#we are at 1% install and have been for a bit

[baekuras]

sorry guys I can't play Baldurs Gate with you yet, it needs to install for a bit :/

[withlovemark]

“STUPID CUPID”

pairing: fuckboy! na jaemin x secret identity! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 24k+

synopsis -> mr. cupid — anonymous radio host. running the #1 most popular radio show on campus. famous for his thoughtful advice and classified as a true hopeless romantic. na jaemin — photography major, the sweet fuck-boy. described to be affectionate and gentle…but don’t fall for his tactics! once he’s done with you, he’s gone with the wind. your best friend unfortunately happened to be on the receiving end of this. what happens when you find out that the anonymous radio host is none other than na jaemin himself? sweet revenge.

warnings -> tooth rotting cheesiness you’ll roll your eyes, a hundred different synonyms for a gentle smile, pet name unlocked: angel, lots of stolen kisses, there’s only one bed, reader and jaemin are stupid and selfish sometimes, a tiny bit of angst, a hole in the wall, +18, crude language, fuck-boys, mentions of drugs, alcohol, make outs, one night stands, more than one boner, smut! oral-m/f receiving, fingering, slight nipple play, blowjob, handjob, sex, a brief conversation with his cock, jaemin is whiny and vocal and big, masturbation, public sex if u squint.

an -> the first installment of the loverboy series is finally yours. i hope you love (and hate) it as much as i do. i had so many moments in the three months i’ve had with this work where i almost scrapped this as i couldn’t figure out how to progress the story without it being so cheesy. i wanted something grand, something never been done before! but (fortunately) with rom-com, and the amount of lovely fiction out there, everything has been done before. so i succumbed to the inevitable cheesiness and made something i was happy with. hope you enjoy! with love, c.

dear, mr. cupid,

my best friend slept with her crush! problem is, he’s a total fuckboy and doesn’t even remember her. he walks around pretending he doesn’t know her. what can i do to get back at him?

love,

heart

mr. cupid reads the anonymous confession of the day, ready to give his think piece.

“hi heart, hmm,” he pauses, seeming to be in deep thought, “first of all, i think you should be there for your friend. let her know that no man, especially a fuckboy, is worth any of her precious time. as for the guy, let him have a taste of his own medicine, he deserves it. no man should ever treat a woman like that,” he sweetly advises through the radio, making you scoff in disgust.

his fake persona was sickening considering you couldn't even count the number of girls he has been with in both of your hands in just a span of one year.

taste of his own medicine, huh?

two days later, you got all dolled up, looking exactly like the girls you know are his type – all pretty in pink, a cute skirt around your waist, pretty bow adorned on your hair, paired with heels that made your legs look longer.

you couldn’t even recognize yourself when you looked in the mirror. gone were the oversized t-shirts and sweats that usually hugged your body. you were going to make him notice you, one way or another.

it was all part of the plan – it’s simple, really! the entirety fitting in a page in your notebook, titled the downfall of na jaemin:

step one - introduce yourself.

step two - make him fall in love with you.

step three/four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world (university) that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony.

see, easy!

hence, we begin.

you’ve mapped out the trail he took after his first period. and like the mastermind you are, you were right where you needed to be at the right time. walking hurriedly past him and “accidentally” bumping into him, the books and papers in your hand flying out of your grasp, an exaggerated gasp slipping past your lips.

jaemin, quick to his feet, was already on the ground, picking up your fallen items, “sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“no it's okay, i wasn’t looking where i was going, sorry,” your sweet voice captures his attention as he finally gets a good look at you. a devilishly sweet smile growing on his features, eyebrows ever so slightly raising in a way that if you weren’t so observant, you wouldn’t have noticed.

“just be careful next time, beautiful,” he flirts, handing you back your things, the smile on his face never leaving. you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

“thanks handsome, i’ll see you around?,” matching his energy, voice going softer, eyes flirtatiously but calculatively drooping, as you grab your books out of his hands, making sure your fingertips touch, just a little bit, before turning away and quickly walking the opposite direction.

the boy quickly called out to you, “hey!, what's your name?!”

leaning over your shoulder, plastering on the sweetest smile you can give him, you waved away like you were some kind of princess – classic romantic first meetings.

he watches your retreating figure, a small smile visible on his features. he has half the mind to follow you until the sound of his phone buzzing snaps him out of his daze.

mark: where are u? need help setting up

jaemin: omw

𓏲𝄢

“did we get new students?,” was the first thing that jaemin asked when he entered the room, his friends quickly glancing at his direction before continuing their tasks – setting the house up for the fraternity’s highly anticipated valentines day party that was two days away. it was really the only party (besides halloween, christmas and new year) that they prepared for. all the other ones, didn’t require this much work.

“not that i know of?,” mark — leader of the dream fraternity, music major, the favorite fuckboy. unlike jaemin, he doesn’t hide under sweet pretenses. he tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. whether or not you continue, is up to you. so you can’t exactly blame him when he breaks your heart in the end.

“huh..,” he ponders.

“why?,” his leader ask, curiosity piqued.

“saw the prettiest girl today, never seen her before,” he says nonchalantly.

“maybe she was just passing by?,” haechan — member of the dream fraternity, theatre major, the most popular fuckboy. girls love him. boys love him. he’s funny and charming but also very straightforward. you won’t catch him in a single lie because he doesn’t tell any, even if that means ruthlessly hurting people’s feelings.

“can’t be, her books were from our library,” jaemin reasons, remembering the ‘step by step: how to art?’ book that he picked up from the ground stamped with the university’s seal. maybe you were an art major?

“what does she look like?, i can ask around,” jeno — member of the dream fraternity, architect major, the chill fuckboy. doesn’t really like the whole hopping from one girl to another so he ends up in a bunch of meaningless situationships. his current one has been going on strong – a good new record of four days.

“exactly my type, long hair, soft skin, pretty smile, dressed in the cutest outfit,” jaemin sighs hopelessly, like he was just shot with the lust arrow.

“uh oh there you go again, falling for nameless girls,” chenle smirks, throwing him the streamers he was assigned to put up.

chenle — member of the dream fraternity, business major, the lowkey fuckboy. doesn’t get around as much as the rest but also doesn’t do relationships either and he makes that very clear. no use of pet names, or flowers, or chocolates or anything romantic.

“actually, she was holding an art book. renjun, have you seen anyone today wearing a pink top with a white skirt, a pretty white bow on her pretty head?”

renjun — member of the dream fraternity, art major, the fuckboy by association. only got labeled a player due to his friends. doesn’t actually care too much for romantic relationships, but he will have one night stands here and there, he still has a working dick after all. #1 person to call out the boys if they over step a line but will also fight a girl for his friends.

“didn’t go to class today, too busy setting up,” he shrugs, “leave the poor girl alone jaemin, we don’t need a repeat of last time,” he adds sternly.

“hey!, that one was not my fault, that girl was crazy,” jaemin reasons out earning a snort from jisung.

“yeah, hyung, crazy because she told you she loved you and you said it back then proceeded to avoid her,” jisung — member of the dream fraternity. dance major, the fuckboy in the making. he was in a relationship, once. the girl cheated on him so now he’s decided that love’s not real and is taking fuckboy 101 classes from mark and haechan.

“who tells you they love you while your balls deep in!?,” jaemin practically shouts, “my dick was my brain, okay!, besides who even says i love you to a guy you’ve only been talking to for a week, not to mention we barely talked!,” jaemin quickly defends himself for the umpteenth time.

“yeah, yeah we’ve heard it all before and well…that’s what you get for being sooo sweet,” haechan points out, laughing at his friend.

“that’s why next time you don’t put so much effort in,” chenle adds, joining in on the laughter.

“yeah dude, or maybe next time just tell them you just want sex? it works for me all the time i never have anyone crazy coming in like that,” mark teases, the entire group laughing as they recall the situation.

“well damn! god forbid i actually throw in a little bit of romance before i fuck their brains out,” jaemin sighs.

he can’t help it, he was a romantic at heart.

“fuck your brain out you mean?,” jeno snorts, causing jaemin to chase him around the house, fist ready for a punch.

“be careful! if you break any of the decorations i am not helping!,” renjun yells after them, the rest of the group breaking out into a chaos of laughter.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i accidentally ran into someone today…my books flew everywhere! i swear some even landed on his feet but he was so kind about it, picking it up for me and calling me beautiful and now i can’t stop thinking about his sweet smile. problem is i don’t even know his name, what should i do?

love,

angel

jaemin’s jaw drops, this has to be his mystery girl…right? how many people go bumping around others and dropping their books?

he found himself liking the fact that his identity was unknown. to you he was just the kind boy who helped you out and not one of the school’s residential fuckboy. he thinks this is somehow a work of fate and was sure he had to thank divine interventions for landing you straight into his lap.

clearing his throat, he starts with his advice, “interesting, what should you do, angel?,” he clicks his tongue, “i think you should go to the place you saw him at, maybe he’ll be there again? who knows, he could have felt the same thing…i guarantee you if he did, he’ll walk up to you and say hi…men are simple creatures, after all. if they like you they’ll do something if not, well, you deserve a better man, angel…”

angel — a pretty name for a pretty girl, jaemin thought.

“and of course to all you lovely ladies out there, advice of the day from your favorite cupid is: never accept anything less than the best…goodnight lovelies,” ending the session for the night.

“angel, angel, angel,” the name glides off his tongue. did he just use mr. cupid to get to you? of course he did, but you didn’t have to know that.

just like how he didn’t have to know that everything was falling into place, exactly the way you planned it.

like clockwork, you end up meeting him at the exact same place at the exact same time, your books safely secured in your bag — it was time to put things in motion.

jaemin spots you first, walking up to you this time, “hi angel,” you turn towards the sound of his voice, taking in his appearance, noticing the camera that hung around his neck.

“y-you listen to mr. cupid?,” you ask, playing dumb, of course he listens to mr. cupid. he is mr. cupid. you just didn’t expect him to bring the persona up at all.

“who doesn’t? it’s the number one radio show on campus,” he smirks, “and thank god i do or else i would’ve never known you were looking for me,” he shoots you a wink and it makes sense to you now how he’s never gotten caught. it’s because he doesn’t hide the fact that he “listens” to mr. cupid. he talks about mr. cupid like he was just a casual listener.

too bad for him, you saw him sneak out of the studio late that one evening, catching sight of the mr. cupid neon sign before the door shut.

you let out a playful laugh, “of course, i guess we have mr. cupid to thank…so what’s your name, handsome?,”

“you truly don’t know?,” it takes every ounce of you not to scoff.

“should i?,” you ask innocently, completely opposite from the rage you were feeling inside.

“of course not,” he shakes his head, “jaemin,” he introduces himself, hand reaching out for a handshake. you give him a soft smile before slipping your hand in his, “nice to meet you jaemin, i’m y/n.”

“not angel?”

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,” you explain and jaemin just shakes his head lovingly.

“do you want to get coffee?,” you ask, making jaemin’s smile grow wider.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

how do I get a fuckboy to fall in love with me?

love,

heart

“it doesn’t matter if he’s a fuckboy or not, to get anyone to fall in love with you, you have to dig deep, find out what they like and get to know them beyond surface level.” - mr. cupid.

the air in the coffee shop was buzzing with the faint hum of quiet conversations and light tunes playing from the cafe’s speakers. you sat across from him, sun rays from the window illuminating his sharp features. na jaemin, the playboy who had stolen hearts without a second thought, was now sitting before you, completely unaware of your secret identity.

“tell me about yourself,” you say as soon as the two of you got comfortable.

“well, i'm a photography major, part of the dream fraternity,” he gives the basic answer, not giving you anything else.

“girlfriend?,” you ask, eyebrows raising up as you took a sip of your drink.

“wouldn’t be sitting here with you if i had one, angel,” he responds smoothly, the use of the nickname he has insisted on continuing to call you rolls off his tongue, making you want to gag every time you hear it. perhaps you should have just given your real name.

instead you force yourself to blush, breaking eye contact like it was all too much, smiling down at your hands.

he finds it adorable of course. from his perspective, he had you right in the palm of his hands, all he had to do was catch you.

“you said you were a photography major…can i see your photos?,” you point to his camera, an innocent look displayed on your face, catching jaemin slightly off guard.

no girl has ever asked to see his work, always only curious about his reputation and seeing him as a challenge – maybe this was your ploy, pretending to care about him just so he would sleep with you.

he almost wants to tell you that you didn’t have to go through all that effort. just say the word and he’ll be in between your legs in a second but this is amusing and he’ll let it drag on for as long as you want.

“hmm, maybe later angel, how about you tell me about yourself first?,” his shit-eating grin appeared as fast as it disappeared and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to crack him so easily. you were prepared for that. in the three years you’ve heard about this boy, you have never heard of him being in love. you knew this would be hard. you had to break down your walls first if you ever wanted to see through his.

“okay, i'm an art major with a focus on painting, my favorite color is pink and i love iced americanos,” you point down to your matching drinks, letting out a soft giggle.

“hey, we’re pretty similar,” you hear the smile in his voice. of course, you calculatively said things you knew he also liked, things he’s mentioned in his show, you were an avid listener after all…before you knew it was him.

“what is it about painting that draws you in?,” he continues.

then it clicks for you — this was his own test wasn’t it?

he was using his own advice against you. he was digging deeper. his own personal trick to get you to fall for him. you give him exactly what he’s looking for.

“i guess i just love watching simple colors and lines all come together to create something beautiful…the way it can be interpreted in so many ways by different people, you know?,” you take a quick pause, making sure he was still listening to you. he nods encouraging you to go on, “the way it can carry emotions, i can look at it one day and feel happiness and then another day i could look at the same painting and feel sadness,” you continue, letting your heart talk for you. the passion you had for art clearly on display.

“tell me more, angel,” jaemin looks at you with a soft glow in his eyes like he's really taking in everything you’re saying and storing it somewhere safe. maybe it was because of how the sun rays hit his eyes? maybe it was genuine curiosity? or maybe he’s just mastered the act of pretending to care? you wouldn’t know. but you do know that it was easy to get lost in his gaze and it makes sense how he has succeeded in making everyone fall for him.

“hmm, i like how you can find a story within each painting if you look deep enough and i love the way that story changes depending on who’s looking,” you finish.

he smiles, a gentle smile — this one different from the grins that you were used to seeing and you knew you hit the spot.

“you know something, y/n? i think you and i are a lot alike,” he starts, “except for me, my photos are my painting,” he reveals a little but not too much, hushed voice, leaning towards you as it it was a secret. maybe it was? maybe it was something he’s never shared to anyone but you? again, you wouldn’t know.

you watch him reach for the camera sitting quietly on his side of the table, and before you could process what was happening the shutter of the flash has blinded you.

“w-why did you take a picture of me?,” you asked in quiet shock.

“i like this story, i think i want to keep it forever,” he casually admits, making your heart skip a beat. he was good and you realize now how tough this could be as you sat there thinking, was it this easy to fall for someone’s words before?

“what do you say angel, you want to go to a party with me tomorrow night?," and just like that, the grin was back on his face, snapping you out of your trance.

the NCTU valentines party – you’ve always heard about it being one of the best parties on campus, whether you’re single and ready to mingle or taken and want to party with your significant other, everyone goes to have a great time: sex, free alcohol, drugs and good music. how could anyone pass it up?

“i would love to,” you reply sweetly.

you needed to get into his room.

after all, you had no physical proof that he was mr. cupid.

𓏲𝄢

“i need to borrow a dress,” you rummage through your best friend’s wardrobe, looking for something pretty and pink.

“for what?,” giselle’s attention snaps toward you, her curiosity at its peak. she doesn’t even remember the last time you wore a dress.

“umm for a party,” you mumble, “excuse me?,” she walks over to you, not entirely sure if she heard correctly, “did you say party? you’re going to a party?!” she practically shouts, excitement bubbling through her.

“calm down, it’s not that big of a deal,” you sigh, still looking through her closet.

“uhm, yes it is! i’ve been trying to get you to a party since freshman year and you always turn me down,” she pouts, “in your own words, ‘parties are sooo lame, i have much better things to do,’” she playfully mocks, earning an eye roll from you.

“i don't sound like that,” you snarked, eyes narrowing at her.

“yes…you do,” she says, pushing you out of her closet and pulling out a pretty pink dress you’ve never seen before, exactly in your size. it was the perfect dress for the perfect girl you were currently playing.

giselle hands it to you with a smile on her face, “here, i bought it for you just in case this day ever happened,” making you chuckle, “i can’t believe you, thank you,” taking the dress out of her hands.

“whose party are you going to anyway?,” she asks.

“uhmm,” you take a second to think about whether or not you should lie but giselle knows you more than anyone else, she’ll see right through your words, so you decide to come clean, “theNCTUvalentinesparty,” you mumble and giselle’s jaw drops in shock, “the wildest party of the year for a party virgin…are you sure about that?,” she asks, voice laced with concern.

“don’t worry, i’m not gonna drink or anything,” you shrug and you see the way her mind works, piecing it all together.

“who are you going with?,” she inquired, afraid that she already knew the answer to the question.

“doesn’t matter,” you gulped, looking everywhere but your best friend.

“oh my god!,” she gasped, “don’t tell me you’re going with na jaemin?!”

“ok, i won't tell you i'm going with na jaemin,” you joked, trying to keep the energy light but you see the way her smile has disappeared into a thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“y/n-, i told you…you don’t have to do anything,” she breathes out, almost angry.

“giselle, you lost your virginity to him! and then he pretends you don’t exist?!,” you point out, reminding her of his faulty actions and how much he deserves what’s coming to him.

“so what!?, i probably would have lost my virginity to another jerk if not him, at least he gave me a good time,” you actually can’t believe she’s defending him right now, a frustrated expression appearing on your face.

“are you kidding me?! you cried over him for a week!,” you cursed, remembering the time you had to pick up the mess jaemin made.

“yes because i lost my virginity to a fuckboy!…not because that fuckboy was him, it could've been any one of them and i still would have cried,” she explains, “...but i'm over it!, i’ve been over it!,” she yells, arms flinging around, “besides virginity is a social construct anyways i feel much better without that word hanging over my head and since he’s slept with me i’ve had soooo many guys in my dms—,” she reasons out, rambling, almost losing focus until she caught herself.

“—so please y/n,” she snaps her attention back to you, holding your hands “—don’t waste your time on na jaemin and just…enjoy a good fucking party,” she practically begged.

“no,” you reply sternly, letting go of her hands “he needs to know how it feels like to get his heart broken. if not for you then i'm doing this for all the other girls who have cried over him,”

giselle sighs, your stubbornness was always a problem and she knew well enough that once you’ve set your mind on something, nothing can change it, “whatever y/n, don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face, he isn’t as dumb as you think,” she walks out, leaving you to wallow in your thoughts alone.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i’m going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like?

love,

heart

“be safe. don’t let anyone take advantage of you. and for the person you like? confidence is key. wear your head high, flash on your beautiful smile and always be one step ahead.” - mr. cupid.

loud music, red solo cups, couples sticking their tongue down each other's throat, a guy wearing a diaper holding a toy bow and arrow drunk in the front lawn and it’s only 9pm.

this is the infamous valentines day party?

you wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to the safety of your dorm room, hide under the blankets and binge watch cheesy rom-com movies until the sun comes up.

before you can psych yourself out, an unknown voice makes its way to your ears, “you must be, angel?,” the figure walks up to you, a smirk etched onto his face.

“and you are?,” you ask, already feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“haechan,” he introduces, hand going up for a handshake. he waits for yours but you never give it, only glancing at his hand with a slight look of disgust. quickly retracting it, the boy runs a hand through his long dark hair, laughing it off.

“he was right,” he comments, looking you up and down, “sorry?,” this is by far the most confusing conversation you’ve ever had. you’ve decided you hated parties.

“...long hair, soft skin, pretty smile and dressed in the cutest outfit, you are exactly his type,” he mumbles, sipping from his cup and taking a step towards you.

ahhh so he’s talked about you.

haechan’s figure towers over you and you’re now very aware that he’s an intoxicated man and you’re in nothing but a tight pink dress who forgot to bring some sort of self defense weapon. you hold onto your purse a little tighter, ready to swing if it comes down to it.

“back off, haechan,” jaemin’s deep voice echoes from behind you. his familiar presence brings you a sense of comfort. you’d take him over this random guy in front of you any day. though you’re not entirely sure it’s better.

“just introducing myself,” haechan smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender as the taller boy steps up beside you, “see you later, angel,” haechan bids his goodbye, walking back into the loud frat house.

“sorry about that, he gets a little too confident when he’s drunk but he’s never physically hurt anyone…just a whole lot of talk really,” jaemin snaps your attention back to him.

“physically?,” you question, head tilted.

“well, i can’t say the same for emotionally, he’s a heartbreaker you know?,” jaemin chuckles, taking a step closer to you.

“and you’re not?,” you look at him quizzically, smirk on your lips, challenging him.

“you look really beautiful, angel,” he ignores your question, choosing to lean in and compliment you instead, playful smile on his lips, “stick close to me tonight okay, you don’t want another heartbreaker getting near you,” he whispers, sending goosebumps throughout your skin.

jaemin watches you intently, “now, c’mon…let’s go inside,” he leads the way to the entrance with you following right behind him, head held high.

if you thought the outside was bad, the inside of the house was a whole different nightmare. the music booming filling up every corner of your mind, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against each other, more lip locking, not entirely sure who’s paired up with who, everyone just kissing everyone, one side of the room chanting “shot, shot, shot,” the other side carrying someone on the keg stand. the air was thick with the stench of alcohol and a mix of different flavors of vape smoke, hitting you all at once. you were definitely out of your element, panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

jaemin quickly senses your discomfort, your feet frozen to the ground, wincing as you look around the room, taking it all in. he walks towards you, gently lacing his fingers around yours, “just stay close to me, okay, y/n?,” gone was the smirk that you swore was glued on to his face, eyes full of concern. you nod, tightening your grip around his hand before he led you deeper into the room and into the kitchen where there were less people.

“ahh, there they are, took you guys long enough, i thought you may have just led her right to your bedroo-oW,” haechan fumbles over after the guy next to him punched him in the stomach, “what the fuck, mark?,” he groans in pain, mark ignoring him.

“please ignore hyuck, he’s had too much to drink…i’m mark,” mark smiles at you, he seems normal enough. this time you accept the handshake, “im y/n,” you reply, shooting him a quick smile, “i thought his name was haechan?,” your eyes darted between the three boys, pointing at haechan who was still soothing his pained stomach.

“haechan when he’s flirting, donghyuck to his friends,” mark says, clearing it up for you.

“you don’t have to tell her that, we’re not friends,” the boy chimes in and you agree, “he’s right,” making him perk up, “on a second thought, maybe we can be friends,” he says cheerfully, “sorry about my behavior, y/n,” he drunkenly apologizes, pout on his lips and you’re confused at the sudden change in his behavior.

“praise him once and he’ll do anything for you,” jaemin explains, chuckling at his friend’s antics and handing you a cup, “drink?,” he asks.

you eye the red cup suspiciously, “it’s just coke and henny,” jaemin says, taking a sip out of the cup to let you know that it’s safe to drink. you appreciate the action, “thanks,” you say, taking the cup from his hold and taking a sip. the taste was absolutely repugnant and you try your best to not let it show on your face.

“oooh that’s basically a kiss,” renjun from your art class walks in, teasing, and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. there’s no way he’s here right now? renjun was so polite and proper, what the hell was he doing here?

you realized now that you actually had no idea what happens in your university. too absorbed in your own bubble to know who’s friends with who, “ooooh jaemin and angel sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” haechan sings making the boy’s chuckle as you tried to hide your face behind the red solo cup.

jaemin shoots you a smile before getting dragged away by mark to the other side of the room, creating more mixed drinks for the party, leaving you with haechan and your fellow art classmate.

“hey, i’m renjun,” he walks up to you casually earning a slight nod from you, “you must be angel?,” he questions and all you do is nod, downing your drink, trying to ignore the burning in your throat, “okayy?,” he eyes you suspiciously and you’re afraid your cover has been blown until haechan grabs his hand, “don’t stare at my friend, it makes her uncomfortable,” he steps in and suddenly you’ve decided that haechan is your favorite.

“let’s go look for jisung, i still gotta teach him how to do that tongue thing,” haechan says, grabbing renjun and mark out of the room. you don’t even want to know what tongue thing they’re talking about, just grateful for the fact that renjun was finally gone.

“woahh, slow down angel,” jaemin makes his way back to you, taking the cup out of your hands, “what?,” you didn’t even realize you were still drinking it, too caught up in trying to not get caught.

“you finished it,” he says, almost proud, chuckling at your actions.

“oh…,” you sigh, looking at the empty cup. well, that’s not good. you’re not exactly a pro when it comes to alcohol and you can feel it catching up to you now, the heat in your face growing as a carefree laugh slipped from your lips, “i guess i did.”

jaemin finds you absolutely adorable, “let’s go dance, angel,” grabbing both of your hands and dragging you out of the kitchen, into the crowded living room, a strong hold around your waist, making sure you don’t trip amongst the crowd of people.

the music sounds so much better with the alcohol in your system. for a moment you let yourself enjoy it as you swayed to the beat, singing at the top of your lungs, jaemin right behind you, hands on your waist as your bodies were pushed closer and closer until there was no longer any space in between you.

maybe you understand parties now? you have never felt more free than you did now, all the worries and anxiety that came from school completely leaving your body. the only thing on your mind is the alcohol and jaemin’s warm hands electrifying your waist.

he turns you around in his embrace, coming face to face with his huge smile, “are you having fun!?,” he yells over the loud music.

the red heart shaped lights flashes around the room, illuminating his features, making him glow.

mr. cupid’s words ringing in your ear — be confident.

and so with the help of liquid courage, you wrap your hand around his neck, the smile on your lips never leaving as you made the first move, pulling him towards you, and catching him by surprise, “yes,” you whisper against his lips before finally connecting like they were magnets.

his lips were so soft against yours, jaemin quick to lead like this was a rehearsal he’s rehearsed a million times.

if you were to ask him, he knew you wouldn’t last long — this whole act of pretending to care about his photography. he’ll give you credit for being clever, for letting the romantic in him live for a couple of hours but at the end of night he is who he is. you want one thing from him and he wants one thing from you. he knows how this goes.

his hold on your waist tightened pulling you even closer, the growing bulge in his jeans felt hot against your thigh. one of his hands made its way to your cheeks, thumb softly grazing your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, tongue swiping at your bottom lip for entrance. the taste of alcohol and spearmint lingers as your tongue meets – he was a good fucking kisser and so dangerously intoxicating. he lightly bites your bottom lip, slowly pulling away and making his way down your neck.

“what do you say, we take this up to my room, angel?,” he whispers, sucking the sensitive spot right below your ear, earning a light moan from you. the mention of his room reminds you of why you were here in the first place. that’s the location you needed to get to. you nod, giving him the go signal, the smirk back on his face as he led you up the stairs. you hear the hollers of the people around you. to them, you were going to be another name under his belt and you’ve never felt more sick to your stomach than now. to think, for a brief moment, you were actually having fun with him.

as soon as you entered the quiet of his room, the only sound that filled the air was the faint hum of music drifting from downstairs, helping you think a lot more clearer. jaemin’s lips were littering kisses down your neck, body trapped between his large figure and his bedroom door. this was enough.

“jaemin-,” you sigh, “yes, angel?,” he murmurs against your skin. you lightly push him away, “i-i don’t want to do this,” you mutter out, looking down at the floor, making sure you look embarrassed from your actions.

jaemin immediately stops, taking a step back and giving you space, “that’s okay, we don’t have to do anything,” you look up at him, expecting to see an annoyed expression at you wasting his time but all that greets you is a quiet shock on his face, a momentary confusion before his eyes turned upwards, kind and gentle. the same genuine smile you briefly saw at the cafe making an appearance and it surprises you.

“sorry,” you whispered softly.

“no need for apologies, y/n, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says gently, grabbing your hand and leading you to sit on his bed. you take note of the way he calls you by your actual name when it matters.

“uhm can i get you anything?,” he asks you sweetly, a little awkward.

this entire situation has got you wondering if he was more like his fake persona in real life…but you can’t be blinded by his sweet actions. this is his tactic.

ladies and gentlemen — the sweet fuckboy.

“could you get me a glass of water?,” you ask and he quickly complied “of course, i’ll be right back, make yourself comfortable,” he smiles at you, still that same genuine smile and you almost believe it.

the sound of the door shutting has you on your feet in no time, ignoring the dizziness and blurred vision that came with the alcohol.

you quickly look around his room for any signs of mr. cupid, taking note of his bare walls — absolutely nothing that leads to him being the anonymous radio host.

making your way over to his dresser, you rummage through his drawers, shutting the first drawer as soon as you opened it, the space filled with packets and boxes of condoms and a bottle of lube. the next drawer you opened, to your luck, was his underwear drawer, you shut that one tight as well. you quickly look through each one, not finding a single thing, eyes quickly scanning the room, heart beating quicker as you feel yourself running out of time and then you see it…a box hidden at the bottom of his desk tucked all the way in the back…jackpot.

you open the box to pictures of him at the studio, the mr. cupid neon sign logo right behind him as he sits prettily behind the microphone. you find yourself laughing like a maniac, here it is! proof!

you can finally take him down.

quickly taking one of the pictures, you neatly tuck it in your purse before placing the box back where it belonged, running back to his bed to compose yourself, feeling like you just ran a half marathon.

𓏲𝄢

“that was quick,” jeno snickers as jaemin enters the kitchen, grabbing you a cold glass of water.

jaemin shakes his head at his friend’s comment, “we didn’t do anything, she actually told me to stop,” he explains leaving both of them dumbfounded.

“really?,” chenle inquired, a puzzled look on all of their faces.

“really,” jaemin confirmed, “i told you, she might be different,” he smiled a lovesick smile and they knew their friend was in trouble – he was letting his hopeless romantic side win once again.

“you’ve only known her two days, jaemin,” jeno reminds him, “how can you be so sure?,” he challenged.

“well, if she was like the rest, i would be inside her right now,” jaemin points out, earning a playful punch from the two boys.

jaemin was used to girls wanting him for one thing and one thing only – bragging rights.

it’s not a secret that he was known for only sleeping with the hottest, prettiest girls on campus. in turn, he has been a personal target for them, feeling justified and confident when jaemin gives them the time of the day and well, how could he pass up the offer?

they used him for reputation and he wasn’t a saint. he used them for easy sex. everyone wins. after a while he stopped trying to remember their names but the hopeless romantic in him lives on through his persona. he tries his best to add in a bit of romance but no girl could even fathom the idea of one of the fuck boys falling in love. no girl could even trust him to do so. only one girl told him she loved him but how could she? when all she knew about him was that he was incredibly good in bed.

so this, right now, the rejection he just received from you – it feels sweet on his tongue.

jaemin notices your disheveled appearance as he walks back in his room. you’re still sitting where he left you, sweat trickling down your forehead. he glances around his room, concern creeping into his voice, “you okay?”

were you okay? hell yeah, you felt fucking great you could hardly control the giddiness seeping out of you.

“i-uhm, don’t think the alcohol is settling in my stomach properly,” you lie. well, it was a half truth. the alcohol coursing through your system doesn't feel as great anymore and now that the adrenaline has worn off, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits, leaving you feeling sick to your stomach.

“c’mon, drink this,” he makes his way over to you. the cool water is refreshing, but it does little to ease the churning in your stomach.

jaemin grabs something on his desk before making his way behind you, gently brushing your hair out of your face, carefully tying it up into a ponytail. he was surprisingly really good at it and you can’t help but wonder how much practice he’s had.

he kneels before you, gentle eyes matching his kind smile, “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess, earning a shocked expression from him, “i shouldn’t have given you that cup,” he sighs, grabbing one of his jackets and softly placing it around your shoulders.

“let’s get you home, angel,” he says sweetly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before helping you up and leading you out of the fraternity.

𓏲𝄢

“you really don’t have to walk me all the way to my dorm,” you say again for the third time.

“i told you y/n, i’m not letting you walk home alone, you’re drunk—”

“i'm pretty sober now! i really am okay!,”

“—and it’s late, i don’t feel good about leaving any woman out here at this hour,” he insists, tightening the hold he had on your hand. with his caring nature, he reminds you more and more of mr. cupid.

it’s confusing. or maybe it was still the alcohol?

“well, here we are,” you point to the building of your dorm room, “thank you for walking me home, i'm sorry i crashed your party so early,” you apologize, taking note of the time, it was almost midnight.

“there will always be another party,” he shrugs, not at all caring about missing out on the fun, “thank you for showing up by the way, for letting me walk you home and–,” his hands finding that same spot around your waist, “happy valentine’s day, y/n,” eyes gazing into yours, voice barely a whisper, “can i kiss you goodnight, angel?”

instead of the usual teasing tone that accompanied the nickname, this time it was soft, calm, almost hypnotic.

he was so close, invading all your senses, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, fingers clenching his shirt as you waited, heart racing…you’re definitely blaming this on the alcohol.

jaemin takes this sign as a yes and soon enough his lips were on yours in a slow, intimate kiss — different from the rush kisses you’ve shared earlier that night.

before it could get deeper, jaemin pulls away, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, eyes fluttering open, “goodnight y/n,” he says, soft smile on his lips and your breath catches in your throat, unable to speak, “g-goodnight, jaemin,” you whisper.

he finally lets you go, but doesn’t leave until he’s sure you’re safely inside.

his lips still seem to linger on yours as you stood there, body pressed against the door, replaying everything that just happened.

𓏲𝄢

“STOP!-,” you point at the mirror, “what are you doing!…stop it now!,” you tell your reflection, who was looking back at you with a giddy smile.

“you’re still thinking about the kiss, i know you are!,” you talk to yourself and you swear maybe you’ve finally lost it.

“you can’t do this! this is part of his game plan and you have your own!,” you continue, arms flinging around like a crazy person.

“stick to the plan!,” you huff out, grabbing your laptop and shooting an email to mr. cupid.

dear mr. cupid,

i found that sweet guy i told you about. we spent valentine’s day together and i know this is cheesy but there were butterflies and all. i wanted to thank you for the helpful advice. please don’t read this out loud because i know he listens to this show and this is a bit embarrassing to say.

love,

angel

the next morning was a saturday and lucky for you, you had no saturday classes which meant you could go run to the safety of the art studio and paint to your heart’s content.

a way to debrief and just be yourself, shut your mind out from the rest of the world, even if it is just for a couple of hours. ditching the cute pink outfits, you settled for your go to paint splattered oversized t-shirts, matching your oversized sweatpants, hair in a messy bun, ready for the day.

as soon as you stepped outside, the sunlight blinding your eyes, a familiar voice hit you, halting you in your tracks, “good morning, angel!,” na jaemin stood before you, radiant as ever, eyes sparkling, smile beaming.

oh…why the hell did you bring him here last night?

now he knew exactly where you lived. now he knew exactly what you looked like. the real you, anyways. the alcohol truly was a horrible idea because him showing up here unannounced was something you didn’t plan for.

“what are you doing here?,” you say, almost harshly.

“i thought you would be hungover, so i brought you tea,” he says, walking over to you, finally taking note of the cup in his hand, “i promise you this is the only remedy you need to get rid of any headaches, proven and tested,” he smiles proudly.

you wait for him to say something about your appearance – a snide remark, a look of disgust, anything that shows his feeling of indifference but all you were met with were his eyes that for some stupid reason, can’t stop shining as he looks at you.

“thanks,” you say, grabbing the cup, “i’m busy right now though, so i’ll just take this and be on my way,” you finally shoot him a quick smile before turning around and briskly walking away.

“hold on, angel!,” jaemin yells out, quickly jogging up to you, making you curse under your breath. there’s no way you’re going to the art studio now.

“jaemin, i would really like to just have a me day,” you force out a smile before he could say anything else.

“of course,” he nods, completely understanding, “i-just, i-,” for the first time since you’ve met him, his confidence falters a bit, words getting lost in stutters.

“-is everything okay?,” worry laced in your voice. you can’t help it. this was abnormal behavior coming from him and you had a tendency to care too much.

he gives you a shy smile, “everything’s okay and i promise to leave you alone, i just need to ask for your help,” he finally says, you look at him quizzically, urging him to explain, “i have a project due at the end of the month, the theme is ‘recreating romantic cliche scenes,’ it’s exactly how it sounds…i was hoping you could be my partner,” he finishes, expectantly waiting for your answer.

“why me?,”

“there’s no one else i want to do this with but you, y/n,” he quietly confesses, cheeks turning pink, slightly embarrassed – different from he's usual flirting.

truth is, jaemin saw your confession in mr. cupid’s mailbox this morning. it was his final confirmation. you truly were different from the rest and he can’t help but feel those butterflies you were talking about.

you ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. it would be weird to say no, besides you have yet to accomplish step 2 - make him fall in love with you. so you answer with one word that captures jaemins attention, a smile of gratitude on his lips, “ok.”

as promised, jaemin left you alone for the rest of the day after asking for your phone number and an agreement to meet on monday which is when you would start. you agreed on one scene per day, a total of three scenes for his project.

you can’t expose him just yet and this project is the perfect way to stop finding excuses to meet up with him. it’s easier this way. the more time you spend with him, the more you can play the perfect girl.

the faster you can get na jaemin to fall in love with you.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin: hi angel, i'll meet you tomorrow at 7pm at the cafe at 127th street, wear something cute

the text message pops up on your phone on sunday night. you ignore the slight tingle in your stomach seeing his name on your phone.

the cafe at 127th street was a vintage coffee/bar, popular for its retro style and smoothies. you already know the kind of cliche scene he has prepared – sharing a smoothie.

y/n: can’t wait! see you there, jaemin <3

dear mr. cupid,

how can i tell if the guy i like, likes me back?

love,

heart

“if a guy likes you…you’ll know it, not a single doubt will cross your mind. you’ll see it through his actions, hear it in his words. he’ll share with you things he’s never shared with anyone else,” - mr. cupid.

the sound of 80’s love songs hit your ears as you entered the cafe. seeing as it’s a monday night, the space wasn’t filled and as loud as it usually is on weekends – most of it being taken up by retired senior citizens coming for a good time, away from the crowd of college students this place usually brought.

jaemin waves at you from the red booths, his angelic smile on his lips, the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. the smile that annoys you because of the feelings that were starting to appear every time you saw it.

you notice the camera has been set up to face the booth you will be sitting on, proper lighting placed around it to really illuminate the space, “hey, quick question,” you ask, greeting him. he gives you a quick side hug, before letting you ask your question, “since this is for your photography class, shouldn’t you be behind the camera?,” you wonder.

“well, photography is also all about the proper lighting and the editing which is the main focus for this project,” he answers your questions while clicking buttons on his fancy camera, eyes focused on the task at hand, “—and besides, if i have to take pictures of you acting these scenes out with someone else, i might crash out,” he winks at your direction, earning a playful eye roll from you.

“okay so what am i supposed to do,” you await his instructions, standing awkwardly.

“just wait a while, i’m still waiting on that chocolate smoothie,”

“ahhh so we are doing the ‘sharing a smoothie’ scene?,” you ask, eyes full of curiosity. he sends you a smile of confirmation, finishing his set up as you continue to watch him work. his eyes flickering around his camera, making sure everything is perfect. in a quick second, the flash of the camera blinds you.

“sorry angel, practice shot,” he smiles apologetically as you got up to see the photo he took. he moves to the side a bit, giving you room to see behind the lens. “oh my god, i look ridiculous,” you giggle at the expression you were making, a light shock on your face as you were staring not right at the camera but the figure behind it, “you look beautiful…as always,” jaemin whispers by your ear, a small smile starting to form on your face as you take note of all the colors and shadows the camera has picked up, “it looks really pretty,” you comment and jaemin observes the way you're taking every detail in.

you turn your face towards him, finally realizing how close he was to you. so close to the point you could remember the lingering feeling of his lips on yours. you could feel yourself leaning in when the waiter’s voice snaps you back to reality, the chocolate smoothie being served.

jaemin instructs you on what to do. sitting right across from him, the chocolate milkshake placed right in the middle of the table in between you, one straw for him, one straw for you.

“ready, angel?,” he asks you from across the booth, starting his countdown “…3, 2, 1…” as soon as he reached 1, you both leaned in, taking a sip out of your separate straws, eyes locked together, FLASH, you held your breath, making sure not to move, only focused on the warm brown eyes that seemed to look right into you.

after making sure the camera captured the moment perfectly, you finally break away, giggles erupting from both of you as you reach over to wipe the whipped cream that painted the corner of his lips, before getting up to check the picture.

“looks good to me,” you say, opposite to jaemin sighing next to you, “there’s a glare on the corner,” he comments, his attention to detail spot on as you looked a little closer and noticed exactly what he was referring to.

“let’s take it again,” he instructs, ordering another chocolate milkshake.

“jaemin, can’t we just drink from the same one?,”

“no, the whipped cream is already a mess,” he pouts and you respect it.

as an artist yourself, his attention to detail was admirable and you find yourself liking this serious side of him. how much time and effort he puts into it — completely opposite from the way he treated his relationships. this was a side of him you’ve never heard of, a side of him that you wished to know.

the waiter comes back again, serving a new set of chocolate milkshake, snapping you out of your thoughts as you make your way back into the booth, ready to pose for the camera.

this time the picture turned out perfectly. you can tell by the way jaemin's eyes lit up like a child on christmas day, the way his smile grew on his face before turning to you and nodding his head in approval.

you find yourself getting lost in him. he was so beautiful like this — indulged in his work, an innocent glow radiating off of him, “come, take a look,” he invites.

immediately, you could see the difference. you’re not sure what he did, which buttons he pressed to make this picture turn out like this but it looked straight out of a movie scene and he hasn’t even edited it.

the two of you spent the rest of the night finishing the two chocolate milkshakes, listening to whatever song people chose to play on the coin jukebox. at one point, jaemin even got you dancing with him, joining the crowd of elderly’s on the dance floor. he shows off his silly dance moves, like he was one of the grandpa’s in the cafe.

“you’ve got a charming young man, my husband was exactly like that when we first met,” a lady whispered in your ear, a blush appearing on your cheeks at her comment.

“he’s not really my man,” you confess to her, smiling sheepishly.

“oh but he will be sweetheart, no one will act that foolish if they weren’t interested,” she points out, directing your attention back to jaemin, who was already looking right at you before joining the grandpa’s dance battle, making sure you were watching every move he made — making you laugh like you’ve never laughed before.

the night ended with him walking you to your dorms, a soft kiss placed on your lips before the two of you bid your goodnights. you swore your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

and what’s worse? you couldn’t blame this on the alcohol. you walked up to your room with a heavy heart. the weight on your shoulders getting heavier as you remembered this was all part of the plan and there was no way you were going to lose to his charms.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i like his serious side. i hope he’s serious with me too.

love,

angel

the next day, jaemin tells you to meet them at their frat house for the next scene. you hoped to god, renjun wasn’t there. you’re not entirely sure how you were going to hide from him this time around. but just to make sure he doesn’t recognize you, you amp up the makeup a tiny bit more, completely opposite from the minimal to none makeup you usually go for during classes.

you rang the doorbell once before coming face to face with none other than renjun himself – of fucking course, just your luck.

“hey, it’s you,” he greets you and suddenly you’re frozen in place, does he know?

“you’re not much of a talker are you?,” he asks, eyeing you up and down, “uhmm-,” you try to find your words but not a single sentence escapes your lips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

renjun sighs, definitely weirded out, “he’s upstairs,” he says before stepping aside and letting you in, it takes you a second or two to find your steps, walking into the house. it was much bigger now that no one was around and surprisingly, it was clean, like it wasn’t filled with boys 24/7.

“-it’s so clean,” you weren’t aware you said it out loud until renjun’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ahhh and she does talk,” renjun grins,” jaemin’s a clean freak so we have to keep this space clean or he starts nagging,” he explains and you nod in response. that was definitely a fun fact.

“anyways, just go up the stairs, i think you already know where his room is,” he smirks, before walking away and leaving you to it.

as soon as he was gone, you felt like you could finally breathe. he didn’t know it’s you. shaking your worries away, you make your way up the stairs, knocking against the door you remembered.

“come in,” you hear jaemin’s voice from the other side before turning the knob and entering his room. it looked exactly like the night of the party.

he immediately lights up as soon as you enter, attention focused on you, as he greeted you with a kiss. it was starting to get ridiculous how much your heart skips a beat every time his lips touched yours.

you weren’t really expecting to be kissing him this much to begin with but that doesn’t stop you from kissing back, your lipstick staining his lips, “sorry,” you giggled as you gently wiped it off of him.

“that’s okay, pink is my color anyways,” he says before stealing another quick peck. at this rate, you’re not entirely sure who was making who fall in love anymore.

“okayyy,” you push him back playfully, chuckling, “what scene are we doing today?,” making jaemin wiggle his eyebrows as he made his way to his closet, pulling out a vintage boombox.

“where the hell did you get that?,” you ask, inspecting the old device.

“i have my ways,” he winks, “so…you ready to win me back?,” he smirks and your jaw drops, “i have to be the one holding it?,” you ask, flabbergasted. boomboxes aren’t exactly the lightest objects in the world and you barely had any arm strength. for god’s sake you were a painter, your hands were as gentle as a feather.

“you’re my muse angel, you gotta be in the picture,” he flashes you an apologetic smile in a way that he wasn’t really sorry, instead finding that pout on your lips amusing.

so now you’re here standing a little outside the porch of his steps, boombox over your head, as jaemin angles the camera from the balcony, capturing you perfectly…well, not quite, “wait, the sun is in your eyes!, move to the left a little bit!,” he shouts from the second floor, as you quickly follow his instructions, “is this good?!,” you yell back, earning a nod of approval from the boy.

he takes another snap and another and another – this time around, you curse his attention to detail, your arms starting to burn, back starting to ache, legs getting tired from standing for so long with the heavy boombox over your head, “jaemin, are we almost done!,” you yell out, annoyance seeping through you.

“just one more shot angel, i promise!,” he shouts back. and so you do one more shot for him, posing in the way he wanted and just like he promised, it was finally over.

jaemin hurries down the steps of the fraternity house as you head back inside, “sorry, that took longer than i expected,” he says, gently taking the boombox from your hold, swapping it instead with a cool glass of water he had readily prepared for you.

taking a napkin, he carefully dabs away the sweat that has formed around your temples, “it’s okay, did the pictures turn out okay?,” you ask, offering him a warm smile.

“come see for yourself,” his hand envelops yours, tugging you up the stairs and onto the balcony where he had been standing. and just like the diner photo, this one also looked exactly out of a rom-com movie.

“wow, guess it only takes an amazing photographer for me to look like a lead in a movie,” you compliment and jaemin can’t help but grin from ear to ear, your praise going straight to his heart.

“well, a photographer also needs a beautiful muse, so thank you,” he smiles warmly, “and since you went through all that trouble for me, i want to show you something,” he says shyly before taking your hand in his once again and leading you back to his bedroom.

you make yourself comfortable, sitting on his computer chair as he rummages through his shelves, looking for something. after a minute or two, he takes out a large book and slowly, hesitantly, makes his way over to you, carefully landing the book on your lap.

“what’s this?,” you ask, curiously inspecting the outside of the book.

“that day in the cafe, you asked to see my photos,” you realize now that what you were holding was a photo album.

“i’ve never really shown them to anyone before so please be kind to me,” he says, rambling nervously, “of course constructive criticism is always welcome and you don’t have to like it,” he chuckles softly, trying to play it cool, hoping you won’t notice how loudly his heart was pounding in his chest.

“jaemin, you don’t have to show me this,” you say, your breath catching in your throat, heart aching.

for the first time since all of this began, you realize that jaemin is being entirely sincere with you. and here you are, sitting on his bed, taking up space, with a knife hidden behind your back.

“y/n, i want to show you,” he admits, “you’ve been entirely honest with me and i’m ready to do the same,” he says, nudging the album in your hand, wanting you to finally open it.

if only he knew.

you couldn’t take looking into his warm brown eyes any longer, focusing instead on the photo album.

finally turning a page. the first picture that greets you is of a woman that resembles the man in front of you, a shining smile on her face as she sat on a picnic blanket, the green scenery behind her making it look like she was straight out of a fairytale.

“that’s my mom, most important person in my life, she loves going on picnics,” he quietly comments, snapping your attention back to him, you give him a smile, “she’s beautiful jaemin, you captured her perfectly,” your voice faltering, before turning to the next page.

you recognize the next picture was of the boy you met during the party - mark, his name was. holding a guitar, and just like his mother in the previous page, he had a happy smile on his face, clutter of music sheets surrounding him.

the next couple of pages were all the boys you recognize from his fraternity, each one sporting a look of contentment in a place where they seemed to belong.

jaemin watches you flip from page to page, taking in the way your eyes would widen, the small smile that would appear in your lips as you looked over every photograph. his heart pounding in his chest. he wanted to impress you.

you turn and turn, getting to the photos where he was in, with his family and his friends. the sweet smile that he would share with you all marked in these pages. you realized those were your favorite. you wanted to paint it. wanted to capture every detail and keep it to yourself.

then, at the very last page was the picture of you – sitting in the cafe, on that very first date the two of you had.

you felt like you lost the ability to speak, just staring at the photo, guilt creeping in your heart. you didn’t deserve a place in these pages yet here you were… and he has managed to make you look as beautiful as the rest, like you were a part of everything good and true in his life.

“why am i on here?,” you shakily whisper, trying to push back the lump forming in your throat.

“these are all stories i want to keep forever,” jaemin softly whispers, “and i told you y/n, i like this story,” you turn to look at him, reading him. looking into his eyes, you see nothing but honesty.

the boy in front of you has finally let his walls down but you don’t feel an ounce of accomplishment. none of the feelings of gratification that you were supposed to be feeling came. the thoughts of revenge so far back in your mind.

instead you sat there, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life as you inched closer, closing the space in between you and capturing his lips in yours. jaemin quickly responds, kissing you back just as sweetly. the gravity of the moment hanging in the air.

“i'm guessing you like it?,” he asks.

"i love it," you confess, just before he pulls you in for another kiss, feeling his smile against your lips.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin walks back into the fraternity just right after dropping you off. head all up in the clouds, a love arrow happily pierced right into his heart as he hums a tune. he’s loving the constant goodnight kisses, loving the thought of being able to kiss you forever.

“jaemin–,” a voice strictly calls out to him, bringing him back to reality.

“yes, my lovely friend, renjun,” he sighs happily, sitting across from him on the living room couch.

“how long have you known, angel?,” renjun inquired.

“a week now, why?,” jaemin asks, nonchalantly. if he was here to tell him that he was being a hopeless romantic again then he doesn’t really want to hear it. this time he knows it’s different.

if the butterflies in his stomach weren't proof enough, the messages you leave for mr. cupid sure was.

“there’s something off about her,” renjun comments, making jaemin roll his eyes, “oh c’mon, you say this about every girl im with,” he points out. renjun has always been picky with the company his friends kept so this wasn’t really new to him.

“i’m serious jaemin, she seems familiar but i just can’t place my finger on it,” renjun ponders, earning a scoff from the younger boy, “there’s no placing your finger on anything, she goes to our university, you’ve probably seen her walking around campus,” he reasons out.

“whatever jaemin, just be careful,” renjun advised before walking out of the living room and up the stairs.

jaemin shakes his head, thinking back to the memory of you looking through his photo album and once again, find himself humming, smiling at the ceiling. there was absolutely nothing anyone could say to ruin this for him.

dear mr. cupid,

i think i'm falling for him.

love,

angel

you hated yourself that night.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin leads you to the parking lot, hand in hand. you inspect the location, wondering what romantic scene he had planned out for the last scenario. you’ve been dreading this moment, realizing that it’s soon coming to an end. every tick of the clock leads you to step three: breaking his heart.

you stop in front of a silver car, your brain not connecting the pieces together. turning to the boy right next to you with a set of curious eyes.

“we're going to a new location for this one,” he explains, opening the car door up for you. you don’t question it, somehow you trust him enough to hop into the passenger seat.

jaemin ensures you're securely buckled in before stealing a quick kiss, leaving a surprised flush on your face. with a smile, he jogs around and settles into the driver’s seat, putting the car in drive and hitting the gas.

you sat in silence, gazing out the window as the scenery shifted, the soft hum of the radio barely audible, allowing your mind to wander.

as you reflected on the past few days, each quiet moment seemed to lead you back to this – the heavy weight of dread and guilt slowly taking over.

the once alluring idea of revenge now tastes bitter on your tongue. you expected it to be difficult, but you never anticipated that the true challenge would be the way he’d quietly capture pieces of your heart and how you didn’t mind it at all.

in fact, you liked it. you liked being around him, liked his stolen kisses, his stories, his gentleness, the warmth that he left on your skin with every touch, his laugh and most of all, that stupid sweet smile he always seems to be sporting around you.

you’ve replayed it in your mind a thousand times, torn between the devil and the angel on your shoulders, unsure if this plan is worth risking the bond you've built with him. but every time, the same side wins — the side of pride, the side that tells you this is all still a lie. and if it’s not, then the truth remains. this relationship was born from anger and hate.

jaemin interlaces his fingers around yours, grabbing your hand, bringing you back in the car with him, “what are you thinking about?,” he asks softly. even without looking at him, you can see the smile on his face, the gentleness in his tone.

“just thinking about where we're going,” you lie, staring at your interlocked fingers that somehow seemed to fit like two perfect puzzle pieces.

“hmm, we’re going down south, to busan,” he answers and your eyes almost bulge out of your head, “what?!,” he chuckles at your expressive reaction, “jaemin that’s like a 4 hour drive,” you sulk in your seat, hand still in his, “why do we need to go that far?”

“for rain,” he shrugs, bringing your hand up to his lips as he placed a soft kiss upon your knuckles. you fight the urge to smile.

“what exactly do you have planned, loverboy?,” you tease him, pushing all your previous thoughts to the side and focusing on this moment.

“oh you know, pretty rain, pretty girl,” he tosses you a look, confirming your thoughts. he was planning to do the ever so famous rain kiss.

“if you wanted to kiss me, you don’t even need to ask,” you teased, earning a playful laugh from him, “-will keep that in mind, angel,” he winks.

the rest of the car ride was spent singing to whatever was on the radio, learning each other’s favorite things, sharing fun stories and a few more stolen kisses, some of them coming from you.

it all felt comfortable, almost like you were always meant to be here with him by your side. eventually, sleep crept up on you, leaving jaemin in the warm silence, eyes occasionally drifting to your figure, finding peace in the calm as he drove.

the next time you open your eyes is when you finally get to the location jaemin had in mind. it was cloudier here, the sky already casting a soft gray hue. jaemin sets up his equipment, preparing for the rain, while you rush to assist, quickly placing everything into the makeshift set. the lush green landscape stretches around you, the open field decorated with blooms of pinks, whites and yellows, while the river in the distance adds a cool touch of blue. you’re not entirely sure if the camera could capture the beauty of nature but you trust jaemin will find a way to make it come to life.

the rain came at the perfect moment.

jaemin decided to hit record on his camera instead, explaining how it’d be easier for the two of you, since he didn't have to run back and forth to take the picture.

he led you to the right spot, flashing you a smile before his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and without wasting another second his lips were on yours. heart immediately racing in your chest as you move in complete synchronization, lips chasing his as he took the lead.

the rain continuously pouring over you.

when you could no longer breathe, you pull away, giggles erupting from both of your chests.

the rain pours harder and harder. jaemin feels like he’s been struck by lightning, your giggles melodically ringing in his ear.

he pulls you back in again, kissing you gently, so intimately, like he forgot there was a camera a couple feet away. every kiss, he loses himself in you, melting under your fingertips and for the first time in forever he says words he’s never said to any girl.

“i really like you, y/n,” he confesses, the words floating in the air, replacing the sound of the rain thumping on the ground, filling every corner of your mind. he rests his forehead against yours, warm brown eyes filled with sincerity, making you unable to breathe.

and just like that, the other side won — the side that has fallen for him. the one that believes this is real. the side that likes hearing your name slip from his lips, the stolen kisses, the warmth of his hand in yours, the laughter and of course that sweet smile forever etched in your mind.

you don’t want to let go of any it.

instead, you decide to throw your four step plan out the window, casting away all thoughts of revenge that once burdened your heart.

in that moment, you felt light, free.

the rain fell in an endless rhythm, drumming against your skin, soaking every inch of you, but you barely noticed it as you kissed him again. this time with a passion that made it feel like your life depended on it.

he’s a dream you couldn’t bear to lose, a fleeting moment you feared would vanish the moment you opened your eyes. but then you feel him smile against your lips, warm hands tightening around your waist as he pulls you even closer and you’re reminded that this is real and exactly where you want to be.

you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace until the cold slowly crept in, seeping through your clothes.

the rain never letting up.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin did not plan this well at all. besides the fact that he didn’t think to bring extra clothes, the light showers the weather app had predicted had turned into a brutal rainstorm and it was getting harder for him to drive, the droplets continuing to pour heavily on the car window.

“angel, we’re gonna need to stop and stay overnight somewhere,” he suggested in which you quickly agreed to, prioritizing safety. which is how you ended up sitting on the bed with nothing but the bathrobe that came with the hotel, your clothes drying in the bathroom that was currently occupied by none other than jaemin, himself.

the hotel only had one room available and of course, like this was all a part of your doom, that available room happened to have only one bed.

you’ve already taken your shower, washing off the remnants of the cold rain sticking to your body. now that you're in the safety of the warm room, waiting for the boy to finish, your mind can’t help but wander at the possibilities the night held. you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself if he decides to advance. in fact, you’re not entirely sure you could control yourself around him.

shaking the thoughts away, you finish drying your hair before getting under the bedsheets and tucking yourself in, making sure your robe hugged tightly around your body.

grabbing the remote from the bedside table, you switch the t.v. on, hoping the noise could drown out the nerves. you settled on the channel playing harry potter and the goblet of fire, forcing yourself to focus on the movie instead of the boy that was as naked as you just on the other side of the bathroom door.

jaemin steps out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, his robe hanging loosely around his body, a bit of his toned chest exposed to the cool air. you try not to stare for too long as he walks around the room, eyes on the t.v. he quickly shuts off the lights before finally settling on the chair, farthest away from your side of the bed, “i love this movie,” he comments, your heart pounding in your chest at the sound of his voice, somehow raspier in the night.

the effect he had on you was absolutely insane. you’ve had sex before, had a couple tricks up your sleeve but nothing like what you’ve heard about jaemin. the fact that he was amazing at sex was a known fact throughout the entire university, girls always giggling about how they had the best night of their lives and how they couldn’t walk the next morning.

turning your head towards him, you’ve realized how engrossed he actually is in the movie that’s playing and it makes you feel silly. jaemin has never made you do anything you didn’t want to do and not once has he ever crossed a line. you really needed to get your head out of the gutter.

“why are you sitting all the way over there? this bed is big enough for both of us you know,” you say, capturing his attention, reminding him of the fact that this bed is a queen sized bed.

he sends you a soft smile, “i’m a gentleman, angel”

“oh please,” you scoff playfully, “we’re both adults, we can control ourselves,” you point out, completely contradicting your thoughts and burying yourself in a bigger hole. it’s not that you were trying to provoke him, it’s just that he was the one who paid for the room and you would feel absolutely awful if he had to squeeze himself in the chair, that was obviously too small and uncomfortable, the whole night.

you pat the empty space beside you, “c’mon, i won’t bite,” you playfully tease.

unbeknownst to you, jaemin was in a way tougher spot.

he accidentally caught a glimpse of your pink lacy underwear, the one you left behind in the shower, tucked in between the rest of your clothes, and couldn’t get the image of you in a matching set out of his head. then his mind started to get a little out of control, if your underwear were here then that must only mean you were completely naked underneath that white robe.

he had to relieve himself in the shower, hand wrapped tightly around his hard cock, biting back his moans as his mind brought him to images of you. he thought jerking himself off in the bathroom would help push away all his desire for the rest of the night but as soon as he stepped into your room and saw how small you looked, tucked into the queen sized bed, he felt his cock twitch under his robe again. which is why he had to resort to turning off all the lights in the room, afraid you would see his boner poking out. then he sat there, focused on harry potter, as he tried to drown out your presence.

but now, you’re inviting him to take up the space next to you and god, you have absolutely no clue what you’re doing to him, it’s unfair. he feels disgusted at the fact that all he could think about is how much he wants to fuck you.

he really needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

slowly, he got up. surely this would not help his case but he didn’t want you to think he was a horndog that couldn’t control himself. he usually was better at this. it was just the fact that it was you and he wants you so bad. needs you. all those lingering touches and kisses finally catching up to him.

he focuses again on the screen ahead, the t.v. illuminating the dark room, light bouncing off of your faces as you sat in silence, just watching the movie play out. though if you asked him what just happened in the scene, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. his mind racing with anything that could help soften his dick.

at one point it got way too hot beneath the sheets and you made the mistake of releasing your arm out from the under and onto the bed, right next to where jaemin’s arm was lying. you try to ignore the heat radiating off of his body, try to ignore the rapid rhythm of your heart. pulling away would be suspicious so you kept it there.

jaemin’s eyes flicker from the t.v. to your hand. you were so close, all he had to do was move his pinky and his hand would be in yours.

his self-control was becoming thinner with every second that passed and before he even realized what he was doing, his pinky moved — bumping into yours and in the next second he had your hands locked together.

he turns his head towards you only to see you were already looking up at him, starry eyes locked on his for a second before you quickly turned away, blush creeping up your cheeks at being caught.

he can’t help himself anymore, moving away from the headboard and lowering himself down to the pillows as he turned his body in your direction. this time, when he turned to look at you, you were only a couple of inches away from him.

“angel,” he whispers. you cautiously turned your head towards his, knowing that there was absolutely no going back from this. the tension in the room has got you clenching at nothing and you were getting sick of it. you wanted him and you’re not entirely sure why you were holding back, considering the confessions you shared earlier.

jaemin takes a second to study your face, memorizing every freckle before he let his eyes finally dart down to your parted lips, “i really want to kiss you,” he confesses into the night air, like it was a secret no one else was allowed to hear.

“i thought i told you if you wanted to kiss me you don’t even need to ask,” you quietly tease and that was all jaemin needed to hear before giving in to the cravings of the night, harry potter long forgotten as he finally pressed his lips on yours.

he kisses you once, twice, three times before his tongue darts in begging for permission. your mouth immediately parting as you gave him access, tongues moving in melody.

the make out session grew heavier and heavier, fingers finding their way through his hair, lightly tugging, eliciting a messy whine from him, his moans sending tingles throughout your body. “fuck, y/n, i need you,” he groans against your lips and you couldn’t agree more.

you wanted his hands all over you, regretting how tightly you tucked yourself into the blankets. swiftly, and with jaemin’s help, you pushed the blanket off of you, never once breaking the kiss, leaving both of you in your robes. the lack of the heavy covers made it easier for your hands to roam, wandering down to his chests as jaemins hand settled on your back, a little bit above your ass, pulling you so close you could feel his bulge against your clothed core.

“take this off,” he demands, untying your robe and pushing it off of your shoulders, jaemin quickly tossing it somewhere across the room before hovering over you.

he takes a moment, taking you all in for the first time, practically drooling at the sight of you, you’re so beautiful to him. it’s as if an actual angel was right in front of him and the thought of him ruining you makes his cock twitch. he didn’t even know he could get this hard.

“jaemin, please do something,” you say, starting to feel insecure under his gaze. your small voice snaps him out of his daydream. “you’re so fucking beautiful,” he praises before his lips latched onto your nipple, sucking, licking, making your back arch towards him, moans slipping past your lips, other hand playing with the other bud, twisting, pinching and you feel like you could cum just from that.

“f-fuck jaemin, want you please,” you sigh in pleasure, hips bucking up in response to his actions.

“what do you want, angel?,” he asks, teasing you and it takes every ounce in you not to pounce on him.

“i want you to touch me, p-please,” you don’t even care how desperate you sounded right now.

“i am touching you, angel,” he was loving this way too much. the way you were unraveling underneath him and he hasn’t even touched the neediest part of your body.

“lower,” you plead, earning a smirk from him, “hmm, right here?,” he asks, his hand, wandering down to outline the curve of your waist and landing on your hip, rubbing soft circles around your love handles. you don’t know how much more teasing you could take, your pussy dripping with arousal, “lower, please,” you cry out, “tell me where, angel, want to hear it from you,” he grunts against your ear, leaving marks all over your neck, “i want your fingers inside of me, please,” you plead for the third time.

“anything my angel wants, she gets,” jaemin playfully whispers before his fingers found its way to your folds, rubbing up and down, “so wet already, all this for me huh,” he praises, your head nodding vigorously in response, “only for you, jaemin.”

happy with your response, his finger slides into you, finally giving you what you wanted. even with your pooling arousal, you were still so tight around his digit, making him curse. he curls his finger, immediately hitting that spot that made you see stars, eliciting a high pitched moan from you, pussy clenching even tighter.

“fuuck angel, im gonna need you to open up for me,” he slides another finger in, curling and scissoring againsts your walls, pleasure coursing through your veins, he was so so good.

“i need to taste you,” he warns before he was diving into your pussy, mouth sucking and blowing against your clit, lapping up your juices, catching your breath, “holy fuck, jaemin,” your stomach clenches, heat traveling all throughout your body as you feel your orgasm coming to a close embarrassingly soon.

“i-m gonna come, baby,” the new pet name drives jaemin absolutely crazy, fingers practically moving at a speed of light inside your walls as he continued to suck on your clit, “go ahead angel, come for me,” he moans against your pussy, the added vibrations rolling your eyes back as you lost the ability to moan, head falling backwards, mouth wide open as you came.

jaemin coaxes you through it, savoring every drop before his lips were back on yours, pulling you back down to reality as you taste yourself in his tongue.

“you okay?,” you hum in approval, a smile taking over your features as you kiss him back, hands quickly untying his robe. jaemin quickly responds, pushing the last piece of clothing away, cock springing free.

in one swift motion, you push him back down to the pillows, taking the lead as you straddled him, “your turn,” you whisper, a light shock appearing on the boy’s face before he settled into the bed, getting comfortable. one of his hands coming up to support the back of his head as he watched you, the other roaming all over your skin, a smirk displayed on his lips.

you were fucking nervous, you’ve never been this upfront in the bedroom but due to how much experience he had, you wanted to show him that you could keep up.

“want to make you feel good,” you whisper in his ear, making him shiver, he swears you were going to be the death of him. your lips found its way to his neck, decorating him with the same pinks and purples you’re sure he has left all over your body.

jaemin was very vocal, already whining under your touch, helping you completely push away any of the remaining worries you had. your fingers found it’s way around his nipples, lightly squeezing and you realized how sensitive he was as he squirmed below you, hips immediately thrusting up, “fuck, angel you’re gonna kill me,” he whines and you can’t help but let out a soft giggle as you travelled lower and lower, hand softly wrapping around his hard length, earning a breathily groan from him. you understood now why your body really needed to open up. he’s huge and you were definitely intimidated.

you start by kitten licking his tip making jaemin hold his breath as you stare up at him, his eyes completely blown out. you can tell how much restraint he’s trying to hold on to to not shove his cock down your throat. you don’t tease him for too long before finally taking his length in your mouth, sucking on his tip, jaemin’s groans immediately increasing as his hand found its way to your hair, gripping tightly, orgasm already creeping up.

you bobbed your head up and down, tears brimming in your eyes at his size. he has no idea what you’re doing to him, how you managed to have him coming undone in seconds, body shaking under your touch. no girl has made him cum this fast before, “fuck angel, i can’t last,” he manages to mumble in between heavy pants. the words encouraging you as your hand finds its way around his balls, gently cupping.

you barely touched him before he was toppling over, cum shooting down your throat with no warning, making you choke.

your hand continued to work him through his orgasm as you cleared your throat. jaemin had to practically push you away, “angel, please stop, i need to feel you,” he groans, pulling you back up to his lips and kissing you passionately.

carefully, he switches the position, having you under him once again. he reaches out for his wallet placed on the nightstand, taking the pack of condom and ripping it open with his teeth before placing it on his already semi hard cock, “god, look what you do to me,” he grunts.

your hand rubs up and down his thighs as you watch him swipe his length between your wet folds, the tension in your stomach building up once again.

he wraps your legs around him, kissing you slowly, so intimately, “i really fucking like you, y/n,” he admits for the second time that day, sending you what has now became your favorite smile.

“i really like you too, jaemin,” you reply, pulling him closer as he aligns his cock against your entrance.

jaemin wasn’t a fan of missionary but god, you’re so fucking beautiful, he wanted nothing more but to look at you when he entered, watching your face contort as you adjust to the size of his large cock, harmonized moans mixing in the air.

for the first time, he finally understood all the sentiments his friends in relationships would say — this feeling was so different from the regular hook ups. the passion, the intimacy of it all. you were so dangerous to him and yet he was obsessed with the way you have him wrapped around your finger.

he loves the way your eyebrows furrowed in between pleasure and pain as he bottomed in, your walls finally hugging the size of his cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper. the way your lips fell into moans once he started thrusting in and out of you. your eyes shutting as he increased the pace, faster and deeper and always hitting that spot that got your head rolling back, toes curling. the way you gripped his back as he rubbed harsh circles around your clit, sending you to overdrive. the way your body went completely limp against the pillows, face in complete bliss as your walls tightened around him, sucking him in. his abs clenching in response, a guttural moan from his throat escaping, reaching a high he’s never felt before as he burrowed his face into your neck to control his shaking body.

you enjoyed the feeling of his skin against yours, reveling in your shared orgasms. staying that way for a minute or two, his body heavy against yours before he snuck in a gentle kiss to your lips.

you hiss as he pulled out, already feeling empty without him. he fucked you so good that all you wanted to do was slip into the peaceful darkness, sleep begging to take over.

the distant hum from the t.v. continues, playing the credits, as the rain pounded on the windows filling your ears. you feel the bed dip beside you as he moved around, feel the soft cloth against your pussy, wiping away your arousal, feel him take the spot next to you once again, shutting off the t.v and pulling you close to his chest.

“goodnight, angel,” he whispers, gently draping the blanket over your bodies, before placing a soft kiss on your temple and finally letting sleep consume you.

jaemin wakes up the next morning, your figure right next to him. it was strange, waking up to a person but he liked it — liked that it was you.

the sunrise peeks through the curtains as the memory from last night vividly replays in his head. he softly pushes away the layers of hair that have covered your face, taking in your angelic appearance as your chest rises and fall to a steady rhythm, sleep still hugging you.

he starts tracing the outline of your cheekbones, fingers softly grazing the curve of your nose, down to your lips. he takes in every detail, taking a mental screenshot.

your eyes flutter open at his light touches, “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease which you figured was the wrong thing to say to a photographer as soon as the words lef your mouth, jaemin wasting no time to reach for his phone and snapping a shot.

“oh my god! i was kidding, i look like a mess,” you scream playfully, bringing the blanket over your head and covering your face in embarrassment, earning a laugh from the boy beside you.

he tugs the blanket off of your face, “you look even more beautiful in the morning, angel,” he compliments, making you blush.

the rest of the morning was spent well — shared selfies, slow kisses, lazy sex, touches lingering all over your skin, an innocent shower with millions of stolen kisses, laughter and more stories.

everything truly felt like a dream, like you were sitting on a cloud occupied by only two. hands never leaving the other’s as jaemin drove back to seoul, the car ride filled with sweet nothings.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin was worried sick. it’s been two days and you haven’t reached out to him. his texts being left on delivered. fear was starting to creep up on him in the form of doubts and mistrust. he thought maybe you were exactly like the rest and you did only want him for sex and now that it’s done, you were also gone and he was nothing but a fool being hit by his own karma.

he realizes now that he’s too deep into this, that it’s too late now to take it all back. too late now to make sure you can’t hurt him. he’s never given anyone this much control over him and he was absolutely losing it.

his phone dings and he scrambles to pick it up, hoping that this time it was you on the other end. his prayers being answered when your name pops up, letting out a sigh of relief.

my angel: jaemin i’m sorry…

his heart races in his chest, not entirely sure what you were apologizing about. he watches as the three dots appear on the screen, an indication that you were still typing.

my angel: i’m sick :(

my angel: i think the rain finally caught up with me

he reads the message, feeling absolutely awful and guilty that his mind could even taint your image like that. that he could even let doubts fill his head.

all he wanted to do now was take care of you.

on the other side, you were really regretting staying out in the rain for so long as you sat in your bed rotting, body burning up, head hurting, nose red, throat dry. it’s been two days since you last saw jaemin and you missed him…a lot. but you didn’t want him to catch your virus so now you’re here, hanging on by a thread as he spammed your inbox with messages filled with tips on how to get over a cold quickly.

the next morning, after asking around, jaemin finds himself knocking on your dorm room’s door, a bag containing hot soup and medicine in hand.

he couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing so here he is, ready to be your nurse for the day and cure you back to health.

the door swings wide open only to reveal a familiar face, “jaemin?,” the girl with long black hair asks, head turned like a curious puppy.

“uhmm,” he mutters, quickly racking his brain for information, searching for a name he definitely knew. he remembers her face, remembers the fact that they shared a night together but he can’t quite pinpoint who she is exactly.

for a second, he thinks he’s in the wrong room, until her voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “are you looking for y/n?,” she asks.

he nods in response as she gestured to the door across the room, “she’s in there,” she said before stepping aside, letting him in and quietly shutting the door behind him as she hurries into her own room.

jaemin stands there, bewildered, if she was your roommate, who he’s sure he definitely knew, then surely you must have known who he was when the two of you first met. surely, you’d heard about his reputation. so why did you say you didn’t know him?

the sound of a cough coming from behind your door snaps him back into place. when doubt clouded his mind yesterday, he turned out to be terribly wrong. pushing the confusion aside, he steadies himself and gently knocks on your door.

“giselle, don’t come in, i’ll get you sick,” you respond, the raspiness of your voice evident.

your roommates name echoes in his ear as he finally unlocked the memory of who she was – the girl who told him she loved him. the girl he said the words back to…on accident.

he quickly pushes the memory away, turning the door knob as he finally makes his way inside your room, eyes scanning the space. he notices the various trinkets scattered on shelves, paintings and posters adorning the walls, books stacked in neat chaos, brushes cluttered on your desk.

“jaemin?,” you manage to croak out, eye squinting at the bright light coming from the living room. you’ve been pent up in the dark for too long, the only light coming from the small lamp on your desk. your hair sticks up in every direction and you had absolutely no color on your face. you look like a total mess. but somehow, seeing you like that only makes his heart skip a beat.

god, he was down bad.

“hey angel, i brought you some chicken noodle soup, it’ll help you feel better,” he says softly, completely forgetting the thought of giselle as he sat on the edge of your bed, taking out the bowl he had prepared.

“jaemin, i’m gonna get you sick,” you pout, hiding under the covers to try and contain your virus, earning a soft chuckle from the boy, “angel, i’m pretty sure you’ve already contaminated the air in this room,” he points out, playfully poking your side until you came out from underneath.

“you don’t even have a humidifier,” he teases, reaching over to smooth down your messy hair before bringing the spoon filled with the hot soup to your lips. you let out a resigned sigh, rolling your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you give in.

he spends the rest of the evening taking care of you, checking your temperature, making sure you take the proper medicine. his quiet care speaking louder than any words could.

carefully, he tucks you both in, ignoring your sleepy protests about him catching your cold as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, your head resting against his chest. it's warm, safe, and comfortable. so comforting that the next minute, sleep takes you, carried off by the side effects of the medicine and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

𓏲𝄢

the sound of clutter jolts you back to reality, waking you up from your slumber. blinking slowly, you spot jaemin’s figure hunched over, quietly gathering the things he must have knocked over, “you okay?,” you groggily question, rubbing the sleep away.

“sorry angel, i accidentally bumped into your desk, i’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” he says softly, already rearranging your things back into place.

but then you see it – a little too late. your stomach drops, everything inside you stills. instantly you knew your world was about to crumble down, “wait, jaemin–” you call out, urgency creeping into your voice, but he was focused on the task at hand.

jaemin picks up the fallen journal, a photo slipping out from between the pages.

it takes him a second to process that the person in the photo was his own reflection but once he did, everything shifts – there he is, staring back at himself, the mr. cupid sign right behind him.

a wave of realization crashes over him, bringing all his doubts to the surface, “why do you have this?,” he demands, turning around to face you, the photo gripped tightly in his hand.

the guilty expression on your face was enough to shatter any remaining illusions – he knows he’s been playing the fool. he should’ve known that this was too good to be true.

in a flash, jaemin flips through your journal, looking for answers, “jaemin, don’t!,” you get up, ignoring the way your vision momentarily blurs, threatening to pull you under. but you were too late. jaemin has stumbled across your four step plan.

“the downfall of na jaemin. step one - introduce yourself. step two - make him fall in love with you. step three and four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony,” jaemin reads out loud, his entire figure rigid as he connects all of the clues, his mind replaying every memory like it was some sort of cruel punishment crafted just for him.

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,”

dear mr. cupid, i'm going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like? love, heart / “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess.

the way you walked out that saturday morning he brought you his hangover cure, ditching the pink outfits because you knew he wasn’t going to be around.

renjun voicing out his suspicious concerns and telling him to be careful.

the door opening to giselle, a girl he had sex with at a random party. the same girl that was standing just outside your bedroom door – your roommate.

every single moment, every confession, every word that he believed to be true led to this – your four step plan, cold and calculated, had no other intention but to hurt him.

every ounce of trust he’d placed in you, every bit of affection, it was all nothing but a step forward.

every time he was being honest, you only showed him what he wanted to see.

he didn’t know the person in front of him. all he knows now is that this is all a lie.

“jaemin, please let me explain,” you plead, voice shaking as you fight back the tears that were daring to escape, taking a cautious step towards him, unsure if he’ll let you get any closer.

he meets your gaze, pain and betrayal flashing all over his features – raw, gutting, all-consuming and gone in a second.

his face goes stone cold, “there’s nothing to explain,” he says, each word cutting clean, final.

“have fun with step four, y/n,” he mutters, voice deep with frustration before tossing your journal and the now crumpled photo to the ground. without another word, he storms out of your room, angrily slamming the door behind him, your heart dropping.

you rush after him, voice breaking as you cry out, “jaemin, please,” you grab his hand, desperation flooding your every movement, holding on tight, trying to make him stay, “it’s not what it looks like, please,” at this point you don’t stop the tears from flowing. you don’t care anymore. you just can’t let him walk out the door.

the loud ruckus catches your best friend’s attention. giselle quick to join you in the living room, eyes wide with concern, “what happened? is everyone okay?,” she asks, frantically looking between your broken expression and jaemin’s seething anger.

her presence was enough to pull your focus away, jaemin taking the opportunity to yank his hand out of your grip and finally making his way out.

you tried to follow him out but before you could take another step, your body finally gave up on you and you came crashing down the living room floor.

jaemin hears the sickening thud of your fall and giselle’s frantic shout of your name. for a brief moment, he hesitates, just long enough to almost turn back and check if you’re okay…but he doesn't.

blinded by rage, jaemin stormed into the fraternity house and without a second thought, his fist crashed through the living room wall, no longer able to contain his anger. he was seeing red.

“dude! what the fuck?!,” chenle yells, everyone turning their heads in surprise. but what shocked them the most was the next scene — watching their friend drop to the floor, quiet sobs escaping his lips as he burrowed his face into his hands.

jeno was up in no time, making his way over, “what happened?,” he asks, checking his friend for any injuries.

“you were right, renjun,” jaemin choked out between his broken sobs, feeling absolutely defeated.

the room fell silent as everyone turned to face renjun, wanting for an explanation, “y/n, isn’t who she says she is,” jaemin muttered, wiping tears that refused to stop. he felt pathetic — so this is what heartbreak felt like.

he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even on his worst enemies.

“who’s y/n?,” renjun looks around, confused, earning a light punch from donghyuck, “angel, dude,” he whispers under his breath like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

renjun pieced it all together in an instant. he knew you looked familiar, he just didn’t know you were that familiar, that you were the same girl who sat behind him in art class — you disguised yourself so well, you fooled even him.

he watched his broken friend on the ground, jaemin’s figure slumped against the wall he’d struck moments earlier, lips trembling, tear-streaked face buried in his hands.

𓏲𝄢

“renjun, please just let me talk to him,” you ask for the umpteenth time. it’s been three days since your fight with jaemin and in those three days, his friends have done everything in their power to keep you away, rightfully so.

when you showed up to the fraternity house, ready to explain your side and apologize, haechan immediately shut you down, slamming the door in your face.

when you saw him in the university’s cafeteria the next day, jeno was right next to him in an instant, pulling him away before he could even see you.

every single message you sent him was left on delivered, every call going straight to voicemail. you were desperate to reach him and renjun was your only access. he couldn’t exactly ditch class to avoid you.

renjun rolls his eyes, scoffing, “again, the answer is no, angel,” he says sarcastically, the nickname dripping with venom, his tone laced with disgust.

you wince, desperation creeping into your voice, “i just need to explain and i promise i won’t ever show my face again.” your eyes are full of conviction, pleading for a chance to right your wrongs.

he sighs. truth is, him and the boys have no idea why jaemin was so upset, only telling them that you lied to him about who you truly were but what does that even mean?

after mulling it over he finally says, “his showcase is on friday at the university’s gallery, 3 p.m., he has to be there for his project which i’m sure you know all about,” he pauses, “you can talk to him there if he wants to but all the boys are gonna be there too,” he warns.

renjun and the boys practically hated your guts but they also know how important you’ve become to their friend, otherwise he wouldn’t be sat at home, moping around, watching rom-coms as a form of self destruction, muttering “love is a lie,” every time the two characters get together in the end.

“thank you,” you nod in understanding, your gratitude mixed with a quiet tension.

“let’s get something straight y/n,” he says, his tone hardening as he starts to walk away, “i’m not doing this for you.”

with that, he leaves you standing at your station, the weight of his words sinking in.

𓏲𝄢

the university's art gallery buzzed with life, lined wall-to-wall with projects from various photography majors. you hadn’t expected such a crowd, the room filled with chatter and laughter as the bright lights illuminated the spacious room.

you take your time, making your way around, palms clammy and heart pounding as you move through the room, quietly practicing the speech you've prepared for days. gone were the sparkly pink outfits and the persona that came with it. replaced by just jeans and a plain t-shirt. you continued weaving through the art gallery, the panels shifting from artist to artist, until you finally reached his.

jaemin’s name stood boldly against the wall, his project titled, “stupid cupid.”

your breath caught as your eyes dropped to the description beneath it:

“love in the movies feels effortless and looks beautiful but all those picture-perfect moments turn out to be nothing more than echoes of a love that was never real to begin with.”

the word’s, achingly beautiful in their bitterness, struck like an arrow piercing your heart. you scanned the pictures on the wall, trying to contain your emotions.

each image held a memory, fragile and glowing – the moment in the cafe, the boombox in your hand, the kiss in the rain, now looping endlessly in video, truly playing like a haunting echo of what once was.

you stood frozen, emotions tightening in your throat, eyes brimming with tears as you wanted nothing more than to step into that scene and live in the moment just a little longer.

you wipe the tears from your cheeks, steadying yourself. you had an apology due, you couldn’t let another day pass without telling him everything you wanted to say. this was possibly your only moment and you weren’t going to let it slip away.

your eyes searched the crowded room, until they landed on him.

jaemin stands a little further back, deep in conversation. you recognize mark and jeno right next to him along with some girls from campus who were obviously flirting with him, one of the girls laughing a little too loudly and you almost scoff.

taking a deep breath, you force your feet to move, making your way through the crowd, heart pounding.

mark notices you first, eyes widening for a split second as he immediately grabs jaemin’s wrist, steering him further away from you, “hey winter! have you met my friend, jaemin?,” mark calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear, every word sharp and intentional.

jaemin looks at him suspiciously before greeting the new girl in front of him. you catch the subtle glance of the previous girls lingering behind, clearly disappointed that he walked away.

you cursed under your breath, frustration mounting, they really won’t make this easy for you.

“what are you doing here?,” a voice to your right captures your attention.

“donghyuck!,” you quietly exclaim in surprise, a hand to your heart.

“haechan,” he corrects immediately, “so what’s the angel in disguise doing here?” he laughs like he just said the funniest joke, “god that’s a good one, gotta tell the boys about that,” he snickers to himself, completely lost in his own amusement.

every conversation with him felt like some weird episode you didn’t sign up for. you still couldn't figure out how he managed to charm everyone. his mocking tone was grating, but deep down, you knew you’d earned it.

“i’m just here to apologize,” you sigh, too tired for an argument.

“huh, you’d think you’d get the hint after all the text messages and calls jaemin ignored,” he says, voice dripping with malicious amusement, “don’t flatter yourself too much, y/n, you’re not special, this is just what he does, you were just another girl who fell for it,” he taunts, his words sharp like a dagger before he walked away, leaving you in your thoughts.

they’ve been trying to stop you from reaching him and you’ve had enough. all you wanted was to have a chance to fix things. so you abandoned the careful apology you’d been rehearsing and did the one thing you hadn’t planned.

you called out his name.

your voice rang out, echoing through the large room as the chatter slowly diminished. one by one, every head turned in your direction, but you only saw him.

jaemin's eyes locked with yours and for a split second, something softened in his eyes. then, just as quickly, the wall was back up and that cold, unreadable mask slipped right back into place.

you ignore the hush whispers around you, even the one that cut through clear as day, “wait…she’s the girl from his photos..,” as you slowly walk towards him.

jaemin doesn’t utter a single sound, doesn’t make an effort to move away, he just watches as you approach, silent and unmoving, until you were standing just a few feet away.

“hi”, you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. you ignore haechan’s mocking chuckle, as he now stood next to jaemin.

“im sorry!,” you blurted out, not wasting another second. jaemin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, only looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“alright, you said it, you can go now, we’re a bit busy,” jeno cuts in, sharp and dismissive, a devilish smirk on his face as he spoke for his friend. the audience snickers in the background…but you weren’t finished.

“i’m sorry i lied to you,” you say a little more composed this time, standing your ground.

a shaky breath escapes you as the words you’ve been dying to tell him tumble out.

“i hate iced americanos, i hate the color pink and i definitely hated you…at first,” your voice cracks slightly, but you push through it, eyes locked on his.

you don’t care about the stares or the whispers or the way you knew this moment will be dissected by everyone watching – none of it matters, only him.

“and i know, i know everything must feel like a lie now. i wouldn’t blame you if you never believed another word i said,” you laugh bitterly, pushing away the ache in your chest.

“i only did it because i thought it was the right thing to do, i thought you deserved it for leading so many girls on…it’s stupid, i know,” your gaze softens, slightly shaking your head as your voice drops to a fragile murmur, regret and embarrassment written all over your face.

you look up at him once again, his expression still as hard as stone but it doesn’t stop you from saying your next words.

“—but i also know that i’m in love with you,” you quietly confess, the words rolling off your lips for the first time, hanging in the air – honest, bare, terrifying but all so right.

you notice the flicker of something behind his eyes that betrays the coldness in his expression. something almost soft. but it’s gone as soon as it came.

“i’m in love with you,” you repeat, hoping.

“and i'm sorry that we started out this way but this is me, the real me,” you continue, voice shaking as you ignore the lump forming in your throat.

“i prefer iced matcha over iced americanos, my favorite color is white and i have completely, stupidly fallen for you,” you finish your speech, letting the last words hang there, raw and unguarded. there’s nothing left to hide behind, no more reason to pretend.

this is your truth.

the room is silent – so silent that it felt suffocating. not a single person dared to speak, no one even moved, everyone holding their breaths with you, waiting for something…anything.

finally, jaemin takes a step forward, each step he took was slow, deliberate. his expression unreadable, eyes still cold, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt or just tired of it all.

he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the way his jaw clenches.

“well, angel,” he say, voice low and quiet but cutting all the same, the nickname sounds nothing like it used to – no warmth, no teasing. just ice.

“this was fun,” he snickers, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

it wasn’t the smile in his photos – it wasn’t the smile you fell in love with.

“-but that was all it ever was,” he continues and you feel like someone has just punched you in the gut.

“thank you for letting me use you for my project,” he adds, his tone light, casual, like it’s just another throwaway line in a script he’s already performed before.

“but you, of all people, should know–,” he leans in just a little, voice dropping, and for a second his warmth consumes you until his words turn everything cold, “-i never fall in love.”

his friends start chuckling at the back, the crowd joining in. other’s looked at you with pity having fallen for the boy in front of you but you didn't pay attention to them. you don’t even look at them. you’re still staring at him and you don’t buy a single word.

not with the way his hands are clenched at his sides. not with how his voice trembled, just barely, when he said never.

he’s lying. protecting himself the only way he knows how – by pretending not to care. trying to convince himself more than you but even knowing that doesn’t dull the sting. tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face as you blink them back, forcing yourself to stay composed.

you nod once. small. almost imperceptible. a silent acknowledgment. not of belief but of acceptance.

then, carefully, you pull out the white envelope tucked in your back pocket, “this belongs to you,” you say, voice soft, barely hanging on. you hold it out to him and then you turn.

you don’t look back, running out of the gallery – out of the stares, out of the suffocating stillness that had begun to close in on you.

your vision blurs completely now, hot tears streaming freely down your face. you can’t breathe. you’re not sure if you even want to.

jaemin watches you retreat. he doesn’t call out, doesn't make an effort to stop you. he just watches.

only when you were finally out of his sight, he felt it – that sharp swell in his lungs, the ache in his chest unraveling into something hollow and brutal.

he thought it would feel satisfying to hurt you the way you hurt him. he thought having the last word would fix the damages of his broken ego and piece back the heart you shattered. but as you left he realized that parts of it were still in your hands.

the crowd begins to break apart, quiet murmurs replacing the earlier hush. now that the show’s over, their entertainment has ended and one by one, they leave, continuing on with their day, until he’s standing there alone, the envelope in his hands.

he opens it slowly, like he’s afraid of what’s inside, even though some part of him already knows.

and there it is. the photo. the one you stole from his room. the one in your four step plan. his secret.

for a split second, all he can feel is the surge of anger and betrayal, remembering everything that has happened in the past two weeks. his heart pounds in his chest, a sharp sting of violation threatening to overwhelm him.

but then, something shifts.

he looks at the photo again and it hits him – you’re giving it back to him. you’re not using it. you’re not following through with your plan to expose him. you had returned the evidence with no strings attached. you were telling him the truth.

the confessions you made, your voice trembling with sincerity, resonating in his mind.

renjun snaps him back to reality, the rest of the boys next to him, “hey, you okay?” he asks his friend, tone sharp with concern.

he forces a half-hearted laugh, voice laced with self-deprecation. “i feel like absolute shit,” he quickly tucks the envelope in his pocket, hiding it away from prying eyes, mind still reeling.

“well, i know just the cure for that,” haechan teases, slinging an arm around his neck. “a pretty girl and some drinks,” he continues, his voice is playful, trying to pull jaemin back to the surface and he’s grateful for the distraction.

“yeah, come on,” mark chimes in, grinning. “we gotta celebrate your gallery’s success!...party at the dream fraternity tonight!” he calls out, his enthusiasm infectious as cheers erupt from the crowd, a wave of excitement sweeping through the room.

jaemin feels disconnected from it all, but he can’t ignore the energy around him. he shakes his head, finally allowing himself to breathe. maybe they’re right. maybe a party is exactly what he needs. maybe he can continue to pretend that this doesn’t hurt him until it finally doesn’t.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin can’t get it up.

“i thought you were supposed to be good at this?,” the pretty girl from the gallery comments, making him sigh in frustration.

“just give me a second,” he grunts, furiously pumping his cock up and down, hoping a miracle would happen. this has never happened to him before and he’s beginning to get really worried.

“you said that five seconds ago,” she cuts in, looking at him with those judgmental eyes, like he doesn’t fucking know he said that five seconds ago. the urge to run to the doctor’s getting stronger with every second.

“you know what? just get out,” jaemin says annoyed, tossing her clothes back to her as he made his way to his bathroom, not caring at all about the girl sitting on his bed. he hears the girl scoff, followed by shuffling and a, “thanks for absolutely nothing!,” before his door slammed shut.

jaemin rolls his eyes, hopping in the shower, the lingering touches she left behind felt sticky and gross on his skin. he knew she wasn’t going to tell anyone, knowing her reputation was also on the line and he didn’t even feel bad. the girl should’ve known he wasn’t in the right mind for some ego boosting. or maybe she should’ve tried harder for him.

yikes. maybe he did deserve the heartbreak you served him with.

as he stood there, under the hot shower, his intoxicated mind can’t help but wander back to you and the time you’ve spent together.

he can’t help but remember that morning of your first night together, the innocent shower you took together as he admired your body – thoughts of your scent consuming him, the way your lips left trails of kisses, soft skin against his.

then he feels it, his cock hardening.

all it took was the memory of you, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he scolds his dick.

“really?, a pretty girl on your bed and absolutely nothing from you and just one thought of her and you’re up,” he talks to his member, feeling absolutely crazy before his hand got to work – mind flashing with scenes of you and only you.

hopping out of the shower, jaemin feels a little more refreshed, his mind clearer than it was a few shots of alcohol ago. the party outside his bedroom door has now died down.

he picks his clothes up from the ground, ready to toss it into his hamper, when the envelope peaks out, reminding him of the picture.

he takes it out again, staring into his own image, the slight crumple on the top left marks the photograph, evidence of his anger. he sighs as sadness takes over once again.

flipping the image, he sees your handwriting, words that you have left behind just for him. words that has signified the mark you left on his life.

dear jaemin,

thank you for showing me this side of you. im sorry.

love,

y/n, angel, heart

it was your last confession and right away he knew what he had to do.

𓏲𝄢

“hi my lovely listeners, it’s mr. cupid here on a surprise live session, i couldn’t prolong this any longer,” jaemin’s voice filters through the mic, softer than usual.

he pauses, a shaky breath pulled in as he braces himself for the inevitable, “i haven’t been completely honest with you.”

there’s a beat of silence and then, “i have been keeping a secret and lately i’ve realized how much secret’s hurt.”

“so today, im finally telling you who i am,” jaemin continues, fingers tightening slightly around the mic stand as he braced himself.

“i am mr. cupid, your #1 go to for all things love and heartbreak but i am also third year, photography major, member of the dream fraternity,” he takes a quick pause, finding his courage, “my name is na jaemin,” he finally confesses into the microphone.

the words land like a stone thrown into still water, rippling through the space between him and the hundreds of people listening.

his inbox immediately lights up, emails flooding in. he could already see the previews. lots of surprised listeners, lots of angry listeners.

his phone quietly flickers by his side, messages from the boys swarming his screen as the group chat blows up — all of them shocked and confused.

he would have to deal with all of that later.

“i want to take this moment and apologize,” he continued, voice soft but firm, “to every girl i’ve hurt, every person i made feel disposable…i’m sorry. i wish i could remember all your names but the truth is, part of me was that player, part of me liked being that player,” he sighs in embarrassment, the weight of it all sinking in.

“—and i’m sorry for hiding behind this persona, for pretending i had it all figured out while calling out the very things i also did,” he continues, a bittersweet feeling rising in his chest.

he took care of this radio show, he wouldn’t have climbed the #1 spot if he didn’t. but every truth must be revealed someday.

“—i need you to know, i meant every word i’ve ever said on here. the advice, the stories, the moments where i told you to believe in love even when it hurts…that was all real. i was just too much of a coward in real life to admit that i wanted that too,” he continues, feeling lighter with every word.

“there’s a girl i met recently,” a nervous chuckle slips from his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond the studio walls.

“she knew who i was, from the very beginning” he rambles, “she had this four step plan to make me fall in love with her…the last step of her plan was to expose me but she never followed through with it,” a quiet moment passes.

“somewhere along the way, she fell for me anyway…the player, the romantic, the scared, complicated mess,” he shakes his head, a halfhearted smile tugging at his lips.

“i always thought that i had to be one or the other, turns out i was just waiting for her to freely be who i truly am,” a heavy sigh leaves him, full of everything he’s carried alone until now. his thoughts catching up to him.

“—and i really need to follow my own advice and get her back,” the words left him in a rush as he finally reached his own conclusion.

love was a strong word and unfortunately it took him a while to accept that this is what it was and it was all he wanted.

without another word, he abruptly ends the session. running out of the studio, finally seeing things clearly.

he runs, lungs burning, heart pounding. he ignores the students who were still outside this late hour, calling out his name, calling out mr. cupid, until he finally reaches your building, sweat forming around his forehead, as he tries to catch his breath.

he knocks on your door, practically pounding on it, adrenaline rushing through his veins, nerves and excitement coursing through him at the thought of seeing you again only to be met with none other than your roommate.

“oh, if it isn’t mr. cupid,” giselle greets him, voice laced with mockery, her expression twisted with subtle disdain.

“you know i was wondering why y/n was so adamant on getting revenge, i thought it was just because of what you did to me, turns out you’re not just a huge player you’re also a pro liar,” giselle continues, a pointed look on her faced, eyebrows furrows, lips pointed.

“pretending to be mr. sweet angelic guy just to be a fuckboy behind the scenes, man, how did you fool everyone?” she chuckles, almost disbelievingly.

jaemin shifts uncomfortably, his confidence briefly faltering, “giselle, im sorry,” he says, catching the girl off guard, “i do remember our night together and i’m sorry…i shouldn’t have said those words so lightly, i wasn’t thinking, just putting my needs first,” he confesses, completely owning up to his actions.

she blinks, then lets out a small, surprised laugh, “it’s fine, i just wanted to give you a tough time for what you did to y/n at the gallery,” she says, “besides, i used you that night too, we both win,” she shrugs, really not caring, “i would actually prefer it if we never talk about it again.”

jaemin nods, a quiet gratitude in his eyes for her unexpected grace, “is y/n here?,” he asks.

giselle ponders for a second or two, studying him, eyes narrowing slightly, reading him like a book until she nods, “second floor of the art building,” she says.

“thank you,” he breathes, already turning, “wait jaemin!,” giselle stops him in his tracks, “you hurt her again and i will kill you, okay pretty boy?,” she says with a sugar-sweet smile, almost like she didn’t just threaten him. it wasn’t a question, not really.

he chuckles, not entirely sure if she’s joking or not, either way, he would not like to find it.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, flashing her a smile before sprinting off.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin stepped quietly into the art room, spotting your back to him as your fingers worked like magic, brushing smoothly against the canvas seated on your easel, completely immersed in your work. he notices the iced matcha sitting on the table to your right, your paint-stained jeans and oversized t-shirt on display, hair in a messy ponytail.

even with your back turned to him, you looked so at ease, like the world had melted away and left only you and your art behind. he stood still, taking it in, wishing he had his camera with him.

content hums slip past your lips as your hand glided from your palette and the canvas. then he notices what you’re painting and he can’t look away, transfixed by the way you captured the scenery of the luscious green landscape blurred by the gentle rain, the pink and whites of the blooming cherry blossoms, opposite to the gray hues of the clouds floating on top.

it was like he had stepped into that day once again. almost like he could feel your lips on his again.

he clears his throat before finally finding his voice, “that’s beautiful.”

your head turns quickly, jumping slightly at the sound of your intruder’s voice, eyes wide with surprise. you weren’t exactly expecting anyone else to be here this late.

“jaemin?,” you question, voice uncertain, wondering what he was doing here at this hour.

“hi,” he smiles sheepishly, hands awkwardly tucked in his pockets, almost shy, as he walks closer to you, your breath stuck in your throat.

“you uhm…you have paint right here,” he points at his own cheek, mirroring the spot on yours as you quickly tried to wipe it away, missing completely.

“not quite, here let me-,” before you could protest, he closed the gap, licking his thumb and wiping the smudge away from the apple of your cheek. the moment was so intimate, his light touch igniting that spark all over again.

“thanks,” you whisper before taking a step back and trying to ground yourself.

“what are you doing here?,” you asked, voice soft.

“i was looking for you,” he responds like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“i-i thought you didn’t want to see me again?,” you say, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i thought that too,” he admits, “but as soon as you left, all i wanted to do was see you again,” he continues, looking for any signs of rejection on your face.

“how did you know i was here?,” you ask, puzzled, you never brought him here before so you wouldn’t expect him to even know it.

“i asked giselle,” he replies simply, leaving you confused, your brows knitting, “you talked to giselle?”

he chuckles slightly before saying, “i actually stopped by your place first and you weren’t there and then i got an earful from giselle about being mr. cupid and now i'm here,” giving you a quick rundown of what happened.

“wait, what? i never told her your secret,” you say, wide eyed. that’s when he realizes then that you had no idea what happened in the last hour.

“i uh…i actually finished your four step plan,” he explains and you’re left speechless, “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, voice soft.

“no, i did,” he quickly retorts, “it was time,” a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“he wasn’t all a fake persona, you know?,” he exhales, voice laced with honesty.

“i know,” you say quickly, eyes meeting his. “i saw him,” voice filled with sincerity, “fell in love with him,” you whisper into the night air, making him look up, hope flickering behind his eyes.

“i thought i had to hide that side of me,” he admits, “i’ve been very aware of the whole fuckboy label and yeah…i got caught up in the ‘cool’ image of it all. it was easier to be who everyone expected me to be, it’s stupid, i know,” he smiles softly, his words reflecting your confession.

“but that’s not why i came here tonight,” his eyes find yours, unwavering.

“i'm sorry about what i said earlier at the gallery,” he adds softly and you shake your head before he can go on, “it’s okay jaemin, i get it, i know why said it, it’s not like i didn’t deserve it,” you reassure him.

“no,” he says, a little firmer this time, “it’s not okay because it wasn’t true and i'm tired of all the lies between us so…here it goes,” he takes a breath, almost like he’s steadying himself.

“you’re not the only one who fell,” he says, a quiet smile forming, tender and nervous,“i did too.”

“—and i’m pretty sure i hit the ground way before you did,” he pauses.

you looked at him like he had somehow brought the stars to you and that was all the courage he needed to continue.

“i think white looks perfect with pink, i’m not a big fan of matcha iced tea but i’d still love to see my glass of americano sitting next to yours, and i am completely, stupidly, undeniably in love with you,” he confesses, voice steady and full of conviction, “that’s what i should’ve said earlier.”

you blink, heart pounding, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile you can’t fight, every emotion rushing to the surface.

“better late than never, right?,” you softly tease, making him chuckle before finally taking a step closer. this time, you don’t move away.

“you told me i didn’t have to ask,” he whispers and then he kisses you, soft and certain, and full of emotion.

for the first time since he walked out of your bedroom, angry and overwhelmed, jaemin feels like he could finally breathe again.

his hands gently make their way to your cheeks, deepening the kiss as yours clasped around his neck, pulling him in closer.

“god, i love you,” jaemin whispers against your lips as he moves down to litter kisses on that spot below your ear, eliciting a breathy whine from you.

“i love you too,” you whisper in his ear, large hands making their way behind your thighs as jaemin picks you up, sitting you on the long wooden table, now eye to eye level, his lips were back on yours in an instant, as he stood in the place between your legs.

you could feel his growing bulge against your thigh, making you dizzy, “jaemin, i need you,” you whine desperately. he gives in to your request quickly, no longer wanting to deny the pleasure coursing in between your bodies.

unzipping your pants, he slides it down, before pushing your panties to the side and shoving two fingers in, “so fucking tight, angel,” he groans as his fingers curl drawing out breathy moans from your lips as you tried to be as quiet as possible, afraid someone would walk in. usually no one was here during this time but you could never be too sure, you were still in a public place after all.

you could feel the tension in your stomach rise, heat starting to travel down to your toes, but you needed more, “please, n-need you now,” you plead, “you sure angel? it might hurt,” he grunts, his fingers brushing your walls repetitively, trying to prepare you as much as he can.

no longer able to wait, your hand reached for the wallet in his back pocket as you took out the condom you knew he always carried.

jaemin’s pants falls to the ground, pooling around his ankles, his boxers soon to follow as you wrapped the condom around his throbbing cock, the warmth of your hands making him groan into your shoulder as he tried to control the urge to bust right then and there, “have i told you how much effect you have on me?,” he grunts.

“show me,” you whisper, kissing that soft spot below his ear.

“you make me so fucking crazy,” he says, looking you in the eyes as he pushed his tip in your entrance. you bite back your moans, the expression on your face between pleasure and pain as you looked up at him, trying your best not to shut your eyes at the way he was slowly expanding your walls, pussy molding to the shape of his large cock.

“fucckk, you feel so fucking good,” he compliments as he bottoms in, tip kissing your cervix, your shared moans mixing in the air as you burrowed your head in his shoulder, leaving trails of wet, sloppy kisses, trying to distract yourself from the pain of the stretch.

“missed your pussy so much,” he whines. carefully, he pulls the hair tie out of your ponytail, letting your hair fall freely down your shoulders as he starts thrusting, setting a slow pace. you were so incredibly tight around him, he knew he had to be gentle, “so fucking pretty,” he whispers, watching your every reaction.

“d-don’t stop,” you sigh, getting used to his size, as he continues to thrust in and out, the slow pace becoming more addicting with every push. jaemin’s warm hands gripping your hips, massaging slow circles around your thighs, the added pressure adding on to the coil tightening in your stomach as your body arched up, hips starting to move in rhythm with his.

“faster, jaemin,” you moan. his name spilling from your lips immediately increases his speed as your hands rest on the table, trying to stabilize yourself. moans heighten as the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. you don’t even care about wandering ears anymore, or what would happen if a professor happened to catch the two of you in this position.

all you cared about was this high — the way his cock seemed to be made for you, hitting that spot that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud as angels sang all around you. jaemin feels the same way, absolutely lost in the feeling only you could give him.

it was getting harder to keep it together as he starts losing his rhythm, “i’m c-close, angel,” he grunts, finger finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles, “cum with me, please,” he groans and it was enough to snap the coil in your stomach, eyes rolling back, pussy gripping his cock as you gave into the pleasure that is na jaemin.

𓏲𝄢

it’s been a week since that night that brought you back together. a week filled with “i love you’s,” and everything sickeningly sweet.

the boys have all apologized to you, spilling repetitive sorry’s about their behavior. forgiveness came easy. especially since you knew they were only like that because of how much they loved him and you were happy jaemin had people like them on his side.

mr. cupid became “love, na jaemin” — jaemin decided to continue it after emails upon emails of request from his viewers to come back. this time, he promised complete honesty, no longer hiding behind the fake persona. the show was back to #1 spot within a day, everyone loving this side of him even more.

there were still parties, almost every night, but instead of sneaking around with random women, jaemin had you by his side every single time — hand wrapped in yours, playful stolen kisses all over your skin, dancing and laughter. and in the days where you couldn’t go to a party, he’d simply have fun with the boys before retiring into his room alone, preferring to facetime you on the phone.

today, jaemin surprised you with a picnic. the sky was painted with soft blues and golden sun, a warm breeze curling through your hair as you sat on the picnic blanket in the park. he pulls out a bag filled with two mini canvases and a small set of watercolor.

“what’s all this?,” you giggle, as he hands you your canvas.

“i saw it on tiktok, we have to paint each other and then show each other the results,” he explains excitedly, a sparkle dancing in his eyes, like a kid getting a new toy.

“winner gets whatever they want!,” he continues, explaining the rules as you laughed, “you know i’m gonna win, right?,” you tease, raising a brow.

“hey! you’ve never seen me paint, you don’t know that,” he cutely defends himself, a pout on his lips.

“okay baby, you’re right, sorry,” you giggle, kissing his pout away, frown instantly melting into a bright smile.

“quit distracting me, angel” he said softly, grinning as he picked up his brush.

the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you start, eyes flicking between your painting and each other. the air was filled with quiet focus and unspoken affection. you could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on you, the way your fingers moved slowly, like trying to capture every piece of him with love.

but while you were focused on painting him, jaemin had a different mission entirely.

he knew you were going to win, of course you were. this was just his little ploy to finally make you his girlfriend. a week has been long enough and he was starting to go crazy every time he wanted to call you his girlfriend but couldn’t. he’s never wanted to the boyfriend title so badly in his life.

he kicked himself over and over, wondering why he didn’t just ask you during his confession but that night was powered through by overwhelming emotions of love, hope and desire that the words had slipped his mind.

since then, nothing had felt romantic enough and you deserve to be asked properly…in the most special way. and he has finally figured out how.

after a couple more minutes of painting you break the silence, “i think im done,” you announce, setting your brush down with a satisfied smile.

he glances up at you, pretending to be busy as he continues to paint the background of his artwork, “hmm, give me one more second,” he chimes before adding his final touch.

“okay, you ready?,” he wiggles his eyebrows as you nod, your heart fluttering.

3…2…1…

you both flip your canvases, showing each other your board. your eyes immediately widen as you process the words written on his board in bold, messy paint: will you be my girlfriend? — decorated by a ton of pink and red hearts.

a happy squeal escapes your lips as you launch yourself at him, sending him back onto the picnic blanket. you pepper his face with soft kisses, laughter bubbling from both of you.

“yes, yes, yes, of course i’ll be your girlfriend!” you say happily, dreamily. he was laughing too, arms wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

“by the way, i want to go to busan again,” you smile up at him, letting him know that you still win. he breaks into a soft laughter, “whatever my angel wants, my angel gets,” he says, kissing you softly, sweetly and full of promise.

jaemin swears he’s in heaven — laying under the open sky with the girl of his dreams, the girl who he loves and loves him, and the word finally echoing in his heart.

𓏲 the end.

—

an: ahhh! if you’ve made it this far thank you so so much for reading <3 i wish you all find yourself a na jaemin (the real na jaemin of course, he’s better than the one written here lol >.<) while i have you! please please please help me decide who’s story to write next by voting here -> click!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[seungfl0wer]

*𝘼𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙒𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜*

Pairing: Minho x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Daddy!Minho, Degrading, (Slut and whore used), Orgasm denial, Chocking, Spanking, Oral(M), FaceFucking, Creampie, Unprotected sex, Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings

A/N: I’ve had this idea for awhile- kinda made it a little uhm- mean dom Minho lol so hope you enjoy.

-🖤

Minho had been gone for the day. Leaving for work early in the morning. Prying himself from you to get out the door. He had been gone for so long, and you were becoming incredibly needy. You texted him around 4 asking him if he was gonna be home soon. He’d texted back ‘not for a few more hours kitten’

As you waited you plopped yourself down on the couch sighing loudly. Not even the cats were coming to comfort you. You huffed whining loudly to no avail of course. You felt like you were going insane. Board and needy out of your mind you made your way to your room. Rummaging through the closet to find one of your toys to play with. Minho wouldn’t be home for at least a couple hours, so what he wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt him right?

You rid yourself of your bottom lazily pressing the toy to your sensitive clit. Finally getting some relief, the first touch made you moan loudly. Body already arching from the bed. You had your whole body spread now getting yourself off to the thought of your boyfriend. Wanting nothing more than to have him come home.

Something you didn’t realize though was the Minho was watching. You had forgotten all about the cameras he had installed to watch the cats while he was gone. He would check them occasionally to check up on you. What he saw made an evil little grin come across his face. He watched as you toyed with your puffy clit, moaning loudly. Calling out his name as you grabbed ahold of the sheets. Oh was he gonna punish you, because you knew better. ‘Naughty thing’ he thought to himself. He made up some excuse to leave early, not telling you he was on his way to catch you in the act.

Unbeknownst to you as tears pricked at your eyes Minho had gotten home. You moaned out loudly finally cumming as your legs shook. In your daze you didn’t hear Minho opening the door. He stood there with that evil grin watching you “What do we have here?” He said from the door way.

Your body jumped at his words. “Minho I’m” you started to say before he cut you off.

“Who?” He said shooting you a glare.

“D-daddy I’m sorry” you said eyes avoiding his gaze.

“You’re sorry? You know better kitten.”

“I- I just missed you and I-“ you stuttered out.

“No excuses, you know you’re not supposed to touch yourself and especially not supposed to be playing with toys without me hmm?” He said in a stern voice.

“M’sorry” you said softly.

He moved to sit on the end of the bed patting his lap. You knew what he wanted but didn’t move. “M’sorry daddy please” you said trying to give him puppy eyes. Only for him to start counting. 1. 2. He started, you got up slowly slinking your way to him with a frown. You assumed the position laying your body over his lap. “Count”. He said before smacking your ass. “One” you whimpered out.

“Louder” he growled with another smack.

“Two” you said louder. He smacked your ass a few more times as you counted each becoming a bit harder as he rubbed it softly afterwards. The last smack was the hardest, making your body shoot up. “That one hurt” you whined looking back at him.

“It hurt? Is that why this bratty little cunt is dripping?” He growled pushing your body back down onto his lap. His hand roughly came down pushing his fingers into you with no warning. “This dirty little cunt is soaked? You sure it hurt that badly?” He said with a grin.

He pushed his fingers in and out of you his thumb coming up to press against your clit. “Daddy!” You cried out, your head feeling dizzy from his fingers working their magic. As you felt another high coming he could feel your body clenching around him making him chuckle. He removed his hands from you and before you could even whine he was man handling you in the bed. He pushed your body down, back against the bed. Your head was at the edge of the bed eyes glossed over as you looked up at him.

“Open that filthy mouth” he demanded as he lazily stroked his cock. You don’t remember when he took his pants off but they were gone. Thrown across the room somewhere with your own clothes. You looked up at him not really hearing what he had said. His hand found your face gripping it as he repeated himself “open. That filthy mouth don’t make me say it again.” He growled. And you did. Opening your mouth as wide as you could before Minho pushed in. His cock quickly filling your mouth.

He used your mouth roughly, fucking into it as his hands gripped at your hair. “That’s it- fuck take it- little brat couldn’t even wait for me to get home hmm? Such a little whore.” He groaned. His cock hit the back of your throat his head falling back at the feeling. Your hand moved on its own moving slowly down to your soaking cunt. His eyes shot to your hand smacking it away quickly. “You don’t learn do you?” He said with a low chuckle.

He leaned himself down as he fucked into your mouth. Hand coming down with a loud smack to your cunt. You jumped at the feeling head moving up taking more of him back your throat. “Fuck-“ he moaned out.

He quickly pulled out of your mouth maneuvering your body how he wanted it. He pushed your body down, stomach now laying flat on the bed before you felt him behind you. His cock head poking at your entrance. “Color” he said as he rubbed the head up and down.

“G-green” you mumbled out.

That’s all he needed to hear before he was pushing into you. His hands gripped at your hips as he fucked into you mercilessly. His cock head kissing your cervix so nicely. “I bet this is what you wanted huh? For me to catch you just so I’d punish you? Is that what you wanted kitten? Wanted me to treat you like the little slut you are?” He said.

Your brain was fuzzy however you knew you needed to answer “n-no- I- ah I just missed you” you cried.

“Missed me? So since you missed me you thought you could get yourself off without me hm? You know that I’m the only one allowed to touch the pretty little cunt. I’m the only one that is allowed to make it cum” he said.

“M’sorry” you cried louder.

His hand came down hard on your already raw ass “you knew you weren’t supposed to and still did. Right?” He said almost coldly.

“Y-yes” you answered.

“So do you think you deserve to cum?” He asked.

“Daddy-“ you said softly.

Another smack coming down on your ass “answer me”

“Please- I won’t do it again- just- I wanna cum with you please please” you repeated.

“Do you think I should let you?” He said again. “You did something knowing you shouldn’t so why should I let you?” He spat.

“M’sorry m’so sorry!” You cried feeling tears pricking at your eyes.

His hand came down around your throat, choking you slightly. “You’re gonna take everything I give you. No cumming. Got it.” He said against your ear. You only nodded knowing he wasn’t gonna let up. His body was now pressed firmly against yours as he rutted deep into you. “Let this be a lesson next time you decide to do something you know you’re not supposed to.” He growled against your skin.

He pushed once more deep into you before cumming, painting your walls white. His arms came around you pulling you to him. He left soft kisses to your skin as he came down from his high. “M’sorry” you whispered out.

“It’s ok kitten” he coo’d.

“Do you hate me” you said softly. He knew sometimes with punishments you felt guilty for whatever you did. He knew you’d need more reassurance.

“Kitten, I don’t hate you. You just gotta listen ok? I love you so very much” he said as he cupped your face to look at him. He kissed your lips softly holding you as close as he possibly could.

“I’m really sorry” you said again.

“Sssh it’s ok love, don’t apologize anymore. Everything done, so how about we go shower and I’ll cook us something hm?” He said with a sweet smile.

You shook your head yes but you held onto him tightly “can we cuddle a little more first? I really missed you today” you said looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

“Of course kitten. I love you.” He said kissing your cheek softly.

“I love you to daddy” you said back nuzzling into him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143

[bellaxgiornata]

Letters from the Outside 1:| The First Letter

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; prison!Jax, bit of sunshine/grumpy dynamic, prison pen pals, fluff, angst, mentions of violence, potential smut, canon-divergence, mentions of Reader having a brother, mainly short pieces about Jax and Reader's letter correspondence

Summary: When Lowen encourages Jax and the other incarcerated Sons to enroll in Stockton Prison's new program, Wire of Hope, in order to increase their odds of parole, Jax thinks it's absolute bullshit. Hoping to get back home sooner, he signs up anyway. But what he doesn't expect is how quickly he begins to look forward to your letters.

a/n: I've had this idea in my head since December before I even started writing for Jax. These are mostly short installments because it's mainly centered around their letters, but there will be moments we get more than that. And there may be more to Reader than what we first see... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @callmesev @secretlysamcro

A slight sheen of sweat coated Jax’s brow as his breath came in sharp pants. Loose strands of his shaggy hair fell into his face, a few of the blonde pieces clinging to the dampness along his forehead as he continued the repetitive motion of his push-ups. 

There wasn't much else to do in here. He'd already had breakfast earlier, and time in the yard didn't happen until after lunch. His work assignment in the laundry facility with Opie didn’t start until just before dinner, so for now, all he had were the same three fucking walls and the damn cell doors that overlooked the cell across the hall from him for entertainment. And unfortunately the cell across the hall held some scrawny ass by the name of Moore who jerked off far more frequently than Jax would’ve liked to be forced to overhear. 

As he continued his push-ups, Jax heard the loud buzz through the cell block which meant guards were making their way through. He’d been in here so long now that he’d barely noticed the noise, his attention currently on counting his push-ups and pacing his breathing. He’d been so focused that the sound of someone roughly smacking the metal bars of his cell door startled him, causing his head to whip up as he’d pushed up from the dirty floor.

A guard was standing outside of his cell, someone that Jax quickly recognized as one of the few who often delivered the daily mail. He was standing just past the metal bars with the usual large, black mail cart in front of him. In his hand he was holding a white envelope.

“Teller,” he said, sounding bored. “You’ve got mail.”

The guard didn't even bother waiting for a response, his expression neutral as he chucked the thin envelope through the bars. Jax watched as it flew to the floor and slid across the cement. The letter stopped just beneath his small, pathetic excuse of a bed as the guard continued on, pushing the mail cart down the corridor. 

Jax's attention shifted to the letter, staring down at where it was now half-hidden beneath his bed in confusion, his body still held in a push-up. Since when the fuck did he get mail? If one of the guys not locked up needed to reach him, they found a way to call or pass him a message. Gemma frequently came out to visit him whenever she could, usually bringing Abel with her. She'd laugh at just the absurd fucking idea of sitting down and writing him something. And if their lawyer, Lowen, needed to contact him, she'd just make an appointment.

Sitting back on his heels, Jax ran his forearm across his forehead to wipe away some of the sweat that had accumulated there during his workout. His chest still heaving from the exercise, he continued to suspiciously eye the letter on the floor. 

Who the fuck was that from?

Exhaling roughly, he pushed himself up from the floor and walked over to his bed. With one hand flat against the mattress, Jax bent down and grabbed the envelope from where it was laying. Vaguely he noticed how it had been opened already for prison security to examine it first. With his brows pinched together, he studied the writing on the outside of the envelope, not recognizing the script. 

“The fuck?” he muttered to himself.

Reaching his fingers inside, Jax pulled out a single sheet of slightly off-white paper that was folded neatly into thirds. Sitting down on the edge of his stiff mattress, his breath still coming in hard, he unfolded the paper. One of his brows gradually rose on his forehead as he saw that the page was three-quarters of the way filled with pristine handwriting. As if someone had taken their time writing it. 

“What…?”

Completely confused, Jax focused on the top of the page. Hunched forward on the bed, he rested his elbows on his thighs and began to read the letter.

Hello to whoever is reading this,

Apparently you're the one fortunate enough to be assigned to me for Stockton's Wire for Hope program.

Jax paused and lowered the paper, running a hand across his forehead and brushing away a few loose blonde hairs still clinging to his damp skin. So that's what this was, that goddamn pen pal bullshit Lowen had talked him and the guys into doing. She'd told them it would look good when they applied for parole. Make it seem as if they were trying to rehabilitate and form meaningful connections or some bullshit. 

And apparently this pathetic dumbass was who he'd be stuck writing to for the foreseeable future while he was locked up. 

“Goddammit,” he muttered.

Looking back down at the paper in his hand, he contemplated crumpling it up in his fist and chucking it out into the hall. He didn't have to read it, he could just scribble some bullshit onto paper and have it sent to you. Just participating in the stupid program was enough.

But as he stared at the neat writing on the page, he knew he didn't have anything else to do right now. It wouldn't kill him to just read the few stupid paragraphs you'd written. He was bored as hell anyway.

If you're reading this far, I'm guessing you resisted the urge to tear this into shreds. Because I get it, this whole program probably seems completely fucking stupid, right? And I'm well aware that most of the inmates in the program are probably just doing it solely for the increased chances of parole. Creates a good image and all that. 

An amused huff fell out of Jax as he read. At least you weren't a complete naive dumbass. But you were still dumb enough to be writing inmates in the first place.

And that's fine. But I also imagine you're bored as shit in there. Only so many times you can attempt to make wine in your toilet, right?

That was a joke. But if you're turning into a toilet sommelier over there, maybe you've found yourself a new hobby for when you get out.

That was also a joke.

Despite himself, Jax chuckled at your terrible prison humor. Who the fuck had they paired him up with for this shit?

Honestly, I've never done one of these programs before. And since I'm the one writing first, I don't really know what to start with here. Can you tell? It's really awkward trying to begin a letter to a complete stranger.

I guess maybe I should tell you some things about myself, right? But don't expect anything too personal because I'm not about to give you my home address or anything. You're still some strange, incarcerated man after all.

“So you have some semblance of sanity, at least,” Jax murmured condescendingly to the letter. “Good for you, darlin’.”

I'm not really that interesting, as you’ve probably already gathered yourself. Certainly not the type to land myself serving time in a state prison. I'm more the type to be reading a book (something I imagine you're probably doing a lot of from sheer boredom), cooking and baking, or spending time in my garden. Wholesome shit. Things I bet you're sitting there rolling your eyes at. Because you are, aren’t you?

“Sure seem pretty aware of your audience,” he muttered dryly to the paper.

Anyway, I like to think I'm funny, but I suppose my humor grows on you. Or so my brother has often told me. 

“Think your brother is a bit biased, giggles,” Jax grumbled.

And he often says I talk too much. So I'm trying not to ramble, but somehow you're still reading this. Though I guess…what else are you going to do, right? Your options are sadly limited in there.

But who knows? Maybe this whole stupid pen pal program will end up being more beneficial than you probably first thought. Or at least, maybe it might provide you some brief entertainment while you're stuck serving time. I'm not sure if you're someone who gets visitors, but having someone talk to you like you aren't some caged animal might at least be nice. But what do I know? I've never personally been incarcerated. Though from my knowledge, the guards treat you like less than human, and I can't imagine how that weighs on a person over time.

“Jesus Christ,” Jax muttered to himself. “You tryin’ to be my fucking therapist now, giggles?”

Okay maybe I should just end this here. I feel like I'm just going to start rambling if I don't, and I'm sure you don't want me to bore you.

“Too fucking late for that,” he muttered, still reading.

Feel free to write about whatever you want in response, but I wouldn't mind learning a bit about who I'm writing to. I would actually like the opportunity to get to know whoever you are–that is the point of this, after all. Though I imagine you're going to give me some false name with some false backstory. But you know what? I like stories, so go ahead and make up some interesting bullshit. I'll still happily read it even if you claim to have a peg leg, an eye patch, and a pet parrot.

The letter ended abruptly there with your first name. Jax found himself staring at the paper in his hands for a long moment, wondering what the fuck he'd just read. You sounded so much like…not the kind of person he'd ever find himself having a conversation with. Ever. Outside of this goddamn pen pal program, you and him would never interact. You had nothing in common. Flowers and baking? Who the fuck were you, Martha Stewart? 

He set the letter down next to him on the mattress before running a hand down his face. You sounded too fucking sweet to be writing to shitheads like himself in prison . He already knew he'd offend you with whatever he wrote back. Because it was an absolute joke that he could form some sort of “friendship” with some girl like you through letters. But he knew he had to participate for it to count as him being active in the program. 

“Fucking Lowen,” Jax grumbled to himself. “This shit better get me parole.”

[kedreeva]

I am currently babysitting a recent-amputee peacock for a friend who is out of town. His breeder did not take the proper precautions of installing wide enough perches for winter roosting, and predictably this boy got such severe frostbite on both feet that most of all of his toes turned necrotic, and eventually (this last week) fell off.

Losing toes to frostbite like this is extremely painful. And yet most fowl owners will shrug and inform you that the bird will "get around fine" after the toes (or even the whole foot) fall off. They do not give the birds any painkillers, no meds for circulation (which could potentially save more of the foot/toes), no antibiotics (despite that the bird is facing a major amputation that includes bones, wounds that could easily lead to bone infection or sepsis), nothing. They don't keep the wounds particularly clean usually, either; the bird is lucky if it even gets separated for any care at all. And this poor guy was unfortunately no exception.

Thankfully, his breeder surrendered him free to a friend of mine, who got him to my vet and got plenty of care for him. However, he's facing not just the frostbite, but injuries to his head and neck from the other birds picking on him for moving funny, and severe malnutrition from not having gotten enough to eat (it's hard to want to eat when you're in staggering amounts of pain and it's hard to move to go to the food).

He arrived here Sunday, and even though it's been a month, he didn't feel significantly more filled in than he'd been when I first picked him up. He also absolutely reeked. Like, I know peafowl poo isn't a fantastic smell but this was so much worse. Since he was staying inside at my house, it stank up the whole house badly enough even I could smell it.

So Monday morning, I gave him a bath. He's been in pain and having a hard time walking, so instead he's just been kind of laying in it when he poops or passes urates. His belly was caked. It turned the bathwater brown. But, I got him cleaned up as much as could, while using this bath as a chance to soak the foot wounds. Because when he came out, we had a little debriding session with his most recently amputated foot, where I cut away 1/2" portions of even thicker scabs caked in mud and ??? that also reeked. I sanitized the wounds, applied the silver sulfadiazine cream she's given me for it, and wrapped it up gently (and without the weird donut thing she wrapped into his dressing).

He slept VERY soundly on a heat pad for a while after that, but once he was up he seemed a lot more comfy putting a little bit of weight on the bandaged foot..

He's also getting meds tubed to his crop, along with liquid feed. Every morning, I make him a scrambled peafowl egg, and every morning he wolfs it down like he's never had food before in his life. Today, for the first time since Sunday (so 3 days ago at this point), he started having solid poop again. Tonight, he was chowing down on feed all by himself before I did evening meds.

So, I'm hoping for a speedy or at least good recovery for him.

Here he is honking at me because I gave him a foot bath because he did a massive poop and then immediately stepped in it. So fun.

[tfatwsbarnes]

first burn | tlou jesse pt. 4

pt. 1 pt. 2 and pt. 3

summary: seattle is at boiling point and the revenge you sought after strikes you at your core

pairing: tlou!jesse x fem!reader

word count: 5.9k

content: angry jesse, arguing, tension between jesse and reader. kissing, tlou gore, blood and self loathing to its finest. dialogue taken directly from the game cause FUCK what jesse said in the finale. reader dgaf about abby during THAT moment iykyk. character death 🙂‍↕️ guns and pure heartbreak sprinkled with survivors guilt

a/n: here we go fellas!! the last instalment of first burn. thank u for reading and supporting, ur feedback on each chap is so appreciated!! love u forever jesse lemme do a fix it fic for u <3 also, just to add, reader is not incapable or stupid by any means but seattle is WILD and the team just don’t have time for that

taglist: @beelee-cotton @lostbee20 @pupupwa @ilovetoomanymen @derangeddementor3 @keseqna @blackravena @cxcilla @hsangel64 @tillywasneverhere @peachyxlynch @toesucker59 @antlcrqueen - tysm for reading 🫶

“I don’t think killing them will bring the peace Ellie thinks it will.”

Jesse’s words played on thick, a scratched recorded in your mind as boots pummelled into the muddy sludge, your ankle pulsating with pain with every determined stride you took. You followed close behind Jesse and Dina, the female cradled into his chest and she went in and out of consciousness.

The events that had occurred were not the restoration of peace you had glorified on the back of Zombie on your way to Seattle. Severely humbled, you were taught that sheer confidence on a daydreamed scenario, did not equate to the capability you needed to even survive a day in the city. Nose broken, you knew it would leave a scar, to remind you that your decision was wholeheartedly based on naivety and this was your sudden karma.

Joel Miller was still dead. And, he would remain in the ground, swallowed by nature even after you left Seattle. The Miller brother, rough around the edges but a warmth to those that grew close to him, wouldn’t resurrect you to shower you in gratitude for your selflessness. No. As you thought about it, you would presume it would be the opposite; because you had been selfish.

Head pounded from exhaustion, you hated the way your stomach churned at the thought. The end goal was to do right by Joel Miller, but, you hadn’t. In fact, not a single Wolf suffered at your hands for his death.

Jesse glanced over his shoulder at you to ensure you had remained close in the marathon back to the theatre. Your eyes met for a brief moment, a raw emotion flickered across your face: you were scared. Eyes tracked back in front of him, you huffed out a breath, throat scorched from the excessive running and lack of water amidst the chaos. You were close, you knew by the buildings even in the darkened night, heavy clouds weighed above to signal a change in severe weather.

You rounded the corner and there it was, your base. Jesse slowed down and ordered you to open the door so he could slip Dina in with ease. Adhering to his instruction, you grunted at the weight of the theatre door, Jesse and Dina concealed; you followed a close second.

“Here.” You went to drag a chaise lounge, your muscles weak, and Jesse pushed past you to place Dina down gently. You stared at her, paled and soaked in her own sweat, blood and vomit smeared across her face. She looked as if she could die and that panicked you, “Jesse—”

“—Sit the fuck down and stay quiet.” Jesse bit and you flinched. He gently tapped at Dina’s face which reawakened her into the reality of the searing pain in her knee. Jesse was quick to press his forearm against her chest as she sat up, “Alright, this is going to hurt.” He rummaged in his backpack and Dina panted with a whine.

“No. It already fucking hurts.” Her hand reached out for yours and you hesitantly stepped from behind Jesse who ushered you with annoyance. Dina stared down at her leg as Jesse fumbled with supplies, “Jesse, I can’t die. You can’t let me die—”

“—Yeah, I know.”

“No. You don’t.” She began to cry.

You felt helpless. Her head swayed as Jesse continued to explain that he couldn’t pull the arrow out without tearing an artery. He’d have to push it. They bickered and you stood, silent as told, throat clenched with nausea at the sight of Dina’s open wound.

“Dina, shut up.” Jesse snapped and Dina fell silent in her protests, her clammy hand squeezed yours. Jesse took a breath, “I’ve got you, Dina. Alright? I’ve got you.” He began to pour at the arrow in her knee with alcohol and Dina threw her head back in hot pain. “Here. Have some of this. It’s going to help. Have some.”

You stared at Dina when she gritted her teeth. You wondered if it was an appropriate time for her to tell him she was growing his child in her womb. It would be a little unorthodox, but high levels of stress made your mind askew.

“I said no.” She spat.

OK. So, she wouldn’t tell him.

Your hand braced against hers as if you were entered into an arm wrestle, your body bent at the waist to offer some support as Jesse forced the arrow through her leg. She let out a wail that sent goosebumps up your arm, her body slumped as she fell unconscious, her breathing laboured. You felt her pulse for a moment. Still alive.

Kneeling down next to Jesse, you watched his hands make quick work to unravel the gauze. There had been many times he had returned home, wounds a plenty from his patrol and you would tend to them with warm kisses and tender touch. It was something you had become good at, because you always wanted to be there for Jesse in the rarity of his weakened moments.

Your fingertips went to grab the gauze from Jesse, allow him to take a break. In turn, he pulled away sharply, haphazardly wrapping it around Dina’s bleeding leg.

“Barricade the entries.” Jesse muttered to you. His words hit a wall in front of your face and his patience grew thin, your name liked venom on the tip of his tongue. “I said, go barricade the doors.”

It took almost two hours as you limped around all possible entries into the theatre, once Dina was dabbed with a damp cloth to take her temperature down, Jesse joined efforts with you, taking the larger furniture that you struggled to push and doing the job himself.

You were walking — limping — on eggshells around him. Jesse hadn’t been a male that expressed a need to make you nervous in his presence, but, the way he stormed around the room made you wince; worried that one flicker of a match and he would blow up in your face. Your hands wrung as you watched him pace back and forth with heavy items, a grunt escaped his lips as the sofa dropped against the cabinets to create a barricade. Hands brushed against each other, he turned to look at you.

You felt small. Pinned under his bitter gaze.

His finger pointed to your ankle, “Let me take a look.” You looked down at the mess of your ankle and shook your head which made Jesse sigh. You were always so fucking stubborn. “Please.”

It wasn’t hard to give into Jesse. You loved him. Backside against the tabletop, Jesse knelt at your feet, his hand delicately taking your busted ankle into his grasp to inspect it. Perhaps, you thought, he was looking for a bite mark so he had a reason to shoot you in the head.

He was angry after all.

“Why did you lie to me?” There it was. The burning question you were waiting for. His tone was monotonous as he prodded at your wound.

You flinched, “I would call it an evasion of truth. I didn’t specifically relay to you that I wasn’t going to Seattle.” You paused as he met your eyes, “So, if we are going by technicalities—”

“—Do you have to do that?”

“What?”

Jesse pulled more gauze out.

“A sarcastic retort.” He mumbled, “You’re being dismissive of the situation.”

He was right. You blew hot air through your lips, “I—Sure. I thought you knew how I felt about the outcome of the Council vote. Part of me expected you to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I was always going to go.”

“Oh, I knew.” Jesse paused and let out a soft chuckle — a slip up on his act.

“You knew?” You tried to calculate how many times you had been blatantly obvious about your intentions with Seattle before you left. “Then. . . Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because. I believed that you loved me enough to not lie about entering a war-torn city on horseback with three weeks worth of one-to-one combat.” He felt himself become angered in bringing up what hurt him the most, “You should’ve waited. I would’ve come. You knew that.”

Actually, you didn’t. That part shocked you.

You blinked, “Jesse. You were adamant on your stance that the Council voted to stay put in Jackson.” Ankle smeared in agony as Jesse continued to wrap it up, “How the fuck would I have known you would go against your own word?”

Immediately, you regretted what you had threw back at him. His fingers stopped tending to your ankle, his posture straightened as his lips pulled into a thin line. Even when crouched before you, it felt as if Jesse towered over you with his face thunderous.

Your heart stammered. The formidable fear that you were losing him struck you down the middle. The conversation was sprung upon you, and after escaping death by a fraction, your brain hadn’t been in the function to comprehend the emotional maturity it required to mend the fractures of your relationship.

You were losing Jesse before your very eyes.

“I had to say that, so you wouldn’t go do something rash. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt, or worse in Seattle.” Jesse felt himself become emotional at the forefront, “And yet, you still fucking did it. You’re still hurt, because you chose to leave, and that responsibility weighs heavy on my shoulders. You know why? Because, it’s evident that my love was not enough for you to stay. This is now my problem.”

“Jesse. I do love you.”

“Then why did you leave?” He raised his voice, “A fucking note to say goodbye. What kind of boyfriend am I, if I can’t even protect you?”

“Did it ever cross your mind that I don’t need you to protect me, Jesse? I’m capable of looking after myself.” You crossed your arms defensively before Jesse took a moment to stand, a patronising laugh escaped his lips and you frowned, “What is suddenly funny?”

He pointed to your grazed chin and broken nose, “Look at your capability.” He then dropped his finger to your busted ankle, “It’s gotten you far in your little escapade to Seattle.”

An insult forming on your tongue, Jesse was saved by the pounding of a fist against the door closest to your bodies. Immediately, Jesse put himself between you and the door, his gun dropped from his shoulder and aimed in front of him with ease.

“Jesse, Dina—!” And your name followed.

“What’s the name of your horse?” Jesse kept the gun aimed even in the obvious state that Ellie Williams was on the other side.

Ellie called, “Shimmer. I’m alone.” There was a pause, “Open the fucking door!”

Jesse dropped his aim and took a couple of strides to the door, shoving the sofa propped up against cabinets to allow himself to open the door for Ellie. She stumbled in, eyes wild, slick with mud — and by the looks of it, not her own blood. She was frantic in her movements, scanning the area to locate the one person that was above the rest.

“Where is she?”

“Dina?” You asked stupidly and Ellie threw you a look, “She’s OK. She’s in the Dressing Room—”

Jesse interjected, “—Where were you?” Ellie ignored his query and shoved past you toward the location of Dina, “Ellie!”

After Ellie had disappeared to tend to Dina, you had slumped against your own rucksack on the floor. Uncomfortable, but it would suffice. Your nose had it’s own pulse, alongside your ankle as you attempted to slip into an unconscious state. Irritated, you turned onto your side, shoulder cracking in the process as your eyes narrowed to Jesse, who had fallen asleep sitting up — gun propped up against his shoulder.

He would be enraged, but there wasn’t an appropriate requirement to shake him from his slumber. Instead, you pushed off of the floor, your backpack dragged alongside you as you dropped next to his sleeping frame. Your own gun laid next to your thigh, you took it upon yourself to override Jesse’s night watch for his own sanity. You were aware of the motive behind the whole group’s presence in Seattle, and as a qualified leader, you knew Jesse would be first pick when it came down to Ellie’s choice of person.

You would help where you could.

The sun began to rise, a red sky warned before it darkened to grey, the swell of the clouds burst and rainfall came heavy. Your own eyes began to drop from your own lack of sleep, just as Jesse began to stir next to you.

He groaned, neck rolled from falling asleep with his chin tucked into his chest. Eyes bleary, he blinked the sleep away, head shifting in a panic before his stare settled on you.

You offered him a shy smile, testing the waters. His frown grew where his patience lacked, and he stood with an immediate cause. His chest puffed, “Don’t ever do that again for me. If I fall asleep, wake me up for my watch.”

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him mockingly and he stalked off to find Ellie in the Dressing Room.

Without a turn to sleep, you threw yourself into distractions. Busied with drying off Ellie’s weapons for her next rendezvous with Joel’s killers, you sat hunched on the floor where Jesse had left you, scrubbing at bullets whilst you muttered under your breath about the tedious task. You were silently demoted and it began to frustrate you. Ellie and Jesse spoke amongst themselves just far enough out of reach of your hearing abilities, hushed tones as they mapped out logical moves; something you wouldn’t be apart of.

You were capable to a degree. However, the past twenty-four hours had shred the confidence that Ellie — let alone Jesse — had in you. There were no second chances, but you were determined to prove yourself in little actions such as becoming Ellie’s drying rack for her weapons.

As you placed another bullet down, alarmed at the sheer volume that Ellie had on her person, Jesse slumped down next to you. His shoulder bumped yours as you dropped the damp rag in your hand. You were busy — or, acting as if you were — so your eyes didn’t trail up to look at his face. You had no right to be mad at him, you were the one who left everything behind on a lie whilst the sun met the horizon.

Busying himself by mirroring you, Jesse stood his gun between his legs and began to polish the sides. From your peripheral, you could see he wasn’t really cleaning his gun from the minor flaws such as splattered mud. If your conversation hours prior hadn’t escalated, you might’ve thrown a sarcastic remark his way, a laugh shared to follow. You had been in this situation before, after an argument, Jesse would find closeness with you and perform a mundane task to grab your attention.

If Jesse didn’t have the words to cut the chord on the tension, he’d act out until resolved enough to talk.

He feigned a spit against the rag, and you let yourself stare with petulance. Jesse paused his motions to look back at you with an innocence, his head turned to look behind him before returning his eyes back to you.

“Stop it.” You warned.

“Stop what, exactly?” He queried, “I’m just cleaning my gun.”

You scoffed, “You’re pretending.” Palms against the floor, you leant your weight into your arms, “If you want to talk to me, Jesse, you can just say that instead of pretending to spit in a rag to clean the mud off of your gun. Which — by the way — hasn’t budged since you started.”

“Hm.” Jesse tucked the cloth into his pocket, “Ellie and I will be heading out soon to find Tommy.”

“OK. I’ll get ready—”

“—That wasn’t an invitation. You’re staying here with Dina.” He gestured with his head to the resting girl, “You’d be one hell of a liability. With or without a ruined ankle.”

His remark scathed you, “You don’t have to be so mean.”

“OK.” Jesse agreed, a small smirk noticeable on his face, “I love you. And I want you safe. So, please stay within the confines of the theatre with Dina.”

“You still love me?” It had your chest aching. His casualness caught you off guard, nonplussed by such nonchalance over a confession you had assumed was buried six feet beneath dirt; decayed and soon forgotten.

Jesse stood as Ellie threw a nod to signal their departure. He slung his gun back round his shoulder, “Unfortunately, for me. Yes. You’re not off the hook, but I’d be a liar — just like you — to say I didn’t love you anymore.” A lopsided smile exchanged the smirk, “You made a mistake. Everyone makes them.”

“Here.” Unsure of how to follow his confessional up, you slipped one of the only remaining food packs into Jesse’s hand which he took willingly. “Break a leg food. Or—Or be safe food. Whatever one works in the moment.”

Jesse flipped the pack in his hand, “Did you steal this from Patrol?”

“OK. Now you’re beginning to split hairs for the sake of splitting—”

Jesse cut you off. Large palm to the back of your head, he pulled you in and pressed a firm kiss to your lips. You let your hands clasp his forearms before you slipped them around his neck, bending backwards slightly so he could chase your lips.

His warmth consumed you whole. Your chest pressed against his, hearts threaded back together after being so carelessly torn apart, suddenly the dying world around you seized to exist. It was only Jesse and you. Privileged to survive together, and that is the only thing that mattered to you. Because, once your hands were washed clean from the death of the W.L.F. members who took Joel Miller’s life, your life had to continue; and you decided you needed Jesse to be apart of that.

Once pulled back, Jesse pressed his forehead against yours. His eyes shut for a moment to digest that he may be saying goodbye. Seattle had slowly unfolded to be a bigger situation than any of you could have anticipated, and leaving the walls of your base meant that you may never return.

You were a little shocked by Jesse to say the least. One eye peeled open, you had to make sure that he wasn’t kissing you out of spite.

Fingertips traced every feature on his face, as if you were memorising it all for the final time.

“I love you too, Jesse.” You whispered and with that, Jesse pulled away, the jaws of emptiness snapped around your ankles and dragged you away from him. Arms wrapped around your own torso, you watched Jesse and Ellie slip out of the theatre into the war in Seattle.

The silence was overwhelming, your head turned to see Dina return to the couch to prop her wounded leg up. An unspoken wedge had formed between the pair of you, even when you clutched at her hand as the arrow was pushed through the flesh of her leg. The looming shadow of the conversation you needed to have with her, peering at you from every corner of your dreams. She was pregnant with Jesse’s baby. It should have been the least of your worries considering the circumstances that had unfolded; but it still clawed at your mind all the same.

You sat at the edge of the couch. Hands neatly placed into your lap as you stared out into the emptiness of the room. Dina watched you for a moment, amusement crossed her features until you met her gaze — suddenly your odd behaviour wasn’t particularly funny anymore.

She spoke your name, “What’s wrong?”

Part of her knew. Where you lacked in intelligence to survival, you made up for in piecing things together. You had been attentive to Dina since your arrival in the theatre, but she could notice the distance, the barricaded wall put before your words. Eyes empty, a frown on your face when you handed the ginger biscuit before framing yourself with a faux smile.

It was only a matter of time before the question cropped up. You were straight to the point throughout your blossoming friendship, Dina knew you wouldn’t beat around the bush to salvage her feelings.

You sighed to her question. A stomachache from nerves from trying to approach the subject with the right tone.

“Dina—” You started, a look thrown her way that made her chest constrict, “You’re pregnant with Jesse’s baby. Aren’t you?”

She nodded. She couldn’t lie.

“Can you give specifics of how far along you are?” Oh. Dina thought. You were prodding at a dead carcass. You squeezed one eye shut, “I’ll try stay calm, you know.”

Dina smoothed the hairs at her forehead, “We weren’t together, when you two became a thing. If that’s what you’re getting at. I—I don’t know how far long I am, but, it’ll be further than when you and Jesse started seeing each other.”

“Right.” You nodded, not wholly convinced.

Dina repeated your name, her hand reached for yours for sincerity, “Jesse was—is crazy about you. The moment you entered Jackson, we all knew our situation was over because he looked at you as if you hung the stars before ever fucking speaking to you.” She laughed at the memory, “I remember he practiced what he was going to say to you on Ellie, of all fucking people.”

“That would’ve been a sight.” You laughed with Dina momentarily, it quick to die on your tongue, “I’m sorry. For accusing you.”

“Hey. I would too.” Dina said, “You were pretty nice about it.”

“I should learn not to be.” You joked a little. The fleeting moment of normalcy struck your core and your face dropped the act. Satisfied with the outcome, you chose not to linger, “I’m just going to check on Zombie. I’m surprised he hasn’t eaten one of us whilst we slept.”

You didn’t wait for Dina’s answer. Leaving her to rest, you got up from the couch and strolled to the room where Zombie had been kept. He had grown irritated, hooves stomping at the carpeted floor, head shaking in disdain as you neared him with one of the last apples from your rationed pack from Jackson.

Palm flat out with the apple shown as a prize for Zombie, the Appaloosa huffed before taking the fruit from your hand; turning his back on you to eat it alone.

“You know, just because you can’t see me, doesn’t mean I can’t see you, Zombie.” You patted his stomach and he turned away again, earning a chuckle from your lips, “Zombie. It is not my fault you’re cooped up in here like a caged animal. . . In fact, it is my fault, but we’ll be out of here soon.”

Zombie whinnied and you nodded, “Trust me. I want to be out of Seattle, just as much as you.”

Spending a couple of hours in Zombie’s presence — surprisingly — finding him calming as you managed to scoop up the horseshit and throw it out the door, unnoticed. The hay was becoming limited, but there was enough to see him through another night. And, it felt as though things were coming to a head in Seattle, so you had confidence you would all be returning to Jackson by the next morning.

Water collected from the rainfall, you poured it into a spare bucket you had found for Zombie, disbelieving that you were retracing your days work from Jackson in a theatre in Seattle whilst the patrol members went on their trails.

“This is such fucking bullshit.” You had grown angry as you slammed the pale of water down for the horse. Your hands thrown out in frustration, “I should be out there, don’t you think? I might’ve been a major help finding Tommy.”

Zombie snorted.

“Traitor.” Just as you crossed your arms, the thunder cracked and muffled banging came from the doors where you had left Dina. You sprung into action, swearing when you rolled over your bad ankle as you ran to meet Dina who had begun limping toward to the door, “Woah—Do you know who it is?”

“It’s them.” You felt goosebumps rise and Dina continued, “Our group.”

Quicker together, you managed to lean against the sofa long enough so Dina could let the group in. Hit with the sideways rainfall, you turned your face to the side to prevent being hit directly in the face. Jesse and Tommy Miller filtered through, soaked to the bone and faces stoic, Jesse quick to press his forearm to the sofa you wobbled to keep upright. The question on your tongue, where the fuck is Ellie? died when the very person trudged in, her soul miles away as she stared blankly upon entry.

Jesse met your curiosity over Ellie’s behaviour with a shake of his head. Wet tendrils dangled in front of his face, but you knew his eyes were telling you not to poke the bear.

Dina followed Ellie into the Dressing Room and you were left with Jesse and Tommy who peeled their wet clothes from their bodies, immediately jumping into speaking of tactics against the stage, whilst you organised their weapons for drying.

Once handling a couple of rounds, you took a break, head titled from the seats as you watched the backs of Tommy Miller and Jesse pointing at the map they had sprawled out. Boots kicked off of the chair in front, you made it down to them where they were quick to quieten down in your presence.

That irked you.

“Don’t stop just because I’m here.” You insisted, face warmed under Tommy Miller’s watchful eye.

He looked like he was trying to recognise you.

His fingers snapped together, “You’re that girl banned from Patrol.” Fucking perfect. Tommy nodded to his revelation as Jesse’s shoulders began to shake with humour, “Yeah. The late one. How’d you end up gettin’ here?”

“She came by herself.” Jesse spoke for you, a hand massaged your shoulder, “A valiant knight with little experience.”

You swatted at his hand, “I have experience. I just got unlucky.”

“You tell yourself that.” Jesse tugged your earlobe in subtle affection, Tommy crossed his arms watching in amusement. Jesse added, “We’re going home.”

As the reply of excitement left your mouth, Ellie opened the doors from the stage, her face paled but her emotions collected. She looked to the three of you before catching the map at Tommy and Jesse’s elbows. She knelt down, before swinging her legs over the edge of the stage, a decent bruise noticeable across her cheek.

Without further questioning, Tommy and Jesse launched into talking shop with Ellie.

“Hey—” Tommy halted their plans, “They got what they deserved.” You were none the wiser but able to piece things together as Ellie responded, Tommy quick to reply about her quip on — presumably — Abby Anderson’s survival, “Yeah. . . Is that OK?”

All eyes went to Ellie.

She sighed, “It’s going to have to be.”

That was the confirmation Tommy Miller was heeding. Ellie Williams, albeit plagued by the obsession of Abby Anderson’s desired death, would settle for retiring to Jackson, Wyoming. This granted the passage for the four of you to retrieve your belongings and escape the jaws of Seattle unscathed further by the war that settled in it’s belly.

Without Ellie’s reinforcement of the plan. You had feared you may have been stuck in time until the deed was done.

“What you should be worried about is what Maria’s gonna do to you when we get home.” Jesse rubbed at your back, insinuating that Tommy Miller was in for a rough welcoming from his wife.

Tommy straightened, “We’ve been through worse. However, I was passing through some ritzy section of town. Came across this necklace.” He elaborated, “Sparkles a lot. I think it’s real gold.”

“You think it’s real gold?” You asked.

Tommy nodded, “It’s real gold.” Jesse was quick to ask to see it and Tommy pushed himself off of the stage, hand to his lower back, “I know what real gold looks like.”

“If it’s legit, can we say it’s from all of us?”

“Ha!” Tommy teased, “You find your own damn bribes.”

He stalked off up to the back of the theatre, leaving you alone with Jesse and Ellie.

Jesse took a moment before he turned his attention to Ellie, “How are you doing?” He asked and Ellie was quick to retaliate with a falsified answer. Jesse side-eyed you, “Ellie.”

She looked to her feet, a tick of silence, “Thanks for coming back for me.”

“My friends problems are my problem.” Jesse shrugged at Ellie, his hand smoothed against your hip to tug you into his side. His lips pressed to your temple before he nudged your side to look up at him. Ellie grunted in disgust when he pulled you in for a tender kiss. Unspoken promises of love that would continue on your return to Jackson. Things would be OK.

“You’re such a sap.” Ellie mocked.

“Alright. How about, my friends can’t get out of their own damn way.” Jesse teased and pinched your hip, “That includes you.” Followed up with your name for a direct call out.

Ellie let herself laugh softly, “That’s better.”

The moment was peaceful. Your return home was on the precipice, too engulfed in the agony to leave Seattle behind to add to the two friend’s conversation.

As tactile as he could be, Jesse rubbed at your neck, the moment of bliss soon disrupted by a cluttered noise toward the direction that Tommy had exited in. Hand dropped from your neck, all three bodies turned to the noise before a muffled grunt — no mistaking it to be Tommy’s — sent alarm bells through you. Ellie jumped down from the stage, muttering a ‘Shit’ in passing as she yanked her gun from her holster.

Unable to sit by and allow them to see the commotion through, you copied Ellie and Jesse’s movements. Your gun tucked into the waistband, haphazardly pulled, safety clicked off as you followed them closely up the aisle and to the doors that concealed Tommy.

Both Jesse and Ellie swung the wooden doors open with ease, you were just a hair away from Jesse as he held out his gun to shoot the threat. A gunshot rang through the air, and your feet tripped over the sudden slump of his body. You hissed as your cheek burnt across the carpet, eyes scrunched as you looked back to check on Jesse — he was never one to trip with such precision in his every move.

Blood poured from the exposed bullet wound, Jesse laid dead and within seconds you scrambled to him, your hands shaking at his broad shoulders. Ellie called out his name in the softest tone you had managed to hear through the ringing of your ears.

"Stand up!" A female voice ordered when the tears began to blind your vision, hands to Jesse's face, nail beds painted in his blood. "Hands in the air, or I shoot this one too!"

Tommy Miller laid flat against the floor, his dignity clutching on by a thread in his weakened position against Abby Anderson. You remained knelt with Jesse's body, your fingers pressed to his neck pleading for a pick up on a pulse.

        In response to your disobedience, Abby shot at you and a perfect hit embedded into your shoulder, your vision white from the hot searing pain. Ellie yelled for your protection when you let out a wail from the unprecedented agony Abby had inflicted on you.

        On a high from adrenaline, the bullet in your shoulder proved to be a pain lessened by the sight of Jesse drained of colour. His hair began to saturate with his thick blood, your fingertips stroked through the strands, spit dropped from your mouth onto his flannel, as your body shuddered out a sob.

        The outside noise drowned out.

        Abby seemingly decided to spare you.

        Now, it was just you and Jesse. The last of the strength you could muster, you had half pulled him onto your lap, his head lolled and you wretched. The wound on his cheek gaped and exposed flesh beneath the skin surface, your fingers avoided tracing across it.

        Every decision made by you had a Butterfly Effect that gifted people with death. From what you had presumed, your three strikes had earned Joel Miller a death sentence. And now, as Jesse stilled, eyes glazed over, the fourth — and unexpected — strike scraped across you.

Jesse came on horseback to Seattle with the intention of bring his friends back, bringing you back to Jackson wrapped up in his safety. Now, as he laid deceased upon your lap, eyes wide to the atrocities, Jesse would never return to his position in Jackson and his last moments consumed by fear that his promise wasn’t followed through.

Stomach churned with devastation and guilt, you leant your forehead against Jesse’s and immediately recoiled. You couldn’t feel him anymore. Slowly, as his own blood pooled beneath him, Jesse was becoming a shell of who he once was and the one person amidst the blistering chaos that was brought by the Virus, that could make you feel something again.

Your head rolled back, unable to catch a breath, hands slick with the blood of your boyfriend, you let your eyelids close — unable to process the commotion happening within the room. For, nothing else mattered, your brain rewired from the fixation of avenging a man named Joel Miller, to assuring that Jesse’s body was retrieved and taken back to his home, Jackson, Wyoming, to receive the upmost respect of a burial and a headstone that read of his leadership qualities, and the type of person that made falling in love easier than falling asleep.

Finding the energy to peel your eyelids open, you took one deep breath before the butt of a gun was brutally smacked against your temple; body slumped next to Jesse’s, your clothes saturated in his blood, your hand still laid onto his body.

You would find the capability to somehow survive this attack. For Jesse; you would return home to Jackson.

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 2)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, Oral sex (f! recieving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, Wade breaks his nose so a bit of blood, Wade is an absolute pervert Logan is too, voyeurism, Logan puts his cigar out on his hand, Logan is also very emotionally stunted but we'll work on that Author's note: Holy shit guys?? This blew up in a way I totally didn't expect. I seriously thought this would just be something I uploaded and would get like five notes. You guys have been so sweet! Thank you so much! I hope you like this next installment. Things take a bit of a turn at the end and in the next chapter, but fear not besties, we will make it out of this and to a happy ending I swear! ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o

Early that Monday, I met with my supervisor. When I explained that I was becoming attached to Al’s roommates and it would most likely affect my working relationship, he just sighed. Apparently, Al had requested that I’m her only caretaker and said she would refuse anyone else. “So keep your head on straight around them. Don’t make me regret it.” 

When I walked into the apartment later that day, I knew Wade would make me fail. He instantly wrapped me in his arms, covering my face in slobbery kisses. But I was able to keep him at arm's length while I was on the clock for Al. He was allowed one kiss when I got there and nothing else. Despite his protests, he respected my boundaries. With Wade forced to behave, it allowed me to start talking to Logan more. There was some sort of tension between us that had eased. The crease between his eyebrows whenever he saw me had slowly faded. I saw him smile more often. He was surprisingly nice to be around once I got past his gruff exterior. I kept myself an open book, answering any questions he had, but he kept his life close to his chest. I didn’t expect him to spill his guts and I accepted the little crumbs he gave me. But sometimes he was broody and quiet, keeping his responses short, a distant look in his eyes. 

Nevertheless, it began to grow into something more. It started off small, little touches to the back, him forcing me to sit when I had been rearranging Al’s furniture. Then it was a gift of delicious chocolate when they came back from France and a home cooked meal when I was too busy to make it myself. I found his eyes tracing my body more often, lingering in certain places. He sometimes stood just a little too close to me while I did the dishes. He wore a shirt less often and I greedily drank in his body when I could. None of this escaped Wade’s notice. I knew he was scheming. 

It was a crisp autumn night when I climbed out on the fire escape to settle next to Logan. The cigar smoke was a comfort now, earthy and sweet. We sat in silence for a few moments. Sometimes that was enough for me, just to be in his presence, but not tonight. I shoved my chilly hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. I titled my head, watching his cheeks hollow around the cigar, the ash skittering across his forearm. He didn’t so much as flinch as the hot ash touched him. “Could I try?” I had tried smoking before but had just ended up coughing for a minute straight. He shook his head, watching a bike roll by. 

“Last thing you need is lung cancer.” I tentatively laid my head on his shoulder. He would still sometimes jerk away like I had burned him. This time, he allowed me to sink closer, our thighs pressed against each other. I could feel the heat of him sinking through my clothes.

“Mm, it smells good though.” He takes a long drag, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before letting it out in a puff. A long moment of silence passes. We’ve been slowly circling each other for weeks, all lingering touches and heavy glances. How would he react if I finally did something? Pull away? I knew he and Wade still slept together, Al complained about it enough that I couldn’t escape it. Wade and I hadn’t really gone beyond our kisses. Despite what he called himself on my phone, I didn’t want this to be a friends with benefits situation. He seemed to know that and hadn’t pushed for more. Wade made it very clear to the both of us that he has no qualms about sharing. If anything, I think he wants Logan and I to have sex more than he wants to have sex with me.

Steeling my resolve, I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Can I try a taste?” Logan glanced down at me, that crease reappearing between his eyebrows. 

“What?” His voice is dry, a touch on edge. I wanted to apologize for my flirting and run but I can’t allow myself to. My fingers trace the corner of his lip, the edge of his jaw. He turned just an inch closer to me and I’m able to take in his lined and handsome face. 

“Just one taste?” It comes out breathy, barely audible. But he hears it, he always does. There’s the faintest tick at the corner of his lips like he was going to smile. “I promise to be gentle,” now that got a smirk out of him. 

“You don’t scare me sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble. 

“Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” He pressed the still burning cigar onto his palm. The smell of burning flesh floated up to me and my nose twitched at it. “Why would you-“ but the words are cut off as his unburned palm cupped the back of my neck and dragged me closer, our lips pressing together. The kiss is chaste. My eyes fall shut, a surprised gasp leaving me. His beard scratches lightly at my face as we move our heads. But then he nudges my nose, tilting his head back. “No, please,” I whispered, chasing his lips. I felt his sigh ghost across my face before he cupped both cheeks and drew me back against his mouth. I moan against him, clutching at the front of his sweatshirt, wanting him closer, craving it. Then his lips are moving against mine. My hands slide into his hair and give the strands a tug. His mouth parts on a growl and I take the opportunity to lick my way in. I can taste the tang of whiskey, the sweetness of the cigar, a hint of mint. I want to crush myself against him, to feel his body against mine, to explore his skin. 

Just as I’m reaching under his sweatshirt, hungry for the feel of the torso that’s been haunting me, he withdraws. His breath still coasts across my face and my nose was full of the scent of him. My breath was ragged while his was perfectly even. Embarrassing. My eyes are slow to open. I found him only a few inches away, a smug expression on his handsome face.

“There,” he whispers, “got your taste.”

“Asshole.” Now he smiles, perfect teeth glinting in the streetlight. 

“Yeah, get that in your pretty head now.” His calloused fingers tapped at my temple. “I’m not someone to get attached to.” 

“Well she’s sticking around me and I’m about as much boyfriend material as sandpaper.” I jumped nearly out of my skin at the sound of Wade’s voice. Logan just smirked and circled his hands around my wrists, squeezed once to make me let go of his sweatshirt. I had half a mind to refuse, crawl into his lap and kiss every inch of skin I could find. But I let my hands fall weakly to my lap. “When you two fuck, can you record it? I’ve tried finding look-alikes on pornhub, but it’s just not the same.” I huffed, glancing down at where Wade’s head was, a spark of annoyance at him interrupting Logan and I. He’s half laying on the metal grate, his legs dangling off the couch beneath the window. 

“Ain’t gonna happen dickwad.” I can hear Logan’s lighter flicking before the smell of the cigar is back. I hoped he had just meant recording and that gruff tone wasn’t for the idea of us having sex. But he let me remain close so I took that as a good sign. 

“Don’t listen to him, baby bunny. Look, he literally tried killing me and we ended up fucking in the end.” 

“Was still trying to kill you,” Logan growls. Wade gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like Logan actually succeeded.

“Don’t lie peanut! What’s more romantic than stabbing me in the neck? That Honda Odyssey was shaking all night.” 

“I hope that’s not how you plan on being romantic with me,” I laughed, reaching down to tug at Wade’s cheek. “I can’t snap back like you two.” 

“Of course not darling,” he covered my hand in sloppy kisses, sucking a hickey on my wrist. “I’ll let you stab me in the neck while you fuck me. Would never want to hurt that sexy face.” 

“Ugh, get a room you two,” Logan snapped, nudging my knee with his. I glanced back at him but found his face reserved again. As much as I wanted to linger and force my time on Logan, I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“We should take Mary Puppins out, yeah?” Wade nodded, wiggling free of his awkward position. The decrepit dog came bounding around the corner. She wiggled her naked butt as Wade grabbed her leash. I looked back at Logan. He was determinately ignoring me, eyes locked onto the dark apartment across the way. “I’ll probably head home once that’s done.” He nodded and brought the cigar back to his lips. “Why did you put it out on your hand?”

“Didn’t want to drop it on you. It’s a nasty burn.” There was something fleeting and tender that passed over his averted face. A little smile spread across my face. 

“Thank you, you’re my hero.” I pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek, lingering just a beat too long, before I pulled away. “Goodnight Logan.” I didn’t wait for his reply, if he even intended to give one. 

Wade was happy with the progress me and Logan had made. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Which is how I found myself locked in their shared cramped bathroom, Wade’s head buried between my legs, while two of his fingers plunged inside me. My legs were shaking, my heel pressed against his shoulder to spread me open more. “Wade,” I whimpered as tears pricked my eyes. He had already drawn one orgasm from me with his rough and agile fingers before he dropped to his knees. “I c-can’t.” 

“I know you can honey bun.” His breath was hot against my tender skin and I gasped. “Just one more for me, yeah?” I nodded, hips grinding against him. “There you go. You’re close again aren’t you?” I nodded again, eyes rolling back. He kitten licked across my overly sensitive clit. I knew I was making a mess of his face but he seemed to revel in it. He left a trail of sticky kisses along my bruised and bitten thigh. “Do you hear yourself? Got that WAP.” I smacked his head before pushing him deeper to keep him from running his mouth more. He latched back onto my clit, sucking harshly, and a third finger wedged into me. My back arched and I had to bite my lip hard to stay quiet. My eyes fell closed. His spare hand moved from my hip where it had been holding me. 

The sudden sound of the door opening made me freeze. Al had laid down for a nap which was the only reason I allowed Wade to drag me in here. But instead I found Logan framed in the doorway. He had the look of a deer in headlights. “Now peanut,” Wade cooed, his head laid against my thigh. to look at the other man. He didn’t stop fingering me, the squelching sounds suddenly too loud. “Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop.” 

“I wasn’t, you two are too fucking loud.” Logan’s nostrils were flared, heaving chest straining against his thin tank top. 

“Uh huh,” Wade teased, his tongue swirling around my clit. My hand clamped over my mouth as a sob caught in my chest. “That massive tent in your pants has nothing to do with you hovering.” Logan growled, palming at himself, seemingly angry at his body. “Come on handsome, look at her.” Wade pushed my thighs farther apart, his free hand spreading me. 

“Oh god,” I mumbled, embarrassment making me cover my face. I couldn’t hear Logan’s steps, he was always so light on his feet, but I could feel him examining me. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. 

“Don’t hide from us gorgeous,” Wade chides. “Logan Ioves to watch orgasm faces. I can feel you fluttering, I know you're close.” When I don’t remove my hands, Wade sighs, the exhale of air making my hips jerk. “Come on, you can be brave for us.” I take a shaky breath and remove my hands, curling them around the edge of the counter. Wade smiled while Logan’s dialated eyes were glued to my pussy. I watched his Adam's apple bob and he shifted from one foot to the other. “Good job,” he kissed my clit, popping obscenely. “Now make a mess on my face.”

He dove back between my legs. With Logan there, Wade seemed determined to force me to come as hard and as fast as he could. His fingers drove into me with firm thrusts, tongue flicking cruelly at my clit. My leg was trembling so much it slipped from Wade’s shoulder, only to be caught by Logan. I struggled to focus on him, my vision blurry from prickling tears of overstimulation. His calloused palm traced up my ankle and calf before notching behind my knee. With my pussy covered by Wade’s head, Logan could only look at my face. I wanted him closer, to feel his mouth against mine again, that scrape of his beard. His eyes fastened to my neck, watching my erratic pulse. 

“Logan,” my voice tilts up at the end, hands reaching for him. Before I was able to even breathe, just as the orgasm was rushing through me, Logan’s lips crashed against mine. I clung to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and locking both of my shuddering legs around his waist, moaning wildly into his mouth. Wade groaned as his head was pinned between our hips and the vibrations made me cry out. Logan was kissing me like a man starved, biting at my lips, grunting like he was the one coming. A combination of our spit collected at the corner of my mouth and he licked at it hungrily. His blunt nails dug into the tender skin behind my knees as he clutched me closer. Tears streaked down my cheeks as Wade kept working me into near painful overstimulation. 

Logan separated first, his forehead pressed to mine. My breath was ragged, sweat collecting along my hairline. I wanted more, to lose myself between their touches, their bodies. Wade finally stilled, his fingers still buried deep. His mouth released me and I gasped as his harsh breaths coasted across me. “You okay down there?” My voice shook. I reached down and ran my nails across his scalp. 

“Broke my nose, but it’s okay.” I bolted up straight and Logan stumbled back to avoid my head cracking against his. Blood and my slick was smeared across his face, staining his white teeth as he beamed up at me. The tip of his nose was bent at an odd angle. 

“I’m so sorry,” I cupped his face, panic rushing through me. “Are you okay?” 

“He’s fine,” Logan said. One of his big hands braced on Wade’s head before he grabbed the broken nose with two fingers. With a pop and a grunt from Wade, the nose slid back into place. “There,” he tapped Wade’s sticky face, “good as new.” 

“You’re always so nice to me,” Wade grumbled, itching the rapidly healing bump. His drenched fingers slid from me, glistening in the harsh bathroom light. Logan glanced between Wade and I, one finger twirling in the drawstring of his black sweatpants. I wish I could read his mind, be able to tell his emotions from one glance, or a touch. I wanted to understand this unsure look on his face. He almost seemed nervous to be in here now that the haze of lust had passed. He swallowed thickly before he pressed a kiss to my cheek. 

“See you tomorrow sweetheart.” My arms, which were about to latch around his neck to keep him close, hung limply in the air. I blinked as he walked away, disappearing into their dark bedroom. Wade shook his head as he stood and closed the bathroom door. 

“Did I do something?” I whispered, knowing Logan would hear me anyway. Wade’s hands went to my thighs, kneading at the tight muscles, leaving behind wet handprints with his right one. 

“No, he’s just a fucking idiot who doesn’t think he deserves happiness. I’ve been trying to ease him into this but he’s stubborn.” He turned his head, “and he’s stupid!” I heard their bedroom door snap shut. “He’s worried he’ll scare you off. Just give him time. He’s just…just had a lot happen to him.” I nodded. “Don’t take it personally, okay?” 

“Okay,” I mumbled. 

“Are you two done in there?!” A cane hit the door. “She needs to read me my mail!” 

Never more in my life have I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Only compounded by Wade wiping the door open, cocking his hip to glare at his roommate. I knew she was blind, that she had completely lost vision almost twenty years ago. But that didn’t stop me from stretching my shirt down to try and cover myself, crossing my legs. “I see Miss sleepy granny pants is awake. What do you need? A diaper change?” Al scoffed, her cane clicking along the floorboards of the hallway as she moved to the kitchen. Once she was out of our sight, Wade plucked my panties from the floor. 

“Why?” He shrugged, an evil glint in his eyes. 

“Maybe I need to get him used to your scent, like a dog.” I rolled my eyes but bit back a hiss as he dragged the coarse material through my wet folds. “Need a lot of it I think, yeah, nice and soaked.” I shoved his hand away and he tucked my panties into his pocket. Wade helped me off the counter, his hands braced on my waist to keep me steady. My jeans had been tossed carelessly to the side and I dreaded putting them back on without the barrier of my underwear. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear those pesky jeans, even if they do make your ass look so good I want to rip them off you every time you wear them.” He passed through the bathroom and into his and Logan’s room. I peeked around the edge of the door frame and nearly fainted at the sight. 

Logan was splayed across their dark sheets, body bare, hard cock in his hand. While the room was dim, the beams of light from the hallway were able to reach in. The shadows played over his muscles and I watched as they flexed. I wasn’t able to see his cock well, both his hand and the poor lighting limited my vision. But I was able to see a long, thick vein along the underside. My face heated at the sight of him. “Knock, asshole,” his voice was husky. The sound of him made my toes curl. If I hadn’t just had a mind melting orgasm, I would have been striding into that room, ready to do anything he wanted me to. His stomach fluttered as his strokes became more rapid. 

“Here,” Wade said as he tossed my drenched panties on Logan’s face. His hips jerked, knuckles flashing white around himself. Wade searched through a drawer before pulling something from inside. “Now be good and keep those right there for when I come back.” Logan growled, removing the fabric from his face but kept it clutched in his fist. Wade blew him a kiss and a wave before closing the door again. He offered me a pair of sweatpants. I tugged them on with a mumbled thank you, having to roll the waistband down multiple times so I wasn’t swimming in them. Wade pinched my chin and our eyes locked. “I’ll get him to warm up, promise.” I nodded. “Now go take care of Miss Migoo. Remember to text me when you get home.” 

“Of course,” I stood on my toes to kiss his healed nose. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry babykins. If it makes you feel better, I was near suffocation. So a busted nose was the best case scenario.” He laughed at my horrified expression. “Hey, I’d much rather die from pussy smothering than my heart being ripped out.” 

“You know, that doesn’t make me feel much better.” He smirked and drew me closer, his lips connecting with mine. I could taste the tang of me coating him. But I pulled back first. I needed to keep my head on straight for the last hour of my time with Al. “Keep it down with him, please? It’ll be too distracting.” His expression turned wicked. 

“Trust me, I have a way I’ll shut him up.” His hands coasted down my hips, grabbing a handful of my ass. “I’ll send pictures of what happens to your cute little panties once we’re done with them.” My face flushed and I pressed my hands to his chest. 

“God, you’re such a pervert.” 

“Mhm, you like it though.” 

“Will you two stop! My vision isn’t coming back anytime soon.” We reluctantly broke apart. Wade slipped into the bedroom. I was only able to catch a brief glimpse of Logan’s back arched, heels dug deep into the mattress, before my sight was cut off. I grabbed my discarded jeans and stuffed them into the tote bag I had brought with me. The last bit of my shift ended in mostly silence, minus the occasional creak of the bed frame from the guy’s bedroom. I helped Al sign a few checks, read through her mail, and took out Mary Puppins. I said my good night and left the apartment. My mind conjured up thoughts on what could be happening behind that closed door all the way home on the train. Wade, clad only in my stolen underwear, bouncing on Logan. My panties stuffed into Logan’s mouth as Wade pounds him from behind. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop my imagination from getting too wild. It wouldn’t help anything to get turned on now. 

If my mind hadn’t been so filled with dirty thoughts, I would have noticed the man watching me from the other end of the train car.  

I made it to my apartment. The key fob scanner was broken again. “Advanced security my ass,” I groaned, trudging up to my apartment. It was Friday and I felt like ordering something in. I knew I shouldn’t, the delivery fees were astronomical, but I just wanted to relax. After placing my pizza order, I grabbed a fresh pair of underwear and a shirt stolen from Logan by Wade, then gifted to me. It always felt illegal to wear it, but it was easily the softest shirt I had. His scent lingered on it and it always soothed me. I had around an hour before my pizza was going to arrive. I made a little nest for myself on the couch and tucked in to watch some mindless reality tv. 

A knock woke me up. At first I was confused, rubbing at my eyes and looking around to locate the sound. Then my mind caught up. “Oh shit,” I mumbled, scrambling to the door as the poor delivery guy knocked again. “Sorry! Sorry!” I called. I unlocked the door and swung it open. 

I froze. 

A man, with no pizza box, stood before me. “Um, can I help you?” The man had ice chips for eyes, cold and lifeless. A tattoo peaked above his collar. He took me in, tracing each inch of me. I felt my skin break out in goosebumps at the cold calculation on his face. My arms curled over my chest, hiding it from him. “Can I help you?” My tone was stronger, a small snap to it. That horrible gaze found mine again. Then he said my full name. Fear oozed through me. 

I heard something from my bedroom, a little thump, but was too terrified to look away from the man in front of me. “Get the fuck out of here,” but the words lacked conviction, a slight tremble to them. “I don’t know who you are. Leave or I’m calling the cops.” 

“Why wouldn’t you call your boyfriends?” My heart stuttered in my chest. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” I heard the creak of my floorboard. I cast a wild glance behind me and found a wall of a man emerging from my bedroom. I went to scream but the man at my door latched his hand around my mouth. I kicked and thrashed, biting wildly. He didn’t react. There was a pinch in my neck. 

My elbows tried to find his face, but he was able to easily deflect them. The man in my apartment was searching for something. My eyes were blurring, limbs turned to lead. I saw him hold my phone up. 

Then I slumped to the ground.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I'm Back (Did Ya Miss Me?)

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2025 Catch Up

Buckle up beeaches, we got a lot to cover.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Knock Out (Fri WeTV ) ep 1 of 12 - I called this one (via the trailer) "a low quality less fun/funny version of Wandee Goodday" and I am thoroughly ashamed of myself.

It's GREAT.

Harsh but i like it. And the fighting is quite good. Thun has a very Lan Wangji aspect to him. Protective, monosyllabic, powerful seemingly disengaged... still waters fuck run deep and all that. Poor Keen is downtrodden, clever, and adorable. It's a great dynamic, I like this a whole lot more than I expected. The pacing is even good. I'm so pleased with this BL! Damnit why did WeTV have to win this crop of new offerings?

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) eps 3-4 of 10 - of course it's stupid high heat nonsense, that always ranks higher than it should for me.

3 Sorn just treats Jun like a living doll meets boyfriend and I'm kinda into the kink of it. Jun is treating him like a first time dildo so what's good for the top is good for the bottom, I guess? Also i got my bites so I'm pleased. I like that Jun is a snarky tsundere who knows how to stand up for himself. Refreshing take on the archetype.

4 I’m not opposed to this style office whipping boy in this particular show. No idea why. I just like it with these characters. I think it’s cause Sorn is so clearly in love, and literally has no idea what to do except bully the boy. Life's tough for a tsundere seme with a mad crush on an easygoing sunshine uke.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) eps 7-9 of 10 - Yet another installment of get that boy a therapist not a boyfriend. How many is that now? Countless.

7 I like how they chose to translate the pronouns (jao et al) from old-fashioned Thai into old-fashioned English (thee/thou et al)! It worked really well. I've been waiting for someone clever to do this. Well done Khun Translator! We likie!

I have to talk about how good Boom is after having seen him in his previous (not good) BL. (Where he played the seme character with a completely different screen energy.) He really is a stellar actor.

8 Way to get your fetish shoe-horned in their Japan, even when you’re being adapted. I’ve got to say that these two not only have decent chemistry, they’re really great at kissing for camera. They seem to be very aware of where the lens is and making sure their angles are good. It’s an unusual skill. It’s rare for both parties to be this aware as well simultaneously good at execution.

PROPS! They got sasaeng motivation down! Someone did their research.  

9 DOOM ep!!! 

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 3-4 of 12 -

3 I identify with Shane so much, re-organizing for avoidance is exactly what I do when emotional. Now that there’s an element of angst, I’m enjoying this show a little bit more, it feels more high school and less sappy.

4 They are EXTREMELY cute! This has a kind of modern Lovesick vibe to it, which I guess they’re going for? But it’s really hard to nail that without a bit of edge (which GMMTV rarely does. Still, I’m liking this better than I did at first.

The Next Prince (Sat iQIYI) eps 1-3 of 14 - Hotly anticipated 3 yr production featuring ZeeNewNu in a fantasy/historical where Zee plays a knight bodyguard and Nu a prince fighting for his right to inherit.

1 Okay Princess Diaries BL, let's do this thing! It's all very fancy and it would like us to very-much know how fancy it is. Zee is still hot.  The fight scenes are still not. I don’t know where this is going. But the chemistry is good so *shrug*. I am in ecstasies over how incredibly not-British that supposedly British party was.

2 This show is wildly bad. But the wildly part is fun. Absolutely nothing makes sense, you could ride a motorcycle through those plot holes. No one behaves logically, unless you assume it is a straight up fairytale. Secondary couple is giving TulHin vibes and I am IINTO IT. You know I love a good whipping boy. 

3 So they are misogynistic but not homophobic? That doesn’t make sense. Are we in a Hellenistic cultural model or something? Oh no, I’m applying logic again. Must turn off brain-meats. That gold crown looks exactly like a hot cross bun.

Could we please get onto the secondary couple at this juncture? They look so cute and I’m mad that we haven’t seen anything substantial with them yet.

Pit Babe 2 (Fri iQIYI) eps 1-3 of 13 - More conspiracy and struggles but less omegaverse.

I have to admit to reservations upfront. It took me days to finally watch the first episode. Historically I’m not a big fan of second seasons in BL. And while I enjoyed Pit Babe OG at the time, it’s not my favorite chaos BL. I convinced myself to watch the new installment by simply saying it would be all right if they messed with any of the other couples, so long as they left AlanJeff alone. And now. The chaos.

1 Of course I love Willy. Hot & creepy = my kryptonite. Nice to see Nut again, even nicer to hear that beautiful voice of his. 

2 Okay whatever. Just don't break up Alan & Jeff. 

3 I said not to mess with AlanJeff, didn't I? Argh. Meanwhile Kenta remains my favorite precious peanut. Also his arm muscles have returned in force, I see. Excellent.

Honestly, I rarely watch BTS footage, except for this show. The cast just seem to be having so much fun. I think I like the BTS better than the actual show.

I am so happy to have them back on my screen.

My Sweetheart Jom (Fri YT) ep 1 of 12 - I admit I wasn't sold on this one from the trailer but Saint is back and I'm disposed to be intrigued by the kind of script that would pull him in. So far it feels a bit Tale of Thousand Stars lite.

I love the 3 kids = one brain cell side kicks. I also like the personalities of the main characters. They are both noble and caring in their own way. I enjoy that aspect. it remains to be seen what their chemistry as like as a couple. But I’m enjoying this more than I thought I would.

The BangkokBoy (Sat Gaga) eps 2-4 of 12 -

2 Now we know how everything went down. I fast-forward through a lot of the fighting in prison. I think as our leads still haven’t met we can assume that this is not quite a BL. I think there’s also a chance that this one might not end happy. If my spidey sense goes off within the next three episodes I might drop it until I know for sure.

3 I’m going to ban Thailand and Vietnam from using flashbacks until episode six of any given show. You can’t use filler so early on in a series! Just take a shorter run time. It would be great if the main couple actually met at some point in this damn show.

4 Oh dear. More triggers. Everyone in the show is either a psychopath or utterly broken. At least our boys finally had a date. Prat fall kiss was not necessary in this style of show.

Loy Kaew First Love (Fri YT) ep 1 of 6 - I said I wasn’t gonna watch this one, but then it just dropped into my YouTube feed and who am I to resist? It’s a pretty simple story about two boys falling in love in a remote village where that just isn't a thing so everyone is against them. The scenery and the culture is interesting and different from what we are used to. It's got slightly better production values than I was expecting, and the chemistry is good. So a surprise continue for me, but I will warn you that this style of BL from Thailand only ends happily about 50% of the time, so I may drop it if I feel it's gonna head south.  

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) eps 6-8 of 12 - When they are a couple, they’re an extremely cute couple. But it starts and ends there.

6 The most ridiculous love triangle ever. As is often the case with me and love triangles could we not just have the lead and the secondary get together instead? Jimmy & Mark have great chemistry. 

7 Oh i don't know. And frankly I don’t think they do either.

8 Finally all of Sant’s trauma and background come out. Also they're good kissers. But I'm not warming to this show for some reason.

Eye Contact (Weds WeTV) ep 1 of 12 - Uni BL about a boy and a very hot campus star. Oh goodie. Something new and different for us.

It’s about what i expected. Not good but the actors are seasoned. (I already miss PokeTongue.) The production is truly awful - the sound being particularly bad and inconsistent. But frankly, I've seen worse. It's very "ordinary bottom trope" (Japan's term not mine) with 2 hot guys chasing/bullying our nerd for no apparent reason. Plot twist! Our ordinary is not so ordinary at all! And I kind of like that bit. Oh it’s still truly bad, but am I gonna keep watching it anyway? Hell yes.

Mission to the Moon (YT) 1-6 of 12 - Short form BL airing on YT, historical reincarnation romance combined with my ghost bf trope. Not sure how this one will end happy, but it's so low impact I'm watching it anyway. So far it's... fine.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sweetheart Service (Korea Fri YT) eps 1-2 of 12 - After being pressured by his family to get married, Min U asks Yu Ha to pretend to be his fiancé.

1 I’m enjoying it. Although Strongberry seems to have dropped in quality to the level of that other Korean company that’s airing short form on YouTube these days. In other words, it doesn’t really have its signature style anymore.

2 Despite my reservations around the directing and filming, I'm enjoying this show. They know where it’s at. There hitting all their marks for and old-school BL this time around. Carry on, I trust you.

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 7-9 of 12 -

7 They are awfully cute. I am starting to be scared of all the lies tho. 

8 Pretty much the same as last week. Honestly, not a lot is changing each episode. This one doesn’t seem to be progressing much.

9 Finally the DOOM ep. Cry babies, CRY.

It Finished, I'm Mildly Annoyed

Business as Usual (Korea) Final thoughts - An office reunion romance about college boyfriends meeting each other again in the workplace. Korea doing its bog standard miscommunication for the sake of plot + catlike tsundere uke but with surprise! sex out the gate. This one was mostly frustrating although the chemistry was decent and the love triangle wasn't really (yay!). It's fine. 8/10

Something Is Not Right (Korea) Final thoughts - Look, this is essentially a story of unrequited love out of willful unwillingness to believe the truth when it is staring you in the face AND told directly to you clearly. One boy confesses and then refuses to take the yes that came after it as a yes. (Like a reverse Mr Collins.) As a consequence this ended up being one of the most frustrating KBLs I've seen in a long time. Quality and performance-wise this is probably an 8/10 BL, but out of pure annoyance I gave it a 7/10. You’re pissing me off, Korea.

Stand By Me (Vietnam YT) Final thoughts - I binge watched this on my travels. 2 young boys form a bond in childhood but are parted. They reunite later in high school (the older is college age). The older one us very puppy fixated and the younger very cat tsundere. It's fine. Stuff kinda happens. There are other characters. Who do... stuff. 6/10

Last Meal Universe (Thai) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. It's done, should I bother?

Lost in the Woods (Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2. All signs point to no change to that opinion so I won't be reviewing.

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks so bad.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) 12 eps - dropped at ep 5.

In other news

Bain of Kpop group JUST B comes out - pretty historic for the industry, actually.

Yes, Viki was down for a bit mid week. It's back up again.

I rewatched while traveling

Light on Me - of course it’s still great, this is one of my few 10/10s for a reason.

My School President - I actually thought the pacing was better on a rewatch, during the original I got a little bored, this time I could simply ff through all of the stuff to do with music. It increased my enjoyment of it even more. Still a favorite.

La Pluie - I still hold with the first half being excellent, it's the second half where it loses itself (and me). Still a solid show with good core concepts an interesting things to say about major tropes. The rewatch didn’t change my opinion at all.

Cosmetic Play Lover - what can I say, I love this stupid show.

Tokyo in April is... - still a big sad for me, but a lot easier to take now that I know exactly what happens (and happened). This time around, I appreciated the performances more. Since I wasn’t as caught up in the story, I could really evaluate their nuances. It’s a great show. If you don’t mind your BL dark.

Next Week Looks Like This: Frigay is BACK!

Still Coming in May

5/18 Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked. I won't be watching this.

5/19 I Promise I Will Come Back (Thai Mon WeTV) 10 eps - A Thai Taiwanese colab. Stars two Thai actors and Taiwanese identical twins from H3. However the lead and co-producer Tontae is actually a very good actor, so this could be good unless it's oen of those mostly intended to be a tourism advert for the Thai countryside. We shall see!

5/22 The Ex-Morning (Thai Thurs YT?) 10 eps - trailer Y This is an original script written just for the OG, direct by Lit (SOTUS) about a news reporter plagued by scandal who must work with his PR ex-boyfriend to rebuild his reputation. A reunion romance that's hitting pretty close to the IRL pair branded mark. It's no secret that (much as I make room for SOTUS because of it's significance) I don't love this pair, but we shall see what we get. Of course I'm gonna watch it. I have some standards to uphold - even if they don't.

Also: if GMMTV brought Ohm T on board simply to use him as everybody’s incredibly hot ex bf who turns up at opportune times, I’m actually really happy with that decision.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S MONTH'S BEST MOMENTS (SO FAR)

He is SO CUTE. You know me and dimples.

This moment felt so honestly high school. (both Boys in Love)

Oh he's so damn proud of himself. (My Stubborn)

I just can't with these two, they are such good kissers. (Top Form)

If evil why so hot? (PIt Babe 2)

(last 3 weeks ago)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[2neaky]

𓇼°₊.𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 ❀ 𝙵𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝 🥭

—Want you to suck it sloppy, make it spitty. I'm 'bout to call your phone, so come get with me.

Know you don't drink, can you sip me?

‘Dunk Contest,’ Cash Cobain

Last Installation of this ‘mini-series’ … P.1 here -> P.2 here

not the best editing, i know. this fic has been in the drafts for abt a month & ... it's time for their story to be closed out.

10.06k!Warnings: oral (masc. receiving), handj*bs (fem. & masc. recieving), mutual m*sturbation, filthy talk, *verstimulation, low refr*ctory periods, technically w*tersports (minor), edging, excessive amounts of ej*culation, squ*rting, descriptions of character’s body parts (curvaceous/thick/girthy), use of the n-word (all characters & the writer are Black), original characters

The next time the group gets together it’s well into the fall. 

Months of distance and busy schedules kept the friends separate. Yet, on a random weekend in October, the stars aligned to grant the friends a day of freedom to meet and catch up.

He won’t admit it aloud—that’s a bit too corny for him—but Ajani missed his people. The life of a working adult only gives but so much time for social gatherings. Especially with a whole friend-group.

Even then, it’s not like he hasn’t seen any of them since the party.

“I’on understand why you couldn’t just ride with me.”

“All my stuff is at my mom’s, ‘Jani.”

If he just closes his eyes, he can see the pout on her face. He glances at the screen, eyeing the contact name: Princxss Dia.

“Really? ‘Cause I almost tripped over your flat iron when I was getting in the shower.”

She groans out loud into the mic. “I knew I left it!”

He smiles, eyes now on the road as he makes a swift turn onto a busy street. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles upon seeing the traffic.

“But if I came with you … then they’d know.”

He kisses his teeth, face screwing up. “Man, I care less and less ‘bout that shit every day. I’m pretty sure they know—“

“‘Pretty sure’ is not a confirmation. And I wanna make sure the time is right when we tell them.”

He spots a parking space in front of the restaurant Boku had chosen for the night. No doubt, he’s going to snatch that shit up.

“Why shit gotta be ‘perfect?’” he asks, looking at his rear view camera as he backs into the space.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. He can hear her moving around on the other side of the line. “I’m trying to … figure out a way to introduce it without … making everything weird,” she sighs out.

“How ‘bout, ‘hey guys, me and Ajani have been dating for a few months now,’” he mocks her voice.

“No.”

He sucks his teeth. “Why not?”

“That’s too blunt!”

“Exactly. What more is there to say? You wanna tell them the whole backstory? ‘Cause I’on really think they need to know that.”

“I’m not saying they do. I just think we need to … soften the approach.”

He puts his car in park before shutting it off, the engine dying down. “I’on know … what approach you talking ‘bout, but when you ready to stop hiding, you lemme know so I could book my appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I wanted to get your name tatted on my forehead.”

“ … Shut up.”

He laughs quietly to himself as he pulls down his sun visor. “You almost ready,” he asks, checking his appearance in the mirror.

It’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “No.”

His smile drops and he kisses his teeth. A second passes as he glares at the phone. Then, he picks it up. “Yo, answer my FaceTime.”

The mode of the call switches, bringing both of them into view on either’s screen. He licks his lips, getting a clear view of her pretty face as her phone is propped up against her vanity.

“Why you only got your makeup done?”

She frowns, setting powder decorating her face. “Because I did my hair first. It’s hair, makeup, then clothes.”

He only releases a sigh, unable to even be really upset.

“Aight, then hurry up. I told you we gonna have to work on that late shit.”

She smiles, reaching for a brush to dust off the powder. “Sorry, baby.”

He hums, eyeing her as he holds his phone closely. “You look good.”

She exchanges her brush for a lip pencil. “Thank you.” She tries not to smile too hard, careful not to mess up as she applies her liner.

“What you wearing?”

She blends out the harsh line of her dark brown liner with a finger. “A dress.”

He waits for her to explain further, but the explanation doesn’t come. “That’s it?”

“Mhm.” She quickly glances at the screen, looking away before she cracks a smile.

“Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

Now she’s smiling, a devious little one, too.

“Yeah, okay,” he scoffs. “You just make sure it’s no crazy ass shit. You know how Big Daddy gets.”

Her head jerks back as she looks at the screen, flabbergasted. “Don’t ever in your life … call yourself that again.”

“You just make sure you know,” he pushes before breaking into a smile, almost laughing. “But nah, forreal. That ass ain’t been getting smaller so … keep it cute.”

She rolls her eyes with pursed lips. “Shut up.”

He scoffs, looking out the window of his car. “Yeah … you think I’m joking.” He scoffs.

“Are you?”

He looks back at her, noting her nonchalance as she applies gloss over her lip combo.

“Play with me if you want to.” He licks his lips. His gaze falls to the exposed middle of her chest as her robe has slipped open. “I’on need niggas eyeing my shit.”

“Okay, Ajani.”

“Nah, it’s not Ajani,” he mocks her voice, earning a glare. “That’s Big Daddy to you—“

“I’m hanging up!”

She reaches forward, snatching up her phone.

“Don’t you wear nothing crazy!”

“Bye!”

The call ends abruptly, leaving him to shake his head. Not too long after pocketing his phone, he leaves the car. 

The only thing that’s on his mind being her.

Just before he enters the restaurant, he shoots her one last text.

Jani: lmk when u ready Ima call a uber

His face almost splits in half with how hard he smiles as he daps up his boys.

“Finally, nigga! We expected your ass to be here sooner,” Boku tells him.

“Chill, it was mad traffic,” he laughs. 

“Nah, facts. It’s mad people out tonight,” Mykel says.

The three are huddled close in the waiting area of the restaurant. All of the constant shifting to make way for entering and leaving patrons has pushed them to the corner.

“Forreal. Yo, why you pick this place?” Ajani looks to Boku. “I seen this shit blow up on TikTok.”

“Nigga, that’s where I got it from.”

All three dissolve into boisterous laughter, because Boku would be the one to make such a mistake.

Mykel shakes his head. “I’m already knowing the food and service ‘bout to be ass.”

“Nah, facts,” Ajani agrees.

“Aight, now. Not too much,” Boku chimes in. “‘Long as the drinks good, I could give less of a fuck about what they onion rings taste like.”

He and Mykel break off into a mini side conversation of their own, a usual occurrence between all three of them.

As they do so, Ajani pulls out his phone to check his notifications. Even though he doesn’t see one, he constantly refreshes the screen for a possible hidden text message that he just happened to miss.

None.

“‘Jani, you know where the girls at?”

Hesitantly, he looks up at the guys. “Nah,” he shakes his head, face blank. “Why would I know?” He makes a face.

“I’on know,” Mykel looks off to the side. “I thought Diamanté would’a told you something.”

“Why it gotta be Dia?”

“Nigga, don’t act dumb,” Boku butts in. “‘Cause y’all be talking.”

“I talk to Aleya and Sevyn, too.” When he laughs—the loud music masking its awkward tone—his eyes shift between his friends. 

“Not like you talk to Dia,” he scoffs. “That’s for damn sure.”

Sucking his teeth, Ajani wear a mask of confusion. “Nigga, shut up. You still on that shit—“

“‘Cause I know your ass still likes her!”

“Yo, I’m not even gonna lie,” Mykel starts. “I’ma have to side with Bo’ on this one. You might as well tell her at this point.”

His face contorts with annoyance. 

Nigga, shut up.

“That’s if he not already fucking her,” Boku laughs.

His brows pull together at Boku’s brash statement. “Yo, what?” 

Mykel rolls his lips inward, watching the two with caution. He questions, should he step in between this?

“Nah, I’m just saying! You’on gotta be embarrassed—”

“I ain’t embarrassed, nigga. There’s not shit to say, fuck I’ma be embarrassed for?”

Boku laughs, glancing at Mykel for backup. The other man remains quiet.

“Aight, then stand on it! Just say you fuckin’ her—“

Ajani doesn’t even realize that he takes a step forward. “Yo, shut the fuck up talking ‘bout her like that—“

“Alright, chill out now.” Mykel steps between them, placing a hand in front of Ajani to keep him back. 

Boku pulls his brows together. “Yo, wassup with you?”

“Ain’t shit up with nothing, you just make sure you keep shit respectful.” The scowl on his lips only deepens.

Boku raises his hands in defense. “My fault, bro. I wasn’t tryna offend—”

“Yeah, that’s ’cause you just open your mouth to say bullshit.” Ajani backs up the more Mykel pushes against him. “Like she not your fuckin’ friend, too, my nigga. What?”

“You good, bro. You good,” Mykel tells him. “Relax.”

“Just fuckin’ talkin’,” he rambles.

Before he can acknowledge the apology, his phone buzzes in his hand. Fully stepping away from them, Ajani checks his messages.

Princxss Dia: I’m ready

He wastes no time to order Diamanté’s Uber ride. 

With the distance between them and the Lou music playing overhead, it’s hard for him to hear. He knows Mykel and Boku are talking about him.

He refrains from even thinking much about it, though. Because just talking to Diamanté is putting him in a better mood.

Jani: its coming in 5 min

*screenshot of the Uber order*

Princxss Dia: tyy daddy🤗

Jani: 🙄

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: send me a picture

I wanna c u

Princxss Dia: it’s gonna ruin the surprise

Jani: surprise 

🤨

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: stop playing Dia

read

Thankfully, Aleya and Sevyn arrive not too long after. Their presences lighten the atmosphere considerably. 

Especially when Sevyn and Boku fall into conversation—a playful argument as usual about some dumb shit.

“Oh my God, I miss Dia’,” Aleya pouts. “Where is she?” She does a full-body turn, looking to Ajani.

Boku keeps quiet this time.

The question garners attention from the others within the group, who are now curious of his answer.

He kisses his teeth. “Why yall not asking her? Damn, what the fuck?”

Sevyn’s face screws up as her neck jerks back. “Nigga, calm the fuck down.”

“Right,” Aleya eyes him as her lips twist into an ugly scowl. “I just thought you’d know since y’all seem to be close.”

Sevyn hums in agreement. “Real close.”

Now, he’s making a face. “What that mea—“

“Hi guys!”

The much softer voice breaks the conversation, catching everyone’s attention. 

Walking towards them, Diamanté’s bright smile lights up the dimly lit space. 

Her straightened, black hair flows down her back. Being pulled back, it leaves her entire outfit exposed: a simple black Skims dress, flowing to her ankles.

The classy, white Hermes slides on her feet show off her white French toes. A small white crossbody purse ties the dress with the shoes.

Yeah, she’s cute and all—Ajani would never deny her that. But even underneath the restaurant’s dim, multicolored lighting, he can see every detail of her body “hiding” beneath the thin, ribbed fabric.

Down to her fucking belly piercing.

His eyes flick up to look into hers. He’s staring hard.

“Finally!” Aleya screams.

She runs to meet the short woman halfway, throwing her arms around her. Sevyn is right behind her, doing the same.

The women hug each other and their bodies sway like palm trees in the wind. Ajani’s happy for them—Diamanté, at least. It’s been so long since she’s seen them.

However, the happiness is short lived.

Others seem to be enjoying the women’s show happiness, too. Ajani looks over them, catching a small group of guys watching them.

What hint of a smile that was on his face shrinks immediately.

“I missed you guys,” Dia tells them as she pulls back, covering her mouth.

“We need to go out more,” Sevyn says. “‘Cause not seeing each other for this long is fucking ridiculous.”

“I know,” she pouts.

“Girl, you look so fucking good—” A sharp gasp slices through Aleya’s sentence. She reaches out to grab Dia’s arm, pulling her forward to peer down her back. “Girl, your ass!”

Looking too, Sevyn’s mouth drops in shock. “Damn, bitch!” 

Diamanté only laughs as she looks between her friends.

“It looks so fucking big,” Aleya says in awe. She looks over at Sevyn. “No, like deadass. Like it looks bigger.”

“How she get more ass and mine getting flatter?” Sevyn jokes.

“Drop the routine!” Aleya reaches behind Diamanté, grabbing a good handful of her ass. She sticks out her tongue.

Diamanté only laughs harder.

“Fuck a routine,” Sevyn declares. “Who you been fucking?” The interrogative expression on her face is intense.

“Oh my God,” she says, hand over her mouth as her smile only grows.

“It’s so heavy,” Aleya says in amazement, using both hands to lift her ass. Squeezing tightly, the dimpled skin can be seen through the fabric. “I can’t even hold it all, what the fuck!”

As the girls continue to laugh, Ajani only continues to watch the leering men. 

It takes everything in him not to go towards the women and tell them to stop.

Playfully, Diamanté rolls her eyes. “You guys are chatting.”

“No, girl. Your shit is mad fat, like what the fuck?”

“Okay, okay,” Diamanté says. “Can we sit now?”

Sevyn purses her lips, eyeing her friend. “Mhm. Look at you, you just so tea. Like you come up in here glowing, ass fatter, face card on 10, inches—you just showing out tonight!”

“Facts,” Aleya agrees.

Finally, they return to the other half of the group. Diamanté breaks away from her girls to greet the guys.

“Wassup, Dia,” Mykel gives her a side hug.

“Hey,” she sings.

She pulls away to give Boku the same embrace.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Hi, Boku,” she smiles.

Boku and Ajani make eye contact for a split second. Quickly, Boku looks away just before pulling back.

Ajani doesn’t get the chance to really mug that nigga how he wants to as Diamanté makes her way over to him.

“Hiii,” her voice is much softer.

She’s trying to fight back a smile, he can tell. But, it’s too cute as her teeth slowly come into full display.

The corners of his mouth lift uncontrollably. “Hey.”

Wordlessly, she steps into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. His arms circle around her waist, pulling her body closer.

“Why you ain’t text me when you got here?” 

His chest vibrates with each word. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

“I forgot.”

“Would’a came out and got you.”

She pulls away with a laugh, careful to keep their interaction brief enough so that they don’t get their friends started.

“Damn, Ajani. She wasn’t going nowhere.”

Clearly, that didn’t work.

His smile drops as his eyes flit over to Aleya, who wears a smug grin on her lips.

“Aight, now that all y’all niggas is here, I’ma see if we could check in for the table,” Boku announces.

He parts from the group to make his way to the hostess’ booth.

Conversation between the remaining five is quite mellow. Ajani finds himself standing back, only admiring Diamanté as she speaks.

Even when she’s quiet, he’s paying close attention to her body language and the way she reacts to things said.

“Let’s go,” Boku says as he rejoins the group.

“Thank you, God,” Aleya praises.

“Facts, these heels are killing my feet,” Sevyn complains as she starts after Boku.

As everyone else follows, heading towards the table, Ajani stays behind. Before Diamanté can catch up, he grabs ahold of her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Hol’on, ‘cause I didn’t get a proper ‘hello.’”

He pulls her body back in close, missing the feel of her against him. He almost sighs when her soft body presses against his.

Diamanté allows herself to smile as big as she wants to. She angles her head up for a kiss. The gentleman he is, Ajani meets her halfway and presses his lips against hers.

A small peck isn’t enough, as he finds himself going back in for a couple more. And as he does so, he doesn’t resist the urge to reach behind her and cop a feel of her ass himself.

His lips plant mini smooches from her cheek all the way down to her neck. She turns her head to the side, giving him more access.

“You look mad good,” he says into her skin.

His muffled voice tickles her skin, pulling a bubbly giggle out of her. “You told me that already.”

“Aight, and I’m telling you again.” Ajani pulls back just far enough to look her in the eyes. 

Damn, he really meant that shit. It’s almost unbelievable how bad she is. Sometimes he wonders how the fuck he was able to bag her.

“But I also told you not to come outside wearing no shit like this—“

She squeals as he lays a harsh smack to her ass, gripping the fat immediately after.

“Ajani!” She whisper-shouts, eyes wide with shock.

He only bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flitting past her to see the group of men from earlier still in the same spots. 

Except this time, they’re glaring. 

“Told you I ain’t want you showing off my shit like this.”

His other hand cradles her neck, squeezing just enough as he plants another smooch on her lips.

When he pulls back, he sees the inkling of a dazed look in her low eyes. Even from behind those big ass glasses.

“Okay,” she whines softly.

“Mmh.”

She begins to laugh, because she can definitely feel herself slipping into a mood.

“C’mon, before I fuck ya lil’ ass up out here.” His hands fall from her. “Got niggas looking at you all crazy.”

He holds his hand out for her to take. When she does, they make their way over to the table. 

However, before they get close enough, they place some distance between themselves.

Conversation at the table is all smiles and laughter over their platters and drinks.

Speaking of drinks, no one at the table is too good to pass up a bit of alcohol. Not even those who drove here.

“See this? This right here?” Sevyn taps an acrylic nail to the glass of her fruity drink. “I’ma need me some more’a that!”

“Mhm,” Aleya hums, sipping on hers through the straw.

Liquor seems to bring the conversation out of the friends. But, Ajani refrains from specifically addressing Boku. And Diamanté finds herself becoming more and more quiet.

Even with her besties around her, she can’t seem to make herself speak. What can she say, when all of her thoughts are filled with Ajani? Definitely not anything that should be said out-loud. 

At the very least, on a FaceTime call with just the girls.

Hiding behind her lemon drop, she watches him from across the table with low eyes. Every time he smiles, he does so just enough to give a peek at his grillz. 

Fuck, he looks so good. He smells even better. And the way he was choking her up out there, smacking her ass—

No lie, it made her wet. Her clit was thumping for sure. The liquor isn’t helping as it’s bringing up memories.

Like how just a couple of nights ago, she was staying over at his apartment. It was a time. 

Two shots of Don was all it took for her to end up on her tummy, getting dicked down.

He fucked her stupid that night. She almost wished she wasn’t on birth control. But that was just the liquor talking.

Her eyes flutter close as her thighs squeeze together. She has to take a deep breath.

“And Dia’s ass is already off the shits!”

A chorus of laughter sounds throughout the table, knocking her from her thoughts. As she looks around her, she offers a shy smile.

“Y’all some damn lightweights,” Sevyn continues to joke.

“I ain’t—look—I ain’t no fuckin’ lightweight,” Boku shouts, holding his glass up.

“Maaan,” Mykel gives him a look. “You better slow down, nigga.”

More laughter sounds. With the spotlight off of her, Diamanté’s thoughts circle back to Ajani.

And speaking of, he takes a sip of his alcohol to hide his smirk. He’s not oblivious, he could feel her staring this whole time.

Of course, it flatters him. If it’s one thing about Diamanté, it’s that she gets freaky off the liquor. And he can tell what’s running through her mind.

Because he’s thinking about the same thing. He’s just got to hold out for the rest of the night.

Leave it up to Boku to plan some weird ass shit. Who the fuck goes bowling after dinner and drinks?

Shit, at least the place serves drinks. And if Ajani was fucking with him right now, he’d commend him for at least picking a good spot.

The alley is surprisingly busy around this time, for it being almost eleven pm. It’s mostly dark in here, just like the damn restaurant.

Why doesn’t Boku ever pick places with good lighting?

“On my soul, I’m washing y’all niggas,” Aleya swears. She shoves a foot into the rented pair of shoes.

Mykel shakes his head, strapping up his pair. “Here she go.”

“Oh shit … I don’t got not socks, y’all.” The usual rasp in Sevyn’s voice is worse due to the drinks.

“Me neither,” Diamanté says, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she fans herself.

Not only is she just a bit horny, but she’s fucking hot. The only downside to drinking. She only hopes she doesn’t sweat her silk press out.

“There’s a booth that sells them,” Boku says.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ma play. I’ll just watch y’all,” she smiles.

“Ugh! Boringgg,” Aleya groans, throwing her head back.

Sevyn looks to Diamanté. “Okay, well, you could come with me while I buy my socks?”

She nods, prompting her to stand up. 

“Can’t wait to wear them shoes. Fuck these heels, bro.” Sevyn holds on to her shoulder for support.

“Aye, if y’all get lost, call one’a us,” Ajani says. “It’s too many people in here tonight.”

“Sure thing, officer!” Sevyn scoffs.

Ajani gives her a scowl, and Dia gives him a short wave before the two of them are off.

“Damn, that’s a long ass line!” Sevyn scowls seeing the bodies fill the area.

“Oh my gosh,” Diamanté frowns.

“I do not wanna be standing on these fucking heels any longer!”

Kissing her teeth, she reluctantly joins the line, Dia in tow. As they wait, both women are scrolling through their phones trying to pass the time.

But it doesn’t take long for them to get to talking.

“If I ask you this question, you gonna be honest?”

Diamanté peers up from her screen to look at Sevyn. Her brows pull together in question. “Yeah?”

Sevyn eyes her for a moment. “You and Ajani fucking? Like—and be honest. Don’t lie to me girl, I hate that shit.”

A sigh leaves Diamanté. Clicking her phone off, she fully looks her friend in the eyes. “Yeah—“

“I knew it! I fucking knew iiit!” Sevyn jumps up and down on her supposedly aching feet. “Fuck! Since when?”

Trying to keep herself from smiling, she stays quiet.

A gasp. “It was after the party, wasn’t it?”

She nods, her smile growing.

They move up in the line.

“Bitch! I fucking—nah, ‘cause I checked your fucking lo’ and your ass was still there after we all left. Uh-uh, y’all so damn nasty.”

“Okay,” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t say anything about it. I’m still trying to … figure out a way to tell the others.” She frowns to herself.

Sevyn makes a face. “Girl, what you mean? Just drop the tea,” she laughs. “Shit, you could do it in the fucking chat. Matter fact, I don’t even think niggas really give a fuck. We all grown, Dia’. And it’s not like we all didn’t see it coming…”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “But, I just wanna tell ‘Leya at least, before I really … break the news.”

“Aight, I feel you.” Sevyn looks her over before breaking out into a dirty smile. “So he the reason your ass been getting fatter.”

“Oh my gosh.” She looks away from her, shaking her head.

“That’s fucking crazy. Who the fuck knew he was putting it down like that?”

Just before she can respond, her phone lights up with a message.

Jani: wya

U got lost ?

“Speak’a the fucking devil,” Sevyn says over her shoulder, spotting the message.

“Hush,” Dia laughs, typingout her response. 

“I like how he ain’t even ask about me. So it’s just fuck me, then.”

“What if the ‘y’ means y’all?”

Sevyn rolls her eyes before her face settles. “But, at least he’s crazy about you. That’s all I want for you.”

Diamanté looks up at her friend with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Mhm. I seen y’all at the restaurant.”

Her smile drops and her eyes widen just a bit. “Sevyn.”

“What?”

“If you saw why did you ask?”

She smirks. “I just wanted to see if you would lie.”

The shorter woman groans out.

“Yeah, ya lil’ ass is mad freaky, eewww.” She laughs obnoxiously. “Never thought I’d see you get choked up like that. Or him smacking ya shit—”

“Stop, please!” She hides her face in her hands.

“Oh, I just know he told you not to wear that shit,” she cackles. “You in trouble,” she sings. “That nigga had that crazy look in his eyes. Especially when he seen them niggas staring in the restaurant.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mhm,” she nods with crossed arms. “You just make sure you stay on his good side. Before I become an aunty too soon.”

Diamanté shoves her shoulder. “Don’t wish that on me.”

“Oh, bitch, I’m actually wishing that shit and more. You know I always wanted a little niece or nephew—even if ‘Jani’s annoying ass is the father.” She rolls her eyes.

“I rebuke kids,” she laughs. “Hell no.”

“Yeah, okay. If you say that, you better not tell me that y’all be fucking raw.”

Diamanté doesn’t say anything to that.

When the game commences, Diamanté is the only one to sit it out. And she’s having just as good a time as any.

Mykel had ordered wings for the group—lemon pepper and garlic Parmesan. Drinks, too, of course.

She nibbles on a couple of wings, courtesy of Ajani feeding them to her.

He’s had his fair share of extra drinks. And with each sip, he’s caring less and less about hiding shit from their friends.

Speaking of drinks, Dia’s been washing her food down with sips of water and gulps of fruity, alcoholic drinks. And she really should’ve stopped herself. 

Because now she’s got to go to the bathroom.

“Nah, I dead gotta go, too,” Sevyn says.

“I’ma come with y’all.” Aleya gets on her feet.

“Damn, y’all just gonna pause the game like that?” Mykel says, biting into a wing.

“We’ll be back!” Aleya declares.

The women make their way over to the bathrooms, which—unsurprisingly—has a line.

“Fuuuck! All these fucking lines!” Sevyn groans, stomping her foot.

“I know,” Dia says, shifting in her spot as she holds her lower stomach. “I gotta go … so bad,” she huffs.

“I bet you the men’s bathroom not even full like that.”

Sevyn scoffs. “I’m not going to no niggas’ bathroom at a bowling alley. ‘Bouta smell like funky dick and straight piss in there.”

Dia laughs.

“But, shit, since we here…” Sevyn turns to her. “Tell her.”

Aleya looks to Diamanté. 

“Oh, um … Ajani and I—“

“I fucking knew it!”

Sevyn throws her head back in laughter. 

“Y’all could not hide that shit!” Her eyes are wide as she points back at their lane. “When I seen that nigga feeding you them wings, it was certified!”

“Bitch, you don’t even wanna know what I saw,” Sevyn says, clinging to her.

As she and Diamanté catch her up on everything, they inch closer to the bathroom door.

Diamanté tells them about the most recent date they’d been on together. And while it’s an interesting story, Sevyn can’t help but to feel eyes on them.

She turns her head, to see a group of men looking their way. They make eye contact, as it appears that they’re pushing their friend to make a move.

“Oh fuck no.”

Aleya and Diamanté look at her.

“Y’all, is that them niggas from the restaurant?”

They look over at the men, one of them immediately making eye contact with Dia.

“Please don’t tell me they about to come over here,” Aleya scowls. “Ugh, I hate niggas!”

She says it loud enough for them to hear. And yet, one of them is still making their way over.

Sevyn kisses her teeth. “Bruh.”

The guy making his way over has his eyes dead set on Diamanté. His long locs are pulled back into barrel twists and a mature beard sits on the lower half of his face.

His dangling cross earring makes Sevyn scoff. “This corny ass nigga,” she mumbles.

“Wassup,” he greets, only looking at Diamanté.

Rude, she thinks. Her nose wrinkles as the smell of weed fills the space.

“Hello to you, too,” Aleya sasses.

“My bad,” he laughs. “I just wanted to come talk to you,” he nods over at Dia. 

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“You fine as shit, I’m not even gonna cap,” he smiles, showing a gold canine tooth. “Not on no creep-shit, but I seen you at The Palacades and,” he shrugs. “Don’t hurt to try, right?”

“Proceeds to be on some creep-shit,” Sevyn says.

“Right,” Aleya agrees.

The two share a laugh, causing the man to glance at them. He doesn’t let that deter him, though.

“You … saw me there?” Diamanté asks, her face creasing with confusion. 

“Yeah you and that guy.”

Now it’s Aleya’s turn to make a face.

“Hol’up,” Sevyn laughs, shaking her head. 

“Y’know, I just wanted to shoot my shot. Like, you never know. Y’all might not even be serious—“

“Well, they are. And you’re mad weird for asking.” She twists her face up. “What the fuck? Nigga is you cool?”

“Hold on,” he says, turning to Sevyn. “I don’t remember asking about you. So, I don’t know why you tryna get involved.” He’s getting visibly irritated.

“She don’t have to,” Aleya steps in. “If you seen my friend with her nigga, why are you harassing her?”

Worry makes itself evident on Dia’s face. She’s not sure where this conversation is going to go. And she definitely forgot her pepper gel at home.

“‘Cause that corny ass move that nigga tried to do wasn’t shit,” he laughs. “He think smacking ya ass was gonna scare somebody off? I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” he laughs. 

“Okay, no—“ Diamanté starts, but Sevyn is too quick to come to her defense.

“Get the fuck outta here, you weirdo ass nigga. She don’t want you!”

“She said that, though?”

“She ain’t say she wanted you neither,” Aleya says.

“Man, y’all bitches kill me.”

“Bitches?” They all say in unison.

“Yeah. It’s always the ugly ones talking the most shit—“

“Nigga you look like a fucking dog in the face yourself!” Aleya gets to pointing.

And as their voices climb, both sides growing more aggressive, Diamanté finds herself paralyzed with fear.

She is not sober enough for this.

Back at the lane, the guys keep themselves busy. Mykel cheats, taking the girl’s turns for them—and throwing horrendous gutter balls.

Meanwhile, Boku and Ajani are seated, munching on the leftover wings. Well, Ajani doesn’t eat as much as Boku, but he’s got a couple of bites in.

Neither of them address the other. And it’s … annoying. 

Although Ajani is still upset about what was said, it sucks that this is how their first time hanging out in a minute has to be like this.

But he’s not a pussy. And he’s damn sure not speaking first. 

A nudge to his shoulder brings him out of his phone. He looks up, seeing Boku stare at him.

“Yo, I’m sorry ‘bout earlier, bro. I should’ve never said that shit. I just be talking sometimes, you know that. And I be saying the wrong shit.”

“Mmh.”

“And Dia’s my friend. It’s not right’a me to be disrespecting her like that. If you want, shit, I’ll even apologize to her, too.”

Ajani watches him for a moment.

Their silence is broken by a shout from Mykel in the distance, cheering as he scores a strike.

“Nah … you ain’t gotta do that,” he finally says. “I respect the apology. But watch your mouth ‘bout her.”

Boku nods in understanding.

Silence falls over them again as the sounds of the alley machines, the music, people talking, and the arcade games fill the space.

Ajani almost feels himself dissociating again as his tipsy brain thinks. And one thing about him, is that his mouth runs.

Swallowing, he looks away from his friend. “Nah … you was right, though.”

Boku wears a questioning look on his face. “What you mean?”

It takes a second before Ajani finally looks at him. “We fucking with each other.”

He tries to conceal his excitement. But, he just can’t stop himself from dapping him up. 

“My nigga—uh, no disrespect, though.”

Ajani shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Y’all better come play before I do your turns!”

“Nigga, fuck the game! Come over here, Jay got something to say!”

Reluctantly placing the ball back onto the rack, Mykel heads over to them.

“What you got to say?” He takes the last garlic Parmesan wing, earning a glare from Boku.

“Guess,” Boku says.

Mykel turns to Ajani, eyeing him. “You and Dia?”

He nods, earning another smile from their standing friend. “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” he laughs. “You asked her?”

“Yeah,” Ajani says, keeping it short. But his smile says everything, as he reminisces on that night.

“When y’all got together?” Boku asks.

He kisses his teeth, feeling the liquor in his system. “Uh … at the party.”

Both men stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Nigga—that’s almost six months!” Boku shouts.

“It’s no way y’all hid that shit for that long,” Mykel laughs.

“Wasn’t my idea,” Ajani says. “She over here, scared to say shit. But me—I’on give a fuck.” He scoffs. “I’a get her shit tatted, she keep fuckin’ with me,” he shakes his head, toying with the ends of a braid.

Boku and Mykel share a look, and a thought—this nigga is drunk.

Before either of them could voice it, however, Sevyn’s raspy ass voice enters their ears.

“Y’all hear that shit?” Mykel asks, twisting and turning to find the source of the voice.

“Why the fuck she yelling?” Boku asks, looking for her, too.

“How they still not back from the bathroom?”

It’s Ajani that spots her first—in a nigga’s face.

“Yo,” he says, sitting up, more alert than ever.

The guys notice, too. And it doesn’t take long for Ajani to get out of his seat. He’s the first to make it over there. And immediately he’s hit with the smell of weed.

“What’s going on?”

He immediately looks to Diamanté, who has discomfort written all over her face.

“Hell no, come get this nigga,” Aleya shout, pointing at the man.

Ajani watches him back up an inch as he raises his hands in defense. As he stares at the guy, he finds him just a tad bit familiar.

“What’s the issue?”

“It’s no issue, bro—“

“Clearly, it is!” Sevyn cuts in. “‘Cause you was throwing that ‘bitch’ word around a lot—“

“Look, I was just tryna get at your friend,” he says, pointing to Diamanté.

Ajani’s brows furrow as he looks between her and the guy.

“She don’t want you,” Aleya screams.

Then it clicks; This guy was apart of that group that caught themselves staring Diamanté down.

“Go back to your fuckin’ group,” Ajani says. “You a fuckin’ cornball,” he spits.

“Bum ass nigga—and he stink!” Aleya points at him.

“Man, get the fuck outta here, she don’t need no other nigga.” 

Ajani steps forward as he speaks, the other man stepping back.

“Aight, my fault—“

“It was. The fuck?” Sevyn says.

Finally, the man walks off, leaving the friends alone once more. The women seem to let out a sigh of release, and Diamanté seems to cling to Ajani’s side.

“That fucking weirdo. Shit just pissed me off I don’t even wanna pee no more.” Sevyn crosses her arms, her anger slow to dissipate.

“No, I’m still gonna use the bathroom,” Aleya scoffs.

“Me too.”

Diamanté’s quiet voice grabs their attentions, especially Ajani’s.

His brows furrow. “Nah, you could use the bathroom home.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“Yeah, fuck all this shit. We going.”

“Ajani—“

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’on give a fuck. That nigga got me fucked up.”

Aleya and Sevyn share a knowing look.

“Tell ‘em niggas we gone,” he says, taking up Diamanté’s hand.

Too tipsy to really object, she tells her friends ‘goodnight,’ promising to text them tomorrow.

Sevyn and Aleya’s farewells are drowned out by their quickly increasing distance and the overall loudness of the alley.

When they finally make it outside, the cool breeze of tonight hits her clammy skin. She squeezes his hand tighter.

“Fuckin’ bum ass nigga—I knew I seen him.”

She peers up at him, his eyes staring off into the distance as he speaks his thoughts.

“Should’a fucked him up, if I’m being honest.”

When they reach his car, Ajani opens the passenger door for her. She climbs inside, relieved to be off her feet.

But before he closes the door, he bends down to look her in the eyes.

“You good?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t touch you or nothing?”

“No, Ajani. I’m good.” 

With a nod, he shuts the car door and walks over to his side before sliding behind the wheel.

The drive to his apartment is quiet for the first few minutes. Even his music plays low over the speakers.

She watches his side profile, noting the lowness of his eyes and the way his shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes don’t leave the road, but his brows furrow. “For what?”

She only shrugs, the small action enough to garner his attention for just a second.

“You ain’t do shit. That nigga was just a creep.”

“Yeah,” she exhales. 

“Shit, but I definitely shouldn’t be driving right now.” He drags a hand down his face. “Just tryna get in my fuckin’ bed.”

Licking her lips, Diamanté busies her hands by toying with her phone. “Are you really tired?”

He gives her a quick side eye as a lazy smile presents on his face.

“Depends … what you tryna do?”

She looks forward at the nearly empty road ahead of them. Then she shrugs.

“Yeah, I seen the way you was looking at me back at the restaurant... Lil’ freaky ass.”

She laughs just a bit. “It’s been a couple days … what do you expect?”

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he leaves one hand on the wheel. “You really sumn else,” he says low, rubbing his chin.

Chewing on her lower lip, she stares at him as a thought brews in her head. Her silence cause him to look her way.

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout over there?”

She releases her bottom lip. Her eyes drop to his lap.

“Can I touch it?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Could do whatever you want … it’s yours.”

With caution, she slowly reaches over the console and spreads her hand over his lap. She traces the barely-hard length through his jeans.

He retains his composure even as he struggles to focus on driving properly.

“You smelled so good today,” she whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “So fucking good. She laughs softly, pulling a smile out of him.

The more she rubs up on him, the harder he gets. She licks her lips and reaches over with the other hand to unbutton his jeans and zip them down.

She slips a hand between the layer of his jeans and his boxers, feeling him up through the thin fabric.

“When we was at the restaurant, I was thinking of last weekend, when I stayed over.”

Cradling the underside of his dick, her thumb swipes over his fat tip. Excitement races through her as she feels every curve of the mushroom-shaped head.

A faint twitch makes her smile bigger.

“How you was fucking me.”

Her voice slightly lifts at the end of her sentence, as if the thought alone was enough to get her going.

He found that shit so sexy.

Her thumb continues to rub circles into him. However, she also begins to squeeze him in her palm.

Ajani shifts in his seat, his legs widening on their own.

“Fuck, you were so deep, baby.”

She’s squeezing him harder, her little hand working his tip.

“So fucking deep—“

He barely hears the tiny moan that slips out. It takes his attention off of the road for a couple of seconds.

Just long enough for him to catch her with her other hand now between her own legs, dress hiked up around her waist.

He quickly looks away. The sight sends another rush of blood to his dick, and she can feel it as he pulses in her hand.

As one of her hands feels along his length, the other presses against the seat of her damp panties. The pressure pulls a shiver out of her.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, quietly. “Fuck, I still have to pee.” Her thighs clamp around her wrist as she remembers her plight.

He glances at her again, trying to fight the melting of his brain as she continues to get him off.

“Keep going.”

His raspy voice catches her off guard.

“W-what?”

He licks his lips and swallows, taking a turn onto a major roadway. “Keep touching yourself.”

“I still have to pe—“

“Hold it.”

Her silence earns another look her way.

“I mean it, too. Just got this shit detailed … so don’t fuck up my seats.”

The gentleness of his voice makes her clench.

His head almost falls back when a tight pressure surrounds his balls. It’s hard to keep his eyes open.

Kicking off her sandal, Diamanté pulls a leg up onto the seat. Her French-tipped toes dig into the shiny, smooth leather as she opens herself up wider.

She rubs herself through her thin panties with a full hand. As she falls into a rhythm, both of her hands sync together as she pleasures both herself and Ajani.

Her legs open up even wider as she changes from using her full hand to just her middle and ring fingers. 

Pushed together, she rubs slow, sloppy circles over her clit. The swollen bud pulses, pushing through her thick folds and even creating a small bump through the thin material.

Her wrist aches, but she doesn’t stop. Her pussy clenched repeatedly and her breathing grows unsteady.

Slow, lazy blinks come before her eyes roll back closed. She whimpers to herself.

Ajani tries not to swerve as his brain tries to focus on two things at once. But, he can’t stop his hips from fucking into her hand—even if just a little bit.

Diamanté sends three, solid smacks to her pussy. Upon the third one, her thigh snap shut and her eyes squeeze closed. Her mouth hangs open as her body freezes.

Before she can stop it, her body lets loose for a split second. Just a tiny stream lets out, creating a small soak-spot into her underwear. Immediately, she regains control, stopping her release.

The pace she’d been able to keep up falters as she grows weak from her own hand.

“Keep going,” he tells her.

She shakes her head first. “I … I can’t.”

“Dia—“

“I can’t, I can’t—“

“Move ya hand.” 

He pries her thighs open with his free hand, and snatches hers from between them. 

He replaces her with his touch, cupping the fat mound before sliding his fingers against her. He feels the small wet spot, and it makes his dick harder.

“Told you to hold it.” He lays a smack down on her clit, and her legs try to close around his arm.

A louder moan leaves her this time. But, she holds it as best as she can.

“And keep squeezing my shit,” he says, his voice deep and heavy with lust.

Mewling, she gives her focus to his dick. Rubbing and squeezing it. And when that’s no longer enough, she pulls him out of his boxers.

“Shit…” he exhales in relief.

The hot, length stands stiff in both of her hands. Dribbles of precum run down his length. She’s quick to swipe it up as she twists both hands over him, pulling at the veiny skin.

“Mmh … fuck, baby. J-just like that.”

Ajani doesn’t let that distract him, however. Hand between her legs, he rubs his middle finger over her protruding clit.

She almost cries out as he neglects to touch her, keeping her underwear between them. 

His pointer finger drops down to join the middle. And he pinches her bud. She yelps out.

“Hold it,” he says, pinching harder. “Hold it.”

Her head falls back as she cries out. The dam is about the break, she can feel it. 

Her body goes numb for half a second, and then she feel the wet spot spread just a tiny bit bigger.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming—“

He cups her once more, feeling her clench down on nothing in his hand. The pink G-string clings to her lips, conforming to their shape.

Her hands freeze around his dick, unable to focus on him as she tries to keep herself from finishing completely over his seats.

“We almost there … almost there,” he soothes, turning into his building’s parking lot.

After regaining her composure, Dia tucks him back in his pants and zips him back up.

Ajani removes his hand as he parks in his designated spot, giving her the chance to fix herself.

When they get out the car, it’s a bit of relief. However, Ajani still has to make it to his apartment without being caught with this boner.

Watching Dia walk ahead of him to get into the main building, he gets an idea.

It’s hard to concentrate as they stand there waiting for the elevator. There’s no one in the lobby, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

Standing, her backside pressed to his front, she feels his dick poking at her. 

Ajani’s so hard, it almost aches. He kisses his teeth, and his hand on her hip squeezes harder.

“Where this fuckin’ elevator at? Not tryna be waiting here all night.”

As he talks, his hips move just a bit, pushing his dick harder into the fat of her ass. It’s not helping, honestly.

But, much to her relief, the elevator finally arrives with a sharp ding. They walk in and Ajani is quick to press the button to the eleventh floor.

It seems like time slows as the shaft achingly climbs the floors. Dia doesn’t get to watch the numbers change as a hand comes around her neck and squeezes—her eyes flutter shut.

“Can’t wait to ruin yo shit,” he whispers in her ear. “Have you bouncing on my dick.”

She moans softly as his hand tightens.

He sucks his teeth. “Matter fact—“

It must be the liquor that has him doing this, and what’s got her letting it happen.

In one second, she’s bent over, her hands bracing the wall before her as he stands behind.

“Should just fuck ya lil’ ass in here.”

He smacks her left cheek before rutting into her. He spreads her ass with both hands, rubbing his clothed dick into her core.

“O-oh fuck,” she whimpers. The friction has her legs trembling.

“Keep fuckin’ moaning,” he pants, fucking against her. His eyes almost roll back and his balls tighten in his pants.

“Baby—“

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she tries to keep quiet … and from cumming.

Backing up just an inch, he instead holds her by her waist and bounces her hard against him. She almost wails, her pussy craving to be filled.

But her torture ends soon as the elevator dings again, announcing their arrival to the eleventh floor. They waste no time getting out and making their way to his front door. 

When they come to it, he hands her his keys as he remains behind her. She almost fumbles them, her hands shaking.

He grabs onto her hips again, gripping tightly.

“Hurry up … you’on feel that?”

The gravel of his voice makes her shiver, and the way his dick is pressed into her ass almost makes her eyes roll back.

His face drops into the crook of her neck and shoulder to press a kiss into her warm skin.

“He missed you, baby.”

The slight slur in his voice drives her crazy. But, not more than the way he presses his hips harder against her.

Click, the door goes as she finally unlocks it. The rush of air that hits them as she pushes it open is refreshing. It clears her senses for just half-a-second before her brain is plunged back into a hot pool of lust.

Ajani’s got his hands on her, spinning her around to press a wet kiss onto her lips. A heavy moan slips out of her as he squeezes her throat.

He sucks on her tongue like it’s his only lifeline, enjoying the taste of her spit too much.

His free hand encircles her waist and heads down to grip as much fat as it could.

The burn of his grip has her clenching in her panties. He pulls out of the kiss just to look her in the eyes.

“Take this stupid ass dress off before I rip it.”

His grip on her throat tightens and she feels herself go dumb a little bit. She nods.

He lets go of her completely, just to watch her pull the black dress over her head. 

All she’s got on is that tiny ass, pink G-string, no bra. The fabric is drenched with a wet stain as it clings to her. And her lips are damn near spilling out of it.

“Not even gonna be able to walk when I done with you,” he mumbles, staring at her as he squeezes his dick through his pants.

“Wait, I wanna do something else first.”

Diamanté’s gaze drops to the hard outline of his dick—so thick and long.

“Yeah?” He looks at her with low eyes, paying keen attention to the outline of her fat pussy. “What you tryna do?”

She starts towards him, walking slow. 

“I wanna suck it.”

His brows lift as an inkling of a smile is on his lips. “Oh, word?”

“Yeah.”

She stops right before him. A gentle push to his chest sends a big enough of message—he falls back onto his couch. And his eyes follow her as she gets down on her knees before him.

She crawls to him, sitting between his legs. Even pushes them apart wider. He almost shivers at her delicate touch on his knees.  

“Would you let me?”

She blinks up at him as her hands snake their way up his thighs and into his lap. He slips further down into the couch, biting his lip as he watches her undo his pants for the second time tonight.

She gets a peek of those grills again, and she just finds them so sexy.

“Awe shit, baby, you could do whatever you want…”

His aid comes as he lifts his hips as she drags the heavy denim down his legs. Drunken giggles pour out from her lips as she eyes his print through his boxers.

Even through the thin fabric, the familiar heat of her palm makes his dick twitch. He has to stop himself from humping into her hand as she grips along his length.

Her laughter melts away as she watches his face with a luring smile. 

“You’re so wet, baby.”

He almost doesn’t even hear her soft voice. But when he does, he looks down and notices the dark spot on his boxers.

“Shit … that’s all you,” he mumbles. His eyes bore into her as she pulls him out of his underwear.

He’s stiff and heavy in her hand. Her smaller fingers squeeze him just a bit tighter, a weak attempt at trying to get a better grip on him. 

It amuses him, seeing how the tips of her fingers don’t even meet when they’re around him.

The warmth blossoming under his skin goads her to run a fist over his length.

“You know how to do it?” he asks her.

She nods before looking back up at him. Looking into his eyes, she can tell that he’s fighting to stay present.

But with the liquor in both their systems, and lust running through their bodies, she can understand how difficult that must be for him.

“You don’t gotta … take it all,” he swallows.

His thigh twitches; Her tongue laves against the underside of the warm, soft tip. She holds him as she circles her tongue around the head, shining it with her spit. 

“Fuck,” he hisses softly, body melting into the couch cushions.

She brushes her tongue against him, picking up a perfect bead of precum just as it dribbles out.

He inhales, shifting in the seat. “Spit on my shit.”

Puckering her lips, she spits it back out on his tip and spreads it across his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Holding him at the base, she takes his head back into her mouth. His stomach swoops and his breath stutters. 

Diamanté almost giggles, feeling his tip pulse in her mouth. She pulls off of him with a pop. 

She repeats the action a couple of more times, going pop … pop … pop! She enjoys too much how he groans above her.

“Stop playing, baby, c’mon.”

The sound of him begging makes her clit pulse. 

“Okay, okay,” she says softly, batting her lashes up at him.

Taking a deep inhale, she places her mouth back over the head. Slackening her jaw, she slowly descends his length.

“Awe … shiii,” he stares down at her in shock.

Already, her jaw aches, having to accommodate his size. She gets about halfway.

“Mmmh.”

The vibration of her hums make his toes curl. He jumps with a hiss. The movement gags her, and the sound only arouses him.

“T-take your time, baby—“ he grunts. “You don’t gotta—“

He chokes on his own words as he watches her continue to swallow him with a bit of effort. The sight has him clutching the couch cushions.

Her throat constricts around his dick as she bottoms out. She nuzzles her nose against the small bush of dark curls at his base.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, shifting his hips a bit.

Her eyes flutter close as she relishes the heavy weight her throat holds. His dick twitches, pulling a soft gag out of her.

He loves the sound.

Spit seeps from her mouth, dripping down his length. Trying to swallow around him is difficult.

Carefully, she lays her head against his open lap. She exhales through her nose, trying to relax as she suckles on him.

It’s almost addicting, having his dick stuff her mouth to the brim. She’s content … until she remembers her own arousal.

Her knees burn, but nevermind that. She brings a hand between her thick thighs, whimpering as she caresses herself.

The pads of her fingers slide back and forth over the soaked scrap of fabric covering her pussy.

Her thighs clench around her wrist. But still, she continues, sliding the tips of her acrylic nails against her aching pearl.

He watches her eyes open for just a second, only to showcase how they roll back. Her shoulders twitch.

“You touchin’ yourself?”

She barely nods as another twitch rakes throughout her body.

The already wet patch of her panties grows warmer as she leaks more arousal. Her fingers rub harder and her pussy spasms.

“Mmh—“

She whines around his dick, and his hips stutter.

“So fuckin’ nasty,” he groans. “Like my dick in your mouth.”

Another whimper.

Peeling a hand from the armrest of the couch, Ajani reaches for her straightened hair and gathers it in a tight ponytail.

“Relax your throat,” is his only warning.

Long, slow strokes have her gagging on him. The back or her throat makes wet clicks as his dick fucks the back of her throat.

Tears bubble in Diamanté’s eyes as her head bobs. Shaky fingers push her soaked panties to the side as she rubs through her sticky, creamy folds.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he says through gritted teeth. 

She plays in her mess, webs of cream sticking to the pads of her fingers and her pink clit.

His hold around her hair tightens and his pace quickens. Her gags become harsher and louder as he face-fucks her.

A squeal sounds at the back of her throat as she DJs herself quickly. Her chest stutters as it gets harder to breathe with her choking on him. 

Her body tightens then releases; She sprays against her fingers and the hardwood floor. The hard stream catches his ears, making him sit up to watch.

The whites of her eyes are the only things that show as she cups herself between her legs.

A gooey mess of her spit and his precum drip down his balls and even her face, droplets falling on her bare chest.

“Shit, baby … awe shit,” he groans, head thrown back and mouth dropped open.

His stomach clenches as his brows pull together.

“I’m bout’a … c-cum—fuck.”

He pushes her head all the way down, holding her there as he fucks up into her. She tightens her throat around him, sending him over the edge.

Ropes of cum shoot down her throat, sending her pulling off of him in a coughing fit. 

When she calms, she pulls her hand from between her shaking thighs. It’s messy with the remnants of her cream and squirt.

She wraps it around him and spits his cum back on his dick.

It’s a bubbly, frothy mess. She jerks him off, milking him for the rest of his release as she mixes their cum and her spit together.

“So fuckin’ dirty,” he rasps, his body sagging against the chair.

The squelches of her fist over his dick is music to their ears. Her hand glides with ease as she squeezes him tighter.

“Beatin’ my shit so good.”

Breathy laughter pours out of her as she sticks out her tongue and flattens it. Staring into his low eyes, she taps his dick against the bed of her tongue.

She slides the pink muscle against him before flicking it twice against his leaky slit. He shivers beneath her, and she feeds off the reaction.

Taking his head back into her mouth, she sucks on it with her lips as she digs out his slit with her tongue.

He’s a whining mess as she overstimulates him.

“Fuck baby … fuuuck baby—fuck babyy—“

Ajani’s head falls back against the cushions and his eyes roll back. He opens his mouth to cry out:

“F-fuuuuuck—“

Lifting from him quickly, she taps him against her tongue as he erupts. His cum paints the pink muscle in white ropes.

“So good,” she hums, still tugging at him.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and calm his beating heart. His ears ring and his vision’s got dots.

It takes him too long to return back to earth, as if she had hard reset him. 

But, that’s not where their night ends—far from it, actually.

[dekariosclan]

Oh, wise oracle!

I remember reading somewhere that Early Access Gale says or suggests he'd only been with Mystra. Did I hallucinate that?

Ah, Anon! I so appreciate the ‘wise oracle’ greeting, but I do have to protest—I am definitely not the wise oracle of EA Gale! I showed up well after EA, not knowing who this ‘Baldur’ person was or why he felt it necessary to have a gate installed on his property. I then pulled a wizard out of a rock and well…here we are 😂

That being said: thank you for your ask anon! After I received it, I was curious myself as to what EA Gale might have said and if there was more dialogue about his relationship with Mystra. I was able to find this video on YouTube, and it’s a great watch for anyone who hasn’t seen it! It’s really interesting because you can see that originally, a huge chunk of Gale’s Act 1 scenes and his Act 2 romance were lumped together into the Tiefling party. There’s the flirty talk, the Art of the Night, lovemaking, his relationship with Mystra, him getting on his knees and showing Tav the orb, and even a snippet of the morning after conversation where Tav can ask if he still loves Mystra, etc.

This was the first time I ever saw footage of EA Gale’s romance, and I have to say I think almost all of the changes Larian made to it and to Gale’s character for the final game were the right call. Breaking up the scene into more fleshed-out portions and spreading them out over Act 1 and 2 flows much better, making the romance a slow-burn fits Gale’s situation much better, and making him less cocky (though I do enjoy the occasional dashes we see in the video 😂) and more vulnerable were, imho, all great choices that crafted the perfect pixel husband we have today.

But—the one thing I wish they hadn’t changed was EA Gale’s dialogue explaining what happened with Mystra, because it makes it very clear how Gale was manipulated and emotionally abused by her. And even though the essence of what he describes still remains in the final game, the fact that the dialogue was changed to be less direct and more subtle has led to some people incorrectly interpreting Gale’s actions as manipulating/gaslighting Mystra (???) even though one of the main themes of Bg3 is how each origin character is a victim of abuse from someone with power over them.

So I’m going to go over the Mystra portion, not only to answer your question, but also to discuss the dialogue a bit more in-depth.

First, your question: Does EA Gale suggest that he’s only been with Mystra?

When Gale tells Tav that his talents earned him the attention of Mystra, Tav asks what that felt like. Gale responds that it felt like “love,” and then says:

This, I think, is what your question was referring to. This definitely indicated that Mystra was Gale’s first love, and the fact that he was ‘a very young man’ at the time would also suggest that it was his first romantic relationship as well.

I have to say I’m glad that Larian changed this in the final game, with Gale clearly explaining that Tav is not the first mortal he’s been with. I personally think it makes the romance sweeter, because it proves that Gale loves Tav because they’re Tav, and not just because they’re his first mortal lover.

Also, the current game makes it clear that Gale is no longer in love with Mystra (though again, some people seem to misinterpret the fact that he still talks about their past relationship to mean he still loves her?) whereas the EA dialogue had him less certain about being over her. Again, I’m glad Larian changed that and made it clear he only has eyes for Tav.

Now, here’s where it gets very interesting and where I wish they had kept the dialogue the same:

Tav asks if Gale is saying he made love to a Goddess. Gale confirms, then continues:

Tav asks what happened next, and Gale says:

Tav says: “Let me guess: he proposed?” and Gale replies:

Gale then goes into the full backstory of the orb, which is essentially what we see in the current game.

But my god, the Mystra dialogue was so much better here! In the current game, the seduction/manipulation aspect is most clearly explained when Gale says, ‘I was an amusement to her, a mortal to be trifled with, amused, and eventually discarded.’ That line perfectly describes everything that happened, but to also have the EA lines about Mystra’s actions would have, I hope, left a lot less people confused in regards to who was in the wrong:

Mystra sought out Gale because of his talent and because he could be of great use to her

She seduced him, and did so easily because he was an innocent young man and powerless before a goddess’s charms

She toyed with him, let him fall in love with her, then spurned him and broke his heart

She cast him out to die alone after he tried to win her back by proposing to her an with impressive, but dangerous, gift—even though she knew he’d had no idea what he’d done, and he’d only made this mistake because he was a lovesick young man whom she had seduced

And all of that is not even taking into consideration the fact that she later tells him to kill himself in order to ‘earn her forgiveness.’..

Mystra, when I catch you—

So, yes, I do wish they would have kept all of that dialogue in, and for one other reason, too: it makes it even more poignant when Gale attempts to ‘propose’ with the offer of Godhood for Tav in the Act 3 boat scene. Because this dialogue would have made it very clear he’s repeating the same ‘folly’ he made with Mystra, by proposing with an offer of power, because he assumes that’s all he has of worth to offer his beloved. So to have Tav say I don’t want/need power—i just want you—it’s even sweeter after everything Gale has gone through.

And finally!

I loved seeing that Gale is still the cutest cutiepie in EA, just like he is in our final game version:

🥹💜

(Edited to add an important note: If you’d like to read some excellent meta from a true EA expert, please check out @galedekarios’s blog which has a ton of info! She also has a great post on this same subject with a more in-depth analysis of how/why the Mystra dialogue was changed.)

[the-passenger-if]

Hey, gang. How is it going? It’s been a while since I last posted, and although at first it was because I was working on my new projects, as of late it had to do with a medical emergency regarding my partner. I don’t usually talk about him (I think I’ve mentioned him once or twice on my personal blog) but we’ve been together for a long time and last December I thought I was going to lose him.

It shook me hard, gang. And it’s only now that I feel more or less ready to open up about it, and take care of my socials while at it. The thing is, everything that went down has left us a bit uncertain about the future. So much so, I’ve been contemplating creating a Patreon.

It’s still too soon to tell, but I guess I wanted to let you all know in case someone is interested.

I’ve also written down a snapshot of December-January. Call it group therapy.

Hope everyone is doing fine, for my part I’m feeling better. Lots of hugs!

It’s 3 AM when I wake up. In the dark, something huge plummets from the sky like the blade of a guillotine falling in slow motion. A plane, I’m sure of it (I’m always sure of it) and it’s coming down to crash on my two-room home.

I stay motionless in bed, staring at the dark, my heart about to burst out of my chest, and I wait...

And I wait…

But the plane sails away, the baritone screaming of the blade following behind.

I don’t leave my bed until I can’t hear it anymore.

Later on, I tell my parents and grandma about it at lunch. “I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“Something like what?”

“Dumbest answer? A plane is going to crash down on my house. Less dumb answer, el Flako is going to have a car accident.” A blade made out of a car roof or door, slashing the air, slicing through the tender flesh of his neck. His head flying out of the cabin of his truck, or falling on the passenger seat.

I laugh because at 1 PM it sounds stupid and I can almost wipe out the awful image of his headless body from my mind. My aphantasia is nowhere to be found whenever I picture the most horrific deaths of the people I love.

My mom gives me a blister pack of my grandma’s anxiolytics. “Take a quarter whenever those thoughts appear.”

When el Flako comes from work I tell him I can’t wait for December to end. When he asks me why that is, I tell him it’s a shit month and that everything bad always happens in December.

I take a quarter of a pill whenever I feel like bad news are around the corner. I’m jumpy. Car honks make my skin itch all over, a kid scream makes my heart race. It’s worse at dawn. Planes keep playing chicken with me.

It’s December 24 and el Flako and I spend christmas eve camping in front of the Río Talabera. We drink pear cider and beers while stargazing. No planes follow me here. I didn’t take my anxiolytics with me.

We travel back home. My dad is sitting out when we arrive. A single look at his face tells me something is very wrong. He looks old.

“What happened?” I ask.

“The water tank fell through your roof.”

It fell on grandma, I’m sure of it. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes.”

Then why do you look like it killed someone? I want to ask. Instead I push, “For real?”

“Yes.”

My muscles relax. Yeah, it sucks. It’s the third water tank that gets obliterated—the first one burned down before we could even install it, the second one flew off the roof in the storm of December 17, 2023. This one was full, and a faulty base couldn’t withstand one tonne of water. Death by fire, air, and water; this shit is really starting to look like the avatar of water tanks.

It’s fine I tell myself, nobody is hurt, it could’ve been so much worse. Sure, it broke a more or less small part of my very new roof, but I’m sure we can fix it.

Innerly, I let out a sigh of relief. This is it. This is why I’ve been fearing something falling down on me. Case closed.

December ends in a week from now.

My anxiety drops for exactly 5 days.

It’s 5 AM on December the 30th andI’ve just sat on the toilet when my phone starts ringing. It’s el Flako’s brother. “Don’t fret,” he begins, “[el Flako] passed out at work. Another trucker called an ambulance and is with him at the hospital. I’m about to go see him.”

“Could you pick me up first?” I ask. If he can’t, I’m taking an uber, but he can.

We spend the entire hour-long trip to the hospital assuring each other el Flako is fine; he never has breakfast before going to work, not even mate or mate cocido. It has to be that. We purposely avoid discussing what his coworker said about el Flako being unable to speak, or stand by himself. Or how he couldn’t follow the paramedic’s instructions while on the ambulance.

When we finally arrive, we zip through rows and rows of tired, scared looking people waiting for news of their own relatives in the Emergency wing.

“There he is,” says el Flako’s brother, and I spin my head around waiting to see my life partner. Instead I see a late thirties, early forties guy sitting on a metal chair. He is rubbing his eyes.

He is crying.

He is not crying.

He is crying because el Flako is dead.

He is a coworker, not even a close one.

He turns to see us approach, and my stomach drops. He looks like my dad before he told me the water tank had taken a piece of my roof with it.

He stands up.

I can’t feel my legs.

He is crying. His eyes are red.

I feel like I’m walking on stilts, or like all my joints have fused together.

“Hey,” he says. They give each other a dap, and when he tries the same with me, I go for a greeting kiss. I always accept daps, but there’s only one thing in my mind at the moment.

Is he dead? I want to ask. “Is he awake?” I ask instead.

“Yes,” he replies. I think I say something, I think I give thanks to something—the universe, god, the devil—I’m not sure. I’m not religious but I was born in a catholic country and that stuff is hard to shake off. “The doctor wants to talk to a relative.”

“I go,” I say, and el Flako’s brother gives me the go ahead. I’m not el Flako’s relative, I am his partner. Our anniversary is in 2 months: 17 years since I asked him to be my boyfriend. But we aren’t married. His brother doesn’t mind, though; he isn’t married to the mother of his children either and they’ve been together for almost 20 years.

The doctor tells me el Flako had a brain hemorrhage. He asks me if el Flako takes drugs. No, he doesn’t. Does he drink? We had some wine last night, I say. The doctor looks confused.

“How old is he?”

“34,” I reply, and, “What is the worst case scenario?” Because my anxiety is killing me, and I need to know there’s a roof to all of this, a limit, something. I’m drowning in the middle of the sea here.

“Worst case scenario, he slips into a coma,” the doctor tells me.

Not death, my mind takes a hold of that fact like it’s a rope ladder someone threw at me from a helicopter.

And maybe because the doctor realizes I haven’t understood the severity of the situation, he adds, “It’s a lot of blood pushing against his brain. It’s shifted his longitudinal fissure—the ‘crack’ of the brain between the two cerebral hemispheres.”

The doctor tell us “relatives” to go in and talk to him. El Flako is awake, and the moment I see him it feels like I can breath again after having my head underwater. He says he’s fine, but half of his body lacks strength, he’s speaking as if drunk, and so low I have to lean in really close to hear him. His brother tells him to stay calm and that everything is going to be OK before leaving.

“You were right,” my life partner mutters. “About your gut feeling. Something bad did happen.” We laugh. We kiss. Then he is crying.

El Flako is a sensitive guy, but I haven’t seen him cry since we were in our teens and would have dumb fights which culminated in both of us crying. He is doing it now in that silent, tears sliding-down-your-cheeks way. He is scared. I am too, but I hug him and kiss him over and over again. “You are here with me,” I tell him. “You are alive and being taken care off. They got you just in time, don’t fret.”

I have to go. I don’t want to go. I don’t feel like myself when we are apart. We were 17 when we met and started dating, the same span of time we’re about to celebrate in our next anniversary.

I sit in the waiting room feeling like a gutted fish, hollowed up inside, like a carcass, like half of my soul is locked away. It sounds so dramatic, and I’m never been particularly romantic, but I swear there isn’t another way to properly describe it. I’m half-empty.

That first night I return home at around midnight. My mom brings me food and checks on me. I haven’t cried the entire day. I don’t cry with her in the room, but I do cry in the shower, and I cry harder when I get into bed.

Why him? Why? He is one of the most good-natured people I know. He doesn’t deserve this.

But who does? Life doesn’t work that way.

I fall asleep, but I don’t dream.

On the next 3 days we learn El Flako has an arteriovenous malformation, and that it can be treated with a procedure called a brain embolization. It costs 20.000 dollars, and I’m already thinking about asking for donations on this blog, but I don’t need to; his obra social* takes care of it.

They transfer him to their sanatorium that same day. The ambulance trip is uneventful, and while they take him to the ICU, I stay down in the lobby to fill in forms.

He spends the next 10 days in that room before the medical supplies arrive, and he can’t be more done with the situation by this point: all of his roommates are comatose, two of them pass away of horrifying injuries while he’s placed in there, the urinary catheter hurts him, he can’t have his phone with him and obviously he can’t watch TV in there. They keep sedating him, so every day I visit someone that looks like my Flako but is maybe half of the person I know. He wants out. I want him out of there too.

His neurosurgeon asks to speak with a relative before the procedure and I’m half-way to the elevators when I look back at el Flako’s parents. “Go ahead,” his mom tells me. The surgeon is so young, and he says the procedure should go well, but there’s always the possibility of rupturing an artery and leaving el Flako in a worse state. He’s been getting better ever since; the strength in his muscles is coming back, and he doesn’t speak slurring his words anymore, although the slight stutter he’s always have has worsen. “Any more bleeding is bad news for him,” the neurosurgeon tells me, “But if we don’t do it, you can be sure his brain will bleed again.”

I sign the papers.

“You can talk to him before we bring him here.”

I do just that.

“It is what I want,” el Flako tells me. “I’m tired of being coop up here.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No.” He thinks about it. “Can it go wrong?”

I wonder if I should lie, but only for a second. “Always. It’s a medical procedure. But if you don’t do it, then it will definitely bleed, and we will be back where we started.”

“Yeah.” He grabs my hand and I give it a tight squeeze.

They take him away. I’m incomplete again. I take half a pill.

I fall asleep in the waiting room. I don’t dream. I haven’t since December the 30th. I think the part that handles my dreaming sticks to him.

Four hours later, at half past 10 PM they call us up. I am waiting outside the operating room alongside el Flako’s dad. The neurosurgeon, steps out and offers both of us his hand to shake. “It was a success,” he says and I feel like I need a wider face just so I can smile a bigger smile. Then to me, he adds, “Everything I say could go wrong, didn’t. He’s just waking up from being under.”

He opens the door and I catch a glimpse of el Flako and the people in charge of keeping him alive and well. A group of five women and men get at the feet of his bed. “One, two, three,” they say before pushing it out of the room. I lost count of how many Thank yous I shoot their way, and they beam at me as they accept them.

El Flako is still dazed, but he holds up a hand when his dad and I wave enthusiastically at him. He doesn’t put it down even as the orderlies roll him into an elevator.

He is discharged from the sanatorium 2 days later. We get married a day after our 17th anniversary.

I’m dreaming again and I only take anxiolytics whenever it starts to feel too much like the last five minutes of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. I guess that stuff won’t get magically fixed, but we’re taking it one day at a time.

*I can’t find the English translation for “the agency in your job that takes care of your hospital bills”. In Argentina it’s Obra Social, and every month they take a part of your payment so they can pay for your medical bills (and your partner’s and children’s) should you need it down the road.

[shotofstress]

In August of 2024 I was without electricity, phone, and internet connection because huge storms with lightning, rain, and winds. We even have floods, the roof is full of holes so it rain inside every year as well floods, but now with the state of the weather things are much worst.  We had never have winds like that here. At this rate, in 4 years we will have tornadoes, a thing we have never ever have here (edit: may 25th 2025 we had our first tornado in the south of the country, we are fucked). Nor our lands, infrastructures, and culture are prepared for this. Many haven't recovered from this nor any of past natural disasters.

Then spring and summer came, and bc all the destruction of our nature and the draught territories the little forests that are left of our native trees and plants caught fire with the pines throughout different regions a number of times.

Companies and its countries are stealing our water for mining, for avocados, strawberries and other native fruts and veggies that I can't buy to eat bc are sent to other countries, planting non-native pines to cut down and sell the wood to the world and have dried up the land, causing more and more fires, more and more deaths every year. On 13 February alone, there were forest fires in six municipalities in one region and 14 fires were burning. The emergency has left more than 20,800 hectares burned by the flames, as well as 44 victims and 28 houses destroyed in those days alone. There have been fires every week for months. The last few weeks it is almost every day somewhere in the country.

The goverment can't fix the country bc we still live under the dictatorship constitution and its politicians and families, and the president has being constantly attacked by the pro dictatorship groups from our country and others, fake news, terror campaings, etc, even the ensurance company group, the one that has Principal (AFP Cuprum), Metlife (AFP Provida), and Prudential (AFP Habitat) threatened my president this month because he and our chambers proposed and made slight improvements to the system because private companies of ensurance and pensions (that are from USA of course) have millions getting sick, disabled or dying because they can't afford medical care nor anything.

This threat was issued by David Chavern, president and CEO of the American Council of Life Insurers in the form of a letter to the extent that it was made known to the public. I can't ignore that one of the groups that also has their ensurance company here is UnitedHealthcare that owns Banmédica, another criminal company. Yeah, UHG, the one that had its CEO executed by The Adjuster. Yes, all USA insurance companies in my country are affected by this little change made to try to help my people to stay alive and have a little more of money that still will not make us live with dignity and out of poverty. So, yeah, is easy to say that UHG is more than angry with my country and back then the 1973 coup has made, among other things, to install this evil ensurance system and this companies.

Even in the cities there are fires. This past week I saw 2 fires in just 3 days, with houses on fire just a couple of blocks away from me. Now it has began autumn and, if I take as reference past years, it will not be like it used to be, but just like a winter part 1 now. Is already getting cold in the night and early morning making my articulations hurt, while in the day the heat makes me tired and weak, causing fires.

Last year people helped me, was awesome, but sadly it wasn't enough. I cleaned by hand the black mold from the walls of the storage room where I live and painted a bit with the little anti mold paint I found in an old tin that was left in a closet. Looks better and smells better and made me happy, but the walls are still broken, one of the walls is still not a wall, and the people of the place is still horrible and abusive. I'm still unemployed even when I tried to sell my art works, get a job, sell second hand clothes, find remote work, and even sent a cultural project to the Ministry of Culture to try to get funding and thus have a wage. Nothing worked. I got rejected in all and honestly I can no longer work because of my disability.

My health is getting even worst. Chronic pain, chronic illnesses and long covid are worse and make me more and more disabled with each passing semester. Eating is hard bc gluten free and dairy free food is terribly expensive (I have celiac disease and lactose intolerance) so I keep being hungry every day, i haven't eaten a piece of bread in months, I cant even make my own bc the gas and electricity is expensive as well the flour that I can use. Being autistic and having c-PTSD as well depression and fibromyalgia doesn't help and the violence never ends.

As far as I'm concerned, I've been on my own all my life, my only support is my couple that also helps me as a caregiver sometimes, is the only family I have. We don't live together bc poverty, we can only be thogeter for a little time each year bc non of us has a job (we are both university graduates and are teachers), their roof rains down and floods their house, the food sold in the poorer area is in bad state and in their house quickly grows black mold and we have to eat it. Also has to take care of an abusive old mother that is poisoning him with black mold (that already gives them health problems like allergy, migraine and gut issues, and the father has already died), the neighbours are violent, and I make that the bills are bigger and more.

My couple fears that we end up in the streets, homeless. I fear that they died or that when the dictatorship is installed once again here the neighbours are gonna snitch on us just bc we belive in democracy and my couple is a teacher. Already members of a cult showed up 2 days ago only in this house. In the last big dictatorship people were taken from their houses and jobs (specially students, univeritaries, teachers and culture workers, for example) and some never returned. Others were tortured so much that they died or ended up disabled and traumatized for life.

If u want to help me to fix things, buy food, meds, pay the bills, and being warm this winter please check

my PayPal or MACH

and make a donation, even $1 helps. If u can't donate, please reblog bc thats the only way to make this post circulate thus receiving help.

I don't even want to be in my country bc we will have a dictatorship soon, but I have nowhere else to go nor money to migrate. I need $10.537 dollars or € 9.760,95 euros aprox to pay all the documents, the bank money I need to have to prove I deserve to migrate, the tickets, rent money I have to show, and all that. I have been really thinking in live somewhere else, but no money and countries are having even more restrictions to countries like mine and people like us than before.  Also the anti migration and other hate groups and gangs. There is a safe place?

I currently (date 14 April 2025) have $260 dollars donated (coz I spent some in food and meds this past months). We no longer able to pay for our meds and gas for cooking nor warm the place, I'm eating less bc we can't pay for food (I can't buy bread, flour, noodles, etc bc the gluten free lactose free products are really expensive, specially for us). My couple has been a year and a half without a job and there is no sight of one in the next months. Is winter and in the first rain that lasted a few minutes the place again had leaks. You can check the old post here and see a Meet the blogger here.

I thought that it was necessary to make an actualization and a using comprehensible single post, so that's why I made this.

Edit: Three pinochetist agents and a direct nazi descendant (both 3 belive in the nazi values) are running for president in the next presidential election this 2026 and one of them is gonna win. Please, we need to migrate so help me to not die with my couple. This is no longer only asking money to eat, this now is to not be tortured and disappeared. I have less than a year to find a country to migrate and leave. We can speak and read english even if not perfectly. If you know a country that allow political refugees and put less trouble to migrants, please comment.

Edit 2: the ppl with which I live are trying to involving me in their crimes so please help me to leave faster.

Edit 3: my mother in law I think is gonna make us end up on the streets or lie about us bc we are not letting her be abusive and I fear she try to frame us as abusers just bc she is emotionally abusive and can't deal with the fact that we say No and we told her she has to give basic human respect. I think she is lying to extended family as always and put herself as victim and try to damage us more, specially against my couple bc she has always treat them bad. This hell never ends

Help is welcomed, I am still here trying hard, I don't want to die.

[daydreams-after-dark]

Good things come in small packages

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Mini Han x fem reader

Synopsis: One year ago you purchased a ‘miniature companion’ named Hannie. He’s the size of a Ken doll but alive and horny. But something unexpected happens on your one year anniversary.

Word count: approx 2k

A/n: Hey!!! It's finally here! My Mini Han oneshot (posted in a couple of instalments because I get too excited to share). The idea for Mini Han was born through a conversation with my girl @noellllslut (we always have the most unhinged thoughts). Then I wrote a little "imagining" here (which I’ve incorporated into this fic anyway, so you don’t have to read), which then sparked quite a bit curiosity amongst you sweet/filthy readers. Questions came, and I felt compelled to explore more of this theme.

I hope you enjoy this little fic. It's sweet and smutty, and as I kept writing, I fell in love with our dear y/n and Mini Hannie. I want one for myself tbh.

CW below the cut

CW: supernatural themes, oral sex, sexual acts, sexual themes, voyeurism

You've had your miniature human, Hannie, for almost a year?! You realize, sitting at your work desk as you look at your desktop calendar. You smile and make a note to organize a celebration for just the two of you, and to buy a cheesecake for dessert. Hannie loves cheesecake. Your smile grows. He always manages to get it all over him, then wants to get it all over you so he can lick it off you.

One year this coming weekend. It feels like time has flown, yet at the same time it feels like he’s been part of your life forever. Your heart bursts as you think back to how it all came to be.

You had been lonely. You'd broken up with your long term boyfriend and was feeling sad one night. So you went online to doom scroll, and online shop. You expected you'd end up down a rabbit hole of cat memes and be $500 down in shoe purchases, but instead an ad appeared on your screen.

"Miniature human companions" it said, with images of very attractive men. Miniature men. Were they human? Couldn't be. Were they robots? Probably. They must be really expensive to make which is why they are so small, you'd decided.

You were intrigued, so you researched the company, finding that this new type of 'companion' utilizes cutting edge technology that simulates actual human behavior and bodily functions.

By 4am you'd chosen your companion. His name was Han. He was adorable and attractive, with fluffy black hair and pouty lips, and from the personality trait notes, he sounded like a lot of fun.

"Pay Now". You can still remember the feeling of excitement that ran through you as hit the button to complete your purchase.

When he arrived, he came in a box with air holes, which you found kind of weird considering he didn't actually breathe oxygen. You set the box on your kitchen table, took a deep breath and lifted the lid. You gasped as you peered inside.

A little man, about the size of a Ken doll, sat on a blanket eating miniature crisps out of a miniature chip bag.

"Oh hello!" he looked up at you. "Are you my Noona?" he waved excitedly.

Holy fucking shit. You almost fainted as you stumbled to sit down on a dining chair.

You knew he was meant to talk, but he just seemed so real as he chewed his food then licked the seasoning off his lips like he could actually taste it. His little chest moved with his breath, like he was really breathing. Could he do everything a human can do? You wondered.

"My name’s Hannie." He said standing up and brushing the crumbs off his trousers.

"Um...I-I'm Y/n..." you stuttered, trying to process what you were witnessing,

"You're really pretty, Y/n." He beamed up at you with a gummy grin.

You prepared him a little space of his own, with a makeshift bed, clothing that you had also ordered from the company you purchased him from, and bought a set of Barbie sized cups, plates and furniture. You even bought him a Barbie Dreamhouse to live in, but he preferred to just climb up your full sized furniture and use that.

You studied the information manual that came with him and learned that he could in fact, experience life just as a human did. He needed to eat, sleep, wash, poop. Oh and he could get erections and ejaculate. Wow!

Over the next weeks and months you'd gotten yourselves into a routine, and became really close. He was your best friend. You did everything together, mostly staying at home. You assumed he was some sort of AI, and that's why you got along so well, but the longer he was with you, the more his own interests came to the surface. Like singing and Anime.

He helped you bake, often getting himself covered in flour and other ingredients. You'd watch movies together. Most nights you'd lay on the couch and he'd lay face down on your chest while you watched your favorites. Sometimes you'd feel him get hard against the curve of your breast, and you'd think inappropriate thoughts about him. You'd grow wet between your legs and wish he was able to touch you.

He loved it when you’d brush his hair with a tiny little hairbrush and sit him on your benchtop in the bathroom when you’re getting ready for the day. You know he loved it when you forgot he was there one time and you took a shower in front of him. He got so hard watching you soap up your body.

Sometimes you'd take him out on a picnic somewhere secluded near the ocean so he could freely move about the picnic blanket without fear of being seen. Or he'd sneak into your work bag and scare the shit out of you when you were working.

In the early days, you'd occasionally go on dates with actual men. Mostly to take your mind of your growing feelings for Hannie. You'd bring them home and fuck them in your bed, knowing he was somewhere watching, listening. You'd imagine him getting hard from your noises, and it made you moan even louder just picturing it. You'd imagine it was Hannie inside you too, pounding hard into your cunt, and making you come on his cock.

He was distant with you in the days after. He’d sit around sulking and pouting.

"What's wrong, Hannie?" You asked him after he’d ignored you for three days.

"Noona... it's just…I get so jealous of them." He burst into tears. "I want to do things like that to you. I want to the be the one who makes you come." He sobbed.

Things changed after that. You no longer went out with other men, and you and your miniature companion began to explore a more physical, more sexual, relationship.

From letting you see each other naked, to mutual masturbation, to eventually touching each other and making each other come.

You soon learned that even though Hannie is small, he is extremely talented with his mouth, and he can make you come harder than anyone had ever before.

One morning he noticed that you were still asleep, and very naked. The way you were laying, legs splayed out looked so inviting to him. You’d kicked your blanket off at some point. He couldn’t help himself.

You woke up to a sensation between your legs, and when you looked down you saw him kneeling between your your legs, using his arms to push your pussy lips open and doing his very best to lap at your clit.

“Hannie?” You whimpered. He stopped for a moment to stand up and wave at you, the entire front of his body dripping with your arousal. “I’ve just found my favorite thing to do!” He said enthusiastically and then he was back to being buried against your pussy.

These days, at night time he’ll climb up onto your chest while you’re lying in bed watching videos on your phone. He still loves to nestle against the bulge of your breasts, especially if you’re in a loose satin camisole, and he’ll slide himself under the fabric.

“What do you want to watch, Hannie?” You’ll ask him.

“Porn!” He’ll answer excitedly. The phone is like a giant screen to him and it’s never long before you feel him shimmying his clothes off and rubbing his little swollen erection against your skin.

He’s such a desperate little thing that you let him do whatever he needs to get himself off. Often, he’ll rub his cock along your bottom lip while he humps your tits, or he’ll scramble to suck on your nipple. He does his best to stretch his mouth around it, while he grinds against you and cumming on your soft skin. Then he’ll pass out right there. Poor little tyke gets himself tired.

Some of the kinkier things he gets you to do include tying him up and edging him until his cock becomes so painfully red and engorged that he’s crying. His naked body is delicious to look at, and you love to run the pad of your index finger over his muscles. He’s perfectly toned, his skin honey brown, and his cock is mouth-wateringly big for his frame.

He’s rendered helpless as you stroke your finger gently up and down his body. Then, using the tip of your tongue, you lick his cock carefully whilst shoving your pinky finger into his mouth.

There are times when you’ll dress up in lingerie covered in buckles and straps and he’ll climb up your body like he’s doing some kind of adventure hike. He gets so sweaty and very hard as he explores the terrain of your body.

He really is the perfect companion.

You are broken from your thoughts by your alarm signaling it's time to go home from work, and you hurry home to see your Hannie.

_____________

"Fuck! Hannie! Please... need to come...need one more...please. Don't stop." You pant. It's later that evening, and you're on the verge of your third orgasm with Hannie between your thighs sucking expertly on your clit. He's got your lips spread open as far as he can manage, and he's grinding against your core seeking his own release. Inside your pussy you've got your vibrator egg on full intensity. "Yes!!! Yes...coming!!!" You cry as you arch off the bed as you come all over him.

He quickly climbs up your body, almost slipping off because he’s covered in so much of your cream, and kneels on your chest to pump his cock until he’s spurting cum onto your tongue.

“Tastes so good, Hannie.” You show him your empty tongue, but he’s already collapsed across your body.

You clean him up and put him in his striped pajamas, before you both nestle into bed. You’re used to him sleeping on the pillow next to you now, although it took you a while to stop worrying you’d roll on him in the night.

“Noona? Did you know that tomorrow it’ll be one year since I came here?” He says sleepily.

You roll onto your side and smile. “Yes, actually I do, honey. Have a think about what you’d like to do to celebrate, okay. Anything you want."

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. But just so you know, it’ll involve me being buried in your pussy.”

————-

Han laid back on the pillow. What would he like to do to celebrate? He’d love to celebrate by being inside you. Properly. Fully.

He wishes he could do the things he'd seen those men you’d do to you all those months ago. To pin your legs up and fuck you so hard the bed would shake. He takes his mind back to when he’d hide on your shelf and watch, fucking into his hand and holding back tears of despair.

What would it be like to bend you over and fuck you from behind? What would it even be like to fuck you at all? He wants to know so bad.

But he does have a special relationship with you, he supposes. Not every guy has to stretch his mouth around a nipple or clit like he has to. Can those men be covered head to toe in your juices? Or lay completely across the bulge of your boob. No. They can’t. Only he can.

He pouts to himself.

He knows he’s got it good, you are his everything. But as he lays on the pillow next you and closes his eyes, he wonders if he’s enough for you? Could you give up real men forever, with real sized cocks that can stretch you out and fill you deep? Would you be okay with never having a boyfriend you could take out in public, or take to family events, or be seen with?

Could you settle for him? A miniature version of a man?

He sighs. "Goodnight, Noona. Love you." He whispers as he leans over and gives your giant lips a kiss.

"Goodnight, my sweet Hannie. I love you too." you reply sleepily.

As he drifts off to sleep he wishes what he always wishes. That he could be human sized and be with you like a proper human.

-----------

The morning sun peeks through your window, landing on your face and causing you to stir. You groan and try to stretch, but a heaviness across your middle keeps you in place. You peer down to find a man's arm wrapped around you, snuggling you tight.

Fear courses through your body, and you scream as you fling the arm off and jump out bed. You grab your lamp, ready to hit the intruder.

"Noona?" The man lifts his head, his dark locks falling around his face.

Your eyes almost pop out of your head when you see the confused look on his face. "Hannie!?" You choke, hands poised to strike.

"Noona? What are you doing?" he peers down at the pillow his head had been resting on, and then down the bed toward his feet. "Why is your bed so small?"

"Hannie?" You whisper, lowering the lamp, letting it drop to the floor.

"Why is everything so small? Wait. Why am I naked? Noona, have you been playing with me in my sleep?" He looks up at you confused and worried. "Noona, why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes land on his pajamas, torn to shreds next to him. He picks up the scrap of fabric that was his pajama top, and his eyes widen. "Why are my clothes so tiny?"

"Hannie," you take in the man before you, naked and taking up most of the bed. "You're big."

To be continued…

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[shsl-hubris-guy]

In-Depth Character Analysis On All The DR Characters Because What, Are You Gonna Try And Stop Me? Who Are You, My Mom? Yeah, I Didn't Think So- Part 5: Junko Enoshima

Oh boy, this is gonna be a big one. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised at all if this turns out to be the longest analysis in this entire series of ~100 characters. Why did I not save her for last. Why is this part 5. Why do I do this to myself-

Jokes aside, I am so so so excited to make this; Junko has become the face of this franchise for a reason, and the depth of her character and role in the series as a whole is massive. I won't be surprised if this takes over a month to complete. In fact, just for fun, let's track it. I'm starting the analysis on 7/5/24. When will we finish? Nobody knows!

(Final edit Crane here. It has been more than 5 months. Christ.)

This analysis uses only official material for the sake of analyzing the character, primarily sourcing official English localizations. It'll be um, lengthy, to say the least, so if you aren't that interested, just keep scrolling. Also, if there's even one canon installation of Danganronpa that you haven't played/watched/read yet (THH, DR0, SDR2, UDG, DR3, and/or V3) don't read this; the ripple effect of Junko in every corner of the franchise will be discussed and thus, there will be spoilers aplenty.

Also, a disclaimer that though I try to remain as objective as possible with these analyses, it will be at its core, an interpretation. Not everything will match up with how you interpret it, and that's okay! I don't claim to be perfect, and this isn't an infallible source of canon, only my interpretation of the source. Let's get into it!

Foreword

Real quick, before we get too far in: readers of my previous analyses know that I normally try to move in chronological order of release and events in-game to keep the analyses easier to follow. Due to the nature of Junko's characterization and the fact that she's present throughout the entire series, that isn't really possible here, as to talk about any one aspect of her, I may need to pull from multiple installations. I'll be sure to cite where I'm pulling from and provide evidence where necessary, but it definitely won't be perfectly in order by release or timeline. So hopefully it won't be too messy. Also, characters very closely tied to Junko, like Monokuma, Ryoko, Mukuro, etc. will be analyzed separately at a later date, so those sections may end up feeling incomplete as a result. For the sake of releasing this before 2025, I need to cut corners a little bit and focus primarily on how these relationships affect Junko, and not the other way around.

Part 1- Monokuma

In order to understand Junko, you must first have a basic understanding of Monokuma, mascot of the Danganronpa series and self-declared Headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy. Monokuma introduces himself to the cast as their superior and oversees the killing games, providing motives and passing judgement on the class trials, all while reveling in the Despair of the students. There are multiple iterations of Monokuma, but most of them exist in order to carry out the killing games without issue.

Like Junko, Monokuma remained a staple of the franchise, appearing in every official installment, whether he was being actively piloted by Junko or not. As we see in DR3: Despair Arc, she personally designed him to become the face of her movement of Despair, and thus, he was used to carry out her will at every turn.

1.1- Trigger Happy Havoc

In the first DR game, Monokuma was just a robot piloted by Junko. His mannerisms were a character invented by her to appear as the psychopathic Headmaster, but regardless, her true nature of Despair is directly infused into the character as she acts him out. Through him, she's able to reveal hidden information about each of her classmates and torment them personally, all without them knowing she was once a dear friend to them. As a robot, though, he came with drawbacks- Junko couldn't pilot him and watch the cameras at the same time, and once the charade of his all-seeing Headmaster was seen through by Kyoko, he lost most of his power. Thus, Monokuma's existence was designed to deceive, and could only function through deception. He created the illusion that hope was outside, that escape was solely on his terms, and that the class had no unification- all according to Junko's design.

1.2- Goodbye Despair

When the sequel game arrived, Monokuma was once again a character being played by Junko. Unlike last time, however, the two had blended together, becoming one and the same. This Monokuma was a Despair Virus, created with Chihiro's Alter Ego technology, and implanted into the Neo World Program with the intent of continuing the real Junko's plans for the spread of Despair. This version of Monokuma is extremely similar to the previous in terms of its personality and beliefs, but appears much more powerful within the artificially generated world, now able to apparently power-up, bleed, and transform plushies into duplicates without logical explanation.

Rather than targeting certain themes in an attempt to teach Despair, this Monokuma created directly-targeted motives, attempting to use class 77's personal connections to a whole other level and banking on the fact they were friends, rather than try to cover it up. He also acts as if they're his dear friends and like they're on the same side, directly inverse to his apparent attitude towards class 78. This is intentional, though as to why, we'll get into much later.

1.3- Ultra Despair Girls

Rather than being present as a character, Monokuma exists solely as mascot in this game, as thousands of Monokumas are programmed and piloted to slaughter the majority of adults in Towa City. He exists solely as a tool used by the Warriors of Hope.

In chapter 4 of the game, you get the reveal that all the physical Monokumas that exist were built and sold in Towa Group's factories, and later, that Monaca Towa was directly responsible. This exists to demonstrate how Junko was able to financially and physically afford the amount of power and technology she accrued in her crusade for Despair. More on this later.

1.4- Danganronpa 3- Future Arc

Near the end of the first episode, Monokuma seemingly appears on a monitor in the meeting room of Future Foundation's HQ, announcing his survival and a return of the killing games, starting with the Future Foundation higher-ups. At the beginning of the following episode, an act is put on between this version of the character and "Miaya Gekkogahara", as they fake an argument where Monokuma alters her avatar Usami into Monomi, making it appear as though he's again being piloted by a real person from some remote location.

As the season comes to a close, though, we learn that it was the chairman who set up the killing game, and that Monokuma's appearance, along with the video that would play during every nap, were falsified recordings, aided in part by Monaca Towa pretending to be Miaya. Thus, his likeness was used for a cheap recreation in an attempt to manipulate one person and kill nearly everyone else in charge of the Future Foundation, all set in motion by Junko's own brainwashing videos.

1.5- Killing Harmony

This is the only version of Monokuma that Junko herself doesn't have a hand in recreating, and is the only time he exists solely as a robot personality of his own accord. Created by Team Danganronpa, he's a physical conception of the fictional character Monokuma in-universe, and thus, is a character in his own right. Birthed by a Motherkuma machine for the mastermind's benefit, Monokuma acts once again as Headmaster, but a significant amount of soul is noticably absent from the presentation. This is in part due to the amount of focus on the Monokubs, using their unique characteristics for comic gags with the cast in the way Monokuma used to in the previous games, and his appearance feels like more of a checkbox than an actual return of Monokuma. Simply put, without Junko's influence, Monokuma's character becomes more flat, and starts to fade into the background in a convoluted mess of references and callbacks. All of which is done on purpose- Monokuma is a facet of Junko, and without Junko, Monokuma becomes empty.

Part 2- Character Design

Junko Enoshima is designed as a gyaru, a subgenre of fashion known for its more 'rebellious' style. She's dressed in a modified uniform, with a black jacket with her sleeves rolled up and unbuttoned, allowing her cleavage and bra to show, with a black-and-white tie, a red bow, and a red plaid miniskirt. She also has Monokuma pins holding up her ponytails- one with the white half, and one with the black half. Asymmetricality and the use of exclusively black, white, and red all align her with Monokuma, an asymmetrical black-and-white bear with a red eye. She has styled blonde hair and blue eyes, and has the title of SHSL Gyaru, or Ultimate Fashionista.

2.1- What's A Gyaru?

Gyaru as a fashion style first originated in the 1970s, emerging from Japanese women's nonconformist desire to embrace their own sexuality and rebel against societal standards of the traditional housewife. As time passed and more women latched onto the trend, it became a major point of discussion, initially shaming these women for being too racy or delinquent, before shifting to an increase in streetwear fashion and being recognized as its own genre of fashion, evolving with new subgenres as time continued to pass. It went from a wholly shameful style to an expensive, trendy one as expressly gyaru clothes started to be made and sold in stores. The increase in popularity also led to discussions of placing laws against child prostitution, as younger girls were getting into the expensive fashion and started finding alternative ways to afford this showy clothing.

There are many, many subgenres of gyaru known, but Junko Enoshima is specifically referred to as a kogal or kogyaru, a high-school gyaru. Her school uniform is modified into a showy jacket and miniskirt with big bows, she wears knee-high boots, and her hair is blonde, implied to be dyed based off of the common hair-dying of kogals. In DR 0, we also see her with red hair and eyes as opposed to the blonde and blue, suggesting that red may be her natural hair and eye color. Kogal culture has a lot of stereotypes around it regarding the extracurricular activities of the girls who subscribe to it, but the general idea around it is for the girls that participate in it to break social norms and claim their sexuality for themselves to get what they want, all within a consumerist guise. This type of mentality matches Junko extremely well, as a character bent on breaking the world for her own pleasures by advertising herself as Despair.

Part 3- The Mastermind Reveal (THH)

We don't actually meet Junko Enoshima until the final showdown in THH, though we are well-acquainted with the idea of her before then, as not only do we meet an imposter-Junko in the first chapter, but her magazines are specifically shown to us in the intro of the game, and are scattered throughout the school(laundry room). There are also little hints as to her identity as mastermind sprinkled into the game.

"Whenever I spot a cute girl, I have a tendency to stare. I can't help it- I just gaze with intensity. The other day, I rode my bike to the train station... I was in the bathroom, just looking at myself in the mirror..." -Monokuma Theatre, THH

Despite these hints, the characters don't know who the mastermind is yet, only being able to reason at her motivations for the killing game and why it came to be based off of what clues Monokuma leaves out for them, like how the main track that plays when interacting with Monokuma is called '100 Mile Junk Food Dash'.

"But first, I have a question for you... Who are you? What do you want from us?" "Well, if you really must know... Despair. That's all." -Kyoko Kirigiri & Monokuma, THH

"And for those of us who represent hope to kill each other and sink into Despair... The mastermind wants the world to see that, to try and prove that Despair is better than hope." -Kyoko Kirigiri, THH

We know that whoever this mastermind piloting Monokuma is, they're someone that's engineering this entire killing game expressly to spread Despair. With the knowledge that the killing game is being televised, that Despair isn't just for the students, but is being put on display for the entire world to see. Manufacturing and televising such a sadistic game using public figureheads under governmental protection is a behavior akin to terrorism (Despairism?) and is an act that, by itself, seems nigh impossible for some high-school student to be capable of. Yet, we know it is a high-schooler- Monokuma insists that the only people involved in the killing game are the 16 students of their class.

Through the investigations of chapters 5 and 6, it becomes increasingly more apparent that whoever this SHSL Despair is, Junko has some level of involvement. For example, more observant players will recognize Mukuro's corpse almost immediately as 'Junko's' from chapter 1, as her bright red nails and the same high-heeled, red-laced boots are clearly visible. And while this doesn't immediately incriminate Junko herself, it does at least call into question the identity of the dead SHSL Despair, as the body being Mukuro's isn't ever really contested(save for a 'dumb Hiro' gag insisting it's Kyoko while standing next to Kyoko).

"And don't forget about the Fenrir tattoo. There's absolutely no mistake... Our victim in this case is, without a doubt, Mukuro Ikusaba...!" -Kyoko Kirigiri, THH

Throughout the final investigation, the player's job is to solve 'all the mysteries of the school', AKA their erased memories and the identity of the mastermind. This investigation intentionally doesn't talk about Junko, voiding her involvement to the point that her own face is scrubbed from the evidence. The hints given by Monokuma picture Junko's face covered up in every photo, and the recordings of the students agreeing to live in the school is cut off before it can cycle over to her. It's not her presence that matters, it's the lack of presence, because we haven't actually met her yet, juxtaposed to the repeated mentions of Mukuro, a girl who'd been a part of the group since the very beginning without anyone realizing.

When we do realize this, it comes with the realization that Mukuro's and 'Junko's' body were one and the same, and with Kyoko's old pocketbook revealing that "Despair walks among us, and so we survive... There's a second 'Despair'", we can come to the conclusion that the reason the mastermind was able to pull this off was because there was actually more than one, working in sync, and thus, the reason both bodies were one was because they were the SHSL Despair together.

Part 4- The Despair Sisters: Mutual Abuse (CW: Incest)

Despite the fact Junko was the brains behind the operation, there was never really a time where she was working alone towards Despair. She was actually one of two Ultimate Despair- as she called them, the Despair Sisters. Her twin sister, Mukuro Ikusaba, was Ultimate Despair as well, and assisted her every step of the way.

In her first appearance, we don't actually get to know anything about her, as she spends her time with the class pretending to be Junko. As such, any and all information gathered on Mukuro is given by someone else- official school records state her title and physical attributes, and Junko tells us her role as Ultimate Despair and goes on about her flaws.

"She had what I call the 'three atrocities'- atrociously rank, atrociously filthy, atrociously repulsive. It was atrociously clear just how out of touch she was with the rest of society." -Junko Enoshima, THH

"The older sister, tough and proud, that was Mukuro. The younger sister, smart and cute, that was... Hyaaaahaha! Me! Junko fucking Enoshima! And together, we were the Despair Sisters! AKA, the Ultimate Despair!" -Junko Enoshima, THH

Mukuro reappears as herself in DR 0 and DR3's Despair Arc, as well as the official AU novel DR IF. In these, we get more insight into her feelings, and see her display an overt attraction to her sister at multiple instances.

"Consumed by ecstasy, even Ikusaba-san's breath became ragged. 'Only I am able to understand her. That's why she needs me. She still hasn't realized that but, maybe she's only pretending not to realize. Ufu, that's because she's so shy. Ufufufu.' Seeing this intoxicated Ikusaba-san continue to talk like that repelled me. I knew that she definitely didn't have normal feelings for Junko Enoshima". -"Mukuro Ikusaba" & Ryoko Otonashi, DR 0

This is pretty obviously incestuous in nature. She blushes at her sister's attempts to kill her with an ice pick, has an internal dialogue about how much said attention affects her, and 'goes into ecstasy' talking about her sister's madness. It's intentionally uncomfortable because it's intentionally incestuous*. I've seen arguments for Mukuro's behaviors being out of character and only there for fanservice in the anime, but this behavior being found in DR 0 first pretty clearly contradicts that. I've also seen an argument for Mukuro's behavior being an act meant to make Junko feel Despair and not having any legitimacy. The crux of the argument comes from the assertion in DR IF that Mukuro is able to numb her emotions in battle, so therefore, she could also mimic such an attraction when around her sister. This argument quickly falls apart as well, considering that a) she has both internal and external dialogue directly referencing her attraction where Junko can't actually hear her, and b) going numb in the heat of battle is not at all the same thing as faking sexual desire outright.

*(Mukuro being incestuous is immediately relevant to the way the Despair Sisters interact with each other, and understanding that I'm talking about their relationship under the lens that she is will hopefully prevent questions about why I'm talking about them as I am throughout the analysis, particularly when she pops up in other sections here and there later. Please do not go into the replies or reblogs and explain to me why I'm wrong; you are not going to change my mind. Believe it or not, I don't like Despaircest either, but that doesn't mean Mukuro's behavior in canon is some accident to be shrugged off. These are meant to be OBJECTIVE analyses. I'm going to look at what the games and novels and anime are presenting, whether I actually like all the points or not.)

Junko Enoshima yearns for Despair. Despair is her reason for being, and everything she does, she does with the intent of eventually bringing Despair upon herself. That pain of Despair is the strongest feeling in the world to her. And the way she treats Mukuro directly stems from that desire. Despair stems from grief, and what brings more grief then the people you love most despising you? Mukuro is her twin sister, who stands by her no matter what. Junko even tests this, having her kill an entire class of students to prove her strength and loyalty in manga series Killer Killer(though, admittedly, Killer Killer hasn't been confirmed as canon to my knowledge, it still aligns with what we know for both characters without altering anything about their characterization).

Mukuro is capable- very capable, and definitely has the ability to betray her, or even kill her if she wanted to. So at every turn, she treats Mukuro like garbage, actively trying to kill her with an ice pick when they first reunite and talking down to her at every opportunity. She describes her sister as fat, flat-chested, ugly, stupid, a pervert, any insult she can think of. She critiques her murders, chastising her when she kills the guards in Despair Arc while looking for Izuru for not doing a clean enough kill. But despite all this, Mukuro never strays from Junko's side. She continues to fawn over her, not just taking all the abuse, but displaying an attraction to her Despairing nature, and refuses to leave her side, the exact opposite reaction of what Junko wants to see from her.

"'Yes, she really is ridiculous…to the point of Despair, she's the lowest, worst sister ever but…that's why I can't leave her alone. That's why I have to help her. After all, I'm the only one who can understand her.'" -Mukuro Ikusaba, DR 0

This kind of loyalty isn't Despair-inducing at all; that dedication is exactly what she predicted from her obsession. What Junko actually wanted from her, we get a brief taste of when she speaks in the final trial of THH- "Because naturally, she turned out to be the letdown of the family. Leaving me behind to run off and join some band of mercenaries... Such a disappointment." The Despair of abandonment, of betrayal, was what she wanted. But Mukuro is too loyal for her own good. That's just annoying.

Mukuro is emotionally abusive, or would be if her sister were anyone but Junko, lusting after her own blood sister in a way that's considered taboo and perverse. This lust develops from an obsessive need to stay loyal to her sister, while Junko verbally abuses her right back, talking down to her and keeping her under her heel, mocking her at all available opportunities and treating her in a way that would make anyone else feel like shit. Not so for Mukuro, the person who's been next to her since birth and has stood by her side through all her Despair. They abuse each other, but there's an unspoken bond that allows for their relationship to function regardless, albeit in a twisted way. They're sisters, equally matched, and together, they become two halves of a whole terrorist. Despair is toxic for anybody, and Junko's own affliction leads Mukuro's obsessiveness to chain herself to Junko's side. They're twins who were born together, after all, and who else could even begin to understand Junko's Despair?

4.1- Despaircest & Anime (CW: Still Incest)

We've seen the relationship that Mukuro and Junko have with each other, both as it was alluded to in earlier depictions and how they interact with each other immediately in the anime. And, despite the fact that it wasn't directly shown to us before said anime, there were hints of the intention of a one-sided incest in DR 0, as well as repeated examples of Junko treating her sister poorly on a surface level and how much she actually valued her within THH and DR IF. Going into the anime, this would be the first time we'd actually see Junko and Mukuro interacting directly with each other as themselves. This could have been the time where we get to see just how twisted their relationship actually is, getting to see how, and maybe even why, they began treating each other in this way. We could've gotten more of a glimpse into their backstory, when they separated, and the inherently self-destructive cycle they pull each other into. Here's what we got instead:

Rather than actually explore the real depth of their fucked up relationship, the anime elects to play it up for the sake of fanservice. This is admittedly an ongoing problem in most of DR3, as it throws most of its female characters into very compromising positions and focuses in on their bodies when they're being brutalized in one way or another and not doing the same for the men, but that only makes this lack of tact worse. There's no interest in actually addressing this darker plot point beyond the most basic surface level because to go any deeper would make it more difficult to get your rocks off to it. It's a shame to create such a conceptually fascinating relationship that would've made for a fantastic way to develop Mukuro as a villain more and Junko as a human more, and just use it for cheap servicy gags. I feel like it isn't an unreasonable statement to say that this was lazy. Danganronpa is supposed to be a series that explores dark topics and uses them to create tragedy and develop its characters. In the face of that, this was cheap.

Hell, this very scene says it itself: they're using Despair to create a fucked up pleasure for the viewer! The incest being played up for fanservice instead of acknowledging Mukuro as a character is, from a meta perspective, Despair-inducing. To the writers and to Mukuro, Mukuro doesn't matter outside of Junko. Her suffering is pleasurable to the audience in a way that's outside of social acceptability, in the way she needed to be used for so long just to exist. BUT WE ALREADY KNEW THAT. We didn't need to boil Mukuro down to an extension of Junko; Mukuro already did that to herself. Maybe this is just me complaining because it's not what I wanted to see from this plotline; I'm not ashamed to admit that. I think being able to acknowledge your biases as a consumer is important when critically looking at a piece of media. But I stand by my assertion that the presentation of this point is sloppy and surface-level, and should've been handled with more tact.

Part 5- The Murder of Mukuro Ikusaba

Junko treats her sister like trash, but despite this, we know that she does respect her. In fact, she has to consider Mukuro as an equal, because if she didn't, she wouldn't hold her as equal parts Despair as herself. Yet, when she reveals herself at the end of THH, she affirms that they were equals- both the Despair Sisters, who worked together("We were the Ultimate Despair, ya know?"), and in the same breath, describes her atrocities and mocks her memory as a disappointment. She sees Mukuro as not just a person, but a legitimate danger and a harbringer of Despair that's worth recognizing. Thus, as a sister, it causes her Despair to prevent anyone else from seeing that and paints Mukuro as just another victim of hers("She was nothing more than a bit player, an extra unworthy of lines."). Playing up her betrayal of Mukuro and her supposed disdain for her sister strips her of her agency as Ultimate Despair to their classmates, without letting them see her true self either. She becomes just another faceless victim, and Junko holds the memory of the true Mukuro Ikusaba, merciless killer and all, wholly to herself.

In the au light novel DR IF, Makoto remembers Mukuro, and inadvertently saves her from this fate. This leads the rest of the LN to focus on Mukuro and her relationship with Junko from her perspective as she copes with the reality that her sister betrayed her. It differentiates herself from Despair, and from her POV, we learn how she thought Junko felt vs how she actually did. Junko lives her life hopelessly- she's too smart for her own good, and can predict the moves of society and of the people around her. Mukuro believed she was the only one who fully understood Junko, so she acted perfectly in accordance with her plans, never once rebelling or going against her. She tries to convince herself to crave her sister's Despair so she would feel Despair from that desire, so she can remain close to her. But that wasn't the Despair Junko wanted. All along, what Junko wanted was for Mukuro to betray her because of her love for her. Without Mukuro, her plans would fall apart. She wouldn't be able to break into Hope's Peak as she did, nor would she be able to protect herself when attacked. Mukuro was what allowed her to gather as much power as she did over Hope's Peak, infiltrating and gathering blackmail, kidnapping chairmen, and so on. Mukuro was the brawn to Junko's brain. So the one thing that could destroy her plans, and bring her a Despair greater than any other, would be if her other half abandoned her. In DR IF, she learns this as Junko finally tells her that she loves her to her face. She breaks Mukuro's chains, and sets her free from her Despair to heal without her by rejecting her help, in a roundabout, Junko-esque way. In canon, though, Mukuro doesn't get to have that realization. She doesn't have the emotional intelligence to put those pieces together herself, and tired of waiting, tired of hoping, Junko gives herself an alternate Despair- the Despair of killing her own sister in cold blood.

The identity and death of Mukuro exist to keep the identity of the mastermind shrouded in mystery. Within THH, she's someone who's important from a narrative perspective- not as a person, but as an entity- designed to facilitate the reveal of the real Junko. Her murder is thus a murder of both her literally, and the murder of her personhood, as Mukuro is the one character that never gets to introduce herself. Junko makes it so, and wipes the memories of the class so that Mukuro Ikusaba will no longer exist outside of herself.

We're introduced to Mukuro not as Mukuro, but as Junko, wearing a wig and costume to appear as similar to her well-known sister as possible, and acting out her sister's fashion diva personality as convincingly as possible. It's tropey and typical of a fashionista- she cares about her looks a little too much during a killing game, acts like she's above the killing game and wants out of it, and explains away any imperfections as 'oh you haven't heard of photoshop before?'

There's no reason not to trust her at that point because no one thinks they've met her before. In DR IF, Makoto is able to recognize her through the outfit and charade, but that's only with his memories intact. Those memories have been thoroughly covered up by Junko in reality, and so the Mukuro Ikusaba she knows dies invisibly, betrayed and unrecognized as her classmates and friends mourn her killer instead. Junko gives her sister the worst Despair of all- being truly forgotten. After this, no one would remember who she was ever again, locked away in the mind of the person who'd never show her affection.

Not only that, Junko killing Mukuro and emphasizing how little she cared about that decision served to make the survivors hate her- her old friends now despised even looking at her, and brought her more Despair.

"Which is precisely why I killed her- to meet everyone's expectations." "That... can't be your only reason, can it?" "Well no, of course not. I also did it to avoid becoming bored." -Junko Enoshima & Makoto Naegi, THH

Despite that, being the one to kill Mukuro brings her a Despair like no other, with her describing it as "super super super super super Despair. No, more than that... Super super super super super super super super super super super super super super super Despair... It just feels... so... good..."

Junko did love her sister, and made everyone else she loved believe otherwise so she could feed off the Despair from their hatred.

Part 6- Ultimate Despair and Junko Enoshima

"The Ultimate Despair... A group of people who caused the Tragedy one year ago... Those same people put together this killing game and began broadcasting it around the entire world. The most desperately awful group of people ever... *That* is the mastermind's true identity." -Makoto Naegi, THH

Make no mistake- despite what the surface level of the series would have you believe, Junko Enoshima isn't the Ultimate Despair. There is no the Ultimate Despair because Despair isn't confined to any one person. Rather, Junko Enoshima is afflicted with Ultimate Despair. Despair, by nature, is grief. It's a pain inflicted by the death of hope, whether that be through the loss of a dream, a person, or whatever else. You grieve that loss, and it takes the form of Despair. Ultimate Despair takes that grief and amplifies it, destroying any sense of self and replacing it with the desire for more Despair. This is the type of Despair that Junko Enoshima feels, and thus, uses her own talents to embody it and spread it. It's a bold claim to make, I realize, that she isn't the SHSL Despair she defines herself as, but it's the basis this entire analysis leads to, and as the evidence over the course of the series develops her character more and more, it goes from some theoretical musing to legitimate design, all the way through to the end of V3. Though she immerses herself within Ultimate Despair, she herself is not Despair incarnate like she'd have you believe.

As we see her in THH, Junko is repeatedly hammered in as 'one of two' by the narrative. It's not just Junko that's formed Ultimate Despair; it's also Mukuro, and they're not referred to as 'Ultimate Despair and her sister', they're 'the Despair Sisters'. For all her charisma she displays, she alone isn't responsible for the Tragedy. Everyone is capable of feeling Despair. It's that foothold Despair has within her that creates an 'Ultimate Despair'. And while yes, Junko was definitely the most afflicted with Ultimate Despair, she didn't get as far as she did just by being horny for grief. She has a title, a real one, and it's not SHSL Gyaru. That was her cover, something she could use thanks to her real talent. Her real talent was only ever known by a select few, and to know what that is, you have to dive into the (criminally underrated, may I add) 2-volume novel set, Danganronpa 0.

Part 7- Ryoko Otonashi (DR 0)

(Little disclaimer here: Before I actually talk about the novel, I did want to quickly assert that DR 0 is both a mainline release to the Danganronpa series and 100% canon. Written and released by series creator Kazutaka Kodaka himself in 2011, it was written specifically to fill out Junko's character more. As such, everything contained within them are unquestionably canon to the world and its characters, something critically important to understand when talking about how it pertains to Junko Enoshima. I think just about anyone who's read DR 0 before knows all this already, but for the sake of anyone reading this who hasn't, I wanted to assert that.)

Ryoko Otonashi is the protagonist of DR 0, and is introduced to us as an audience in a 1st-person perspective. While she isn't the only character we follow in this series, she's the only one to speak to the reader straight-up, introducing herself and reacting immediately to the people and events in front of her. This is for good reason, as Ryoko is suffering from some form of amnesia. Not only does she not remember anything about her childhood or her identity, she also forgets things as they're happening. She can't even remember her name, and is only able to recall it by reading the cover of her notebook- 'Ryoko Otonashi's Memory Notebook,' where she's writing down everything in front of her as it happens so she can try to remember later.

Most of the story is told through Ryoko's perspective as she tries to avoid being caught up in some massive conspiracy within the school- all without actually remembering the conspiracy she's avoiding. Junko Enoshima is the one responsible for this, directing her from place to place and slowly forcing her to confront the conspiracy as she starts to figure out who she is and how she fits into it all. She insists over and over again that it has nothing to do with her, that she's innocent and has never met any of these people before and desperately tries to believe it- her memory is gone, therefore she could not be responsible.

But she is responsible, because she's not Ryoko Otonashi. Her real name is Junko Enoshima, and she's the SHSL Analyst, a girl with such a strong logical capacity that given enough information, she can perfectly understand and predict anything. This could be the actions and personality of a person, or it could be upcoming trends in fashion; whatever it may be, Junko is capable of perfectly analyzing and understanding what will happen in any given situation, long before the world does. And that type of intelligence has rotted away her mind.

Simply put, the human brain requires stimulation. Boredom is her opponent, and in a world where she can fully understand and predict anything at any time, Junko has nothing to stimulate her, and almost nothing can bring her any joy, because she fully anticipates it. Everything is normal, predictable, boring- it's left her with a case of intense anhedonia. Therefore, the only way she could find any happiness is in a world where that talent is stripped away from her. As Ryoko Otonashi, a girl with no memory, she can remember nothing and therefore predict nothing. Analysis requires data, and a blank slate offers none. Even her name is in reference to this, as 'Otonashii' translates to English as 'no sound' or 'quiet'. Only without memory can Junko's mind be silent and let her be genuinely happy.

Ryoko Otonashi is essentially a personality created by Junko as a test, not just for the people around her, but also for herself. Throughout the novel, Mukuro and Yasuke interact with her with opposing goals- Mukuro pushes her into the fray of Despair she's created, while Yasuke tries his best to keep her eyes and ears covered. Ryoko is in a unique position between the two- she's starting to remember and understand herself again, but is terrified of what she'll find, and wants to hold onto her peace with Yasuke. The ongoing question of the novel, which only reveals itself on a reread, isn't within Ryoko's identity itself. It asks the question of whether or not Junko could have been saved from Despair. And the answer, sadly, is no. Remembering anything for too long makes her forget her happiness, and she falls back into Despair, killing Ryoko Otonashi, the epitome of her peace, with her own hands.

Mukuro and Yasuke act as opposing forces within the novel, as both feel a loyalty to Junko that makes them act in what they believe to be her benefit, and both fail. Mukuro drags her kicking and screaming back into the depths of Despair to bring back the madness she sees Junko as, while Yasuke wipes her mind of everything that made her Junko to remove what plagued her. For Junko, balance isn't an option, and the people within her orbit fall victim to that same mentality.

7.1- Personality Disorders In Danganronpa

I'm not a psychologist, nor do I have any sort of split personality(DID, OSDD, etc). So my knowledge on the subject isn't that great, and everything said within this section should be taken with a grain of salt. But, to the best that I can tell, Ryoko's existence as an alter is sort of... mixed up. Other characters in the DR series (Toko & Genocider) make it pretty clear that Kodaka doesn't really have a fantastic understanding of people with DID outside of how they're stereotyped in the horror genre. And that background knowledge, combined with the presentation of Ryoko in DR 0, makes me think she was likely intended to be an alter, but as one that Junko had almost absolute control over, as at multiple instances, she was able to knock Ryoko out at will, and fully killed her once she'd outlived her usefulness for the experiment. There are parallels to Jekyll and Hyde in that aspect, though of course Jekyll was aware of also being Hyde- an alternate version of yourself created to rid yourself of everything about yourself that you despise is very reminiscent of Jekyll's motivations, down to the permanent erasure of the "good" side by the very end. It's also worth noting that Jekyll and Hyde weren't intended as an example of DID, but rather, an exploration of how every person is multifaceted with good and bad parts, even if modern day interpretations often read it as another example of the evil DID trope from 1960 and beyond(thanks a lot, Psycho).

There are several interactions between Ryoko and Junko that support them being two personalities within the same body rather than just a case of memory erasure. For example, when Ryoko is nearly killed by one of the SHSL Octuplets, Junko emerges just to make sure she isn’t killed, citing it as a minor nuisance.

“‘Upupu, I wonder if I was a bit too harsh.’ The voice said, it sounded close. ‘... But it can’t be helped. It’d just be embarrassing if you died here. After all, you’re the protagonist in this scene for once!’” -Junko Enoshima, DR 0

When Ryoko wakes up in the underground bunker of the Reserve Course cult forming, she comes across a captured member of the Steering Committee. And because she genuinely doesn't know who he is or where she is, he ends up giving her classified information that Junko needed, and the second he reveals it, she's immediately able to knock Ryoko back out and take over once again, having used the Ryoko personality as a front specifically to gain information.

“'The old school building… Kamukura Izuru’s there.' 'P-Please wait..' I ended the conversation prematurely with an interruption. Quickly, I wrote in ‘Otonashi Ryouko’s Memory Notebook’. .... But then… Huh? I suddenly felt an attack of dizziness, I struggled to stay upright. What’s happening?" -Steering Committee Member & Ryoko Otonashi, DR 0

"'Oy, did you hear me?' I didn’t. The beating in my ears was only growing louder, it completely drowned out all other sound, I couldn’t hear anything anymore. I shouldn’t be able to hear anything anymore, and yet I could hear a single, eerie laugh. '...Upupu.'" -Steering Committee Member & Ryoko Otonashi & Junko Enoshima, DR 0

Ryoko's memory of Yasuke is also contingent on whether or not Junko wants her to recognize him, suggesting that to some degree, her memory issues aren't just forcefully induced, but rather, are a conscious choice on Junko's part for Ryoko, as once Junko's plan is in place, she suddenly can't recognize him and is then forced to kill him in self-defense.

"'Are you…talking to me?' He looked exhausted. A face of someone who lost everything. The face of someone who lost all his thoughts, all his senses, and all his emotions. '…You don’t remember me?'" -Ryoko Otonashi & Yasuke Matsuda, DR 0

It's pretty unclear whether this was an intended conclusion from Ryoko's and Junko's behavior in DR 0, or if these are just remnants of Kodaka not knowing how personality disorders work and simply having Junko be so powerful that she can purposefully create, manipulate, and kill personalities at will, but I think looking at it from a more psychological viewpoint like this certainly puts Junko's actions as a manipulator into more perspective. The intention behind Ryoko suggests that Junko's manipulative abilities extended even into her own psyche, almost to a supernatural degree. Do actual systems in the real world function like this? No, but thanks to Toko/Genocider, we know that the representation of DID isn't gonna be good in this series.

If we wanted to put this into a more realistic lens, we could come to the conclusion that Junko's apparent control over Ryoko and the discrepancies behind her existence is a result of Junko having Munchausen Syndrome. Also called factitious disorder, Munchausen is a subconscious psychological condition in which the patient fakes symptoms of other kinds of conditions, whether mental or physical, without realizing they're mimicking the symptoms. Under this lens, we could say Ryoko was a factitious alter that Junko created after Yasuke wiped her memory, hence why she could have control over her over the course of the novel. This was almost definitely not the intended explanation, but it's the conclusion I came to. So there.

Part 8- Relationships

Due to just how many corners of the franchise Junko's present in, there's no convenient place to dump all the relationship analyses like I normally do. Ergo, I'll be breaking part 8 up, and will talk about the different core relationships Junko forms when they're most relevant.

8.1- Yasuke Matsuda

Yasuke Matsuda is the SHSL Neurologist, and a childhood friend of Junko's introduced in DR 0. Because he's the boy she's in love with, he remains the only tangible thing Ryoko can remember outside of her procedural memory, and is treating her memory loss. He's also the one primarily responsible for wiping her mind and assisting the school in the coverup of the student council massacre that Junko was responsible for, though he takes no pleasure in it.

"The silence continued for a while until Matsuda sighed and muttered, 'You should worry.' His voice was low and depressing. 'What if you’ll always be like this......'" -Yasuke Matsuda, DR 0

Despite his tsundere behaviors towards Ryoko whenever the two are face-to-face, he's very much in love with her, and spends the novel trying to look out for what he believes is in her best interests by methodically attempting to remove the Despair from her mind and covering up the Tragedy she's already set into motion. Throughout the novel, he works in cahoots with the Hope's Peak Academy Steering Committee to find more information about the Incident. He does this specifically to defend Ryoko and keep people from interrogating her further, and to hopefully extricate her from the whole situation permanently.

"'I said shut the fuck up.' Matsuda easily quieted the men by saying that and then he continued in a soft voice. 'People might call her an idiot, but she doesn’t even bother to stick up for herself, thinking she can’t do it. So I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I don’t do it for her.'" -Yasuke Matsuda, DR 0

Though we never see it directly, we realize with the help of Kyoko that he's also the one taking the bodies of the Steering Committee and SHSL Octuplets after Mukuro kills them and disposing of them, in the hopes they won't be discovered and Junko will eventually be absolved of both suspicion and Despair.

“Finally she looked at me. ..... ‘The dead body, the body that was dead. There was a post-death body here before!’ ‘Huh?’ .....  ‘There’s not mistake, I know there was definitely a corpse here before!’” -Ryoko Otonashi & Mukuro Ikusaba, DR 0

“Matsuda-kun’s voice was definitely coming from beneath me. There’s no mistaking he was under the bed. ‘But... what would require so much concentration to be under the bed?’ ‘This situation.’ Somehow, Matsuda-kun’s way of putting it could allure to several different meanings.” -Yasuke Matsuda & Ryoko Otonashi, DR 0

"I stood next to the girl, crouched down and peeked under the bed. At the back I could see a large opening, .... 'It’s not a terribly impressive hidden room… a storage room at best.' '…A storage room?' 'For hiding dead bodies.'” -Ryoko Otonashi & Kyoko Kirigiri, DR 0

But despite his best efforts, Junko's talents of analysis were just too great, and she'd already come up with a plan to send her back into Despair before he ever touched her mind. With the help of Mukuro and the growing underground Reserve Course cult of Despair, Ryoko is forced to face Despair after Despair, and is hunted for her involvement in the student council massacre. Junko confronts him and taunts him for his failure, leaving him to wallow.

"'I get it, you feel sorry for her… even so, you’re troubled. You’re incredibly troubled. That’s what it seems like after what I’ve been hearing…'” -Junko Enoshima, DR 0

“'You know, in this scenario, only you can make the choice, Matsuda-kun. So think carefully, worry about it, and choose the choice you think it best. Hope or despair… the choices are so diverse and yet, surprisingly, intricately connected. Anyway, have a good think about it…'" -Junko Enoshima, DR 0

In one final attempt to see if he can salvage her, he approaches Ryoko outside of his lab, pretending as if he's Izuru Kamukura, and questions her. She doesn't recognize him, and he, too, falls into Despair, finally accepting that despite his feelings, he was a pawn to Junko's game, and tries to kill her, sending Ryoko towards Despair as she realizes who she's speaking to and can't convince him she loves him anymore. Defending herself, she ends up stabbing him, sending herself spiraling as she becomes her lover's killer, and Junko reemerges from her mind, killing her off in front of him and forcing him to die in Despair.

He dies believing Junko never actually loved him. He becomes thoroughly convinced that she was pretending, and that Ryoko was nothing more than a part of the game to send him into Despair. And that perception of Junko combined with her causing his death brings Junko an indescribable Despair. The man she loved died by her hands, hating her existence. Truly, this was Despair!

"'I was right, wasn't I? About you remembering? That's why you can't remember me? You remembered that I wasn’t a particularly important person to you…so that's why you can't remember?' Kamukura then revealed his eyes, their glint was tainted with deadly hatred. '…You're such a bitch.'" -Yasuke Matsuda, DR 0

"'There's no way this would have nothing to do with me…' There was a hint of sadness laid somewhere in that murmuring voice. 'After all…you were the most important person to me of all…' Those were her true feelings. Yasuke Matsuda was an especially important existence for Junko Enoshima." -Junko Enoshima, DR 0

She loved Yasuke intensely. She cared about him moreso than anyone else, save Mukuro. And yet, despite how attached he was to her, Yasuke couldn't realize in his own Despair that there'd be no reason for someone like Junko to bother dragging herself through so much mental torment and manipulation at his expense if she wouldn't get a magnificent Despair out of it. Yes, she causes Despair for others, but she doesn't throw herself directly into the fray unless she gets something out of it. Despite loving her, he never actually understood her. That truth, too, would bring her Despair.

Part 9- How Junko Shaped the Game

Turning back towards THH, Junko's reveal shakes the class. Most of them believed that finding the mastermind and forcing them to show their face would end the game. But that's not the case for Junko Enoshima. She's not through with them yet, and takes the opportunity to rub everything they've lost in their faces.

"Puhuhuhu... Did you really think the story would end once we reached the climax of the case? Wrong! There's still plenty more to go!" -Monokuma, THH

Throughout all of THH, Junko's plan is hinged on Despair, and thus, she takes her class, which had become close friends and confidants over the past two years of their lives, and attacks what would bring them the worst Despairs possible for each. Her talents as SHSL Analyst allowed her to analyze her own classmates and tear at what would've made their 16-to-20 year old selves when they first met snap. And each one of the motives she used was designed specifically for that, something she makes sure to cite when taunting them ("Did you notice that each motive I presented you had a specific theme to it?")

The first motive's theme was 'human connections', and everything surrounding the first chapter reflects this. Sayaka's motive wasn't just about her career. It was about the family she'd found and not letting down the people who loved her. And on a meta perspective, the first chapter was also about relationships, specifically that between Sayaka and Makoto and how that relationship's end motivated Makoto to eventually become SHSL Hope, and to a lesser degree, starting the development of the critical relationship between Hina and Sakura.

The second motive's theme was 'the past', something the 2nd chapter very much reflects. The secrets that Junko uses against the class are extremely personal to each of their histories, and can be used to twist each of them to head towards Despair, whether that be through their own hand or their own poor judgements of the people around them from their lack of memories. Mondo's secret isn't just tragic; Junko purposefully warps it in his letter to affirm his own belief that Daiya's death was murder and not just an accident, and because no one knows its contents, it sends him into a spiral. The same can be said for Chihiro, whose secret implies that their gender presentation is a lie, forcing them into a conformatory decision that leads to tragedy. Her classmates' memories of the past are presented in a warped way to suit Junko's needs. Toko's secret of having DID and a serial killer alter, Genocider Syo, is also revealed and used to develop her more as a character when she's the one most afraid of opening up to the class.

The third motive's theme is 'greed', using the promise of wealth to lure Celeste to murder. Even if you could argue other characters within the class could have fallen victim to the first two motives, this one is undoubtedly meant to target the Yasuhiros on Junko's part, as realistically, no one else in their class has any reason to even consider killing for money by itself, especially not when there's already been two class trials. The Yasuhiros are the only ones who consider themselves to be in any level of financial need. This theme is also meta-reflected by the possessive nature Kiyondo and Hifumi both develop over Alter Ego. Because neither of them can keep themselves away from them, they became easily manipulated, and it became harder for the rest of the class to obtain information and watch out for each other, forming a tunnel vision towards Alter Ego in their minds. This contrasts Celeste and Hiro greatly as well- Celeste is consumed by her own greed, while Hiro doesn't even consider killing for the money, opting instead to try and look out for the class and develop him as a survivor. Hiro's the one that looks out for Taka and calls out Hifumi on his obsession; Hiro's lured into Celeste's trap by promise of a way to save everyone, while Celeste rejects her class in favor of fighting for a selfish dream she didn't even need.

The 4th motive is that of 'betrayal', and this one is where the cracks in Junko's plan finally reveal themselves. Each and every trial before this one ended in tears and Despair, and a sense of hopelessness that wasn't alleviated until they were given new distractions. Sakura's betrayal is meant to mirror Junko's own betrayal of her classmates, and when half the class instantly turns on her, things go exactly as Junko plans. Sakura swears to destroy Junko by any means necessary, and takes her own life in an attempt to take the fun from Junko. With Monokuma's meddling, Hina is instead pushed into attempting a murder-suicide, one she's caught for by Kyoko and Makoto. But once the truth comes out, Sakura and Hina aren't condemned. Those that attacked her end up defending her. Sakura doesn't betray her class; Sakura betrays Junko, and it puts her on the path to failure. Junko even admits to this, though indirectly: "Once I revealed Sakura's betrayal, that led to everything that came afterwards..." Note this is the only time where she doesn't expressly explain to the survivors why her motive was successful, because in this instance, it wasn't. It also fills out Hina as a character and uses her arc of an attempted self-destruction to contrast Junko, as Hina let herself be forgiven by her classmates, something Junko could never let herself do.

Part 10- Self-Destruction (Junko vs Sakura)

Despite the fact that Makoto is the character christened as SHSL Hope at the end of THH, there are a lot more parallels between Junko's self-destructive nature and Sakura's self-sacrifice that often go unnoticed, and these parallels are quintessential to the overarching narrative of THH and why Junko functioned as its villain.

Both Sakura and Junko do the things they do because they love the people around them. Both Sakura and Junko find themselves to fall short of who they'd rather be. Both Sakura and Junko kill themselves. But their goals are fundamentally, diametrically opposed.

Sakura Ogami, as a martial artist, is a woman of honor and principles. She believes in the inherent worth of the people around her because of this, and strives to become the strongest person alive not because it's a desire of her own, but because that's the destination the people who loved her had in mind for her(her father, Kenshiro, etc). And therefore, she's someone who fundamentally wishes to act in the best interests of the people she loves, even when it's at her own detriment.

Junko Enoshima, as a hyperintelligent analyst, is able to predict anything. And because she can predict anything, she can enjoy nothing, because she always knows what will happen before it gets there. Ergo, the only way she can enjoy herself is via the only thing that can make her feel- Despair. Grief and pain still feel like something in a world where she can't be pleasantly surprised by anything. She despises herself for it, and so in order to feel, she decimates anything that brings her joy. Joy is boring; joy is nothing; joy is just part of the default setting because she still sees it coming. And therefore, she's someone who fundamentally acts in the worst interests of those she loves, for the sake of her own detriment.

When Sakura kills herself, and Hina is filled with Despair, Junko wants to revel in the Despair this brings everyone else. Sakura killed herself for people that weren't giving her the time of day, and the one person who gave a crap tried to kill you all! Isn't it so tragic, so Despair-inducing, don't you just want to break down and crumble?! And then they don't. Instead, after hearing the truth of Sakura's actions, the entire rest of the class is uplifted and united by her honor. Even Byakuya is feeling hopeful now! What the actual fuck is happening?! Is this how they'll feel when I die, too? Will my death bring no Despair?

8.2- Class 78-B

We never get to actually see any of her classmates interacting directly with her in their school days, or in any way that was positive. Outside of THH's and SDR2's final trials, we as an audience don't get to see them interact as friends. So we have to draw these conclusions from what little context we were given within her dialogue in these few rare moments in THH and the mentions of her class in DR 0.

"There was a tap inside [Junko's] skull, like someone pressed a switch and slowly her entire brain lit up with a notion. Several faces appeared. Of course, they were faces she knew… they were the faces of her Hope’s Peak Academy classmates." -DR 0

Without any doubt, Junko loved her classmates. They were people she considered in high regard and had unwittingly fallen for their unique charms. While Junko had come to Hope's Peak with the intention of causing Despair, she'd accidentally found people that made her happy. When entering the school, she intended to use the people around her to damage the school of Hope's reputation, but inadvertently became attached: "Once your school life here began, I thought about you constantly. It's only natural that I would... fall in love." This made for a fantastic happy accident for Junko, as finding something beloved made for a much more fantastic Despair for her later.

"Remembering the faces of the people who would bring her such despair, she felt something that was similar to a person in love, and she danced to the rhythm of Despair. 'This is it! This is a fantastic despair!'" -Junko Enoshima, DR 0

We can also reasonably assume Junko was someone her classmates had considered dear to them in turn, as she not only knew how to motivate their past selves into murder, but also their deepest secrets and fears, and was able to attack their relationships when they themselves couldn't even remember them. Could you handwave that level of connection with her SHSL Analyst talent? Actually, no, because as stated previously, analysis requires data. And the only way she could gather enough data to understand them at a depth that let her plan her killing game to perfection was by getting to know them firsthand.

There's also a strange implication within Junko's explanation of how she put the killing game together that I think gets often overlooked. When she prepares to infodump to the remaining survivors, she says this:

"So since I love you guys so much, I'll tell you all about it! All about the idea we came up with as the Ultimate Despair- our plan to bring Despair to all mankind!"

It's an interesting choice of pronoun, to say the least. "We." It implies that the group she's referring to when she speaks is herself and the people she's speaking to at this moment in time. Could she just be switching gears and talking about Mukuro, and later, the RoD, Kamakura, the WoH, etc? Yeah, absolutely. But none of these characters had even been mentioned, whereas she was just speaking on her love for her classmates in the dialogue prior and continues to talk about her classmates after.

In listening to Junko's explanation of how she put the killing game together, it made me come to a pretty disturbing realization. One of the biggest things about Junko is how she's always able to seemingly pull together everything to form this killing game almost entirely by herself. Later installments to the series include some level of explanations- Towa Group becoming a financial and robotic sponsor, a SHSL Mechanic that could've made the executions, etc- but her success within the killing game hinges fully on her knowing how to best bring her classmates to Despair. And she's not just an analyst; Junko is a master manipulator. Throughout her entire explanation of how she created the killing game, she never says she threw them into the killing game against their will. Instead, she very deliberately calls attention to her classmates' choice in the matter, over and over again. They chose to enter the shelter, they chose to lock the doors and cover the windows, they chose to be there with the SHSL Despair, though they didn't know who they were with at the time. Makoto is the one to assert that they did so because they believed in the hope of survivng, and giving the world a fresh start. But it's not just their year's worth of fun school classes missing from their memories. There's also a year of hopelessness within the school erased, too. Combine this with a few well-placed lines from Junko.

"You see, by taking away your memories, I gave you hope."

"You absorbed all that Despair, but then you forgot it all."

"Despair is contagious, you know. It's almost like... a natural phenomenon."

"Once you'd finished building your little shelter, it was time for me and Mukuro to get to work. And thus began the killing game!"

If Junko is making the claim that she was able to give them hope by removing their memories, that meant none of them had any to begin with. She emphasizes how much Despair her classmates absorbed, and even Kyoko herself states that it's impossible for all this to have been put together by just the Despair Sisters. If an additional year of hopelessness waiting around within the school were also erased, and Junko is intentionally avoiding saying she started the killing game herself, is it beyond reason to suggest that at least some of the 78th class had fallen to Despair in that timeframe? Look at the survivors that are left- Byakuya, Toko, Syo, Hina, Hiro. All characters that Do Not Like each other by this point. Most of the meaningful connections between the classmates have been murdered. Their past is scrubbed away. They've basically all betrayed each other at least once by now, and have been pushed to the brink of Despair. If you got a collection of THH characters most likely to fall to Despair, it'd be this group.

Junko even takes a point to emphasize just how Despair-inducing the truth can become, targeting Kyoko directly with this. As Kyoko comes to the realization the Junko purposefully designed the game with the possibility of being caught, she revels in Kyoko's Despair. She taunts her with the fact that their solving the mystery only made things worse. She is purposefully trying to drive the rest of her surviving classmates into SHSL Despair alongside her. She's manipulated the game and her classmates to get what she wants- the people she loves slaughtered, the survivors joining her in Despair, the world reborn by her hands. She quite likely manipulated her classmates into plotting each other's deaths not only inside the game, but in preparation for it as well.

Out of all her classmates, there was only really one you could argue wasn't perfectly analyzed and manipulated. One stood out among the rest as the unknown variable- a concept otherwise foreign to Junko- that was able to act as a wrench in her plans. And this, too, could cause her Despair.

8.3- Makoto Naegi (Hope vs Despair)

Makoto Naegi's SHSL Luck, AKA SHSL Hope, is the one who takes down Junko Enoshima's SHSL Despair. But why and how was this possible, and what does that mean for the relationship that he and Junko had prior to the game? If I wanted to fully delve into their relationship specifically, I'd need to really tear into Makoto's character, and I don't really have the time for that today(again, still hoping to get this out before 2025), so we'll just do the best we can based off the scenes they've had together and what we know about Junko to put the pieces together thematically.

Makoto is an average guy in just about every sense of the word. He likes average things, he looks plain, he's chosen randomly by lottery instead of earning his place in the school, he doesn't have any noticeable traits or beliefs- at least, not at first.

"But you know, if I had any one kind of strong point, so to speak, I'd say I'm a little more gung-ho than other people." -Makoto Naegi, THH prologue

By his own admission, he has a grand total of two character traits- abnormal normalcy, and enthusiasm. He's optimistic, and that's kind of it. By all intents and purposes, he's the SHSL Joe Schmoe, and that should make him another blank canvas on the wall of pawns Junko can knock over whenever she gets a little bored. And yet, SHSL Joe Schmoe is the one directly responsible for Junko's failure, and the one person who, by her own admission, she cannot predict. So why and how exactly is that?

I recall reading a story about a coding competition, where coders were meant to design an AI for a gambling competition. One entry proceeded to make an AI that would go all in every single time it was its turn, and the simplicity of it was so intimidating that it broke every other AI that was in the competition. That mentality is the exact strategy Makoto unintentionally employs. He doesn't have any strong sense of self or moral complexities; he's a dude that exists, and he throws everything he is into everything he does. He's an optimist to the highest possible sense. He leaves his door unlocked even after 4 murder cases and a break-in. He refuses to fathom anything but the best possible outcome, and so he's able to combat Junko's total Despair with pure hope. Makoto's head is so completely simple and empty that it acts as the exact opposite to Junko's highly intelligent, analytical mind. When she tries to force-feed him Despair in the final trial, he hits her with the power of 'nuh-uh,' and it works. It's that emptiness that fascinates Junko, and makes him and his random chance luck unpredictable to her.

Part 11- "Defeating" Despair

When Junko loses, it's not just because she failed to convince the others of Despair, or that Makoto's hope was just naturally the stronger conviction of the two. Rather, Junko's loss can be attributed to her own conscious choice to lose. Even if we're looking solely at THH, this is the case. And the source is found in a single line.

If her conviction to win in this moment was absolute to the point where only one person had to vote for Despair, she just had to include herself in the votes. After all, she is one of the 16 students participating, and by all accounts, she should receive a vote for this trial. But she casually refuses, instead leaving it in the hands of the survivors to make the final call. And that in and of itself is indicative of Junko's desires. When faced with a situation she can easily control, she leaves it to fate to decide, allowing that glimmer of unpredictability to take over and surprise her. She'll always believe in the Despair she's dedicated herself to; it doesn't actually matter who wins here. What matters is that she feels Despair. Either Makoto succeeds in convincing his classmates of hope and kills her, ruining all her plans, or he fails, and she exterminates the one unpredictable person in her life and locks herself out of that rush of adrenaline for the rest of her life. Either ending would fill her with Despair, and in that sense, there is no way for her to lose. She won the killing game, whether the survivors realized it or not, because she succeeded in destroying herself. She built herself a Saw trap, and her loved ones set it off.

Part 12- Execution Analysis

Junko is the only character to walk willingly into her execution, even being the one to hit the red button to start up the punishment rather than having Monokuma do it. You can first attribute this to her no longer being in the control room to pilot Monokuma to do so, which is true, but it's also representative of her desire for self-inflicted Despair. Her eyes are swirling with Despair and she goes on about how good it feels, how everyone should die in such Despair, how this punishment is 'extra special', because it's one she brought on herself. After methodically destroying the most important relationships of her life one by one, she'd now be killed by her friends in a series of recycled contraptions in an 'Ultimate Punishment'.

As she goes through each step of the execution, we see her bearing a wide grin, flying through the machinery that'd killed every one of her executed friends over and over again. She hits every baseball, handles the Cage of Death with ease, calmly survives the firetruck, and bobs her head with the excavator. She doesn't struggle, not once, and this is because in prolonging her Despair, her SHSL Analyst talent is keeping her alive. She's watched every one of these executions, and thus, knows how to survive them all. It's not just a retrospect of every prior execution as a callback for the audience; it means something. With a punishment meant to bring the character's worst ironic death via their most hated parts of themselves, then of course Junko's analytic abilities are keeping her alive through everyone else's Despair.

The execution ends with the return of the After-School Lesson, and this is the one that finally kills her, because it's the only one in which she doesn't know how it ends. Makoto's execution was tampered with by Alter Ego, so there's no way to know if she'll actually die or not. Junko can't know if it still works or not. Junko doesn't know whether she'll live or die, and that's what makes it so exciting. She's driven to the edge of death and left to sit there for a moment too long, long enough for the Despair to be replaced with disappointment- only to kill her right when her Despair abandons her. She stops smiling, looks up at the press, and dies abruptly. In her final moments, she is denied her Despair. Makoto did win, after all.

Part 13- Answering the 'How' (SDR2)

One of the biggest 'what-the-fuck's people tend to have after walking out of their first playthrough or watchthrough of THH is the How of the entire game. The first game is good and all, but it leaves Junko's skills and how she set up and pulled the killing game together pretty vague. This is intentional, as in the first game, she exists as a kind of force of nature, representing Despair as an inherent part of life in the same way Makoto represents hope. But after Spike Chunsoft commissioned a sequel, and Kodaka set to work on DR 0, the question of 'how' had to be answered as the series was expanded upon. This started with the introduction of Yasuke Matsuda's memory erasure technology and the reveal of Junko's SHSL Analyst status in DR 0, but continued to expand well beyond that.

In SDR2, we're introduced to an entirely new cast of characters, all with new and less conventional talents in comparison to the first cast. Whereas THH had plenty of more mentally-oriented talents like programming, writing, and hall monitor to balance out their more eclectic ones, the SDR2 cast is almost entirely physical or social talents like a yakuza, animal breeder, and mechanic. These talents also put them into more social or powerful positions than the 78th class on an overall skill, as you find yourself full of people that could command full armies and people proficient with making weaponry or fighting and potentially killing the people around them. This differentiates the casts, and automatically makes them more threatening in the ways they could attack each other in a killing game. This also makes them Junko's perfect weapons.

8.4- Remnants of Despair

Class 77 is revealed by the end of SDR2 to be the Remnants of Despair, pawns swayed over to SHSL Despair by unknown means. Makoto refers to this conversion as 'brainwashing', though whether this is him literally knowing they were brainwashed or making an inference and later being proven right is unclear. Regardless, the RoD are part of the SHSL Despair movement, and exist to explain a lot of how Junko was able to not only set up the killing game mechanically, but continue to end the world and send it into ongoing war after the initial Incident.

This is something especially apparent with the remaining surviving cast, as they're the most immediately powerful amongst the cast for Junko to use. Sonia and Fuyuhiko are both in direct command of massive amounts of people, with Sonia being the heiress to an entire country and Fuyuhiko being the leader of the largest mafia in Japan. Kazuichi as the SHSL Mechanic explains how and why so many elaborate executions were able to be designed ahead of time for the killing game, and Akane is a wicked fast athlete who's already accustomed to tragedies and will eat anything. On top of all this, there's Hajime, a human experiment worked on by those in league with the values of hope, and that was forcefully imbued with every talent that's ever been documented, including Junko's.

This sums up everything that made the RoD useful, but doesn't explain how any sort of meaningful connection was established between them and Junko. That's because on the overall, there isn't one. With two notable exceptions, the SDR2 class is largely unimportant to Junko emotionally speaking. They're useful, and that's about it. They weren't in the same class; they didn't interact at school or bond in any important way. She just dragged them down with the bare minimum brainwashing video because of their usefulness.

We also know Junko didn't care because of just how differently she speaks to and treats class 77 as opposed to the characters that we know she does love. The series painstakingly makes sure you know that Junko tears up everything she loves- Mukuro, Yasuke, class 78. She gores through them because hurting the ones she loves hurts her right back, and gives her an excellent Despair. But with class 77? Beyond the initial conversion, she doesn't really touch them. She doesn't need to waste her time with people who are virtually strangers. Their pain just is Despair; it's not her Despair. It's good for a laugh, but not much else, so she lets them run rampant on their own.

On an overall scale, Junko didn't give a fuck about these people. They existed solely as tools to her, and she interacted with them as little as possible. Unlike with her classmates, whom she loved, she did the absolute bare minimum required to get them to feel Despair by showing them a video and letting them do their own thing. The RoD were Remnants and not full-fledged SHSL Despair because their Despair was artificial. It was inauthentic, and so they could never ascend to true Despair in the way characters like Mukuro, Junko, or Monaca can.

8.5- Mikan Tsumiki (The Relevance of Junkan)

When we're first introduced to the concept of Junkan, it's portrayed as a one-sided infatuation from Mikan's perspective. She tells her classmates about the one person who forgave her existence and loved her anyway, with the choice of language emphasizing her beloved's need for Despair and asking for forgiveness for hoping suggesting that this beloved is Junko.

"Ahhh, this feeling of freedom where you no longer care about anything! My beloved and I are the only ones within that thin veil, and I'm just looking out through it..." -Mikan Tsumuki, SDR2

Whether intended at the time of SDR2's release or not, this line of dialogue ended up foreshadowing Mikan's heightened importance in comparison with the rest of her class to Junko as an RoD. When everyone else were just tools, remnants formed by brainwashing, Mikan is ultimately differentiated as special, not necessarily craving Despair but happily parroting it for the sake of a twisted love.

"It's like nothing matters! I could just die, that's how little it matters! Who cares about hope or despair! It's love, only love!" -Mikan Tsumiki, SDR2

This 'beloved' being Junko is proved true when AI Junko emerges in the final trial and reveals that class 77 are also the RoD. At this point, though, there's almost no evidence that Junko feels anything back for Mikan besides a vague sense of usefulness shared with the rest of her classmates, as she mimes seeing them as friends because of their actions as Remnants of Despair.

Something that's important to remember, however, is that Junko's need for Despair drives her to destroy everything she loves. We've seen this multiple times, over and over again with Mukuro, Yasuke, and her classmates before now. The reason we know she didn't care about class 77 is because there are no such personal attacks to tear them apart and make them despise her specifically- their pain brings her no Despair. There's no evidence of a personal attachment. Once DR3 comes into focus, though, that changes for one RoD in particular- one Mikan Tsumiki.

DR3 made the decision to bring Chiaki back as a human character, and made her the central figure for class 77's bond. Junko dragging out Chiaki's suffering and forcing her classmates to watch became the titular event that drove the rest of class 77 to Despair. But there was no personal attachment to this act, because she'd only just met Chiaki, and there was no dynamic to speak of between the two of them besides maybe a vague sense of interest based off of their single interaction.

So, if there's no established rivalry or connection to Chiaki, why does Junko single her out and kill her specifically? Easy; Junko doesn't. She sets up the maze, sure, but she is not and never was the one targeting Chiaki specifically. That was Mikan, and the show makes sure the audience sees this more than once.

When Mikan and Junko meet, it's because of a chance interaction. Mikan runs into Mukuro by mistake when going to check on Ryota, and is captured. In this sense, she's literally presented as a gift to Junko. Junko learns she's a nurse, and decides she'll let her hang around while she works on the brainwashing video.

In their next scene together, Junko is having Mikan massage her leg, listening as Mikan presents her classmates and friends to Junko. She's the one who tells Junko of how close her class has become, and how Chiaki is the central figure behind their bond. It's where we get this from Junko:

Though you might not immediately know it, it's swiftly revealed to us that Mikan is now in love with Junko via this and Ryota's mention that something appears 'off' with Mikan. From Ryota's discovery of the prototype video that was used on the Reserve Course students being immediately followed by Mikan's appearance and saying he souldn't have watched the video, it's easy to fall into the assumption that Mikan's fall is purely because of the brainwashing. But that's not necessarily true. Mikan having seen the video prototype is very different from being brainwashed entirely, and considering Junko herself says that the video is insufficient and that she can't brainwash people like Ryota can, there's an inference to be made that while the prototype video may have helped, it didn't rob Mikan of her free will in the way Chiaki's death did for everyone else. Ryota didn't fall into Despair from the video by itself, and neither did Chisa Yukizome. We also know from her FTEs in SDR2 that even before falling to Despair, Mikan was already a little fucked up, as her idea of a good time includes telling you all the ways in which you could die and begging people to treat her like garbage just for a taste of acknowledgement.

We also see what motivated her to nurse not only herself, but others as well- not empathy, but power and control.

"Sick people and injured people... are weaker than me. .... But if I know the proper way to treat them, that means my words are absolute. Which means... They'll need me. They'll depend on me completely." -Mikan Tsumiki, SDR2

Again, all this can be found in her FTEs, in a situation in which she's mentally reverted to the way she was entering the school, before she and Junko were so much as in the same city. By this line of information, it's just as believable that her falling in love with Junko was because Junko and her video actually connected with Mikan, taking Mikan's craving for attention via mistreatment and using it to her advantage. It's also worth noting that the anime makes a point to use 'spiral eyes' to demonstrate when a character has been brainwashed. This is something used with Chisa, with the characters in the Future Arc, and when the RoD are shown Chiaki's murder. But Mikan does not have these spiral eyes in the scene where she nearly assaults Ryota. She's horny, and it's extremely disconcerting, but her eyes are still her own, suggesting that the video didn't take a hold on her the way it did for the Reserve Course students.

Mikan is also one of the most similar characters to Junko in that she craves pain. Not emotional Despair in the way that Junko does, but physical pain, not only from Junko, but from just about anyone. Pain means attention, and that's something she needs more than anything. By this metric, she and Junko are actually quite similar, needing the worst from the people they love, and this makes for a formula that can create an incredibly abusive relationship. Junko can do literally anything to Mikan, and she'll lap it up like a dog. Mikan makes for a perfect punching bag, and suddenly, their relationship is intentionally paralleling the way Junko treats her sister. She kicks her around, calls her a disgusting horny piglet, and Mikan thanks her for it. It becomes a challenge of seeing how far she can push Mikan before she snaps and attacks her back, just like how she tries and fails to do with Mukuro. Simply put, there's no reason for her to treat Mikan in this way if she doesn't care about her as a person, romantic or otherwise.

This connection Junko forms with Mikan also serves to answer that earlier question: why did she bother with a class full of people she's never met? It's because of Mikan. Mikan is the one to present class 77 to her, and with the context that she goes on to set up a murder maze specially for Chiaki, and specifically says that Mikan has 'made a compelling case', that means Mikan was asking her to make them SHSL Despair. And not only does she do so, she does so in a way that forces Mikan to be the one to lead them into the trap. She brings her classmates to the bunker, she separates Chiaki from the group, she's responsible for sending her loved ones to Despair. This isn't a plot that's personal to Junko; it's a plot that's personal to Mikan, and Junko helping drive Mikan's loved ones into Despair saddles Mikan with a Despairing guilt tied to Junko.

Driving class 77 to become RoD is an act of love for Mikan- a twisted, abusive love, but a love nonetheless, and one that's in line with the way she drives her own class to Despair and makes herself the crux. Should her classmates realize what's happened, they'll know that Mikan brought them here. The rest of class 77 are Remnants, but Mikan is a SHSL Despair like Mukuro, valued like Mukuro, and her being the one to regain her memories and turn on all her friends once more, betray them once more, is a remnant of Junko's love.

8.6- Izuru Kamukura

When Junko first approaches Kamukura, she does so with the intention of offing him then and there. He's the artificial SHSL Hope, lab-grown by Hope's Peak Academy, and represents everything their research stands for. To kill him would be to kill their work, and that's what she walks in with the intention of doing.

Naturally, she fails, as Izuru's been imbued with every talent known to man. This wasn't outside to realm of possibility for Junko, though. There were several different ways to kill the SHSL Hope invented by Hope's Peak. Whether or not she killed him literally or metaphorically wasn't the point.

Izuru Kamukura exists as an empty symbol. He's filled with talent and nothing to use it on. Because his existence is an artificial one, he has no passion with which his talents were born, and no drive to use them. If anything, he's not the SHSL Hope, he's the SHSL Talent, but regardless, his creators have labeled him their SHSL Hope so that he can become their puppet-symbol. So to kill the SHSL Hope the trustees have created, all Junko really has to do is get her hands on the puppet first.

The actual convincing of him isn't really what matters to Junko. Similar to the trustees, she also sees Kamukura as a symbol, albeit one to be knocked down instead of bolstering up, so she uses him like a token symbol, too. All she has to do is pique his interest, just enough to get him to follow her, and her job is done. She talks on about her love of Despair, how grief and pain are something that actually makes you feel, and because he's had his emotion removed, that unknown variable is enough to get him to watch, just in case.

Despite his having every known talent, Kamukura is tricked. He's framed by Junko as being responsible for the murders of the student council. And in addition, he sees the power of Despair, as adrenaline from the final survivor pushes him to attack Kamukura even when it should've been physically impossible. When moved by that animalistic need to survive, he manages to cut Kamukura's face even after getting his own sawed in half. Thus the SHSL "Hope" is introduced to the world as creating Despair, and his job is complete.

Junko doesn't really bother with Kamukura after this framing. She lets him hang around, but when he decides to leave, she doesn't make any sort of fuss or try to attack him anymore, because she doesn't really care about him. He was only as important to her as his title was to the school, and once that title was tarnished, any connection between them she pretended to have was dropped. The next time these characters meet, it will no longer be the real Despairing Junko tainting some artificial husk of a person, filled with talent and emptied of heart, but rather, an artificial Despair combatting a survivor's true identity.

Part 14- The Brainwashing

Okay, let's talk about this. Was the brainwashing a good move for the story? Was it actually planned from sdr2? Or was it something half-assed at the last second because Kodaka didn't think that far ahead? Well, imo, it was almost definitely intended from their conception, and is very reflective of Junko's own motivations and goals.

From as early as DR 0, brainwashing tactics are evident within Junko's work. When Ryoko meets the reseve course's underground cult, she finds them watching a single video of mutual killing over and over again, with a fixation on its contents that's unnatural.

"[The cultists] didn‘t even bother to glance at me. Their eyes were still plastered to the monitors in front of them. .... Every monitor was a pitch black, none had a single image projecting on it.

'It‘ll… start again soon… so…' the monobear heads sitting in front of me said in monotone." -DR 0

Brainwashing is again brought up within SDR2, as not only is Hajime expressly a human experiment due to alteration of the brain specifically, but the entire class is referred to by Makoto as 'brainwashed'. At this point in the series, there's no reason for him to actually know this short of Kamukura possibly telling him they were brainwashed, so we can reasonably assume this statement is rooted in Makoto's inability to understand Despair and seeing anyone's craving of it as a mental disease that can be cured(not an unreasonable conclusion to reach, considering the Everything About Junko he was led to witness). Ergo, it's not beyond reason to assume that brainwashing was well within the bounds of possibility for the characters even at that time.

While the idea of brainwashing the class into Despair appears to rob the class of their moral complexities that came from being RoD, the view we as an audience are given by Makoto, Kyoko, and Byakuya within SDR2 is only ever that the RoD were victims of Despair. The survivors are already established as more reliable narrators than AI Junko thanks to the first game, so there's no reason not to trust that what they say is likely true. In addition, Junko never actually directly states that they did it of their own free will, just that they were on the same side and tries to get them not to listen to Makoto, her already-established opposite.

The idea of class 77 being brainwashed went from theory to canon in DR3, and while the method of their brainwashing is controversial(the line 'cutting through their free will like swiss cheese' from the dub is pretty aggravating), it still lines up with Junko's pre-established goals and motivations. She goes to Hope's Peak to tear down Hope and replace it with Despair, and after being shown a class full of Hope united by their love for the same person, she exploits it and is able to use their love against them to create Despair as an outsider. She's introduced to the class, uses them, and then lets them all go do their own Despairing thing because she doesn't actually care what they do. What matters most is her own Despair, and tearing hope to pieces. So her interaction with class 77 remains minimal, a mere experiment for Despair in the same way Hajime was an experiment for hope, and then keeps going about her business, calling on them presumably only if she needs something like the execution contraptions.

14.1- The Despair Videos & Knowing the Difference

There's not just 1 Despair video. Over the course of the anime, we're introduced to three, and each one has different levels of effect on those who watch it. Knowing the difference between these three videos is quintessential when talking about the brainwashing and how each character to watch a video is affected, as well as understanding different characters' roles in the narrative as they pertain to the videos. So let's establish the differences between these 3 videos and their effectiveness before we move forward.

14.1.1- The Student Council Massacre

The first Despair video, aka "the prototype", aka the Mutual Killing Video, is the one created using the footage of the student council's beta mutual killing game. This is the one made solely by Junko's attempted mimicry of Mitarai's animation talents, taking security footage of the mutual killing and sharing it with the Reserve Course and Mikan as a test run. And while it does have some level of effect on them, inspiring 'the parade' and having a hand in Mikan falling for Junko, it doesn't work nearly well enough to actually rewire their brains for Despair or strip them of their hope in the way that Junko would like. Even in the context of a parade, it's still very much a protest in the hopes of change. There's still the demands of a refund, of being let into the main course. Even when shown the Despair of the truth, there is still hope that things can be changed or fixed. And that's not what Junko wants. The only character that we've seen to watch this video to end with the aforementioned 'spiral eye' telltale of true brainwashing is Chisa, who we know was also being actively lobotomized by Mukuro during a repeated viewing to force it to work. This instruction came from some manual Mukuro was left with, presumably written by either Junko or Ryota.

While this video is what starts the parade, what eventually pushes the parade to violence isn't Junko. It's the inaction of Hope's Peak Academy and refusal to acknowledge their mistakes. Instead of coming clean, they bury everything wrong they've done even further and have their security beat the shit out of anyone that tries to find answers for themselves, doing so in the name of 'protecting them' from information. They keep the wrongdoings of their 'real' students under wraps at the expense of their underlings, fully buying into a talent-based hierarchy they created. Those without special talents are sources of finance- nothing more, nothing less. And when that overwhelming majority questions that, and finds evidence that HPA doesn't care, of course they'll retaliate. The video itself isn't a brainwasher, but when combined with the very real negative effects of the classism which the Reserve Course students find themselves hurt by, it makes its influence that much stronger.

14.1.2- Human Chiaki's Death

The second Despair video is Chiaki's execution, and is a live recording shown to her classmates. As far as we've ever seen, this is the only instance in which this is ever shown. This live recording is enough to send class 77 into Despair properly, spiral eyes and all, but there's an underlying implication that the primary reason for this is because of how important Chiaki specifically was to them. Throughout the season, and especially in this episode, Chiaki is established as the glue that holds the class together. Despite not being an extremely sociable person, she connected to her class with her love of games, and her earnest love of it endeared her to them, and their love of her did vice versa. The footage locked them each into place, unable to look away, and once they were at their lowest, at the very end of the video, Junko swoops in to dub them all Remnants and decides for them that they will now cause Despair for her. And because she says this when the live footage has brought them to their lowest, they each fall into this trap, at least to some extent. Whether or not they truly belive in what they're doing, they do it, because that feeling of Despair is their last connection to Chiaki left.

But, similarly to the prototype, it's still ultimately insufficient. Granted, it's much more effective than the prototype, but it isn't a full mindwipe, either. We know this because when we meet Nagito Komaeda in UDG as the Servant, he's still himself. He still has some level of self-control, able to speak and act as an individual even when following the orders of Monaca or the other WoH. He says himself that he despises Junko more than anyone else in the world, and follows through with Despair with the faith that it'll inspire a newer hope to conquer it. He says something similar in that moment of brainwashing as well.

"Nanami is our hope. Look what she did to her. What Despair... What a horrific sight! This is... This is the Despair we must overcome? Ah, Nanami... You understand, right? At this moment, you are becoming a stepping stone to hope!" -Nagito Komaeda, DR3

You could possibly attribute this to Nagito's luck cycle and history with tragedy just making him have a higher resistance to the brainwashing, and honestly, there's no strong way to contradict that, since Nagito and Mikan are the only ones we ever see in Despair outside of a montage, but narratively, I doubt they'd make a point to show one of the RoD hating Junko if it weren't to make the point that they had agency. Nagito was just the fan favorite, so of course it was gonna be him. You saw the fanservice in UDG.

14.1.3- Mitarai's Animation

The third and true Despair video is the inversed Monokuma Theatre, which is used to mentally hack its viewer and drive them into such a strong state of Despair that they kill themselves right then and there. This is objectively the strongest of the Despair videos, and the most effective, with the only character it doesn't immediately convince to kill themselves being the Future Foundation chairman Kazuo Tengan. This is mostly for plot reasons, but I'll address this specific exception to the rule later on and why this was the case.

The Monokuma Theatre video is mass-emailed to the Reserve Course students after they destroy the shiny new building their parents were tricked into paying for. The video hacks their minds when in an already vulnerable state, and each and every one of them jumps out of the building and kills themselves. Just as quickly as they take some control and uproot the system that hurt them so, they fall victim to the games of another who never cared for them in the first place. The purpose of the video was to create a horde of faceless victims to spurn others into action, and it worked like a charm, spiraling the world into a state of Despair. The RoD used their influence to ensure a smooth transition into this state of worldwide chaos as well, having significantly more social power and reach to spur more and more people into the fray.

The Monokuma Theatre video is also what makes the members of the Future Foundation kill themselves in the Future Arc, hacking their minds and then dropping a knife with which to stab themselves with. It works on every character that watches it- Chisa, Gozu, Seiko, Ruruka, and Makoto. Each of these characters are in various mental states when they watch it, yet all of them fall to it, without exception. It doesn't matter who you are or what you believe in. If there's even one thing you regret in your life, the video can and will work on you. It just does. And by that logic, it's the only real 'brainwashing' video, because it can work on anyone who watches it. The one character who seems to withstand it is the one who builds an entire killing game using said video just to force its creator to action, and doesn't even seem so much as affected by it. Really, it calls into question whether or not he was even affected by it.

14.1.4- The Flashback Light (Bonus Brainwashing!)

The Flashback Lights are used solely in V3, and are invented by the mysterious Team DR to reprogram the memories of their victims to play along in their scripted killing game. We see this work on both Kaede and Shuichi, as well as see the aftereffects it has on the rest of the class.

We learn while investigating that Tsumugi is the one responsible for creating the Flashback Lights, and that she's been the mastermind who knew what was happening the entire time. However, this initially opens up a plot hole in that Tsumugi has also been shown the Flashback Lights multiple times. There are 3 viable explanations for this. The first one is that she just closed her eyes, which is extremely boring and kind of a copout. The second is that she didn't know she was the mastermind until near the end, and Kaede's murder plot failing was a ruse by Team DR for the story, but that makes that entire reveal lose a lot of its impact. The third explanation, therefore, makes the most logical and narrative sense, and actually doubles as a reason why Tengan would be the only one to withstand the Monokuma Theatre in DR3: Tsumugi wears glasses.

Yeah, I know, that sounds silly, but let's actually break it down. In NDRV3, two characters are shown to wear glasses, and only two- Tsumugi Shirogane, and Gonta Gokuhara. Gonta, however, has two unique traits that are relevant here. One, he has 20/0.625 vision(strong enough to see the near microscopic Monokuma cameras), and two, he wants nothing more than to appear as a gentleman. I don't think it's a stretch to say he's wearing empty frames to appear more gentlemanly, especially considering they're paired with a full suit.

Tsumugi is the mastermind, and the one who has the most insight into what's happening in the game. She's the one who knew the difference between her actual self and the character Tsumugi that she played(it's implied in the dating sim that Tsumugi isn't her real name), despite having seen the Flashback Lights with the class several times. So isn't it entirely possible that having glasses to reflect the light of those Flashbacks was what let her pass for being affected as well? And, if that's the case, then it would also explain why Tengan, who wears glasses, would be resistant to the effects of the animated video, as everyone else who we know watched the animated version before their death didn't wear glasses. The faceless Reserve Course students don't have glasses, and neither do any of the five characters in Future Arc to watch it. It's completely ridiculous, and simultaneously totally plausible, for the idea of glasses reflecting off light and lessening the effects of such a video to be the explanation for why the videos or lights exclusively didn't work on these masterminds.

8.7- Ryota Mitarai

Junko's connection to Ryota is objectively the weakest part of her story, and admittedly a major part of why the brainwashing of class-77 falls under such scrutiny. Whereas every other part of Junko's plan is pretty well-established within her characterization, the connections she makes having actual sense to their conception and development, and just general consistency within the narrative, her meeting Ryota is not only a stroke of random luck on her part, but emphasized as one, and this just does not make sense for a character within said narrative to have never once been characterized as having any level of luck or fortune prior. This is especially glaring in a world that has established luck mechanics via characters like Makoto, Nagito, and Celeste. Junko just isn't a character meant to have luck like this, and never has any sort of moments or accomplishments stemming from luck before or after this outright.

When Junko and Ryota meet, it's because they walk past each other going in and out of the infirmary, and Junko, for no visible reason, decides to start talking to him right then and there. She starts squealing and hugging him, jumping up and down, and says this upon Mukuro's asking why: "I don't know, but... this is what I'm telling myself: This is yet another... fateful encounter!"

There's no rationale to this. There just isn't. It's not her SHSL Analyst talent having picked up on him over time, or her recognizing him via someone else, or anything of the sort. It's totally unjustified random chance for the convenience of the plot, and that's what makes this introduction so weak.

Really, the issue of Ryota's involvement falls more in their introduction than his actual function in the anime. Considering his characterization and the connections Ryota had prior to this, it would've made infinitely more sense if Junko had met Mikan first while in the infirmary, and buttered her up enough for Mikan to introduce the two of them. Knowing Mikan, it wouldn't have taken much, and would've made more sense for Ryota to be so willing to share a part of his life's work while still incomplete if he was introduced to Junko by someone he already trusted. Regardless, that's not what happened, but I say this mostly because I want to affirm that with Junko and Ryota's connection, it's the introduction that doesn't make sense, not what follows.

That said, once the awkwardness of how they meet is out of the way, what follows is fairly reasonable. She asks about his talent, purposefully mocks his interests to trick him into showing off, and then takes advantage of what she learns about him, which just so happens to be brainwashing techniques that she'd already be somewhat familiar with thanks to Yasuke.

Once they're acquainted, Junko uses her knowledge of the school and what she's stolen from the kidnapped trustees to set up Ryota underground where she can keep him under control, and so he can't mistakenly squeal about what she's setting up. She uses his passion against him to bastardize it into what she needs and manipulates him into walking into his own cell by doing so. It's not her most genius move of all time, and it's not a difficult one to understand either, but it's one that works.

What matters most to understand, though, is that she doesn't seem to develop any sort of affection for him in the way that she did for Mikan. When he finally uncovers what she's doing, Junko gives him a simple sales pitch, and threatens him indirectly with Mikan's friends.

By now, she knows damn well that he's met a grand total of two of his classmates, one of which just tried to sexually assault him mere moments prior, so this doesn't seem like the most effective tactic she could've used. But Ryota is a sensitive person. A victim of bullying growing up, the whole point of his brainwashing animations was to make people more empathetic subliminally. So to force him to help her, Junko is able to target this empathy by targeting Mikan over Ryota himself. Her abuse of Mikan is painful for Ryota to look at, and he wrongfully puts all the blame for the way Mikan acts solely on Junko because he doesn't know any better. And Junko lets him, because it's convenient for her to manipulate.

"As you have inferred, the mutual killing video you watched is the reason Tsumiki ended up this way. However, in order to reach my objective, this is insufficient. My lack of brainwashing ability is the cause." -Junko Enoshima, DR3

As we know, Junko is an unreliable narrator. She can and has lied to people's faces for the sake of manipulating them, telling half-truths and intentionally warping the truth to shift her victims' perspective in a way that she wants. We never see Mikan's fall, only cutting from her first meeting Junko to her already being in love with her, and as we've established, not only was Mikan already pretty fucked up prior to meeting Junko, but she doesn't exhibit the symptoms of a complete brainwashing at this point. She still has her mental faculties about her. So logically, that means she's doing the same here. Yes, Mikan watched the prototype video, and yes, it was insufficient. Hence why we as an audience can understand with our meta-context that Mikan still has her mental faculties intact. Ryota, on the other hand, doesn't have that benefit, so when Junko says this, the implication is that Junko took the meek, shy, kind version of Mikan that Ryota knew and twisted her into an evil, hypnotized slave of Junko's. It's an intentionally warped perception of the truth that Junko uses to her advantage, to the point where she flat-out says she can't brainwash at this point and brainwashing is still commonly attributed as the sole reason for Mikan's behavior in this scene.

Ryota cares about the few friends he does have, taking Mikan's and the SHSL Imposter's requests to take care of himself by resting and going to the infirmary even when he doesn't want to to ease their worries. So of course, when faced with the idea that he could prevent Mikan's loved ones from getting hurt, even though he doesn't know the vast majority of them, he caves regardless. It doesn't have to affect him. The people around him are important enough for this threat to work anyways. They're not his precious classmates, but they are the Imposter's; they are Mikan's. And Ryota is a very weak man. So he complies.

Later, when he escapes, she hunts him down to thank him for his help, and then allows him to run away, letting him believe that he's the reason why class 77 were the ones to be brainwashed.

"The video I had you help me with. The complete version of that. I'll have your whole class watch it now!"

The 'video' that Junko has them watch is a live recording of Chiaki's death maze. Meanwhile, the Despair video that the Reserve Course goes on to watch after the riots, and that Chisa Yukizome is subjected to, are different videos entirely, forcefully reprogramming them and removing their hope outright. Since Ryota's an animator, we can ascertain he's responsible for the one the Reserve Course watches, with an animated Monokuma. In other words, Junko does not, in fact, have his class watch the video he helped her make. She's lying to him to send him further into Despair.

"Imagine it... Because of you, all your classmates will fall into a deep, deep Despair. They'll become people who think of nothing but plunging this world into Despair, the Super High-School Level Despairs!"

It's a bold-faced lie, and one that Ryota has no knowledge with which to contradict it. Because he's a coward, and because Junko's already messed with his head so much, he runs and hides rather than face what he's done. She even leaves him with parting words of responsibility, twisting what happened with sarcasm so he'll always blame himself for her actions.

Ryota is by no means a perfect victim, but that doesn't change the fact that he is one. He was manipulated, and when he found out he was manipulated, he was threatened, albeit indirectly. But Junko was always planning to send Hope's Peak and the world into Despair. His video made it easier for her, but he is not and never was responsible for her actions. And by making him carry the guilt of her choices, she leaves him in a state of pathetic, guilty Despair akin to a genuine 'thank you' from her.

Part 15- AI Junko

AI Junko(or Kaijunko, as I like to refer to her as) appears as the reincarnation of Junko, created by Chihiro's AI technology and forming a Despair virus to infect the Neo World Program. She doesn't allow the Hope Restoration Program to follow through, instead taking Usami's teacher role and manipulating the world to be a Despair Restoration Program. The motives she uses are extremely personal and targeted, hyperfocusing in on specific members of the class each time to ensure a murder happens the way she needs it to.

Something that's important to remember, though, is that Kaijunko IS NOT Junko. She's an artificial recreation of the real Junko intended to continue programming Despair into the world after she'd inevitably passed. And as such, she isn't a 1:1 replica, and there are key differences between the two in the same way Alter Ego is different from Chihiro and Observer Chiaki is different from the human Chiaki.

The reason Junko fell into SHSL Despair was because her intellect combined with human need for stimuli left her with such a deep depression and boredom that pain and suffering were the only ways to make her feel alive. But as an AI program, Kaijunko isn't burdened by that same need. She's programmed to have the same goal of spreading Despair, but she doesn't have a personal, insatiable need for Despair in the way that Junko did. And this leads her to have a different endgoal for the final trial than what the real Junko might have chosen.

Kaijunko observes and learns from Izuru Kamukura and the RoD, as well as the Towa City residents, in the same way Alter Ego learned from class 78. The brainwashing video forcefully reprogrammed them, yes, but ultimately, they still loved each other as friends and classmates, even if Chiaki wasn't there with them, and it's that dedication to each other that Kaijunko learns about. It's why those connections are the ones tested within the SDR2 killing game; Kaijunko, who actually came into contact with the RoD personally and was toted around by Kamukura, would know what to use to create a killing game that would leave the most desperate group of survivors at the end to follow through on Junko's plans to reconstruct them all into her.

However, because Kaijunko isn't constricted to the same need to destroy herself, she can afford to bend the plan around impulsively in the way Junko herself had in the past, but in a way that'd align with the original Junko's goals to harm others around her without needing to harm herself anymore. Thus, in the final trial, she doesn't push those desperate survivors to want to escape. Instead, she uses her knowledge gathered to make them want to stay in the world Makoto provided to them, where none of them have to face the consequences of the RoD's actions, Kaijunko included.

One of the ongoing themes across the board for SDR2 is how artificial everything about it is. The island is artificial. Chiaki is artificial. Hajime is an artificial hope. The RoD are artificial Despairs. Similarly, Kaijunko is an artificial Junko. She goes through those same motions as the original Junko, but she is not, cannot be Junko. She can only mimic, never be, and so she tries to escape altogether by resetting the game to a state where the RoD live an escapist dream, and she's locked in the game with 'her' classmates forever. But despite this, because she's mimicked Despair, she's become part of it, and Hajime and the others do the one thing Junko can't ever succeed in doing: they choose themselves, and she disappears without a chance of hope, just like Ryoko before her. Hajime and class 77 forge a new future, and Kaijunko dies trapped in the shadows of the past.

8.6.1- Hajime Hinata

If the battle between Makoto and Junko in THH is a battle of ideologies- hope and Despair- then the battle between Hajime and Junko is a battle of wills. This is the battle between self-love and self-hatred, and both Hajime and Junko are faced with their opposite, only to reject it in favor of what they want for themselves most.

Hajime's main character arc is one of self-discovery. When we meet him, he's been stripped of everything that's made him himself, having a gap in his memory that has his identity within it. This is a direct parallel to Ryoko Otonashi's lack of memory, having no identity or memories of the past with which to identify herself. She has only the words others tell her. But in the case of Hajime, it's revealed that the supposed gap is virtually nonexistent. He has no special talent or ability that differentiates him from the rest. He's a blank slate- empty, one might say. And this is quite similar to Ryoko. In a similar way, Izuru and Junko are both burdened by the weight of their talents. In the case of Izuru, he was operated on to remove all emotions and thoughts to be a symbol for Hope's Peak, while Junko's Analyst talent left her burdened with the inability to enjoy anything.

There are also similarities to Izuru and Ryoko, having both had their minds operated on to remove all memories of their true identity and become someone new, while Hajime and Junko both feel a heavy burden of who they are and feel as if that makes it impossible for them to enjoy their lives as they are. This parallel is exactly why Hajime's choice to live, and choosing to live in the face of retreating into the NWP, is so impactful, especially when faced with the shadow of Junko Enoshima.

Junko never chose herself. She never could choose herself, and when given the opportunity to, she rejected it entirely, too addicted to the cycle of self-destruction she'd created for herself. She felt as though Despair was the only answer for her, so she could never stop searching for it, even from beyond the grave. That not just she should feel it, but everyone should. Everyone needed to know the way she felt. And she used anything and anyone at her disposal to make sure the world burned, because she wanted to feel, and what was the point of such a world pretending not to feel Despair anyways?

Hajime chose himself. It wasn't for anyone but himself. When looking in the face of what he'd turned himself into for hope, he was able to come to the conclusion inverse to what Junko did- that he didn't need to change for the sake of anyone else. It didn't matter that he wasn't SHSL like the people he admired, so long as he lived for himself. Meanwhile, when Junko reverted back to herself, it was like dragging herself back into a cage, being burdened by the same kind of talent that Hajime never needed. A talent she never asked for was the source of her undoing, while Hajime's lack thereof almost killed him in the pursuit of one.

The dichotomy of the talented vs the talentless is one that can be felt extremely strongly between dr0, sdr2, and dr3, but especially when in regards to the divide between these two characters, as it again circles back to the damage the hierarchy they find themselves in creates. Junko is a heralded SHSL Analyst and Gyaru, dubbed by Japan as superior and handed the influence that makes it so much easier for her to poke holes in the system until it collapses. Even when all the evidence is placed on her, she's the SHSL Analyst, and can convince HPA to keep quiet for her. They cover up her crimes, and when they can't anymore, she's part of the 'chosen' that receive protection from the government while the Reserve Course and their families are never mentioned again. Hajime has nothing, is considered nothing, is even beaten and told to 'take to the leash and collar already' to keep him complacent. His choice to become Kamukura is weighted by the pressures of the system he's trapped within, holding him not only to his desire to be considered important, but to be equal, not to mention the debt he's placed in just for the right to participate in said hierarchy. Those treated like nothing are downtrodden to accept the system and uphold it, and those with power can do whatever they want and the system will protect them.

In a lot of ways, Hajime and Junko are more similar to each other than any other two characters in the franchise, all the way down to the sacrifice of the ones they closest around them sending them on their final path- Junko with Mukuro, and Hajime with Nagito. And in mirroring this, Nagito eventually returns, while Mukuro never can.

Mukuro and Junko are twins, and work to attain the same goal, but they're still very different people. Junko is absolutely fucked up, and Mukuro follows her out of a twisted need to be by her side, even when it leads to her eventual death. Hajime and Nagito are repeatedly called out as similar, both needing the other to get through the trials and survive and being forced to come to an understanding, but still retaining their individuality and separate beliefs. When Mukuro dies, it's directly because of her loyalty to Junko, even at the cost of herself, and Junko's betraying her resulted in both their deaths. Nagito died because of his loyalty to hope, even at the cost of himself, and Hajime's trust in him was what allowed him to survive and eventually bring Nagito back. Where Mukuro was metaphorically absorbed into Junko and forgotten, Nagito's individuality was what became critical to Hajime.

15.1- Shirokuma & Kurokuma

This part will remain brief. Shirokuma and Kurokuma are the AIs found in an all-white and all-black bear in UDG, each positioned on one side of the Towa City genocide and perpetuating the war by manipulating the Towa siblings.

Shirokuma is the 'good' one, and is positioned with the adult survivors. He's the one responsible for creating the underground safe house, and is Haiji's right-hand. Even when making it appear as though he wants peace first and foremost, he goes on to pilot Big Bang Monokuma and stands with Haiji, playing him and Komaru to escalate things.

Kurokuma is the 'bad' one, and is the one who gave Monaca the plan to create a Successor in the first place. He's a chatterbox that's an advisor to the WoH, presumably left behind by Junko or created by Monaca, and pushes the kids into their murder games by standing with Monaca.

Near the end of the game, Kurokuma reveals that Shirokuma is his little brother, and later in the epilogue, we learn that they were actually not distinct AIs, but rather, the same AI Junko as in SDR2 that was working both sides to destroy Towa City. Them taking the form of siblings mirrors that Junko herself was a twin, and isn't truly complete if she doesn't have her sibling still present.

Part 16- Big Sis Junko (UDG)

Following SDR2, UDG returned a master-manipulator Junko to the scene via the Warriors of Hope. Though AI Junko is present and perpetuating the war through her manipulation of the Towas, Junko herself is all but gone, survived only through the kids' memory of her, and what they have to say is extremely telling to the capability Junko really had to push people further towards her Despair.

Her role as 'Big Sis Junko' came when she prevented them from killing themselves, though how she knew to be there at the right time is unknown. We can assume she'd been keeping eyes on Monaca already and, through her Analyst talent, figured out when the right time to be to show up.

From there, they became the Warriors of Hope, not missed by their parents that hated them or worried for by the world, and Junko was free to mold them however she liked. She did this by teaching them to lash out at the people responsible for their suffering- not just their parents and abusers, but any and all adults. She was a teenage girl who'd taken pity on them, as far as most of them saw, and so they trusted her as the first and only person besides each other to show them kindness. They became ideological, lumping all adults within the same box of 'demon' because they were given no other comparison, and they did it for Junko.

"As far as I remember, the first adult we defeated was a random person we didn't even know. .... From there, we leveled ourselves up by killing Demons. Big Sis Junko was so pleased..." -Nagisa Shingetsu, UDG chapter 4

They came to rely on her as their one true savior, and even those of them who knew they were being manipulated didn't care, if only it meant they weren't the ones being beaten anymore.

"At least, at the time I thought it was a miracle. But later I learned it was inevitable. She came into my life just to take advantage of me." -Monaca Towa, UDG chapter 5

"'You guys... were completely deceived by Junko Enoshima.' 'And what's wrong with that? Did I not tell you that we are her possessions? We would rather her take advantage of us than horrible adults.' 'Sounds like it's too late.' 'Say what you like. Big Sis Junko... gave us hope. That's the truth.'" -Toko Fukawa & Nagisa Shingetsu, UDG chapter 4

And when she died, she was martyred, a victim of the cowards who'd believe in the adults and Hope's Peak. By dying, she completed her manipulation of them, ensuring in her absence, they would only remember the kindness she offered them. Anyone who said otherwise must be a demon.

"No matter how much you hate us, no matter how much we're shunned, we're definitely not wrong. That's the real truth, because Big Sis Junko said so. .... Those adults who took her away from us and said that she was the bad one! They're the filthy ones; they're the ugly ones, the disgusting ones!!!" -Jataro Kemuri, UDG chapter 2

This manipulation and creation of the WoH stemmed from a practical source, as we learn in the game. By Monaca's own admission, Junko only ever cared about getting access to Towa City tech for her Monokumas and for spreading Despair wide-scale. Having highly talented and abused kids to carry out her will when she was gone was just a very welcome bonus; having the youth primed to continue spreading Despair when she was gone would create a legacy, and her ghost would continue to haunt those with hope for at least another generation. Enter Monaca Towa.

8.8- Monaca Towa & the WoH (CW: Mentions of Incest & Pedophilia)

Monaca is differentiated from the rest of the Warriors of Hope almost immediately as being more aware of what the fuck is going on than her friends. She's the L'il Ultimate/SESL Homeroom that loves hearing everyone else talk about their thoughts and feelings, she's the one who invented the Captives game, and she has swastikas in her eyes, because Nazi symbolism was the only way we could convey she's a dictator I guess. As the game goes on, we see that her relationship with Junko is different from the rest of the class- a bit more substantial. She has much more knowledge of Junko's desire for Despair and knows the real reason Junko sought them out in the first place. She uses her friends' idolization of her to trick them into helping her make a new generation Junko to carry her memory. She also has a hidden bedroom full of photos of Junko, and one in particular stands out among the rest.

Junko and Monaca, all by themselves, posing for a photo. None of the other WoH are present for this photo. It's also worth noting that Monaca's in her WoH outfit, even though in every other flashback or cutaway to the past before Junko's death, they were all in their Hope's Peak Elementary uniforms. If it weren't already obvious, these two were spending more time together than with the rest of the WoH. This is primarily because of the explanation we've already been given- Junko needed tech, Monaca was the one that had it. Of course extra work was gonna be put into her, and if she felt special in comparison, she'd become more like Junko.

Both Monaca and Junko are a younger sister, and their older siblings are established as pretty creepy in their own ways. Mukuro is incestuous and lusts after Junko whenever they're together, or even just when thinking about her. Haiji, meanwhile, is a pedophile, mentioning he likes girls younger, "as young as I can get 'em." I don't have to explain why the knowledge he has an extremely younger half-sister he expressly doesn't think counts as family is a bloodcurdling realization given this information. While they seem to have very different levels of connection with their siblings, this is a pretty distinct commonality to give both masterminds, especially when one is meant to immediately succeed the other. Both girls are also considered the "genius" of their families, while their older siblings use more brute strength.

Monaca is a character built upon the mimicry of Junko. We know this because we pay attention to the game, but also because if we look at the concept art and beta forms of the Successor, we can see without question that creating a "New Junko" was always going to be a major part of UDG, as not one, but two unused Successor characters were considered before Monaca eventually became who she is today as the mastermind and true Successor.

Monaca throughout UDG undergoes a similar behavior to Junko in the way that she treats the WoH, but it's in a way the fundamentally misunderstands why Junko acts the way she does. Monaca is a child, and idolizes Junko, but that doesn't mean she actually understands her, even if she got much closer than her friends.

Monaca manipulates and discards the other WoH one by one, making herself the center of their movement and letting them believe they have control over what they're doing. She motivates them with a Paradise that'll never exist, similar to how Junko motivated the reserve course to stand up against Hope's Peak, and they take over Towa City. Whenever a WoH disappears, she decides whether or not they're mourned, but it appears as though she doesn't care and never did. She quickly forgets Masaru's name, barely bothers with Jataro, and later in her backstory monologue, proudly claims that when Junko met them, she was planning to let her only friends all kill themselves as a prank and not jump herself. She takes all the steps possible to Not Care about these people, similar to how Junko seemed not to care about the people she loved.

If Monaca spent enough time around Junko to observe and pick up this pattern, it likely means she also saw how little Junko actually cared for herself and her friends. This would explain why she starts acting as though she doesn't care at all for her only friends in the world and discarding them, wanting to emulate Junko, her idol. It also means she knew Junko didn't care about her, but her talents, and just didn't care because it was Junko. Again, this is a mentality not just held by her within the WoH, but because she was given a peek behind the curtain, she filled in the blanks in her head and let herself continue to be manipulated by Kurokuma, all in the hopes that Junko could return and manipulate her again. She needed a Successor, someone to fill that sisterly void again. And in that desperate desire, she inadvertently set herself up to someday become the SESL Despair.

Nagito's intervention is directly stated as the reason why she ends up abandoning this role as SESL Despair and fucking off to space as SESL Apathy instead, shrugging it off as 'not wanting to end up like he did'. This appears to be a deviation from what was originally intended for her, as not only was this wrapped up in a singular episode of an anime not actually about her, but the teaser images for a UDG 2 in UDG's credits ultimately ended up unused, and V3 totes a teaser of a canceled UDG 2.

Part 17- Junko's Apocalyptic Crash Course

"Right now, Hope’s Peak Academy is set up in a pyramid sort of idea that a third world country would use; it’s only really there to concentrate it’s effort on the 'super high school levels', for their benefit, and then below them are the reserve students from the preparatory school. .... The teachers here don’t really think any of the reserve students really belong here." -Yasuke Matsuda, DR 0

As we've seen repeatedly throughout the previous games and DR 0, Junko's strengths don't come from sheer force of will. She didn't take some perfect world of hope and twist it into a world of Despair by flipping some ideological switch. She's charismatic, but still human. Junko's strength comes from her ability to analyze, her high intelligence, and her charisma combining to create a master manipulator. Using the skills and people at her disposal, she was able to amass a cult following, and inspire the downfall of a society that was already flawed by attacking the weak points that were already present. Ergo, Junko's SHSL Analyst talent led her to not only infiltrate the school, but also to find the flaws within it and the lies it covered up by taking advantage of the Kamukura project wearing the school thin.

She may have been the face of the Despair movement, but she wasn't a singularity. She had a small group of people she trusted with a certain amount of information, and who had skills that would become beneficial to her. Mukuro is the obvious right-hand, as previously discussed, and perhaps the only one she legitimately believed to be an equal, but there was also Yasuke, Izuru, Ryota, Mikan, and Monaca, all of whom she attached herself too and all of whom had an extremely useful talent or title that was immediately beneficial to her cause. These people were able to directly carry out her desired acts of Despair and work alongside her, reporting back to her to ensure things were running smoothly. These were people who were needed directly as they were, and who were most useful when they believed she genuinely took interest in them, whether she actually had or not.

In a world already so flawed, with thinly veiled atrocities already taking place by people who believe in a caste system of talent, earning a downtrodden majority's trust is as simple as taking the blindfold off. Manipulating the people she'd attached herself to let her reveal key information at her leisure and drive the school and its inhabitants to Despair without them noticing or knowing to take action until it was too late to stop it. Something manmade, that turned into a disease and spread across the world, infesting it with the Tragedy and burning the oh-so-predictable world to the ground, all while standing as the eye of the storm- that was the power of the SHSL Despair that Junko worshipped, and she became its spokesperson, sending the world into a spiral.

Part 18- Junko's Legacy (Death of the Human, Birth of the God)

Everyone that loves Junko, misunderstands Junko. This is a fact that we see more than once. Mukuro obsesses, not loves. Yasuke romanticizes a childhood he can never return to. Monaca idolizes her. Mikan overtly sexualizes her. Her classmates know nothing of her self-destructive nature. Junko knew this and Despaired every time. But this fundamental misunderstanding of who Junko is didn't just exist in the game. In real life, Junko Enoshima became an iconic villain, the teenage girl that burned the world, the Ultimate Despair. She was insanely popular, and still is. And the more popular a character gets, the more susceptible they become to misinterpretations, fanon, oversimplification, etc.

In becoming such a well-known figure, Junko Enoshima the person got lost in translation. There was now Junko Enoshima, the mascot, the figurehead. This isn't a phenomenon exclusive to Junko, of course, but as the titular villain of the series until this point, how could the series continue without her? To this very day, people can't agree on who Junko was or who she actually cared about or if she ever even cared for anyone at all. And when NDRV3 was made, it took advantage of this to tell its own story, utilizing Junko Enoshima specifically to demonstrate flanderization of characters within its lore.

Junko Enoshima is not a real person. She's a fictional character. All her motivations, her thoughts and feelings, are fabricated stories and vague implications from the writing of real people. And in V3, that 'real person' is Tsumugi Shirogane, one of many cogs in the machine of Team Danganronpa, who dresses up as Junko and uses her face to become 'Junko Enoshima the 53rd'. Junko has been used and reused over and over and over, to the point where the original vision has been muddied beyond belief. What she was at the beginning, way back in THH, no longer exists. She's now a silly mascot, a familiar face that fans can point at and dress as and draw fanart of, and a face that Team DR can profit off of. Tsumugi's portrayal is laughably inaccurate to the original Junko. It's a costume, nothing more, and the dialogue she gives when 'in-character' is simplistic and insignificant. All its weight comes not from the meaning, but from the reference for reference's sake.

Junko's appearance in V3, like many other moving parts of V3, reference real-world fandom culture. It's appealing to both the in-universe fandom and the real one, bringing back character sprites and voice actors and poking fun at its own ridiculousness because none of it is real, none of it ever was. It was because Junko was fiction that she could do everything she ever did. Her Despair has meaning, but that doesn't mean she felt the feelings we're told she did, because she never existed to feel them. And that's the thing that lets her forever remain an enigma; she is Danganronpa's villain, and to become immortalized in Despair, she deconstructed into nothing but the word Despair, a fate that is in and of itself Despairful.

8.9- Tsumugi Shirogane

Tsumugi Shirogane is the mastermind of V3, and believes wholeheartedly in Junko Enoshima as the true villain of Danganronpa. Tsumugi is built as the fandom insert of DR, being immersed in fandom culture in every conceivable way- winking at the camera, making references to other fandoms, the love and joy of making cosplay- but also the less palatable parts of major fandoms, like her purist views of cosplay, her usage of incest as both a serious plot point and as a gag, and even does blackface when cosplaying as the dark-skinned DR characters of dr1 and 2. She's also the in-universe producer of the season. Therefore, Tsumugi also represents content creators, and how even the creator themselves can lose the plot of the character in their attempts to create what they perceive to be a compelling story.

As Tsumugi is explaining her story and why she tied it back into the Hope's Peak era, she pretty openly admits that a) she sees it as a perfect reproduction and b) a necessary writing choice in order to make it interesting. Both are false, as not only is V3's continuity in a separate world from the Hope's Peak era, but her presentation of Junko and the voice lines aren't displayed the same way Junko had acted in previous installations.

"'So... you're just a freak pretending to be Junko Enoshima, huh!?' 'No, a perfect reproduction! Perfect reproductions are exactly the same as the original.'" -Maki Harukawa & Tsumugi Shirogane, V3

She presents Junko as a singularity, the Ultimate Despair, and brazenly parades her face around as the immortal and ever-present true Despair. She's the 53rd Despair simply because her influence wouldn't allow her to fade away. She's become Despair-incarnate, but in making new games, Team DR has forgotten why Junko caused Despair in the first place. She didn't do it just to do it; she threw the world into Despair because it made her feel human to feel Despair. And yet when Tsumugi explains Junko the 53rd's plans, it's nothing but a big show, and that's exactly what a surface-level Junko looks like to the masses- a high-school girl that ended the world for fun.

Junko's games had meaning. Even when she didn't feel particularly connected to a person, like the RoD, she still brought them into Despair for a purpose. She was an analyst, and did the things she did with intention and with care. Attention to detail and careful manipulation with the face of a charismatic gyaru was her forte. But Tsumugi's so-called "perfect reproduction" is a story full of plot holes and contradictions, all caused by some need to deify Junko. In other words, as they refused to let Danganronpa go, they lost the plot, and Junko's humanity went with it in a desire to continue using her image when writing new stories. In becoming a god of Despair, her origins as a human were forgotten.

Part 19- Despair Into Tomorrow (Why We Care)

Junko Enoshima is an enigma. She is Despair incarnate, a pillar of the Danganronpa world created by her own hands, hellbent on burning herself to the ground. She's a character of poetic irony, unknown to all as anything but Despair. She was born with a perfect mind, and in trying to feel human, feel pain, feel Despair, she became permanently deified by all that she loved and all that she met, whether that was as a savior who killed a cruel world or a demon that detested hope.

At every turn, Junko's actiona are filled with malice, and yet so often that malice is directed at herself. Living in a peaceful world pains her because it leaves her bored. Anhedonia is a cruel mistress, and those who claimed to love her could never once comprehend it, because they couldn't feel the way she felt. The only thing she had that connected her in any human way to others or to herself was grief, and her entire story becomes one of self-sabotage. Despite that, though, she's not the only character burdened by anhedonia, and her self-destructive nature outstretching to the people and world around her is designed as a story of caution.

In each and every installation of Danganronpa, Junko and the other masterminds inspired by her fail because of their key difference in connections. When Makoto appeals to his classmates, they're reminded of their own desires to live and their love for each other- Hina's memory of Sakura, Syo's love of Byakuya, Kyoko's and Byakuya's love of Makoto himself. The same can be said of when Hajime chooses himself, to fight for himself, and is inspired to do so by Chiaki. Every other survivor has someone that inspired them to live for themself- Peko, Nakomaru, Gundham, the people around them. When Komaru is saved by Toko, it's because she took the time to connect with her and with Syo, and that love saved her from destruction. When Munakata gave up hunting Makoto, it was because of his love for Chisa. And when Shuichi declared he wouldn't vote, it was so that Maki and Keebo wouldn't be forced into sacrifice of a system that would hurt them over and over again.

Junko had connections. Junko had people she loved. Junko had another half. But she burned them one by one, until there was nothing left but her, and then she burned that too. She's a villain even to herself, and she knows it. She feels Despair upon Despair and even then can't regret it, because she wouldn't let anything else touch her heart besides it. It's an inherently self-fulfilling prophecy to only feel Despair, because in order for that Despair to exist, she must have felt love first. But she doesn't acknowledge her love and her vulnerabilities because she believes those fall under her 'factory settings'. Comfort is boring; safety is boring, and boredom was her enemy, an enemy second only to herself.

Junko's actions stem from a deeply embedded self-hatred. She was too smart and too comfortable, and so her boredom became everything she was. She believed the lie she told herself, that pain and grief and Despair was the only answer. Don't be like Junko. Don't believe the lies you tell yourself. Even in an unjust world, you can try to make things better without making them worse. Feel your Despair and let it go. It is okay to let it go. You are still human, no matter what image the people around you have, and to be seen, you must first be vulnerable.

Afterword

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT'S BEEN OVER 5 MONTHS. I made jokes and gags about 'getting this out before 2025' but I didn't think that would actually end up as my deadline. Holy fuck.

Junko's analysis is by far the beefiest I've done so far, and very well could remain the biggest one in this entire series of analyses (I think Kyoko, Makoto, and mayyybe Chiaki or Hajime might get close, but otherwise? Those are def gonna be the big 5 though) But hey, that's what being the mastermind of the franchise gets you. In retrospect, Junko probably should've been the grand finale, not part 5/17 of this series' part 1, but whatever. I'll save that grand finale for Kyoko instead

This will probably be the most controversial analysis I put out, alongside the eventual Mukuro one. I know people are, uh, divided on their relationship, but I did my best to stay objective and look at it from an unbiased viewpoint for what they offer narratively and its effectiveness. And I hope people are able to see that. Just in case, though, I'm gonna have anons off for a bit until whatever circulation this post gets dies down lol

Honestly, my perception of Junko has changed so much over the course of these past several months. It's not like I didn't like her before, but she's morphed into one of my favorite villains in all of media after this. This girl just cannot fucking die, no matter how much she wants to, and I think there's something so deeply compelling about a villain that wants nothing more than to self-destruct and burn the world with them, especially if you've fallen into a depressive state like the one she's in before

Good news, though! The next analysis set is Hifumi's, which means it won't take nearly as long as this whopper of a tumblr post! I'm actually very eager to deconstruct him, so hopefully we can go back to the summer days where I was able to crank out an analysis after 2 weeks. Please, god, can we go back to the summer days where I cranked out an analysis after 2 weeks

Catch ya later! :P

[kirlicues]

Quaint Country Cottage | Sims 2 Lot Download

This sunny little cottage features 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, and plenty of country charm. It is built on a 2x3 lot and costs $123,593. This lot comes partly furnished.

I have gotten so many sweet comments from the community on these lots and how they remind you of houses and places you've seen in real life. Thank you! But I will admit that at least 95% of my lots are not based on any house plans, they were just built off the top of my head, so any likeness to anything you've seen on TV or driving around in your neighborhood is purely coincidental since I don't really watch TV either. 💕

With all that being said, this house is inspired by my grandparents' place even though it doesn't look a thing like their single-story, ranch-style home. 🤭

Here's what this home looks like from the back:

Keep scrolling down for the lot download, or if you have a moment or 5, you can read some about the inspiration behind this home, first. 😄

When my grandma was still alive she was an avid seamstress who sewed many beautiful dresses for my cousins and I when we were growing up, and I'm blessed to still have a couple of them in my possession.

My grandparents' home was filled with all the kinds of things you'd expect to find in a house that had been lived in for 30+ years (and 60+ by the time they passed).

Why do I bring this up? Well, let me show you the floor plans and I think you'll see the connection! ❤

1st Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: dining room, kitchen, laundry/mudroom, living room, entry way, and bathroom.

This section doesn't look very lived-in, so let's head upstairs...

2nd Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: Master bedroom, bathroom, kids bedroom 1, upstairs landing, kids bedroom 2, kids bedroom 3/sewing room, and master bathroom.

There's that lived-in, well-loved look! 🥰

The other major difference between this house and my grandparents place is that they only had 1 bathroom for 6 people(?!). That would never work in the Sims game, so you, fortunately, get 3!

I used "moveobjects", the quarter-tile placement cheat, and the 45-degree angle cheats freely. I also have the Object Freedom mod in my game. Most things should be functional and accessible, but you may need to have that Object Freedom mod to get the home to look like this (the worst thing that will happen if you don't have it is objects may not be placed quite right on the walls or floors). If you notice an object blocking something feel free to move/remove it.

And as always, if lived-in/well-loved isn't your style feel free to redecorate it to fit your sim family's needs.

Quaint Cozy Cottage: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run this lot through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home has 4 pieces of CC, 2 of which are Maxis pre-order bonus items which you may already have in your game. These can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want them though.

CC List (Included): -Functional Washer and Dryer by MustLuvCatz at ModtheSims -Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims -Seasons Pre-Order Bonus "Garden Swing of Bliss and Harmony" -Teen Style Stuff Pre-Order Bonus "Pennelle by Top Shelf Toys" stuffed giraffe

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some “Lost & Found” Maxis objects? Check out this post.