think we’ve got two different cases going on.”

“Completely unrelated?” Raven asked.

“Completely unrelated.”

Constantine sighed heavily, throwing back whatever was left in the flask in his hands. “You said you talked to Lady Gotham?”

“Yeah,”

“What’d she say?”

“In so many words? She didn’t give us the simple answers she had because…” he trailed off, realization hitting him.

“‘Because’,”

“Because someone’s working for the enemy.”

“What?!”

“Either whoever’s behind this has someone on the inside or- Shit!” Everyone stood with him, chasing after him as he flew to the basement door. “Deadman, with me!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Zatanna, start looking for any Realms Beings in Gotham. Raven, Connie, I need you guys to make sure not a hint of anything has spread beyond us and Batman.”

“What the hell is going on?!” Constantine demanded.

“No time to explain!” Opening the door, Phantom and Deadman disappeared into the Infinite Realms.

Part 22 Part 24

[letarasstuff]

Female Rage

(A/N): Initially, I wanted to end this one on a hopeful note. But fighting the war of equality and equity can be pretty hopeless. I tried to be as inclusive as possible, but it's came out in a very binary way. I'm sorry for that and I'm readyto change anything.

Summary: Spencer learns from his daughter how much the patriarchy really sucks.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: the utter feeling of hopelessness in today's patriarchy, unwanted advances, some men suck

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________

“Hey, what’s with you today?” Spencer asks after hearing his daughter slamming the front door shut.

Her stomping feet bring her towards the living room, where he sits on the couch with a book in his hands, deciding whether or not he’ll include it in his next class. Looking up from the written words, he instantly spots all the emotion running over (Y/N)’s face.

Now, being a father to a 16 year old teenager wasn’t always easy and especially since puberty started it’s becoming increasingly difficult to decipher his child, but Spencer knows right away what kind of emotional cocktail is playing here: Anger, hurt, a pinch of shock and layered under all of this is a certain type of fear. Which one is up to (Y/N) telling him.

“What’s with me today?” She asks him in an incredulous tone. “With me? What about you? Or your entire gender. No, seriously. How can you men go around, trumpeting how you are the stronger, the smarter, the better, the most superior gender? And mean that? Even going as far as to believe that bullshit”

(Y/N) stops, taking in a deep breath. Her father looks at her with waiting eyes, thinking that she now will calmly explain to him what her whole tirade is about. But it seems that this was just the prologue. Because she continues with even more vigour in her voice than she started with.

“For real, what makes you even think that? Stronger than a person, who was assigned female at birth? Just because you are able to build muscles faster than we? Or lose weight faster than us? You know what I call that? An evolutionary problem, because while I got emergency fat to feed off in the case of, I don’t know, an apocalypse, you will freeze to death.

“Our bodies are, for the most part, able to grow an entire functioning human being. We literally take a breakfast bar and build fingers with that energy.

“And for the smarter part? No, absolutely not. So many findings in history have been stolen from women by men, who greedily put their name on it and call it a day of science. Without women, cars probably would still drive around with windshield wipers. Mary Anderson has been laughed at for that idea, despite being one of the first women to hold a patent. And as soon as it expired, suddenly wipers were installed in all cars. Out of nowhere, it stopped being a dumb idea? Just because you weren’t able to attribute it to a woman?!

“But what more to expect from a gender that made protective gear for their testicles in hockey mandatory a hundred years before doing the same thing with a helmet. Who would have thought that brain cells need protection, too? A woman definitely.

I don’t wanna say one gender is better than the other or that there should be a particular fight between any gender at all, but men make it out like that. Damn it, they make women compete with each other to garner their attention. All those “pick me” girls you make fun of? They are the product of internalised misogyny.

“The baseline is wanting to be different from the “typical girl”, right? Well, what is a typical girl, who defined her and why is it so bad to be typical. Who do I want to be different for? Who is mad that I’m dressing up, putting makeup on or having good friendships with other girls?

“Men apparently, because they don’t want a different girl. They don’t want a well dressed, put together woman for the sake of love or so. They want someone easy. Nothing complicated, not someone, who asks them if these pants do look better with that shirt or this blouse. They don’t want to be confronted with problems. That’s why they made up a narrative of how a woman is supposed to be, solely for their own interest.

“And this whole thing eradicates the beautiful experiences you can have as a woman. I don’t talk about these silly and partly belittling things like girl dinner or girl maths. I’m talking about hyping each other up. Bathrooms in a club are fun, because there are a bunch of strangers, talking another stranger up to shoot their shot. Or down from texting their ex. There is unity.

“So where do men get their audacity?!”

Ending her whole rant with this question, (Y/N) stands in front of her father, seething and looking like she is about to overthrow the patriarchy with her own two hands. Right here, right now.

Meanwhile Spencer has started to shrink into the sofa and looks as physically small as possible.

“Uhm, the audacity for what, Sweetheart?” He asks hesitantly, scared for her reaction, but also knowing that this is something his daughter needs to get out of her system.

“TO WALK UP TO ME AND TRYING TO GET SOMETHING ON WITH ME WHILE HE CLEARLY HAS BEEN TRYING TO DESTROY MY WHOLE PRESENTATION! TO FLIRT WITH A MINOR WHILE HE CLEAR AS DAY IS IN HIS MID TO LATE TWENTIES!”

(Y/N) falls down on the sofa face first, next to her father. He rubs her arm up and down in a soothing manner, trying to take the fall after her burst of warranted female rage.

“I apologise. I know, there is nothing I can do against all of what you just said. I also know, like you, that we are talking about a structural problem. It’s nothing that can be solved by a few words. It sucks, knowing that your right to vote is younger than the patent on the first motorised vehicle. It’s not right that you always have to stick up for your rights, while mine will never be threatened.

“Nothing about all of this is fair. That I have to raise you in a way to remind you that any man out there could hurt you. It’s not fair that you have to go tell other men making advances at you about an imaginary boyfriend, because they rather believe in the legitimation of a fake male than your no. That you have to say no more than once, just because someone wants to “make sure you really mean it”.

“I can’t do anything right now that will satisfy you.

“But I can promise you that I will always listen to you. Listen to what makes you mad about this system. I will listen to other people, telling me how the patriarchy failed them. I promise to uplift the women in my life, give credit where it’s due and try to be the best feminist I can be.

But you need to promise me to tell me how I can support you the best in a world that wants to diminish your opinion, your rights and you. Can we do that?”

A short moment of silence gives Spencer the opportunity to think about instances, where he had to endure how (Y/N) being born female made her life more difficult. May it be boys pulling your hair on the playground and the teacher saying that they show love in this abusive way. May it be being called emotional or being told to stop being dramatic while talking about her problems. May it be in simply enjoying stereotypical girly things and being called basic because of that.

“Yes, I promise, I’ll keep you in check. And if you start rambling about how men are superior, I’ll ship you off to the worst retirement home I can find,” (Y/N) says, voice a bit muffled by the couch pillows.

The family continues sitting in silence, the feeling of deep and utter unfairness seeping into their bones.

If you have come this far, please consider a reblog or a comment. Not holding you at gunpoint or anything, but it would be pretty neat.

All works:

@venomsvl @kneelforloki @ssa-uglywhore27 @bibissparkles

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

General Spencer Reid:

@mayoanddelight (sunny, you seriously need to tell me when you change your url, this list had such an old one in it)

[grison-in-space]

Stupidest of stupid questions: So humans are trichromatic, right? We basically have RGB eyes. How inefficient would it be to have CMYK eyes? Is it even possible?

You could absolutely do CMY eyes, but the K (being black) is a little more difficult because black isn't a wavelength of light so much as the absence of light. I suppose you could call the K your rods, which are best used in low light and convey things like "shadows" and "movement" particularly effectively. As a human, the most sensitive part of your retina, the part you're using when you directly look at things, is called the fovea. It is PACKED with cones, which are good for color and also tight spatial resolution; rods are found outside along the periphery of both the retinal and visual field. So we're just going to set the K aside now and think about those cones.

Honestly, tetrachromat eyes are technically pretty easy to achieve: all you need is four versions of cone-rhodopsin genes getting translated into different kinds of cone-rhodopsin cells in your retina. Old World primates evolved our trichromat eyes from dichromat mammalian ancestors exactly this way: with a gene duplication in one core cone-rhodopsin gene that allowed one of the copies to accumulate mutations until a sufficiently divergent copy fixed in the population.

So to have CMY eyes, you'd need three cone-rhodopsins with different wavelength sensitivities: one that is most sensitive to cerulean, one most sensitive to maroon, and one most sensitive to yellow. You might or might not have better color resolution than a regular old RGB human, though: color resolution is partly a function of the sensory information hitting your retinas, but it's also partly a function of how much brain space you dedicate to processing that information.

I mentioned my blind cat Arthur the other day--here's a photo:

Arthur is what we call cortically blind. As a kitten, he had an intact pupillary reflex and could probably see light vs dark, but he also had severe nystagmus, so his pupils jittered uncontrollably all the time and he probably didn't get a whole lot of useful visual input. Without the visual experience of seeing things and learning how to organize and process visual information, his brain as he developed went "you know what? fuck this" and stopped dedicating any processing power to whatever visual input he was getting.

Basically, he lost visual acuity because the information he was able to pipe to his brain was fragmented and poor-quality enough that his brain stopped bothering to process it. If I pulled his current eyeballs out and magically hooked up new totally functional ones, he wouldn't be able to do anything with them: his brain has given up sorting out the information.

So the question of whether theoretical CMY humans could distinguish colors better than RGB humans is driven by two things: one, whether having two highly-overlapping cones helps you distinguish between slightly variant light types better than very different cones, and two, whether we're extending the total visual range by moving the cones at the external ends of the range (B and R) farther apart. Overlapping but unique sensory information can be really helpful for localizing and distinguishing similar-but-not-identical inputs--that's one of the reasons owls are good at localizing quiet noises, actually, their ears are wildly asymmetrical and they can computer where a noise is made based on how loudly it can be heard with each ear, especially if the owl is on the move as it listens. Like the Doppler effect, but faster with a lot more processing power on it.

I have no idea which would be more effective, but it's a fun thing to think about!

[justwinginglife]

Part 1.5 of Wait For Me Fic

At the request of @anamedeiros99, this is a continuation of the Wait For Me series. Just some short little flashback action. It takes place before Soshiro leaves for the Defense Force from his POV.

She was doing it again- she was driving him crazy.

He'd already long taken notice of all the specific ways in which she was growing up, but his shame and embarrassment kept him clinging to the relationship they'd always had, forcing him to keep treating her the way he always did.

Besides the fact that he was terrified of destroying the most important relationship of his entire life, he was also unwilling to admit just how many times he looked at her just a little too long, how many times his heart beat just a little too fast. It was unsettling and unwanted. Everything was perfect the way it was and he didn't need to go and fuck it up by thinking with the wrong head.

But he thought he might just throw all self control out the window when he'd taken her to the beach and she'd opted for a bikini instead of her usual, conservative, one piece. He bit his tongue to keep from spilling all the salacious thoughts that were unintentionally flooding his mind and he shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his swimshorts, trying to keep their intentions at bay.

He could tell something was frustrating her but he couldn't figure out what, and certainly not when she was wearing that. He was surprised his brain cells were functioning at all- he thought the heat in his cheeks would've burnt them to a crisp by now. He was glad it was blistering out so he could feign heatstroke.

His struggles only got worse when she proposed a game of beach volleyball. He had protested, knowing where this would go, but he never could resist her pleading eyes. He caved in within a matter of seconds.

As they were playing, he thought to himself that never in his life did he ever think he would be so focused on a volleyball, his eyes never leaving it for fear of glimpsing something else. If his face didn't give him away, his shorts certainly would and he refused to let them betray him like that. So his eyes stayed fixed on the ball, devoting himself to it like it was his religion. And when she was finally tired enough to quit, he dove into the ocean shortly after, hoping the cold water would cleanse him of this unnatural state he found himself in.

It backfired because she joined him in the water and then afterwards, proceeded to dry his dripping body off with a towel. He wondered if she knew just how strained he was, trying to resist her. Trying not to kiss her salt-stained lips, take her on the sand, take her in the water.

He'd hated men with little self control and right now he was starting to hate himself. He never wanted to be the type of person that she couldn't feel safe around. He'd protect her smile forever.

Those thoughts sobered him enough to stand firm when she began to suck provocatively (did she even fucking know just how tempting and seductive she was being right now??) on a popsicle and then again, when she dried herself off with his towel, spending just a little too much time hovering the cloth in between her legs for his comfort.

He thought he might just melt into the sand if she kept this up, but he'd rather be lost among the grains then become something he'd be disappointed in, something she'd be disappointed in. So he resisted over and over again, until finally it became reflex. It became second nature. He pushed his feelings so far down that he hoped he wouldn't even recognize them if they tapped him on the shoulder.

He'd do it for her, he'd do anything for her, even reject himself.

But she didn't make it easy for him.

He was puzzled to discover that she had a new way of styling her hair, a new way of doing her makeup, a new way of doing her nails, every single month without fail. He didn’t know why she changed styles so frequently, but he held on to that confusion, to that uncertainty, because it kept him from thinking about how delicious she looked as a redhead, or how much he’d like to pull on her blonde ponytail, how he wanted to tuck purple strands behind her ear. He wanted to kiss her red lips, kiss her pink lips, kiss her black lips. He didn’t care if it smeared on his face, he’d take any part of her that he could get.

And then he’d remind himself to push those feelings down. Again. He found it quite the workout.

When he finally made the decision to join the Defense Force, he was relieved to have some respite from the constant battle in his mind.

But then she sent him a letter.

And it changed everything.

[aetheraa]

Potential Energy || K.TH x Reader

word count; 17.7+K

pairing: Taehyung x Reader, friends -> almost strangers -> lovers

Tags: University setting, Friend Group setting ,ChemMajor!Taehyung , PhysicsMajor!Reader, ComSciMajor!Jimin, ComSciMajor!Namjoon, ComSciMajor!Yoongi, Angst, happy end, partly funny, fluff, slight cursing

Need to use my physics degree for ANYTHING

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

I didn’t exactly choose physics out of passion. It was more like a compromise—between doing something “useful” and not absolutely hating my life. And three semesters in, it’s… manageable. Stressful, occasionally soul-crushing, but manageable.

What no one told me about science degrees, though, is that the numbers are the easy part. It’s the people that get complicated.

Especially when one of them is Kim Taehyung.

I met him during a first-year seminar, when we were both too sleep-deprived to understand what the professor was talking about. He had half a pencil in his mouth, a half-written formula on his hand, and somehow still managed to look like he belonged in an indie film. Since then, things just… settled. Same study group. Same friend circle. Same tendency to share snacks during lectures without asking. High flirting maintenance.

And somewhere between “do you have the notes?” and “want to grab coffee?”, we became friends. Maybe more.

Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself—every time he leans just a little too close, or looks at me like he’s thinking about something he shouldn’t say out loud. It drove me insane, for him to be exact. And maybe there was more, but it is never mentioned.

But anyways, enough thirsting. Monday mornings should honestly be illegal by the way.

My coffee was lukewarm, my brain barely functioning, and the only thing keeping me upright was pure spite—and maybe the promise of a free seat by the window. I just wanted to make it to the learning booth without human interaction.

But of course, the universe had other plans. “You look like you just fought entropy and lost.”, I didn’t need to look up to recognize that voice.

Taehyung.

He was already walking beside me, completely unfazed by the fact that it was 8:15 a.m. and life was meaningless. His hair was tousled in that stupidly perfect way, and his hoodie looked soft enough to nap in for the rest of eternity.

“I have exactly zero brain cells for your chemistry jokes right now,” I mumbled. “That’s fine,” he said easily. “I brought enough for both of us.” I gave him a look. He just grinned.

“You mean caffeine?” - “I mean charm.” Of course he did.

“Remind me why I agreed to be in a study group with you again?” - “Because you like me,” he said, without missing a beat. I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with a half-smile.

“And because I’m the only one who understands Professor Jung’s assignments,” he added, quieter this time. I hated how right he was.

We reached the learning area, both our hands reached out at the same time. Fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away immediately. Fate? I told myself it didn’t mean anything, not to be dramatic or something. I wasn’t sure I believed it. Can't think about it much anyway, I really need to get some physics in or chemistry. Depending on what the others do.

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

Not much learning done but the thought of it counts. The others left first. Minjae with his usual charming smile -too charming in my direction-, Jimin with a half-empty iced coffee and earbuds already in. Taehyung and I stayed behind. Not on purpose, I think. It just… happened.

We stepped outside into the late afternoon chill. I wrapped my arms around myself, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t. “You’re quiet,” I said after a while. “So are you,” he replies.

I glanced at him. “Is this about earlier?” He blinked, pretending not to get it. “Earlier?” - “Minjae,” I said, slow and careful. “You kind of shut down after he started talking.” - “I was focusing.” - “You didn’t even touch your notes.”

That earned me a quick side glance. His lips twitched for a second. Minjae was something else today, i gotta admit. Always tried to explain shit I already knew, interrupting Tae or Jimin when I asked them and explained it in their place.

“He talks a lot,” was all he said. “So do you,” I smile at him- He let out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Guess that’s why I find it annoying.”

I stopped walking. He took two steps more before realizing, then turned back to me. “You sure that’s all it was?” I asked.

His eyes met mine, and for a split second—just a flicker—there was something there. Something almost vulnerable. But then he looked away.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

And just like that, the moment passed. But my heart didn’t get the memo.

------------------- Thursday night had become our unofficial “we survived the week” gathering. Someone always hosted. This time, it was Yoongi’s turn, well it's almost every time his turn—not that he actually invites everytime. He just left his door unlocked, and we took that as a yes.

I walked in to find Namjoon trying to light three candles at once, Jimin and Taehyung already sprawled on the couch like they owned the place.

He looked up as I stepped inside. “You’re late,” he said.

I dropped my bag by the door and shot him a look. “I miscalculated the time it would take to walk here at my current velocity, okay? Blame physics, not me.” - “So your speed was fine, but your judgment was off?” - “Exactly,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “I clearly didn’t account for friction. Or that one cat I had to stop and say hi to.”

He tried to hold back a smile. Failed. “Forgiven,” he said, eyes lingering just a moment too long. Jimin popped up beside me, grinning like he lived for this kind of interaction. “She brought snacks, too. Definitely MVP.”

Namjoon dropped the lighter and nearly lit his sleeve instead. “Okay, please, someone take fire privileges away from me,” he groaned, inspecting the singed thread. “Give me that,” Jimin said, swooping in like a little firefighter.

Taehyung leaned back into the couch, eyes back on his phone, thumb scrolling with a little too much focus. I sank down beside him, heart still tapping a rhythm it had no business knowing.

Yoongi appeared from the kitchen holding two bottles of cider and asked, “Truth or dare or movie night?” - “Both,” Namjoon said immediately. “But only if I don’t have to kiss anyone again. Not after last week.”

Jimin gasped like a telenovela star. “Excuse me, I’m a ten in at least three dimensions.” - “That’s three more than your code last semester had functioning variables,” Namjoon shot back without looking up.

“Wow, computer science hate” I said, biting back a laugh. “We doing truth or roast tonight?” Taehyung snorted beside me. “No but seriously,” Jimin pouted. “Let’s do truth or dare. I already have at least four embarrassing stories saved in my mental Dropbox.”

“Is it cloud storage if it’s mostly emotional damage?” I asked. “Yes,” Namjoon answered. “We’re CompSci-Chem-something majors. That’s our entire personality.” - “Truth or dare,” Jimin repeated with dangerous energy in his eyes.

“Pass,” Yoongi said immediately, already half asleep in the armchair. - “Same,” Namjoon added. “We’re too old for that shit.” - “We’re literally twenty-one,” Jimin huffed.

“Exactly. That’s ancient in dare years.” - “Okay, wow. I didn’t realize I was hanging out with senior citizens,”Jimin shot, raising hands. I smirked, sipping from my soda. “Maybe the real truth is that you’re just scared of dares now.”

“I’m not scared,” Namjoon said. “I just have dignity.” - “That’s rich coming from the guy who wore socks with crocs last week,” Taehyung chuckled beside me, soft and amused. “He called it ‘performance irony.’” The bickering continued for a few seconds before I held up my hands.

“Okay, okay—what if we compromise?” I said. “No truth. No dare. Just… Just Dance.” The room fell quiet.

Four sets of eyes turned to me like I’d just suggested we run a marathon. “You didn’t bring...,” Yoongi said slowly, suspicion in every syllable. I grinned, pointing toward the TV stand. “Technically, I don’t have to. We already have everything we need.”

Realization hit them one by one. “Oh god,” Namjoon muttered. Jimin gasped. “Wait, is it still hooked up—? Did you keep it connected this whole time?” - “Of course he did,” I said. “It’s literally the Switch we all got Yoongi for his birthday.”

“And I still haven’t forgiven you,” Yoongi mumbled, sinking deeper into the armchair. “I said no gifts.” - “You said no individual gifts,” Namjoon reminded him. “Group-funded was still on the table.” - “And we chose violence,” Jimin said proudly.

Taehyung let out a quiet laugh beside me, head tilted toward the screen. “You all forced Just Dance into his life and then made him Rasputin three times in one night.”

“A core memory,” I added with a grin.

“A core trauma,” Yoongi corrected.

But he didn’t stop me as I grabbed the controllers and started up the game. The music started like a countdown to chaos. “Alright, first round!” Jimin yelled, already doing high knees like he was about to enter the Just Dance Olympics. “Namjoon vs. Me. Let's GO!”

“Why am I always the test subject for your ridiculous ideas?” Namjoon groaned, but he was already rolling up his sleeves. “Because you're tall and dramatic. It’s good TV.”

The room had fully transformed. Couch pushed back, random socks on the floor, someone’s cider dangerously close to the TV. I curled up on the couch next to Taehyung, watching the two of them flail through Bang Bang Bang like human spaghetti.

“He’s going to pull something,” Tae muttered. “Pride muscle,” I said. “Very sensitive.” Namjoon nearly fell trying to do a body roll and shouted, “I’M A SCHOLAR, NOT A DANCER.”

The next round was wild. Jimin versus Yoongi. Yoongi didn't move. Jimin moved for him. “Dance through me, king,” he declared dramatically, holding Yoongi’s limp arms like puppets.

Then Jimin turned, finger pointed at me. “You’re up.” - “Against who?”

“Who do you think?” I didn’t need to look. I already felt Tae shift beside me. He stood, holding out a controller like it was a challenge and a joke at the same time.

“Let’s see what physics can do on the dance floor.” I raised an eyebrow. “You ready to get absolutely demolished by kinetic energy?” - “Please. I am kinetic energy.” The game loaded. I LUV IT -PSY. “You planned this,” I muttered. “Manifested it,” he said.

The music hit. We bumped shoulders, tripped over the rug, spun the wrong way at least twice. Taehyung laughed so hard he dropped the controller at one point, and I stepped on it mid-dab.

“That’s a foul!” - “You dropped it!” - “It was a strategic drop!” The room was howling. Namjoon was on the floor. Yoongi had pulled his hoodie over his face like he couldn’t bear to witness it.

And yet, in between the ridiculous moves and the breathless laughter—There were moments. Like when our hands brushed during a spin and neither of us pulled away. Or when I lost my balance, and he caught me by the waist, steady and close for just a second too long.

I didn’t win. But I didn’t care. And as we sank back onto the couch, both of us grinning, flushed, and slightly out of breath— I knew I’d replay that dance way more than the game ever would.

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

The night wound down slowly, like the last few minutes of a song no one wanted to end. The lights dimmed, the music turned into background noise, and one by one, people stretched, yawned, and started gathering their stuff.

“Early lecture,” Namjoon grumbled, already halfway into his jacket. “Same,” Yoongi said, not moving. Jimin was still dancing faintly to himself as he packed up the empty snack bags. I stood, controller in hand, and caught Taehyung’s eye. He didn’t say anything—just gave me a little nod. The kind that said:

That was fun. I nodded back. The kind that meant: Yeah. It really was. Chesy, right?

We all trickled out into the hallway like a slow-moving wave, each of us heading in different directions. Different bus stops, different dorms, different schedules. The real world was waiting again.

But even as I trudged through my morning lecture the next day—half-asleep, three sips into a way-too-hot coffee—I felt it. That warm little echo of last night.

I walked towards the cafeteria. I was the only one who had my main studies in pyhsics, which equals more physics lectures than the rest. So enjoying some meal after solving way too many equations is a well deserved treat. or? OR??!?!?

I spotted them before they saw me. Jimin waving his fork while ranting about some assignment. Namjoon flipping through notes while eating noodles with one hand. Taehyung sitting sideways in his chair, hoodie up, headphones in—but one ear uncovered, like he didn’t want to miss anything.

My chest did that stupid little flutter thing again. I walked over, dropped my tray on the table, and slid into the empty seat next to him.

He looked at me. Just for a second. And smiled. “You're late, again ,” he said, voice low and familiar. “Still working on my velocity calculations,” I replied with a grin. He laughed softly, and it settled between us like a secret.

“I swear, if Professor Jung adds one more paper to this week, I’m dropping out and becoming a barista,” Jimin announced dramatically, stabbing a cherry tomato with the rage of a man defeated by academia. “You’d spill hot milk on someone within a week,” Namjoon replied, deadpan. “Aesthetic chaos,” Jimin shot back. “That’s my brand.”

Taehyung hummed beside me, flicking his straw wrapper at Namjoon like a cat testing gravity. “Honestly though, we do need to start prepping for that chem midterm. It’s not going to be like the last one.” - “You mean the one where you winged it and still got a B+?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled like the sin it was. “Exactly. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.” - “Unless you’re a capacitor,” Namjoon muttered. Jimin blinked. “Please. Not at the lunch table.”

I sipped my drink and leaned back, watching them bounce off each other like charged particles. The kind of chaos that only comes from knowing people long enough to not filter anymore. “So, are we actually going to do a study session?” I asked.

“Group panic session?” Taehyung offered. “No. Like… serious studying. With flashcards and everything.” Jimin groaned. “You say that now, but the second someone brings snacks we’ll be talking about existential dread and random Wikipedia facts.”

“We’re literally incapable of focusing for more than twenty minutes,” Namjoon added. “Challenge accepted,” I said, already pulling out my phone. “Okay, what about Saturday? Yoongi’s place?” - “He’ll pretend to hate it but secretly clean the place before we arrive,” Taehyung murmured.

I laughed. “Exactly. That’s the vibe we need.” - “Fine,” Jimin sighed. “But only if we get bubble tea after.” - “Deal,” I said. “And this time, we’re actually studying.” - “We’ll see about that,” Taehyung murmured, just low enough for me to catch.

I glanced at him, and he was already looking away—chewing the end of his straw like he hadn’t just made my stomach do weird, traitorous flips.

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

The only thing worse than an 8 a.m. lecture is an 8 a.m. lab. Fluorescent lights, the faint smell of ethanol, and that one cabinet that creaks like it's haunted—it was a whole mood. And not a good one. I skimmed the partner list posted on the whiteboard, already bracing for disappointment.

And there it was. Minjae – Y/N. No. Absolutely not. "Problem?" I turned to find Taehyung standing beside me, hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

"I'm not working with Minjae," I said flatly. "Not a fan of his molecule jokes?" "I'm not a fan of him breathing too close to my face." Taehyung raised a brow. "Wanna switch?" I blinked. He shrugged, casual as ever. "We’re both unassigned. If we team up now, Jung won’t make it weird."

"Are you—" - "I'm literally offering you freedom. Say yes before he comes over and starts mansplaining electrons again." - “Yes,” I said instantly. “Please. Save me.”

We moved to a bench near the window, and before I could even breathe, the professor called out:

“Taehyung and Y/N, good. You’ll be working on the qualitative ion tests today. Gloves, goggles, no explosions, please.” - “No promises,” I muttered. Taehyung pulled on his gloves and grinned. “You just didn’t wanna be with Minjae, huh?”

“I’d rather be set on fire. I like him, but he can't get too much sometimes” He laughed, and something in my chest fluttered. We started prepping the materials, metal solutions lined up like little rainbow potions.

I reached for the pipette, and so did he. Our hands brushed, fate or unconsciously connected? We both froze. "You can go first," he said, voice suddenly quieter. I nodded, maybe a little too fast.

We worked in sync after that—pouring, observing, recording results. But every time his sleeve brushed mine or he leaned just a little too close to read my notes, I felt it. That electric something.

At one point, he asked, “You always this focused in lab?” - “Only when I don’t wanna blow up the room.” He smirked. “You’re cute when you’re serious.”

I looked up. He was watching me. I opened my mouth to respond, but the sharp clink of glass breaking behind us snapped us both out of it. “Someone just melted a beaker,” Taehyung muttered, tearing his gaze away. “I feel that emotionally,” I whispered. But inside, I was already melting, too.

We walked in silence for a few steps after leaving the lab. Not awkward silence—just… comfortable. Taehyung glanced over, mouth twitching into that half-smile again.

“So,” he said, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets, “still down for tonight?” “Of course,” I said. “Someone’s gotta keep Jimin from turning his flashcards into origami again.” My phone buzzed. Speak of the devil.

Group Chat – CHAOS 101

Jimin: reminder: yoongi’s place, 7pm. yes? no? die alone?

Namjoon: we literally confirmed this yesterday.

Jimin: ok but i forgot and panicked.

Yoongi: i hope u step on a lego

Taehyung: i’m still in.

You: same. bringing the bare minimum brain capacity.

Jimin: as long as u bring snacks.

I snorted, locking my screen. “We’re still on,” I said. “Cool,” Tae replied. “Guess I’ll see you later.” - “Guess you will.” I watched him walk off in the opposite direction—shoulders relaxed, head tilted toward the sunset like he could actually slow time.

I hated how easily I could watch him walk away.

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

The door was already cracked open, a sign that we were welcome to enter and destroy whatever peace remained inside. I stepped in and immediately tripped over a pile of textbooks. “Welcome to hell,” Namjoon said from the floor, surrounded by color-coded notes and a look of academic betrayal.

“This place smells like ramen and stress,” I said, tossing my bag next to the couch. “Don’t be rude,” Jimin chimed in from the kitchen. “I sprayed cinnamon air freshener.” - “Now it smells like spiced stress.”

Taehyung was already lounging on the couch, pen spinning between his fingers. He looked up when I entered—eyes soft, expression unreadable. “You’re late,” he said.

“I was recalculating my internal time dilation, and lets be honest; atleast i showed up” I replied. - “Uh-huh. Nerd.” I dropped down next to him. “Takes one to know one.”

It was past midnight. Jimin had face-planted into a pile of flashcards and hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Namjoon was muttering formulas in his sleep, one highlighter still clutched in his hand like a weapon. Yoongi had long given up and retreated into his room with the words “wake me and die” as his parting gift.

I was still curled up on the floor, legs half under the coffee table, scribbling something about electron configurations that didn’t make sense anymore.

“You’re still trying?” I looked up. Taehyung had shifted closer at some point, sitting cross-legged beside me, a notebook in his lap but no real intention of using it. “Keyword: trying,” I said. “It’s mostly just lines and regret now.”

He smiled, soft and sleepy. “Looks like modern art.” - “That’s generous.” He tilted his head slightly. “You always push this hard?” I paused. “It’s not about pushing. It’s about… proving I can.” - “To who?” I didn’t answer right away. That question hit deeper than I expected. “Myself, I guess.”

He nodded, gaze gentle. “You already do. Even when you don’t see it.” My breath caught. “That’s…” I started, but the words tangled. “…weirdly nice coming from you.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Don’t get used to it.” There was a long pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just… full. “Do you ever feel like…” I started, then stopped. “Like?” he prompted, voice barely above a whisper now. “Like there’s something you’re not saying out loud, but it’s just… sitting there. Between the lines.”

His eyes met mine. For once, he didn’t smile. “All the time.” My heart was beating stupidly loud. “And what if saying it changes everything?” I asked. His voice was soft. “What if not saying it does too?”

Silence.

I looked down at my notebook, where my pen had stopped mid-word. When I looked up again, he was still watching me. Still waiting. I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. But I didn’t move away, either. And somehow, in the quiet of textbooks and unsaid things—that said enough.

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

It started with a laugh.

Not his. Hers.

I didn’t even know her name. I just knew she was in our major. Sat one row behind me. And Taehyung was talking to her. A lot. Study related mostly but still.

At first, I told myself it was nothing. That he was just being friendly. He’s always friendly. Maybe trying to get some notes from the other shore?

And maybe I shouldn’t have cared. Maybe I shouldn’t have felt that tight twist in my chest. But I did. “Hey,” I said when class ended, catching up to him as we exited the building. He looked at me. Briefly.

“Hey.” No smile. No teasing comment. Just… flat. Weird but okay.

“Everything okay?” He shrugged. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Because you’re acting like I don’t exist anymore?!?!? - I didn't say that but I was pissed. “No reason,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… haven’t talked much lately.”

“Been busy you know? This other course is taking a lot of my time”

I nodded. We walked in silence for a few steps.

And then, as if he couldn’t hold it in:

“You seemed pretty close with Minjae in lab .” I blinked. “What?” “Tuesday. Minjae and You. You were laughing a lot.”

So he did notice. Minjae apoligized for being so explain-hungry and so pushy. And why hold a grudge? “He said something stupid about Schrödinger’s cat and a vending machine,” I said slowly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

He nodded, but his jaw tightened. “Didn’t look that way.” That stung. “Seriously?” I asked. “You’re mad because I laughed?” He stopped walking. “No,” he said. “I’m mad because I don’t know where I stand with you anymore. Ditching me for him was.. I don't know”

Silence.

The wind felt colder now. “He's my friend? Just like you” I said confused.

,,So thats what I am?", He said. ,, Well then." And with that he just walked away.

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

Yoongi’s apartment looked exactly the same. Floor cushions. Open laptops. Mugs half full of something hot and overly sweet.

But something was missing. Someone. “He said he couldn’t make it?” I asked casually, pretending not to care.

“Yeah,” Jimin replied, scrolling through his phone. “New study group or something for that one course. With that girl. Uh… Sara?” The name dropped like a stone into my stomach.

“Didn’t know he switched teams,” Namjoon muttered, grabbing a pencil. “Guess they’re working on that organic chem assignment together and to be fair, no one has that here. He's the main chem major after all” Jimin added. “She’s in that other circle, you know. The library crew.”

I forced a smile. “Cool. Makes sense.” But it didn’t. Not really. He hadn’t mentioned anything, the course yeah but that it was hers too not. No text. No “hey, can’t make it tonight.”

Nothing. The seat next to me stayed empty the entire night. Every time I reached for my pen, I expected a sarcastic comment.

Every time someone made a joke, I waited for his low laugh. But it never came. And that silence was louder than anything else in the room.

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

I didn’t expect to see him. Not there.

Minjae. Sitting under one of the trees near the physics building, flipping through a weathered notebook and drinking something iced with too much whipped cream.

He looked up as I passed. No joke. No remark. Just a quiet, “You okay?” I blinked. “Do I not look okay?”

“You look like you’re pretending to be.” Something in me cracked. I hesitated for a moment, then dropped my bag and sank onto the grass beside him. Not close. But not far either.

“You should study psychology. But yeah, It’s been a week,” I said, more to myself than to him. “And I keep checking my phone like an idiot.” - “Still no message?”

I shook my head. “He’s talking to someone new,” I said. “And I get it. People change. Things shift.” Minjae nodded slowly. “Yeah. But it’s weird when it happens while you’re still standing in the same place.”

That hit. Hard. “It’s like… I blinked and we were some sort of strangers again,” I whispered. He didn’t say anything right away.

Then. “I used to feel like that with someone, too. She’d laugh at my dumb jokes, ask for my notes, sit with me in lectures. I thought maybe it meant something.”

He glanced at me, eyes tired but kind. “But then she started sitting somewhere else. And I realized I was a placeholder. Someone to pass the time with until someone better came along.”

My throat tightened. “I’m scared that I was that to him,” I said quietly. “A placeholder. For physics notes and stuff,” - “You weren’t,” he said, with a certainty that caught me off guard. “How do you know?”

“Because last time in lab, when we worked together, he looked at you like the world was trying to take something from him.” I stared down at my hands. They were trembling, just a little. -“Then why does it feel like he already let go?”

Minjae didn’t answer right away. ,,I don't think he did in the slightest, maybe its just for the course?" He sat with me. In the quiet.

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

A week later the partner assignments were posted again.

Y/N – Minjae.

It was strange how this had once been something I'd desperately avoided. Now, seeing his name next to mine felt oddly reassuring. “Hey,” Minjae said gently, walking up next to me. “Looks like you’re stuck with me again.” I smiled faintly. “Guess you’re not getting rid of me either.”

Across the room, Taehyung stood beside Sara. They were talking quietly, comfortably, but he glanced briefly in our direction, his expression unreadable. I turned away first.

Minjae and I moved toward to our station, gathering materials. There was an easy rhythm to the way we worked, silent at first, then gradually sharing small observations about the task.

“You’re good at this,” I said softly, watching him measure solutions carefully. “Careful,” he replied lightly, glancing up with a small smile. “Don’t go inflating my ego now.” I laughed at that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taehyung glance over again. Longer this time. He looked away quickly, returning his focus to Sara. Something felt different. Something had shifted.

But then I noticed the way he tilted his head when she spoke. The way he leaned in, like her words mattered more.

Minjae followed my gaze quietly. “Still thinking about him?” I paused, then shook my head softly. “Actually… for once, no.” He smiled gently. “Good.”

We continued working in silence—comfortable, easy silence. I hadn’t felt that in days. As we cleaned up, I caught Taehyung watching again. Our eyes met briefly. He looked away first.

----------

I was nervous.

Not because of the upcoming midterms or Yoongi’s quiet death threats about spilled coffee—those were standard by now.

It was because I’d brought someone. Minjae stood beside me, hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets. “You sure they’re cool with me coming?”

“Trust me,” I said lightly, pressing the doorbell. “They’ll be fine. You're Jimin's friend aswell” The door swung open. Yoongi stared at us, blank-faced. “You brought a stray?” - “Be nice,” I warned.

Yoongi shrugged, stepping aside. “If he breaks something, he pays for it.” Minjae chuckled nervously, and we walked in. Namjoon waved lazily from the floor, buried under papers. “Hey, you two.” He hesitated. “Two?”

Jimin popped his head out from the kitchen, snack in mouth. “Wait—oh. Minjae whats up?” His eyes flicked between Minjae and me, high fiving him. But he recovered quickly.

“The more the merrier, right?”I smiled gratefully. Then the doorbell rang again. “Who else did you invite?” Yoongi asked dryly. “No one—”He swung open the door again. My heart plummeted.

Taehyung stood there, looking slightly uncomfortable, Sara beside him holding two bags of snacks. “Hey,” Taehyung said, eyes briefly meeting mine before darting away. “Hope it’s cool—I brought someone too.” - "Yeah! I wanted to see the people that Tae always talked about!" She said - way too- nice.

I swallowed hard, smiling politely at Sara. “Of course. Nice to meet you.” She smiled warmly, completely oblivious. “Likewise!” Minjae touched my elbow lightly, leaning closer. “You okay?” I forced a smile. “Yeah. Fine.”

But the way Taehyung’s eyes flickered to Minjae’s hand on my arm said otherwise. “Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” Yoongi muttered, shutting the door behind us.

And just like that, our safe space didn’t feel so safe anymore. It felt wrong, seeing Taehyung sitting next to her. Sara laughed at something he whispered, lightly touching his arm, and the sound stabbed straight through me. I forced myself to look away, but not before Taehyung’s eyes met mine, unreadable, almost defiant.

“You okay?” Minjae asked softly beside me. “Hm?” He leaned closer, voice low. “You look like you wanna set something on fire.” “Someone,” I corrected, bitterly. He smiled faintly. “I can offer an alibi.” I laughed quietly—too quietly. But not quiet enough, apparently.

Taehyung’s eyes flicked toward us instantly, narrowing slightly. He shifted closer to Sara, pretending not to notice, but I saw the way his jaw tightened. Minjae noticed too. He leaned just a bit nearer, deliberately casual. “Looks like he noticed. Might get a Lawyer if he tries to set me on fire”

“Good,” I whispered, surprising even myself. Taehyung abruptly stood, walking toward the kitchen without another word. I hesitated, pulse hammering. “Go,” Minjae said, nudging my knee gently. “Maybe you can talk about this.”

I took a deep breath and stood, following Taehyung into the cramped kitchen. He was standing by the sink, fingers gripping the counter. “Enjoying your new study buddy?” he asked, voice colder than I’d ever heard.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.” - “I’m not playing games here,” he snapped quietly. “Then stop acting like you need to up me one with your closeness,” I shot back, my voice sharper than intended.

He stared at me, jaw tense, frustration clear. “You’re the one sitting there laughing at every word Minjae says. How am I supposed to interpret that?” - “ The same way you expect me to interpret Sara's giggling at your textbook jokes. And you act like you own me, but you dont.,” I countered, quieter now, feeling suddenly drained. “But... It’s study-related, right?”

He hesitated, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah. Just studying. Like I said” - “Same here,” I said, but the words felt slightly off. Not entirely true, but not a lie either. “Minjae is… supportive. That’s all. He's my friend.”

“Supportive,” Taehyung echoed, voice tight. “Right.” We both stood there, the tension thickening into something deeper—something neither of us was ready to face.

“You know what?” he finally muttered, breaking eye contact. “Forget it.” He turned away, shoulders rigid, and left the kitchen without another glance. I stayed there, heart pounding, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on me.

We’d said too much and yet somehow not enough at all.

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

The door clicked shut behind Minjae, Sara already left with Taehyung the quiet suddenly louder than anything. I sank back down onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Namjoon fiddled awkwardly with a pen, clearly waiting for someone else to speak first.

Jimin—unsurprisingly—was the one who broke the silence. “Alright, listen,” he said firmly, voice uncharacteristically serious. “What the fuck is going on?”

I blinked, startled by the directness. “What do you mean?” Jimin’s eyes softened. “You know exactly what I mean. You and Tae. Acting like divorced parents”

Yoongi cleared his throat quietly, nodding. “You two barely even looked at each other tonight. And bringing Minjae and Sara here at the same time? Felt like a K-drama.”

Namjoon sighed, setting the pen down carefully. “Look, we don’t wanna pressure you. But something’s obviously wrong, and it’s hurting you both.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The words felt stuck, heavy. “Is it really that obvious?” I finally asked, voice shaking. “Painfully,” Yoongi said gently. “Tae looked miserable.”

“He started avoiding me first,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “What was I supposed to do? Just pretend everything was normal?” Jimin shifted closer, eyes soft with understanding. “Nobody blames you. But Tae—he’s bad at this. At feelings. He’s scared. That’s obvious too.”

Namjoon nodded. “I think he panicked back in the kitchen. He thinks he’s losing you.” “You heard that?,” I whispered. "Yeah and it was pretty obvious that there are many missunderstandings", he said, putting one hand on my shoulder. “But If he wanted me, he should have said something instead of running away,”I said bitterly.

Silence fell again, heavier this time. “So, what now?” Yoongi finally asked, quietly. “Because this clearly isn’t working.” I stared down at my hands.

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted softly. “Maybe it’s already broken.” - “Maybe,” Jimin said gently, nudging my shoulder lightly. “Or maybe you just haven’t tried fixing it yet.”

I looked at him, my lips forming a thin line. I sighed exhausted, grabbing a pillow and took a nap on yoongi's sofa.

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

What a day! The sun is beaming and the sky is clear, the day couldnt get any better. Chilling like that in a coffee shop is really relaxing.

But Minjae looked nervous, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He hadn’t even touched the coffee in front of him yet.

“I didn’t expect it,” he started carefully, eyes not quite meeting mine. “It was just a spontaneous application, and honestly—I didn’t think I’d get accepted.” My heart tightened, already knowing where this was going. “But you did.”

He nodded slowly. “Exchange semester. Canada. Starts in two weeks.” The news landed heavily, taking the air out of me. But I forced a smile. “That’s amazing, Minjae. Really.”

He looked up sharply, searching my face. “You’re not upset?” - “Of course I’m not upset, i'm not your mom” I lied softly. “It’s a great opportunity. You deserve this.”

He frowned slightly, leaning forward. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.” I laughed weakly, looking down at my coffee. “I’m trying here.” - “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know my timing is shit.” - “It’s not your fault,” I said quickly. “I just… got used to having you around. You made things easier.”

He gave a small, gentle smile. “You’ll be okay. You don’t need me as much as you think.” I met his eyes, feeling the honesty in them sting. “I don’t have anyone else.”

“Bullshit,” he said softly, his voice firm. “You have Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon—and you still have Taehyung, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

I shook my head bitterly. “Tae made his choice.” Minjae sighed. “Maybe he did. Or maybe he just made a mistake. Either way, don’t let my leaving mean you’re alone again. Just because Tae is distant doesn't mean that the rest of your friends turned their back aswell”

Silence settled around us, heavy and real. “I’ll miss you. You really grew on me,” I finally admitted quietly. He smiled again, sadder this time. “Me too.”

We parted ways after that. Me on my way to my next destination and Minjae staying behind, waiting for his other friends.

Jimin’s apartment smelled like coffee and vanilla candles—warm and welcoming, the opposite of how I felt stepping inside. “Hey, you made it!” Jimin called out from the kitchen, busy making drinks. His smile faltered slightly when he saw my expression. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I lied, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.” Yoongi glanced up from the couch, eyes instantly softening. “Good to see you.” “Hey,” Namjoon echoed gently.

And then I saw them.

Taehyung and Sara, huddled together by the window. Her laughter was soft, genuine. Taehyung’s voice murmured quietly—comfortable, familiar. It was like watching something that was once mine slip further away.

“Sit,” Yoongi said softly, nodding to the space next to him. I dropped down, grateful for the silent support.

As the evening dragged on, I found myself barely able to focus on my notes. Each of Sara’s laughs felt louder, each smile from Taehyung directed at her seemed brighter.

I tried not to care, tried to pretend it didn’t feel like betrayal. “Hey, are you even listening?” Namjoon asked gently, nudging me slightly. I blinked, realizing he’d asked a question about the assignment. “Sorry, spaced out.”

“Understandable,” Yoongi muttered, eyes briefly flickering to Tae and Sara. Across the room, Taehyung suddenly looked up, eyes meeting mine for the briefest second. He quickly looked away, focusing back on Sara, laughing again—this time forced.

It didn’t make me feel better. It made me feel invisible. Replaceable. The longer I stayed, the harder it got. I could barely breathe, the pain in my chest heavy and persistent. I think I've fallen for him. Okay now its out. But this just hurts like ??.

I tried to listen as Namjoon patiently explained something for the third time, but his words blurred into meaningless sounds. I blinked slowly, head heavy, the room becoming hazy.

“You good?” Yoongi’s quiet voice broke gently through the fog. He was sitting next to me, observing carefully. “Yeah,” I whispered, fighting to keep my eyes open. “Just… tired.” - “Sleep,” Yoongi murmured softly, barely audible. “We got you.”

And before I could think about it, before I could feel embarrassed, my head gently dropped onto Yoongi’s shoulder, sliding slowly until it rested softly in his lap. It felt safe there—like nothing could hurt me, at least for a moment.

A faint hush fell over the room. I could vaguely hear whispers—concerned, gentle. Yoongi quietly told someone to hand him a blanket. “She’s exhausted,” Jimin said softly, voice heavy with worry. “It's been rough lately.”

But in this moment I didn't really care. I was focused on getting some sleep and Yoongi is oddly comfortable.

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

The café felt oddly comforting—quiet, warm, hidden away from the noisy reality outside.

I sat at a small table with Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon, each of us nursing cups of coffee or tea, none of us really speaking.

Finally, Jimin broke the silence, eyes carefully fixed on me. “Hey, are you okay after yesterday?” - “Define okay,” I replied softly, eyes fixed on the swirling coffee in my cup. ,, You like him don't you", yoongi threw in, ruffling his hair. "I think that is obvious as a PC needing electricity", Namjoon said, marking some things in his book.

Namjoon shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat gently. “Look, I know it’s messy. But honestly—none of us even know what’s going on with Tae anymore.”

My heart tightened. “What do you mean?” - “He’s with Sara almost all the time now,” Yoongi said, voice calm but serious. “We’re as confused as you.” - “Yeah,” Jimin murmured, eyes hesitant. “At first, I thought it was just studying. But after seeing them yesterday… I don’t know.”

The words hurt more than I expected. I blinked, forcing myself to stay calm. “Do you think he’s moved on? But what am i saying, there wasn't anything before really.”

They exchanged quiet, uneasy looks. Yoongi sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Honestly? None of us can tell. Maybe he’s just trying to distract himself. And on that, I don't think there was never nothing. We all know each other the same duration. But there was always something special between you.”

“He barely talks to us about you anymore tho,” Jimin admitted softly. “Every time your name comes up, he shuts down or changes the topic.” That felt like a punch to the gut. “So he’s really just done with me? Every touch and special treat was nothing?”

Yoongi’s expression softened, voice gentle but honest. “I think he’s scared. But what he feels for Sara—that’s something only he knows. And maybe he got scared off after you hung out with Minjae more.”

Jimin reached out, touching my arm softly. “Look, I’m not saying this to hurt you. But I think you deserve to know that none of us can figure him out right now. It’s not just you.”

I swallowed, throat tight. “I just wish he’d say something.” - “We know,” Namjoon murmured gently. “He owes you clarity. Us aswell but mainly you. And until he gives you that… all you can do is protect yourself.”

I nodded slowly, the weight in my chest heavy and painful. “Maybe you're right.” - “We are,” Yoongi said softly. “You deserve better than uncertainty.” I looked at my friends, their expressions sincere and caring. But deep down, I knew their uncertainty mirrored my own—And maybe that hurt most of all.

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

Minjae (private, 21:45): ---Hey :) Found this pic today and thought you’d like it. Posted on Insta if u don't mind. Miss you.

[Photo: Me and Minjae laughing together at Yoongi’s place weeks ago.]

I smiled softly, replying briefly.

Me: ------Miss you too. Hope Canada’s treating you well!

—

Group chat- Chaos 101

Jimin (22:37): @everyone YOO did you see Minjae’s IG post? I look so dumb in the background LMAO.

Jimin shared Minjae’s IG post.

My heart skipped. I hadn’t realized he posted it publicly too, I thought only on his private. Taehyung was online; he’d see this.

Yoongi (22:38): You always look dumb. What’s new?

Namjoon (22:39): Wait, that’s from that chaotic study night, right? Tae spilled snacks everywhere.

(Taehyung is typing…)

Taehyung (22:40): Minjae’s posting old memories now? Interesting.

My pulse quickened at his tone.

Jimin (22:41): Why you gotta make it weird, Tae?

Taehyung (22:41): Just didn’t realize they were that close.

Silence filled the chat. My chest tightened.

Yoongi (22:42): Bro, chill. It’s literally just a photo.

(Taehyung is typing…)

Taehyung (22:43): Yeah, sure. Just funny how some friends act.

(Read by everyone.)

I stared at his words, frustration rising. He said nothing explicit, but the implication was painfully clear. Jealousy, bitterness—feelings neither of us could openly confront.

Yoongi (22:43) : --Such a diva. But sometimes you gotta look at your own actions Tae.

Namjoon (22:44): Anyway, nice throwback. We should study again soon.

Jimin (22:45): Agreed. Minus Tae’s passive-aggressiveness.

Taehyung didn’t reply. He went offline, leaving tension hanging thickly between all of us—especially between me and him.

I shut my phone, heart aching, realizing again how complicated things had become.

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

The hallway buzzed with tense chatter, nervous laughter echoing off the walls. Everyone clustered outside the exam hall, notes clutched tightly in anxious hands.

I stood near Jimin and Yoongi, half-listening as Jimin rattled off random chemistry facts under his breath, clearly panicking.

“Dude, relax,” Namjoon mumbled, flipping through notes. “You’re making it worse.” - “I can’t relax,” Jimin hissed. “I barely remember my own name.” - “You’ll be fine,” I whispered, squeezing his arm gently. He flashed me a grateful, if slightly panicked, smile.

Just then, Taehyung arrived—with Sara at his side. My stomach twisted sharply. She was chatting animatedly, way louder than necessary. How can she be so chatty? Both of them just came from another exam, the subject that ripped us apart.

“Oh my god, Tae, remember when we studied that?” Sara’s voice was bright, grating slightly in the quiet hallway. “You totally had to explain it like five times!”

Taehyung forced a polite smile, eyes darting briefly toward me before quickly looking away. “Yeah, well, you got it eventually.” Sara laughed again, a bit too loudly. “Barely! I mean, seriously, if you hadn’t helped me last night, I’d be doomed.”

My heart sank further. I felt Jimin’s eyes on me, and we exchanged a silent, loaded glance—call us gossip girl. He gave me a slight, sympathetic grimace, eyes darting toward Sara and Tae before coming back to me.

“Alright,” Yoongi broke in sharply, irritation obvious in his tone. “We get it. Tae’s a good tutor.” Sara looked startled, cheeks flushing slightly. “Oh—sorry. Didn’t mean to distract anyone.”

“Bit late for that,” Jimin murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. The exam supervisor appeared at the door, calling for silence. “Alright, everyone, come inside quietly. Seats are assigned alphabetically.”

Taehyung hesitated, eyes briefly catching mine again. I quickly looked away, heart pounding. As we shuffled into the room, tension still thick, I took a shaky breath. It was midterm time now—no distractions allowed. But deep down, I knew the test wasn’t the only thing stressing me out.

-------------------------- The exam hall emptied slowly, the air thick with sighs of relief, muttered complaints, and brain fog. I stepped out just as Taehyung did. Great. Where is the camera?

For a second, we both froze. Then we fell into step, walking side by side in silence, the hallway echoing with the distant shuffle of other students behind us.

I didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at me. Just the soft sound of our footsteps, perfectly out of sync. “How was it?” he asked finally, voice low, almost polite. “Fine,” I said, too quickly. “You?” - “Yeah. Same.”

Silence.

We reached the exit. I could see Jimin and Namjoon waiting farther down, talking quietly. Sara wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Well…have a nice day,” I muttered, already stepping away.

“You too,” he said softly, not moving. I didn’t turn back. And he didn’t call after me.And somehow, that hurt more than anything else could have.

------

The apartment smelled like ramen and fresh laundry sheets. Classic Yoongi. We were all slumped in various positions—Jimin upside down on the couch, Namjoon flipping through highlighters like trading cards, and me cross-legged on the floor, pretending to study.

The air was chill. The kind that comes after too many days of silence. “Okay, but hear me out,” Jimin started, dramatically pointing his pen. “What if mitochondria have feelings?” - “Then they’d also be tired of your crap,” Yoongi replied without missing a beat.

I let out a small laugh—just as the front door opened. Everyone looked up. Taehyung stepped in. Alone. My heart didn’t leap. It sank.

“Oh,” Jimin said carefully, “you came.” - “Yeah,” Taehyung replied, dropping his bag near the door. “Felt like it.” - “Sara’s not with you?” Namjoon asked before he could stop himself.

Taehyung shrugged, pulling his hoodie off. “Nah. Needed a break from the chatterbox.”

Silence.

Yoongi blinked. “You mean the girl you were surgically attached to for the last three weeks?” - “The very one,” Tae said dryly, collapsing into the armchair. I didn’t say anything. Neither did he. But for the first time in what felt like ages, he wasn’t sitting next to her.

“Okay, but who let Jimin near the knives again?” Namjoon asked, already holding out a band-aid. Cooking is a major itself.

“It was one cut!” Jimin yelled from the sink. “One tiny—barely fatal—scratch.” - “You tried to dice tofu like it owed you money,” Yoongi deadpanned, grabbing the chopping board before further crimes could occur.

“Some people cook with love,” I said, sliding veggies into a bowl. “Jimin cooks with vengeance.” Jimin gasped. “That’s slander. I sauté with soul.”

I grinned, elbow-deep in colorful peppers. For the first time in a while, I actually felt pretty good. Maybe it was the food. Or the yelling. Or just being with the people who hadn’t left. “Yoongi,” Namjoon said, peering into a pot, “what… is this?”

“Health,” Yoongi answered simply, tossing something green in without explanation. “That’s suspiciously vague.” - “You’ll live.”

Behind me, I heard Taehyung laugh. Quietly. I glanced over my shoulder. He was leaning against the counter, peeling sweet potatoes way too dramatically. He caught me looking, and for a split second, we held each other's gaze. Then I turned back, pretending to focus on my veggies.

“Tae, how’s your expert-level potato peeling going?” Jimin asked. “Chef-level,” he replied, not missing a beat. “I trained under Master Jungkook. He once boiled water without burning it.” - “Icon.”

The kitchen was absolute hell in the best way.

Yoongi was trying to lead, but leading a group of sleep-deprived twenty-somethings through a “healthy group dinner” was like herding cats with knives.

“Okay, onions go in this pan—NOT THAT ONE, JIMIN—” - “You said ‘on the left’!” Jimin shouted, holding up a crying onion like it was a baby. “My left, Jimin. My left.” - “That’s so subjective!”

Namjoon was standing in front of the spice rack like he was trying to decode the Da Vinci Code. “What’s the difference between cumin and coriander again?”

“One makes it taste like a forest,” I said, tossing chopped zucchini into the wok. “The other makes it taste like disappointment.” - “Good enough.” Yoongi sighed. “Remind me never to let you all cook unsupervised.”

“You literally invited us,” Jimin said. “This is on you.”

“You’ve been quiet,” Namjoon said softly, nudging my arm with his elbow. “I’m trying not to cry over onions.” - “And is it working?” - “Not really.”

Across the kitchen, Taehyung was still peeling sweet potatoes like he was in a cooking competition. His brow furrowed, his movements precise—until one slice flew off the board and landed on the floor with a wet slap.

“Chef of the year,” Jimin called out. “Don’t talk to me,” Tae replied, crouching down to pick it up, a half-smile forming.

“We should do this more often,” Namjoon said, unaware of the tiny emotional storm brewing next to him. “What?” Yoongi asked, flipping tofu. “Cook?” - “Yeah. Be messy together. Without study notes.”

“You say that now,” Yoongi muttered. “Wait until someone burns the quinoa.”

CRACK

“Jimin—” - “I SWEAR THAT WASN’T ME THIS TIME.” Laughter filled the room again. And somehow, beneath it all—there was something gentle.

The kitchen table was covered in mismatched bowls, empty plates, soy sauce stains, and the satisfying silence of people who had eaten way too much.

“Okay,” Namjoon said, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “I might not survive this night.” - “If I die now,” Yoongi muttered, sipping his tea, “at least it’s post-tofu.” - “You’re all being dramatic,” Jimin said, standing up like he’d just been possessed.

“Oh no,” Yoongi groaned. “I’m making dessert.” - “Bro.” - “Dessert,” Jimin repeated. “Y’all act like I asked you to run a marathon.” - “We cooked for two hours,” I said. “And I emotionally supported the process. Which was exhausting. I deserve sugar.” - “What even are you making?”

“Brownie mug cakes,” he declared proudly. “In the microwave. Like a true scholar.” - “That’s… actually not a bad idea,” Taehyung said, his voice quiet but present. All eyes turned to him. He raised an eyebrow. “What? I like chocolate.” - “One of your rare valid opinions,” I mumbled under my breath.

He glanced over. I swore he smirked—just barely. And suddenly, somehow, we were all back in the kitchen again.

Measuring flour with broken spoons. Cocoa powder on your sleeves. Jimin doing a dance while stirring batter with the enthusiasm of a man possessed.

“Who let me be in charge of the microwave?” Namjoon asked. “NO ONE,” Yoongi said. “Step away.”

I was cracking an egg into my mug when Taehyung moved beside me, silently reaching for the same bowl of sugar. Our hands brushed. We both paused. Fate? Maybe. K-Drama potential? You're even asking?

“Sorry,” he murmured. The moment was barely a second—but it felt longer.

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

Some days pass by and things turn normal, sorta.

The group didn’t talk about it. No one really noticed at first.

Sara came to the first movie night, plopped between Jimin and Taehyung like she belonged there. She laughed at all the wrong parts, brought snacks no one liked, and smiled a little too much at Tae.

I smiled too. Politely. Like it didn’t bother me. Like I didn’t notice how she always sat just close enough.

The next meetup, she came late. The one after that, she left early.

And then, slowly, she just… stopped showing up.

No drama. No fight. Just absence.

Yippie?

One night at Jimin’s, someone asked without thinking— “Is Sara not coming?” Taehyung shrugged, eyes fixed on the steam rising from his mug. “She’s busy.” No one asked again. Why would we? But somehow, everyone knew.

But deep down, in that quiet space between relief and sadness, I felt it. The distance between me and Taehyung was no longer growing.

It had stopped.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of fairy lights and the quiet flicker from Yoongi’s old Bluetooth speaker. Yoongi's Fairy-Light-Era.

Empty mugs, chip bags, and a bottle of cheap wine were scattered across the floor like artifacts of a long night.

Jimin was passed out half-on, half-off the couch. Namjoon was still rambling about galaxy clusters in a chair no one remembered him claiming. Yoongi sleeps on his armchair.

And then there was Taehyung. Sitting next to me, cross-legged on the carpet, glass in hand, eyes slightly glazed but still sharp.

“This is weird,” he said suddenly. I blinked. “The wine?” - “No. Well, yes. But also…” He swirled the liquid in his glass like it was some grand vintage and not three-euro discount rosé.

“It’s weird not having Sara here,” he said. My stomach tensed. “Yeah?” - “Not bad-weird,” he added quickly. “Just… quiet.” I said nothing. I wasn't sure if he was done.

Then he snorted into his glass. “You wanna know something stupid?” I glanced at him. “Always.” He exhaled, leaning back on one arm. “I only started hanging out with her because I thought she had solid notes in that subject”

I blinked. “What?” - “She had the highest GPA in chem last semester, remember?” he said, half-smiling, half-cringing. “I figured, hey, get some notes, suffer less. Genius.”

I stared at him, shocked. “Tae—” - “I didn’t think she’d like… cling. She wanted to something every damn day.” - “Oof.” - “I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was an idiot.” I didn’t disagree.

“She was nice. Just… not for me. Not like that. But by the time I realized it, she was kind of orbiting me like—” - “A clingy moon?”

He snorted. “Exactly. And I just… didn’t know how to push her out of orbit without making it messy.” I sipped my wine. “So you ghosted the moon?” - “I softly faded the moon. No hard feelings. But I could never betray my home moon. So you guys.”

I looked at him, lips curling up just slightly. “You’re the worst.” He smiled—sheepish, tired, honest. “Yeah. But maybe trying to be better now. Staying with the people I love and cherish” I stood up, heart pounding, but my voice held steady.

,,I thought you replaced me", he said after a while. ,, Minjae you know. Kinda scared, so I distanted myself"

“I’m not mad that you were scared, Tae. I get that, now atleast. But you don’t get to act like I replaced you just because you disappeared first.” Taehyung leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking like he wanted to crawl into himself.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” he said. “I just… didn’t know how to stay. Well that sounds worse. I didn't want to rub her into your face. I didn't want to give you the feeling that she replaced you. But I did a terrible Job... I grew distant and I feel bad. And thats why I want to be better. And to make sure I never forget where my heart is home.”

That hit something—soft and sore.

I crossed my arms, shifting my weight. “Thats sweet. But you could have told me. Communication and stuff.”

The room was quiet again, but this time it didn’t feel like a wall—just space. Careful space. “Sara was never a thing, by the way,” he added, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I know it probably looked like it, but it wasn’t.” - “She clearly thought it was,” I muttered.

He groaned. “Yeah. That one’s on me. I didn’t handle it right again.” We both paused, then— “I mean,” I said slowly, “you did say she was a chatterbox.” Taehyung looked up, deadpan. “Bro, I couldn’t hear myself think.”

I snorted. “You? Not thinking? What a tragedy.” He smirked, finally. “Wow. Harsh.” - “It’s what friends are for.” The word hung in the air—friends—and neither of us flinched.

I sat back down beside him, grabbing the last of the cold fries off the plate. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

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

It started with one of those classic Jimin cancellations:

“yoooo can’t come tonight 🤕 i sneezed weird & now my neck doesn’t work. Might get my leg amputated just for fun”

I stared at my phone and sighed. Taehyung replied two minutes later. “still down if you are. i can bring snacks” I stared longer. "Sure of course."

We met at my place.

The kitchen was warm with soft music and chopped vegetables. The scent of garlic filled the air, and you couldn’t remember the last time something had felt this… easy.

“You still cut onions like a baby,” I teased, watching him blink through tears. “And you still act like your stir-fry doesn’t come out overcooked 80% of the time.” - “Excuse me?”

“Burnt broccoli isn’t a personality.” You flipped him off with the spatula. He grinned. There was no tension. Thank physics.

“Do you wanna plate or just eat out of the pan like the degens we are?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Pan,” he said. “Always.”

You both leaned against the counter, sharing the pan, bumping elbows occasionally. The silence was gentle now. Comfortable.

“You ever think about… how weird this all was?” he said suddenly, eyes still on his fork.

“Every day,” you said honestly. “But I also think… we’re doing okay now.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think we are.” A pause. Then; “Still mad about the GPA girl?” I side-eyed him. “Only slightly. I respect your hustle.” - “I’ll take it.”

We kept eating in silence, both of us knowing there was still a lot unsaid—but not needing to say it. We were halfway through the last of the noodles, eating out of the pan like true degenerates, when the doorbell rang.

“Please tell me that’s not Jimin,” you groaned. “It’s always Jimin.” - " I thought he had a sponteanous amputation?" Sure enough, when I opened the door, Jimin stood there holding a box like it was made of gold.

“Donuts,” he declared proudly. “Because I care about your emotional well-being.” - “What about our blood sugar?” - “Irrelevant.” Namjoon and Yoongi trailed in behind him.

“You didn’t say you were bringing food,” Taehyung said. “Didn’t,” Jimin replied. “It’s not food. It’s joy.”

Soon, the five of us were sitting on the floor, donuts between us, laughter rising and falling. There was a quiet peace in the air. And though nothing was said out loud, the shift between me and Taehyung was palpable.

His knee rested just close enough to mine. He looked at me longer than he used to. I smiled more easily around him.

But then—“I’m just glad Sara’s out of the picture,” Yoongi said casually, licking powdered sugar off his thumb. You blinked. Namjoon nodded, chewing slowly. “Yeah. She was kind of… a lot.” “She once talked about molecular structures for twenty-three minutes straight,” Jimin muttered. “I counted.” - “And you hate molecules,” I added. “Exactly.”

“You’re better without her,” Yoongi said softly, not looking up. Tae nodded once. “Yeah. I know. Got the notes and then bye.”

And that was it with the visit a bit later. The door clicked shut behind Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung.

I stood by the sink, rinsing out a mug, pretending my heart wasn’t still beating just a little too fast. “You good?” You looked over your shoulder. Jimin was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted. His voice was soft—like he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” I said, way too fast. “Just tired.” - “Right,” he nodded slowly. “Tired. You're a physics student I know, but you cant always say you're tired”

Silence. I turned off the water, setting the mug down a little harder than necessary.

“Jimin,” I said, without turning around, “don’t look at me like that.” “I’m not even looking,” he replied. “I’m just… noticing.” I faced him then, arms crossed, defenses rising. “Noticing what?” He shrugged. “You. Him. That weird space you’re both pretending doesn’t exist.”

I sighed, shoulders slumping. “It’s not like that.” - “Then what’s it like?”

I hesitated. The words weren’t easy, but they were there. “It’s like…” I paused, searching for it. “It’s like we’re rebuilding something. From scratch. But slower. Carefully. Like we’re scared it’ll break again if we touch it wrong. Something that was never really present got damaged you know?”

Jimin nodded slowly, walking toward the table and sitting down. “That sounds about right.” I joined him, the chair creaking slightly as I sat. “I don’t even know what I want from him,” I admitted quietly. “Maybe you just want him to try.”

I blinked, surprised. “Because he didn’t really before,” Jimin continued. “And maybe that’s what hurt the most.”

I swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” - “But tonight?” Jimin smiled, soft and kind. “He tried. You saw that, right?” I nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Jimin leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You don’t have to rush anything. But you also don’t have to keep punishing him if he’s finally showing what he really wants.” I stared at my hands, quiet.

“I’m scared,” I whispered. “What if it happens again? New project, he does it again. With no intention of leaving me behind again but the girl he talks to is really nice and he just stays with her”

“Then it does,” he said simply. “But this time, you’re stronger. And you’re not alone.” And for the first time in weeks, I believed it. Because Jimin didn’t just tell me it’d be okay. He reminded me that it already kind of was.

,,Thank you", I simply said and smiled.

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

Jimin’s apartment looked like Pinterest and a college dorm had a chaotic baby. Fairy lights everywhere. Cheap wine bottles pretending to be centerpieces. A playlist that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be vibey or 2012 club energy. And I was standing in the doorway like: This is either going to be amazing or end with someone crying in the bathtub.

“WELCOME TO THE POST-MIDTERM SURVIVAL CELEBRATION!” Jimin shouted, already holding two glasses of wine. “Also known as: please drink this before it oxidizes.” - “That’s grape juice in a wine bottle.” - “Details.”

Namjoon was in the corner trying to teach Yoongi a party game. Yoongi was glaring at the cards like they personally insulted his ancestry. Taehyung was… already there. Hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly messy, standing near the speakers and scrolling through the playlist like it owed him something.

My stomach flipped. Dudes looking way too fine.

“Let’s play a game!” Jimin yelled after everyone had at least one sip of something. “If it’s Truth or Dare, I’m leaving,” Yoongi said instantly. “It’s not,” Jimin assured. Beat. “It’s Never Have I Ever.”

“That’s worse.”

But we all sat down anyway. First round: innocent. Never have I ever skipped a lecture for a nap. Everyone drinks. Obviously. Who hasn't? Second round: Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room. The room went silent for 1.3 seconds too long.

Jimin sipped. Smirked. I sipped. Taehyung didn’t. Or maybe he did. I didn’t look long enough to be sure. We continued to play a bit more, but it got boring fast. We're not teenagers anymore after all. The night spiraled into drinks and dancing. Someone played Just Dance. Yoongi refused to participate but still scored higher than Jimin somehow. And then, hours later—the energy dropped. The lights were dimmer. The playlist turned into a lo-fi lullaby. Someone was asleep with a bag of chips as a pillow.

I stepped out onto the balcony, wine glass half-full, needing space to breathe. A moment later, the door slid open behind me. I didn’t have to look. I knew who it was. “You okay?” Taehyung’s voice was quieter now. Less teasing. “I’m fine,” I replied, leaning on the railing. “Just needed air.” He stood beside me, not too close. But not far.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said. “So have you.” A beat. The city lights blinked softly below. “That thing Jimin said,” he started. I looked at him. “The crush thing,” he clarified. “You drank.” I shrugged. “So did he.” - “Did you mean it?” I didn’t answer right away. “Did you?” I asked instead.

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite not. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I did.” And suddenly the world felt too loud and too quiet at the same time. “Was it… past tense?” I asked, voice barely a whisper.

Taehyung looked at me then. Really looked. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t think so.” A gust of wind passed between us.

“But-- well hmm,” he added quickly. “I just—wanted to be honest. For once.” I nodded slowly, heart thudding. “Thanks,” I said. “Still friends?” I looked at him, warmth flickering in my chest, “Always. Only if you don't abandon me anymore” He exhaled like he’d been holding it in for weeks.

We looked at each other for moment before stepping back in. "Lets get some sleep" , he said lowly while pushing me inside, his hand on my lower back.

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

The library smelled like stress, highlighters, and overpriced coffee. I was back in my regular seat—hoodie up, laptop open, notes spread across the table like a battlefield.

Midterms were over, but finals were already laughing at me from the shadows. The other were in the cafeteria, I wasn't really hungry so I went and reserved a quiet room.

Then Taehyung walked in. Late, obviously.

He dropped into the seat across from me like he owned it. "Hey," he said, tossing his bag to the floor.

"You're late." - "You say that like it's new."

He slid something in front of my notebook. I looked down. My favorite chocolate. No note. No explanation. Just there. I stared at it, then at him. He didn’t meet my eyes—just opened his laptop like this was nothing.

"You know this doesn’t mean you get to copy my notes,” I muttered. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Yours are a disaster.” - “You’re literally the reason group assignments have disclaimers now.” He smiled faintly, still looking at his screen. "That was one time." - "It was three." - "I brought snacks to all three." - "You brought hot chips to a computer lab.” - “Exactly. Fuel.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile. "You’re lucky you're charming." He finally looked up. “Oh? You think I’m charming?” I raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re aware you’re charming.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed like he just scored a point.

"You didn’t used to flirt back," he said, voice low—not teasing, just stating. I looked down at my notes, cheeks warming before I could stop it. "I didn’t used to think you meant it."

The air shifted. Barely. But enough to notice. He watched me for a second longer than he should’ve. Then sat up, tapped at his laptop like nothing had happened.

"Anyway," he said, too casual, "want me to quiz you?" - "Only if your questions are better than your jokes." - "Then no."

He turned back to his screen like that was the end of it. I rolled my eyes, flipping to the next page in my notebook. "Coward," I muttered. "Heard that." There was a pause. Then, still not looking at me: "What’s the third step in the redox process?"

I blinked. "What?" - "I’m quizzing you. Pay attention," He smirke. "You just said no." - "I lied. Next question."

I stared at him, somewhere between annoyed and impressed. “This is your version of romance, isn’t it?” He grinned—just a little. “No. This is my version of being the better student.” - “Says the man who thought GPA was a blood type until second semester.” - “That was one time.” - “It was midterm week.”

He finally looked up, chin resting on his hand, smile lazy. “And yet... here I am, saving your academic life with free quizzes and overpriced chocolate.”

I rolled my eyes, even as a smile tugged at my lips. “Fine. Hit me.” “What’s Avogadro’s constant?” - “6.022 × 10²³.”

“Damn,” he said, “Hot.” - “You’re so annoying.” - “You love it.” I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Alright, fine. You wanna quiz? Let’s go, Kim Taehyung.” He leaned back in his chair like he was on a throne. “Please. I was born to win this.” - “Okay, Mr. Chemistry Major. What’s the electron configuration of chromium?”

He blinked, “Oh, we’re starting dirty.” -“Come on, genius.” He frowned, thinking. “…[Ar] 3d⁵ 4s¹?” You raised an eyebrow. “Correct. Annoying.” - “Thank you,” he said sweetly and then, “Your turn.”

“What’s Newton’s Third Law?” - “Equal and opposite reaction. Please.” - “Alright, show-off.”, I said raising my hands. “Back to you Y/N: Name three strong acids.” - “HCl, HNO₃, and H₂SO₄.”

“Disgusting. Such a clever woman” - “You love it.” - “Maybe. My turn again—what is terminal velocity?”

I gave him a look. “Are we in high school?” He raised a brow, smirking. “Are you stalling?” - “When the force of gravity is balanced by air resistance. Duh.” He grinned, way too into this. “Name the hybridization of methane.”

“sp³. C’mon, warm up.” - “Fine. Then explain the Doppler effect. In detail.” I blinked. “That’s petty.” - “That’s physics.”, he winked.

I narrowed my eyes, skipping his question and leaned in just slightly. “Name all four quantum numbers of the 7s¹ electron in francium.” He exhaled dramatically. “Why are you like this?” - “Because I want you to cry.” - “Too bad,” he said, grinning. “I don’t cry. I curve grades.”

I tried not to laugh. I failed. “Okay, okay,” he said, lifting his hands in fake surrender. “Truce?” - “Truce. Until we hit enthalpy.”

He looked at me like he wanted to fight and flirt. “I hate you.” I smiled. “No, you don’t.” He looked at me, grinning. “No. I don’t.”

“Name all four quantum numbers of the 7s¹ electron in francium,” I asked again. He groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. “I thought it was a Truce! You want me to suffer woman.”

“Correct. That’s my major.” - “Okay, okay—n=7, l=0, mₗ=0, and spin is… +½?” I gave him a slow, exaggerated clap; “Not bad for someone who thought GPA was a blood type.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, grinning like a menace. “Alright, miss know-it-all. Define escape velocity.”

I opened my mouth to answer—

Click. The door swung open. “We brought iced coffee—oh.”

Jimin froze mid-step, holding two cold brews like sacred offerings. Behind him: Yoongi, arms crossed, and Namjoon balancing a box of croissants like he was about to publish a paper on the situation. “Are you two…” Jimin blinked. “…fighting or flirting?” Taehyung and I looked at each other.

“Yes,” we said in unison. Jimin wheezed. “What in the quantum entanglement—” - “I’m leaving,” Yoongi announced, already turning. “I didn’t sign up for this energy.” - “Let them cook,” Namjoon murmured, eyes narrowed like he was conducting a case study. “This is… fascinating.”

“Okay, I brought coffee and emotional support, but clearly I’m no longer needed,” Jimin huffed, handing you a drink anyway. “Please hydrate before your tension-fueled academic makeout session.”

“Jimin,” I groaned, already regretting everything.

“I SAID what I said,” he snapped, voice high with dramatic offense.

Taehyung took his iced coffee without blinking, completely unfazed. “Don’t worry,” he said, sipping. “We were just proving molecular attraction through competitive quizzing.”

“You need to go outside,” Yoongi muttered, already seated and flipping open his notebook like he wasn’t emotionally spiraling inside. Namjoon slid the croissants over to me with a smile. “Honestly? Kinda proud.”

“Of what?” I asked, suspicious. “Of this weird thing happening between you two,” he said, waving a hand vaguely. “It’s like watching a slow-burn K-drama but with worse lighting.”

Taehyung raised his coffee like he was toasting. “We’re not that dramatic.” Jimin stared at him, deadpan. “Taehyung. You just called her a know-it-all with heart eyes.” I almost choked on my drink. “Whatever,” I muttered. “Can we please study now before I spontaneously combust?” - “Sure,” Yoongi said, already scribbling.

I was trying to focus. Like, genuinely trying. My notes were all laid out in front of me. Highlighters uncapped. Equations underlined. Planner open. Water bottle full. Basically, the whole “I have my life together” aesthetic.

And yet. I’d read the same sentence three times and still couldn’t tell you what the hell “thermal equilibrium” actually meant. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline from the quiz war Taehyung and I had just battled through. Maybe it was the way his knee kept brushing mine under the table. Maybe it was the fact that he was now acting like none of that had even happened.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Calm. Focused. Pencil tapping lightly against his notebook as he skimmed a textbook page. Like he wasn’t the same person who called me a know-it-all fifteen minutes ago with the softest damn smile. “Okay,” Jimin mumbled from across the table, “can someone explain to me again why centripetal force isn’t technically a force?” “Because physics is a scam,” I muttered, flipping to a new page in my notes.

“Strong words from someone who lost to me,” Taehyung added, eyes still on his book. I looked at him. “I didn’t lose.” - “It was a truce,” he said, smirking just a little. “A truce you begged for after nearly forgetting the entire molecular orbital diagram.” - “Selective memory,” he said, unfazed.

I rolled my eyes. He didn’t stop smiling. A second later, he nudged something toward me. My pen. It must’ve rolled off the table without me noticing. Our fingers brushed when I took it back. Neither of us said anything. The others were pretending not to notice, but I felt Jimin watching from behind his laptop screen with the kind of smirk that screamed “I will bring this up later.”

“Alright,” Yoongi grumbled suddenly. “Fifteen-minute silence. Study sprint. Let’s go.” Everyone fell quiet. Even Jimin. But as I tried to focus again—really, truly focus—my mind kept slipping. To the chocolate Taehyung had handed me earlier, wordlessly. To the quiz banter. To the fact that he was sitting just a little closer than he used to. I stared down at my notes, pencil in hand, and tried to calculate something. Anything. But all I could feel was the space between us. Quiet. Steady. Warm. And suddenly, thermal equilibrium made a little more sense.

Everyone was packing up after 6 more 15-minute-silence-sprints. Yoongi had sent a text earlier during a silence sprint—“Bring yourselves. Not your damn textbooks.”

So naturally, the group was migrating to his place next. I zipped up my pencil case and slid it into my bag, heart still a little too aware of the quiet between me and Taehyung.

He wasn’t packing. He was just… sitting there. Leaned back in his chair, looking at the now-empty tabletop, one hand still resting beside the chocolate wrapper I’d left.

I didn’t say anything. Neither did he. It was that weird in-between time—before movement, before noise, before the next thing. “You okay?” I asked quietly. He nodded, eyes still fixed on nothing in particular. “Yeah. Just… don’t really feel like leaving yet.”

I sat back down. Not for long. Just for a second. “Same.” For a few seconds, we just… existed there. In that soft, wordless calm that only comes after hours of thinking too hard and saying too little. “Thanks for earlier,” I said finally. “For the chocolate. And… the quiz war.” He smiled, slow and quiet. “Anytime. You make studying weirdly bearable.”- “You make it unnecessarily competitive.” - “Balance,” he shrugged.

Jimin’s voice floated from the hallway: “Yoongi’s threatening to lock the door in five minutes—if y’all don’t move, you're staying here.” Taehyung finally stood up, grabbing his bag. But before he walked toward the door, he turned to me. “You want to get some snacks before?” I nodded, standing too. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Yoongi’s apartment was already full of light and noise by the time we got there. Not the loud, party kind of noise—more like casual laughter, clinking glasses, soft music humming from a speaker somewhere. The place smelled like a mix of ramen, candles, and the faint burn of something once forgotten in the oven.

Jimin greeted us dramatically, already burrito-wrapped in a blanket on the couch. “Took you long enough,” he said, holding up a peace sign without getting up.

“We walked at a normal pace,” I replied. “I’m just saying, Yoongi’s been stirring noodles like a Studio Ghibli character for twenty minutes.” - “That’s because I’m making them with love,” Yoongi called from the kitchen, flashing a rare smile over his shoulder.

Taehyung let out a low laugh beside me. “He means soy sauce and chaos." - “You’re not wrong,” Yoongi admitted.

The air was warm in that way only familiar spaces can be. I slipped out of my hoodie and dropped onto the couch beside Jimin, letting my limbs relax for the first time all day. Namjoon emerged from the kitchen like he had been there the whole time, holding a tray of mismatched mugs filled with something probably too sweet.

“Sugar to revive what the midterms killed,” he said, handing one to me. “Much appreciated,” I murmured. Taehyung lingered by the window for a moment before finally joining us. He sat on the floor near my legs, close but not too close. Just close enough that I noticed. The group fell into its usual rhythm—snacks passed around, someone scrolling through a shared playlist, soft commentary on every little thing. I caught Taehyung watching me once, not for long. Just a quick glance.

But when I smiled at something Jimin said, he smiled too .Not at the joke. At me. I didn’t know what to do with that. “Okay,” Namjoon said suddenly, standing up with purpose. “We’re playing a game. I need to train my brain before it shrinks”

“Do I need to sit up?” Jimin asked. “Yes.” - “Then I hate this already.” - “We’re playing Memory,” Namjoon continued, dragging Yoongi’s coffee table into position. “Cards. Pairs. No trauma, just concentration.” - “Fine,” Jimin sighed, unfolding himself dramatically.

I moved forward to sit cross-legged near the table, and without thinking, Taehyung shifted too—this time sitting right next to me. Our knees touched. The game started.

Jimin was competitive. Namjoon was terrifyingly good. Yoongi pretended not to care but got way too smug every time he won a round. And me? I was half-paying attention, half-aware of how close Taehyung’s hand was to mine. “You’re distracted,” he whispered once, leaning in. “Am not,” I whispered back. He flipped the wrong card. I laughed. “You suck at this.” “I got distracted,” he said, looking at me with faux betrayal. “Sabotage.” - “By what? My aura?” - “Yes.”

That made me laugh again—so suddenly that my hand bumped into his. Not a full touch. Just pinkies. Barely there. But there. I froze. He didn’t move either. His pinky lightly pressed back, just once. Like a confirmation. Like yeah, I felt that too. I looked down. Still touching. Still pretending it was an accident. “You’re so annoying,” I mumbled, trying to hide the way my cheeks were absolutely betraying me. “And yet, here you are. Fully pinky-bound to me.” - “Oh my god.” - “It’s fate.” he said, way too pleased with himself.

“You sound like someone who’s watched one too many romance K-dramas at 2am.” - “You say that like it’s not deeply educational content.” I gave him a look. “Tell me what you’ve learned, then.”

“Easy,” he said, leaning a little closer, pinky still brushing mine. “Number one: always walk her home. Number two: don’t fall asleep first. Number three—” - “Let me guess,” I cut in. “The guy has to be secretly good at cooking.”

“Obviously.” - “You once put uncooked rice in a mug and microwaved it.” - “That was experimental cuisine., ” he laughed.

“That was a cry for help,” I said smiling. He laughed, soft and bright, and the kind that always made my chest feel a little too full.“Okay,” he said, looking at me again. “Then teach me.” -“Teach you what?”

“How to do it right.” His voice was casual, teasing—but something underneath it made my heart stutter. I blinked, caught off guard. “Do what right?” I asked. He tilted his head, gaze steady. “This. You know. The slow-burn, witty banter, friends-to-more arc we’re apparently committed to. Jimin's words not mine” I laughed again—awkward and flustered this time. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I learned from the best,” he said, nudging my knee with his gently. And before I could come up with a snarky comeback, Jimin’s voice rang out from across the room: “Okay, lovebirds. Either kiss or help me shuffle these cards.” I groaned. Taehyung just grinned. “Let’s go help him,” I muttered, standing up. “Sure,” he said, following. “But I’m not shuffling any cards without emotional compensation.”

“Oh my god.” - “It’s fate,” he repeated, like it was some inside joke only the two of us understood now. And I was still catching my breath from the pinkies and playful banter of it all when Jimin—who had clearly been waiting for his moment—slammed a game controller on the coffee table. “Alright. Since no one’s emotionally stable enough for card games, it’s time.”

“Time for what?” I asked cautiously. “Justice,” he said dramatically. “And by that I mean Mario Kart.” Yoongi perked up. “I’ve been waiting for this.” Namjoon already had the Switch booted up on the TV, loading screens flashing like this was a professional tournament.

“Four rounds. No teams. No mercy,” he said. Taehyung cracked his knuckles beside me. “You sure you’re ready to lose in front of me?” I turned to him, raising a brow. “You picked Rainbow Road on purpose last time.” “You screamed,” he replied fondly. “I crashed off the map. Four times.” - “It was beautiful.” - “You’re sick.” - “I’m talented.”

Jimin tossed us both controllers with zero warning. “You two are obviously going first.” - “Oh?” I said. “So we’re making this personal.”

“It was already personal the second he pinky-touched you,” Jimin muttered. I ignored that. We chose characters. The intro music played. Taehyung cracked his neck like this was the Olympics. “You sure about this?” I asked. - “Not the only thing I’m sure of,” he replied, fingers tight on his controller.

And then—3, 2, 1—GO. The match exploded into speed boosts, item boxes, and verbal violence. “Did you just banana peel me?” I shrieked. “You hit me with THREE red shells!” - “That’s called strategy.” - “That’s called war.”

At one point I glanced at him and he was leaning forward, laser-focused, bottom lip caught between his teeth. And I forgot how to breathe for, like, half a second. “Don’t get distracted now,” he said without looking over. “I will unplug your controller.” - “Do it,” he dared, “and I’ll tell everyone you blushed when I said ‘it’s fate.’”

I screamed. And came in second. Barely. “Victory,” he whispered, raising both hands like a goddamn anime protagonist. “Rematch,” I said, pointing at the screen. “Right now.” - “That’s cute,” he said. “You think you can beat me just because your pinky got brave.” - “I’m gonna throw you off Rainbow Road.”

Yoongi looked between us, expression deadpan. “Honestly, this is better than the game.” Jimin was just wheezing in the background, muttering, “Tension. So much tension.” And I couldn’t even argue. Maybe… we were both just one banana peel away from falling.

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

The air was colder than I expected. Crisp, late-night quiet—the kind that made everything feel slower. We’d just said goodbye, a round of half-asleep waves and mumbled “see yous” echoing from the door behind us. I pulled my hoodie tighter, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Taehyung walked beside me, hands in his pockets, face calm in the way it only got when things were winding down. We didn’t say anything at first. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was just… ours.

The streetlight cast this soft orange glow across the pavement, and our shadows stretched long in front of us. I glanced over at him. He looked peaceful. Like this kind of night fit him. “You’re quiet,” I said gently. “So are you,” he replied. “Yeah, well. You nearly ruined me with that blue shell. Still recovering.” He laughed, low and easy. “You started it.” - “You said ‘it’s fate’ again.”

“It was still funny.” -“It was suspiciously charming.” -“Ah,” he said, glancing over. “So I’m charming again?” - “Still deciding.”

We walked a few more steps. The wind pushed a few leaves past our feet. Then, he spoke again—softer this time. “I like this.” - “What?” I asked. “This. Us. Talking again. Laughing.” I looked ahead, heart doing that thing where it didn’t know if it should race or melt. “Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” - “Feels like something’s different now,” he added.

“Is that a bad thing?” - “No.” His voice was quiet. “I just don’t want to mess it up again.” I stopped walking. He did too, instantly, like we were still synced without meaning to be.

“You won’t,” I said, eyes meeting his. “You’re here, aren’t you?” He smiled. Not the playful one. Not the smug one. A real one. The kind I hadn’t seen in a long time. “Come on,” I said, nudging his arm gently. “It’s cold. I wanna get home before my legs stop working.” - “Want me to carry you?” - “Try it and I’ll sue.” - “What a romantic threat.” I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

And we kept walking—side by side, just close enough. For a while, it was just the quiet rhythm of our steps and the distant hum of streetlights. Then, out of nowhere, Taehyung cleared his throat softly.

I glanced over. He looked… nervous. Not in the obvious way—he wasn’t fidgeting or pacing or saying something weird. But his hand twitched in his hoodie pocket. And he wasn’t meeting my eyes. “What?” I asked, bumping his shoulder lightly. He hesitated. “So,” he said, voice a little too casual, “earlier…” I blinked. “Earlier?”

“When we—uh—when our pinkies kind of…” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “…touched.” I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile too obviously. “Yeah?” “I was just wondering,” he said, suddenly very interested in the sidewalk, “if, like… we could do that again?”

My heart tripped. “Hold pinkies?” I asked, just to clarify. He nodded. “Just… for the walk. If you want.” I didn’t say anything at first. I just slid my hand slightly to the side. Close enough that his pinky brushed mine. And then—so gently I could’ve imagined it—he hooked his pinky around mine. No fingers. No full hand-hold. Just pinkies.

It was stupid. It was small. It felt like the biggest thing in the world. “Thanks,” he murmured. “You’re welcome,” I whispered.

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

The cafeteria was buzzing in its usual way—somewhere between sleepy chaos and caffeinated panic. Trays clattered. Shoes squeaked. Someone dropped their water bottle. Again.

But somehow, none of it touched me. Because he was already there. Taehyung had saved me a seat like it was nothing, like it was always going to be mine. “I got you your usual,” he said casually, nudging a tray toward me with a smug smile.

“That’s suspiciously thoughtful.” - “I’m trying new things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” - “Like… paying attention.... to you.”

I didn’t have a good comeback for that. So I sat. And I smiled. “You guys are gross,” Jimin said, sliding into the seat across from us, clearly having seen everything.

“We haven’t even done anything,” I said.

“Exactly. And it’s already gross.”

Taehyung just grinned, casually resting his elbow on the back of my chair. Not quite touching me. But close.

And I was so aware of it.

Namjoon sat down next, tray stacked with food he definitely wasn’t going to finish.

“Is this a thing now?” he asked, not even looking up. “No,” I said.

“Maybe,” Taehyung said at the same time.

Jimin choked on his drink. “Oh my god.”

Yoongi appeared last, dropped into the seat next to Jimin, and stole a fry from his tray like a silent assassin.

“They’re being weird again,” Jimin whispered to him. Yoongi didn’t even look. “Let them.”

That shut Jimin up for once.

And I just sat there, chewing, pretending I wasn’t hyper-aware of the way Taehyung’s hand was now resting lightly on my chair—fingertips grazing the curve of my shoulder like it meant nothing.

Like we hadn’t just gone from accidental pinky touches to this.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning in. I nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled.

“Good. I like sitting next to you.”

“Okay, seriously,” Jimin said, chewing with way too much judgment in his eyes. “Can you two stop being cute while I’m trying to emotionally dissociate over this sad excuse of mashed potatoes?”

“Jealousy is so loud,” Taehyung said, sipping his drink without a shred of remorse.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jimin shot back. “Did I interrupt your courtship ritual?” - “Courtship?” Namjoon echoed. “No. We’ve entered the 'what ring size do u wear' phase.”

“You’re all so dramatic,” Taehyung said chukling.

“Oh really?” Yoongi chimed in without even looking up from his soup. “Because five minutes ago you two were holding eye contact like you were about to write a poetry collection about each other.”

“I blinked,” I protested.

“You blinked longingly,” Jimin said.

“Is that even a thing?”

“It is when it’s you two.”

Taehyung just leaned back slightly, grinning. “For the record,” he said, looking at me, “I am a good muse.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned.

“He said that with chest,” Namjoon mumbled, almost impressed.

“This lunch is getting out of hand,” I said, hiding my face behind my drink. Taehyung nudged my knee under the table again.

“We can go sit at another table if it’s too much,” he whispered.

“And give them more fuel? Please.”

“So you’re saying we should stay here and make it worse.”

I gave him a side-eye. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Only because you’re sitting next to me.”

“I’m going to scream,” Jimin muttered, dramatically laying his head on the table.

“Do it,��� Taehyung said. “Make it a performance piece.”

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

Who thought it was a good idea to only send one bus every 15 minutes after lunchtime???

The bus was already packed when we stepped in. Rainy afternoon. Post-lunch class rush. Every seat taken.

“Please tell me there's a five-seater,” Jimin groaned, peering down the aisle.

“Does that even exist?” Namjoon asked.

“In my dreams,” Jimin muttered.

We moved further back, Yoongi leading the way like someone on a mission.

“There,” he said, pointing. “One empty four-seater.” We all looked. Yup. Four seats. Five bodies. The math was mathing. Just not in our favor.

“I can stand,” I offered. “No way,” Jimin said. “We’re not letting you get thrown around like a sock in a washing machine.”

“One of us could sit on the floor? Like a ritual in the middle,” Namjoon suggested half-heartedly. “That’s depressing,” Yoongi replied.

And then, without a single word, Taehyung sat down— And pulled me right into his lap. Just like that. Just—bam.

“You’re not standing,” he said casually, like this was a normal thing we did.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. My entire body short-circuited for a full three seconds.

“Bro,” Jimin whispered from across the aisle, eyes wide. “Did I just watch my fanfic update in real life?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, adjusting myself with as much dignity as one could while actively sitting on someone’s thigh.

Taehyung? Completely unbothered. One arm resting loosely around my waist, the other scrolling his phone like nothing was happening.

“This okay?” he murmured near my ear, so quiet only I could hear. I nodded, too stunned to speak.

“Good,” he said, and smiled. The bus started moving. The others fell into awkward silence for exactly twenty seconds— Then Jimin leaned toward Namjoon.

“Do I look lonely if I hold my own hand?” Yoongi sighed. “I hate all of you.”

Taehyung laughed quietly, and I felt it in my spine. My hands were in my lap. I didn’t know what to do with them. Until his pinky reached over, brushing mine again. Just once. And stayed there.

If someone had told me this morning that I’d be sitting in his lap, on a crowded campus bus, pinkies linked like it meant something…

I’d have laughed.

After some while we got out, the moment passing but pinkies still interlocked. We walked like that in silence to our next spot. Namjoon's.

Namjoon’s place was too clean for the amount of chaos that was about to unfold. Before he had left he put some snacks out. And alcohol. Oh boy. It wasn't much. Not college-party level. No shots, no red solo cups.

Just some glasses and whatever bottles Jimin and Yoongi had mysteriously pulled from nowhere.

I was two drinks in. Warm. Fuzzy. Not drunk. Just… looser. Like my thoughts didn’t all need filters. Taehyung was sitting next to me on the couch—close enough that our thighs were touching again.

Of course. He’d been near me all night. First handing me my drink with a stupid little wink. Then fixing the strap of my bag when it slid off my shoulder. And now, resting his arm behind me like it was nothing. But it was not nothing.

Not with the way his fingertips brushed my shoulder every few minutes. Not with the way I could feel his leg shift just slightly closer every time I laughed.

“You’re smiley tonight,” he said quietly, voice warm in my ear. “I’m tipsy,” I whispered back.

“Cute combo.”

I looked at him. He was already looking at me. And suddenly the noise around us faded a little. Just a little.

“You’re close,” I murmured.

“Do you want me to move?” I didn’t answer. Instead, I leaned into him. Just slightly.

And he let me. His arm shifted, curling around the back of the couch and settling against me like it belonged there. My hand brushed his knee. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he let his fingers trace a lazy circle on my shoulder—like he wasn’t even thinking about it. But he was. I could feel it.

We were talking to the others—laughing, playing along with Jimin’s dumb drinking game—but there was something else now.

Every move between us felt loaded. Every glance lingered. I reached for my drink and brushed his hand. He didn’t move away.

When I shifted, he leaned with me. When I laughed, he looked at my mouth before he smiled too. And no one said a thing. But Yoongi looked at us once and raised a brow. Namjoon blinked too long during his sip.

Jimin? Jimin was straight-up side-eyeing us like he was taking notes for a future roast. And I was just sitting there, tipsy and tangled in something I didn’t have words for.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asked again, quieter this time.

I nodded.

“Good,” he said. “You’re warm.” I looked at him. “You’re tipsy.”

“Still warm.” And then—he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I froze. But I didn’t move.

His fingers stayed near my face for a second longer than necessary, brushing my cheekbone like they were deciding something. Then the moment passed—kind of.

Jimin made a dumb joke. Namjoon turned on the TV. And suddenly there was a YouTube tab open and a chaotic playlist of cursed internet videos playing through the speakers.

“Ten minutes,” Namjoon announced. “Then everyone’s asleep. Class tommorow,”

“Yes, Dad,” Yoongi muttered, already curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket. I shifted, reaching for my drink again, and when I leaned back— Taehyung didn’t move.

His arm was still behind me. So when I leaned, I leaned into him.

Slowly. Carefully. Shoulder against his chest. His hand slid down, not quite touching my waist, but resting just behind it.

I felt him inhale. Then he let his head rest gently against mine. And that was it. No one said anything. The video was playing something stupid—but I couldn’t focus.

Because Taehyung was warm. And solid. And he didn’t seem like he was going to move anytime soon.

I didn’t want him to. “You comfy?” he asked, low and amused.

“Mhm.”

“You’re softer than I expected.”

I pinched his side. He laughed. Quiet, in my hair. His hand slid a little further—now touching the side of my waist. Light. Careful. Like he was waiting for me to flinch.

I didn’t. Instead, I leaned just a little bit closer.

His fingers curled ever so slightly. And for a while, we just stayed like that. Breathing in sync. Skin brushing.

The others were still around. Still watching, still commenting.

But I don’t think anyone looked at us. Or maybe they did, and they were just kind enough not to say anything.

I don’t remember when everyone fell asleep. One minute we were watching the fourth cooking video in a row— The next…

Silence.

Jimin was snoring softly on a pile of blankets. Namjoon was somehow asleep upright, neck bent at an angle that looked medically concerning. Yoongi was the first to tap out, wrapped in two blankets and dead to the world.

And me?

I was curled into Taehyung. His hoodie smelled like laundry and warmth. His arm was slung loosely around my waist. Our legs were tangled without effort.

I’d fallen asleep like that. Safe. Warm. Buzzed and heavy-limbed. I didn’t expect to wake up again.

But I did. Something shifted. Or maybe it was just instinct.

My eyes blinked open in the dark, adjusting to the soft blue glow of Namjoon’s fish tank across the room.

I shifted slightly. And felt it. He was still awake. Taehyung.I looked up slowly. His gaze was already on me. Soft. Steady. His face was barely an inch from mine.

“Hi,” I whispered. He smiled.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly.

“Didn’t want to,” he said, voice low and raspy in the dark.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t wanna miss this.” My heart thudded so loud I was scared it’d wake Jimin.

I didn’t move. Neither did he.

The air between us was warm from shared breath. His hand was still around me, fingers resting softly at my waist.

“You’re really not gonna let this be just a sleepover, are you?” I whispered.

He gave the smallest laugh. “Was it ever just that?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, my hand moved—barely—until my fingers brushed his chest, just over the fabric of his shirt.

His breath hitched. “You’re really close,” I said.

“You’re not moving away,” he replied.

I blinked slowly, heart in my throat.

“Should I?” His eyes flicked to my mouth. Then back up.

“No.”

And suddenly my fingers were curling slightly into his shirt. His hand slid just a little tighter around my waist.

Not pulling. Just… holding. We stayed like that for a beat too long.

Then he whispered, “I keep thinking about kissing you.”

I swallowed.

“And?”

“And I want to. But not if you don’t—”

“I do.” I said it before I could stop myself. Quiet. Honest.

He leaned in slowly, painfully slow. But didn’t close the distance. Just waited. And I did the rest.

Our lips met, soft and warm and so careful it felt like a secret being spoken. The kind you whisper at 3 a.m. when the world is too quiet to lie. His hand moved up, cupping my jaw gently as he kissed me again.

And again.

Like he’d been waiting.

Like I had, too.

When we pulled away, we didn’t speak.

We didn’t need to.

His forehead pressed gently against mine.

And in the stillness, wrapped up in his arms while the rest of the world slept, I realized— I never wanted to fall asleep again.

The first kiss had barely ended. But his hands didn’t move. One rested at my waist, grounding me. The other curled gently around the back of my neck like he was scared I might disappear.

I didn’t. I stayed right there. Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, breathing the same breath.

Then I kissed him again. Because I couldn’t not.

And he kissed me back—slow, tender, a little shaky.

We kissed again. And again. Soft, and then softer.

Between every kiss was something we didn’t know how to say out loud. I missed you. I was scared too. I didn’t want to lose this.

I pulled back for a second, just enough to whisper:

“I thought you were gone.”

His brows furrowed.

“When you started hanging out with Sara,” I said, voice low, “I thought I lost you. She really had you in a headlock,”

He didn’t answer right away. His thumb brushed my cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

I swallowed.

“Did you… like her?”

He shook his head instantly.

“No. God, no. It wasn’t—”

He paused, trying to find the words.

“She had the notes. She offered to help me catch up. That’s all I wanted, I swear.”

“Then what happened?”

He looked down, voice barely above a breath.

“Like I told you. She started… pulling me in. Always texting. Sitting closer. Asking questions that weren’t about class. I didn’t know how to stop it without making it weird. And I thought—maybe it’d fizzle out.”

He looked up again, straight at me.

“But it didn’t. Not fast enough. And I saw what it was doing to you, and I didn’t do anything. That’s on me.”

My throat felt tight.

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he said. “Until I realized what I was scared of losing. Seeing you and Minjae. I know there was nothing, but still.”

His hand shifted to hold my jaw, thumb brushing over my skin so gently it made my eyes sting.

“It was never her,” he said. “Not even for a second.”

“Then who?”

“You.”

His voice cracked a little.

“It was always you. Even when we felt like strangers again. Before all that and after Sara was really driving me crazy, I knew more and more that it was you”

That’s when I kissed him again.

This time slower.

My hands on his shoulders. His arms around me, holding tighter now.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just real. Our lips moved together like we’d done this before in some other life. Like this was a memory we were finally catching up to.

His nose brushed mine between kisses. Our foreheads bumped, and we smiled.

“You’re really not going anywhere, are you?” I whispered.

He shook his head.

“Never again.”

I woke up warm. Like… really warm.

Someone was breathing against my neck. A heavy arm rested around my waist. Our legs were fully intertwined. And when I blinked my eyes open, the soft, early light of Namjoon’s apartment made everything feel dreamlike. But it wasn’t a dream.

Taehyung was very much real. Very much awake. And definitely not moving.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice husky and slow.

“Morning,” I whispered back, barely turning my head.

We laid there for a second.

Just breathing. Still tangled. Still… us.

And then—

“So,” Jimin’s voice rang out from somewhere above us. “You two wanna explain why you’re spooning like a k-drama finale?”

I didn’t even jump. I just buried my face into Taehyung’s chest with a groan.

He chuckled, not even pretending to be sorry.

“Good morning to you too,” he said.

“No. No good morning. I have questions.”

I peeked up. Jimin was standing near the kitchen, arms crossed, sipping tea like he was judging a reality show.

Namjoon was behind him, yawning.

Yoongi? Still on the couch, but one eye cracked open.

“I knew something was going on last night,” Namjoon said, rubbing his face. “There was a vibe.”

“You mean the snuggling?” Jimin said.

“The whispered conversations?” Namjoon added.

“The lap-sitting on the bus?”

“The eyes,” Yoongi mumbled from his cocoon of blankets. “They kept eyeing.”

I sat up slowly, Taehyung following my movement with the kind of relaxed energy that only someone completely unbothered could pull off.

He stretched lazily.

“Okay,” he said with a grin, “fine. It’s a thing now.”

I blinked at him.

“It is?”

He looked at me, gaze softer than anything.

“Do you want it to be?”

My heart skipped, but I smiled.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Then yeah,” he said, wrapping an arm around me again. “It’s a thing.”

The room erupted.

“FINALLY,” Jimin cried.

“I can sleep in peace now,” Yoongi groaned.

Namjoon was already clapping like this was a group presentation.

“We’re proud of you,” he said solemnly. “The tension was unbearable.”

Taehyung leaned down, pressing the lightest kiss to my temple.

“Guess we don’t have to whisper anymore.”

I laughed, leaning into him.

“No more pinky secrets?”

“Nope. Full hand-holding rights unlocked.”

Jimin covered his face.

“Ugh, I hate it here. Someone pour me juice before I cry. Out of joy of course”

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

Group panic sessions turned into labs. Labs turned into panic again.

And I was still late to my 9 a.m. lecture.

Some things never change.

But some did.

Like the way Taehyung would wait outside my lecture hall, a subject he didn't had, coffee in hand, acting like he “just happened to be there.”

Like the way his hand would find mine under the table in the library when we were “definitely focusing this time.”

Like the way he called me “mine” exactly once—under his breath—after I beat him in flashcard trivia.

And the way I didn’t stop smiling for three days after that.

The friend group? Still chaotic.

Jimin renamed the group chat, it's now called Pinkied & Proud™. Namjoon asked us questions like he was conducting a sociology study. Yoongi pretended not to care but gave Taehyung The Talk™ when I wasn’t around.

Apparently, it involved the phrase “If you hurt her, I hurt you.” I cried a little when I found out.

And later that day, I found a post-it in my notebook, when I was alone in a lecture. It was from Taehyung. Just a doodle of two little stick figures holding pinkies, well the pinkies were longer than all other fingers but still. Underneath, he’d written : still my favorite equation.

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

thanks for reading ଘ(🌸o▿o)(≧U≦❁)β. no complete proof read. proof read happened in sections (ΘLΘ)

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

☀︎—pairings:eris!vanserra x oc character

☀︎—warnings:cannibalism, swearing

☀︎—Lena's note:English isn't my first language so i apologise if i made any mistakes

☀︎—Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Celeste POV:

Another day drags by, slow and merciless. The air is thick, stale—unchanged for gods know how long. The only sound that breaks the silence is my ragged breathing, shallow and uneven, and the relentless, maddening drip of water echoing through the tomb.

That damned sound… drip… drip… drip… It burrows into my skull, a cruel and constant reminder of time slipping through my fingers like sand.

How long have I been hearing it?

I have no idea.

I used to count, once. Back when I still had the energy, back when my mind wasn’t drowning in this eternal emptiness. I kept track of the days, the days—7065 of them, to be exact. After that, I stopped. I got lazy. I gave up. I'm pretty lazy so that's understandable.Honestly, I surprised myself that I had the patience to keep track for that long.

That’s 19 years and 356 days.

What can I say? I’ve always been pretty good at math.

What I wouldn’t give to read a book. Or to eat some hot guy. Either one would do just fine.

The damn water keeps dripping, over and over, and right now, I swear I’d claw out my own brain just to make it stop. I glance down at my hands—or what’s left of them. Bone, rotted flesh, a few scraps of skin clinging on for dear life. I turn my head—wait, correction—I turn my skull, with what little decayed skin and a few pathetic strands of hair still attached. A ghastly face stares back at me. Or, well, what’s left of it. I gnawed it clean a long time ago.

The hunger gnaws at me, deep and unrelenting. It has been my only companion in this wretched place, a constant, aching reminder that I am still here, still bound to this miserable existence. I press my teeth together—or rather, the bones of my jaw clicking dully. I used to chew the bones left behind, grinding them to dust between my teeth in some pathetic attempt to feel something. But bones are useless. They don’t satisfy the hunger, don’t ease the agony that festers inside me like an open wound.

Every so often, some idiot stumbles in, crossing the threshold of this tomb despite the warnings. Do they not read? Do they not understand?I don’t get it—do these people not have a single functioning brain cell?The signs are everywhere. Do not approach within 5 kilometers of the tomb. Danger to life. And yet, they come.Well, they don’t have brain cells anymore—quite literally.

Curiosity. Stupidity. Arrogance.

It doesn’t matter.

Because when they step inside, they don’t leave.

The moonlight slips through a crack in the tomb’s ceiling, casting a soft glow on a bone lying in the dirt. A leg? An arm? Hard to tell. It’s been gnawed down to almost nothing. I remember chewing the bones to dust at some point, but when I realized it wasn’t doing any good, I stopped.

I used to think the hunger was the worst part. The endless, gnawing agony, the feeling of being hollowed out from the inside, like something vital is being ripped from me over and over again.

But hunger is nothing compared to what I’ve become.

A nightmare wrapped in rotting flesh. A corpse that refuses to stay buried. Jesus fucking Christ is really hate being ugly like this.

I really hope those cunts suffer a slow, agonizing death.

Third Person POV:

Azriel and Cassian flew through the cold night air, their powerful wings slicing through the wind as they approached the tomb—the prison of the blue-eyed witch.

The journey had been silent, thick with unspoken tension. This wasn’t just another mission. This was her.

They had all agreed that Azriel shouldn’t go alone. Not because he wasn’t capable—he was, more than anyone. But none of them knew how she would react. Five centuries had passed since he last saw his sister. Five centuries of silence, isolation, and starvation. What had that done to her?

They reached the tomb just before midnight, landing in front of its entrance. It was an ominous place, carved into the jagged mountainside, surrounded by twisted, blackened trees that looked half-dead. The air was unnaturally cold here, sharp and biting, as if the land itself rejected whatever was locked inside.

Azriel landed first, his boots making almost no sound against the rocky ground. Cassian touched down beside him, folding his wings as he scanned their surroundings. They both knew better than to step forward.

The tomb’s entrance gaped before them like the maw of some ancient beast, nothing but pure blackness inside. They couldn’t see the magical barrier that kept Celeste trapped, but they could feel it—a force humming in the air, unseen but impossible to ignore.

Azriel stayed just at the edge, careful not to cross that invisible line. If he stepped inside, he would be trapped, just like her.

Cassian, too, held his ground.

The cave was silent. Empty. Lifeless.

And yet, they could feel her watching them.

The weight of her gaze was suffocating. It was sharp, piercing, hungry. Even without seeing her, they could sense her eyes on them, scanning them, assessing them like a predator watching prey.

Cassian shifted slightly, flexing his fingers. He could tell Azriel wasn’t ready to speak. So he did.

“You want to get out of here, huh?” he asked, his voice casual as he stretched his wings slightly.

Silence.

For a moment, the cave remained deathly still. Then, from within the shadows, a voice emerged—smooth, melodic, and deceptively sweet.

“Only if it means leaving with your bodies in pieces.”

Cassian exhaled sharply. Of course.

Her voice was the only beautiful thing left about her.

Sirens lost their beauty when they starved—flesh rotting away, bodies withering into grotesque husks. But their voices? Their voices remained perfect. Preserved by dark magic to lure in the foolish, the desperate, the unfortunate.

Cassian tilted his head. “Hate to break it to you, Ariel, but getting out of here is going to require a deal.”

A low, amused chuckle echoed from the cave, soft at first, then growing louder. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was hollow, sharp—like something that had long since forgotten how to laugh properly.

“Enlighten me, Cassian,” she purred. “I see you haven’t gotten any smarter over the years.”

Cassian growled, fists clenching. He wasn’t known for his patience, and she was already pushing it.

“We need you to break a curse,” he said bluntly. “You get out, but only after we make sure you won’t harm anyone.”

Celeste hummed, as if considering his words. Then she let out another laugh. “You do realize that’s not going to happen, right?”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was calm, controlled, but edged with something sharp—something dangerous.

“You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

Celeste clicked her tongue. “Aren’t I? You are the ones desperate enough to come here. That tells me you need me more than I need you.”

Cassian growled again, his patience thinning.

“Listen to me, you blood-sucking bitch,” he snapped. “We will get you out, and you will break the curse. But first, you’re going to make a deal—you won’t touch the people we care about."

She clicked her tongue, the sharp, wet sound cutting through the cold, stagnant air of the tomb. They couldn’t see her, but they heard it—an ugly, grating noise that sent a shiver down Cassian’s spine. It was the sound of impatience, of amusement, of something ancient and bitter twisting beneath the surface.

A soft exhale followed, and then her voice—smooth as silk, but laced with venom.

“Only the ones you care about?” she mused, the mockery dripping from every syllable. “Gods, and ya'll call me the cruel one. Your moral compass is seriously fucked up.”

The words echoed through the tomb, lingering like a whisper against the stone walls. She wasn’t wrong, but they wouldn't admit it.

Neither of them answered.

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. Cassian, however, felt his jaw tighten. He hated that she had a point.

Celeste let out a low, breathy chuckle from the shadows, the sound devoid of warmth. “Ah. I see. No comebacks? No self-righteous excuses? Interesting.”

Still, silence.

The wind howled faintly outside, rushing through the trees like distant whispers. Inside the tomb, the atmosphere thickened, the weight of her presence pressing against them, probing, waiting.

Then, after a pause—

“You are desperate, aren’t you?” she murmured, almost gently. “How amusing.”

Azriel’s hazal eyes remained locked on the darkness, unreadable, unwavering. “Do you accept it or not?”

Another pause. Another hum.

Then—

“Fine,” the siren purred, and though they still couldn’t see her, they could feel the grin in her voice.

“But before I step out of here,” Celeste continued, her voice like silk, “I want food. Bring it to me first.”

Azriel didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

The moment the word left his lips, a sharp, searing pain flared across his wrist. He sucked in a quiet breath as the magic sealed itself into his skin, branding him with the deal he had just made.He knew she felt it too on her own arm

A new tattoo bloomed on his already-scarred hand—thin, twisting lines of flame.

Celeste hummed. “Flames. How ironic.”

Neither male responded.

Celeste, like Azriel, bore the mark of fire on her hand.

She had been only fourteen when their brothers gave the order. Burn Azriel, they had told her. Make him suffer. Prove your loyalty.

She had refused.

So they did it themselves.

They had pinned him down, ignoring his struggles.And when Celeste still would not obey, they turned on her too.

Both of Azriel’s hands had been set ablaze that night, flesh melting, bones scorching beneath the unbearable heat. But only one of hers.

Because, they said, she was still family.

Unlike him.

It was meant to be mercy. A twisted kindness. But Celeste had never seen it that way.How could she.She begged them to stop as her flesh and bones melted.

To this day, Celeste couldn’t stand the sight of flames.

She never flinched at the memory of pain—pain was familiar, expected, something she had learned to swallow whole without complaint.

But the fire had left more than scars on her skin. It had seeped into her mind, curling around her thoughts like unseen smoke, suffocating, choking.

Azriel had healed. The burns had become part of him, buried beneath layers of hardened will and quiet vengeance. But Celeste…

Celeste still saw fire in her dreams.

Still smelled the acrid stench of burning flesh if she let her guard down for even a second.

Still felt phantom heat licking up her arm, cruel and all-consuming.

It was why she never lit candles before she was trapped in here, why she avoided hearths, why even the flicker of torchlight made her stomach tighten with something she would never name as fear.

She was one of the greatest witches but still haven't learned a single fire spell.

Because fire didn’t just burn.

It took.

Without another word, they turned and took off, heading back toward Velaris.

The two Illyrians landed outside the townhouse, shaking off the night’s chill as they stepped inside. The Inner Circle was already gathered, along with Nesta and Elain.

Rhysand’s violet eyes locked onto them immediately, sharp and questioning. He didn’t have to say a word.

“She agreed,” Cassian said, his voice gruff. “But before she comes out, she wants to eat.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“How many?” Elain asked softly. “How many will she need before she… leaves?”

Azriel met her gaze, unreadable. “No idea. We’re guessing around three hundred.”

Nesta scoffed. “If she’s as powerful as you say, why hasn’t she just walked out?”

Mor sighed, crossing her arms. “The tomb was sealed with magic older than our world. Yes, she created black magic, but the spell binding that place has nothing to do with her.”

“Then how exactly are you going to break it?” Nesta asked, her tone laced with doubt.

Amren, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her silver eyes flashing. “The tomb’s magic blocks anything inside from casting spells, foolish girl. Not the other way around.”

Nesta tensed at the insult, but before she could bite back, Rhysand held up a hand. His voice was calm, but firm.

“Enough. Azriel, round up the worst criminals you can find. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done—give them to her. Do it quickly.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He only gave a sharp nod before vanishing into the shadows.

Azriel returned to the cave, moving without hesitation, his steps silent as death itself. In his grip, he dragged a prisoner—a fae male who had long since lost any hope of salvation.

The fae wasn’t particularly large or muscular, appearing no older than twenty-five in human years. But that hardly mattered now. His once-fair skin was marred with bruises, his ribs—several of them—cracked and broken by Azriel’s own hands. Blood, dark and dried, clung to the golden strands of his matted hair. His clothes, once fine, were now nothing more than shredded fabric barely hanging onto his battered frame.

He had been useful once, this man. Had held information that Azriel had needed.

Now, he was nothing.

Now, he would serve a different purpose.

The prisoner’s legs trembled as he stumbled forward, barely able to hold himself up. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as he turned desperate eyes toward his captor.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and raw. A plea, fragile and broken.

Azriel said nothing. He didn’t even blink as he shoved the male forward.

The fae staggered, his foot crossing the invisible threshold of the tomb.

And then he felt it.

His eyes widened in terror as he turned back, hands slamming against the air—against the unseen wall of magic that now trapped him inside. He pushed, punched, clawed at it, but the barrier didn’t budge.

“Please,” he whimpered again. “I’ll do anything.”

Azriel only watched. His expression remained utterly unreadable.

A shuddering breath left the prisoner’s lips. Then—movement.

Not from Azriel.

From within the tomb.

Someone yanked him back—something unseen, hidden deep within the swirling shadows. No—something .

A scream tore from the fae’s throat, raw and shrill with terror. Bones cracked with a sickening crunch. The sound echoed off the cave walls, followed by the unmistakable gurgle of a man choking on his own blood.

And then, silence.

Where the light of the moon still touched the ground, a dark pool spread, creeping past the magical boundary. The fae’s blood, soaking into the earth.

Azriel had seen enough.

Without a word, without a single backward glance, he turned on his heel and vanished into the night, already planning his next move.

She would need more food.

tags:@seassttar

[tobiasdrake]

Dragon Ball Daima 01x12 - True Strength

Here we go. Presumably this will be Vegeta vs. Tamagami, Round 2. Good luck, Geets! You got this!

(I am going to laugh so hard if Goku has to fight the Tamagami for him.)

Alright, so how do they resolve Vegeta being eaten by the hydra?

Huh. "It was a fakeout; He never got eaten" wasn't my first guess. I had my money on either "Vegeta goes Super Saiyan and breaks free" or "Goku has to fight the hydra".

But this is what I was talking about.

Now that we don't need to manufacture the illusion of a desperate cliffhanger, Vegeta turns Super Saiyan right away and the hydra is no longer an issue. He was only letting himself get punched around for the sake of fabricating dramatic tension last episode.

The episode still tries to play it as an arena hazard for a bit. But even then....

Vegeta just hits the hydra really hard one time and it immediately fucks off. It was never, ever really a threat to him or Goku despite all the screentime spent pretending that it was.

So, that was lame. But now that Vegeta's stopped letting himself get beat up for funsies, the real Vegeta vs. Tamagami fight can begin in earnest.

I love how much more blunt and direct Vegeta's fight with his Tamagami is, as opposed to Goku's. Vegeta's always been more of a warhammer to Goku's scalpel, and you can feel it in their fights.

Goku spent his battle leading the Tamagami around in circles and capitalizing on openings in their guard, while Vegeta just powers in there and tries to break through.

Meanwhile, Duu.

Despite his dull personality, Duu is kind of perfect as a Buu-like fighter.

At this point, I think the narrative function of the three Tamagamis has been made clear. Both why these boss fights exist and why there's three of them, specifically. With everything else in Makai being beneath Dabra/Cell in power, the Tamagamis act as yardsticks to showcase how Goku, Vegeta, and Duu relate to each other in ability.

These three entities alone are beyond Dabra/Cell. By conquering them, Goku, Vegeta, and Duu assert their place in the pecking order as entities beyond the beings that are Dabra/Cell but relatively close to one another.

...rude. This is Goku erasure. He's standing right there, guys.

Neva being able to make them go Super Tamagami is a twist I did not see coming. But one that makes perfect sense, and I love it.

Out-of-nowhere Kuu showing up with the chocolate bars to rejuvenate Duu's motivation is such an old-school Dragon Ball moment. XD I love that this is the finisher that brings Duu vs. Tamagami One into its endgame.

This is the best headbutt that anyone has ever delivered in cinematic history.

I was skeptical about Duu's ability to potentially carry a final boss fight and I recant everything. Duu's such a fun fighter, I love it.

Though I still think Duu and Kuu are going to fuse. Goku and Vegeta vs. Duu and Kuu seems inevitable. I also half-expect these two lunkheads to end up ruling Daimakai or something.

Even if they are the Final Boss, there's no way the show kills them off. They're too innocent and joyful.

It's a good thing Goku didn't get this Tamagami because he'd be screwed.

BUT FORTUNATELY KUU IS A SUPER-GENIUS ARE YOU KIDDING ME

I LOVE THESE LUNKHEADS

ONLY ONE BRAIN CELL BETWEEN THEM BUT KUU PUTS IT TO GREAT USE

I love them. I love their whole little family. I want only good things for them.

I hate how similar these forms are. Without seeing the lightning crackles here, you would have no way of knowing that this....

...is supposed to be Super Saiyan 2.

(Wouldn't it be funny if Vegeta obtained Super Saiyan 3 in this series? Which would mean retroactively he had it all along in GT or Super or what have you but it was so outpaced by those shows' new forms that it didn't matter?)

With a title like "True Strength", I really thought Vegeta was going to have to go on like an inner journey to find the strength within himself to bounce back here. But nope, he was just taking an ad break. XD

We come back from commercial and he powers up immediately (this time to Super Saiyan 2) and gets right back in the fight. He just. XD He just needed. Hahahaha. He just needed a moment to talk to you about our sponsor, HelloFresh. Hahahahahahahahahahaha.

OH MY GOD I WAS JOKING

I WAS MAKING A FUNNY SHITPOST

THEY ACTUALLY DID IT

THEY ACTUALLY MADE IT SO VEGETA HAS RETROACTIVELY HAD SUPER SAIYAN 3 IN THE SEQUEL SERIES ALL ALONG

...

This definitely should have had some sort of "Vegeta discovering the true meaning of strength at the bottom of the ocean" mind journey or something to lead into it. This was achieved way too easily.

He cracked Super Saiyan 3 halfway through doing the ad read for NordVPN.

"Are you worried about your wife's corporate surveillance network reporting back on the websites you visit? Well, if you're like me, you want a good-- huh. ...yeah, that would work. Anyways, you'll want to protect your privacy online...."

But then. It is Vegeta. This is how he operates. He gets free skill points whenever Goku levels up; They're just set on a time delay.

In seriousness, Bulma at least offers some explanation. Like most of Vegeta's power-ups, he unceremoniously bridged that gap offscreen. He's been sitting on it and waiting for a good time to show it off.

Vegeta likes to go away for a while and then come back with new abilities that Goku already achieved, but he often at least gets to reveal them in big exciting moments. His key strength is his ability to consistently follow in Goku's footsteps where all others eventually fade into obscurity.

Playin' the Hits

There's something sincerely funny about Vegeta trying to demonstrate how cool he's become but the best he can come up with is to plagiarize something Goku did that one time.

Oh, and also a little bit of Frieza plagiarism. Keeping his arms folded across his chest while fighting exclusively his legs is something he stole from Frieza. Though he was dead at the time that happened, so this might just be a little bit of Frieza's influence on his early development showing through.

Playin' the Hits #3, at least, is a Vegeta original.

It's always been kinda funny to me the way subsequent Dragon Ball materials make the Galick Gun out to be, like, Vegeta's Kamehameha. His signature beam attack that he whips out when he needs to smash someone with overwhelming force.

He only actually did this once in the series. Unlike Goku, Vegeta generally doesn't stick to a single technique as his go-to signature move. He doesn't have a Standard Arsenal of attacks. He's like Piccolo; Constantly trading up and leaving old moves in his dust.

And then closing on copy/pasting Goku's final exchange with the Tamagami from four episodes ago in this very series.

Possibly one more for the road? I am like 70% certain this is from the anime version of Super Vegeta vs. Semi-Perfect Cell? It definitely looks familiar.

IDK

Daima was the last series that Akira Toriyama worked on before his passing, but to my knowledge, we don't know where the series was in its development when he passed on.

But I can say that, in my opinion, a lot of Vegeta vs. Tamagami Two feels like a Toei fight, not a Toriyama fight. Especially its incredibly derivative conclusion.

OH YOU SNEAKY SON OF A BITCH.

SPECIFICALLY THIS ONE.

I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR TRICK QUESTIONS OLD MAN

I failed this Tamagami test and I'm mad about it.

[kumkaniudaku]

I love “First”!

I really do love the way we are able to really get a glimpse of how their lives were then, how different they could’ve been now, and where some of the issues they still have (yet to talk about) come from.

Mrs. Dee clocking the hell outta Marvin, I KNOW THATS RIGHT ! (That’s why Terry lowkey like being bossed around it’s hereditary)

These two horny dumbasses are so cute. Nervous wrecks and not a lick of sense between them 😂, just vibes.

Here are your flowers: 💐

I know the temporary end is coming, but I also hold comfort in knowing why it was so necessary.

YOU ARE AMAZING, please never forget that 🫶🏾.

Bonus thought (you do bout have to entertain this lmao): I wonder how different things would’ve turned out if Terry had talked to Patrice about marriage in that hotel room instead.

Thank you so much 😭. Consider my ass whooped behind this one lol. So whooped that I said I was taking a nap on the couch at midnight and woke up an hour ago lmao. I appreciate you taking time you didn’t have to take to be kind ❤️

Dee is a whole vibe. That moment right there actually explains a lot of why she and Patrice get along so well. They’re very reminiscent of each other 😂😂.

This whole throwback arc has been a fun stretch for my mind to weave things back together. Because, you’re right, if that has even a sliver of the wisdom that have as adults, things could’ve possibly gone another way. Especially regarding what you mention at the end. If Terry would’ve brought up the topic in the hotel room, they could’ve possibly had a conversation and sorted some things out. He could’ve seen where she was coming from and how much it meant to her for her to be settled in her autonomy before becoming his wife. And she could’ve seen that he wasn’t trying to take anything away from her. He was following a system taught to him that didn’t work for their relationship.

But, like you said, barely two functioning brain cells between them when it comes to common sense. Just vibes and wanting to kiss lmao.

Thank you again for always being kind. More than I appreciate you reading, I appreciate the conversations and the encouragement. Thank you ❤️

[lemedstudent2021]

KINDREEED I'M SCAAARED

I WANT TO DO THIS ART THING WHERE MERCH DESIGN FOR JANANI K. JHA (APHRODITEEEEE) BUUUUT I ALSO HAVE A BIG BIG EXTRACURRICULAR FINAL EXAM IN 9 DAYS

9 DAYS

MY PARENTS WON'T LET ME DO IT IF I FAIL

I'VE FORGOTTEN EVERYTHING I'M GOING TO CRYYYYYY

DO YOU HAVE ANY GOOD STUDYING TECHNIQUES???

I FORGOT EVERYTHING-THE TEACHER DIDN'T EXPLAIN IT ALL VERY WELL-AND MY NOTES HAVE VANISHED

-NYX T-T

WOAH OMG OKAY! IM HOLDING UR HAND LETS DO THIS:

i have no idea what it is ur studying (like if its memorisation heavy or practice heavy, history vs maths for example) but i can advise u as follows:

start with bismillah!! u got this inshallah >:D

aight first were going to get ur calendar and study material out and plan: if i understood right ur test is on day 9 so u have 8 to study? (ill go with that just in case u plan according to what u have):-

in those 8 days how much stuff (topics/ chapters) do u need to cover? some parts may be longer/ harder than others and might need extra time, dont forget to take that into account! take bio example; id study a topic a day (one for mitosis, the next for cellular respiration, etc. but if ur tight on time group similar stuff together) and solve questions to help the ideas stick *and* make sure ive gotten everything down; if i forgor something or found a question particularly hard its an indication to go reread and study further that area specifically.

plan realistically and play to your strengths; start with what will be the easiest for you. for example i loved molecular bio (cell stuff) and left ecology till last, but that might be just me lol. anyway you know best what works for u so go for it!!

if u have school atm take a break after getting home to switch between school and studies, keep taking breaks to stay sane (preferrably after milestones), drink plenty of water and dont lose sleep!! very rich coming from me i know lol but u must sleep. or else ill haunt u :3

breaks btw can be getting up to pray, doing a random chore, eating a snack or having a meal with family, regardless i advise getting up and moving to really freshen ur mind! daydreaming also works lol

assuming u have a book/ reference material; id say look at the objectives before every lesson, usually thats what teachers focus on because thems the objectives lol. its a place to start

next, again this depends on what ur studying, but i cant sing enough praises for mind maps & mnemonics. life savers fr:

the idea is to start with the bigger picture; what is this lesson about? what are we learning here? (more bio: if im studying the humble cell i first need to know the kinds of cells, whats in them, how they do what they do. this is ur first mind map thingy: to arrange ur thoughts) and then continue to work your way with the details, seeing if you can come up with words phrases imagery etc to help remember stuff. (so for example making a lil mind map of each organelle and its functions) plenty of stuff exists online too btw!! look for resources and maybe ask classmates if yall have a group or sum. khan academy has saved me many a time back in the day, so did crash course lol. the internet can be a godsend sometimes

now me, kindred, personally, i memorise via writing. if i want anything to stick i keep writing till it does (even quran!), so as i make notes and summarise the way my brain works is that ill start making connections to help me remember stuff bc my memory isnt the best and brute memorisation is a crime. anywya.

literally from todays test: to help me remember the type of mutation (deletion of 1p & 19q) associated with a type of tumor (oligodendroglioma) i make the connection delete and go from oligo. its simple but thats what sticks when im in the exam lol another one i remember form 2 years ago almost is MACE (yk the medieval weapon) is short for a bunch of antibiotics: macrolides = azithro- clarithro- and erythomycin. i forgor everything else about them lmao but the point is this is how i remember stuff. silly little acronyms and mnemonics go a long long way for me

cant stress this enough; make studying enjoyable for urself (yes im serious) try to have a lil milestone sheet or something in mind for finishing topics or days at a time to keep u going and motivated

my gremlin brain needs this or else nothing will get done lol. i doodle on my lecture notes (as yall are all too familiar with lmao) to help get the wiggles out and stay focused, but when im actually done for the day i allow myself a lil research break, teleport to tumblr, microwave the blorbos for a bit etc.

in this case maybe u can plan out the art u want to make; first break plan the art, next one find references, third break make a first draft etc. u know urself and ur habits better than anyone so work with and not against them!!

tl;dr: make a plan -> stick to the plan -> always deliver.

this was significantly funnier in my head aha.

[thelongestway]

This piece of the story had two interesting challenges about it.

One: way too many cool horror movie tropes to deploy! It was really hard to decide on a sequence.

But two, which I probably won't know before I finish the story, is whether the stakes work. Because TTOU and TMBD are... Very different with respect to those, and the balance is hard. Even though this piece works well on its own, I do wonder if I'll need to rebalance it later.

But for now, without further ado...

Edit: Second draft of Showtime is now up!

Chapter 40: Showtime

"So it's been one idiot civilian all along. Doing voices," Target Leader said, giving Target Two a pointed stare as Aspen and their two hostiles approached through the deathly quiet halls of the Courageous.

(Deathly quiet to them. Iceblink and I were pretty busy. Iceblink was staying at Tal's pod and coordinating getting a medical and engineering team down here. And I was putting together some contingency malware on the fly and also mentally poking at my power cells to recharge faster.)

Target Two, who'd just finished hauling the unconscious Target Four out from under the rubble together with Target Five, scowled. "Yeah, well, I don't think anyone could've predicted that shitshow. Face up, resident, let us get a good look at you."

The Courageous has a habit of subverting people’s expectations, Aspen said darkly in the feed, their avatar's mouth twisting in feigned terror as they raised their head.

There was no recognition on any of the Targets' faces. But Hostile Manager's eyes went wide, and she didn't quite succeed in stifling a gasp.

Target Leader snapped her head towards Zheni. "What's that, Branch Manager Saldana? You know this resident?"

"I--what? Do you expect me to know every single person on the station?" Zheni sputtered.

"With how much you bragged about your local knowledge when we arrived, you'd better," Target Leader said with lazy menace. "Otherwise it would have been such a waste to have brought you all this way."

"I--!"

My threat assessment for Hostile Manager spiked to 95% for being shot, and I alerted Aspen. They seamlessly switched with me, letting me deeper me into our marks' targeting implants. While I did my part of the work, they crawled into Zheni's feed link and whispered, It’s Aspen. Pretend I’m just a normal human you know from the station.

Out loud, Aspen meekly said, "Aren't you from Caldera? What's going on?"

Through Aspen, I could feel Zheni's bewilderment and fear as she stammered, "You're--You're Courageous cluster, yes? I've seen you around the museum?"

"Right," Aspen gave a self-conscious little chuckle. "I'm a feed technician. You know, the one that voiced Aspen?"

"What?" Target Leader said sharply, and Aspen shrunk away from her a little more, even as they allowed a note of pride to slip through the fear.

"Um. Yeah. The Courageous has—well, had—my voice. That's why I got to inherit their name. It's nicer for people when the systems are friendly, you know?"

"What the fuck," Target Four muttered. "Wasn't the AI's voice based on recordings or something? Of the original brain donor?"

"That was before the corruption got it."

"What corruption?" Target Leader looked between Zheni and Aspen, growing visibly more agitated.

Aspen allowed themselves an apologetic smile. "Even with chronostasis tech, a human brain couldn't run a spaceship for over one hundred and fifty years. It'd go insane. Nobody wants an insane station."

"There's no AI," Target Three said as the realization hit him. "There hasn't been one for years. All of that patchwork code. You fuckers ran it all by hand."

"That explains why the search function was so shit," Target Two muttered to Target Leader, whose face was going red.

Aspen pretended to be oblivious.

"Yeah. Sorry. It's just been humans coding subroutines until we could get a new person hooked up to the box. So until today, basically."

"And the chronostasis pod in the next ring?" Target Leader prompted, voice low with anger.

Aspen brightened. "Oh! That! That really is just a memorial, the last original pod from the old Courageous—I can show you, if you want! It's very—"

Target Leader turned to Hostile Manager and drawled, "Zhe-eni-i," at the same time as I deployed my malware into her targeting implants.

Zheni's blood drained from her face. "I—I didn't know! No one on the station must have, except the Co—"

"Strike three."

Fall, Aspen whispered.

Target Leader fired. This close, I couldn’t make her miss completely, but the projectile only grazed Zheni, and she collapsed, convulsing as she bled. Aspen dropped to their knees beside her with a dramatic wail, shielding her from sight with their avatar as they quickly assessed the damage. Then they sent a report along to the incoming medical team and threw their dying human filter over her (it had a lot more blood and guts than there really was).

(They managed to make it look disturbing even to me, and I'd seen a lot of dead humans. I made a note to never, under any circumstances, watch anything from that part of Aspen's movie collection.)

To Zheni, they whispered, Good work. Keep still. Help is on the way.

"Aspen?" Zheni choked out as she reached for them, and Aspen had to recoil so that her hand wouldn't pass through them. "How…"

Shh. You're dead. Don't give them a reason to check your body.

Zheni's hand dropped, and Aspen looked up at Target Leader, tears in their eyes and their voice full of all the terror and anger they'd been feeling since the start of this whole thing.

"That was completely unnecessary! She--"

"And you'll be next if you don't shut up," Target Leader said. "Martens, the operation is a bust. We're pulling out. Resident--you're with us until we get safe passage."

"I won't--" Aspen shut up when Target Leader pointed the muzzle of her projectile weapon at them.

"You will, or you'll be dead. Get the fuck up and move."

Aspen ran a hand over Hostile Manager like they were closing her eyes and then stood up, a defiant expression on their face.

Target Leader leered at them and said, "You're going in front of us. Hope anyone we meet isn't trigger-happy."

"None of us are," Aspen snarled mournfully. "We're not you."

"Trust a fucking Friend to be so dramatic," Target Two said to Target Three, who sighed and shouldered his equipment pack.

As soon as they were out of hearing range, I hobbled towards the Hostile Manager and started emergency treatment protocols.

(The wound wasn't life-threatening. I was actually kind of proud of how well my targeting malware had worked.)

Her eyes fluttered open, and I said, "Stay calm. I'm applying basic treatment. A medical team will be here soon."

“Wha—who?.. Ohh.”

The wind went out of her lungs as she fell unconscious. I tagged her for Aspen’s medics, who would be on site in less than five minutes thanks to Iceblink, and moved on, keeping track of Hostile Manager on the cameras.

She woke up again when the medical team hoistered her on a gurney, and asked weakly, "I'm sorry, but what in the world was all that? What is going on here?"

One of the medics, a stocky Arborean whose feed ID listed her as Waybread, shrugged and said, "Welcome to the Courageous. They just saved your life."

---

The targets were pretty far along towards the exit when I caught up to them. My power cells were still recharging, I had no energy weapons, and taking down a full assault team by myself was still out of the question. But according to my threat assessment, I had to attack them, and soon. Hiram had eight of his fastest people with them waiting at the ambush point, but the hostiles had seven and a lot more experience and tech. Without my assistance, there would be casualties. Probably four or five humans.

You can’t fight like this, Aspen said as they reviewed my data. You’re barely at 50 percent performance reliability. The moment they hit you, you drop.

Yes, I can. Unlike your humans, ART can put me back together. And I can take down enough hostiles that your humans can handle the rest without losing anyone.

Query, SecUnit.

Yes?

Will the hostiles know what you are?

That was a stupid question.

They’re a corporate assault team. Of course they will.

Query. Threat assessment on them committing resources to neutralizing you permanently?

I ran the analysis. Fuck. That was pretty high. 56% if I didn’t attack at the same time as Hiram’s team did. (And that version had a 76% chance of one or more human casualties. That wasn’t four or five humans. But I didn’t want to lose anyone either.)

ART (who had of course been listening in), suddenly shifted its extra processing—not quite pulling it from Aspen, but clearly demonstrating it was prepared to do so if necessary.

Courageous. You are not permitted to lose SecUnit.

I agree, Aspen said, sounding frustrated. And it would be great if you convinced the third person in this conversation of that too, Perihelion.

We can’t lose your humans either, I said. There’s no other choice. We have to risk it.

Yes, there is. Aspen said, running a lightning-quick assessment. And before I could query them, their avatar—which had been walking a few meters ahead of the hostiles, weapons pointed at its back—stopped.

"Keep moving," Target Leader barked.

Aspen didn't. Instead, they straightened their back, like they’d just dropped a heavy pack from their shoulders. "Before we do that, there's something I want to tell you."

Target Leader stepped forward, aiming her weapon at them and growling, "I said…"

Aspen turned towards her with slow predatory motion, and she recoiled, swearing. Half of Aspen's face looked like it had just been melted off, pus seeping from broken blisters, bits of eye dripping down their skin and onto their clothing. And they were smiling.

"Remember how I mentioned that a human brain can't operate a spaceship for centuries without going insane?" They said in their practiced, casual voice as the enemy assault team scrambled to target them. "I wasn't lying."