#/slash wishing you had a more interesting life than you have

[clottedscream]

Hello! I absolutely love love love your nell vance art...I was wondering if it would be alright if I used it for a nell vance spotify playlist cover with credit? Thanks, and love your art!

Sure! also omg send me the playlist!

[nanaminokanojo]

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking​ things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo x you/afab reader TW/CW: angst | smut/implied smut | sorta dubcon | age gaps | aged up characters | kind fluffy | mentions of alcohol/drugs | some mafia stuff | mdni Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew. 

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense? 

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything. 

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor – at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations. 

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life. 

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card. 

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life. 

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear. 

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time. 

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract. 

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore." 

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself –"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you. 

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it. 

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car. 

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go." 

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..." 

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?" 

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20231019]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[lividstar]

🎞️ — ♡ BULLSEYE!

៚ wc: 35.9k

៚ fluff, angst, student athlete!wooyoung x photojournalist!reader, enemies to lovers, hurt -> comfort, you’re both in love and everyone knows except for you yourselves, zb1 cameo

៚ playlist !

៚ Being part of your university’s journalism publication as the head photojournalist has its own ups and downs. The pros are having the right to roam around campus freely even when there’s no reason to do so—you could just come up with an excuse and say you were exploring the halls for some sort of documentation project, being able to express your passion for photography for a good cause, and your duties demanding you to technically be work partners with your best friend, Yeosang, who belongs to the sportswriting column. You mainly experience the highs of it, though on some days, however, you find yourself wishing you had just chosen a different profession instead. Caused by what—or who, rather, might you ask? Well, that’s none other than the so-called star football athlete Jung Wooyoung. His carefree demeanor and reckless actions irk you to no end, leading you to always involuntarily playing an escape game against him every single day inside the school buildings. Too bad your duties will never allow him to be completely out of sight, though.

Furious.

You were absolutely furious.

The campus buzzed with the energy of yet another eventful day as you navigated the crowded halls, your camera slung over your shoulder with a scowl on your face. A group of friends slash through the crowd, huge smiles on their faces as they chase each other, the sound of their shoes squeaking due to the newly waxed tiled floors making your ears bleed. The one at the very last of the line—you could only assume they were playing a game of tag and he was “it”—accidentally bumps his shoulder against yours as you walk, and you look behind your back at him with an offended expression, but all you were met with was the sight of the boy continuing to run, not even sparing a glance at you.

What a great way to make your day even worse, isn’t it?

As the head photojournalist for your university’s journalism publication, you had grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of student life, capturing moments that told the story of your school with a discerning eye. From documenting large occasions like various extracurricular activities to taking snaps of the rare quiet moments you treasure like a diamond such as coming up to the highest floor to capture photographs of the university’s building as the golden hour paints a warm hue all over it while students leave the campus one by one, progressively making your surroundings more silent as the minutes pass—you cherished it all.

Your favorite part of being a photojournalist is the moments when you’re snuggled up in your bed, continuously clicking the next button of your camera while checking the photos in its files—a few of them being ones you don’t quite remember taking—and stumbling upon photoshoots that capture the emotion of happiness conveyed all over people’s faces. You find comfort in the fact that you’re able to capture what could only possibly be their favorite memory to look back to every once in a while in the future.

Today, however, that sense of purpose was clouded by a sense of dread. You had been assigned to cover the football team’s practice for an upcoming sports article of Yeosang on the daily lives of student athletes. It was a topic that always garnered interest, especially with the team's recent winning streak. But for you, it meant spending time around Jung Wooyoung and his friends—the embodiment of every single trait you couldn’t stand in people.

Your journalism advisor, Mr. Kim, had been insistent. “We need fresh, dynamic shots for this article. The football team is perfect for that. You’re the best we have—quite literally the only one, so I’m counting on you.”

Well, of course. Your publication is short of a few people as the majority don’t quite seem to find the duties of being a journalist to be an essential part of making their college lives memorable. They like what you do, but the idea of being put in your position? Not so much.

You nodded, masking your irritation with a professional demeanor. “Of course, Mr. Kim,” you had said, though deep inside, you were fuming. There were a million other things you’d rather be doing than spending your afternoon with a bunch of overgrown children who thought they ruled the school.

As you made your way to the field, each step felt heavier than the last. The crisp autumn air did little to lighten your mood. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant shouts and laughter of athletes warming up only served to remind you of where you were headed and who you would be dealing with.

You spotted the team easily, their figures a blur of motion and color against the green expanse of the field. At the center of it all was Jung Wooyoung, the star athlete whose charisma and energy seemed to draw everyone in. His presence is impossible to ignore—you have to admit, yet not in a good way. He’s loud, rowdy, and always the center of attention. He was everything you typically found irritating in a person, and you already had plenty of reasons to dislike him. And you think that even if you didn’t, you’d still hate him just as much.

Adjusting the settings on your camera, you positioned yourself by the sidelines, focusing the lens on the players. Through the viewfinder, you watched as their captain, Kim Hongjoong, led the team in a series of drills, his voice ringing out with commands and encouragement. It was clear that these guys lived and breathed football, and while it may be impressive, it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re a constant source of annoyance.

You snapped a few shots, capturing the intensity of the practice, the sweat and determination etched on each player's face. Each click of the shutter was a reminder of how much you resented this assignment. Why did it always have to be them? Why not cover something, anything, else? The theater kids would’ve been much more worth your time, you think, even if they’re just as rowdy as the football team. The only difference is they don’t have someone like Wooyoung.

Lost in your work, you almost didn’t notice when the practice session ended, the players breaking off into small groups to cool down. Wooyoung, ever the social butterfly, was in the midst of a lively conversation with his teammates when his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he jogged over, his energy undiminished despite the rigorous practice.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Hey, photo girl!” he called out, his voice carrying easily across the field. “Getting some good shots?”

Photo girl? You grimace, judging him heavily inside your head. You lowered your camera, looking up at him from where you sat with a steady, unimpressed gaze.

“Just doing my job,” you replied, your tone professional but laced with an edge of irritation in hopes of him noticing your need to be left alone. But then again, you can’t be foolish enough to actually expect him to know how to read the room now, can you? Or maybe he does, yet simply doesn’t bother to do so.

Wooyoung’s grin doesn’t falter. “Well, make sure you get my good side,” he said with a wink, pointing finger guns at you.

You nearly roll your eyes, your expression remaining stoic. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, you turned back to your camera, trying to ignore the lingering annoyance. This was just another assignment, another day in the life of a university photojournalist. You didn’t have to like it, and you certainly didn’t have to like them. All you had to do was get the shots, get out, and hope you won’t have to be in the same space as them again any time in the future.

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, a chorus of teasing comments greeted him. Seonghwa was the first to speak up, a teasing grin on his face.

“What?”

“Didn’t know you had a thing for stoic girls who look like they could ruin your life.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, laughing it off. “Please, I’d never date a girl like that. I like those who can match my energy.”

“Wow, that’s boring,” Jongho chimed in, shaking his head. “You’re so old school, Woo. It’s the 21st century!” Everyone proceeded to laugh at Jongho’s comment, making Wooyoung land a hard hit on his shoulder.

He meant it, really. Wooyoung was well aware of the way students all over the campus describe his persona—at first, he thought the adjectives they always used whenever he was the topic brought to their table were absolutely stupidly inaccurate, but in a way, after a long while of getting used to being in the very center of the spotlight, he had started to embody the traits people paint on him—no one told him to do so, though. He just felt like he had to twist and turn himself to fit their ideals, is all. Now, he’s widely known as a carefree person who doesn’t care about whatever goes on in his life—well, he used to. Just way before people started thinking they knew him better than himself to make up their own idealized versions of him in their head, at least.

The laughter then died down, and for a moment, Yunho looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “I don’t get your issue, Woo. She’s actually really pretty. I see her taking documentations of everything that happens on campus all the time.”

Wooyoung shrugged, brushing off the comment. “I never said anything about her not looking good. She’s just… not my type, is all,” he immediately replied smugly, yet his confusion with himself appeared just as quick. For what reason did he have to hesitate with saying that?

At this, Mingi sensed an opportunity to push Wooyoung’s buttons, jumping in with a teasing smirk. “Please, like you’re her type. I bet she doesn’t like you just as much.”

Laughter erupted from the group once more, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but join in, though he shot Mingi a glare. “Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m everyone’s type,” he said with profound confidence, making everyone sigh.

“And by everyone you mean that creepy old lady in the cafeteria as well?”

“Gross!”

“Seriously though,” Yunho continued, “she’s really cool. She always seems so focused and serious no matter what she does—like she can easily adapt to her surroundings.”

“What do you mean by that?” Wooyoung asked, tilting his head.

“She’s one of the top students as well, remember? I don’t know how she balances her studies and duties, but it seems like she does it with such ease. It’s kind of impressive, especially to someone like me who doesn’t know how to breathe in an air that doesn’t reek of my sport.”

Jongho nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on. People like that are like rare gems these days—not to mention, in this university. It’s different.”

“Different is one way to put it,” Wooyoung said, shaking his head. “She looks like she’d tear apart anyone who dares to get in her way.”

San smirked, nudging Wooyoung. “Maybe that’s what you need, someone to keep you and your tendencies of being a brainless prick even during the times you need to get yourself together on check.”

Wooyoung scoffed, “Nah, I’m good. Besides, she clearly doesn't like us. Did you see the way she looked at me earlier? It was like I was some kind of pest. Not even just earlier—all the time. I don’t get what her deal is.”

“Can you blame her?” Seonghwa shrugged. “You did interrupt her work. I’d be mad, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she’s all sunshine and rainbows either,” Wooyoung countered. “I mean, she barely even smiles—scratch that, she never does!”

“Maybe she just needs a reason to smile,” Yunho suggested, giving Wooyoung a pointed look.

“Oh, here we go,” Wooyoung groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some knight in shining armor who’s going to make her see the bright side of life. She’s not interested, and neither am I. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” San said with a chuckle. “But don’t be surprised if she starts showing up in your thoughts more often.”

Wooyoung laughed it off, shaking his head. “Trust me, I’m not interested. I’ve got enough on my plate with football and classes I’m barely even passing.”

He said with such confidence, yet did so while keeping his focus on your blurred figure in his peripheral vision.

From where you sat by the bleachers, you could see the expressions on their faces—everyone had a wide smile on their lips, whereas Wooyoung was frowning. You don’t have a single idea of what topic they could possibly be discussing, but somehow, the look on Wooyoung’s face brought you a sense of satisfaction. Regardless of what they were talking about, if it was pissing off Wooyoung a massive amount, then you definitely have to thank whoever uttered out the first word that started the conversation.

You figured you’ve taken more than enough shots for your publication’s article already, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to start a practice match once more any time soon, either, so you start tidying your things up, placing a hand on your knee for support as you stand up. A gust of wind passes by, and a few strands of your hair cover your face. You tuck them behind your air, immediately making your way outside the field, grateful that your suffering will finally come to an end.

Making your way towards the school gates, you spot Yeosang waiting for you at a nearby bench, his eyes lightening up the moment he notices you walking towards him. He stood up, and as you got closer, the image of the frown you held became clearer to him.

“Didn’t go well, I assume?” he asked, taking your bag off your shoulder and slinging it on his as you both walked out side by side.

“Well, it could’ve, had Mr. Star Of The Show not interrupted me in the middle of checking my shots.” You roll your eyes, and a sigh comes soon after. “Seriously, who the hell does finger guns these days? That has to be the biggest sin one could ever commit.”

“It’s Wooyoung again, huh?” he mused, seemingly more used to the star athlete’s antics than you are. “Well, the fact that he embodies the stereotype of a typical jock should’ve been enough to tell you that he’d be that type of person.” Yeosang shrugged.

“I don’t even know what to expect from him and his friends anymore. They never fail to surprise me—and I mean that in a bad way.” You take the lace of the camera off your neck, giving it to Yeosang so he could check the shots you had taken.

“For someone who claims to hate the football team, your shots have turned out to be really good,” he said while looking through the photos, stopping at a particular image of San’s foot up in the air with the ball right at the tip of his shoe. “This one’s my personal favorite so far.”

“Professionalism is a crucial tactic in journalism,” you replied, clasping your hands together. “There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.”

“You say that, but I know that deep inside, you wanted to lash out at Mr. Kim earlier for personally picking you to be the football team’s official photographer,” he teased.

“I am not their official photographer, Yeo. I would rather eat a rock.”

“Well, with the amount of times you have been chosen to conduct documentation of the football team, you might as well be.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his shoulder. He stumbles to the side, nearly clashing with a tree. You turn to look the other way, whistling with your hands intertwined behind your back.

“So we’re just going to pretend you didn’t do anything?” he deadpanned, stopping in his tracks. You looked behind him, a blank expression on your face. “What are you talking about?” you tilted your head, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, we’re gonna pretend nothing happened. Got it,” he replied, catching up to you.

“How’s your sports article going, by the way?”

“Please don’t ask about that.”

—

Your eyes felt as if there was a fire igniting within them as you nearly dropped your head down on your study table, the dim, warm light of your lamp not being of any help with keeping your spirits wide awake. Had you known the amount of times you’d be robbed off your resting hours the moment you step foot into the college life, you probably would’ve constantly messed things up during high school just so you could repeat the year all over again and postpone the date of the official confirmation that you’re no longer a little child running through the playground.

You love to pick up pens and scribble words on blank papers even if your duty lies in clicking the buttons on a camera, but not on days like this wherein you’re doing not because you want to, but because you need to.

You hate being told what to do.

Mr Kim seems to have a knack for letting you carry all the burdens of those who are part of the publication of the campus, based on your past observations. The editorial writer has to publish an article due on Wednesday but she has to attend a family occasion on the same day? Sure, just swap her out with you. It’s totally fine, she totally didn’t have a chance to already start working on the paper for one whole week before it’s due at all. Sure, you’re fine with it—you should be.

People have always relied on you too much, and after a while, it made you start believing you weren’t brought upon this world to have struggles of your own, rather, you were here with a purpose to solve every conflict that occurs around you. You kept being pushed to validate others, so often to the point where the one you’re invalidating is yourself.

It’s not that you don’t bother to stand up for yourself, because you do—every single time, actually. But whenever such events happen, you’re always meeting a dead end with the same response from everyone.

“You won’t do it for me? You’re a horrible person, then.”

You’ve always been the problem solver, the go-to person when things go wrong. It started in high school, where you found yourself at the very top of a tower of extracurricular activities, balancing them with ease while also helping classmates with their assignments. Back then, you didn’t mind helping out. It felt good to be needed, to be the one people could rely on. It felt nice witnessing people’s success knowing you played a part in helping them improve, regardless of whether they expressed gratitude for it or not.

But somewhere along the way, that very role had become a cage, trapping you in a cycle of constant giving without receiving anything in return. You couldn’t afford to be carefree; you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had to be perfect, always. You thought college might be different, a place where people would finally stand on their own two feet, but hey, it turns out—it was worse.

Mr. Kim’s persistent habit of delegating others’ responsibilities to you was grating on your nerves. You were tired, not just physically, but emotionally. You felt like a machine, expected to churn out results without a moment’s pause for your own needs or desires.

The papers and notes scattered across your desk were a testament to your never-ending workload. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering back to the football field, to Wooyoung and his friends. The thought of them made you grind your teeth in frustration.

Your hatred for Wooyoung and his friends wasn’t just about their behavior on the field. It was about the deeper, more painful realization that they had yet another thing you might never have: the ability to live freely. They could be themselves without fear, while you had to conform to the expectations of others. Their lives seemed perfect in their imperfection, while yours felt like a never-ending quest for unattainable perfection.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the very thing you despised in them was something you secretly longed for.

You wonder what it would be like to switch places, to live a day in their shoes. But it was a futile thought, one that only served to remind you of the stark difference between their world and yours. With a sigh, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was always more work to be done, and little time to dwell on what could never be.

You glanced at the clock. It was way past midnight. The silence of your room was only broken by the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers. You knew you should be sleeping, but sleep was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not when there was always another deadline looming, another responsibility thrust upon you without warning.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your pen again. The words flowed, albeit reluctantly, as you forced yourself to finish the editorial story. Each sentence felt like a burden, each paragraph a reminder of the countless hours you had sacrificed for the sake of others. You really could’ve been snuggled up in bed right now.

Your phone buzzed out of nowhere, dragging you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to the right side of the table where you placed it, and a message notification from Yeosang lit up your lockscreen.

“Are you alright?”

And that’s when the last string fell apart.

You put your pen down once more, and it fell to the ground. The weight of everything—the constant pressure, the endless responsibilities, the relentless need to be perfect—crashed down on you all at once. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your face.

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the sobs, not wanting anyone to hear. Even in your most vulnerable moments, you couldn’t afford to let anyone see you break. It was a cruel irony that the one person everyone relied on had no one to lean on themselves.

The message from Yeosang was still on your phone, the simple words cutting right through your defenses. He always knew when something was wrong, even if you never said a word. But this time, you couldn’t muster the strength to reply. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that you weren’t alright, that you were drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations.

You hunched over, shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked your body. The room felt cold and empty, the dim light of the lamp casting long shadows that seemed to close in on you. It was as if the world had shrunk to this one moment of pain and exhaustion, where nothing else existed but the overwhelming need to just let it all out.

For a long time, you stayed like that, silently crying, letting the tears wash away the frustration and the bitterness that had built up inside you. It felt like an eternity before you finally began to calm down, the sobs slowing to quiet sniffles. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, taking deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself.

You glanced at your phone again, Yeosang's message still glowing softly on the screen. With a shaky hand, you typed out a reply.

“I will be.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You would be alright, eventually. You always found a way to pick yourself back up, to keep going no matter how hard it got. But right now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of it all—because you know it’ll be a long while before you can do so again.

You let out a long sigh, picking up your pen from the floor and placing it back on the table. The work was still there, waiting for you, but for now, you gave yourself a moment of respite. You needed it more than you cared to admit.

After a few more minutes, you straightened up, took another deep breath, and wiped the last of the tears from your face. There was no time for self-pity; you had work to do. And as always, you would find a way to get through it. One step at a time.

—

You were so tired and stressed while writing the article last night that you forgot to proofread each paragraph, and now Mr. Kim was endlessly nagging at you for the—mind you, two—mistakes you had made. His voice droned on, a relentless tirade that made you want to disappear into the floor.

“This is so unusual for you,” he said from his seat, as you stood in front of his desk with your hands intertwined in front of you. “You’ve shown me nothing but perfection for the past few months. Why can’t you live up to your reputation?”

“I... I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you muttered, not knowing what else to say. “Sorry? Do you think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it? You are supposed to set the standard here. Aren’t you one of the top students? What happened to the meticulous work you usually deliver?” he asked, clearly upset.

One of the top students, there it goes again. At this point, you can no longer recall how many times you’ve been called the exact same term. Funny how it always happens when you fail to live up to people’s expectations.

Each word felt like a hammer, pounding away at your already fragile sense of self. You kept your head down, murmuring apologies, wishing desperately for this to end. Mr. Kim continued, his disappointment evident in every syllable.

“This kind of sloppiness is unacceptable. I don’t care what your excuse is, this cannot happen again. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

When he finally gave you permission to leave, you hurriedly left the room, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. It was lunch break, and knowing that the football team didn’t have practice matches scheduled on Wednesdays, you headed for the quiet field. It was the only place you could think of to let it all out without anyone seeing.

Sitting at one of the bleachers, the tears began to fall softly. You weren’t shaking or sobbing like you were the night before—just silent tears streaming down your face. For a moment, you wondered if you had gone past your limit and had become completely numb. The pressure, the expectations, the constant need to be perfect—it was all too much.

Just then, a familiar voice called out of nowhere.

“Photo girl?”

You quickly wiped your tears, pretending not to notice him. You kept your eyes fixed on the greenery of the field, willing yourself to stay composed. Wooyoung approached and sat down behind you, his presence an unwelcome intrusion.

“Were you crying?” he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“No,” you replied almost immediately, voice flat and unconvincing.

“Yes, you were. I saw it,” he countered, undeterred.

“Then pretend you didn’t see anything,” you snapped, looking away once more.

He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “What’s the matter?”

You wanted to laugh at his face. “It’s not like someone like you would get it, anyway.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “What’s so different about me that I wouldn’t understand?”

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and emptiness—and it caught him off guard.

“Everything.”

“What do you-” he was about to ask for further elaboration, but you were already on your feet.

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to explain yourself to someone like him. Without another word, you walked away, leaving a very confused Wooyoung sitting alone on the bleachers. He watched you go, a frown creasing his forehead. There was clearly a lot he didn’t understand about you.

Class hours passed by like a blur, and now, you were on your way home, desperate for at least just a few minutes of rest. Looking back, it seems nothing had gone well for you today—to start off, Yeosang, the only person you like within the confines of the university, wasn’t around today because he and his family had to attend a relative’s birthday party.

When he told you about it earlier in the morning, you had considered calling in sick because truthfully, without him, the only thing that balances your dull life with half an amount of light, you’re not really sure how you’re supposed to survive the entire day without someone ‘accidentally’ ending up dead. Not that you’d actually do that, but the idea is, without Yeosang, you know you’d be a hundred percent more comfortable with lashing out at whoever dares to push your buttons.

But then again, perfect students don’t skip school no matter the intensity of circumstances, do they?

Coming in second is the conversation—if you could even call it that—you had with Mr. Kim in his office earlier. You genuinely believe he really didn’t have to say all that, betting every single penny in your pockets that if it were to have been a different student in your shoes, he wouldn’t even bother calling them to his office—he’d simply scribble corrections over the text written on their output with a bright red pen he once borrowed from a student and forgot to give back.

And last, but definitely not the least, Wooyoung’s unsolicited presence by the bleachers earlier. The words he let come out of his mouth were yet another testament to just how out of touch with reality he was—who in their right mind would ask a person who clearly wants to be left alone why they’re crying? The nerve he had to call you that horrendous nickname once again, too.

Finally reaching your most awaited location, you shoved your hand inside your bag, brows slightly furrowed while waiting for the tips of your fingers to feel the cool, metallic touch of your keys. Once you found it, you hurriedly inserted it in its designated hole on your doorknob, twisting your hand a few degrees so it would open. The sight that greeted you the moment you pushed the door open brought a soft sigh to your lips—at last, you were home.

Just a couple floors above your apartment, a group of boys were lounged lazily in the living room, a few of them busying themselves with watching the movie playing on the television, while the others engrossed themselves in a conversation with one another.

“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung called out from the sofa, his loud voice overtaking the quiet whispers of the two main characters of the dystopian movie playing on the screen.

Yunho, who was in the kitchen, answered back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wooyoung stood up and made his way to the kitchen. “What does it mean when you ask someone why they’re crying and they tell you, ‘It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway’?”

Yunho raised an eyebrow, dropping the kitchen knife down on the cutting board. “Where did that question come from? Did you come across someone crying?”

Wooyoung shrugged, not wanting to give away too much. “It’s a hypothetical situation. Just answer the question.”

Yunho leaned against the counter, contemplating. “Well, it could mean two things. One, what they’re going through is too complex for anyone to understand, so they feel like it’s pointless to explain it.”

Wooyoung nodded slowly, considering this. “And the other?”

Yunho shrugged. “The other is that they think you’re too stupid to understand.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, clearly offended. “Low blow, dude.”

Yunho chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t say that’s what they actually meant. Just a possibility, you know? Sometimes, people go through things that they don’t think others can relate to. It’s not always about intelligence. It’s about experience and perspective. Maybe this person just feels like you haven’t been through what they’re dealing with.”

Wooyoung remained silent for a few seconds, considering the possibilities behind your statement earlier being what Yunho was explaining to him.

He found himself thinking too deeply about it, which puzzled him even more. He and his friends knew you as that one quiet, smart photojournalist who never seemed to smile and hated everyone who wasn’t Yeosang. You were an enigma to him, someone who always seemed to float above the petty dramas and trivial concerns that occupied most students’ lives. He had always thought you were just like that because you didn’t know how to have fun with your life, or maybe you just chose not to. To Wooyoung, you were a constant—a fixture in the background who never wavered or showed any sign of vulnerability.

So seeing you in such a vulnerable state earlier left him perplexed, hence why he was deep in thought about it. The image of you sitting alone on the bleachers, tears silently falling, replayed in his mind. He couldn’t reconcile that image with the stoic, composed person he’d always seen you as. It didn’t make sense. People who didn’t care about anything or anyone weren’t supposed to break down like that, right?

He wondered if he had misjudged you all along. Maybe there was more to your story than he had ever considered. Maybe your silence and apparent disdain for others were a shield, protecting you from something he couldn’t see. The thought left him unsettled. It challenged his perception of you and, by extension, of himself.

Was he really so shallow that he couldn’t see beyond the surface? Had he been too quick to dismiss you as just another uptight overachiever who couldn’t loosen up? The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little he actually knew about you. He didn’t know what your interests were, what made you laugh, or what made you cry—except now he knew you did cry, and that knowledge gnawed at him.

Yunho noticed his friend’s unusual silence and gently nudged him. “Hey, you okay? You look like you’re lost in your own head.”

Wooyoung blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... thinking.”

Yunho gave him a curious look. “About the ‘hypothetical’ person?”

Wooyoung nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, she—I mean, they—always seemed so... untouchable. Like nothing could get to them. It was weird, you know, seeing someone like that break down.”

Yunho tilted his head, observing Wooyoung’s troubled expression. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe they’re not as untouchable as you think. Sometimes the people who seem the strongest are the ones carrying the heaviest of burdens. There are layers to everyone’s lives—the only reason it often doesn’t seem like it is because people tend to only show to the masses what they want them to see, and not the whole picture.”

Wooyoung remained silent, absorbing Yunho’s words. He found himself questioning his previous assumptions about you, wondering if there was more to your story than he had ever considered. He felt a strange mix of curiosity and guilt. Curiosity about what lay beneath your stoic exterior and guilt for having judged you so harshly without ever trying to understand you.

—

Is it possible to still feel lonely, even when you’re surrounded by a swarm of people at all times?

No matter what the answer to that question would be, one thing’s for sure—Wooyoung has not even a single idea of what it is. It’s an unanswered thought that has never left his mind the moment it first made its way inside. Sure, he’s deemed the star athlete of the campus, sure, pairs of eyes follow him regardless of which hall he decides to walk on, sure, he’s got the life of the party—but despite all that, why does he still feel like there’s something missing? Why does being full still make him feel empty, somehow?

His thoughts drifted back to the field, to you, the stoic photojournalist who seemed to see right through his façade. Despite your brief and antagonistic interactions, there was something about you that intrigued him. You seemed immune to his charms, treating him with a mixture of disdain and indifference. It was refreshing, in a way, to be seen as just another person rather than some sort of campus celebrity to gawk at.

But at the same time, he found himself oddly looking way too deep into the moment that occured back in the field a while ago. Your words kept echoing in his mind constantly, whether it was during the times he’d be lacing his shoes up or those when he’d be staring at the void of which is nowhere during class.

“It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway.”

He wondered what you meant by that. Mulling over the two possible reasons Yunho suggested, he had a feeling it was a mixture of both. He wondered if you were experiencing something similar to him—he wondered just how similar your worlds were to each other.

Weeks had passed since that encounter you had with Wooyoung, and in that time, you had perfected the art of avoidance. The mere thought of facing him, of the possibility that he might mention that moment, sent a chill down your spine. You couldn’t bear the idea that he had seen a glimpse of a part of you that was meant to stay hidden, especially someone who, in your mind, lived in an entirely different world.

Every time you passed the field, you felt a pang of anxiety. You had meticulously planned your days to avoid any chance of running into the football team, sticking to routes and schedules that would keep you as far away from them as possible. The thought of Wooyoung seeing you cry gnawed at you, an incessant reminder of your vulnerability.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The fact that Wooyoung was gullible enough to have the guts to ask you what could possibly make him different from you made you fume each time the thought would cross your mind. The answer couldn’t have been any more obvious—everything. He lived a life surrounded by admiration and camaraderie, while you navigated through solitary achievements and quiet struggles. It wasn’t just a matter of different worlds; it was a matter of fundamentally different experiences.

At home, you tried to lose yourself in your work, burying your emotions under layers of assignments and projects. Yet, despite your best efforts, the memory of that afternoon clung to you. You felt exposed, as if a spotlight had been cast on your most private pain, and Wooyoung had seen it all. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake, and it left you feeling raw and vulnerable.

Yeosang had noticed the change in you. “You’re avoiding the team more than usual,” he remarked one afternoon as you both sat in the library. “What’s going on?”

“They’re just getting more irritating,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “I can’t stand their antics anymore.”

He looked at you skeptically but didn’t push further. If you wanted to tell him about it, you would. There was no necessity to pressure you at all. “Makes sense.”

“Oh, by the way, a new café called ‘Heavenly Brews’ or something just opened up a few blocks away from our university’s building. Wanna check it out later? It’s the talk of the town lately.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding but unwilling to delve into the real reason behind your avoidance. The truth was too complicated, too painful to articulate. The incident with Wooyoung had left a bruise on your pride, one that you weren’t ready to expose, even to Yeosang.

In the weeks that followed, you threw yourself into your studies, hoping that academic rigor would drown out the thoughts of Wooyoung and the vulnerability he had witnessed. You kept avoiding the field and any place where the football team might be, crafting your life into a careful routine that kept you far from them.

One late afternoon, as you packed up your camera after a long shoot, Yeosang approached you with concern etched on his face. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone,” he said gently. “Maybe you should take a break.”

You forced yourself to answer. “I’m fine, really. Just a lot going on.”

No, you weren’t. There were circles under your eyes. You no longer seemed to put an effort in tidying up your appearance as you usually would. Your patience has turned into a ticking time bomb. You weren’t fine at all.

But you had to be.

He sighed, clearly not convinced yet not wanting to push you further. “Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk. About anything.”

“I know,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t see the cracks forming in your façade.

As you walked home that day, the weight of your secrets and the memory of that vulnerable moment threatened to overwhelm you. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, you would have to confront the emotions you were trying so hard to bury, and when that moment came, you hoped you’d find the strength to face it.

And it seems as if that very moment was now finally getting to see the light of day.

Sitting in Mr. Kim’s office, you tried to keep your composure as he sifted through a stack of papers on his desk. The dim light of the room and the cluttered desk made the atmosphere feel heavy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

“Do you remember the pictures you took of the football team for Yeosang’s article about the daily lives of student athletes?” Mr. Kim asked, finally looking up.

You nodded, your mind flashing back to that exhausting day. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I showed them to the dean,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a small smile. “And she loved them. In fact, she loved them so much that she wanted to see those shots published in some sort of newspaper or magazine.”

A rush of excitement surged through you. It was rare to receive such high praise, and even rarer for the dean to take a personal interest in your work. Despite the bubbling joy within, you maintained your composure, listening intently as Mr. Kim spoke.

“That’s great news,” you managed to say, keeping your tone neutral.

“There’s more,” Mr. Kim continued, his smile fading into a more serious expression. “In order to make the dean’s wishes come true, I’m planning to actually publish a magazine. And for that, we need more than just photos.”

You felt a knot forming in your stomach as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to interview a football player for the feature,” he said, his eyes fixed on you.

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Of all the assignments, this was the one you dreaded the most. Interviewing a football player meant spending time with the very people you had been avoiding, the ones who lived in a different world from yours, the ones who had no idea what your life was like. At this point, you’re starting to think Mr. Kim is absolutely out of touch with reality. He never seems to realize how much he’s working you out—and even if he did, at some point, you highly doubt he’d ever care.

He never even dares to do anything for the sake of you and the other members of the publication. All that matters to him is his reputation won’t be tainted, all that matters to him is his fellow faculty personnel praising him for ‘training’ the student journalists well. Once anyone tries to ask about the hardships you face for the sake of his image, he’s dead silent as if he was born with a mouth meant to only open to speak well of himself.

“But, Mr. Kim...” you started, trying to find a way out of this.

He raised a hand to stop you. “I know you’re not thrilled about it, but you’re the best person for the job. Your photos were impressive, and I believe your interview can be just as great.”

Of course he only cares about the final result. That’s how things have always been. But each time you get reminded of it, you still always end up finding it in you to stay. There was no way you were going to let a lazy man pushing his 50’s ruin your passion for you.

You swallowed hard, feeling cornered. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” he said, with no hint of apology in his voice. “This is a big opportunity, not just for you, but for our entire publication. I trust you can handle it.”

Our, and yet you’ve done things for the publication more than he ever has.

“Which player?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“That’s up to you,” Mr. Kim said. “Choose the one you think will provide the most compelling story. But remember, I’m expecting something exceptional from you.”

You nodded wordlessly, the weight of the new assignment settling heavily on your shoulders. The initial joy of the dean’s praise was overshadowed by the dread of what lay ahead.

“Alright,” you said, standing up. “I’ll get to work on it.”

As you left Mr. Kim’s office, your mind raced with endless thoughts. The joy you had felt moments earlier was now buried under layers of anxiety and frustration. You had been avoiding the football team for weeks, and now, you were being thrust back into their world with a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Walking through the halls, you tried to think of a strategy. Who could you interview? Who would be willing to share their story, and more importantly, who could you tolerate enough to spend time with?

As you approached your locker, you saw Yeosang leaning against it, waiting for you. He noticed the troubled look on your face immediately.

“Hey, what’s up? You look troubled,” he said, concern evident in his voice.

You sighed and began recounting everything about the conversation you had with Mr. Kim. “Remember when I took photos of the football team for your sports article?”

“Yeah, I do. Why?” he asked, tilting his head as he had no idea where this conversation would lead to.

“Mr. Kim showed those photos to the dean, and she loved them,” you started, watching Yeosang’s eyes light up with pride for you. “She even said she’d love to read a magazine of the university’s football team if those shots were to be included.”

“That’s amazing!” Yeosang beamed, but his excitement dimmed when he saw you weren't sharing his enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s more,” you continued. “Mr. Kim wants to make the dean’s wishes come true by actually publishing a magazine. And for that, he wants me to interview one of the football players.”

Yeosang’s face fell into a more serious expression. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I don’t know who to choose. I don’t know enough about any of them to know if they’ll be insufferable during the interview or not,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice.

Yeosang thought for a moment before suggesting, “What about Hongjoong? He seems to be the most wise and logical of them all. He’s like their team’s ‘captain,’ anyway, so it makes sense to interview him.”

You looked at him, skeptical. “I don’t even know how to contact him.”

“Why else do you think would I have suggested interviewing Hongjoong if I wasn’t prepared beforehand?”

“Huh?”

With a smile, Yeosang pulled out his phone and handed it to you, displaying Hongjoong’s contact information.

Confused and surprised, you asked, “Now… why on earth do you have Hongjoong’s number?”

Yeosang chuckled. “I’m a sports writer. Of course, I’d have his and the team’s numbers.”

You shook your head, slightly amused. “It would’ve been way better for you to be the one conducting the interview instead.”

“But it’s not me, is it?" Yeosang replied, gently nudging your shoulder. “Mr. Kim entrusted this task to you for a reason. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The moment you got home after school, you wasted no time in sending a message to Hongjoong.

“Hey, Hongjoong. This is the head photojournalist of our school’s publication. I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out because we’re working on a magazine about the daily lives of student athletes, and for this feature, I need to conduct an interview with a member of the football team. If you don’t mind, would you be available for it this Friday?”

Truth be told, you had no idea how the interview would play out. The thought of sitting down with a football team member filled you with a mixture of dread and anxiety. You hoped Hongjoong would agree to your request, sparing you the need to approach any other football player. You couldn’t shake the fear that Wooyoung had told his teammates about your vulnerable moment by the bleachers. The idea of facing any of them, knowing they might be aware of your breakdown, was unbearable.

You desperately wanted Hongjoong to agree, not just because he seemed the most approachable, but because the alternatives were too daunting to consider. The mere thought of interacting with the rest of the team made your stomach churn.

Meanwhile, at Jongho’s apartment, the football team was scattered around the living room. Hongjoong received your message and decided to share it with the group.

“Hey, everyone, listen up,” Hongjoong called out, standing in the middle of the room. “I just got a message from the head photojournalist of the journalism club. She said she had to interview one of us for a magazine about student athletes—a task from Mr. Kim, it seems.”

Seonghwa looked up from his phone, curiosity piqued. “Just how many more articles about us is that old man planning on publishing? Did she say who she wants to interview, anyway?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Well, she asked if I was available, so I can only guess it’s me.”

“When’s it set?” Mingi asked. He was not planning on volunteering for the interview in case Hongjoong would not be available at all, but he just wanted to know.

“The interview is set for this Friday. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the dean on the very same day, though.” Hongjoong explained. “Is anyone else free?”

San, lounging on the couch, quickly spoke up. “I’ve got a family occasion I can’t skip. Sorry, can’t do it.”

“Same here,” Jongho added. “My cousins are coming over, and I’m stuck entertaining them.”

Seonghwa sighed. “I’ve got a major project due next week. I’ll be buried in the library all weekend.”

Yunho, who had been half-listening while playing a game on his phone, shrugged. “I’ve got practice for another sport. Busy all day Friday.”

Mingi chimed in lazily, sprawled across an armchair. “An interview sounds like too much work. I’d rather just chill.”

“We’ve got everyone having valid reasons for not being available, and you’re out here saying you can’t do it because you’d rather chill?”

Just as a bickering session between Mingi and Hongjoong was about to bloom, Wooyoung emerged from Jongho’s room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice still groggy as he had just woken up.

Hongjoong turned to him, hopeful. “Hey, Woo. Are you free this Friday?”

Wooyoung nodded, still processing his surroundings. He squinted his eyes while being lost in thought, trying to recall if he had anything planned for that day. Once he was certain the date on his calendar was blank, he traced his gaze back to Hongjoong. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Hongjoong handed him the phone, showing him your message. “The head photojournalist wants to do an interview for a magazine about student athletes. She asked if I was available, but if you’re free, maybe you can do it instead since I’ve got something else scheduled on Friday this week.”

Wooyoung glanced at the message blankly, looking at the top of the phone screen to check Hongjoong’s low battery percentage first before finally getting himself to focus and read the message from an unknown contact. “Photo girl?”

“If that’s what you call her, then yeah.”

“Sure, I can do it,” he said, handing the phone back to Hongjoong. “No problem.”

“Great,” Hongjoong said, patting him on the back. “I’ll let her know.”

“Your phone’s about to shut down, by the way.”

After a few minutes of impatiently waiting, your phone screen finally lit up as your notification went off. When you read the message on your phone, a sigh escaped your lips.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but it looks like the rest of the team and I are unavailable on the day you set for the interview. Here’s a rundown: San has a family event that he can't miss, Seonghwa has a big exam the next day and needs to study, Jongho’s cousins are visiting, and he has to show them around, Mingi said he’s too lazy and doesn't want to do it, Yunho’s got some extra training sessions scheduled, and I have a meeting with the dean that I can't reschedule. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

When you said you didn’t want to interview any of them, you didn’t mean... this. How were you supposed to conduct the interview for the magazine now? You certainly couldn’t afford to disappoint Mr. Kim again.

Then you saw Hongjoong typing again, and the moment his next message arrived, you felt another wave of dread wash over you.

“Wooyoung is available on that day, though, so you could interview him instead. Would that be alright with you?”

Your heart sank.

This was exactly what you had been dreading. The last person you wanted to spend any time with, let alone conduct a one-on-one interview with, was Wooyoung. The thought of facing him again, especially after he had seen you in a vulnerable state, was something you couldn’t handle.

You desperately clung to the hope that maybe some of the others’ reasons for not being available would fall through. Maybe San’s family event would get postponed, or Jongho’s cousins would cancel. You didn’t want this. It felt like a cruel twist of fate.

But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t risk disappointing Mr. Kim and the dean or tarnishing the reputation of the publication. You knew the value of the activity, even if you hated it. Your commitment to your work and the expectations placed on you left you with no other option.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine with me.”

You sent the message, even though every fiber of your being was stressing over the impending interview. The uncertainty of how it would go and the anxiety of facing Wooyoung again weighed heavily on you.

Yet, you had to push through and maintain your professionalism, no matter how difficult it might be, your words from a conversation you had with Yeosang a while ago echoing in your head.

There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.

You didn’t know for sure how longer you could hold out until you’d eventually betray yourself, and you certainly didn’t want to find out.

—

It was now Friday.

You had scheduled the interview with Wooyoung after school, ensuring that no one would interrupt and ruin things for you. You had informed Hongjoong of the time and place, opting to avoid the trouble of negotiating with an airheaded Wooyoung. The field, usually bustling with activity, would be quieter in the late afternoon, providing a suitable backdrop for your interview.

This was the first time in your life you wished for your classes to last longer, hoping to stretch the gap between the time now and the schedule for the interview. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus while your professor endlessly droned on; your mind was preoccupied with how you would handle the upcoming encounter. You resolved to be more closed off and professional, determined to keep the interview strictly business so that there would be no room for Wooyoung to bring up your breakdown by the bleachers weeks ago.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the last class, you felt an overwhelming urge to just stay inside the classroom as you’d melt away in your seat forever until you’re gradually reduced to nothing but a soaked spot on the floor. But you couldn’t. You had responsibilities to fulfill, and most importantly, expectations to live up to.

You arrived at the field, where the setting sun cast long shadows across the grass. The air was cooler, and the usual buzz of student activity had quieted down, with only a few students still inside of the school building. You spotted Wooyoung near the bleachers, casually leaning against a post, his carefree demeanor unchanged. On the bridge of his nose sat a colorful bandage, and for a moment, you wonder whether he had a small cut on that area or if he simply stamped it on his face for a fun little look. Knowing him, it was most likely the latter.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him, clutching your notebook and pen. Wooyoung noticed you and straightened up, a playful smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, ready for the interrogation?” he teased, but you kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started,” you said briskly, flipping open your notebook. “I want to make sure we cover everything efficiently.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow at your tone but didn’t comment further. “Alright, shoot.”

“How long have you been playing football?” you began with a simple question, your pen poised to jot down his answer.

“Since I was a kid, about six or seven,” he replied, leaning back slightly. “My dad used to take me to the park every weekend, and we’d mick the ball around. Those moments are some of my best memories. Ever since then, football became my escape, my way of expressing myself when words weren’t enough.”

You scribbled down his answer and quickly moved to the next question, opting for one that a lot of other people would relate to—at least you hope they would. “What do you think is the most challenging part of being a student-athlete?”

“Hmm,” Wooyoung leaned back, thinking. “Balancing academics and sports is tough. There are days when you feel like you can’t handle both, but you push through because you love the game. It’s about discipline, really. There are times I stay up late studying after a grueling practice, and times I miss out on social events because I have to train. But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it when you’re on the field, giving it your all.”

He threw in a joke about juggling books and balls, but you crossed it off your notes. Wooyoung noticed it, making him gasp. “Why did you cross that out? It was a good joke!”

It really wasn’t.

“This is for a professional interview,” you replied simply. “I can’t include your stand-up routine.”

As you continued asking questions, Wooyoung's carefree demeanor gradually shifted. He gave more serious, thoughtful answers that revealed a depth you hadn’t expected at all.

“Why do you think teamwork is important?” you asked.

“Teamwork is everything,” Wooyoung said earnestly. “No matter how skilled an individual player is, it’s the team itself that starts the gamble on whether you’ll win a game or not. Trusting each other, understanding each other’s strengths and weaknesses—that’s what makes a team strong. We push each other to be better, and we cover for each other’s mistakes. In life and on the field, you need people you can rely on, and who can rely on you.”

You noted his answer, feeling a flicker of surprise at his sincerity. This definitely didn't sound like the annoying star athlete you had always pegged him as. And it was strange. It was like seeing an entirely new side of him—and to be fair, that’s quite what’s actually happening.

“What are your future aspirations in football?” you continued, trying to keep the momentum.

“I want to go pro, of course,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But more than that, I want to inspire younger kids. Show them that with hard work and passion, they can achieve their dreams. Football taught me a lot about resilience, about fighting for what you want. If I can pass that on to the next generation, I’ll consider my career a success.”

You paused, glancing up at him. “That’s a very noble goal.” You didn’t have to say that, but you did.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung said, smiling. “Football gave me a lot. It’s only fair I give something back.”

The interview progressed smoothly, and you found yourself begrudgingly impressed by his maturity and insight. It was as if a different side of Wooyoung had emerged, one that was thoughtful and introspective. Throughout the interview, you kept stealing glances at his bandage, trying to decipher what design it had without being too obvious.

“Do you have any pre-game rituals or superstitions?” you asked, curious.

Wooyoung chuckled. “Oh, definitely. You know, I have this pair of socks I wore for every game back in high school. They’ve got holes in them, and my mom kept threatening to throw them out, but I couldn’t, because I wanted to keep it so bad back then—well, that was my past superstition. Right now, I always listen to the same playlist before a match—it’s a mix of hype songs and calm tracks to get me in the zone.”

You couldn't help but be amused by his answer, subtly looking down to see if he was wearing those socks in question—mentally sighing in relief when you were sure enough he wasn’t. “I suppose I’ll have to leave out the part about the socks.”

“Hey, those socks are legendary!" he protested, but you shook your head.

As you wrapped up, you asked one final question, “Any advice for students who are struggling to balance their academics and extracurricular activities?”

Wooyoung looked thoughtful. “Find your passion and let it drive you. It’s going to be tough, but if you love what you do, it’ll all be worth it. And don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. No one gets through life alone. Whether it’s friends, family, or teachers, there are always people willing to support you. Lean on them when you need to, and don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone struggles; it's how you handle it that defines you.”

His answer to the final question hit you on a level more personal than you ever would’ve expected it to, but you couldn’t afford to let it show.

The interview was done, but you felt a lingering sense of unfinished business. Closing your notebook, you decided to ask him another question, one that wouldn’t make it into the article but that you needed answered for your own peace of mind.

“Hey, Wooyoung, can I ask you something off the record?” you said, your tone softer and more hesitant than before.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Why do you keep pretending everything is perfect? I mean, you always seem so carefree and happy, but... is it really like that?”

Wooyoung's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He leaned back against the bleachers, gazing out at the field before speaking.

“Everyone thinks my life is perfect—it appears even you do, but hey, I don’t blame you for it,” he began slowly. “It’s just that the truth is, it’s actually far from it. Well, yeah, I joke around and try to keep things light, but that’s just my way of coping, you know? There’s a lot of pressure being the person everyone expects to be happy and successful all the time."

You listened intently, feeling a pang of empathy. It was like hearing your thoughts from a perspective that wasn’t the same as yours, yet was not as different either.

“Behind the scenes, it’s not always as great as it looks,” Wooyoung continued. "I have my own struggles too. There’s the constant pressure to perform, to keep up my grades, to maintain this image. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And then there’s my family. They expect a lot from me, and I don’t want to let them down. But sometimes, I feel like I’m living their dreams instead of my own. I guess... I just try to make the best of it, you know? If I can make people laugh and forget their problems for a while, maybe it makes mine a little easier to bear.”

You were silent for a moment, absorbing his words. This wasn't the Wooyoung you were used to seeing—the carefree, confident athlete. This was someone who, like you, carried his own burdens and insecurities.

You’ve always held a great amount of resentment towards him because you thought it was unfair for him to be living a life so colorful while you were trapped within the confines of which is your very own self. You hated hearing him laugh because it would do nothing but remind you of your silent cries deep in the night. You hated seeing him smile because all it does is flash an image of the natural frown your lips always wore in your head.

But after finding out just what he hid behind the curtains and just how similar you were to each other despite standing in different lights, you figured there was no longer any reason to continue to hate him—none in the first place—because if you continued to, it would only mean hating a part of yourself as well.

“I never would have guessed,” you admitted, albeit hesitantly, making Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that’s exactly the goal I’m aiming for.” He shrugged, looking down to his shoes on the floor while he swayed a foot back and forth.

“I get that a lot.”

“So why do you keep pretending that nothing affects you?”

Before the interview, you had resolved to keep everything strictly professional. But now, after hearing Wooyoung’s candid revelations, you felt a shift inside. The idea of maintaining that professional distance seemed less important. Finding out that Wooyoung wasn’t so different from you had extinguished the fire of hate you once felt for him.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. He noticed this and quickly added, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

But you did want to answer. You really, really did. The words just felt heavy on your tongue, and you struggled to find the right way to express them, is all.

“It's not easy,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always felt like I had to be perfect. Growing up, people relied on me so much that I started believing my worth was tied to my ability to solve their problems and never show my own.”

Wooyoung nodded silently to show you he was listening, his expression encouraging you to continue.

“Being perfect became my shield,” you said, staring at the grass as you spoke. “If I didn’t show any cracks, no one would see how much I was struggling. But it also meant I couldn’t afford to let anyone in. I couldn’t let anyone see that I wasn’t as strong as they thought I was.”

You let out a deep exhale, feeling the weight of your own words. “It gets lonely, you know? Always having to be the one who has it all together. People think I don’t have any problems because I don't show them, but the truth is... it’s just easier that way. If I start showing my vulnerabilities, I’m afraid everything will fall apart.”

Wooyoung listened intently, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. “I get that,” he said softly. “It’s like, if you let one crack show, the whole facade might crumble.”

“Exactly,” you replied, feeling a strange sense of relief at his understanding. “It’s exhausting, though. Sometimes I wish I could just... be myself. But I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

“Be nobody, then.”

There was a moment of silence as his words hung in the air.

“What?” you asked, not quite understanding.

“Be nobody,” he repeated, his tone thoughtful. “I mean, stop trying to fit into the mold of who you think you should be. Don’t worry about being perfect or living up to everyone’s expectations. Just... be. You don’t have to be somebody all the time, you know? Let go of all the roles and responsibilities for a moment. Be nobody, with no expectations and no pressure. It’s freeing.”

You stared at him, processing his words. “It’s easier said than done.”

“Well, yeah, it really is,” Wooyoung admitted. “But start small. Give yourself permission to not have all the answers, to not always be the strong one. Find moments where you can just exist without any labels or duties. For me, it’s when I’m on the field. I lose myself in those moments, and it feels like a break from everything else.”

His words resonated with you. The idea of just being, without the weight of expectations, sounded almost too good to be true. “But what if everything falls apart?”

“Then let it,” Wooyoung said with a small smile. “Sometimes things need to fall apart so they can come back together in a better way. And you don't have to do it alone. Lean on people you trust. Even if it's just one person, it makes a difference.”

—

You found yourself spending more time in the field than usual.

Following Wooyoung’s advice, you attempted to let go of your responsibilities, allowing yourself to simply be and do what made you happy rather than what needed to be done. But it was harder than you thought. You had become so accustomed to striving for perfection that you had forgotten what it felt like to make mistakes. You were so used to always being at your highest that your feet could no longer reach the lowest, and it was suffocating.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Looking towards the direction of the voice, you saw Wooyoung holding a football, a smile on his face. “How’s the nobody journey going for you?”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s... difficult. Harder than I thought it would be.”

He walked over and sat down beside you, placing the football between his feet. “Yeah, it’s not something that happens overnight. But hey, it’s a process. You don’t have to get it right immediately.”

“I’ve been trying,” you admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. “But I’m so used to being perfect, to not making mistakes. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to cut myself some slack.”

Wooyoung nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I get that. When you’re used to always being on top, it feels like you can’t afford to slip, even a little. But that’s exactly why it’s important to let yourself be imperfect sometimes. It’s the only way to really breathe.”

You glanced at him, appreciating his empathy. “How do you do it? How do you find those moments to just be nobody?”

He shrugged, looking out at the field. “I find activities that let me lose myself. For me, it’s playing football—but you probably already know that, or even just hanging out with friends without any pressure. It’s about finding little pockets of freedom in your day.”

You nodded slowly, trying to take his advice to heart. “I guess I need to find my own pockets of freedom.”

Wooyoung smiled, nudging you with his shoulder. “How about we play football together?”

“Huh?”

You hesitated, feeling a bit on edge. The idea of playing football seemed so far from your comfort zone. “I’m not really... experienced with that. And what good would playing football with you do?”

He grinned, unfazed by your reluctance. “It’ll probably be a good way for you to loosen up. You don’t have to be good at it. Just kick the ball around, have some fun. No expectations, no pressure. It’s a chance to be nobody, remember?”

You frowned, still uncertain. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been the type to do such things.”

“And that’s exactly why you should try it,” he countered. “It’s not about being the best or even being good. It’s about doing something different, letting go, and just enjoying the moment. Come on, what do you have to lose?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of your hesitations. But his enthusiasm was contagious, and a part of you yearned for that freedom he talked about. “Alright, fine. But don’t laugh at me if I mess up.”

“Deal.”

You and Wooyoung got off the bleachers and walked onto the field. The grass felt soft under your feet, the evening sun casting long shadows. Wooyoung placed the football on the ground and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he said. Wooyoung placed the football down and began explaining with a focused expression. “So, there are different types of kicks in football. The most basic one is the inside-of-the-foot kick, which is good for short passes. You want to strike the ball with the inner part of your foot like this.” He demonstrated, tapping the ball lightly with the side of his foot.

“You can also use the top of your foot for a more powerful kick, like when you’re trying to shoot for a goal.” He took a step back and swung his leg, striking the ball with the laces of his shoe, sending it flying a few meters away. “See? More power.”

Nodding, you tried to absorb the information. “Okay, inside of the foot for control, top of the foot for power. Got it.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung said, retrieving the ball. “Now, let’s talk about dribbling. Dribbling is all about keeping the ball close to your feet while you move. You want to use small touches to guide the ball and keep it under control. Like this.” He began moving around you, tapping the ball lightly with each step, keeping it close to his feet.

“Try to keep your knees slightly bent and your body low,” he continued. “It’ll help you change directions quickly and keep the ball close.”

You watched closely, then attempted to mimic his movements. Your first try was clumsy, sending the ball away from you. Bracing yourself for the inevitable teasing, you were surprised when Wooyoung didn’t laugh or make fun of you. Instead, he smiled warmly.

“That’s not quite it. Here, I’ll demonstrate for you,” he said, jogging after the ball and bringing it back, showing you how to correct your stance and control your touches.

“Remember, small touches,” he encouraged. “Don’t be afraid to move with the ball. It’s like dancing. Feel the rhythm.”

After a few more attempts, you started to get the hang of it. “Alright, I think I’m getting it.”

Wooyoung grinned. “You’re doing great! Now, let’s combine the dribbling with the kicking. Try dribbling a few steps and then pass the ball back to me using the inside of your foot.”

You followed his instructions, managing a somewhat decent dribble before passing the ball back. Wooyoung received it with ease and nodded in approval. “Nice job! You’re improving already.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself enjoying the practice. Wooyoung’s patient guidance and genuine enthusiasm made it easier to let go of your usual reservations.

As Wooyoung continued to explain the different techniques and strategies of football, you found yourself increasingly impressed by his knowledge and passion. It was evident that he practically breathed football. Every word he spoke was filled with an enthusiasm that was contagious, and his demonstrations were executed with such skill and precision that you couldn’t help but be in awe.

It struck you that Wooyoung wasn’t just good at football—he was exceptional. Watching him move with such ease and confidence, you realized that this wasn’t just a sport to him; it was a way of life. His dedication and love for the game were palpable, and it was inspiring to see someone so genuinely committed to something they cared about.

This new perspective was enlightening. Where you once harbored resentment and annoyance, you now saw a depth and passion that was impossible to ignore. It made you reconsider your previous judgments and feel a newfound sense of liking for him.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that Wooyoung had stopped talking. He waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Hey, earth to you. Are you still with me?” he teased, a playful grin on his face.

You blinked, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I’m listening. Go on.”

Already encouraged by your progress, he continued explaining. “There’s also the outside-of-the-foot kick, which is great for bending passes or shots. You strike the ball with the outside edge of your foot. It takes a bit more practice to get the curve right.” He demonstrated with a swift kick, sending the ball curving gently to the side.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” you remarked, impressed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty handy. And for dribbling, you can use all parts of your foot—inside, outside, even the sole. It’s all about control and keeping the ball moving with you.”

You practiced these new techniques under his watchful eye. Each attempt brought a new correction or piece of advice from Wooyoung, who remained encouraging throughout. His dedication to helping you improve was surprising, and for the first time, you felt a connection beyond the usual frustrations and misunderstandings.

After another try at dribbling and kicking, Wooyoung clapped his hands together. “That’s it! You’re really getting the hang of this. Alright, so now, I’ll show you how to score a goal—”

“I know how a goal is scored, Wooyoung,” you interjected, although a little amused.

Awkwardly chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, right.”

Clearing his throat, he went back to the topic at hand in order to save himself from embarrassment. After Wooyoung finished his explanations, you both moved on to play together. You hesitated at first, still uncertain about whether you should do what you were about to. Sensing your reluctance, Wooyoung offered a reassuring smile.

“Remember, this is all about letting go of everything, alright?” he reminded you gently.

You both started kicking the ball around, your initial movements tentative. Wooyoung kept the ball rolling slowly toward you, encouraging you with gentle nods.

“Just give it a light tap,” he instructed as the ball rolled to your feet.

You swung your leg and sent the ball wobbling in an unexpected direction. Instinctively, you glanced at Wooyoung, expecting laughter just like how you did earlier, but he just smiled and jogged over to retrieve it—just like how he did earlier.

You gave it a shot once more, trying to replicate his past movements. The ball seemed to have a mind of its own, but Wooyoung's encouraging words kept you going. “You’re doing great, alright? Just keep practicing those small touches.”

Eventually, you started to get the hang of it, and Wooyoung suggested a simple game. “Let’s see if you can get past me and score a goal.”

A bit of your initial hesitation returned, but you nodded. “Okay, I'll try.”

The two of you began to play more energetically. Wooyoung lets you get the ball first, challenging you to maneuver around him. You were barely managing to keep the ball at your feet, but Wooyoung was always there, offering pointers and occasionally stealing the ball only to pass it back to you with a playful grin.

“Come on, you got this!” he encouraged.

You finally found a rhythm, dribbling the ball toward the goal. Wooyoung stayed close, but he wasn't making it too hard. When you took a shot and scored, he laughed excitedly and jogged over to you, his hand raised for a high five. “Nice one! That was awesome!”

Surprised, you mimicked his actions, raising your hand awkwardly. When he slapped his palm against yours in a celebratory high five, you were taken aback by the simple but genuine gesture.

“See? You're getting the hang of it,” he said, his eyes shining with pride.

The game continued, each moment building on the last, with both of you enjoying the newfound experience and the simple act of playing for fun. As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

For once, you were nobody.

—

You haven’t talked to Wooyoung days after playing football with him on the field, but you figured it made complete sense for things to be this way. You seem to only run into him during the times you felt like you wanted to be nobody, and at the times when you had to be somebody, he was completely out of your line of sight. Maybe that’s how things are meant to be, so you never really gave it any thought. On a few moments, however, you find yourself wondering if he’s holding out well, but you don’t quite understand why. You’ve been telling yourself it’s because you were just a concerned citizen at heart, but even that seems weird.

Unbeknownst to you, the exact same thoughts clouded Wooyoung’s mind. Whenever he and his team would conduct a practice match on the field, he’d find himself occasionally stealing glances at the bleachers, sighing to himself when he’s met with an empty sight. He doesn’t know why, but after spending a day being nobody with you, he figured those days would occur more often afterwards, so that’s precisely why he feels disappointed whenever he doesn’t see you sitting by the bleachers.

Opening your locker, you were about to reach for a textbook piled on top of others of its same kind yet covering different subject areas, but it wasn’t until you heard a laugh that was too familiar to you for your liking erupt from the end of the halls that you stopped dead in your motion, making Yeosang let out a confused hum.

“What’s up?”

You didn’t mutter out anything for an answer, immediately turning your head towards the direction you heard his voice from. And there he was, laughing loudly with his clapping hands echoing throughout the almost quiet surroundings while Mingi and San, who stood by either of his sides, seemed to have been cracking jokes back and forth.

The moment his eyes met yours, however, he was quicker than a millisecond to shut his mouth and forget just what exactly did Mingi respond to San’s awfully executed joke that made him laugh way more than he was probably supposed to. San, noticing the shift in his behavior, nudged his shoulder.

“What’s in your mind?”

Both you and Wooyoung avert your eyes from each other, you aggressively closing your locker shut before turning your attention back to Yeosang, whereas Wooyoung simply waved his hands off towards San.

“Nothing,” you both said in unison, unbeknownst to one another.

You were nearly losing your mind trying to figure out just how much you really knew yourself. You had told Yeosang nothing was up—but somehow, part of you refuses to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t the truth at all and was just something you wished you really meant.

Something was up, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

“Nothing, huh?” Yeosang teased, eyeing you with a skeptical look. “Well, you better mean that because we can’t afford to have any distractions in our way this week.”

“This week?” You leaned against your locker with your brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s anything new about that. We’re always busy at this very same week during this very same month every year,” he shrugged, making the left side of his jacket fall off on his shoulder, assuming you were only playing around.

“No, wait, Yeosang. What’s up?” you inquired, sounding genuinely curious—which caught him off guard.

“No way. Have you forgotten what always happens during this time of the year?”

“Clearly…?”

“The Autumn Harmony Festival. Any bells ringing in your head now?”

Ah, right.

Every year, the university holds a grand festival known as the “Autumn Harmony Festival.” It’s a long-standing tradition, celebrating the unity and diversity of the student body. The festival spans an entire weekend, featuring a variety of events that cater to different interests. There are music performances from student bands, dance shows, art exhibitions, food stalls representing cuisines from around the world, and games with prizes. Clubs and organizations set up booths to showcase their activities and recruit new members. The festival’s highlight is the cultural parade, where students wear traditional attire from their respective backgrounds, creating a vibrant and colorful spectacle. It's a time when the entire campus comes alive with laughter, music, and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air. The event not only provides a break from academic pressures but also fosters a sense of community and belonging among the students.

“Oh,” you mused, eyes scanning the entire hallway. “Right.”

Yeosang audibly gasped—you’re unsure if he did it playfully or if he was seriously offended that you forgot about the annual festival, placing a hand on his hip. “Yeah, right. You seriously forgot?”

“Well…” you trailed off, sheepishly rubbing your nape. “I’ve been pretty busy, so I guess that’s why I kinda forgot about it.”

“Busy with what?”

That, you cannot answer. Not because you didn’t want to, yet rather because you had no idea how to. Was being busy due to your never ending thoughts even a valid reason to begin with?

“Just… things.”

“These things could either scale from being busy with your schoolwork to being busy with hunting down each football team within the shadows, so I’m just gonna pretend I never asked you what you’re busy with in the first place.”

“Do you actually think I’m capable of doing that?” you asked, mildly offended.

“Well, you never know which people here on campus would end up harboring murder tendencies on a random day,” he shrugged.

“I think we should just go back to talking about the festival before any passersby start looking at us weirdly.”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Yeosang agreed, looking around the halls. “Well, the journalism club will be having a meeting about it later today,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “You have the group chat on mute, remember? You don’t quite like everyone there other than me.”

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I forgot about that.”

Time passed quickly, and soon it was time for the journalism club meeting. You and Yeosang hurriedly headed to the club’s office, ready to discuss the festival coverage and immediately settling down the moment you both stepped foot inside.

“Alright,” Mr. Kim began speaking, clasping his hands together. “As you all know, the Autumn Harmony Festival is right around the corner. You might be wondering why conducting a meeting about it is necessary, but here’s the catch—for this year’s festival, the student council has bigger plans than usual, although they’re struggling with making all of it come true as they are quite short of people who can help them out. So…”

Silence engulfed the room, and by looking at everyone’s expressions alone, you could easily tell that they all knew where Mr. Kim was headed.

“The student council president, Karina, reached out to me to ask if we could lend them a hand. Of course, our duties and theirs do not differ that much from each other, so I figured accepting their proposal would not be a bad decision. That being said, we will be busier for the next few weeks. But of course, that doesn’t mean we’ll push our responsibilities to the side. We still need to publish an article the day after the festival, so I’m gonna need all of you to stay until the very last second of the event to document everything.”

You pursed your lips, hoping there wouldn’t be a further catch.

But much to your dismay, Mr. Kim continued speaking. “And for this year’s article, I’ve decided that our lead photojournalist will be the main one to cover the event.”

So much for wanting to stay in the shadows for once.

Just then, a noticeable shift occurred in the room. Eyebrows were raised, eyes were rolled, quiet sighs were released, and even few members exchanged knowing glances. No one said anything outright, but you could sense the undercurrent of resentment. You had always been observant, and this moment was no exception.

Suddenly, one of the members, Minjae, a junior who has always held a competitive soul, couldn’t contain his frustration. “Why is it always her?" he burst out, standing up as everyone turned their eyes towards him. “Every big assignment, it’s always her. What about the rest of us? Are we just not good enough?”

Yeosang quickly stood up to intervene. “Minjae, sit down. Now’s not the time—”

You gently tugged Yeosang back, making him sit down. He looked at you, confusion and concern etched on his face, but you met his gaze with a blank expression and a slight shake of your head, silently telling him to let Minjae continue speaking.

Mr. Kim tried to interject as well, “Minjae, this is not the way to handle—”

But he continued, ignoring Mr. Kim. “She acts like she’s better than all of us just because she takes good photos and aces her classes. It’s ridiculous! She’s not even a team player. She’s just Mr. Kim’s favorite. It’s like she’s the only one who matters. We’re all working hard here, but we never get the same recognition. Maybe if she shared the spotlight, we’d have a chance to show what we can do, too! If she actually bothered to socialize or help others instead of hogging all the work, we wouldn’t feel this way. But no, she’s too busy being the perfect little photojournalist, right?”

The final straw snapped. You slammed your hands on the table, the sound reverberating through the eerily silent room. Standing up abruptly, you walked over to Minjae and slapped him across the face. The force of the slap left a stinging red mark on his cheek, and everyone gasped, wide-eyed and shocked.

With venom in your voice, you finally spoke, “Maybe if you actually bothered to do your work properly, then I wouldn’t have to butt in to mend your mistakes every single time. You think I want to be here fixing your half-assed efforts? Think again. I do what I do because I care about this publication and our reputation. You, on the other hand, are too busy whining instead of actually contributing anything meaningful. You talk about being a team player? All you ever do is complain and shirk responsibility. You think you deserve the spotlight? Prove it. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

Minjae stood there, stunned, unable to respond as you turned on your heel and walked out of the room. Yeosang quickly followed, but not before casting a scathing look at the others. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done,” he said, voice low and filled with disappointment.

Minjae, nursing his cheek, looked at Mr. Kim. “She hit me. There has to be some offense for that!”

Mr. Kim remained silent for a moment, then simply said, “Sit down, Minjae.”

Yeosang caught up with you in the hallway, gently tugging your arm. "Hey, wait up."

You shooed his hand away, turning around to face him calmly. “Go back to the office, please.”

He shook his head, concern etched on his face. “I’m not leaving you alone after that. You need someone right now.”

You sighed, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in your eyes. “But what if I want to be alone? What if that’s what I need?”

Yeosang hesitated but tried again. “I get that, but I can’t just—”

You gently pushed his shoulder back, giving it an affirming squeeze to let him know you weren’t mad at him. “Just leave me be for now, Yeo. I promise I’ll come by when I’m feeling lighter.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of anger towards him, but found none. With a reluctant nod, he pulled out a tiny crocheted voodoo doll with a keychain attached to it from his pocket. “Here, take this. In a way, you’ll still have me with you.”

You vividly recall him crocheting the doll during one of your sleepovers back in high school and being absolutely freaked out when you saw it hung by your ceiling fan the morning after. You still have no idea why he chose to crochet a voodoo doll out of everything else back then to this date—but then again, Yeosang has always been full of surprises, so much so to the point you’ve eventually learned to expect the unexpected from him at all times.

“You still have this?” you mused, hooking your index finger through the keychain and lifting it up.

“I thought it could be useful someday,” Yeosang shrugged. “Just… promise me you’ll let me know once you’re feeling better, alright?”

“I will, I promise.” You gave him an affirming nod before turning your heel, your form gradually decreasing in his point of view the further you walked away. You and your well-being meant the whole world to him, and he could only hope you felt the same way about yourself, too.

You don’t know where your feet are leading you, but the next thing you knew the moment you snapped out of your thoughts was that your line of sight was filled with greenery matched with the bright blue sky. The tranquility of the field provided a stark contrast to the tension you felt inside. You found a secluded spot on the bleachers and sat down, trying to clear your mind.

Just as you began to relax, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Hey, stranger.”

You looked up to see Wooyoung standing there, a warm smile on his face. He held a football under his arm.

“Wooyoung,” you said, your voice coming off as mildly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured to the rest of his team entering the field one by one. “We’re having a practice match.”

“Oh, right. Makes sense,” you replied, though your voice lacked its usual steadiness.

Wooyoung’s smile faded as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. To others, your expression might seem no different from usual, but somehow, Wooyoung could easily tell something was up. “What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

You shook your head lightly. “Nothing. Go to the field. It looks like your teammates are waiting for you.”

He glanced at his teammates, then back at you. “Stay here. I’ll make sure we finish practice early.”

Confused, you asked, “Why?”

“Just... stay, alright? Don’t leave.”

With that, Wooyoung ran off to join his team. San was the first to notice something different. “What were you talking about?” he asked, with skepticism in his voice.

For once, Wooyoung didn’t play along with their teasing. “Let’s start the match,” he said to Hongjoong, his tone more serious than usual. Everyone noticed the shift in Wooyoung’s behavior, but no one dared to say anything.

As you remained seated on the bleachers, you watched Wooyoung and his team practice. The rhythmic thud of the ball and the shouts of the players filled the air, providing a temporary distraction from the turmoil in your mind. You replayed Mark’s words over and over, each repetition cutting deeper. Despite knowing he had no right to say those things, his accusations hurt more than you cared to admit.

Were you really stealing their spotlight? Was it wrong to take charge because no one else seemed up for it? Was trying to be enough, too much?

Wooyoung stole glances at you throughout the match, his concern evident. You noticed but pretended not to, focusing on the game as if it could somehow drown out your thoughts.

When the match ended, Jongho suggested going out to eat. “I’ll pass,” Wooyoung said, catching everyone off guard.

“Why?” Hongjoong asked, his confusion mirrored by the rest of the team as it was a first for him to reject such a proposal.

Wooyoung’s gaze shifted momentarily towards you. “There are things more important that I want to prioritize.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks but knew better than to pry. Seonghwa glanced at you briefly, then turned back to Wooyoung with a knowing smile—one he didn’t quite catch. “You’re free to catch up if you want.”

After the rest of the team left the field, he was quick to run towards where you sat. “Hey,” he said softly, slightly out of breath. “Mind if I sit?” You wordlessly nodded, shifting slightly to give him space.

“So… what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes reflecting the confusion and hurt you felt inside. “Am I too much, Wooyoung?”

His eyes widened slightly at your question, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his face. He took a deep breath, clearly wanting to choose his words carefully.

“Why would you think that?” Wooyoung asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

You fidgeted with the voodoo doll keychain in your hands, finding it difficult to articulate the storm inside you. “It’s... complicated.”

Wooyoung could sense your struggle, and for a moment, you felt a ghost of his touch on the back of your shoulders, but it left just as quick as it appeared. “Hey, take your time. You don’t have to rush it all out.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “Earlier today... in the journalism office, something happened. We were discussing our plans for the upcoming Autumn Harmony Festival, and Mr. Kim chose me to be the main one to cover the event. And…”

“And?” Wooyoung prompted, listening intently.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. “I don’t want to give away any details, but someone said really hurtful things. They accused me of... hogging the spotlight, of not being a team player. They said I act like I’m better than everyone else.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, though he remained silent, letting you continue.

“It made me question everything. Am I really doing the right thing for the club? Is caring about our reputation so wrong? I’ve always thought I was helping, but maybe... I don’t know, maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. My mind’s a total mess and I just—”

Your voice broke, and tears started to well up in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but the emotional weight was too much. Wooyoung watched you with a mixture of empathy and anger, his heart aching for you while a burning rage simmered inside him at the thought of someone hurting you like this—he doesn’t quite understand why he feels this way.

“I... I just don’t know anymore,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you started to cry.

Wooyoung’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “Can I… can I hug you?”

You wordlessly nodded, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely.

“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. “You’re allowed to feel this way. Let it all out.”

You clung to the fabric of his shirt, sobbing quietly as he continued to hold you, offering silent support. His presence was a calming anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

Wooyoung’s thoughts raced. Who would ever have the nerve to speak such words to you when you were one of the most hardworking people he’s ever known? But for now, he focused on comforting you, letting you know that you weren’t alone.

When your sobs finally began to subside, he pulled back slightly to look at you, immediately taking his hand off your shoulder the moment he took note of the proximity. “You are not too much, alright? You’ll never be,” he said firmly. “You’re doing the right thing by caring about the club and its reputation. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that. You’re dedicated and passionate, and that’s something to be proud of.”

You looked into his eyes, and you swore you’ve never felt so seen before.

Wooyoung brushed a stray tear from your cheek and asked softly, “Do you mind telling me who it was?”

You looked at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Why?” He hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “I’m just… curious, y’know.”

You sighed, glancing away for a moment. “Do you know anyone named Minjae?” Wooyoung nodded. “Oh, yeah, I do. You get to know a lot of people when you’re well-known around school—kinda like a package deal, if you think about it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek debating whether to say more or to just leave things as is. Finally, you sighed once more and said, “It was him.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened slightly, but he simply nodded. “I see.”

He didn’t press further, sensing that you needed a break from the topic. Instead, he pointed at the voodoo doll keychain in your hands with a curious and somewhat mildly horrified look. “What’s the doll for?”

“So, you see…”

The following day, you walked into the journalism office, still feeling the emotional remnants of yesterday’s confrontation. As you opened the door, expecting the usual hustle and bustle, you were met with a surprising sight: Minjae, diligently working at his desk.

He looked up when he heard the door and, catching your eye, gave a small, somewhat awkward nod before returning to his work. You stood there for a moment, processing the scene. It was strange seeing him so focused, especially after what had happened.

Yeosang, noticing your surprise, walked over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

You nodded slowly, still staring at Minjae. “Yeah, just... surprised, I guess.”

He followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Maybe yesterday had more of an impact than we thought.”

You turned to him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your eyes. “Do you think... do you think he’s actually trying to make up for what he said?”

Yeosang shrugged. “It’s possible. Sometimes people just need a wake-up call.”

As you moved further into the office and sat down at your desk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty. Minjae working diligently was a stark contrast to his usual behavior, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this change would last.

Yet for now, you decided to focus on your own work, letting the events of the previous day serve as a reminder that even when things seem overwhelmingly difficult, there can still be moments of unexpected change. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was one of those moments—well, hopefully.

As the lunch break bell rang a while later, you gathered your things, ready to head to the cafeteria with Yeosang. Just as you were about to leave the office, Minjae called out, “Hey, can you stay behind for a bit?”

You glanced at Yeosang, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. With a slight shrug, you nodded towards the door. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Yeosang gave Minjae a curious look before turning back to you. “I’ll be waiting at our usual spot,” he said, and with that, only you and Mark were left inside the room.

Turning to Minjae, you asked, “What’s the matter?”

Minjae took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I just… I want to apologize. For, y’know, everything. For all the things I said, for being a slacker, for misjudging you, for not doing my work. I’ve been a terrible team member and an even worse person. I let my insecurities and frustrations get the best of me, and I took it out on you. I was wrong, and I’m truly sorry. I’ve realized that I’ve been hiding behind my complaints instead of actually contributing and taking responsibility. You’ve been carrying the weight for all of us, and instead of appreciating your efforts, I resented you for it. I want to make it right. I’m going to start doing my part and prove that I can be better. Please, forgive me.”

You stood there, silent, processing his words. And you’re not sure if it’s due to the office’s painfully blinding fluorescent lights, but he looked like he had just gotten a black eye and covered it up with a mismatching shade of concealer. There was a little cut on the right corner of his lips, too.

After a few seconds, you let out a soft sigh. “I don’t need you to apologize, Minjae. I need you to take accountability for your actions. The words you’ve just said right now won’t mean a thing if you don’t keep the consistency of your efforts.”

Minjae nodded, clearly moved by your response. “I understand. I will. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

Just as you were about to leave, you paused and turned back to him. “And don’t be too comfortable with misjudging people. You, too, have a side within you that you don’t want to show people, don’t you? That’s the same case for everyone else. If what you did to me had been done to you, would you like it?”

Minjae’s eyes widened slightly as he absorbed your words. “No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted quietly. With a final nod, you turned and left the office.

Little did you know that Wooyoung had been standing just right outside the office door, listening in on your conversation.

Reaching the cafeteria, your eyes searched the crowded space for the familiar sight of Yeosang’s curly brown hair, sighing in relief when you spotted him sitting at your usual table positioned right beside the windows.

The moment you walked towards him, he wasted no time in interrogating you. “So… what was that about?”

“You tell me,” you sighed. “Who would have thought I’d hear such words from Minjae himself?”

“Why? What did he tell you back in the office?” he asked, resting both of his elbows on the table, slightly leaning forward in curiosity.

“Well, to start off, he apologized for being a slacker. Days within this university really are filled with surprises.” You shook your head, gazing out the window.

“You want me to believe your narrative that the Kim Minjae apologized for being a slacker?” Yeosang raised an eyebrow, skeptical of whether you were telling the truth or just making up blatant lies. Well, it’s not like you could blame him, anyway.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t believe it either, honestly. I mean, it’s good that he seems to be taking the very first few steps to turning over a new leaf now, but it was… weird, nevertheless. You know him well enough to know what happened yesterday couldn’t have possibly been enough for him to feel bad.”

Yeosang rubbed his chin with a finger, deep in thought. “Makes sense. Maybe someone else knocked some sense into his head?”

“And by who, exactly? That’s just downright ridiculous,” you shot him a questioning look, turning your head to the side ever so slightly when you heard the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter from the cafeteria’s entrance.

It was only then that you realized Yeosang still doesn’t have a single clue that your perception of Wooyoung had done a full 180 ever since you interviewed him for your publication’s magazine. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to know about it, yet rather, you simply felt like it would be unnecessary to bring it up. Wooyoung doesn’t have that big of a role in your life—or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself—anyway, so why should it matter?

“Well, it’s just a theory,” Yeosang defended himself. “Anyway, if—and only if, Minjae is actually planning on being consistent with his growth, then that means the weight you have to carry for the sake of our publication will gradually decrease. That’s a good thing, especially considering the festival is only a few weeks away,” he beamed.

“Our, Yeo, our. I don’t think you’re aware of how much you’ve helped me with handling my responsibilities,” you said, tilting your head lightly. “You’re a great person, you know? You should give yourself more credit.”

Yeosang awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to respond to your kind words. “Well, I mean, you’re my best friend. It’s only right for me to lend you a hand when it’s due,” he shrugged.

“I just told you to give yourself more credit and here you are doing the complete opposite,” you said, sighing.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cafeteria, Wooyoung and the rest of the football team were sitting together, their conversation lively and full of energy—as usual.

“Anyone else hyped about the Autumn Harmony Festival?” Seonghwa asked, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smile, a half-bitten sandwich in his hand.

“That’s gotta be me right here,” Mingi replied, grinning. “The festival’s always a blast. The food, the music, everything’s just awesome. I can’t wait to find out what they have in store for this year’s celebration.”

Hongjoong nodded in agreement. “Same here. I mean, last year’s festival was nothing short of absolute perfection, y’know? I wonder how they’ll top it off.”

“Don’t forget the championship game that’s only a week after the festival ends, though,” Jongho added. “We need to make sure we’re ready for that, too.”

“True, true,” Yunho agreed. “We’ve been training hard recently, but we can’t be complacent. We can’t slack off just because we have a festival in between.”

“Speaking of the festival,” San chimed in after leaning towards Seonghwa to gobble the remaining half of his sandwich. “What’s your favorite part of it? For me, it’s always the fireworks. There’s something magical about them.”

“This was only done last year, but my favorite’s gotta be Dilettante’s surprise dance performance,” Hongjoong said with a smile.

“Now that you’ve brought it up, that’s one of my favorite parts from last year’s festival, too. Suddenly seeing Yunho on stage after wondering why he was gone for the whole day gave me goosebumps,” San agreed, making Yunho shyly scratch his head.

“It would’ve been way cooler if Seonghwa was up there with me, though,” Yunho said, nudging Seonghwa who sat between him and San.

While everyone was agreeing with Yunho’s statement—save for Wooyoung who had been awfully quiet for a while now, Seonghwa was quick to brush them all off. “I don’t have the spirit for dancing anymore, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“But if we’re talking about our favorite moments in the festival, it would be the atmosphere at night for me. Everything feels so alive—and the couples walking around holding hands, too,” Seonghwa added. “It’s kind of cute, seeing everyone so happy and in love.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, the festival is definitely a romantic place. It’s like the perfect setting for a date.”

At the mention of a date, Wooyoung’s thoughts immediately drifted to you. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to spend the festival with you. His eyes shifted across the cafeteria to where you were sitting with Yeosang, engrossed in a conversation. You must have felt his eyes on you, for you glanced up and met his stare. Caught off guard, Wooyoung quickly looked away, focusing back on his friends.

“There’s something about festivals that just brings out the romance in people,” Yunho mused. “The music, the lights, the whole vibe. It’s like you’re in a different world.”

“Exactly,” San agreed. “And you know what? Sometimes, it’s not about having someone special to spend it with. Just being in that atmosphere makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“You guys are getting all sappy,” Jongho teased, but there was a wide smile on his face. “But yeah, I get it. There’s a certain charm to it all.”

“Hey, Woo,” Seonghwa said, turning to Wooyoung. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Wooyoung shrugged, playing it off. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

San, however, knew him too well to buy his excuse. Leaning closer, he asked, “Does this ‘stuff’ involve a certain someone, maybe?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Nah, just got a lot on my mind with the festival and the game coming up.”

Jongho nudged him. “Well, since that’s what we’re talking about right now, what’s your favorite part of the festival?”

Wooyoung thought for a moment. “I’d say the food stalls. There’s always something new to try, and it’s fun just walking around and tasting different things.”

Jongho nudged him again. “Speaking of which, who do you plan on spending the festival with?” Wooyoung shrugged, acting unbothered. “I don’t know. I’ll probably spend it alone.”

Yet he said so with a fragment of you appearing in his mind.

And almost as if by fate, Yunho suggested, “What about the head photojournalist?”

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You know,” Yunho said, eyes twinkling. “The head photojournalist. You guys would look cute together.”

“Totally. Imagine the fireworks reflecting in your eyes as you both stare at them,” Mingi added, his tone dreamy. “It’s like a scene straight out of a movie.”

“And then she goes to capture that perfect moment,” Hongjoong laughed. “Only to realize she’s part of the story.”

Wooyoung brushed them off, his cheeks warming. “You guys sound absolutely ridiculous. What are you, teenage girls?”

Yet despite his comment, they weren’t ready to drop the topic at all. They sensed an opportunity to have some fun at his expense and were eager to exploit it.

“You know, Woo, it’s not exactly ridiculous for us to think you’d look cute together,” Yunho said, grinning. “There’s definitely some chemistry there.”

San nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and think about it—she’s got that whole serious, focused vibe, and you’re the total opposite. It’s like a perfect balance. You’d bring out the fun side in her.”

Hearing the way San described you just made him realize he knows a part of you you’d never reveal to others—and he was someone you trusted enough to show him that part.

“And she’d probably help you stay out of trouble,” Jongho added with a laugh. “You need someone who can keep you in check, Woo. Plus, you can’t deny that you’re always a bit more... animated when you talk about her.”

“Not to mention, you literally have a nickname dedicated to her. You know, photo girl.” Hongjoong teased, making everyone laugh. Wooyoung shook his head, trying to hide a smile. “You guys are reading way too much into this.”

“Come on, Woo,” Seonghwa said, playfully nudging him. “You’ve got to admit there’s something there. Enemies to lovers is a classic trope for a reason. It’s all about the tension and the eventual realization that you actually care about each other.”

“Slowburn would probably be more fitting. It’s not enemies to lovers when she’s the only one who hates him.”

Do you, though?

Yunho’s eyes widened in mock excitement. “Think about the moment when you both realize you’re more than just rivals. The looks on your faces would be priceless.”

Mingi joined in, over the moon that Yunho gets his vision. “And the festival is the perfect setting for that kind of realization. All the romantic vibes, the lights, the music…”

“And then there’s the fireworks,” Hongjoong added, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “The perfect backdrop for a confession.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing at their enthusiasm. “You guys need to snap out of it.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “Maybe, but you can’t deny we’re onto something.”

“You’re not onto something—you’re on something.”

San wasn’t convinced, though. “Sure, sure. But let’s be real—if you were to be asked who you want to spend the festival with, she’s the first person who comes to mind, right?”

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to his friends. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Then think about it.”

And he did.

—

As the weekend approached, you found yourself diving headfirst into preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival alongside Yeosang, Minjae—surprisingly so, and the rest of the journalism club. The gymnasium buzzed with the sounds of laughter and chatter as you all worked together to bring the student council's vision to life. Paper lanterns hung from the rafters, colorful banners accentuated the walls, and tables were adorned with bright flower arrangements.

You were paired up with Karina, the student council president, who took you under her wing, guiding you through the handful of processes of creating the decorations. She showed you how to fold paper into elegant origami shapes, demonstrating each step with precision and grace.

“Alright, so first, you fold the paper in half like this,” Karina explained, her hands moving deftly as she demonstrated the technique. “Then, you fold the corners in towards the center, like so.”

You watched closely, mimicking her movements as you tried to keep up with her expertise. Despite your initial apprehension, Karina’s patient guidance put you at ease, and soon you found yourself getting into the rhythm of the task.

As you both worked, Karina couldn’t help but notice Minjae's uncharacteristically diligent efforts. She turned to you with a curious expression, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s gotten into Minjae? He’s usually not one to work so hard.”

You glanced over at Minjae, who was engrossed in arranging flowers with a focused expression. “You know Minjae?” you asked, surprised by the revelation.

Karina nodded with a chuckle. "Of course. He's the younger brother of my girlfriend, Minjeong. And let me tell you, he’s definitely not known for his work ethic.”

You shrugged, shaking your head in amusement. “I guess he just got a wake-up call,” you mused, turning your attention back to folding a paper origami.

As the day wore on, fatigue began to set in, and you found yourself longing for a break. Glancing over at Yeosang, who was focused on his own task, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hunger.

“Hey, are you hungry?” you asked, interrupting his concentration.

Yeosang looked up, a tired but grateful smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, I could go for a snack.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sudden craving for something salty and sweet. “I’ll go grab us some snacks from the convenience store down the street. Be right back.”

After informing Karina you’ll be off for a while to buy some snacks and asking her if she wanted anything from the convenience store as well, you set off on your own, the cool breeze outside a welcome relief from the stuffy gymnasium. As you walked, your mind wandered, thoughts of the festival and the tasks ahead swirling in your head.

The moment you entered the convenience store, the familiar chime of the door greeted you, signaling your arrival. Your first task was to find the ramen Karina had requested, scanning the aisles until you spotted the familiar packaging. With the ramen now in hand, you moved on to gather snacks for yourself and Yeosang.

Peeking through an aisle, your eyes widened slightly in surprise when you spotted a familiar figure browsing the shelves nearby.

“Wooyoung?”

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, a warm smile immediately spreading across his face as he recognized you. “Hey there,” he greeted, making his way over to you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

You shrugged, gesturing to the items in your hands. “Just picking up some snacks for myself and Yeosang. We’re helping with the festival preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival.”

“Preparations? What’s the journalism publication gotta do with that?” Wooyoung tilted his head, sounding genuinely curious. Well, you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“The student council president reached out to Mr. Kim a while ago to ask if we could lend them a helping hand since their plans for this year’s festival are bigger compared to the past few years, and they’re a bit short on people to be able to work on it by themselves—hence why a meeting was held a few days ago,” you explained. Upon processing your words, Wooyoung started to slowly nod his head.

“Asking for help is definitely a first for the student council. I wonder what they have in store this year…” he trailed off, picking his words back up after coming to a realization. “Hold on. You’re helping them out with the preparations, right?”

But you were quick to catch on what he was implying, responding by simply shaking your head. “No, Wooyoung. Any details about the festival are strictly confidential. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until the event takes place.”

He whined in disappointment, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself mildly amused.

“But there’s still two weeks left… you can’t even tell me what the theme for this year’s festival is?” he said, trying to persuade you into giving at least a crumb of information.

Yet all you did was shake your head once more. “Confidential means confidential. I’m sure what the student council has in store will cater to your liking, though.”

“Really? Why?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You brushed him off, still refusing to share any details. “Just trust me on this one.”

It wasn’t completely a lie. A few days ago, when Karina was briefing the journalism club about the festival plans, your immediate thought was, “Oh, that sounds like something Wooyoung would have fun with.” You had no idea why, but it was all you could think of. You imagined how wide the smile on his face would look under the glow of the light decorations. The thought of him enjoying the festivities filled you with an unexpected warmth, and you couldn’t help but look forward to seeing his reaction.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Yeosang, asking what was taking you so long. Quickly, you typed out a response and shoved the phone back into your pocket.

“What’s up?” Wooyoung asked, noticing the slight shift in your demeanor.

“Yeosang’s looking for me. I should probably get back,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, hesitant to bid farewell. There was an awkward silence between you, both seemingly unsure of why parting felt so difficult.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” you finally said, eager to break the silence.

“Right, yeah, see you,” Wooyoung replied, and for some reason, you had a feeling the smile on his face as he bid you farewell was forced.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze lingering on you. Through the glass wall of the convenience store, he watched you cross the street, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wooyoung was eventually snapped out of his reverie when his phone buzzed with a message from Hongjoong, reminding him of what specific brand and flavor of chips he wanted him to buy. Staring at the message notification blankly, he let out a soft sigh and turned his phone off, once again looking through the glass wall, only to find you no longer in his line of sight.

Returning to the gymnasium, you handed Karina the ramen she requested. “Here you go,” you said.

Karina looked up from the paper decorations she was working on, accepting the ramen with a grateful smile. “Thanks a lot! This tastes perfect. You should definitely try it out sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded, making your way over to where Yeosang was sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor. He looked up as you approached, a curious expression on his face. “What took you so long?”

You shrugged casually, setting down the snacks. “I happened to cross paths with Wooyoung in the convenience store.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? Where’s the usual ‘I-hate-Wooyoung-so-much-he-never-fails-to-ruin-my-day’ energy?”

You stared at him blankly, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

Yeosang blinked at you, as if trying to process your words. “You don’t hate him anymore? What happened?”

You paused, reflecting on the question. What has changed? It wasn’t that long ago when even just the mere mention of Wooyoung’s name would have irked you, sending a wave of annoyance coursing through you. You remembered the countless times you had grumbled about his antics, the way he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and how his presence always felt like a thorn in your side, always ready to push the weakest of all buttons. But now, the hostility has dissipated, replaced by... something else. Something you couldn’t quite define yet.

The memory of the first time you saw him in a different light flickered in your mind. It was during the interview for the publication’s magazine. Despite your preconceived notions, he had surprised you with his genuine answers, his passion for football, and the unexpected depth in his personality. You had caught a glimpse of a side of him that he didn’t often show to everyone, a side that intrigued you more than you wanted to admit.

Since then, your interactions have taken on a new tone. There were moments of unexpected understanding, brief conversations that revealed layers you never would’ve thought existed. The irritation had slowly melted away, replaced by curiosity and, perhaps, a hint of admiration. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere along the way, you had started seeing Wooyoung as more than just an annoyance.

Even now, thinking back to your encounter at the convenience store, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that was distinctly unfamiliar. His smile had been genuine, his questions filled with sincere curiosity. There was no hint of the playful mockery that used to define your exchanges. Instead, there was an ease that had taken you by surprise, a comfort that felt strangely natural.

As you stood there, Yeosang’s question hanging in the air, you realized that your feelings towards Wooyoung had become a complex mix of past grievances and newfound respect. It was confusing, but not entirely unpleasant.

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he studied your face. “When did this shift happen? You used to be so adamant about how much he annoyed you.” You looked around the gymnasium, thinking back. “It started with the interview I did for the magazine,” you began, finally meeting his gaze. “There was this moment... I asked him a question off the record.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. “Off the record? What did you ask him?” You shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you that. It was personal, something that wasn’t meant for the article. But his answer... it caught me off guard. It was like I was seeing an entirely new side of him, one that I never thought existed.”

Yeosang leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you mean? What side?”

“I guess I realized we’re not that different, him and I,” you said, your voice softening as you recalled the moment. “He showed me a side of him that’s more thoughtful, more passionate than I ever gave him credit for. It wasn’t that he changed; it’s just that he revealed a part of himself that I hadn’t seen before.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, absorbing your words. “So, simply put, he’s not just the guy who annoys you anymore.”

“No,” you agreed, shaking your head slightly. “He’s more than that. There’s depth to him, layers that he doesn’t show to everyone. And once I saw that... I couldn’t go back to seeing him as just a nuisance—we’re not friends or anything, though. Things are just... different now,” you hesitantly said, trying to put your feelings into words.

Yeosang looked at you with a knowing gaze, a small smile appearing on his lips. He had a feeling there was something more there, something you hadn’t yet noticed. But he decided not to say anything. It would be better for you to explore those feelings on your own, to figure out what they meant without any external pressure.

“Does this mean I no longer have to worry about endlessly persuading you to take pictures of them for my articles?”

“Perchance.”

“You can’t just say perchance…”

—

Wooyoung had recently noticed he hadn’t been seeing you around that often these days. With only two weeks left until the festival, he figured that was probably what had you so busy. During lunch breaks, he no longer saw you and Yeosang at your usual seats in the cafeteria, and you hadn’t been stopping by the field to watch their practice matches, either. Earlier during the afternoon, when he passed by the journalism club’s office, the door was open, and he saw you sitting on the floor, sleeping, resting your body on Yeosang, who sat beside you with his elbows and head down on a chair beside him. You both looked tired, and he knew he had to do something about it.

So here he was in the middle of the night at a convenience store, accompanied by San, whom Wooyoung had forcefully persuaded to come with him by calling his phone again and again.

As they stood in front of the store’s entrance, San yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Remind me again why we’re here on a school night?” Wooyoung brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Nothing I need to tell you about.”

They walked inside, and Wooyoung immediately started grabbing snacks and drinks off the shelves. San watched him, amused. “What’s with the midnight shopping spree?”

Wooyoung ignored him, focused on searching the aisles. He picked up the same snacks he saw you holding that weekend: two cups of instant ramen, a bag of honey butter chips, and a bottle of iced green tea. He then added a few more of his personal favorites: a pack of strawberry Pocky, some chocolate bars, and a few cans of soda. San watched the pile grow, raising an eyebrow. “Are you buying all these for me?” he joked, nudging Wooyoung’s arm.

Wooyoung shoved him lightly. “You wish.”

He did let San grab a few snacks, though.

At the counter, while Wooyoung was paying, San asked, “Seriously though, who’s this all for? I’ve never seen you so willing to spend so much on snacks that aren’t for you…” Wooyoung avoided his gaze, busying himself with the payment process. San continued, a teasing note in his voice. “... Unless these are for someone-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Wooyoung interjected, handing over the money to the cashier. He grabbed the bags and turned to leave, but San wasn’t letting it go that easily. “Come on, Woo. You’ve been acting weird lately. Is it for her? You know, the one you keep talking about—the head photojournalist, or photo girl, as you like to call her?”

Wooyoung sighed, finally giving San a serious look. “Yes, alright? It’s for her and her friend. They’re overworked with the festival preparations. I thought I’d do something nice.”

San smirked, following him out of the store. “So, what, you’re a secret snack fairy now?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curved upward ever so slightly. “I just... I noticed she’s been stressed. It’s no big deal.” San laughed, pushing Wooyoung’s shoulder lightly. “No big deal and yet you’re wide awake by choice at 2 in the morning to buy her snacks, huh?”

The next day, Wooyoung and San were hiding behind a corner wall, waiting eagerly to see how you would react to Wooyoung’s surprise. They were bickering quietly, their whispers sharp but quiet.

“San, seriously, you’re going to blow our cover if you don’t shut up,” Wooyoung hissed, peeking around the corner. “Me? You’re the one who can’t stop fidgeting,” San retorted, nudging Wooyoung with his elbow. “And why did you drag me into this again?”

“Because I need moral support,” Wooyoung replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, you owe me one for covering for you last week.” San sighed. “Fine, but if we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

They immediately shut up the moment they saw you walking toward your locker. Yeosang called in sick for today, leaving you to head on your way to the campus all by yourself.

Walking up to your locker and opening it, you were surprised to see an unfamiliar item you don’t quite remember putting inside. It was a medium-sized, square box, wrapped in a vibrant, glossy paper patterned with cartoonish cat faces and tiny hearts. The wrapping was slightly crinkled, giving it a somewhat endearing, handmade feel that hinted at the effort put into it. A pastel-colored ribbon tied into a neat bow decorated the top with its ends curled. The ribbon was dotted with small, glittering stars, adding a touch of sparkle whenever it would catch the light.

Curious, you took it out and opened it, your eyes widening at the sight of the snacks inside—which were just as thoughtfully arranged. Tissue paper in complementary pastel hues cradled the snacks that seem to follow a pattern of being yours and Yeosang’s favorites, along with the other half being a new addition, each sheet carefully fluffed to provide a soft bed for the treats.

Examining the box once more in hopes of finding a clue of who it could be from, you checked the lid, spotting a black, cat-shaped sticky note attached to it, the edges carefully cut to resemble pointed ears, and a cheerful cat face drawn with exaggerated features, large eyes, and a tiny, upturned mouth. The sticky note bore a handwritten message: “What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.” At the very bottom of the note was a poorly drawn ocean waving to the beach with a smile. From their hiding spot, Wooyoung watched intently, his heart pounding in anticipation. When he saw your lips curl up ever so slightly at the cheesy pick-up line, his eyes widened in surprise and delight.

“Did you see that?” he whispered excitedly, a bit too loudly. “She smiled. She actually smiled!” San raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I have eyes, you know. You’re acting like it’s the first time she’s ever smiled.”

Wooyoung turned to San, his expression almost giddy. “That’s because it is! Well, at least the first time because of me. She never smiles, San. Never. And I made her smile!”

San chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re really smitten, aren’t you?" Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently. “Smitten? No way. I’m just... happy I made her smile. That’s all.”

San smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You’re totally smitten, dude.” Wooyoung glared at San. “I’m not. Have you ever heard of this thing called trying to be nice?”

San rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Keep living in denial. But just so you know, this whole ‘trying to be nice’ thing? It’s a classic symptom of being smitten.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, determined to stick to his story. “I’m not in denial because there’s nothing to deny. I’m just doing a good deed.”

San shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. But if this is how you’re going to act every time she smiles, you might as well get used to it. You’ll have to come up with something bigger next time.”

As you walked back to the office with the box of snacks, Wooyoung watched you go, a satisfied smile on his face. San clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement. “Denial or not, you’re totally whipped.”

Wooyoung ignored him, still basking in the small victory of making you smile. “Let’s just get back to class.” San laughed, but he didn’t push the matter further, deciding to let Wooyoung come to terms with his feelings in his own time. “Sure thing, Romeo.”

Entering the office, you find only Karina there, humming softly as she arranged some newly made decorations. The office is a bit cluttered, with props and decor for the festival neatly stacked and stored to avoid any damage. Everyone else has already headed to their respective classes, but your professor had announced in your group chat that he would be late today, so you weren’t in any rush.

Karina looked up as you walked in, her eyes immediately catching sight of the brightly decorated box in your hands. “Hey there,” she greeted with a smile. “Didn’t know you had a lovergirl spirit in you.”

You felt your cheeks warm up at her comment but let your shoulders relax after hearing her voice, feeling at ease with her presence. Over the days you’ve spent making preparations for the festival alongside the student council members, you’ve found yourself to grow fond of her—and so did she with both you and Yeosang. “It’s not like that,” you say, placing the box on a nearby table. “I don’t even know who the box is from.”

This piqued her interest, and she stopped what she’s doing to give you her full attention. “Really? A secret admirer, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. You shrugged, feeling a bit curious yourself. “I wouldn’t say that... There wasn’t any name on it, just a note.”

Karina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Well, why don’t you take a look through the box? Maybe there are some clues inside.” You glance at the box, then back at Karina. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

With that, she walked over, peeking into the box as you opened it again. The snacks and little trinkets inside are arranged with such care that it gives you a strange, warm feeling. Karina lets out a low whistle. “Wow, someone went all out. This looks really thoughtful.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit stunned by the whole thing. “Yeah, it does.”

Karina picked up one of the snacks, examining it. “Half of these are your favorites, right? And some of Yeosang’s, too. Whoever did this knows you pretty well.” You found yourself agreeing with her, thinking about the effort put into the box. “I guess so…”

Karina placed the snack back into the box, pinching your cheek lightly. “Well, good luck figuring out your secret admirer. I’ve got to head to class now.”

“Thanks,” you said, waving her off as she left the office. “See you later.”

As she walked out, you couldn’t help but feel a little more curious about who could have gone through so much trouble to put this together—and who else other than Yeosang could have known you well enough to pick just the right snacks to put inside the box.

On the other side of the building sat Wooyoung and San in their respective seats at sociology class—but today, there was something unusual, and that would be nothing other than Wooyoung seeming to be more smiley and eager to learn than usual. Even their professor, who is used to Wooyoung’s occasional inattentiveness, couldn’t help but notice the change in his demeanor, though he silently hopes it will last.

San, sitting beside Wooyoung, nudged him, whispering, “What’s with you today? You seem more cheerful than usual.” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, brushing him off. “Can’t a guy have a good day without it being a big deal?” San smirked, “Woah, chill out. Well, whatever you say.”

San was about to leave him alone, but Wooyoung's anxious voice caught his attention. “San… What if she didn’t like the surprise?” Wooyoung whispered, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by genuine worry. “What if the only thing that made her smile was that lame dad joke I wrote on the cat-shaped sticky note?” San huffed, shaking his head. “Oh, and here I thought you weren’t whipped for her.”

“I’m not!” Wooyoung insisted, his eyes wide. “I’m just worried she wouldn’t like it.”

“So... whipped?”

“No!”

Their professor shushed them from the front of the class, giving them a stern look. They both fell silent for a moment, but San leaned in again, this time with a reassuring tone. “Look, you saw her smile, right? That’s a big deal. Trust me, she liked it. You put a lot of thought into it.”

Wooyoung fidgeted with his pen with an ink halfway drained, still uncertain. “But how do you know?”

San rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Because, my guy, no one smiles at a lame dad joke if they’re not already in a good mood. Plus, you bought all her favorite snacks. She probably loved it. Stop worrying so much.” Wooyoung sighed and leaned back on his seat, nodding slightly. “Alright, alright, yeah, that makes sense. I just hope you’re right.”

San patted him on the back. “I always am. Now pay attention to the board before the professor kicks you out.” Wooyoung laughed softly, feeling a bit more at ease. The class went by smoothly, yet his worries about what you thought of his present kept lingering in his thoughts. He could only hope San was right.

Time seems to be passing by quicker than usual this week, as you didn’t even notice it was already lunch break—at least until you were the very last person inside your classroom. You headed towards the cafeteria, but as you reached its entrance all by yourself. you were quick to feel out of place in the room. The noise and chatter around you amplify your sense of isolation, only further highlighting Yeosang’s absence. Seeking a quieter atmosphere, you headed to the field, bringing along some snacks from the mysterious box you found in your locker earlier. You still don’t know who the box is from, but the treats inside are a comfort, nevertheless.

The field is expansive and mostly empty, the grass a vibrant green under the midday sun. It’s a stark contrast to the crowded cafeteria, offering a sense of peace. You spot Wooyoung all by himself, kicking a football around with casual ease. It’s been a while since you last came here, given how busy you’ve been with the festival preparations, leaving little room for free time.

Wooyoung immediately notices your presence, his eyes darting to the strawberry Pocky and can of soda you’re holding—his personal favorites that he added to the box of snacks for you. The sight of you holding them makes him blush slightly, realizing it’s what you chose to bring with you. You wave slightly at Wooyoung, who enthusiastically waves back with both hands before sprinting over to you by the bleachers. His usual playful grin is in place, and his energy is infectious. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see at the field,” he greets enthusiastically.

“Hi,” you respond calmly. “Yeah, it has been a while. Sorry, I’ve been really busy these days.”

Wooyoung brushes off your apology with a smile, shaking his head. “What? No, you don’t need to apologize for that. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Have you been getting any rest?” You shake your head, a bit sheepishly. “Well… not really. But I did find a mysterious box filled with snacks in my locker earlier.”

“Oh?” Wooyoung feigns surprise, eyebrows raised. “What was in it?” You describe the decorations on the box in detail—the vibrant colors, the playful stickers, and the cat-shaped sticky note with a joke written on it. “It said, ‘What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.’”

Wooyoung pretends to scoff, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “Dad jokes? Really? Who even makes those these days?” You chuckle softly. “I thought it was lame at first, too. But somehow, it was so unfunny it became funny. It cheered me up.”

“Well, at least it lifted your spirit. That’s all that matters,” Wooyoung says, smiling. “You deserve something like that.”

“You think so?” you ask, tilting your head, your curiosity piqued by his sincerity.

“I know so.”

You look at him, a bit curious. “What about you?” Wooyoung tilts his head, confused for a moment, pushing you to elaborate. “Um, you know, championships. Have you been getting any rest lately?”

“Oh, right. Not really. That’s actually why I’m here playing around in the field to unwind a bit. Gotta have some fun before diving back into practice, you know,” he shrugged. “That’s good,” you nod approvingly. “But don’t overwork yourself. Overexertion can lead to muscle fatigue, reduced immune function, and overall physical burnout.”

Wooyoung laughs, a carefree sound that contrasts with your concern. “I have no idea what you just said, so I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.” You shake your head in amusement. “I really mean it. You deserve some time to yourself. Speaking of, are you and the team planning to attend the festival?”

“Of course!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“That’s great,” you say. “You should use it as a way to unwind and take a break.” Wooyoung pauses, then asks, “Are you planning to spend the festival with someone?”

You take a moment to reflect on the question. You mull over who you could spend it with, immediately thinking of Yeosang. However, a feeling tugs at you that maybe he should spend the festival doing something he enjoys independently, not always sticking by your side. He needs to “go out there,” too. But then, who else would you spend the festival with? The thought leaves you feeling a bit uncertain.

“I was thinking of spending it with Yeosang,” you finally say. “It’s kind of our default. But I also want him to go out on his own this time. I haven’t really given it much thought.”

Wooyoung’s heart races, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He doesn’t know why his immediate thought was to invite you to spend the festival with him, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “You could spend the festival with me and the football team.” You turn your head towards him, confused, not quite catching his words. “What?”

Clearing his throat and trying to seem more relaxed, Wooyoung repeats himself, “I mean, you could spend it with us. You know, the football team.”

You hesitate, your brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, but wouldn’t they mind?” Wooyoung shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “They don’t have the right to complain. But seriously, they wouldn’t mind at all. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

“You think so?” you ask, still a bit unsure.

“I know so,” Wooyoung says, then elaborates. “You’ve got this calm and quiet vibe, but at the same time, you’re also really cool. I think it would be good to have someone like you around. They’ll appreciate your presence—even if we tend to be rowdy at times. Plus, you’ve got this way of making people feel at ease. I’ve seen it.” You tilt your head, still a bit unsure. “You think they’ll really like me?”

“I know they will,” he says, his tone firm. “And besides, I’ll be there with and for you.” You blink, slightly taken aback. “What?”

He clears his throat again, trying to play it off casually. “I mean, I can serve as the mutual bridge between you and the team, something like that.” You nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

As you both sit on the bleachers, sharing the snacks, the atmosphere feels comfortable. The strawberry Pocky you munch on is sweet, and the soda fizzes pleasantly on your tongue. Wooyoung's presence is warm and easy, making you feel more relaxed than you have in days. It’s a simple moment, but it’s filled with comfort, nevertheless. It’s always the case whenever he’s around, anyway.

—

It’s now the day before the festival, and the campus is buzzing with activity. Members of the journalism club and student council are busier than usual, working tirelessly to ensure everything is perfect for tomorrow. The festival is on Sunday, so the first day of the weekend is dedicated to decorating the entire campus, setting up props, booths, the stage, and various other attractions. Everyone has been here since early morning, and the atmosphere is charged with a mix of both excitement for the day to come and exhaustion due to the amount of workload.

By afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, heating up the world like a large candle lit aflame. While Yeosang is busy hanging decorations inside the building, you are assigned to work on the decorations at the campus grounds, so you were both separated for the day. The heat is intense, and you can feel dehydration setting in as you continue working under the blazing sun.

Today, Minjae is also assigned to the campus grounds decorations. As he sees you struggling in the heat, he hesitantly approaches with a cold water bottle in hand. “Um, hey,” he says, extending the water bottle toward you. His demeanor is a mix of guilt and awkwardness, and you could tell from the way he couldn’t even look you straight in the eye.

You’re a little caught off guard at first—after all, you’re still not quite used to the change that occurred within him despite being grateful for it, but then accept the water, offering him your gratitude. “Thanks, Minjae.” He brushes you off, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he still feels bad about his past words and for slacking off in his duties. Seeing his discomfort, you decide to address it directly. “You know, I can tell you still feel guilty about what happened back in the office.”

He looks down, shuffling his feet on the ground as the friction between the soles of his shoes and the grass create a crispy sound. “Yeah, I... I’m still really sorry about that. I was out of line. And I know it’s pathetic how I’m the one who did you wrong yet I can’t even be around you without acting awkward. I’m doing my best not to, but I just—”

You cut him off, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Minjae, there’s no point in mulling over something that already happened. I’ve moved on from what you said, and so should you. I’ve seen you working hard lately, and that’s what matters now. Rather than focusing on your past mistakes, focus on continuing your growth. There’s no need to act awkward around me, alright? I’ve already forgiven you and I only wish you the best, and I have enough faith in you to trust you won’t do such a thing again.”

Minjae’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you can see he’s genuinely touched by your words. Wanting to lighten the mood, you pull out the voodoo doll keychain Yeosang gave you that you still haven’t returned. “Here,” you say, handing it to Minjae. He looks at the doll, confused and mildly horrified by its weird-looking face. “Uh… what’s this?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeosang gave it to me that day in the office after you said those things, so that I wouldn’t feel alone. It’s kind of like a good luck charm. It only makes sense to pass it on to you now.” Minjae still looks a bit horrified, but the oddity of the doll distracts him from his tears. “Thanks... I think?”

You ruffle his hair gently. “Don’t stress it out, okay? Go back to work. We’ve got a festival to prepare for.” He nods, a small smile forming on his lips as he pockets the doll and heads back to his tasks. You watch him for a moment, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It’s a small gesture, but you hope it helps him move forward.

The rest of the day progresses smoothly, with everyone enjoying the festive atmosphere of decorating despite their growing fatigue. The sun finally sets, casting a warm glow over the campus, now transformed with vibrant decorations and beautiful setups. Members of the student council and the journalism club gather to admire their collective effort. High-fives are exchanged, and congratulations abound. Karina steps forward, her eyes brimming with gratitude. “Before we all head home, I just want to thank everyone for all their hard work—especially the journalism club for lending us a hand. None of this would have been possible without you guys.”

A chorus of agreements and mutual thanks echoes through the group. They all wish each other well, hoping tomorrow’s festival will be a resounding success, before heading home for a well-deserved rest.

As you and Yeosang walk home together after bidding Karina farewell, the streets quiet under the evening sky, Yeosang turns to you. “So, what are our plans for this year’s festival?” You smile slightly and correct him, “My and your plans.” He stops in his tracks, confused. “Wait, what? Why?”

“You can’t possibly spend every festival with me when there are so many people wanting to hang out with you,” you explain. "I mean, come on, you're Yeosang."

He frowns, shaking his head. “But you’re more fun to hang out with.” You shoot him a playful, confused look. “Me? More fun? I’m widely known to be calm and composed—the top traits of a plain person, mind you. How is that fun?”

“You’re nowhere near plain. Plus, I just prefer your company,” he says simply.

You nod, understanding his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Yeosang, but you need to go out there, you know? Spend time with other people, meet new people.” Yeosang hesitates, his concern for you evident. “But what about you?"

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “You don’t need to worry about me all the time.” Reluctantly, he agrees. “Okay, but who are you planning to spend the festival with?”

“Well, Wooyoung invited me a few days ago,” You say, almost offhandedly. Yeosang isn’t surprised, and is just simply amused. “You’ve been bringing Wooyoung up a lot these days.”

You brush him off. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends, though?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitate, searching for the right words. You’re not sure what kind of connection you and Wooyoung have. The dynamic is confusing, but one thing is clear—you enjoy his company. “You know, you’ve been smiling a little more lately,” Yeosang speaks up, breaking the short-lived silence.

You furrow your brow, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He elaborates, “I mean, it’s not like you’re suddenly grinning from ear to ear, but there’s this lightness about you. Your eyes crinkle just a bit more when you’re talking. You seem less... guarded. Like the walls you put up are starting to come down, slowly but surely.” You feel a slight flush creep up your cheeks as Yeosang continues. “I think Wooyoung has something to do with it. Ever since you two started getting along, you’ve seemed happier.”

“That's ridiculous,” you respond, shaking your head dismissively. Even after saying that, as you continue walking, you find yourself mulling over Yeosang’s words. Were you really smiling more often now? How come you yourself haven’t noticed? And if it’s true, is Wooyoung really the reason? Why so?

—

It's now Sunday morning, and the alarm clock blares at an unusually early hour—8 AM. Despite the grogginess, you quickly remind yourself of today’s importance. The festival may not start until the afternoon, but the journalism club and the student council are expected to be on campus earlier than everyone else to ensure everything is perfectly set up.

Last night, Karina had insisted that you treat today as a special occasion. She urged you to take your time getting ready, to pamper yourself and dress up a bit. Initially, the idea had made you blush, but Karina had promised she’d be dressing up too so that you wouldn’t feel out of place. Determined to follow her advice, you dive into your closet, fingers sifting through hangers of clothes. After a good amount of deliberation, you finally settle on a cute, yet comfortable outfit—a floral sundress paired with a light cardigan and your favorite sandals. You snap a quick picture and send it to Karina. Her response is immediate and enthusiastic: “You’d look drop-dead gorgeous in that! 😍” She follows your message with a picture of her own outfit, equally stylish and encouraging.

Feeling a bit more confident, you head to the bathroom for a shower. As the hot water washes over you, your mind starts to wander. The realization that you won’t be spending the festival with Yeosang this year, but with Wooyoung and the football team instead, makes your stomach churn with nerves. What if they don’t like you? What if you come off as too quiet or awkward? The thoughts swirl, creating a knot of anxiety in your chest. But then, you remember Wooyoung’s reassuring words. His voice echoes in your mind, calming your fears. You take a deep breath and slowly exhale, allowing the tension to melt away. You wonder if Wooyoung is already up, preparing for the day with the same mix of excitement and nervousness that you feel.

After drying off, you sit in your vanity to fix your hair and apply a bit of makeup. You go for a natural look, just enough to enhance your features without feeling overdone. As you carefully apply your products on, you think about how different today will be. Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you check your outfit in the mirror one last time, ensuring everything is in place.

Grabbing your phone, you shoot a quick text to Yeosang: “Hey, I’ll meet you at the corner near my apartment in 15 minutes. Does that sound good?”

Even though you won’t be spending the festival together, you’ll be heading to campus together since both of you are part of the early setup crew. Yeosang replies almost immediately, confirming he’ll be there. You gather your bag to double-check if you have everything you need for the day, and head out the door. The morning air is cool, a slight breeze rustling the leaves. Reaching the corner, you see Yeosang waiting for you, a relaxed smile on his face. “Ready for the big day?” he asks. You shrug, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. “I hope.”

When you and Yeosang arrive on campus, the air is filled with liveliness and the promise of a worthwhile day ahead. The two of you head straight to the student council office where everyone has already gathered, the room filled with chatter and last-minute preparations. Karina, as always, is at the center of the activity, efficiently coordinating the final details.

She calls everyone to order, and the room falls silent. A quick run-through of the day’s schedule ensues, with each member confirming their responsibilities and ensuring everything is ready. Once satisfied that everything is in place, the group disperses to make final checks on the decorations scattered around the campus. As everyone moves out, Karina immediately makes a beeline for you, her eyes lighting up when she sees your outfit. “Look at you, Miss Universe!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You blush, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Thanks. It feels a bit awkward to dress up for a school event, though,” you admit, glancing down at your dress. "But you look gorgeous, too,” you said, admiring her appearance. Karina waves off your compliment with a playful smile. “Oh, stop it. But seriously, you’re stunning. I swear, you’re going to be the star of today. By the end of the festival, you’ll have a line of admirers at your feet.”

Her mention of admirers makes you think of the mysterious box from your locker, and Karina seems to read your thoughts. “Speaking of admirers, have you figured out who left you that box yet?”

You shake your head. “No, I still don’t have a single clue.” Karina gives you a knowing look. “Well, they better show themselves today—you can never go wrong with revealing your identity to your crush during a festival.”

You rub the back of your neck, brushing off her teasing. “We’ll see about that.” Karina laughs, giving you a light shove. “Oh, come on! It's bound to happen. Anyway, let’s check on the decorations outside before things get too hectic.”

You nod, grateful for her company and support. Together, you walk through the campus, making sure the decorations are still in place. The morning sun is already climbing higher, promising a warm day ahead. The banners, streamers, and various booths look vibrant and inviting, a testament to all the hard work everyone put in. As you move from one area to another, Karina continues to chat animatedly, her excitement infectious. She points out little details, praises everyone’s efforts, and occasionally teases you about your mystery admirer. Despite your initial nerves, you start to feel more at ease, caught up in the anticipation of the festival and the presence of your friends.

“Look at how well the streamers turned out!” Karina exclaims, pointing to the colorful decorations swaying gently in the breeze. “Everyone did such an amazing job.” You nod, admiring the handiwork. “Yeah, it looks really good. The campus feels so vibrant.”

Karina grins and nudges you playfully. “And speaking of vibrant, you’re positively glowing today. I think your admirer might just faint when they see you.” You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, absolutely not,” she laughs. “I’m fully invested in this mystery now. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know who has a crush on our gorgeous star reporter?” You shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

Karina points to a nearby booth, changing the subject slightly. “Oh, look at the detail on that sign. It’s perfect. And the balloons—they add such a fun touch.” You follow her gaze, appreciating the effort everyone has put into the preparations. “Yeah, it all came together really well. I’m excited to see how it looks when the festival starts.”

The two of you continue to check on the decorations, and as you move through the campus, you start to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that you’ve played a part in creating this beautiful, festive atmosphere. The exhaustion has definitely proved itself to be worth it.

The afternoon arrives, and the campus begins to buzz with life. Students, faculty, and even alumni trickle in, filling the grounds with a lively atmosphere. By the gates, Yeosang and a student council member greet everyone warmly, their cheerful voices carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd. From afar, you stand amidst the school grounds, your eyes scanning the growing throng for any sign of Wooyoung and his team. Nervous energy builds in your chest, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Your phone buzzes with a notification, pulling you from your thoughts. It's a message from Hongjoong. As you read it, you can’t help but raise an eyebrow in amusement: “We’ll be a little late because Mingi overslept and is only halfway done with preparing now. Sorry to keep you waiting. - Wooyoung 😺” The cat emoji at the end of the message brings a soft smile to your face.

A few minutes later, another message arrives, again from Hongjoong’s phone, saying they’re on their way. The nervousness in your stomach intensifies, and you decide to make a run to the bathroom to check your appearance. Socializing with big groups isn't your strong suit, and the thought of spending the day with Wooyoung and his team has you on edge.

In the bathroom, you adjust your hair, making sure every strand is in place. You touch up your makeup, ensuring everything looks perfect. As you scrutinize your reflection, your phone dings again. Another text from Hongjoong’s number: “We’re at the gates.” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. With one last glance in the mirror, you exhale, trying to muster confidence and calm your nerves at the same time. As you step out of the bathroom and make your way toward the gates, your heart pounds in your chest.

As Wooyoung and his team make their way through the crowd, Jongho glances at Wooyoung and smirks. “This is the first time I’ve seen you put so much effort into your appearance for the festival,” he says loudly, drawing everyone's attention. “Yeah, what's the deal, Woo?” San joins in, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Trying to impress a certain someone?”

"Ridiculous," Wooyoung rolls his eyes, trying to mask his embarrassment with annoyance. “I just felt like looking good today, okay?"

“Alright, you all better at least try to act like decent human beings for once—and that means zero teasing for today. We don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable,” Hongjoong says, immediately shutting San up. Wooyoung nods, grateful for Hongjoong’s intervention. “Especially you guys,” he says, pointing at Mingi and San, who both look at him with an offended expression. Jongho looks around, trying to spot you. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung replies. “But I’m pretty sure she read the message I sent through Hongjoong’s phone already, so she’s probably on her way.” Seonghwa suddenly perks up, pointing towards a figure in the distance. “Hey, isn’t that her?”

Wooyoung follows Seonghwa's gaze, and the moment he sees you, it feels as if time stops. He’s in a trance, completely unaware of everything else happening. The world fades, and all he can see is you, even amidst the crowd you’re surrounded with. San, noticing Wooyoung’s reaction, nudges him. “Snap out of it, lover boy,” he teases. Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. He calls out your name, his loud voice easily spreading across the noise of the festival. “Over here!”

You hear him and wave, making your way over to the group. As you walk up to Wooyoung and his friends, you shyly greet them, and their energetic response feels like a stark contrast to your quieter demeanor. Somehow, Wooyoung is the only one who awkwardly says hi back. “The decorations look so cool,” Yunho compliments, his eyes wide with appreciation. “You and the others did a great job.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, feeling a little flustered. I agree. It was definitely worth all the restless days we went through.”

Yunho continues, “So, what do you guys have in store for today?”

“Well, you’ll find out later,” you respond vaguely. “But for now, you’re free to enjoy the various booths and attractions all around.” As you start walking around, you find yourself in front with Wooyoung, while the rest of the group trails behind on purpose. “Your friends have talked more than you so far,” you mention, glancing at Wooyoung. He awkwardly chuckles, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want to say something?” you ask, sensing that he might. Wooyoung hesitates for a moment before shyly whispering, “You look beautiful.”

“What?” you ask, not quite catching his words. A little flustered, Wooyoung blurts out, “You look beautiful.” The guys hear this but resist the urge to tease or react. You blush in return, “Thank you. You look good too, Wooyoung.”

As you pass by a large backdrop designed for festival photos, you look back at the group. “Do you guys want me to take a picture of you here?” you offer, holding up your DSLR camera, the strap slung around your neck.

“Yeah, sure!” Seonghwa says enthusiastically.

You take pictures as they strike silly poses, making you smile—a sight that doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s notice. After showing them the photos on the DSLR’s screen, Hongjoong suggests, “How about we get a picture of you and Wooyoung too?” Both you and Wooyoung are caught off guard, but everyone else agrees eagerly. Eventually giving in, you hand the camera to Hongjoong, you and Wooyoung walk to the backdrop, unsure of how to pose. “Make a heart,” San suggests, grinning mischievously.

“Heart...?” you ask, flustered.

Yunho and Mingi demonstrate, forming a heart shape with their arms. You look at Wooyoung, who is already looking at you. Both of you look away quickly, then awkwardly position yourselves to form a heart shape together. The rest of the group then resists the urge to scream and holler like teenage girls, save for Mingi who starts hitting Yunho’s shoulder continuously. “Smile!” Hongjoong calls out, but you struggle to smile on command. Noticing your discomfort, Wooyoung leans in and whispers a lame joke in your ear. The unexpected humor makes you let out a short, breathy laugh, and Hongjoong times the shutter of the camera perfectly, capturing the moment. Hongjoong shows you and Wooyoung the photo. When he sees the genuine smile on your face—for the very first time—Wooyoung can't help but smile as well.

The day passes by in a blur of laughter and activities. You visit different booths, play games, and try various foods. Despite the occasional teasing from the group that you don’t quite understand, the atmosphere is light and fun nevertheless. Mingi wins a giant stuffed animal at one booth and insists on carrying it around, much to everyone’s amusement. At another booth, San tries his hand at a strength tester and dramatically fails, causing a chorus of laughter. Every now and then, Wooyoung and you found yourselves in oddly heartwarming moments. Once, you both reached for the same snack at the food stall, your hands brushing against each other. Wooyoung quickly pulled back, a shy smile on his face, “Uh, you go first.”

As the sun sets and the sky turns a deep shade of blue, Hongjoong suggests, “Hey, how about we take another picture of you two?” You agree, and Hongjoong takes the DSLR from you. You and Wooyoung pose again, this time feeling more relaxed. After the photo, you forget to take the camera back from Hongjoong, who happily holds onto it.

Night falls, and the festival takes on a magical glow with lights and lanterns everywhere. You realize it’s now time for the surprise event. With excitement bubbling inside you, you turn to Wooyoung and the rest, “Follow me! I have something to show you.” In your enthusiasm, you grab Wooyoung's hand without realizing it and lead the group through the crowd. San, being the first to notice it, ushers Hongjoong to sneakily take a picture of you holding hands.

You lead them to an open area where lanterns are set up, ready to be released into the sky. “Everyone gets to write their wishes on the lanterns before letting them fly up,” you explain, beaming. Everyone else eagerly rushed to get their lanterns, leaving you and Wooyoung standing together. It’s only when you reach for a lantern that you realize you’re still holding his hand. You both awkwardly let go, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Wooyoung grabs a marker and starts writing on his lantern. Curious, you peek over and read his wish, and beside your name, he wrote: “I wish for her happiness.” You chuckle, “You’re supposed to make a wish for yourself.” Wooyoung shrugs, a sincere look in his eyes. “My point still stands.”

Touched, you immediately write on your lantern as well: “I wish Wooyoung luck for the championships.”

“Thought we were supposed to make wishes for ourselves?” Wooyoung echoed your words from earlier, playfully raising an eyebrow—just so you wouldn’t notice the light red hue on his cheeks. Together, you and Wooyoung release your lanterns into the air. As they float upwards, you both look at each other and share a smile. Nearby, Hongjoong captures the moment with a photo.

As you watch your lanterns drift higher, you come to a sudden realization: Wooyoung’s handwriting matches the one on the sticky note from the box. You choose not to bring it up, letting the moment linger. When the night deepens, the festival then starts to reach its crescendo with a fireworks display. The air is filled with anticipation as everyone gathers in the open fields, eyes glued to the dark sky above. Wooyoung nudges you gently, “Come on, I know a spot where we can watch the fireworks without the crowd.”

You follow him, weaving through the throngs of students and faculty. He leads you to a secluded area on the edge of the campus, where the noise of the crowd fades, and the view of the sky is unobstructed. The space feels intimate, almost like it was made for just the two of you. As you both settle in, the first firework bursts into the sky, painting it with vibrant colors. You watch in awe, the sight pulling you into a reflective state. You sigh softly, feeling a mix of contentment and nostalgia. “You know, today has been amazing. It’s been so long since I felt like... like I’m actually someone outside of my responsibilities. Today, I felt free.”

Wooyoung listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His heartwarming smile is constant, encouraging you to continue.

“I’ve been so caught up with the journalism club and everything else that I forgot what it feels like to just have fun. To be part of something without the pressure of expectations. And today... you made me feel that again.” A particularly loud and colorful firework explodes overhead, but neither of you look away from each other.

Wooyoung’s smile grows softer, more affectionate. “I”m glad you had fun. You deserve to feel this way more often.” You nod, feeling a lump in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung. For everything. For inviting me, for making me feel welcome. For... just being you.” He reaches out and gently squeezes your hand. “Anytime. Really.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the fireworks light up the night sky. Each burst of color seems to reflect the emotions swelling in your heart—joy, relief, and something new, something deeper that you can’t quite name. As the grand finale of the fireworks display starts, you find yourself leaning a little closer to Wooyoung. He doesn’t move away, instead, his thumb softly strokes the back of your hand. In that moment, surrounded by the dazzling lights and the warmth of his presence, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and hope for what the future might hold. When the last firework fades and the sky returns to its star-studded calm, you turn to Wooyoung one last time. “Today was unforgettable.”

He looks at you, eyes full of sincerity. “It really was.”

—

The following morning, you woke up with the sun, the events of the festival still fresh in your mind. The day had been magical, filled with laughter and moments that made you feel alive. It wasn't until you started getting ready for school that the realization hit you—you had completely forgotten to cover the event.

Panic set in as you frantically checked your camera. The memory card was filled with photos of you, Wooyoung, the football team, and various candid shots likely taken by Hongjoong. There were no pictures of the important moments, the highlights that were meant for the article. Guilt gnawed at you as you hurried to school, the weight of your mistake heavy on your shoulders. Entering Mr. Kim’s office, he looked up from his desk as you walked in. “Morning,” he greeted curtly. “Let’s see what you got from the festival.” Swallowing hard, you approached his desk. “I… I’m really sorry, Mr. Kim,” you began, your voice trembling. “I didn’t manage to cover the event properly.”

Mr. Kim’s face darkened immediately. “What do you mean you didn’t cover it?” he asked sharply. You took a deep breath, preparing to explain yourself. “I got distracted. I... I didn’t take the necessary photos for the article.”

“Distracted?” he repeated, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea how important this was? This was your responsibility! This was your chance to prove yourself, and you blew it!”

“I’m really sorry,” you said again, fear evident in your voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” he snapped, his face flushed with anger. “Do you realize the consequences of your negligence? We have deadlines! We have standards! And you... you chose to shirk your duties for what? A bit of fun?” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. “I… yes. I messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“You’ve let everyone down,” he continued ruthlessly. “You’ve let me down. You’ve let the whole publication down. We trusted you with this responsibility, and you proved that you can’t handle it. You’re a disappointment.” Each word was like a blow, and you felt yourself shrinking under his tirade. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, feeling utterly defeated. Mr. Kim’s voice was cold and sharp. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’re out of the publication. Pack your things and get out of here.”

Numbly, you gathered your belongings, shoving them into the box that had once held the snacks from Wooyoung. You kept your head down, avoiding Mr. Kim’s gaze as you left the office, your chest tight with shame and regret. You quickly placed the box in your locker, then spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. You couldn’t face Yeosang, Karina, and especially Wooyoung. Not now. When you finally got home, the tears you had been holding back all day spilled over. You collapsed onto your bed, clutching the camera that held the memories of the festival. As you scrolled through the pictures, your sobs grew louder. The happiness you had felt seemed like a distant dream now, replaced by a crushing sense of guilt and failure. Unable to bear the loneliness, you called Yeosang. He arrived quickly, his face etched with worry as he took in your tear-streaked face. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with concern all the same.

Between sobs, you explained everything. “I forgot to take the pictures... Mr. Kim kicked me out... I messed up, Yeosang. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang’s expression hardened, but his touch was soft as he hugged you. “Hey, don’t say that. None of this is your fault,” he said firmly. “Mr. Kim is an idiot for not seeing how hard you work.”

You shook your head, unable to accept his words. “It is my fault. let myself be happy for once, and this is what happens. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang held you tighter, his own heart breaking at your pain. “You deserve to be happy. It’s not wrong to enjoy yourself.”

“But I neglected my duties,” you argued, pulling away slightly to look at him. “I failed, Yeo. I failed everyone. I let myself down.”

"No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You work harder than anyone else. You put everything into this job, and you deserve a break. You deserve to be happy. Mr. Kim is wrong. He’s wrong to treat you like this.” You shook your head again, the tears flowing freely. “I can’t believe that. I can’t.”

“Please,” Yeosang pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. “Please believe me. You are not a failure. You are not a disappointment. You are amazing, and you deserve so much more than this.”

But you couldn't hear him. The words of Mr. Kim echoed in your mind, drowning out Yeosang's reassurances. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He held you close as he whispered soothing words, trying to comfort you even though you refused to accept his validation.

The next day at school, Minjae noticed your absence from the office. Confused, he approached Yeosang, who was sitting alone at one of the desks, still fuming from what happened yesterday.

“Hey, where is she?” Minjae asked, frowning. Yeosang sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mr. Kim kicked her out. She... she forgot to cover the event, and he went off on her. It was brutal, Minjae. He said things—awful things. Called her a disappointment, said she didn’t deserve to be here.”

Minjae’s eyes widened in shock and then eventually narrowed in fury. “He said that? Are you serious?” Yeosang nodded. “Every word. It was like he didn’t care at all about how much she’s done for him and us as well.”

Minjae’s jaw tightened. “This is bullshit. She’s the reason this publication runs smoothly! She does more for this place than he ever has.” Without another word, Minjae stormed off to Mr. Kim’s office. Yeosang didn’t even try to stop him, knowing whatever Minjae was about to do to Mr. Kim, it would be well-deserved.

Minjae stormed into Mr. Kim’s office, his fury palpable. The door slammed against the wall, causing Mr. Kim to look up in shock. The typically composed Minjae was anything but calm, his eyes lit with anger.

“How could you do this to her?” Minjae yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. “How could you treat her like this after everything she’s done for this publication?” Mr. Kim looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. “Excuse me?” he said, his voice cold.

“You heard me, you old hag,” Minjae said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the reason this publication is what it is. She’s been overworked and underappreciated, and the one time she takes a break, you punish her? How dare you!”

Mr. Kim’s jaw tightens in annoyance. “This is not your concern, Minjae.”

“Not my concern?” Minjae echoed, his voice rising. “You’ve got some nerve. Kicking her out is the worst decision you could make. She acts more like an advisor than you ever have. Without her, this publication will fall apart.” Mr. Kim stood up, trying to assert his authority to get the upper hand. “That’s enough. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Minjae shot back. “Without her, you wouldn’t have a clean image. People wouldn’t praise you and your publication. You don’t deserve any of the credit she’s brought to this place.”

“You’re out of line,” Mr. Kim said coldly, brows nearly touching one another. “And you’re out of your mind if you think this place will survive without her,” Minjae retorted. “She’s been carrying this publication on her back, and you have the audacity to call her a disappointment? She’s worth more than you ever will be.” Mr. Kim’s expression faltered slightly, but he tried to regain control. “This is not up for discussion.”

“It better be,” Minjae said, his voice deadly calm. “Because if you don't take her back, I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of person you really are. I’ll expose every filthy secret you’re hiding. Do you understand me?” Mr. Kim’s face turned pale, struggling to find the right words to shoot back for a fleeting second—he wouldn’t dare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Minjae said. “You think you’re untouchable because you’ve managed to hide your true nature behind a facade of competence and authority? Well, I’ve had enough. We’ve all had enough. You have no idea how much we know about you. All those late submissions you blamed on us? We know they were because you were out of the office, drinking away your evenings instead of doing your job. Those articles you claimed credit for? Everyone knows it was her who wrote them, who polished them until they shined. Without her, you’re nothing but a fraud.”

Mr. Kim tried to interject, but Minjae was on a roll, his voice growing louder with each word. “Do you remember the budget issues last year? The ones you blamed on a miscalculation? We all know you skimmed off the top for your little ‘business trips.’ You’ve been siphoning funds meant for student activities for your own use. How long do you think it will take before the administration finds out? Before the parents find out?”

“You have no proof,” Mr. Kim said, but his voice trembled slightly. He was losing, and Minjae loved seeing him crumble down.

Minjae leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Proof? I don’t need proof to start talking. Once people start asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before everything unravels. Take her back, or I’ll make sure you never work in education again. I’ll drag your name through the mud until there’s nothing left of your precious reputation.” Mr. Kim stared at Minjae, realizing the seriousness of his threat. He knew Minjae wasn’t bluffing. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ll consider it.”

“Consider it?” Minjae echoed, incredulous. “You better do more than that. You better make it happen, or I swear, I’ll make your life a living hell. She deserves better than this, and if you can’t see that, you don't deserve to be in this position.”

—

You’ve been absent for days now. The weight of your mistake at the festival sits heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t bring yourself to show up at school. The festival was one of the most important events of the year, and you let yourself be selfish enough to prioritize your happiness instead of doing your job. The guilt gnaws at you, making you feel like a disappointment. You can’t face anyone—especially Minjae. After reconciling with him, you’ve heard from others that he always talks about you being his role model and how you played a huge part in his development. The thought of showing your face to the junior who looks up to you after making such a big, disappointing mistake feels pathetic.

Karina has also noticed your absence and questioned Yeosang about it when she crossed paths with him in the halls. Yeosang, respecting your trust, explained the situation but asked Karina to keep it confidential. The way Karina sees Mr. Kim has drastically changed, but as much as she wants to take action against him, she respects your request to stay silent. Instead, she checks up on you, trying to provide the support you need.

One day in the middle of the week, you and Yeosang are hanging out together in your apartment. You find yourself checking the photos on your DSLR again, and your chest tightens after coming across the candid photo of you and Wooyoung releasing your lanterns up in the night sky. You didn’t know genuine happiness would come at such a huge cost. Yeosang notices your distress and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, struggling to hold back tears. “If Wooyoung asks you about my absences, please don’t tell him anything.” Yeosang looks confused. “What? Why?”

“I can’t afford to mess up again,” you say, your voice void of emotion. “I can’t afford distractions. I need to cut the string connecting me to Wooyoung.” Yeosang hesitates, trying to find another solution. “Are you sure? Maybe there’s another way…”

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t want to do it, but it’s what has to be done. If I keep Wooyoung around, who knows what else I’ll mess up? I don’t want him involved in my troubles.”

“But wouldn’t that hurt you?” Yeosang asks softly. “It already is hurting me,” you whisper. “But I have no choice.”

A week has passed since then, and it was now the last week before the championships. The day after the festival, Wooyoung noticed your absence but thought nothing of it at first, assuming you were busy. But as your absences spanned an entire week, he couldn’t help but worry. On Friday last week, he finally asked Yeosang about it.

“Please be patient with her,” Yeosang had said, offering no further explanation. This left Wooyoung confused and anxious. He wasn’t used to the absence of your presence and was increasingly worried about your wellbeing

This week, you finally muster the courage to return to school, but you avoid Wooyoung at all costs. You look sad, as if you’ve gone back to being the girl you once were before he got to know you. Wooyoung keeps trying to approach you, crossing paths with you on purpose and calling you, but you avoid him, even though it hurts you deeply.

Wooyoung has been constantly distracted and unfocused lately, his thoughts consumed by you. He keeps wondering if he did something wrong, if he unintentionally hurt you. During one particular practice round, he zones out and gets hit in the face by the football. Hongjoong decides he’s not in any shape to continue and tells him to take a break. Sitting on the bleachers, Wooyoung is visibly frustrated, his body language tense. The team continues practicing, but Yunho notices Wooyoung’s state. The sight of Wooyoung being unhappy pains him, and he ends up tripping himself on purpose to earn a break and join Wooyoung on the bleachers.

“Hey, you alright?” Yunho asks, sitting beside him. Wooyoung snaps, “Does it look like I am?” Then, realizing his rudeness, he sighs. “Sorry, I’m just stressed.” Yunho waves it off. “It’s all good. What's got you so distracted lately?”

When Wooyoung doesn't answer, Yunho guesses, “Photo girl?” Wooyoung sighs, and this serves as the confirmation Yunho needs. “What happened? I haven’t seen you two together, or even her around lately.”

“I don’t know," Wooyoung admits. “I asked Yeosang, but he just said to be patient with her. She’s been avoiding me, and it reminds me of when she used to hate me. It’s like we’re back to square one.”

“And why do you think that bothers you so much?” Yunho asks gently. “I don’t know why she’s affecting me this way,” Wooyoung says, his frustration evident. “Why I’m so worried about her, why she’s all I can think about. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Yunho looks at him thoughtfully. “Are you two dating?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “No.”

“You should be.”

Wooyoung looks at him, confused. "What?"

"You only being able to think about her isn’t something that happens just casually to anyone,” Yunho explains. “You’re in love with her. Everyone can see it, but it seems you have no idea.” Wooyoung stares at Yunho, confusion etched on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Yunho sighs, deciding it's time to lay it all out. “Think about it. You’ve been troubled over her absence, worried about her well-being, and sad that she’s avoiding you. That’s not just a concern for a fellow citizen, Woo. It’s more than that. You’ve been affected by everything she does because you care deeply about her, more than just as a friend.”

Wooyoung's brows furrow as he tries to process this. “But... how can you be so sure?” Yunho leans back, trying to find the right words. “Remember when she used to avoid you and us as well? It bothered you then, too, but you were persistent. You wanted to know her, to be close to her. And now, when she finally opened up and let you in, she’s gone again. That emptiness you’re feeling? It’s because you love her, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s mind races as he recalls all the moments with you—the laughter, the shared secrets, the warmth he felt whenever you were around. “But if I love her, why didn’t I realize it?”

Yunho shrugs. “Sometimes, we’re too close to the situation to see it clearly. It’s like being in the middle of a storm and not realizing how bad it is until someone points it out. You’ve been so focused on her that you didn’t notice your own feelings.” Wooyoung looks down. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

Yunho puts a hand on his shoulder. "Yeosang told you to be patient with her, right? That means she’s dealing with something, and she needs time. For now, you need to wait until she feels ready to approach you again. When that time comes, you can tell her how you feel.” Wooyoung’s frustration seeps into his voice. “But waiting is driving me insane.”

Yunho chuckles softly. “I know, but sometimes, waiting is all we can do. She’ll come around eventually. You just need to give her the space she needs. In the meantime, focus on being there for her when she’s ready. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, feeling a bit lighter. “I’ll try.”

—

It’s now the day before the championships. As you walk to your first class, you pass by Mr. Kim in the hallway. You intend to greet him quickly and keep your head down, but he stops you. “Come to my office after school,” he says, his tone surprisingly neutral.

You look up, expecting his usual condescending demeanor, but instead, he seems different—awkward, for a lack of a better word. You nod, too puzzled to speak, and watch him walk away. You stand there for a moment, your mind racing with questions. Little did you know, Wooyoung had watched the interaction from afar, his curiosity piqued.

During lunch, you and Yeosang return to your usual spot in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is filled with chatter and laughter, but your table is unusually quiet. You poke at your food, lost in thought, replaying Mr. Kim’s words in your head. The weight of your mistake still lingers within you. Yeosang notices your distant expression. “What’s on your mind?” he asks gently, taking a sip of his drink.

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Mr. Kim told me to come to his office after school.” Yeosang raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “Really? What for?” You shrug, feeling a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. “I don’t know. It’s just strange. He didn’t seem... angry. Which was odd.”

A thoughtful look crosses Yeosang’s face. “Maybe he’s going to take you back,” he suggests, trying to infuse some optimism into the conversation. You look at him skeptically, your brow furrowing. “Why would he do that after lashing out at me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Yeosang realizes you don’t know about Minjae confronting Mr. Kim. He decides to keep it to himself, not wanting to raise your hopes prematurely. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, who knows? The possibilities are endless. Maybe he realized he was too harsh.”

You glance around the cafeteria, your eyes scanning the sea of students. Your shoulders slump slightly when you don’t see who you’re looking for. Yeosang notices your wandering gaze and the faint disappointment that crosses your face.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks, though he already has a hunch of who it could be.You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thought. “No one,” you mumble, returning your attention to your untouched meal. A heavy silence falls between you, filled with unspoken thoughts. Finally, you break the silence, your voice tinged with worry. “Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be in good shape lately.”

“... Are you worried?” Yeosang asks gently, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know,” you admit hesitantly. “I just hope he’ll do well in his championships.”

Later on after school, with a mix of trepidation and hope, you make your way to Mr. Kim’s office. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and knock. “Come in,” Mr. Kim’s voice calls from within. Entering the office, you find Mr. Kim seated at his desk, looking unusually contemplative. The sternness that typically defines his demeanor seems to have softened slightly, replaced by an air of awkwardness. He clears his throat, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words.

“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair placed in front of his desk. You do as you’re told, hands clasped tightly in your lap, waiting for him to speak. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation. Finally, Mr. Kim begins, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “About the festival and your... lapse in judgment.” You nod, bracing yourself for another scolding. But instead, he continues, his tone less harsh than you expected. “I was too severe. You’ve been a dedicated member of this publication, and I realized that one mistake shouldn’t overshadow all your hard work,” he admits, looking almost embarrassed.Your eyes widen in surprise.

“What do you mean...?” Mr. Kim shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself. The championships are tomorrow, and I want you to document it thoroughly. That will be the basis for whether or not I reinstate you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real? With the amount of times you’ve made up scenarios in your head about how things could’ve turned out had you not been reckless, you’re not even able to distinguish this between a fragment of your imagination or reality anymore.

Tears well up in your eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Kim. Thank you so much,” you say, your voice filled with an overwhelming amount of gratitude. He nods curtly, clearly uncomfortable with the sentiment. “Yes, well… you can go home now. Don’t let me down.”

You thank him again, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to leave. As you step out of the office, a smile spreads across your face, the burden of the past few days lifting. You practically run to the school gates where Yeosang is waiting, and when he spots you, his face lights up with curiosity and concern. Seeing the tears in your eyes and the smile on your face, his worry quickly turns to joy.

“Hey, what’s—”

Before he can say anything else, you blurt out, “Mr. Kim is giving me a chance! He wants me to document the championships tomorrow!”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise and happiness. “That’s amazing! See, I told you! I knew he couldn’t just throw you out like that,” He pulls you into a tight hug, the two of you celebrating in joy. It feels like an eternity has passed since you last smiled, even though it’s only been two weeks.

“Thank you for always believing in me,” you say, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’ll never not believe in you,” Yeosang replies proudly, his smile genuine. As you both revel in the good news, the football team exits the school after their practice match, their boisterous voices filling the air. Wooyoung lags behind the group, his usual exuberance dampened by a quiet melancholy. When he spots you and Yeosang celebrating, he stops in his tracks, a look of yearning and sorrow crossing his face.

For him, time seems to slow. He watches the joyful interaction between you and Yeosang, a pang of longing hitting him hard. His heart aches with a mix of regret and confusion, feelings he has been struggling to understand ever since you started avoiding him. You, still caught up in your conversation with Yeosang, fail to notice Wooyoung. Your back is turned to him, and you’re too wrapped up in the moment to sense his presence. But Yeosang sees him, and their eyes meet. Yeosang gives Wooyoung a small, supportive smile.

Wooyoung tries to return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns away, rejoining his teammates as they head out of the school gates, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and unresolved feelings. As he walks away, he can’t shake the image of your happy face, feeling more eager than ever to find out what went wrong and how he can make it right.

As you and Yeosang walk home, the excitement of the conversation with Mr. Kim begins to wear off, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. The realization hits you like a freight train. Documenting the championships means being on the field, watching Wooyoung play. It means being in the same space as him after all your efforts to keep him at a distance.

You stop abruptly, causing Yeosang to look back at you with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I just realized documenting the championships means I’ll have to be around Wooyoung—after all this time I’ve spent avoiding him.”

Yeosang nods thoughtfully. “Oh… right. But, hey, Mr. Kim already gave you a second chance. There’s no longer a need to distance yourself from Wooyoung, right? I mean, it’s clear that avoiding him has been really hard for you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. "That makes sense, but... I’ve been avoiding him for two weeks straight without telling him what’s wrong. The last time we interacted, everything was fine. Now, I’m worried that he thinks he did something wrong. That’s all I can think about whenever I see him on campus and I act like he doesn’t exist. The guilt has been eating me alive.”

Yeosang gives you a sympathetic look. “I get it. But hey, you had your reasons, right?” You nod in agreement. “Well, yeah. But I don’t understand why Wooyoung is still trying to get my attention when I’ve made it clear that I can't talk to him.”

Yeosang chuckles softly. “Oh, that's simple. He’s in love with you.”

You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Yeosang in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Stop joking.”

Yeosang shakes his head, his expression serious. “I’m not joking. Wooyoung is in love with you. Think about it. All the times he’s gone out of his way to be near you, the way he looks at you, the effort he puts into getting your attention. Those aren’t the actions of someone who’s indifferent, are they?” You frown, trying to process his words. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he be in love with me?”

Yeosang sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re still not seeing it, are you? Let me spell it out for you. When you first started avoiding him, it was clear he was confused and hurt. But instead of giving up, he kept trying to find out what went wrong. He’s been distracted during practices, worried sick about you. He asked me about you, and I told him to be patient. He’s been following that advice, even though it's tearing him apart.”

“I didn’t realize…” you trail off, feeling your guilt spread even further. Yeosang continues, “And then there are all the little things. The way he lights up when you’re around, the way he’s always willing to do anything just to try to make you smile, the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way he talks about you to others. He’s never given up on you, even when you’ve given him every reason to.” You swallow hard, the weight of Yeosang's words sinking in. 

“And what about you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Do you love him?” he asks, his voice gentle but probing.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words get tangled in your throat. Do you love Wooyoung? You stop to think, memories flooding your mind. You remember the first time you met him, how he annoyed you with his relentless enthusiasm. But over time, that annoyance turned into something else. You began to appreciate his persistence, his kindness, and his unwavering support. You recall the times he made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to cheer you up.

You think about the countless moments you’ve shared, the conversations you had when it was only the two of you around, the time he invited you to play football with him so your spirits could be lifted up, the unspoken understanding between you. You remember the way your heart would race whenever he was near, and the ache you felt when you had to push him away.

“I... I don’t know,” you finally whisper, though deep down, you realize you do know. You’re just afraid to admit it.

Yeosang smiles softly, as if he can see right through you. “Maybe it will all make sense to you tomorrow during the game.”

—

The atmosphere in the locker room is thick with tension. It’s the day of the university football championships, and everyone is preparing themselves mentally and physically for the big game. The sound of cleats clicking against the tile floor, the rustle of jerseys being pulled over heads, and the occasional nervous banter fill the room. Wooyoung sits on the bench, staring blankly at his cleats, his mind elsewhere.

Hongjoong notices Wooyoung's distant look and sits down next to him. “Hey, Woo,” he says softly. “You sure you want to play today? You don’t look too good.” Wooyoung snaps out of his trance, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I can do it. I can do it.” But even as he says the words, doubt laces his voice.

Hongjoong places a reassuring hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. “Look, I know what’s been bothering you. And I know it’s hard. But you have to trust me when I say she’ll show up.” But Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be on the same bright side as Hongjoong. “What if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t come?” Hongjoong squeezes his shoulder. “Then you’ll play for yourself and for the team. But I have a feeling she’ll be here. Just trust me.”

The stands are packed with students, faculty, and supporters, all buzzing with anticipation. The announcers, Mr. Lee and Ms. Park, take their seats in the commentator’s box, ready to call the game. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the university football championships! We have an exciting match ahead of us today,” Mr. Lee announces enthusiastically.

“That’s right, Mr. Lee. Our home team will be facing off 

against the formidable opponents from Eastside University,” Ms. Park adds. Their voices boom through the loudspeakers, introducing the two teams and hyping up the crowd. The players line up, waving to the cheering spectators. The opposing team looks formidable, their players tall and intimidating. The tension is palpable as both teams take their positions on the field.

Wooyoung scans the bleachers, searching for your face among the sea of people. He doesn’t find you, and his heart sinks. The whistle blows, and the game begins.

You, on the other hand, had just woken from your slumber—a little later than usual, as the adrenaline and mixture of emotions from the previous night kept you up. Panic sets in as you realize the championships are starting soon. You hurriedly get dressed, grab your camera, and rush to catch the bus, messaging Yeosang along the way.  “Have the games started yet?” you type frantically. “They just started,” Yeosang replies. “Hurry up!”

Traffic is a nightmare, and every minute feels like an eternity. At the field, Minjae and Yeosang are already documenting the match. Minjae turns to Yeosang, a concerned look on his face. “Where is she? You said she was given another chance by Mr. Kim.” Yeosang explains your situation, and Minjae decides to cover for you until you arrive.

From the kickoff, Eastside University takes control of the ball. Their captain, Hanbin, swiftly maneuvers past the midfielders, displaying impressive footwork. He passes the ball to their forward, Gunwook, who attempts a shot on goal. “Gunwook with an early shot! But it’s blocked by Yunho, our goalkeeper,” Mr. Lee comments.

The home team tries to regain their footing, but their movements are sluggish, and their passes lack precision. Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts to dribble down the field, but he’s quickly surrounded by defenders. He hesitates, looking for an open teammate, but no one is in position. He loses the ball, and Eastside counterattacks. “Eastside University is pressing hard. They seem to have a clear strategy to target Wooyoung,” Ms. Park notes.

Hanbin sends a long pass to their winger, Jiwoong, who sprints down the sideline. He crosses the ball into the box, and Gunwook is there again to meet it with a powerful header. “Goal! Gunwook scores for Eastside University. It’s 1-0,” Mr. Lee announces.

Wooyoung’s team looks deflated. Their coordination is off, with players missing passes and failing to cover their marks. Wooyoung tries to rally his team, but his own mind is clouded with thoughts of you. The ball is back in play, and Eastside continues their aggressive approach. Wooyoung manages to break through the midfield and takes a shot, but it goes wide. The frustration is evident on his face. “This isn’t looking good for our team. They need to regroup and find their rhythm,” Ms. Park says.

Finally, you arrive at the field, out of breath and frazzled. Minjae and Yeosang immediately give you a rundown of what’s been happening. “Wooyoung has been out of it,” Yeosang says, worry etched on his face. “Everyone's noticed. It’s obvious he’s not in his best form.” Concern floods your chest. “What do you mean he’s out of it?” Yeosang sighs. “He’s been distracted, demotivated. It’s like his spirit is just...gone.”

Your heart aches at his words. You bid him and Minjae farewell for the meantime and a spot on the bleachers, ready your camera, and prepare to do your job—yet you can’t help but let your worries cloud you.

The team’s defense is struggling to contain Eastside’s relentless attacks. A pass from Jiwoong to his teammate, Matthew, results in a one-on-one with the goalkeeper, Yunho. Matthew fakes left and shoots right, scoring his second goal of the match. “Matthew scores with a goal! It’s 2-0 for Eastside,” Mr. Lee exclaims.

Wooyoung’s frustration grows. He gets the ball again and tries to dribble past three defenders but is tackled hard. He hits the ground, and the referee calls a foul. “Free kick for our team. Wooyoung will take it,” Mr. Lee says.

Wooyoung sets up for the free kick, his eyes scanning the field. He curls the ball towards the goal, but it hits the crossbar and bounces out. The crowd groans in frustration, and their team calls for a timeout. “Snap out of it, Wooyoung! We need you in the game, not in your head,” the coach barks at him.

Wooyoung nods mechanically, but his mind is far away. The timeout ends, and the team drags themselves back onto the field, still trailing behind. As they line up for the final half, San sidles up to Wooyoung, giving him a gentle nudge. 

“Look to your right.”

Wooyoung turns, his heart skipping a beat. There you are, sitting in the bleachers with your DSLR camera in hand, eyes focused on him. In that instant, the fog in Wooyoung’s mind clears, replaced by a surge of determination. He straightens up, his gaze hardening with resolve.

The referee blows the whistle, and the final half begins. Wooyoung’s transformation is immediate. He moves with renewed energy, his steps light and purposeful. The crowd senses the shift, their cheers growing louder. “Woah, Wooyoung is back! Look at him go,” Ms. Park exclaims from the commentary box.

Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts a swift counterattack. He weaves through defenders with ease, his focus razor-sharp. He passes the ball to Jongho, who takes a shot. The opposing team’s goalkeeper, Taerae, dives, but Jongho’s aim is direct. The ball hits the back of the net. “Goal! Jongho scores! It’s 2-1,” Mr. Lee shouts.

The team feeds off Wooyoung’s energy. Seonghwa and Hongjoong step up their game, working in perfect harmony. Hongjoong makes a crucial interception and passes to Seonghwa, who crosses the ball into the box. Wooyoung is there to meet it, heading the ball into the net. “Another goal for Wooyoung! It’s 2-2. What a comeback,” Ms. Park cheers.

With the score level, the tension is at its peak. Both teams are giving their all, but Wooyoung’s team has the momentum. Wooyoung receives a pass from Mingi and charges towards the goal. He’s tackled hard, but the ball rolls to Seonghwa, who shoots and scores. “Seonghwa scores! Our team takes the lead, 3-2,” Mr. Lee announces, the crowd roaring in approval.

Eastside tries to equalize, but the home team’s defense is solid. Hongjoong makes a critical save, keeping their lead intact. As the clock winds down, the pressure mounts. In the final minutes, the ball is at Wooyoung’s feet. He dribbles past two defenders, eyes locked on the goal. He takes a deep breath and shoots. As if right on time, you capture the perfect shot with your DSLR, the ball soaring through the air towards the goal. The ball curves beautifully, sailing past the goalkeeper and into the net.

“Goal! Wooyoung scores the final goal! It’s 4-2,” Ms. Park screams.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of the match. The stadium erupts in cheers. Wooyoung’s teammates rush to him, lifting him into the air in celebration. They toss him up, chanting his name. As you capture the moment through your lens, you notice Wooyoung looking directly at you, a triumphant smile on his face.

When the team finally sets Wooyoung down, he immediately bolts toward the bleachers. You’re positioned at the very front, ensuring you have the best angles for your shots. Seeing him run toward you, your heart races.

“Hey, I—” you begin, leaning closer.

But Wooyoung doesn’t let you finish. He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you so firmly it feels like he never wants to let go. The warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, and for a moment, the world fades away.

The crowd gasps in shock, then bursts into squeals and screams, cameras flashing as they capture the moment. You’re about to tell Wooyoung that everyone is watching and taking pictures, but he speaks first, his voice muffled in your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, his words filled with raw emotion.

You pull back slightly, enough to look into his eyes, which are filled with a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper that makes your heart ache. “I… I missed you too,” you say, your voice breaking. The noise around you fades as you both stand there, lost in each other’s eyes. It’s as if time has stopped, and there’s only the two of you in this crowded stadium.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Wooyoung,” You speak up, your voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry for disappearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry for not telling you about what I was going through, I was just… I was scared. I should’ve—”

He gently shushes you, his hands on either side of your face. “Everything’s alright, okay? You’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me. And for the record, I don’t mind waiting for you a million times more—just as long as you promise me you’ll come back every single time, too.”

Behind you, the crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, but it’s a distant sound, an echo of a world outside this bubble you and Wooyoung have created.

“You’ll… you’ll stay now, right?” Wooyoung asks, and the worried tone in his voice strikes a chord right deep in your heart. 

“I will. I won’t leave.”

Meanwhile, a little distance away, Yunho and Mingi are watching the heartwarming scene unfold. A week ago, they had made a bet about you and Wooyoung reconciling exactly during the championships. Yunho had been on the agreeing side, while Mingi had not.

Yunho grins and turns to Mingi. 

“So, about that bet...”

🪞— lividstar.

[vonlycsnn]

Hello, author! Can I request Wise/ Licaon with reader-Vidyadhara (from honkai start real)? Reader shows love in an unusual way. Their dragon tail wags happily when Wise /Lycaon is around. Reader protects them even if reader are weaker. They give out ancient jewels and can also purr softly. Dragons are hard to trust, but the reader lets them touch their tail. The reader's actions scream "I LOVE YOU. I AM DEVOTED TO YOU FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE."

If you don't like the idea, then feel free to skip it. Anyway, I wish you all the best~

❈ — A DRAGON'S WAY OF AFFECTION

~ WISE AND VON LYCAON WITH (GN) VIDYADHARA! READER.

SUMMARY: AU - You're a Vidyadhara from the Xianzhou Loufu, travelling across the galaxy and visiting numerous planets just for the fun of it. One planet in particular is your absolute favorite to visit: Eridu-47. | You narrowly escape Thanatos with Wise (in Eous' body). Lycaon is surprised to see you at midnight.

cw/tw: mentions of (minor) injuries on Wise's part, other than that it's all fluff.

A/N: Crossover prompt! How exciting!! We need more playable Vidyadhara characters on hsr...they're such an interesting species. :0 Very sorry for taking so long with your request, and very sorry for not putting some of the actions you've said. :') Thank you for your request and for the kind words! Hope you enjoy reading this.

Breathing. All you could hear was your intense breathing.

You didn't know how long you were running for, but that didn't matter. What matters is getting out of this hollow ASAP. The only problem being that you were being chased by a highly dangerous ethereal.

 

You recall the moment Wise warned you about the beast. A very fast ethereal capable of slashing its prey in seconds—putting your guard down even for a single second could lead to your demise.

 

The two of you were terrified, but compared to the small bangboo tightly locked in your arms, deep down—you were the most terrified.

Never have you dealt with this kind of situation before. Sure, Yaoshi's abominations are tough to deal with, but they were more annoying than anything.

 

This? This was out of your league. You've only fought Ethereals once or twice since you've been here, so you basically had little experience on how to fight them.

 

But as you were overthinking about the situation, you heard Wise talking from Eous' little body.

 

"There it is! It's the exit!" It's a small hand/arm pointed forward. 

 

You looked towards the direction it was pointing at; sure enough, the exit of the hollow was in front of you.

You picked up the pace, hoping that Thanatos would give up chasing you. Out of pure instinct, you threw the poor bangboo towards the exit before you could make it there yourself. Unbeknownst to you, Thanatos had created a scar on the back of your neck the second you got out of the hollow.

 

You trip and fall to the ground beneath you; your body slides against the pavement, creating some minor scratches on your body. But it was nothing you couldn't handle.

You tightly closed your eyes, now feeling the scar that the Ethereal created on the back of your neck.

 

You heard someone rushing towards you; soon after, you felt as if two people were looming over you.

 

"Belle, take them to the staff room. I'll recharge Eous in my room."

 

You heard a familiar voice, and you smiled gently when you realized who it was. You felt your tail wagging, sweeping dirt from the ground.

It was embarrassing to show this type of behavior in public, but you were too tired to care.

 

You sat up to see Belle in front of you, trying her best to help you. She took your arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, lifting you up to help you stand. But as you tried to listen to what she was saying, your vision became blurry, and then you passed out.

—

 

Your fingers played with your horns as you stared at the television in front of you. A blanket was moved aside to give you some space on the couch you were sitting on.

 

You've woken up 10 minutes prior, confused about what happened. Fortunately, Belle was here when you woke up and explained everything to you. She was always nice to talk to; she's optimistic and cheerful no matter the situation—its great.

 

But after a few minutes, she stood up from the couch and told you that she's going on a girls night out with Nicole and Anby. As she approached the door to leave the room, she looked at you and winked.

 

"Wise's making you some tea upstairs. Good luck with him, you hear?~" You heard her whisper.

 

And here you are now, sitting nervously as you overthink about Belle's words. Other than the bangboos inhabiting the store, it was only you and wise. You and wise. Your heart started to beat rapidly, and you looked to your side to see that your tail was wagging ever so slightly.

 

You tried to calm down, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Just as you were calming down though, you heard footsteps from upstairs...then they walked down the stairs.

 

Calm down, calm down. You can't let wise see you like this. It'll be embarr—

 

"Oh, hey, you're awake."

 

You jumped and snapped your head towards the door to see wisely at the doorway. He became concerned as he saw you breathing heavily, putting the two glass cups on the table behind the couch, and rushed to you.

 

"Sorry...did I scare you? Here. I made you tea."

 

He carefully picked up the cup and gave it to you. Still stunned by his presence, you shakingly accepted it. The cup felt warm; it wasn't too hot to the point where it could burn you. You smiled, and your tail wagged once more.

 

"It's nothing fancy. I don't know if the tea they serve on the Loufu is any different, but I hope you like it." Wise said.

 

You nodded, taking a sip of the tea he made. Your eyes closed as your taste buds danced with how good it was. Wise giggled at your reaction.

 

"I'm guessing that you enjoy it?"

 

"Mhm. It tastes slightly different than the ones from the Loufu...but still as delicious as any tea I've tried so far."

You held the cup up, inspecting it as if it were some piece of treasure. Wise laughed, but his attention was quickly stolen by your tail wagging constantly beside you. He smiled.

 

"Are you that happy to see me? Every time we meet in person, your tail always wags."

 

You paused your drinking, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your own behavior. You avert your gaze, trying to hide your red face from wise. He moved closer to you upon seeing your reaction.

 

"Hey, it's okay! I'm happy to see you as well; you shouldn't be risking your life in that hollow though..." He reminded you. You looked at him straight in the eyes, opening and closing your mouth as you struggled to get a word out.

 

"I-i just wanted to keep you safe...and Eous. Yeah." You awkwardly explained to him. Wise sighed, grabbing the blanket behind him and throwing it over your shoulders.

 

"Get some rest before you leave. You deserve it." Wise said. His voice was so comforting to you; it was soft and pleasant to your ears. You quietly purred.

"Oh right. Forgot to ask; did you bring back the videotape you rented a while back?" Wise asked. You froze in place.

You've completely forgotten that you rented a videotape from here a few weeks ago. And today was the deadline.

"I...may have forgotten it back in the Loufu. Haha."

You paced back and forth. Completely deep in your thoughts. You looked absolutely ridiculous in public, but people were too busy minding their own business to look at you weird.

 

In your hands was a box that looked like nothing from this world.

 

Of course it wasn't; it's a box containing the finest souvenirs from the Xianzhou Loufu. You held it close to your chest, preventing anyone from potentially stealing it. Or even worse, breaking the precious and fragile souvenirs inside. That would be a disaster. You'd have to pay a good amount of money to the seller you bought these from.

 

Sitting on the bench behind you, you quickly pulled out your phone. Looking at your contacts to find a specific person, he was the reason you came here in the first place.

 

A smile formed on your face when you saw his name; your scaled tail wagged simultaneously. But as you hovered your finger on the screen to click on his profile, you hesitated.

 

It was already late at night by the time you were here, so contacting him now wouldn't be ideal. You sighed, putting your phone back in your pocket, and stood up. Simply accepting that tomorrow morning would be a more appropriate time to give him the box.

 

You turned around to pick up the box, only to realize that it was gone. Your eyes widen at the sight, and your heart beats fast as you panic. You frantically looked around to see if anyone had taken it purposely or mistakenly.

 

That's when you heard it. From your pointy ears, you heard the echoes of rapid footsteps coming from your left. You snapped your head in the direction of the sound; sure enough, you saw a figure running towards the gross alleyways of lumina square.

 

"STOP. STOP IT. YOU THIEF."

 

You quickly chased him down as confused bystanders backed away in fear. The hooded man with your box created all sorts of obstacles to slow you down, from kicking down stacks of empty boxes to straight up pushing down a dumpster.

 

Unfortunately for him, this was nothing to you. Like any of the other Vidyadhara from the Loufu, you were athletic. Easily dodging the obstacles the man created.

 

He looked over his shoulder to see that you were almost caught up to him. He whimpered in fear, but just as he was about to pick up the pace to lose you, he tripped on something heavy and metallic. The impact nearly broke his foot in the process.

 

The box flung upwards, but thankfully someone effortlessly caught it with one hand. As you ran closer to the scene, you frozen. Tail wagging once more as you saw a tall, well-dressed wolf thiren standing in front of you. One of his prosthetic legs was stepping on the thief's back as a way to restrain him.

 

"Oh?" The man said. It was a familiar voice—the voice that makes you fall to your knees mentally every time you hear it.

 

"L-lycaon! I didn't expect you to be here at this hour." You expressed your shock to him.

 

"The same would apply to you. I wouldn't have expected to see you here in Eridu-47." 

 

As Lycaon said that, he felt the man below him wiggling himself to try and escape. The thiren's eye glowed as a warning, and the hooded man squealed in fear as he finally pleaded guilty for his actions.

 

"I-i-im sorry! It won't happen again! I promise! I swear! I-i—" 

 

The hooded man begged. Lycaon crouched and leaned towards the side of the man's face, whispering something directly to his ear.

 

You couldn't hear it, but you know Lycaon said something terrible when the man screamed in fear and quickly ran away the second Lycaon removed his leg from his back.

 

You were kind of scared, of course, but it was Lycaon. You trusted him dearly, and he has proved his sincerity many times before. So, you didn't question anything. Lycaon looked at you in relief, now holding the box full of goods with both of his hands.

 

"Apologies for my unbefitting behavior just now. I believe this belongs to you."

 

He handed you the box; he looked at you so softly that you couldn't help but stare at his face for a few seconds.

 

But you snapped out of your thoughts and declined. Lightly pushing the box back towards him. Of course, he was confused. Then you explained to him.

 

"It's for you, silly! No need to give it back to me." You giggled; you could see his one eye widen in surprise.

 

"My...you're too kind. I don't deserve such treatment from the likes of you." He said. You saw his ears twitching and his tail ever so slightly wagging from this; you smiled. Holding back a laugh.

 

He looked down at the box, now noticing that it's tightly sealed. Preventing anything from falling out.

 

"And what awaits me inside this box, may I ask?" He asked you.

 

One hand was gently placed on top of the box while the other held the bottom part so as not to let it fall to the break.

You walked closer to him, looking upwards to his face as you smiled widely.

 

"Inside are exclusive items from the Xianzhou Loufu. How about you open it and see for yourself? W-well, maybe not in this dirty alleyway at least." You awkwardly laughed. The thiren merely chuckled, gently taking your hand.

 

"Then I know just the place. If I may?" Your eyes widen when he offers you this; your horns glowed brightly as you felt your tail wagging. You smiled, nodding at his offer.

 

"Lead the way, dear attendant." You playful said. He laughed.

 

"Please. Just call me Lycaon."

 

Then the two of you walked out of the alleyway, admiring the nightly scenes of lumina square as Lycaon guided you to the rooftop of a building.

 

You smiled widely; tonight turned out better than you expected it to be. You couldn't wait to see his reaction to the items inside the box, and quite frankly, you were just very happy to be by his side.

Oh, what a happy little dragon you are right now.

[artyandink]

amoralism | four

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, fantasising, a mole in the FBI, thigh riding, Sam being the best friend everyone needed but no one asked for, failed professionalism, description of gore, torture and body desecration, inaccurate description of the FBI but we do it for the plot, Bela Talbot (she’s also a warning, yes), fantasies of seduction

Song Inspo: Liar by Camila Cabello

SERIES MASTERLIST

archaism

A knock on your door had you looking up from your desk, from the notes you were taking on the video found on the necklace’s hard drive. The only face you could see on that necklace was Abaddon’s, which did give you the warrant to put her in the Florence Supermax, which honestly didn’t feel like enough when your own body felt like it was being slashed and burned and disembowelled in tandem with this poor investment banker.

Didn’t help that she took a hatchet to the body even after the life left him.

“Come in.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. And in came… “Ah.” Yet another tired rub of your forehead. “Trainee Agents Tran and Harvelle. Come in.” You gestured for them to enter, wishing you were also a trainee agent.

It was so much more simple back in those days. Just getting coffee for the superiors. Just some damn coffee. Not being caught in a web of sexual tension, organised crime and some really nasty crap.

“How can I help you?” You asked, feigning genuine interest when you actually wanted to hurl from the videos you’d been watching.

“We wanted to get an update on the Knights of Hell case.” Tran got out, fiddling with his fingers. Suck ups, great. “For, uh, Agent Nick Garrison.” You rolled your eyes.

Nick.

He’d come off fresh from the murder of his wife and baby, and it was bloody. He’d been trying to take cases, but Director Singer kept on insisting he take the desk job.

“Did he tell you he was working the case?” You clasped your hands in front of you, and you cut them off before they could start stammering. “No, I can’t give any information if you’re not working the case. It’s classified information, and Director Singer’s made that clear. I don’t wanna have to report to HR about breaching jurisdiction.”

“No, ma’am.” Harvelle bowed her head, then realised she wasn’t bowing to a queen and grabbed Tran’s hand, dragging him out. You groaned, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead.

“That’s it. Take what you need.” Dean muttered, your back against his chest, legs spread and held in place by one hand gripping your thigh. Your head fell back against his shoulder, a myriad of sounds leaving your parted lips and slack jaw from his three fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. Stretching you. Breaking you. Wrecking you. Making you rock your hips in tandem with his movements and getting much needed friction on your clit from the rough palm of his hand. “Workin’ so hard, baby. I’m gonna release all your stress. Leave you so relaxed.”

God, you had half a mind to start touching yourself in the office to take the edge off. Right under your desk.

You’d do it. Damn the code of conduct.

“I need a change of panties.” You muttered, done with... “Everything else in my life, while I’m at it.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart. To take the edge off.”

Damn you for being an ass kisser. You could have taken the edge off with Dean Winchester.

Instead you’re here. At a desk. Watching someone be tortured to death and their corpse disembowelled.

”You were left alone? With a shirtless Dean Winchester?” Andréa gasped, sipping a tall glass of wine, her lips stained red from it. “Details. Now.”

You swallowed, clearing your throat. “Dré, I don’t think there’s anything to tell-”

“Yes. There is.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at you. “Either he railed you nasty, or you pulled the usual professionalism card but you still banged and now you’re fearful for your job.”

“I’m still fearful for my job, railing or not.” You scoffed lightly, taking a long sip of your own wine and holding your glass out for another. “Sorry to disappoint, Dré, but… no. Nothing happened.”

“WHAT?!” Andréa slammed down her wine glass. Eyes wide, auburn hair only slightly out of place. Jesus, she’s shook.

“I know!” You raised your hands in surrender, wine slopping onto the floor. You carefully put it aside; you might be getting a little tipsy with how much you drank trying to recover from the memory. “Look, it happened like I told you; Dean pulled me in, told me to keep my eyes on him… and then his phone rang. His dad called him, and he took the call.”

“I want to bust John Winchester’s balls.” She muttered.

“Classy.”

“Do you think I care about class? I care about whether or not you can walk straight, and right now you should be wobbling from side to side, honey.” She took a very pointed sip of wine.

You sighed with a roll of your eyes, however affectionate it was. “That’s a very interesting notion.”

“It’s Dean Winchester!”

“I’m painfully aware that it is.”

You walked into Dean’s office to find him nursing a bloody temple with a sterilising cloth, which had you raising an eyebrow. You didn’t peg Dean for the working hard type, more like the hardly working. Unless you counted when he was in bed with a woman. Still hot.

And both of your minds switching back to the night where Dean had you in his arms, his whiskey-tainted breath fanning over your lips. Fingers that were tapping the desk were previously curled around your chin, gravelly voice telling- ordering you to keep your eyes on him and by God, you’d say yes sir if he hadn’t taken your ability to speak words with those piercing green eyes. And he wasn’t even your superior.

“Well, don’t you look super.” You drawled sarcastically, throwing down a file on his desk. Eyes moving down to the hands which had held you in place. Fingers that had gripped your chin in a way that almost made your knees buckle and hands fly to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Knock knock - come in - and yeah, I do look handsome.” Dean responded dryly, but gave you a smirk/grin, a click of his tongue and a wink that had no right giving you that large of a needy jolt through your cunt, soaking your panties instantly. Again.

You cursed yourself for being an ass kisser. Again. When there was a perfectly good cock there that you could be riding.

“I was trying to figure out information on the Abaddon case, see if we could get some of her buddies’ names.” Dean shrugged, swiping his bottom lip with his thumb. “Came out with nada and a cheap shot to the head.”

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to stop feeling so desperate. You were better than this. No you weren’t, but you weren’t gonna admit that aloud. “Director Singer wanted us to check this out. Probably after your failed, sorry ass attempt to find answers.” You watched him open the file, turning the page with a lick of his finger. Had it been anyone else, you would have internally cringed.

But no, it’s Dean Winchester. You wanted to be his index finger.

“Since we’re doing this off books, we have to arrange off book methods.” You rubbed your neck. “Bela Talbot, she’s a freelancer. Occasionally thieves - at least, that’s theory because we’ve never been able to prove it. But Director Singer’s booked us a five star room and an appointment so we can find out what she knows, how she knows it and follow that lead.”

“You’re more snappy than usual, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, mossy eyes trailing- no, roving down- not even that; he was undressing you with his eyes.

And he didn’t miss the way your jaw ticked.

Sign number one.

How your eyes darted from him to the files to the random objects like you wanted to throw something.

Sign number two.

How you occasionally prodded your cheek with your tongue as if you had a Spanish insult that would definitely condemn someone’s mother to hell on the tip of it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was sign number three.

Dean Winchester had more than a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude. He had a college degree in criminology, a while spent in the academy and a penchant for figuring out when- “You’re stressed.” He muttered smoothly, and he had an inkling of why. He took hold of your wrist, and next thing you knew, you were pulled to his lap, straddling his thigh. Your heeled feet on either side. And clothed pussy right on powerful muscle.

Oh, boy.

“We haven’t talked about it.” Dean muttered, his eyes tracing your face (and dipping to check your blouse’s neckline, and it did not disappoint), calculating his next move, his hand splayed out on your lower back. “I know you better than you think. And you… are thinking about it.”

“I’m n-not.” You responded quickly and rather pathetically, especially as your words were negated by a whimper as his hand on your lower back slid down, down, down, cupping your ass, squeezing just right and using the purchase to pull you so your chest was flush against his. His nose bumping yours. The scent of a breath mint on your lips instead of whiskey.

Gee, the déjà vu was potent. When could you have possibly been in this situation before, hm? Totally not a few days ago. And five years before that.

“So, you don’t wanna talk about it.” He chuckled, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looked you over- nope, banging you with his eyes this time. You could see it. He had you bent over the desk, railing the living daylights out of you with a hand over your mouth. “Let’s do about it.”

You swallowed, not protesting even as his fingers tangled in your hair. “That-That’s grammatically incorrect-”

His lips - god, his pillowy, sinful, criminal lips - crashed down onto yours, brow furrowed in concentration as the common sense went out of you.

Dean definitely had eaten a breath mint, and you could taste the coffee remnants on him. A kiss that was no less than filthy, needy and wanting. Smacking of lips on lips at a high frequency and temperature shooting far above the boiling point. Your hand threading in his hair. Other hand fisting the back of his shirt. His cologne your personally crafted aphrodisiac.

Dean was too far gone to care that anyone could walk in. His hand was gripping the soft strands of your hair in between his fingers, guiding your head how he liked it. Relishing your tinted, strawberry flavoured lip balm and how it flooded his tongue. Your perfume sending his hormones skyrocketing and making him zero in on you. Only you, always you. He’d missed out on his treasure all these goddamned five years.

Dean’s tongue licked at the seam of your swollen lips, demanding entrance, which you fought back and denied from him. Good that he’s skilled in getting what he wanted, because it didn’t take long to get you to allow him that access.

His hand came down in a sharp smack on your ass, which had a gasp falling from your lips which he caught with his own. Keeping both parted as his tongue tasted the jam and toast on yours, coaxing it into his mouth so he could suck on it and cloud your mind more than it already was fogged up.

“That’s it, open up for me.” Dean groaned into your mouth, pulling your kiss-swollen lips more apart with his thumb on your bottom lip. You felt his hand leave your ass, air hitting your previously skirt covered thighs and something sliding down your legs but you didn’t care when Dean was robbing you of professionalism.

Doing a thing with his tongue and teeth that had you throbbing and needy for him. Yeah, the Code of Conduct can go to hell.

His hand found home on your ass again, and just experimentally dragged you down and forward, drawn out and hard on the taut, deliciously clad muscle of his thigh.

Clit. Friction. Uh- pussy. Dripping.

Mind. Blown.

You had to actively pull him to you, lips more in a collision than a kiss to muffle the drawn out moan that came from your lips and those that spilled after while he simply hummed, grinding you on his thigh again and again until you were kissing him silly as well as rutting on his thigh like a desperate, horny teenager.

Not that either of you minded.

“Look so pretty, ridin’ my thigh.” Dean chuckled between hungry, heavenly kisses, now taking handfuls of your tit from shoving his hand (in a hot way) down the neckline of your blouse and rubbing your nipple over your bra with precise circles designed to make you go mad all while groping the flesh. “Makes a guy wonder how you’ll ride his co-o-oh, Jesus Christ, baby.”

For context, in retaliation, you’d started palming him over his slacks, grinding the heel of your palm in a way that had him rolling his hips forward so his cock could meet your hand for the first time ever through two thin barriers.

The slow movement of your hand and your hips that were dragging over his slacks a personified oxymoron of the way your lips would devour Dean’s and vice versa over and over again.

Every movement of yours synced to the way he’d toy with your tits and his hand would knead your ass under skilled goddamn fingers.

Swallowing every moan like second nature.

He definitely had some kind of qualification in the female body.

“Woah.” And both of you pulling away to see Sam at the door. Which incited pure chaos.

You jumping up. Fixing your skirt, your hair (your kiss-swollen lips were a gone case) as Dean manoeuvred his leg so you couldn’t see the obvious wet patch on his slacks.

Wet patches, if you count the pre-come stain that leaked through.

Ah, well, at least he’d pocketed your soaked panties. For… research purposes.

“Nothing’s happened.” Dean shrugged, trying to signal to Sam as if to say no, he did not want the news of him making out with his case co-head in his office, in FBI headquarters in DC.

Your mind was in a tizzy, especially as you hurried off before you could shake hands with embarrassment.

“I don’t know whether to say ‘finally’, ‘what the hell’ or bleach my eyes out.” Sam said to Dean with a light chuckle, folding his arms.

“How about you shut your mouth?” He scoffed back.

“I can’t just unsee that-”

“You were told to shut your mouth, not your eyes.” Dean grinned as if nothing was wrong, because nothing was wrong. That could just be one of his fantasies.

You were thinking the same thing. It could just be a vivid daydream. Or even a dream that you’ll wake up from at any moment.

But then Dean saw the wet patch on his slacks again. The soaked panties that he’d stolen off you and you’d let him. His lips were swollen and still buzzing from the heated sensations, ego on an all time high from how many moans he’d ripped from you even though he’d done so little. If this is what he’d waited for all this time - for five years - the wait was damn worth it.

You could still feel Dean’s hands groping at you as if he had a degree in your body. His harsh breath against yours. Lips bruising as they met over and over again— his thigh pressed between yours.

Your thighs rubbed together and- god damn, he’d stolen your panties. You weren’t even mad at him for it.

You were reeling from the - ahem - make out session display of professionalism. And Dean wasn’t making it any degree better.

“So, we’re not gonna talk about it?” He scoffed, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow. “Five years, the time we actually break the Code of Conduct and we’re not gonna say a word of what went down?”

You gestured to him. “My point. We broke the Code of Conduct. Hell, we torched it!”

“It was just making out.”

“In your office.”

“Look,” Dean chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, “it ain’t my fault that your gorgeous ass is attracted to me. And it ain’t your fault that my handsome ass… is attracted to you. It’s a sexual thing.”

“It’s a sexual thing.” You repeated quietly, which didn’t help things, but hey- it’s the best he can do. “You have no regard for your job’s integrity.���

“You’re so uptight all the time.”

“And it’s better to be really damn loose?” Dean Winchester made your pussy drip leg bounce on the ball of your foot. It was a nervous tick. Or an angry tick. But you knew that you wanted to curse his bloodline in Spanish.

He could only offer you a scoff. “You know, this tough girl act is really unbecoming.”

“This tough boy act doesn’t cut you any favours.”

“Some may say it’s sexy.” A brunette slid into the seat next to him. Hair pulled up into a ponytail and threaded through a baseball cap that was pulled low over her brow- no doubt for disguise. Poorly orchestrated disguise, and Director Singer said she was a professional. Smug smile and manicured nails painted an eyebrow raising shade of rouge while she smelled strongly of Chanel.

Extending said manicured hand daintily towards Dean. “Bela Talbot.” She purred, playing up a sultry smile. “I’m your freelancer.”

“That Chanel or is it just me?” Dean shot back with a raise of his eyebrow. How did he know? He knew the notes of that perfume collection cause you’d worn it when you… made out with him and rode his thigh. Ahem.

“I’m a freelancer, but I’m not a savage. I indulge.” Bela replied before turning back to you and sliding a paper. “Knights of Hell. Hard bunch to track down, but I can tell you who they are and what they do. They’re like mercenaries. A secret service for an underground mafia ring. If you want a bloody death, the big boss will ring them up and then it’s bye-bye within a few hours. They play it like a game too. Whoever’s skill set meets the quota, that’s who they send out.”

“Abaddon.” You frowned, clasping your hands on the table. “Why was she sent out to that bank?”

“She plays with her food before she eats it.” Bela sighed, shaking her head. “Invades the mind of her enemy. If you don’t catch on quick enough, she doesn’t sing your tune, you sing hers. Like she’s Bach and you’re just his orchestra.”

“That’s colourful.” Dean muttered, sipping his coffee. “Who is this guy we’re about to talk to, by the way?” He was watching Bela carefully for any signs of deception.

Any at all and he had cuffs attached to his belt.

“His codename’s Cain.” Bela checked her nails with a pout. “But he was previously known as William Abernathy. He was the first Knight of Hell. For initiation he was made to kill his brother Cole Abernathy and had been trying to exit the gang since. Only got out a few months ago.”

‘Cain’ himself was a grumpy-ass man who seemed to lounge with bottles of beer on the best days and hard vodka on the worst. He had pictures of who seemed to be Neil, his brother, and another woman. Young. Beautiful, with an innocent smile on her face.

You wondered if she had known what William had done.

You watched Cain sit down with a gruff grunt, and

“Being a Knight of Hell makes you bitter.” He swept a thumb over his bottom lip, scoffing and shaking his head slowly. “You do horrible things. To innocent people, too. Most of us enjoyed it. I didn’t. That’s why I ran.”

You rubbed your cheek, sharing a look with Dean, who looked both incredibly concerned and curious. Not only was this syndicate dangerous, they took inspiration off Bible lore, which was how they contracted their code names.

“And your code name was Cain?” You asked, gesturing to him with a raise of your eyebrow. “As in… Cain and Abel? And your real name is William Abernathy?”

“Abel was my brother’s supposed ‘codename’.” William, previously ‘Cain’, deadpanned, sipping some bourbon with a blank expression. “Gave it after his death. Thought it was funny. They thought the same for my beautiful Collette too.”

“Collette?” Dean pointed to a photo, of a smiling woman in Cain’s arms. In a wedding dress, looking as if all the problems were gone. “This her?”

“That’s her.” Cain nodded, his voice wavering a bit. “She looked every bit as beautiful on our wedding day even when she died. Bloody, but so beautiful. She still smiled even then.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Abernathy.” You gave him a look of sympathy, taking a deep breath. “For your loss. Could you give us the names of the other Knights?”

Cain nodded. “I’ll do it. I’ve give you them all.”

“You run the risk of being hunted down.” Dean added quickly. “We can place you under witness protection.”

“Witness protection can’t do crap.” Cain scoffed, a cynical bark of laughter leaving him. “It'll end how it always does. A blaze of glory and no survivors."

You could easily see the truth. You saw it in his body language; he wasn't defeated, he was tired. Tired of fighting rather than losing. Cain was a shell. Empty.

"You want them to find you." You murmured, running a hand through your hair in partial disbelief. "You want to die."

Cain nodded, pointing a gnarled finger at you with a nod, writing a list of names down on a sheet of paper before handing them to you. "You're good, Agent." He sniffed, averting his eyes, which welled up. "First they took Neil. Then my darling Collette. That Hell took everything from me. Might as well let them finish the job."

"No, hold on." Dean stepped in with a wave of his hand. "We have to take you into witness protection, to testify."

A violent shaking of your head put him off and made him worry that you were having an aneurism. "We can't. Code of Conduct, Article 53, Section A, Subsection Alpha, line 5, written in '79 after the assassination of Jakob Brierkevald on his transportation to unwillingly testify against Russia. Unless given autonomous permission, law enforcement and/or federal authorities do not have the jurisdiction to detain the subject to testify in court, which directly relates to the Treaty for Human rights... even if it concerns national safety."

Dean stared at you as if you'd grown three heads. "Did you swallow the textbook?!"

"You didn't?"

“A spot of advice.” Cain spoke up gruffly, looking between the two of you. “Have angry sex. That could solve everything.”

“No!” You threw your hands up, then turned to Dean. “He basically signed a DNR for himself by saying that. We can’t do anything.”

“Isn’t there some kind of overrule clause?” Dean asked, folding his arms. “Rack that pretty head.”

“Not that I know of.” You shrugged. “It could be in some weird ass phrasing but if the subject decides, that’s final.”

“Son of a-”

“We’re federal agents, keep it together!”

“Hey, Bela.” You sighed, pacing slowly as you talked. “Thanks for the tip. We got a lot more to go off now, and turns out you weren’t as slimy as the FBI warned us you were.”

“Charming.” Bela quipped, hands in her jacket pocket with a smile, then she chuckled. “Happy to help. The Knights of Hell should be taken down a peg or two. Who better than the Fed’s finest agents?” Her eyes travelled to Dean tap dancing for fun a little way away, then back to you in amusement. “Or finest.”

“Yeah, he’s not the most professional one out there.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I didn't catch the traditionalist aspect from him." She shook her head, then caught how you were looking at Dean.

That was the most potent and obvious eye bang she'd ever seen.

"No, he's- ay, dios mío." The reason for your speech cutting off was Dean's succumbing to the heat and pouring a whole damn water bottle's contents over his face, making his shirt cling to his chest and wavering your focus.

One word. Muscle.

"Word of advice." Bela whispered in your ear. "You two really should have angry sex."

NEXT UP:

“Mom.” You painfully kept your voice level. Not wanting to raise your voice at your own mother, because even if she was a nasty piece of work - in your eyes - she still carried you for nine months. “This is unreasonable.”

Understatement of the Year award goes to you. Hopefully, also the Daughter and Sister of the Year awards too.

“What I do in my household is none of your business, niña!” Eleanor snapped back, her fingers too for emphasis. You felt familiar anger bubbling, but you told it not today.

You scoffed at the notion, though, rubbing Cassie’s shoulder. “You’re practically starving her!” Still shoving down unadulterated fury. “And pressuring her to have kids. Hell, I haven’t. I’m not even married.”

“You should be!” She responded quickly. Does this lady not get the point? “You should be married, bringing honour to your family.”

“You’re delusional.”

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[rosedpetal]

Like Father Like Daughter

Summary: Lloyd Hansen is a former CIA agent slash mercenary slash sociopath who gets off on the doing the most unspeakable things. When his high school sweetheart gets in a coma, he finds out she took from him more than just his heart and a promise ring.

Pairing: Dad!Lloyd x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, hospitals, murder, guns, violence, Lloyd being mean to his daughter (you), daddy issues dynamics, death of a parent.

Author's note: this is a repost.

Minors, do not interact.

Masterlist

You were growing to hate hospitals. The sterile smell, white walls, floors and ceilings, doctors and nurses wearing those annoying scrubs that made everything much more depressing.

You were growing to hate light colors.

Tired of reading, you took a sip of your water bottle, eyeing your mother's asleep form on the hospital bed. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes and tubes everywhere. She was stable, but they had no idea when she would wake up. 

Or if she would.

"She got lucky." The doctor said to your grandma, after explaining the after a car accident of that nature, your mother being alive was a miracle.

You didn't think of luck at all. Not when you got out of school earlier, seeing your grandpa in tears while he crushed your limbs in a hug, sobbing in your hair and repeating like a prayer that everything was gonna be okay.

Your sweet, cheerful and loud mother have been at such a state for so long. Two months in, and you could hear the nurses gossiping when they thought you were asleep cuddling your mother.

"Keeping this patient is useless. She's as good as dead".

You started to lose hope, but you couldn't give up. Your mother had to come back at some point.

She was the only person you could count in. Of course, your grandparents were great, but a child's place is with their parents. Or just your mother, in your case.

When you were younger you pried as much as you could, but she would refuse to tell you anything about your father, only telling you that he walked out on her before he even knew she was pregnant and she never heard of him since.

Somehow, you didn't believe her.

But after the accident that almost took your mother from you, you couldn't really care less about a father that you never knew.

And as the time passed by, all you did was pray that your grandparents didn't lose hope too. After all, the decision to keep the life support on was theirs.

"You can either tell me what the hell is going on or I can just gut you like a pig, which one is gonna be?" Lloyd grinned at one of his spies. The man had been working for him for years now, a record that was getting Lloyd uneasy.

He would have to kill him soon.

"I found something interesting, that's all." The man replied, and poured a generous dose of whiskey on one of the glasses that was by Lloyd's coffee table.

Lloyd looked at him, amused.

"I didn't realize you had a death wish, getting yourself comfortable with my Scotch and everything."

"It's not for me, Hansen. It's for you." Klaus replied, emotionless. 

Lloyd sat up, getting tense. Klaus passed him the glass, and he almost gave in the impulse to use it to break the moron's skull.

"I'm gonna ask again, and if I don't get a straight answer my gun is gonna get friendly with your brains." Lloyd took the gun from the holster and aimed at the man's head.

"Your ex fiancée is in a coma".

Lloyd let a breath out.

"And that's all this fucking tension about? Why would I give a fuck about that bitch? It's been more than thirteen years-"

"She has a daughter about that age." Klaus cut the infuriated Lloyd. "She looks a lot like you. Blue eyes, dark hair. Same dental arch..."

The same motherfucking asshole smile. He wanted to complete, but kept his mouth shut. Lloyd was impulsive and unpredictable, and after working with him for long enough, anyone would get a taste of almost getting murdered by him on his multiple mood swings.

Lloyd's head tilted to side.

Oh fuck. 

"So, you're saying that I'm stupid enough to get some bitch pregnant by accident?"

"You popped the question to her, thought."

"I was young and stupid."

"And now, you're just stupid."

"For the sake of our fake friendship I'm gonna let that slide. And why were you even sneaking into her shit, anyway?"

"I wasn't. Do you remember the bounty you collected two months ago on that senator's head?"

"How could I forget?" Lloyd rolled his eyes. "It was a hell of a car chase."

"Well, the senator driver's car crashed into hers."

...

Lloyd really loved irony. But not when it came to bite his ass back.

After Klaus showed him some pictures of you in the hospital your mother were in, not even him could deny. You looked exactly like him, but with long hair and without a mustache in your baby face.

"Fuuuuuck!" He threw the glass across the room, hitting the wall, and getting it smashed into million pieces. 

His sneaky job almost got his daughter's mother killed, for fucks sake. How would he tell you that? Did he even want to face you?

Klaus kept quiet while Lloyd threw his tantrum. Then, he spoke:

"When am I taking you to her?"

Lloyd turned to face him, angry.

"I'm not gonna meet some brat just because I found out she came from my balls!"

He couldn't really care less about your mother. He loved her (or thought he did) and then it was over. It was okay, he got over it. But he was not about to meet a child he knew he never wanted.

And what benefit would he bring to your life, dragging you to his mess?

Lloyd made up his mind. He would just ignore your existence.

"In what room is she, again?"

"301, boss." Klaus replied, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

Lloyd rolled his eyes, but chose to ignore him nonetheless. He was neither soft nor wanted to be a dad, but he was a curious motherfucker. So, the next day, first thing after knowing you were out of school, he made Klaus take him to the hospital.

"I'm here to see my daughter. Her mom's on the room 301."

The receptionist, who was not really interested, just pointed directions and waved him off. When he got in front of the door, he almost chickened out.

Oh, come on, he was not to be afraid of some child.

Even if it was his.

So, he knocked on the door. He knew you'd be there. You've never left your mother's side after school hours, and your grandparents didn't mind indulging you.

He heard a soft "Come in!" and took a deep breath before finally turning the doorknob.

It was a lot to take in.

Your mom, the only woman he ever loved, looking small, pale and pathetic. It was nothing like the girl he knew in her teens, bubbly and all-smiles.

Then, he saw you. Looking at him wide-eyed, and how the blue in your irises were similar to his. Your dark brown hair, that would match his if he didn't dye it jet black. Your nose were your mother's: a cute button on your rosy face, as well as your pouty lips.

"Who are you? I think you are in the wrong room."

You inquired. He could tell you were afraid of him. Arms crossed on your chest, biting your upper lip nervously.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm... Your father." It surprised him how he didn't sound anything like his usually cocky self. Your eyebrows rose, and you scoffed.

"Went to buy a pack of cigarettes and never found your way back to my mom?" You sassed.

"That's not fair! First of all, I don't smoke. And second, I had no idea your mom was pregnant! I would chase her to hell if I did. She was the one that left, ended things and disappeared like I meant nothing!" Lloyd pointed his index finger to you, incredibly offended.

"Which makes me think what kind of fuck-up you are if she ran away from you, then." You retorted, and noticed his reddened face.

"What's with all this prejudice? I could be the nicest fucking person you know. Maybe I have an animal shelter, ever thought of that? What if I read to old people in asylums in my spare time?"

"Do you?"

"No, but that's not the point here, young lady."

"Do you know how do I know you are not the nicest person? You said a bad word." You pointed, lips curling upwards.

"You said it first!" He accused, and this time, you grinned.

Maybe your mom left him because he was a man child, after all?

Your smile faded. You looked at your mother, and she nothing about her changed. Not even her heartbeat. You thought that perhaps she would get an incentive having your so-called-father in the room after such a long time.

"What's your name?" Lloyd asked, and you huffed.

"Why are you still here?

"I'm not leaving until I get to know you. My name's Lloyd, by the way. Lloyd Hansen. What's your name?"

"Get out!" You let out an exasperated sigh, regretting it immediately. You've always been curious about who your father were, and now you had the chance to.

"Do you really want me to?"

The pout that formed on his lips almost made you laugh again. Okay, he was charming, you had to give him that. So, against your better judgement, you gave in.

"No, please stay."

Lloyd didn't know if it was the sad way you almost pleaded for him to not leave, but he felt like a magnet was pulling him towards you, and you got up of the chair, sitting on your mother's bed and pointing the chair to him.

He sat and started fidgeting with his fingers.

"I'm Y/N. I'm thirteen. I like to read, but I'm also lazy and my mom's always scolding me to study more. That's me in a nutshell." You finally said, feeling a little disappointed that you had nothing better to say.

"Sounds like a normal thirteen-year-old to me. Have you ever killed an animal?"

"Excuse me, what?"

"Just kidding!" Lloyd said, fast. He noticed the change in your demeanor, which meant that topic probably upset you. He'd make sure to find out about that later.

"Oh my god, have you?" Your jaw dropped, finally putting two and two together. "It's that why my mother left you? You are some kind of psycho that tortures animals?"

"I don't torture animals!" Just people, Lloyd thought. "It was an innocent question, okay?"

"Yeah, you sound really normal to me." You rolled your eyes. "Get the fuck out, Lloyd. Or I'm gonna call the cops on you, being my father or not, which I don't believe you are by the way."

"Okay, in case you haven't noticed, you look exactly like me and nothing like her."

"You're not the only man with blue eyes and dark hair in the world, Lloyd."

"I totally agree with you on that, and this is why I brought this!" Lloyd announced, taking a ziplock bag out of his pocket with a q-tip inside of it.

"What the hell is this?"

"Open your mouth, kiddo!" He grinned at you, getting closer with the q-tip between his index and thumb.

"I'm not giving you my DNA, you creep!"

"Okay, hard way it is." He sighed, almost sadly. "I love you."

Your jaw dropped again, and he took the opportunity to stick the q-tip in your tongue, collecting the saliva. Before you could shriek, he put it back in the ziplock.

"You fucking asshole!" You yelled. "I'm calling the security-"

"Keep your voice down." He warned you, and you whimpered at the sudden change on his behavior. Then, he got up and gave you a smile. "It was nice catching up with you, kiddo. Toodles!"

You were still stunned when he left.

Days went by, and you haven't seen Lloyd since. Part of you were angry at yourself for being disappointed by that, but you just shrugged it off and told yourself it was better that way.

And it was really surprising when your class was over and you saw him leaning against a black car with black windows, with sunglasses adorning his face. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a lollipop on his mouth and that fucking weird mustache still on his face.

"Ready to go home?" He asked, almost bored when you finally reached him.

"Are you insane? You look like a creep! You're gonna freak the other kids out, Lloyd!"

"Okay, I was expecting a nicer greeting from you. Haven't you missed me?"

"No." You lied. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you could be a child molester for all I know."

"All right, now you've really offended me." He threw the lollipop on the curb and took the sunglasses off. "Don't even joke about that, I'm not that kind of sicko. Get in the fucking car right now, and don't make a scene."

Gritting your teeth, you let him open the passenger door for you and got inside his car. It was probably really expensive, with nice leather seats and everything.

"My grandparents are gonna kill you." You stated when he got in the driver's seat and turned the engine on.

"They're not doing shit, kiddo. I paid a little visit to them earlier, and they agreed to let me take you with me for a little while. They didn't even fight, by the way." Then, he leaned closer, like telling you a secret. "I don't think they like you that much."

"Oh, you're insufferable! Did you threaten them? Did you hurt them? Lloyd, I swear to god-"

"I didn't do shit!" He snapped, gripping the steering wheel in his hands. "Your grandparents fucking owe me for screwing everything up for me, now keep your mouth shut and enjoy the ride!"

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Didn't I just tell you to shut up?"

"Fine!" You screamed in defeat. If he wanted you to stay quiet, you were going to give him the silent treatment. He turned the radio on, with a satisfied smile on his face.

Lloyd drove like a drunk teenager, getting angry honked at in a ridiculous amount of times in just a few minutes. If you were still on speaking terms with him, you would've scolded him for that.

It was when he ran the red light that your panic attack came. You started hyperventilating, feeling sweat in your palms, and you chest tightened at the dread that cursed through your veins.

He side-eyed you, noticing how you were grabbing the seat with white knuckles.

"Hey, kiddo, be nice to my car."

You didn't move, though. You closed your eyes, feeling your head starting to spin. Oh no. You were about to throw up.

"Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to-"

He got cut off by the sight of the tears streaming down your face, and he slowed down. You finally felt your breath coming down to normal, and you sobbed.

Lloyd pulled over on the street, and you opened the door as fast as you could, just in time for you to vomit in the curb. He put his hand on your back and you stiffened, but calmed down when he stroke it gently.

"I'm sorry, kiddo." He felt like a dick. He realized you were probably terrified of cars now that your mother had been in an accident. You kept silent and finally closed the door, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.

He drove slower then, leaving town on the main road and approaching the countryside. When he entered a nice trail and stopped in front of a giant iron gate, you almost rolled your eyes. Of course this prick was rich.

The area looked lovely all the same. You could picture yourself leaning against the big oak tree while reading a book, a tire swing on the lowest branch. 

Lloyd finally turn of the car, and turned to you.

"Before we go there let's just go over the basic rules. Not calling me daddy: it's Lloyd for you. Not testing my patience. Not sneaking into my things. And just so you know, I'm not above beating a child. It's better if you know your place by now.

You didn't spare him a second glance and got out of the car, adjusting your school bag on your shoulder. Why was he such an ass? It wasn't like you wanted to be there. You were perfect fine vegetating by the side of your vegetating mother.

You followed him inside, admiring the immaculate white floor, the tapestry and all that expensive shit that looked extremely nice. His grand foyer had two staircases, and a giant chandelier hang on top of it. 

"The first room on the left is yours. Mine is on the right. Do not go into my room. Or any other rooms. If you get bored just take a nap or something." He clarified. You couldn't bite back the remarks anymore.

"So you just brought me here to patronize me?" You asked him in an angry tone.

"Patronize you? Oh, your mother raised a little feminist, didn't she? Bet you despise all men and all that bravado." He mocked you.

"No, you're actually the only man I despise, Lloyd. Don't worry. I'll stay out of your way, I don't feel like torturing myself by spending time willingly with you." You spat back and went upstairs on the left staircase. When you got in the midway he yelled at you:

"By the way, the kitchen is free and open 24/7. Don't go starving on me, kiddo!"

You gave him the could-shoulder and opened the first door on the left, looking wide-eyed at the interior.

There was a four-post bed, with luxurious tule canopy adorning with the purple comforter set. On both sides of the bed, twin nightstands that had the same royal-looking lampshades. In the center of the room, a fur round white rug, with a coffee table and two baby pink armchairs around it.

There was a vanity table that was also white on the corner, and the wall facing the bed had two doors. It was probably the closet and the bathroom.

On the other wall, two french windows that had beautiful creme colored curtains. The walls had a flowery wallpaper, and coming from the high ceiling a pending light.

"Pretty fucking awesome, right?"

You let out a shriek, holding your chest in your hand. When did he get behind you? Sweet Jesus.

"Don't I even get a "Thank you, Lloyd, for your kindness"? I did redecorate it, you know. I started doing it even before I got the lab results on your DNA."

You turned your head to him.

"Oh, yeah, about that. 99,9% your father. We still got a lot of catching up, don't we, daughter?"

"It's Y/N for you." You told him and put your bag on the bed, making an acquaintance with it. That mattress would surely be a problem when you'd have to get up to go school. "Where are my things, by the way? I need my stuff."

"Your grandma packed you a suitcase with your things. I threw your old laptop out, and bought you a new one. A new phone too. It's all set up for you. There are new toiletries in your bathroom, and I don't know if you wear makeup or not so I bought anyway and put in your vanity.

That was nice, but you didn't care.

"I want to see my mom."

"No, you don't. You're not spending the rest of your life by her side, that's not healthy."

Your face heated up in anger.

"You don't have a say in that! I want to see my mom! What if she wakes up and I'm not there?" You yelled, and he just scoffed.

"Then I take you to her the minute she does. Now suck it up and be nice for a change, will ya?"

He left and closed the door. You hid your face in the pillow and screamed, crying until your head hurt.

It was almost eight p.m. and Lloyd spend the rest of the afternoon in his office, yelling at people over the phone and doing boring paperwork for Carmichael.

It was a nice distraction, because he didn't knew what the hell he was going to do with you. He would not be parading you in public, he had too many enemies to pull a stunt like that.

Maybe bringing her here was a mistake, he sulked. But he couldn't just let you go, not now that his most trusted man insisted he took a paternity test and arranged a nice bedroom for you in his home.

He could send you away at any moment, thought. He'd never get attached to an insolent mini him just because she was cute and shit.

Oh no. Nope. Not going in that territory. It was foreign, dangerous and he couldn't go back once he got there.

When he looked at his watch he cursed. He'd had to make something for you to eat (and hire a cook). 

Lloyd sighed when he reached the kitchen. It wasn't that he was a malfunctioning adult, but he couldn't cook if his life depended on it. He took no shame in admitting that he ate instant noodles when he wasn't dining at a nice restaurant, but he couldn't let you eat that crap everyday.

He googled an easy recipe. Thank God he'd made time to do the groceries, otherwise you two would have to go out to eat, which was a big no for him.

But he didn't know where his kitchenware was. Or what to cook. Or how to.

Okay, you'd survive with instant noodles tonight, he decided.

"What are you doing?"

"OH MY GOD!" Lloyd screamed, seeing your post-sleep face behind him. "Don't you ever sneak on me like that, I might end up shooting you, you little shit!"

You glared at him.

"Do you own a gun, Lloyd? Are you some mafia lord or something?" You pried, curiously.

"What I do is none of your business, and if someone asks you about me, you'll play dumb, which I suspect it won't be hard for you."

The harshness in his voice made you change the topic really quick.

"At least I'm not dumb enough to not know how to cook a meal. Now get out of my way while I make something for us to eat." You sassed at him and opened the fridge, looking for meat. You could feel his gaze burning into you, but paid no mind to him. 

In thirty minutes, you had the meat seasoned and sitting nicely in the oven, while you made some salad.

Lloyd was sitting in one of the chairs by the counter, angry-texting someone. 

"Dinner's ready!" you hummed, feeling your mouth watering at the smell. You got two plates in the cupboard and offered one to Lloyd, who gladly took it from you and started serving himself. You suspected he was quite hungry, but said nothing to spoil his sudden good mood.

After finishing your diner, you put the dishes away and soaked a sponge with water and detergent before scrubbing them, absent minded.

"When did you learn how to cook?" Lloyd asked you, too stubborn to compliment you.

"My mom taught me when I was tall enough to reach the oven and do the dishes. Told me I had to be independent and all."

"You two are pretty close, huh?"

"Well, she did raise me by herself."

"Okay, now you're just being an asshole."

That earned a grin from you.

Since it was Saturday, Lloyd decided that he would let you sleep until noon if you wanted to. He was reading his newspaper (okay, he was actually trying to solve the crosswords) while the maids mopped the floors and dusted the things.

He was surprised when he saw you dragging your little feet down the stairs, hair everywhere, yawning and wearing plaid pants with a black strap top.

"Slept well, kiddo?"

"Very." You replied, rubbing your eyes. "What are we doing today? And why do you have so many maids? Can I see my mom just for a while?

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Lloyd whined. "Thank God I wasn't around when you started to speak. Must've drove your mom out of her goddamn mind. Okay, how about we go shopping today? We can even have ice cream after, what do you think?"

"What about mom?"

"She's not going anywhere, is she?"

"Fuck you." You spat. 

Lloyd was stunned. He tore his gaze from the newspaper to you, and before he could scold you, you were running back to your room.

"That's not very nice, kiddo!" He yelled. "Say that to me again and I promise you'll be regretting it!"

"Sir?" One of the maids, a middle-aged woman, hesitantly spoke to Lloyd. "The girl was crying."

Lloyd sighed. He knew you for less than a month and you were already being an annoyance. His patience was running thin, he didn't know how much more of you attitude he could take before snapping.

He knocked on your door, and heard you sniffling.

"Go away!"

"Okay, kiddo! I hope you're decent right now, because I'm coming in!" Lloyd announced before opening the door to you with your face buried in the pillow. 

He sat on the bed, and you moved further from him when you felt the mattress sinking by your side.

"I'm sorry." That you are a little drama queen, he wanted to add. "Guess jokes about your mom are off limits, then?"

You said nothing, raising your middle finger to him with your face still on the pillow. He chuckled.

"So, we're even? Because I'm not having you talking back to me all the time, kiddo. At some point I'm gonna lose my shit and the moment that happens, I only hope for your sake that you're a good runner."

Your chest rose lightly, a sound of muffled laughter coming from you.

For a little while, things were good. Great, even. And that's how Lloyd sensed some shit would hit the fan at any moment.

Maybe you were too excited to finally have a father figure in your life, but you were actually happy for the first time after your mom's accident. Lloyd would have a chauffeur take you and pick you up from school, and you'd visit your mom once a week.

Your grandparents would go to Lloyd's house to see you and check on you (you learned later that it was their "arrangement" because Lloyd actually had something to hold over their heads).

You were eating chocolate ice cream while rocking softly in a bench swing Lloyd had people built for you with him on your side drinking his Scotch.

"I killed a cat once."

You said it so casually as if you were talking about the weather, and Lloyd choked so hard on his drink that you had to pat his back. 

He stared at you with tears in his eyes, still coughing.

"Well, it was an accident. I was three or four? I don't remember. Mom had found a cute grey kitten and she sheltered him for a few days in our home. I was so excited to have a cat!" You hesitated a little, and frowned at the memory. "One day, mom was cooking dinner and I hugged the cat. Hard. I suffocated him, and when mom found us she lost her mind."

"She yanked my arm really hard and screamed so harshly at me that I still have flashes of that moment. I cried, because I had no idea what was happening, and I didn't realized I've killed it."

"We never talked about that again, but I think my grandparents found out what happened later, because I spent some time living with them after that. They weren't on speaking terms with mom, and when she got me back they would supervise us and shit."

Lloyd considered you for a while.

"I appreciate us bonding over this happy story, but why are you telling me this now?"

"Because now I realize why she reacted that way, and why she disappeared on you. When you asked me if I had ever killed an animal when we first met, it didn't cross my mind. But then, I had a feeling. Killing animals in childhood is a classical sign of psychopathy. Mom overreacted because she thought I was just like you, Lloyd."

You looked over Lloyd with a little grin on your face.

"Stop being cute, kiddo. And just so you know, I'm a sociopath, there's a little difference. I wasn't sure that was the reason your mom left me, maybe she finally realized I really was fucked in the head in an irredeemable way. I reached out to her only once, and your grandfather got in the way and told me to leave her alone. They told me a little while ago that they knew about the pregnancy and they wanted to keep you from having me around." 

"Well, the effort didn't matter in the end, but okay."

"And the fact that I'm a sociopath doesn't bother you?"

You shrugged.

"Not really. You could be worse, it's not like you killed mom or something."

Lloyd tried to keep his cool. He was fucked.

You tiptoed the stairs, trying to make the smallest noise possible. Lloyd made you pinky promise him that you were going to stay in your room, but you were so hungry! And it didn't help you that he filled the kitchen with your favorite snacks.

You sighed in relief when you got some chips, a Ben & Jerry's cup and a bar of Hershey's. You hugged your food and when turned to go to your room, you screamed.

A man, about Lloyd's age, eyed you up and down, smirking.

"Damn, you're a bit young for him, aren't ya pretty thing?"

You cringed so hard at the way he said it, feeling disgusted. You just walked past him, trying to go back to your room as fast as possible, but he grabbed your arm, making you drop your snacks.

"Tell me, pretty girl... How old are you? Fifteen, fourteen... Wouldn't be my youngest, though." 

You wanted to kill him with your bare hands. With renewed animosity, you kicked his groin as hard as you could, and he let go of you to hunch to his front, wailing.

Before you could react, you heart a gunshot. The man's head blew with the impact, his body dropping to the kitchen floor and staining the impeccable floors. You were so shocked that you couldn't move.

"Go hide behind that door. Don't come out until I go there, you hear me?" Lloyd asked, voice hushed. He was already dragging you to the pantry room and locking you there. "Stay fucking quiet, kiddo."

You heard more gunshots and some yelling, and you laid on the floor, hugging your head as best as you could, your heart hammering in your chest.

All of this lasted maybe five minutes, but it felt like fucking hours. You were beginning to imagine the worse. Maybe someone hurt Lloyd, and he wouldn't come to save you. 

When you heart the lock of the door, you tried to drag yourself under a shelf, dropping everything.

Okay, you were screwed. You screeched when Lloyd's hand forced you on your feet, feeling so relieved that you hugged him.

He froze. And then, he explode:

"What the FUCK were you thinking? Coming out of your fucking room, knowing I had people over? Do you realize how dumb you were? Do you know what could happen to you if they realized you are my child?"

"I didn't know..." you tried to defend yourself.

"I TOLD YOU! I fucking told you Y/N, don't come out of your room when there's people over. They could be armed and they could kill you! You-" he interrupted himself, trying to find words to say. "You're grounded! For the rest of your life!"

"I already apologized!" you cried out, annoyed.

He took a deep breath.

"So what? You still could've get yourself killed!" He started raising his voice again. "If you get yourself killed, what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? Ever thought about that?"

Oh. You just realized it wasn't about you disobeying him (or making he kill so many people).

He cared about you.

"Maybe I would finally be in peace, without you nagging at me every fucking hour." You defied, chin up.

He sighed. And somehow, you knew you were in deep trouble. You swerved from him, his fingers barely grazing on your skin.

You let out a little scream while you ran from him, who was chasing you like a madman. You got in the nearest room and locked the door, breaking in a fit of hysterical laughter. 

You were so fucked right now.

"You fucking brat! Open the fucking door right now so I get to beat the shit out of you!"

"No!" You managed to yell back between laughing and sobbing.

"Get out of that way, I'm breaking this fucking door!"

"I'm gonna throw myself out of the window!" you threatened.

"I FUCKING DARE YOU! You little bitch! We are in the first floor! Go ahead, we're just getting started!"

You yelped when you heard his body colliding with the door, and ran to the window. You managed to escape just before the wood broke under the pressure of Lloyd's rage. You ran through the back of his house, the chilling breeze doing nothing to you as you were pure adrenaline. 

You yelled when he grabbed your middle and threw you over his shoulder, putting you down almost immediately.

"My fucking back!" Lloyd snapped, annoyed and panting, with his hand on his lower back. You burst into giggles. This bastard of a man could have his hands bloody, but how he managed to be so ridiculous doing so never ceased to amaze you. "Think this is fucking funny? The only reason I'm not beating you right now is because I'm tired, okay?"

"I thought we were just getting started." You teased him, and he started to chase you again.

Later that night, Lloyd had Klaus taking the three bodies out of the house. As you scrubbed the floors to clean the blood (Lloyd's punishment for you) you couldn't help but joke:

"You just traumatized me, dude. I'll probably need lots of therapy and shit to recover." 

"I think you'll survive." He replied coldly, leaning against the wall while he watched you.

"I had no idea a head could just blow up like that!" You continued. "I think there's some brain under my nails."

"Shut the fuck up. This is your fault."

"I don't feel guilty though. The man thought I was some plaything to you, he even said that he had younger girls... I'm glad he's dead."

"Not that I'm complaining that you are being surprisingly brave, but I think it's best if we hide your... Tendencies. At least in front of other people. Okay, kiddo?" He said and turned to leave to his office.

"Okay da-Lloyd." You corrected yourself before you could actually say the word Dad. Lloyd stopped in his tracks. "Lloyd, I'm so sorry, it slipped! I promise you I'm never doing that again."

He didn't turn to face you. You thought that was it, he was mad at you but would let it slide. You never saw the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, because all he wanted right now was for you to see him as your father.

It didn't take long for things to go down to shit. Lloyd was having a surprisingly smooth day, going to the city to have a meeting with Klaus and the rest of his minions. He left you alone in the house and when he got back and saw you sobbing on the front porch he something was terribly wrong.

He barely walked out of his car when you came at him, angry and punching his chest with your tiny fists.

"YOU ASSHOLE! YOU'RE THE REASON MY MOM GOT IN THAT DAMN ACCIDENT!"

He couldn't control your anger, tossing and screaming at him, punching and slapping and kicking. And he let you. Because he knew it was what he deserved.

When you were tired out, he tried to hug you, but you flinched away from him, letting such a pity cry come out from your throat that he felt like the Grinch when his heart grew so big it broke into his chest.

He could feel his heart breaking too.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry, you have to believe me when I say it wasn't on purpose. My minions were chasing this really bad guy, and his car crashed into your mother's."

You said nothing, the tears rolling down your cheeks, your eyes puffy and nose red. 

"I had no idea of her whereabouts after she broke things off with me all those years ago, you have to believe me when-"

"When you say you were just chasing a bad guy? Like you aren't one? Should I believe this was some sick coincidence, when you are rotten to the core, Lloyd?" you cut him off, the words cruelly coming out of your mouth. "My grandparents are coming to pick me up. I don't wanna see your face ever again. I wish it was you who got hurt, not my mom."

Your grandparents arrived shortly after that, and by their short "Hellos" and "Goodbyes" Lloyd could say they knew everything too.

But how did you find that out? 

Later, drowning the second bottle of Scotch in his office, when the gears in his mind finally stopped turning.

That asshole.

Klaus' lifeless body slipped from Lloyd's grasp. His motivation to reveal the truth about your mother's accident couldn't be pettier. Lloyd always knew that snake would betray him, but he hadn't expect it to hurt so fucking bad.

He got his most trusted men to keep an eye on you, and for weeks he got little news on you, the aching on his heart always there. When he found out that your mom had a brain death, all the hope of getting your forgiveness left him.

Still, he couldn't just leave you on your own.

Lloyd watched as you placed white flowers on your mother's grave, your hair messy and some streaks falling from your bun.

You suddenly turned to him, feeling watched. You rolled your eyes when you recognized the mustache, scoffing in annoyance. Lloyd took careful footsteps towards you, his hands on his pockets.

"I'm sorry, kiddo."

"You already said that." You replied softly, tired of arguing and tired of grieving.

"No, Y/N. I'm sorry I wasn't around to guide you through your early years. I'm sorry I wasn't enough that your mother felt like raising you by herself would be better than doing it with me. I'm sorry for storming into your life and messing you up, and I'm sorry for all the pain I put you through, and I promise you, it wasn't on purpose. I'd never hurt you on purpose. I'm sorry I'm not a good father." He finished, his eyes watering. You sniffed and gave in, hugging him and sharing your heartbreak.

You already lost a parent. You couldn't just turn your back on the other. You turned your head to him, still in his embrace: 

"Take me home, dad. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Lloyd happily complied. This time, he would make it right.

[august-anon]

Preliminary Data

For Tickletober Day 15: "Are you ticklish?"

Sorry it is Late!!! Though do we expect anything different from me at this point lol. It was technically written decently before the 15th, but real life got in the way and I couldn't edit it until last night, so alas

Also, Sarah, this one is for you. I hope you enjoy it ;)

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

Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation

Ship(s): pre-slash DaForge

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geordi/Ler!Data

Word Count: 3282 words

Summary: Data is curious about the act of tickling. Geordi agrees to be his unfortunate victim.

[ao3 link]

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

“I do appreciate your assistance in this matter, Lieutenant,” Data said, watching as Geordi sealed his chestplate closed. 

“Anytime, man, you know that. And we’re off duty. It’s just Geordi, Data.”

“Of course. Thank you, Geordi.”

Geordi smoothed Data’s pseudo-skin back over the seams of his chest cavity, rendering it invisible once more. “I just don’t know how you can sit still through it.” He made a discomforted noise. “Makes me shiver just watching.”

Data cocked his head. “While I do have pressure sensors to indicate when things are misaligned or there is enough force that I may become damaged, I do not feel pain in the same way that you would. I find no discomfort in the opening of my chest cavity, nor in the repairs you complete.”

“No, not that.” Geordi huffed a laugh, turning away to gather up his tools. “I just meant– I don’t know what I meant.”

Data looked down at his chest, tracing over the hidden seams of his chest compartment just as Geordi had done moments ago. He imagined how the gentle touch might feel if he had nerve receptors, why it might make one shiver. He ran a search through his databases, sifting through the information far faster than a human (or any other biological creature, for that matter) ever could.

Ah. Data understood what was happening, now.

“Geordi?”

“Yeah, Data?”

“Are you perhaps ticklish, by any chance?”

Geordi sputtered, fumbling with his tools and sending one crashing back down to the table. He whipped his head around to face Data. “What?”

“Ticklish,” Data repeated, cocking his head once more. “Sensitive to being tickled, which is to lightly touch a person or body part in a way that causes an itching sensation and often laughter. To my understanding, most humans–”

“No, Data– I know what tickling is. I was just surprised by your question.”

“Oh, I see. Are you?”

Geordi huffed another laugh. “You know, most of the time you’re not supposed to just come out and ask it, not unless you’re poking fun at someone, teasing them. It can be embarrassing, for most people.”

“I did not mean to offend.”

Geordi waved him off. “I know. Just caught me off guard, I wasn’t offended.” He shuffled his feet, turning back to his tools and clearing his throat. “And I am, for the record. Just a bit.”

“Interesting. May I try?”

The tools clattered again. “What?”

“May I try? I have never witnessed a reaction to tickling before, I find myself curious. I wish to know how one may react to it, in a more personal sense.” Data paused, running through his database again. “And from my research, I found that it is a form of bonding. We are friends, are we not, Geordi?”

“I– right, yeah. We’re– friends.” Geordi’s voice was strangled.

Data blinked. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just not everyday that your, ah, friend asks to tickle you.”

“It is not a common experience?”

Geordi shook his head, finally managing to get his tools put away and crossing his arms over his chest as he turned back to Data. His eyebrows were raised, visible above his visor. “Most people don’t ask, not unless they’re teasing, like I said. They just do it.”

Data did another search, the word tease in conjunction with tickle. “Teasing, because the use of it heightens the embarrassment and therefore the emotional aspect of the action, which can in turn heighten the physical sensation for some.”

“Right.”

“I am teasing you, right now?”

Geordi shifted his weight. “I mean. Clearly not intentionally, but…”

“But you still find yourself embarrassed by my words and actions.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Geordi fidgeted with his hands, then sighed, then moved towards the lounge area of his quarters.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Geordi?”

“Come on, tickle me.” Geordi flopped on the sofa. “Do your research, or whatever it is.”

Data slowly approached, cataloguing how Geordi warily tracked his every movement, more with sound than with sight despite the presence of his visor. Perhaps even this could be a tease. “Are you certain? I would not want to make you uncomfortable, or cause you anymore undue embarrassment.”

“Yeah.” Geordi lifted his arms, crossing them comfortably behind his head despite the way his biceps twitched like they wanted to come down. Data hadn’t even moved yet. “I– I trust you, you know. I can take it for a bit. For you.”

Data sat on the edge of the sofa, near Geordi’s hip. “Then, if you are certain, I will begin now.”

Geordi tilted his head up and away, biting his lip. Data reached out and hovered his hands over Geordi’s torso, hesitating. He brought up images and videos in his mind’s eye, examining the techniques used. Some even had tools in order to create particular kinds of ticklish sensations. Seeing as he didn’t have anything of the sort on hand, and this was a preliminary gathering of information anyway, Data carefully lowered his hands to Geordi’s sides and wiggled his fingers.

Geordi jumped, a grin leaping onto his face with the action, but did not laugh. He shifted his hips a little where he lay and his arms tensed in their raised position, but he did not squirm anymore than that.

“Does this tickle?” Data asked.

Geordi huffed. “Teasing, Data.”

“Apologies.”

“It’s fine, you can tease. And, uh, a little. I’m not very ticklish there.”

Data tilted his head. “Where are you ticklish?”

Geordi laughed outright, though it had nothing to do with the touch on his torso. “I can’t just tell you, that’s part of the fun. You have to figure it out yourself.”

“I see. I will continue my search, then.”

“Go for it.”

Data contemplated the situation that led them here – Geordi was perturbed regarding his chest compartment. The compartment itself took up most of his torso, where his stomach and sternum and parts of his ribs would be if he had them. Data examined Geordi’s midsection, referenced the data he had pulled up regarding tickling methods, and created a plan of attack. 

If he tickled more than one spot at a time, he wouldn’t be able to tell which was causing the laughter and squirming. Those particular methods would have to be saved until after he had discovered where Geordi’s “tickle spots,” as they were colloquially known, were. Some areas, typically softer ones, were able to be squeezed, while almost anywhere could be poked and prodded and subjected to wiggling and skittering fingers. Mouths were apparently an option as well, but Geordi was certain to have boundaries and Data was not willing to cross them simply for the sake of experimentation.

Perhaps it would do well to move inward, then upward. He would attempt Geordi’s stomach next and seek out sensitive spots there. Kneading and basic wiggling fingers seemed to be a commonplace method for this body part. Then, he would move up to Geordi’s ribs and chest. Squeezing was less common here, though not unheard of, but Data thought the lighter touches seemed the most comfortable. He didn’t quite have nails that grew out like many biological species, and which seemed popular in the act of tickling, but in the attempts to make him as humanoid as possible, he did have a short, blunt set of well-kept nails. Perhaps alternating between those and his fingertips would work best for Geordi’s ribs. Seeing as touches upon the torso were the instigator to this conversation, Data did not know whether to plan past that, or if Geordi would request they stop the gathering of information once the area was covered. Data decided to stop there, and create a plan “on the fly,” so to speak, if he was permitted further exploration.

Plan concocted, Data slowly converged his wiggling fingers inward toward Geordi’s stomach, paying careful mind to trace around the edges of the area where the seams of his own chestplate would be. Geordi flinched inward, looking as though he was fighting to keep his arms from flying down to protect himself, and, based on the sliver Data could see under the visor, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit!”

“Are you quite alright, Geordi?”

“Peachy!”

A split-second search, a reminder in which Geordi had used the phrase previously and what it meant, and Data nodded. Although Geordi’s throat and face seemed strained, it didn’t seem as though he was in any active distress. In fact, it seemed almost like…

“It is clear that you want to laugh. Why are you holding back?”

Geordi shook his head, his face contorting in what was probably a very amusing manner. Data hummed, switching to squishing the area around Geordi’s belly button. Geordi wheezed and folded in on himself, trapping Data’s hands between his knees and torso.

“Data! Teasing!!”

“I thought you said that the teasing was permitted?” He massaged his hands near Geordi’s hips and the edges of his stomach.

“Data, come on! Please!” Geordi wheezed. His grin was beginning to look painful.

Data paused. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

Geordi heaved out a breath, collapsing backwards onto the sofa once more. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, hiding his lingering grin. When he appeared to have composed himself, he crossed them behind his head once more.

“So, protesting is kind of a given when it comes to tickling.”

Data cocked his head.

Geordi pursed his lips, seeming to be picking his words carefully. “It’s such a powerful feeling, being tickled, that it can be unbearable – even if you don’t actually mind it. So sometimes, your body fights back and tries to get away or your mouth says things you don’t actually mean in a bit of a panic.”

Data absorbed this information. “Your pleading was not a sign of distress. You were simply overwhelmed by the sensation, and your mind and body were searching for an outlet.”

“Exactly, yeah. I’ll probably say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m getting tickled.” He turned his head and muttered into his bicep, probably not meant for Data to hear, “Especially by someone as ruthless and methodical as you.”

“And the teasing, this has also been acceptable?”

Geordi squirmed, despite there being no hands on him at the moment. “Yeah, it’s all fine.”

“In that case, how will I know when you are truly in distress, or when you truly want or need me to stop?”

“You can trust me to express when I really mean it, instead of it just being ticklish babbling. Like if I say ‘seriously’ or ‘enough.’ Just… listen closely, yeah?”

“I always listen closely to you, Geordi.”

Geordi cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. Carry on, then.”

Nodding at the permission, Data picked up right where he left off – massaging his fingers around Geordi’s hips and lower stomach. Geordi folded in half again almost instantly and grabbed at Data’s wrists, apparently unable to stop his bark of laughter this time.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“You had indicated that you were. Plus,” Data slipped a smug note into his tone, taking note of his research still running in the back of his mind, “perhaps it is better that you were unprepared. The surprise seems to have finally forced your laughter out.”

“Shut up!” Geordi’s words were now completely infused with laughter, drawing them out and removing their bite.

“I do not think that you mean that.”

Finding the massaging motions particularly effective in this area, Data moved upwards once more. Massaging around the edges of Geordi’s stomach had him rolling toward whichever side he felt was being targeted more, wiggling around in an almost worm-like fashion. Massaging the center of his stomach and around his belly button had Geordi letting out snorts between his laughter, which seemed to heighten his embarrassment as it won out over his instinct to fight back, and he released Data’s wrists to cover his own face. Massaging the area between Geordi’s belly button and sternum kept him giggling, but he was able to lie back on the sofa once more and catch his breath – a similar level of sensitivity to his sides, it seemed. He switched to lightly tapping and wiggling his fingers here, enough to keep Geordi’s nerves on edge but give him a well-deserved break at the same time.

“How are you doing, Geordi?”

Geordi let out an incredulous, high-pitched giggle, completely unrelated to the ticklish ones still spilling out of his mouth. “I think I am getting the most thorough tickling I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t think anything has ever tickled this much, ever.”

Data paused, just resting his fingers on Geordi’s torso. “Is that a compliment?”

Another one of those high-pitched giggles. “Yeah, Data, it’s a compliment. I’d call you a tickle monster, but I doubt a monster could be even half as precise as you.”

“If you are amenable, I would like to continue.”

Geordi’s head thumped back against the sofa. “Knock yourself out.”

Data hesitated. 

Geordi chuckled, raising his arms up once more. “That means go for it.”

Without further preamble, Data shifted his hands to Geordi’s ribs, attacking with fingertips first. Instead of the bubbly sort of giggles Geordi put forth when he was catching his breath, the giggles that escaped him now were borderline hysterical. His feet drummed against the cushions of the sofa and he gripped the cushions above his head to keep his arms from crashing back down. The higher Data went, the more frantic the giggling became.

“You seem exceedingly ticklish here.”

“Data, please! Cut it out!!”

Data hummed. “No. I do not think you mean that, either. However, please let me know when that changes.”

Geordi groaned through his laughter, scrunching his knees up to his chest before extending them outward again.

Satisfied with his preliminary fingertip exploration, Data moved back to the bottom of Geordi’s ribcage and began again. This time, he slowed down, carefully tracing and scribbling with his fingernails to get a more detailed set of data. Tracing between each bone led to Geordi’s squealing and kicking out his feet with even more vigor. Scribbling along the bones as far as he could before the couch blocked his access had Geordi near-cackling. His biceps trembled as they fought to stay up, his knuckles going pale where they gripped the cushions.

“That’s worse!” Geordi howled. “Light tickles are worse!”

“I believe that is the point. However, your input is noted, and very helpful to this gathering of information. Thank you, Geordi.”

“Screw you, Data!”

“I will take that as a panic response to the tickling, and the teasing being used to heighten your current state.”

Once again, the response only became more frantic the higher up Data moved. The cackling and squealing got louder and panicked, Geordi’s feet were going haywire behind him, and the mirth brightened Geordi’s expression beyond anything Data had ever seen. Slightly above the halfway mark, Geordi let out a particularly loud shriek and slammed his arms down over Data’s hands, pressing them tightly to his own torso.

“Please, Data, please. It’s gonna tickle so bad, come on man. Don’t do this.”

Data paused his hands, considering, and let Geordi catch his breath for a moment. He still seemed unable to stop giggling, or to free Data’s hands from where he had trapped him despite the fact that he kept flinching at their touch.

“Are you truly asking me to stop?” Data asked. “Or is this another instinctive protective response to an overwhelmingly ticklish sensation?”

Geordi made an aborted move, like he was going to cover his face before his arms remembered what they were trying to protect. “Instinct,” he mumbled.

“I see. Shall we continue, then? We may stop now, if you prefer.”

Geordi seemed to consider it. “We– we can keep going, but I don’t think I can take anything more after you finish this out.”

“That is perfectly acceptable. Whatever you are comfortable with. I would not want to cross your boundaries.”

A sheepish, almost embarrassed smile rose to Geordi’s lips. “It was kinda fun, actually. I didn’t mind it.”

“Is that so?”

“Shut up, Data.”

“Do you mean it this time?”

Geordi remained silent.

After a moment, Data twitched his fingers and Geordi yelped in response. “You said you were willing to finish out your ribs?”

Geordi squirmed under him, not facing him. “I don’t know if I can just… let you, like I was managing before. Whatever you’re doing – it tickles like hell.”

“So you would like to stop?”

“No, no. I just might need a little help is all.”

“What is it you propose?”

“You might have to pin my arms out of the way,” Geordi said. “Just for this last part.”

“So long as you are comfortable with it.”

Geordi huffed a laugh. “I’m the one telling you to do it, aren’t I?”

Data slipped his hands out from under Geordi’s arms, enjoying the new wave of frantic giggles it provoked. Once Geordi had composed himself, Data carefully grabbed each wrist and pinned them above Geordi’s head, stretching out his torso and leaving his ribs vulnerable. He could see Geordi swallow.

“I will have to do them one at a time,” Data said, “as I now only have one free hand.”

Geordi twisted and tugged at his wrists, but it seemed more born of nerves than a true attempt at escape. “I can’t tell if that makes it worse or not.”

“You will have to inform me after.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Data touched his fingernails down against Geordi’s ribs once more. He had taken note that Geordi responded especially well to the unexpected tickles, and this was no exception. Data believed “leapt out of his skin” would be an apt expression to use for the way Geordi reacted, his laughter loud and bellowing and desperate. His pleading started up again almost immediately, but he never used a tone or phrase that indicated an immediate need for the situation to stop, so Data continued.

“You seem especially sensitive here,” Data said. “What does it feel like?”

“It tickles dammit!”

“That much I can assess, yes. You’ll have to provide me details on the sensation once you are more cognizant.”

“Data!!”

Geordi was practically screaming by the time Data reached the top of his ribs, and it left him endlessly curious about the ticklishness of the underarm just beyond. He and Geordi had a deal, however, and he was not about to break Geordi’s trust. Instead, once he deemed he had enough information (and that Geordi had been well and thoroughly tickled out on that side), he switched to the other side of his ribcage. The renewed wave of pleading was even more frantic than the last.

“Worse! It’s worse, it’s worse!”

“Oh? How so?”

“Means more tickles – Data please! No more!”

“Do you need me to stop?”

Instead of an answer, Geordi simply wailed out, “It tickles!” which Data supposed was answer enough.

Sensing Geordi’s exhaustion, Data made quick work of the second side, or at least quicker than he’d done with the first side. When he was finished, he released Geordi’s wrists, and they immediately crashed down to wrap around his torso in protection. Geordi curled himself up into a giggly little ball, and Data waited patiently while Geordi regained his composure. Or, as much composure as a disheveled, tickled-out man could have.

Once Data deemed him cognizant, he couldn’t help but ask, “Might we continue this experiment another time. After all, it hardly seems finished, only gathering information about your torso.”

Geordi groaned out an exhausted laugh. “You’re a menace.”

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Bingyuan Oneshot

dreaming you the same sun in a different place

JRaylin441

Summary:

[Activating: Bonus Chapter – In Another Life]

[We notice that you are searching for someone. Would you like to accept the bonus chapter mission In Another Life in order to reunite with User: Shen Yuan, Bound Role: Shen Qingqiu?]

Shen Qingqiu disappears. Luo Binghe isn't going to let that stand.

Written for a Gotcha for Gaza prompt "Luo Binghe sucking Shen Yuan's dick (any dynamic)" from an anonymous prompter

Content Warnings: Subspace, amnesia, comphet, internalized homophobia, little bit of gray areas for consent (due to the last three things mentioned, as well as the system explicitly wanting them to have sex this way, more details in the final notes), manipulation (typical bingmei levels), undernegotiated kink, homelessness (not discussed in detail), dietary limitations, vague allusions to chronic pain, typical negative self-talk for binghe. As always, I have done my best to think of everything I should warn for but, if you think of something else, please let me know and I'll be quick to add it!

Read it on AO3 here (x)

Shizun disappears from the bamboo cottage in the middle of Luo Binghe's inner palace in the demon realm. More than that, he disappears from within Luo Binghe's arms, as they sleep curled around each other.

Luo Binghe had sworn that no harm would come to Shizun, now that they were married. The world had shown again and again that this was a promise that would be difficult for Luo Binghe to keep. For it to happen, at the very heart of his home, is a failure Luo Binghe cannot bear to look at for too long. He worked for so many years, to finally have the kind of power that would make it impossible to take the people he loves from him, and yet even this is not enough.

No cultivator or demon should have been able to access that room without Luo Binghe's knowledge. There is no trace of energy or invasive presence. Shizun was there, and then he was not, and Luo Binghe does not wake up until one of his arms falls through the space left behind, to hit the sheets below.

He rises from his bed in a fury and tears the palace apart in his search for Shizun. When that does not yield any result, he scours the cultivation sects, the Northern Palace, the hiding places of any demonic clans that may have hinted at some level of dissatisfaction with his rule.

When two days of searching still turn up nothing, Luo Binghe returns to his palace and calls together the court. What use is all the power he has amassed if he cannot wield it in a time like this? He paces and snarls and threatens each member of the court until they understand exactly how tortuously they will perish should his shizun not be found within the day.

And then, when he stops by his room (not to sleep - the combination of demonic energy and qi can be used to keep moving for days longer before he would need to sleep) to remove the trappings of court for more effective travel wear, a ghostly glowing blue box appears before his eyes.

[Activating: Bonus Chapter – In Another Life]

[Welcome to the System. We hope to provide you with the best possible experience. It is our sincerest wish that, during your time, you can fulfill your desires and, in accordance with your heart’s wish, learn more about your love interest. We hope you enjoy.]

[We notice that you are searching for someone. Would you like to accept the bonus chapter mission In Another Life?]

Luo Binghe reacts without thought, Xin Mo slicing through the glowing shape in a shatter of small colored boxes that immediately reform behind it. Insubstantial, then. Luo Binghe has fought enemies like this before, easily able to reform from a slashing hit. He jabs Xin Mo into the center of it, channeling his demonic qi though it until the blade is red hot and boiling the air around it. The box shimmers but stays present.

A heart demon. A qi deviation. A dreamscape.

He takes out each technique he has developed over the past decade of relentless attacks, and unleashes the full force of his martial prowess on this floating box, and still it remains. Unaffected and bright. Almost smug in the way that it follows his line of sight.

Luo Binghe does not have time for something like this. He needs to find Shizun. The box has not changed or made any move to attack. Luo Binghe checks the flow of his qi, both spiritual and demonic, but there is no tangible blip or drain.

Fine. If a floating box wants to follow him around, it can do that. He can see through it enough to continue on his way and Luo Binghe has larger concerns than this.

He moves the concern of the blue glowing box to the back of his mind and carries on with his earlier mission. Changing into more appropriate clothing for long travel and battle. He mounts Xin Mo right there in the center of his quarters and flies out through the large open pavilion at the back of his inner palace.

It is another several hours of relentless searching, in concentric loops out from his starting place. He reaches for his Heavenly Demon blood, which has never cut him off from Shizun since the moment he first made him consume it, but it remains just as silent as it has since he woke up with his arms empty.

It is getting hard to breathe, the way that bands of steel tension seem to be tightening around his ribs, pulling in close to his lungs and making each exhale rasp on its way out.

This happens sometimes. Used to happen all the time, back when he first joined the Cang Qiong sect, and then again when he was deep in the Endless Abyss. He can push through it, control his own blood to push his lungs to their full capacity, breathe deep and let it out. It is a simple matter of mental weakness, feeling overwhelmed by all the danger that seems to dog his steps. It is unhelpful and it changes nothing.

Luo Binghe forces his lungs open, breathes as best as he can, refocuses on his frantic reaching for any response from the blood he knows courses through his husband's veins.

He hasn't needed the reassurance of it since all the business with Maigu Ridge. Shizun has barely left his side since that moment, even more so once they shared a drink and took their bows together.

Luo Binghe knows that he fed his blood to Shizun in a moment of frantic weakness. He knows that it upset Shizun. That happened back in those horrible weeks of miscommunication and hurt feelings. He had just wanted to make it so that he could heal Shizun. He had just wanted to make it so that he would always know where Shizun was. He had just wanted to make it so that he could never be thrown away again.

It was a violation of his privacy and crossed so many of those boundaries that Shizun insists are so important. More than that, it scared him. That is the part that Luo Binghe can't abide by, in his memory. He hadn't meant to scare Shizun and he wishes it had happened differently.

Still, the blood parasites had been a blessing, while Shizun was trapped in the Water Prison and he had been able to check his position while using every scrap of self-control not to crawl on hands and knees to his side and lay his head on his lap, like he might have been able to as a young disciple.

They had been a blessing, while Shizun was dead for those long, empty years and Luo Binghe had laid beside him every night, dedicated himself to memorizing every cun of his body and repairing it. Doing everything he could to remind himself that the body was still here. The blood was still able to flow. There was still hope of bringing his soul back.

They had been a blessing, while he had been undertaking the terrifying and exhilarating honor of learning how to please Shizun as a husband does. The blood parasites had allowed him to guide relaxation, increase pleasure, maintain stamina, long past when a normal human cultivator might have needed to finish. They also allowed him to prevent any long-term pain or consequences, when Luo Binghe was still trying to learn how to channel the desperate hunger that craved under his skin into something loving and good.

He can feel the old, desperate thing at the core of him shaking off its slumber, soothed by the last year of stability but never gone. Shi-zun. Shi-zun. Shi-zun. It beats inside of him, along with his pulse.

He is flying through the air and watching for Shizun and pullingpullingpulling on the blood parasites but nothing is happening.

And then, the blue screen shifts a little, brightens a bit, moves itself back to the center of his vision.

[Activating: Bonus Chapter – In Another Life]

[We notice that you are searching for someone. Would you like to accept the bonus chapter mission In Another Life in order to reunite with User: Shen Yuan, Bound Role: Shen Qingqiu?]

Those words, reunite with Shen Qingqiu. It may be a cursed monster, offering a deal, but he has faith that he can defeat any enemy placed before him. He agrees with just a thought, before he has time to consider it for a second further.

One moment, Luo Binghe is flying over the forest on Xin Mo. The next instant, he is standing on a strangely level path next to the scream of metal carriages as they whirl past. The momentum of his flight suddenly interrupted makes him stumble for just a moment.

[The System was successfully activated! Starting C-Points: 100. Please ensure C-Points do not fall below zero, or the System will automatically mete out punishment.]

[You may earn C-Points through completing quests. Current quest: Locate Shen Yuan. Good luck!]

*~*~*

The city Luo Binghe has found himself in is much like any other city. There are pedestrians moving quickly down walkways, large buildings here in the center that grow smaller as you move toward the outskirts. A large city, to be sure, since the towering buildings stretch so far up and out in every direction.

Yes, there are strange carriages that seem to be loudly hurtling past on the road, making it impossible to cross safely on foot. Yes, there are strange magical light fixtures with no visible flame that allow Luo Binghe to see the strange, scandalous fashion the people of this place wear. Yes, he has no idea where he might go to find a map or gather his bearings.

But, Luo Binghe was thrown into the Endless Abyss while still a teenager and emerged stronger than before. Luo Binghe conquered the demon realms and easily could have done the same to the human realms, had he not found something he liked more. Luo Binghe had the best teacher to have ever lived.

All this to say: Luo Binghe may not be familiar with this particular world, but he has been taught for much of his life all the ways to quickly adapt and comport himself with dignity, no matter the situation. This world seems to have its own unique kind of magic, but it is populated with humans, and they can be counted on to respond to certain things in consistent ways.

Luo Binghe spends the next several hours as a man on a mission. He hides away his more demonic features immediately. He finds his way to a building that seems to provide clothing similar to that of the others walking on the street, and Luo Binghe copies what an individual in a painting on the wall seems to be depicting as appropriate fashion. With the speed his cultivation and demonic heritage grant him, it is not difficult to be a thief.

The people who live here speak with an identical dialect to the one that Luo Binghe grew up speaking, even if their word choice seems bizarrely informal and contains strange slang. The first two people he attempts to approach seem to be overwhelmed by his aggressive posture and intense focus, and so Luo Binghe watches those who walk past him, catalogues their interactions, tries again. This time, he is more able to mimic the humble, meek way to approach a stranger on the street, and he is able to pretend to be someone visiting from another town who is in need of guidance. The stranger points him in the direction of something called a Visitors Center, and Luo Binghe has his next goal.

It would be humiliating, lowering himself to this kind of begging, after all that he has done to earn respect. It would be, if it weren't for the fact that he would do things a hundred times more degrading for even the chance to see Shizun smile.

And, right now, his goal is so much more than just his husband's smile.

*~*~*

The woman in charge of what the locals call the Visitors Center appears to think Luo Binghe is some kind of incompetent stranger in need of coddling and gentle guidance like a child. Her soft touches and slow speech grate on him, but he grits his teeth and pushes through it. He does not know what he is doing in this world, nor how to begin to locate his husband within it. The blood parasites still are not working, and so he will need to learn the methods by which a normal human locates another in a city like this.

He needs her help. This is the kind of help she is offering, and he will take what is on the table if it brings him even a step closer to where his husband is. The mysterious System seems confident that Shizun is hidden within this strange world, and that's the only lead he has so far. It says that the next step is to locate someone called Shen Yuan.

So. He will sit at the chair she has pulled over for him. He will fill out the paperwork with her delicate hand resting on his shoulder. He will grin and bear the way that she keeps talking so loudly and so slowly and so directly in his ear, as if he isn't the emperor of an entire demon realm. The man who could have united the two realms. Could have ruled over both. Could have destroyed the world.

She provides him with a map of the area, circles a few locations that she says could be helpful when looking for more resources. She offers him something to drink which turns out to be water with a strange chemical taste, from some kind of sealed, flimsy, transparent container. She asks him if he has any relatives that she can put him in touch with.

And, finally, there's a question that might actually help them get somewhere.

"My husband," he says, "Shen Qingqiu." She starts at that, and then shakes her head as if brushing off an errant thought.

"You have the wrong word," she emphasizes, each word taking her three times as long to say as it should. "Do you mean your wife's brother?" Luo Binghe does not know what he has done to convince this woman that he does not know this language or that he is some kind of idiot. He would let it stand, but he cannot let someone brush off his Shizun like that.

"No, my husband." He wants to slow his speech down too, mock her to her face, rip out her throat for daring to make this take a moment longer than it needs to.

"Okay," she says, but with the tone of someone who is choosing to let someone think they are right when they know for certain that they are wrong. This is already longer than Luo Binghe wanted to spend without being reunited with his reason for existence. He was trying to do this the normal way, the conventional way, because sometimes that is the fastest way to get what you want.

The woman behind the counter works much faster with the long and vicious edge of a blade held to her throat.

"You will tell me where I can find Shen Qingqiu," and Luo Binghe's voice is the sleek, friendly threat that identifies him at his most dangerous. She does not use that condescending, bright tone anymore. In fact, she does not speak at all, making her way over to the glowing contraption and shaking beneath his grasp. Good. She understands the gravity of the situation and just how quickly Luo Binghe would kill her to get what he wants.

She explains that there are multiple people in this city with that name. Luo Binghe makes his displeasure clear enough that she provides papers with neat, staggeringly regular characters on them with a list of locations for each one.

He could leave it at that. But, well, Luo Binghe has always been paranoid and overcautious. His perfect husband always talks of Luo Binghe's intelligence. When he doesn't think Luo Binghe can hear him from the other room, Shizun will talk to himself about Luo Binghe being the best person in the world at solving puzzles and interpreting information. He likes to talk about something called an "eye queue" at the same time as all of that.

The truth is that Luo Binghe has always felt somewhat smart, but more than that is his burning and unrelenting desire to follow a single goal. He has always found himself uniquely able to push past any barrier or discomfort in order to get what he wants. So, if what he wants happens to be his husband's love and safety, he could see how that might look to Shizun as if he is particularly smart in all areas of life.

All this to say: Luo Binghe is bending every single ounce of his focus and will and eye queue to this task.

The strange glowing blue box is a menace and he will never forgive it for being seemingly involved in whatever took Shizun away from him. It is also the only thing that seems to have an idea of what is going on. And, twice now, it has mentioned the name Shen Yuan.

He doesn't have all of the pieces to this puzzle yet, but Shen Yuan seems to be someone important, and he has no desire to come back here.

She provides another several sheets of paper. This seems to be an even more common name in this large city. No matter. He will do whatever needs done.

He does not thank the woman. Rather, he deigns to leave her alive on his way out the door to find his Shizun.

*~*~*

He has been to visit a total of twenty-four places of residence, so far. It took a while to figure out how this strange world organizes itself and denotes location. He had stopped someone else on the street, showed them the nonsense written on a page under the first option for Shen Qingqiu. They had pointed him in the right direction, drawing a simplistic map on a small piece of parchment that they were carrying with them.

Luo Binghe is a single-minded arrow. He had focused all of his logical abilities on understanding how the strange combination of words and numbers could have led him to the location he found himself at. It still took one more helpful stranger before he felt truly confident trying it for himself. Beyond a few complications, such as the first time he came across the secondary numbers that come when there are many small residences stacked together like an inn, Luo Binghe has managed to figure out this process quickly.

The first residence he found was occupied, and an elderly man responded to his knocking and call of the name Shen Qingqiu. He did not, however, answer to the title Shizun, nor did he bear any resemblance to Luo Binghe's missing husband. He had turned around and moved on to the next location almost as soon as he had made contact.

Luo Binghe moved through the rest of the list in a similar manner. Some of the Shen Qingqius were not in their home. He would lurk outside for a day or so, waiting to see them come back. Sometimes that worked. Other times, he would move on to the next and come back a few days later to see if anything had changed. On the two occasions where the home had still been empty, Luo Binghe had simply broken into the residence.

Many individuals in this world seemed to be quite fond of keeping incredibly realistic images of themselves and other important people as decorations around their homes, and he was able to quickly confirm that these homes, too, likely did not contain his missing Shizun.

Luo Binghe knows how to live in a world that does not know how to accommodate him. He knows how to carry on for days on end in a search for his Shizun. He knows how to feed himself when he has no currency. When he reaches the end of the list of Shen Qingqius without finding his husband, he turns his attention to the next lead.

Luo Binghe moves to consider the input of this cursed glowing blue box. When he reaches out with his mind and requests an update, similar to how he once communicated with Meng Mo, the System responds.

[Mission issued: In Another Life]

[Current quest: Locate Shen Yuan. Current C-Points: 100.]

[The System is here to provide fast and consistent service. We wish you a swift success.]

And that was the only lead left, so Luo Binghe had started his way down the other list, the one containing all the strangers named Shen Yuan.

It's a very similar experience, going through this list. The same arduous process of crossing off every individual, except this time Luo Binghe has to check with the System rather than his own perception, as he has no idea what it is the System is trying to have him locate in the first place. He assumes that it will alert him, whenever it happens.

In the end, it doesn't actually need to. The blue boxes are infuriating and distracting, and so Luo Binghe has ordered the System to keep them out of his sight unless he specifically requests an update.

When he arrives at this newest residence, there is nothing immediately remarkable. He has learned, at this point, that this is one of the cleaner, more difficult to access, and larger spaces he has been to, which he assumes means that the person living here is wealthier than some of the other Shen Yuans or Shen Qingqius.

Luo Binghe knocks on the door. For a long moment, there is no answer, and he is mentally preparing for his usual approach, scoping out the hallway for the best locations to begin a stakeout without being identified as a suspicious person. Some of these doors have the small, circular magical talismans outside them, which he has learned can be used to view this location from any distance away. Sometimes they even allow for an individual to recall and view this information long after something has occurred. They are fascinating technology that he would like to bring back with him, if possible. They also make his task significantly harder.

The door opens, and a young man is standing on the other side. He has short hair, in the manner that Luo Binghe has learned is typical in this world. He is wearing pants made of soft-looking, drooping fabric that pools on the floor around his feet and seems to have frayed where he steps on it, as he is currently. He has worn house sandals on his feet. His shirt is larger than seems to be the typical style, and a large, bright drawing of a woman with white clothing and long blue hair in two separate tails is splashed across the chest. There are large glass spectacles on his face, something that wasn't unheard of in Luo Binghe's world but seems significantly more common in this strange place.

He is...slight. With wide brown eyes and soft limbs. Most importantly, he is not Luo Binghe's Shizun, so he couldn't care much either way.

"I didn't think I ordered anything," the man says, and he smiles at Luo Binghe like he is trying to invite him in on a shared joke. "But it's pretty easy to lose track these days."

He is holding out his hands, with an expectant look on his face. As if he is waiting for Luo Binghe to put something in them. This is not the first time one of the people he has visited has assumed that he is there to give them something. It must be normal in this world.

Luo Binghe should just turn and walk away, as he has with every house before this. There is something, though, about this particular Shen Yuan, that is making that difficult. Something in the elegant tilt of his wrist as he holds his hands out. Something in the soft way he met Luo Binghe's eyes before making his soft-spoken and self-depreciating joke.

"Shizun?" Luo Binghe asks, because he does not care for even a moment about embarrassing himself when Shizun is on the line. The young man, Shen Yuan, jerks his head back a little bit in surprise. He laughs awkwardly and lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"Um, no. Do you need help with something? Why are you here?"

He said no, but the uncanny resemblance in movements is becoming more and more overwhelming the longer he speaks. There is something in the way he shifted his head when surprised and scrambling for his bearings. Something about the way that he curled his tongue around his words when he spoke them. It shakes in Luo Binghe's bones, the familiarity of it all.

"Shen Qingqiu." And he demands it this time, stepping assertively toward this Shen Yuan, because something strange is happening here and it has to do with Shizun and he needs to understand it as soon as possible. The young, slight man seems to skitter back a step without even thinking about it.

"Um?" And his voice has gone high and questioning, and it's Shizun. It's him. Luo Binghe knows him. "What the fuck is happening? Are you talking about Proud Immortal Demon Way right now?" Crude language but more and more the certainty is beating along inside Luo Binghe's chest.

He pulls up the System to check, and it bursts into being before his eyes with a small shower of what seems to be colorful paper, that only Luo Binghe is able to perceive.

[Congratulations! System notification: Shen Yuan has been located. Current quest completed, C-Points +50. Current C-Points: 150.]

[Initiating next quest: Even in This World? User Luo Binghe may earn C-Points by increasing positive feelings between himself and Shen Yuan.]

[Good luck!]

He wants to grab it out of the air and crush it between his fists, but he's already tried that and knows it doesn't work. What matters now is that the System told him that this mission would reunite him with Shizun, and now it is telling him he has made progress toward that goal. The man before him has so many of Shizun's mannerisms that it is impossible not to know him.

Luo Binghe does not understand what is going on, but he knows that he cannot leave this place yet.

If this is his Shizun, then he does not seem to recognize his husband. Some kind of memory loss, perhaps. Or maybe some kind of possession.

If this is his Shizun, then Luo Binghe knows him well enough to know that he looks uncomfortable. This is the kind of smile he puts on when he wants Shang-shidi or the sect leader to leave already, and they are not picking up on his blaring hints. Usually, this is the point when his doting husband would step up and happily enforce Shizun's desires.

He can't be sent away. Not yet. He needs a reason to continue this conversation.

He knows his husband.

"Can you help me, please?" Luo Binghe changes his posture, his voice, everything. He softens his stance, looks down, glances back up with eyes limned in tears. His hair is long and slightly unkempt after days of living with other priorities. He looks a little bit like a mess already and, with these changes, he now looks pathetic and worthy of pity as well. It is the sort of thing his husband could never resist, with that tendency to take any undeserving menace under his wing in a blink.

And, sure enough, there it is. The subtle shift in posture, in the crinkling of his eyes, and Shen Yuan is leaning out of the doorway, eager to be helpful. Luo Binghe's heart is going to leap out of his chest and land at his feet. He is going to fall to the ground and cry genuine tears and hold on to his Shizun's ankles until he can never leave him again.

Instead, he fumbles into the pockets that exist on these strange clothes. They are in the pants rather than the sleeves, and are small and somewhat difficult to access, with the way that the thick fabric clings so tightly to the body.

Even so, there are papers in his pocket, containing a list of names and addresses. Some of them he has ripped to shreds with his teeth in frustration. Some he has left behind him on the street. This one, though, remains. It contains only one set of information, for some Shen Qingqiu who is not his Shizun. Luo Binghe removes it from the rest of the papers and holds it gently toward this strange version of his Shizun, making sure that his hand is trembling just a bit with the movement.

"I have never lived in a city this big. I came from far away and have always lived in a small town. I can't seem to find my way to anywhere I need to be." This Shen Yuan is leaning forward even more, opening the door wider to make up for the way that it tilted closed when he pulled away earlier. "Please, I need help finding my mother's friend. She said I could find him here."

Shen Yuan gestures Luo Binghe a little closer, and he easily goes. He doesn't smell like Shizun. He smells like a human who has been sitting in the same room for a long time and has been wearing the same clothes for much of that. Beneath that, his demonic senses are able to detect the more unique, individual scent that every person carries, but even that is nothing like his Shizun. He reaches out with his demonic blood, but again, there is no response from any blood parasites.

"Oh!" Shen Yuan exclaims, looking closer at the paper. "His name is Shen Qingqiu. That's funny. I never really thought of that as a name a normal person might have."

Luo Binghe isn't sure what he could possibly mean by that. He knows for a fact that there are multiple "normal" people with that exact name throughout this city, so he cannot see what the surprise might be. He cocks his head to the side a little bit, because it makes him look young and cute and because his Shizun always tracks the moment with his eyes when he does it. Sometimes he gets headpats out of it too.

This Shen Yuan tracks the moment too, eyes lingering for a second on Luo Binghe's neck, the fall of his curly hair. Luo Binghe watches him take a single, rough swallow (and it's Shizun, this is what Shizun does when he wants Luo Binghe) and then he flushes bright red (something his Shizun would never do and what does that mean) and returns to looking at the paper.

"This is all the way on the other side of the city. How did you end up over here?" He tsks his tongue lightly under his breath and turns in a little circle, seeming to try to get his bearings. The sound cuts through Luo Binghe. There are tears that want to gather in his eyes, because he could swear that this is his Shizun except for the cold way he doesn't seem to recognize his husband. Except for all the little mannerisms that are different. Except for the body that looks nothing like him.

It does, somewhat, now that Shen Yuan is studying the paper and Luo Binghe has more time to study him, look a little bit like the mushroom body that his Shizun inhabited for several weeks. He would never forget any form that his Shizun has taken, and there is something here in the shape of the nose, the color and texture of the hair.

And what does that mean? Is that a clue or a coincidence? There are no answers, and the System has provided no additional information, and Luo Binghe can feel his breath wanting to go unsteady and ragged the way it does when he lets his weakness overwhelm him. He ignores it, uses his blood to force his lungs into a steady pattern. He can't afford to draw attention from this Shen Yuan or show any genuine vulnerability until he is better able to understand what is happening.

"Here. I can draw you a map. Let me just..." Shen Yuan trails off, pats at the pockets of his comfortable, baggy pants, and then starts back toward the inside of his residence. "You can come in. I'll need to get a pen and paper."

And then he leaves to walk further into the house. If this is his husband and his memories have somehow been removed, then Luo Binghe is going to have to have a conversation with him later. Because this is not a safe decision at all. A strange man arrives on your doorstep, larger and stronger than you on every dimension, and you turn around and invite him inside! Luo Binghe could be a robber! This is why he needs to be at Shizun's side at all times. His wonderful husband is far too prone to assuming the best of others.

Luo Binghe follows anyway, because he certainly doesn't mean his husband any harm, and also because he is helpless to do anything but that now that he has finally managed to find his Shizun. Probably.

That quest from the System is still glowing in the corner of his vision, as if Luo Binghe needs any motivation from the System to increase positive feelings here. If this is his husband, and his husband does not remember him, then Luo Binghe has exactly two priorities.

1) Make his husband fall in love with him again and

2) Get his memories back from whoever dared to take the memories of the emperor's consort

The residence is larger than many of the ones that Luo Binghe has broken into in the past few days. There are huge, open windows along entire walls, and he is able to see further across the city than he has from any of his other locations. Able to see just how much space he has covered and been lost in so far.

Shen Yuan is bustling around over in a room that Luo Binghe has learned serves as a kitchen, from a time when he was watching the wife of one of the other Shen Qingqius through the window and waited for him to arrive.

And there.

Hmmm.

There, in the kitchen, are several small little decorations. At first, they do not draw Luo Binghe's eye at all. It feels quite normal to have a sword on display in a home, until he looks closer and sees the shoddy craftsmanship of the sword, the poor quality of the tassels hanging from the end. This is not the sort of weapon that would hold up in a fight and is, therefore, not the sort of weapon one usually sees on display. That, in addition to the fact that he has not seen any other homes with weapons on display like this, and Luo Binghe is starting to feel confused.

He looks around the room, through the doors he can see into from his position at the table. Shen Yuan is puttering around the kitchen with the same harried relaxation that his Shizun has always demonstrated when he's happy to be taking care of another person and is resisting the urge to dote. He's not sure what he would do if Shen Yuan tried to dote on him right now. There is clearly some connection between him and his Shizun, but this is all still very confusing.

And then, Luo Binghe catches sight of something strange through one of the doors that seems to lead into one of the sleeping chambers here. There, mounted on the wall and visible even from the kitchen, seems to be Xin Mo. But, Xin Mo if someone had seen it several times and then attempted to describe it to someone else. And then that person had tried to make it after only a brief apprenticeship in bladesmithing. The balance is clearly all wrong and the decorative metalwork ornamentation on the sheath is laid terribly, so that it would clearly get in the way of movement in battle and catch on robes.

But it is meant to be Xin Mo. The coloring is right. The blade is pitch black where it sticks out of the sheath. Most damningly, Luo Binghe's demonic huadian is traced into the metalwork near the pommel. Which would never be the case. It's tacky, first of all. It's unnecessary, since Xin Mo is always at his side. On top of all that, Xin Mo was not created for him or his bloodline. It's a blade that he discovered buried deep in the Abyss for centuries and forcibly tamed to his will.

Still. It can be no other blade than the scourge of the demonic realms.

Is this a sign, from that terrible System? What would it be doing here in this world? Does Shen Yuan know that it is there?

"That is a strange blade you have," Luo Binghe tentatively posits. He can pass it off as his speaking of the blade on display in the kitchen, if Shen Yuan cannot see this fake Xin Mo for any reason. Instead, he walks over with eager steps, when he sees the direction Luo Binghe is looking. He's got a light in his eyes, the way Shizun always does, if you're watching closely for it, that means you have stumbled upon a topic that he would love to discuss for the foreseeable future.

There are differences too. Primarily, there is a large and excited smile spread across Shen Yuan's face, in a manner that his Shizun would never allow, not even after a year of marriage, without the safety of a fan to hide behind.

The differences are itching under Luo Binghe's skin.

And then, well, there is something significantly more distracting happening.

"Oh!" Shen Yuan is eager. "That's called Xin Mo." How strange, to hear him say the blade's name without the tinge of bitterness and dislike that usually flavors it. Shen Yuan is excited to bursting and is holding himself back from saying more. This is something Luo Binghe is familiar with navigating.

"It's a lovely blade. This one wonders how someone such as Shen Yuan came across something like this."

The moment he's accustomed to, even if there are more expressions on display than ever before. The hesitant side-glance and smile. Luo Binghe leans forward on the table, rests his chin on his hands, clearly gives Shen Yuan his full attention. The brightening of his expression. The unlocking of the flood.

"It was certainly hard to come by, you're right about that! The etsy store that sells those only makes a few a year and they sell out faster than you would believe. I had to keep notifications up for that store for months before I was able to act fast enough."

"What is the significance of this blade, that Shen Yuan dedicated so much effort to acquiring it?"

The twitch of a hand that would generally precede his reaching for a fan. In this strange alter world, Shen Yuan turns his face away and speaks while facing the sword itself.

"Ah, it's from a novel that I read. The main character has a sword like that, and I thought it was pretty cool." The side-glance again, waiting for a sign as to whether this was okay to talk about. Luo Binghe is very good at lying. He keeps his face amiable and interested enough to keep Shen Yuan talking. It is effortless, almost, to take all the turmoil brought about by that statement and hide it behind a smile and soft eyes.

And Shen Yuan is happy to take the encouragement. He lights up, waving his hands through the air, as he starts to describe a book that he claims is poorly written and fails to live up to any of its potential. He discusses his deep interest in what he refers to as "worldbuilding" and the "monster lore." And then, as he continues on, he starts to describe his favorite character. 

Luo Binghe

It's strange, to hear him say that name, specifically. Shen Yuan speaks with the same nuance, the same quirks, as his beloved Shizun. When he comes to this name, though, something is terribly off. There is excitement and interest, sure. Shen Yuan clearly seems to like this character in this book that he is reading. That much is obvious.

But, well, it's still different. When Shizun says his name. When he calls him so sweetly, Binghe, husband, there is so much more in his voice. In that one word, Luo Binghe can hear the fondness that has grown over a decade of shared joys and struggles. He can hear the tentative love and attraction that he agonized to hear for so long.

The way Shen Yuan says it now, by comparison, is so very strange. Affectionate and passionate but distant. A concept rather than a person.

Luo Binghe maintains his mask. He will not let on to anything going through his mind until he is able to gain a better understanding of the situation he has found himself in. By continuing to show interest, he is led further into the residence, into the sleeping quarters.

There are paintings. There are small statues and larger statues. There are pillows. A thousand items, all covered in what is clearly intended to be a representation of Luo Binghe. There are minor inconsistencies, sure, but it is the same as the Xin Mo replica, where the inconsistencies make it even more obvious who this is intended to be.

It's not just Luo Binghe, though. It is Luo Binghe at his worst. At his most monstrous, his most demonic, his most blood-spattered. The version that he tries his hardest not to be again. The version he tries to hide from his Shizun and himself. Something that is not worthy of the love of a peak lord of Cang Qiong sect.

The whole room is set up as something like a shrine to Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan guides him eagerly through each item, discussing just how hard he worked to acquire it. He calls him Luo Binghe, or just Binghe or, sometimes, bafflingly, Bing-ge (and that one grates against the shock of Luo Binghe's mind in the same moment that a flame of curiosity flares in his chest). He recounts the "scene" each image or statue is from, listing off some of the most horrifying and upsetting moments that Luo Binghe has ever lived through as if they are common knowledge. As if Luo Binghe has ever had the courage to mention them to a single living person, even his own husband.

The mask is strong. After all the different things he has lived through, all the terrible things that this Shen Yuan seems perfectly aware of, it is no matter at all for Luo Binghe to smile benignly and ask interested follow up questions, even while his breathing tries to go short again and he can feel the terrible, devastating panic yawning up within him.

This is normally when he would stop whatever he is doing. As a child, he would hide himself away in the woodshed. As a young man, he would search for wherever Shizun was and cook him one of his favorite dishes. As a new emperor, mourning the loss of the love of his life, he would find the newest threat to his power and decimate it with extreme prejudice. More recently, he has been attempting to share some of how he feels with his husband, in an effort to build what Shizun insists is healthy communication.

He cannot go to his Shizun right now. Because the person in front of him is either some strange, alternate version of his husband, someone with all his husband's memories removed, or someone who has taken over parts of his soul and body to use them for some nefarious purpose. No matter what, this is not someone Luo Binghe can trust with healthy communication.

He makes it through the next hour of conversation. It would be cute, if he could be sure that this is his Shizun, the way that he so eagerly talks about this topic. It would be cute, if Shen Yuan was not speaking eagerly and happily about the worst parts of Luo Binghe and the worst things that had ever happened to him. It would be cute, if the conversation did not occasionally swerve in truly incomprehensible directions, such as the amount of sex Luo Binghe tends to have with random women and the staggeringly large harem he has supposedly collected.

He makes it through the conversation with a smile and encouragement. When Shen Yuan finishes explaining every piece of "memorabilia" in his quarters, he remembers what had led them here in the first place and scrambles to return to drawing a map for Luo Binghe to make his way to his friend.

Luo Binghe pouts, flutters his eyelashes again, leans hard on the rapport they have built over the past hour of his listening. Shen Yuan takes very little convincing to join him in a walk across the city. Part of Luo Binghe wants to test him in other ways, try to determine just what is happening here. But, whoever this Shen Yuan is, it is obvious that he is either the best liar Luo Binghe has ever met, or completely oblivious to the larger game at play. And he is so knowledgeable about this strange other-Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe still does not know what is going on, but it must somehow be related to this. What a strange thing to include in the alternate world, otherwise.

He will think about it more, allow the panic to come, once he is on his own again. For now, he will gather all of the information that he can from someone who knows more than him.

"This book," he starts, walking down the streets of the city as though he has lived in this world his whole life, easier to do after the days of searching, "you said that it was called Proud Immortal Demon Way?"

"Yes!" Shen Yuan enthuses. "Why? Were you thinking of reading it yourself? I've already spoiled a lot of it."

"I ask because, when this one arrived at your door, you asked if I was talking to you about that book, I think." He had. Luo Binghe had said the name Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan had said are you talking about Proud Immortal Demon Way right now?

"You're right. I completely forgot about that. It's because Shen Qingqiu, your mom's friend, he has the same name as one of the characters in the book."

And then it all goes a little sideways. Shen Yuan talks eagerly and without much need for encouragement, considering all the effort Luo Binghe already put into showing his interest. And that's a good thing, probably, because this is most definitely some kind of clue, but Luo Binghe cannot bring himself to even open his mouth, lest he do something awful like vomit on the pavement or start crying.

Shen Yuan speaks of Shen Qingqiu, the leader of Qing Jing peak, who was Luo Binghe's shizun. Shen Qingqiu, who was "an abusive and pedophilic piece of shit who deserved everything he got." Shen Yuan spits out facts with an impassioned fury that Luo Binghe recognizes from every other time his Shizun has encountered someone truly cruel.

If Luo Binghe thought it was bad before, hearing the details of his time in the Endless Abyss, this is worse. This is terrible.

Shen Yuan talks of Luo Binghe's first years on the Peak, before his Shizun had his qi deviation and changed. The beatings. The bullying. The boiling tea over his head. The woodshed. The blatant blind eye to his misfortune.

There are things from Luo Binghe's life that he does not think about. These are the majority of them. The horrible, awful years when he thought he had finally found a form of security and instead stumbled into relentless exclusion and pain. Rejected for a reason that he had never been able to understand. The pain bestowed by a version of his husband that no longer exists. The ache before something changed.

His husband is different now. Has been since the qi deviation. But that doesn't mean that those things did not happen. Luo Binghe has tried to explain it to himself a thousand different ways over the years. He still does not have a definitive answer.

In this awful, terrible story that Shen Yuan tells, Shizun never changes. Never becomes the kind Shizun that Luo Binghe married. In this awful, terrible story that Shen Yuan tells, Shen Qingqiu still throws his disciple in the Endless Abyss.

In this awful, terrible story that Shen Yuan tells, Luo Binghe rises from the Endless Abyss full of rage and revenge. He hunts down everyone who had ever hurt him and he kills them. The Luo Binghe of this story finds his Shizun. He traps him in the Water Prison of Huan Hua Palace, tortures him for days, cuts off all his limbs and tortures him still.

It's horrifying. Luo Binghe has imagined similar things, sometimes, at his very worst. But he has never acted upon those thoughts. And he has never considered something like that toward his Shizun.

"I recognize these streets." He speaks too abruptly, and it cuts off the end of Shen Yuan's story. Something about Yue Qingyuan and traps. Luo Binghe can't hear it. He can't see or hear anything past the images in his mind. "I know where I am going now, Shen Yuan."

"Oh," there is disappointment and hesitation in Shen Yuan's voice, and Luo Binghe should fix it, but he can't make any more words come out. He is going to cry. "Okay. I guess I'll let you go the rest of the way on your own then?"

He's waiting for an invitation to continue the walk, and it's one that Luo Binghe cannot give.

"Yes, thank you." He gives an aborted salute, realizing halfway through that he hasn't seen anyone do something like that in this world. Shen Yuan laughs a little and gives a sloppy sort of salute as well.

Luo Binghe starts to walk away, but he only gets a few steps before he hears Shen Yuan call out again.

"Wait!" He's taken a step in Luo Binghe's direction, and he needs out of this conversation, but he can never disobey his Shizun. If this is him. "If you need any more help, or if you just want to talk, you're welcome to come by again. You know where to find me and everything."

Is it Shizun? Is it Shizun? Is it Shizun? This Shen Yuan is staring at him with a kind of friendly desperation, his hand outstretched between them, and Luo Binghe would never dare to deny his husband such a simple request as this. Luo Binghe would never dare to grant a request like this from someone other than his husband.

"Thanking Shen Yuan for his help today," he grits out, because it's all gone so far past too much and he doesn't know what will happen next, "but this one must go now."

And he leaves, hustling off down the street, fading into the darkness as quickly and effortlessly as he can, so that Shen Yuan will not be able to follow him any further.

He can see, though, as the slight figure of Shen Yuan turns to make its way back the way they came. Part of him yearns to follow still, but there are too many thoughts shouting in his head.

Shen Qingqiu. His husband. The version of him that had been so cruel and unkind in Luo Binghe's childhood. A version of himself that had tortured him for days on end before finally killing him.

He sits down in the stench and damp of a side alley. It may be a different world, but a gutter is a gutter and Luo Binghe has sat in his fair share of them.

He needs a moment. Luo Binghe is famous for his strategic mind. His husband, in his softer moments, will say that Luo Binghe is the smartest man in the world. There is a puzzle here, and he will figure it out. He will uncover every mystery until he finds the path that will lead him back to his Shizun.

Three worlds. There are three different ones, at least as far as he has uncovered so far. The version of the world that he was born in, where he met his kind Shizun and married him. The version of the world that he is in at this moment, with its strange technology and lack of magic and potential other-world versions of people he knows. The version of his original world as told in a story in this world, full of staggering secrets no one should have access to and staggering inaccuracies that could never be true.

Shizun’s World

Shen Yuan’s World

The Cruel Shizun’s World

What does Luo Binghe know? He knows that Shizun disappeared from out of Shizun’s World. He knows that the floating blue boxes have followed him from one world to the next. The only consistency beside himself.

Shen Yuan is something of a consistency. There are common threads. All the mannerisms of his husband with none of the appearance. Although, again, Shen Yuan's face somewhat resembles that of the mushroom body his Shizun inhabited for a time.

This is edging close to something that Luo Binghe has been toying with for many years. The mystery of the kind Shizun. Because he had known Shen Qingqiu for years and years. He had studied his every mannerism, trying desperately to uncover the secret to keep him from flying into a violent rage. Luo Binghe, when he was younger, had made it his hourly mission to know where Shen Qingqiu was located, what he was doing, what mood he was in, what was happening to him at that time, how it might impact his mood in the future. He needed to do everything he could to know when to avoid him, when to bring him fresh firewood, when to stand still and take it.

It was the only way he could find to escape the whip and the hot tea and the bullying of his sect siblings. Luo Binghe had never gotten to the point that he could track it completely. He was too young. By the end of those first few years, though, he would argue that he could stand in the top five people who knew Shen Qingqiu best. Maybe not his deep secrets and history, but certainly his daily life and how it might influence his moods.

It was easy, then, to notice the shift after the qi deviation. When his Shizun turned distant and quiet and then, several weeks later, truly emerged as the kind Shizun that was so easy to love. That Luo Binghe worked for and admired and desired until he married him and could do it all even more.

Luo Binghe was watching closely. First to avoid danger. Then to try and understand what was happening. Then because he couldn't bring himself to look anywhere else.

He knows that the rest of the sect had concerns about possession. They thought they were so subtle, sneaking past with all their artifacts and tests and secret meetings. It was easy to see, though, from Luo Binghe's place on the very outside of everything.

He knows it was not possession or a curse. The sect would have noticed. He has formed his own theories over the years. His husband has claimed that it was the qi deviation, and that is possible, given the wide-ranging effects that a qi deviation can have. But, even so, what kind of deviation could create such a fundamental and lasting change? It was as if a completely different person was leading the peak. Different mannerisms, word choices, facial expressions, opinions on disciples, punishments, tastes in food. He would sometimes be able to recall a single memory with accurate detail, but the daily minutiae of running a peak, of classes, of past events seemed to have completely escaped him. It was as if a completely separate person had slipped right into the skin of Shen Qingqiu.

Luo Binghe had truly never put much thought in it beyond that. Shizun was someone completely different. That was enough for him. Whoever that man was who had initially been Shen Qingqiu didn't deserve his concern or respect. This kind Shizun, whoever it was, was the person who had taken over, whether through removed memories or through possession or some crack in his meridians deep in the core of who he was. Whatever had happened to that previous version, Luo Binghe wished him good riddance and eternal torture while he was able to live in wedded bliss with the only man who had ever deserved that face.

But, well, if they were looking at a face-stealing situation, then that is suddenly a very relevant thing for Luo Binghe to identify. Because he is in an alternate world and searching for his missing husband. And there is a man here who has the same mannerisms, word choices, and facial expressions as his beloved.

All of this, of course, brings him to the final consideration: the floating blue squares. Luo Binghe does not trust them. The way that they have behaved up until this point has been intentionally vague and cheerful. He does not trust sourceless kindness. That, in addition to the fact that the boxes appeared just as Luo Binghe was at his most desperate and that they offered the one thing he wanted most in the world.

He is not the sort of man to trust something like that.

It cannot be denied that they know more about this situation than him. Even if he does not trust them, he is still willing to use the boxes to get the information he needs.

System, he commands, and the box appears with a cheerful ding that sends a shiver down Luo Binghe's spine.

[The System is here to provide 24-hour service! How can the System help you today?]

I would like an update on my C-Points.

[User Luo Binghe has progressed on quest: Even in This World? You have increased positive feelings with Shen Yuan.]

[Current C-Points: 239]

Dismissed.

[Good luck!]

The blue box disappears but Luo Binghe holds in his satisfied smile despite that, feeling that it could still be watching him at any time.

It had said something earlier, right when Luo Binghe was deciding whether or not to leave his world. We notice that you are searching for someone. Would you like to accept the bonus chapter mission In Another Life in order to reunite with User: Shen Yuan, Bound Role: Shen Qingqiu? It had offered this mission as a method to reunite with his Shizun. The missions so far have all been toward his interaction with Shen Yuan.

And those words. User: Shen Yuan, Bound Role: Shen Qingqiu. The System refers to Luo Binghe as User Luo Binghe. What does it mean that it refers to his Shizun in this way?

If it's true, that his Shizun is some kind of face-changer, then it would make perfect sense that this Shen Yuan would be his husband, in yet another face.

And, Luo Binghe cannot help but think of the mushroom body, now that he's remembered it. It could be argued, by some, that his husband's mushroom body had been some halfway point between this Shen Yuan and the body he met his husband in.

He had done his own research, over the years, on the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom. His husband is someone who loves the magical flora and fauna in the world, and so Luo Binghe has made it one of his many labors of love to learn all that he can about the things that matter to him, including any magical living thing. When he came to the information on the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom, some of his own curiosity flared as well, to learn more about this mushroom that was able to save and protect the soul of his most beloved person.

Something very interesting about the Sun-Moon Dew Mushroom: it is not meant to create a perfect replica of the cultivator's body. Because it is cultivated with regular input of that person's spiritual energy, it should grow a body that matches their spirit. So, perhaps if the cultivator had lost a limb at some point in their life, or gained several scars, those may not transfer over. From the limited experiments done by the person who published that particular manual, the mushroom would grow to reflect the image that the cultivator held of themself, in their heart and spirit. So, if that person had taken on their life as someone with a lost limb, if that is how they saw themself in their innermost spirit, then the mushroom would grow to reflect that.

User: Shen Yuan, Bound Role: Shen Qingqiu. A husband whose truest reflection of his soul is some combination of the two.

So, then, maybe not just a face-changer. Not someone who jumps from body to body when it suits them. Rather, someone who has jumped from exactly one other body, or at least only one other body that has had any influence on his husband's image of himself.

User: Shen Yuan, Bound Role: Shen Qingqiu. That's how the System defines and knows him.

So, the System has been involved as well, at least enough to have this information. Luo Binghe is not surprised about that. It clearly has the power to move someone between worlds and realms effortlessly, to take Luo Binghe's husband from his very arms at the heart of his palace. Almost a god, then, with the level of its powers.

The fact that the System is defining his husband by the name Shen Yuan first, as well, says something. The idea that his husband was once Shen Yuan and then was designated as Shen Qingqiu, the kind Shizun.

Well, if that is the case, then that means that his husband is still here, in the body of Shen Yuan. And that makes all of this so much easier. Luo Binghe knows how to make his husband like him. How to make him care for him. He's been working toward that for years and years.

The question now, is what it will take for him to regain his Shizun, the one who remembers him and everything they have gone through together. Preferably, to return to the world they have left behind, where they had been in the process of building their life and home together.

The question is whether that is something the System is offering and, more importantly, whether it would be more effective to follow the path the System might offer or to simply destroy it for daring to touch the person Luo Binghe loves most in this world and then to find out how to return on his own. He could certainly do it. If there is one thing that Luo Binghe has learned over the course of his life, it is that there is always a solution to every problem, if he is willing to dedicate every part of himself to finding it.

[Warning! User Luo Binghe should know that there is not magic or spiritual energy in this world and that returning to his original universe is impossible without the assistance of the System.]

How convenient, that the System chooses now to speak up on its own. And how does this lord return to his original universe, then.

[User Luo Binghe must complete the bonus chapter mission In Another Life in order to return memories to Shen Yuan and regain access to his original universe.]

And does that mean that Shen Yuan is this Luo Binghe's husband in this world?

[In order to return to his original universe with his husband, User Luo Binghe must complete the bonus chapter mission In Another Life regarding User Shen Yuan.]

That's not an answer, Luo Binghe points out, in the sing-song tone that so many of his enemies have learned to fear. He allows his qi to flare, black demonic flames flickering between his fingers. While there may not be magic in this world, Luo Binghe still has his birthright.

The flames flicker harmlessly through the bottom of the floating blue box, but that does not mean that Luo Binghe has given up on ever being able to hurt it. There are ways to hurt everything that exists. If this System has taken his Shizun from him and does not do what it takes to help Luo Binghe regain him, he will not stop until he finds what it takes to hurt this System.

[The consciousness that resides with Shen Yuan is the same as the one that existed within the one that User Luo Binghe sees as his husband.]

Thank you, System. Luo Binghe uses the smooth, threatening calm of his diplomatic voice, even here in his own mind.

[The System provides top-quality, 24-hour service!]

The blue box quickly shrinks into a very small blue box before vanishing entirely. How interesting. Luo Binghe can't help but notice that it had appeared on its own after he had begun to consider ways to destroy it and go around its requirements. How interesting, as well, that it had been so quick to answer questions once Luo Binghe had begun to consider its destruction more thoroughly. The System's voice might have remained bright and strangely disjointed, but Luo Binghe knows that timing like that speaks only of fear.

He will play by the rules set forth by the System for now, because that seems to be the most straightforward way to return to his husband's side. Luo Binghe is also more resolved than ever to find a way to destroy the System, now that it has made it so obvious that something like that is possible. After all, why would it be so quick to defend itself if there were no need for defense?

In the meantime, though, how wonderful to know that this Shen Yuan he spent his afternoon with is his Shizun in another body. A small, cute, wonderful body, that shows its feelings and expressions so freely and blushes so easily. To think, that this is his husband's consciousness, in a body that Luo Binghe could lift off the ground without a thought. Such a soft, sweet, spoiled body. One of a precious young lord who has never had to work a day in his life, just as it was always meant to be.

How lovely, to be able to see his Shizun in yet another body and all the alluring and perfect ways his dearest love inhabits that face. How is Luo Binghe meant to do anything other than fall immediately and even more deeply into the love that he swims in every moment of every day?

He will find a way to return tomorrow. This is his dearest Shizun, without the memory of the life they have built together. He will be very angry about that at some point, particularly if he finds that the System is not cooperative in his efforts to return his husband's memories. But, well, for now, it will be sort of fun. Like a game, to make his husband fall back in love with him. Like when they play pretend that they are meeting for the first time, and Luo Binghe is given the chance to see the way his Shizun tries so hard to hide that wonderful warm fondness in his eyes but slowly loses the fight against the tide of it all.

This will be fun.

*~*~*

Luo Binghe arrives at Shen Yuan's door late in the morning. He would have liked to arrive right at dawn, as the sun rose, so he could see its light reflected in the eyes of this new face his husband has chosen.

But, well, Luo Binghe has lived with his beloved Shizun long enough to know the truth of how that would go. His Shizun does not enjoy the light of dawn in the same way that Luo Binghe does. In a world like this, where his hands are soft and uncalloused and his skin is pale as the moon from the way he has hidden away from the sun, Luo Binghe does not believe that his husband would ever be awake for the light of the rising sun, and he will not begin this acquaintance by waking him early. That way does not his Shizun's love lie.

Shen Yuan opens the door after the knocking, and it must still not be late enough, because his staggeringly short hair is mussed and standing up on one side of his face, and there are red marks along his cheek as if he was resting it against his arms in his sleep.

Luo Binghe wants to eat him alive. His Shizun is always beautiful, always desirable. The face that he fell in love with is stunning like a cold creek or a distant mountain. Staggeringly lovely and unreachable. Luo Binghe longs to muss him up, mark his skin, stake his claim in a way that can never be erased. And his Shizun welcomes it, best of all.

This face, though, is something so small and cute that Luo Binghe isn't sure if he wants to swallow him whole or hunt him like prey. He could build him a castle made only of soft and sumptuous things and keep him there so that he never had to feel the touch of a single rough thing, other than the callouses on his own lover's hands. Luo Binghe wants to hold him up against a wall. He wants to destroy this version of his Shizun. Wants to see what it would take to make him cry. Luo Binghe wonders if this is the same kind of passion and impulse that overcomes his husband when looking at him.

"Oh!" Shen Yuan exclaims. “It's you!" And he flushes a little. Luo Binghe wants to lick it off his cheeks. "I realized after you left the other day that I never asked your name."

"This one is Jiang Ruobing," Luo Binghe demurs. After Shizun's long explanation of the character Luo Binghe yesterday, it will likely raise more suspicion for Luo Binghe to suddenly claim that as his name as well. "I made Shen Yuan lunch, as a thank you for his help yesterday."

Luo Binghe did make this lunch, coincidentally including all of the things that his husband most loves to eat. What he does not tell Shizun is that, last night, after he had undergone several revelations, Luo Binghe had broken into an empty restaurant and taken the time to learn how to use their strange tools that decorated the kitchen. He had cheerfully stolen the food, as he has no money to his name and refuses to accept that as an excuse for his Shizun to eat anything less than the best. He had made several iterations before he found himself pleased with his understanding of these heating units and stoves. By the time he finished, the sun was almost coming up, and Luo Binghe had escaped, keeping the food warm with a talisman.

He can see the moment the smell of the food hits Shen Yuan, the way his nostrils flare, eyes widen, gaze flicks down to the box in Luo Binghe's hand.

It is easy to make Shizun happy, once you've made as much of a study of it as Luo Binghe has. Luckily for him, he is already off to something of a fantastic start. His Shizun had always had a soft spot for poor, suffering strays. It is something Luo Binghe had gleefully abused in his childhood and continues to teasingly abuse to this day. It's not just the tears, though that has always been effective, but any hint of what Shizun has quietly referred to as a "tragic backstory" tends to do the trick. Convenient, then, that Luo Binghe had been able to arrive at his doorstep, lost and confused in a large city and requiring his Shizun's guidance.

Beyond that, his Shizun has always been the sort of person to care very deeply and in detail about certain topics, such as the proper way to write a story, all magical flora and fauna, and the many faults of his close friend Shang Qinghua. He enjoys any opportunity to pontificate for hours, teaching or ranting, to a captive audience. Luckily for him, there is little his husband enjoys more than to watch the flush of righteous anger enter his Shizun's eyes and to listen raptly to determine if there is any obstacle he may need to obliterate. Yesterday, Luo Binghe had been trying to conduct an extensive evaluation of both this world and Shen Yuan, to determine his footing. Again, convenient that this resulted in his paying close and careful attention to the words of his Shizun while he talked about something he truly cares about in this universe.

The third approach, that Luo Binghe will now be taking, is to feed Shen Yuan. His husband has always been a picky eater, someone who tends to prefer inedia to consuming any of the food offered by Qing Jing Peak or the restaurants they pass on their travels. This, of course, no longer holds true as soon as it is something his Binghe has cooked.

"Thanks for doing that. You didn't need to." Shen Yuan takes the proffered wooden box of his favorite lunch foods and carries it inside, gesturing for Luo Binghe to follow. Luo Binghe has never been one to walk away from an invitation from his Shizun, and he certainly won't start now.

Back into this strange, comfortable, cluttered space. Luo Binghe makes his way to the table he stood by last time, and Shen Yuan brings over chopsticks and plates before starting to unpack the lunch. He removes one layer of dishes and seems surprised to find more beneath it. In between each new layer that he removes, Shen Yuan sends looks of panicked confusion Luo Binghe's way.

Ah. This again. His husband is no longer used to being spoiled by someone else. While he may have the body and dwelling of someone wealthy, he has clearly never received this kind of aggressive pampering from another person before. Luo Binghe props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on top of his hands, grinning to let just a little bit of fang peek through. He can see in gleeful moment by gleeful moment, Shen Yuan noticing the slightly impolite sprawl of his limbs, just a little impudent in the way his Shizun loves. Shen Yuan scoffing at the flirtatious posture of his hands. Shen Yuan noticing, glancing away, noticing again the sharpness of the tooth and Luo Binghe's smile.

"Will Jiang Ruobing join me in this meal?" Shen Yuan offers, like Luo Binghe had known he would.

"This one couldn't possibly." Luo Binghe tips his head to the side. His Shizun has been known to compare him to a dog, when he does this. Luo Binghe wonders if it's too soon for head pats. "This humble one worked hard to make a meal for Shen Yuan, who was kind enough to help him yesterday." The flush from earlier has crawled its way down from Shen Yuan's cheeks into his neck. Luo Binghe wonders how low it goes. He wants nothing more than to learn every such thing about this new body of his husband's.

"Please, I insist. This is so much food I could never eat it all, and I don't want all your hard work to go to waste."

"Of course, if Shen Yuan insists, how could this one do anything but obey?" Luo Binghe knows that, for many others, he may be coming on too strong. This amount of flirting could be nothing less than utterly shameless! But, he has gone through the process of seducing his husband before, and Luo Binghe doubts a single implication of his words has yet to successfully land.

"Ha," Shen Yuan scoffs uncomfortably while he hands over a set of chopsticks and a plate. Now that he has been invited to partake in the meal, Luo Binghe takes over the distribution of dishes into an artful arrangement on the table between them, making sure that his Shizun's most beloved favorites are closest within his reach. "Where did you say you were travelling here from?"

"I am from a small town far north of here," Luo Binghe replies lightly, because this Shen Yuan has not yet learned that this is how his voice sounds when he is lying. "Shen Yuan would not have heard of it, but the people there are close-knit and old-fashioned."

"That explains," Shen Yuan hesitates in his words, waves his hand in Luo Binghe's general direction, clears his throat. "Never mind." He looks over the spread of food, seeming to need to take another minute to adjust to the sheer amount Luo Binghe has brought with him. "Ah, do you know which of these dishes might have gluten in them?"

"Gluten?” Luo Binghe is caught off guard by the question, as his husband has never shown such curiosity regarding specific ingredients before.

“Wheat, or things made from wheat,” Shen Yuan clarifies, as if that was the concern.

“There would be some in the jiaozi and the sauce of the jing jiang rou si." Luo Binghe gestures toward two of the dishes closest to his husband, ones that he always receives as if they are a treat, no matter how many times Luo Binghe makes them for him. At the motion, there is a sad little smile that appears on Shen Yuan's face.

"Then Jiang Ruobing will have to enjoy those ones for me, I’m afraid." He pushes the plates in Luo Binghe's direction and begins to provide an explanation before Luo Binghe can determine if there is a polite way to obtain one. "I can't have any gluten or it messes me up for at least a day or two. Don't want to bring that kind of energy to your visit."

"Shen Yuan has things he cannot eat?"

His Shizun scoffs a laugh, the kind of noise he's always made when there is a much larger story that he doesn't feel like going into at the time. "Ah, yes, for sure. I can't really have anything with gluten or strong dyes in them. Heavier meat is okay when it's just a little, but I try not to eat that too much either." He huffs a little again and smiles in a self-deprecating way. "No need for you to deprive yourself on my part, though. I would be happy for you to enjoy those things for me."

Luo Binghe had always noticed some of the mannerisms his husband displayed that indicated he may have, at one time, been quite sickly. Without-A-Cure had been one thing, but there were comments he would make about food or rest or pain or treatments or medication that always hinted at previous experience with chronic concerns. This, then, might have been what he was thinking of all those times. Luo Binghe tries not to be too frustrated with himself, because there was no way he could have known this before this moment. But, then, at the same time, what kind of husband is he, to not know the diet of his most beloved person? What if he had accidentally poisoned his Shizun somehow, without even knowing it?

"Begging Shen Yuan's pardon, but would he be willing to tell this lowly one more about the foods that might cause him harm? This one would do much to avoid making such a mistake again."

"You'll be here for a while if you want me to explain it all." Another warning, another quiet, self-loathing smile. His Shizun clearly does not expect Luo Binghe to be interested in this topic, which is going to be a surprise for him, since there is nothing Luo Binghe enjoys more than activities which allow him to both know more about his husband and do a better job taking care of him.

"Anything Shen Yuan is willing to say, this lowly one would be honored to hear." A faint blush again, but still likely in response to the flattery rather than any awareness of devotion or flirtation. Even so, Luo Binghe is able to coax out more information from his Shizun over the next half hour or so, particularly once he has taken a bite of one of the dishes and realized just what kind of delicacies Luo Binghe has on offer. Shen Yuan talks and Luo Binghe listens with every particle of his body, doing everything he can to commit each piece of this to memory. He will not make the same mistake again.

After their meal, Shen Yuan seems to hover in the awkward in-between of not knowing whether Luo Binghe is supposed to leave, or if he wants to invite him to stay. Technically, Luo Binghe brough the food with him, they ate the food, and now they're done. Shizun is clearly feeling a little guilty though, about eating the gift Luo Binghe brought and then immediately sending him on his way. Luo Binghe is doing absolutely nothing to help the situation, and is, in fact, actively making it harder for his dear husband, by continuing to sit at the table and smile guilelessly, as if he is not picking up on any of the subtle feelers Shen Yuan is sending out.

"What was Shen Yuan doing, before this one so rudely interrupted?"

His husband grimaces shame-facedly, the way he always does when someone asks him a question like this, and the true answer is that he has been reading some awful novel that his husband searched high and low to discover for him. His eyes dart toward the square in the other area of this room, so reminiscent of the floating blue box of the System, but stationary. Luo Binghe has seen these things all over this strange world, and it seems they are able to portray visual information from far away.

The one in his Shizun's room seems to be relatively static, showing an image of a forest, greyed out and overlaid with several images of text and information. When Luo Binghe continues to wait patiently, Shizun gestures sort of vaguely in that direction and smiles self-depreciatingly.

"Oh, you know. Mostly just Witcher 3 today." He clears his throat.

"I do not know." Luo Binghe tilts his head again, in that way that his Shizun has always loved, and he watches with growing anticipation as one of his hands twitches just a little before stilling. "Who is Witcher 3?"

"You haven't?" Shen Yuan pauses, searching Luo Binghe's face to see if he is teasing or lying. The good news is that Luo Binghe is telling the complete truth. He has no idea what Witcher 3 is. He likely would have asked this exact same question in the exact same way no matter what, though. He opens his eyes wide, lets his smile turn eager and endeared. He is his husband's precious little white sheep, harmless and curious and ready to learn about something new. "Oh, well, I'm not trying to spend another day telling you about something I'm obsessed with. You don't want to hear about this."

"Please," Luo Binghe lets his bottom lip just out just a little bit. Just enough that it's probably an accident. "I want to hear about everything that interests you. Shen Yuan is one of the most fascinating speakers and best teachers I have ever encountered."

Shen Yuan rears back a little, the blush that had faded over the past meal coming back hard and fast. Good. He's had a long enough break. It is not difficult to make his husband talk about the things that he loves, when he is met with an eager and willing student.

"Ah ha ha," he scratches the back of his head, pulls at the loose-fitting shirt that he is wearing. Luo Binghe might have used every piece of his willpower to avoid letting his eyes linger on the exposed skin of his wrists and arms, if this had been the day before. Today, he sees no reason to pretend as if he wants anything less that to do whatever this man asks and several things he would never think to ask. His husband is certainly not yet at a place where that explanation will even enter into his mind. Luo Binghe does not have to worry about getting ahead of himself. "Well, I could explain it to you?" He gestures again in the direction of the box, and Luo Binghe perks up, jumping eagerly to his feet and not allowing even a second for his Shizun to doubt his offer or take it back.

Shizun guides him over to the incredibly clean and plush sofa and Luo Binghe settles in quite a bit closer than would be appropriate in his world. From the people he has observed here, this is too close here as well.

And then, over the next few hours, his wonderful husband tells him another story. This time, he speaks of a fierce warrior who travels the realm and fights terrifying monsters. He speaks quite in depth about the monsters. He also speaks in depth about the many women who flock to this character, Geralt, and all the ways that he has gained and lost his power and reputation over the course of his unnaturally long life. Shen Yuan speaks in general terms at first, but he becomes too enthusiastic in his discussion of the various monsters and reaches into his pocket to bring out another, smaller glowing box which he uses to show various pictures.

He displays the most interesting monsters. Luo Binghe can't help but strategize about how he himself would attack such a creature, and his Shizun is happy to interject and praise and correct. After the monsters, though, he begins going into more detail about the history of this Geralt. Luo Binghe is put in a situation where he must rapidly come to the realization that his husband has what he and Shang-shishu would refer to as a "type."

This Geralt has long hair, though his seems to be frequently unwashed and quite greasy and dirty. Not the sort of hair his Shizun would want to pat or play with. He is a strong and unmatched fighter, but Luo Binghe has seen the monsters he faces. He would be able to beat Geralt in a fight. He would have no defense against his blood parasites, Xin Mo, the combination of demonic and spiritual qi that has proven effective against a thousand foes before him. This Geralt is some hybrid outcast that many use for his strength and then discard. Shen Yuan makes it very clear just how "cool" he thinks that is.

Luo Binghe knows what sort of man and what sort of husband he is. He knows that he gets jealous easily. It is something his husband pretends to be bothered by but is actually quite fond of. When Luo Binghe gets sticky and whiny and possessive, his beloved Shizun is quick to hold him close, reassure him, show with his body just how much he belongs to Luo Binghe. Now, though, with his Shizun's memory being what it is, he can't do any of that. Worst of all, he can see that light in his husband's eyes, the way that he lingers on pictures of this Geralt. It speaks of the kind of ashamed attraction that he has learned to pick up on over the years, from the many times a similar expression was directed his way.

This Geralt is just a character in what his husband has referred to as a "video game." But, then, Luo Binghe is just a character in a book, as far as his husband is aware. So maybe Luo Binghe will have to keep an eye out for this strong man with long, white hair. Just in case.

He can come to terms with the fact that he is jealous of a character in a story. He has never pretended to be the precious white lotus his husband thinks he is. Well, that's not quite right. He has most certainly pretended to be that white lotus, but he has never once believed himself to be. He knows that he is possessive and that he has never been happy to have his Shizun's eyes or thoughts on anyone but him.

It is frustrating, to sit here on the same sofa as his most beloved person, and listen to him talk about another man that he is clearly interested in, all while knowing that he is unaware of the commitment he made to Luo Binghe.

It is not that difficult, though, to direct the conversation back to the monsters in this other world, and Luo Binghe will never tire of seeing this part of his husband, one that so few are ever granted the privilege of meeting.

The next hours pass like that. Shen Yuan talks and becomes more animated and forgets himself completely. He has no fan to hide behind, and Luo Binghe gets to learn how the same facial expressions fit onto a different face.  When he finishes explaining everything through words and pictures, his husband takes a strangely shaped contraption and uses it to control the images on the glowing box. He continues to explain and narrate over every second and the sun slowly makes its way across the sky, outside those wide windows.

Luo Binghe would never bother to pay attention to something like the System, when his husband is in the room to take all of his attention. It seems as though the System does not like this fact, and so several hours into their interactions, a small floating box with just the number of his C-Points appears in the bottom corner of his vision.

They pass their day. His husband sits just a little too close to him and continues to talk. Luo Binghe basks in his presence, no matter what form it takes. And the numbers in the little box continue to go up.

*~*~*

Their time together that day does not end with a kiss. Neither, does it end with another walk home. Shen Yuan informs Luo Binghe, laughing a little shame-facedly, that the walk the day before had been a little ways outside of his normal mobility exercises. Luo Binghe takes a moment to reassess the activities of the day through this lens. On second glance, his husband had been much less active today, compared to the day before. Looking closer, Luo Binghe can see the telltale signs of his Shizun hiding pain. It's in the careful and intentional motion of every joint and limb. Luo Binghe resolves not to make a mistake like this again.

Their day together does not end with a kiss. Neither does the next one, nor the one after that. Luo Binghe knows better than to think for even a second that his husband will be so quick to realize that he is being courted. Even so, the days slide by with a sort of wonderful agony.

Luo Binghe doesn't know if he'll ever be able to put these days into words. How wonderful, to be allowed to meet your most important person in another world and find a way to learn them and fall in love with them all over again. How wonderful, to watch as they slowly grow fond of you in return, to watch the love slowly return to their eyes when they look at you. 

And yet, how awful to be stuck in this strange and unfamiliar place. Luo Binghe is the kind of man who could adjust to any situation without difficulty. He has been kicked to the ground so many times, who would he be were he not able to drag himself back up out of the dirt? He knows how to survive on his own. When he married Shen Qingqiu, a peak lord and immortal cultivator, he had thought it would never again be necessary to find a way to survive on his own.

Well, that's not quite right. When you learn a lesson like that, so many times over, at such a young age, there is little you can do to escape it. Luo Binghe never truly stops preparing to have to survive and fend for himself in a world that is cruel and unfamiliar. He had always been prepared for this, in the back of his mind, guard never fully down. He had hoped that, now that he was married, it would mean that fear could slowly bury itself, until one day it might finally vanish. One year of marriage is not long enough for something like that.

The days slide by, and it's wonderful to know his husband in this new world and this new life. He wants to be able to tell someone what this has been like for him. He wants to see that joyful spark return to his Shizun's eye, when he opens the door to see Luo Binghe on the other side. And, when that spark finally does return, he wants nothing more than to run home and tell his husband of the wonderful thing he has accomplished this day.

Instead, when Luo Binghe "goes home," all he's really doing is slinking down the block and wedging himself deep in an alleyway, where it would be difficult to see him should someone pass by on the road. He does not want his Shizun to accidentally encounter him. Each morning Luo Binghe is able to use his qi to burn off any sweat or dirt on his skin. He has yet to discover a way to access any bathing facilities. He has stolen several more outfits, so that his husband will not start to question his repeated clothing, considering Shen Yuan arrives to every day with a new colorful shirt and loose pair of pants.

And they are spending every day together. That is one thing that Luo Binghe is quite proud to admit. He has worked hard to integrate himself into this version of his husband's life. Not as difficult to do, when he has spent every moment since his adolescence planning for how to do exactly that. He knows what it takes to gain a fond smile, and he knows how to read each line of his husband's face to see what it is he might desire next.

It is because he knows his husband so well, that he knows this pattern is not sustainable. The System continues to rack up points, making it clear in data Luo Binghe did not need that Shen Yuan is growing in his affection toward Luo Binghe. If left to his own devices, Shen Yuan would be content to live forever in this pattern. Luo Binghe might feel slightly guilty about pushing him beyond this, if he had not seen all the ways it made his husband happy as well. Over the past year, Shizun has made it clear that there are times when he wants Luo Binghe to push him.

This is not entirely selfless. Luo Binghe wants his husband back, as much as he is enjoying this smaller, softer version of him. He knows that his husband is growing in affection toward him, but affection alone does not seem to be what the System requires for their return to their home and the treatment of his amnesia.

Even so, there are weeks of Luo Binghe bringing every meal, home cooked, or more accurately, cooked in a stolen kitchen until he receives an invitation into Shen Yuan's home. Shared meals, shared walks, and shared time together in that small apartment. Luo Binghe does not understand much of this world, but there is no need to. He has all of the important things.

After these weeks, an alert pings on the floating blue screen of the System.

[Congratulations! User Luo Binghe has completed quest: Even in This World? by maximizing positive feelings that User Shen Yuan has toward him.]

[New quest: This New World Sucks. User Luo Binghe may earn C-Points through sexual pleasure provided to User Shen Yuan. Important: Success criteria for this mission require that User Luo Binghe provides oral sex to User Shen Yuan. Good luck!]

And that throws Luo Binghe for a little bit of a loop. He has no moral, sexual, or personal hang-ups over the idea of pleasuring his husband with his mouth. Certainly none. The only barrier, would be the simple fact that his husband does not seem to want it. Until now, that had been all that Luo Binghe needed to know in order to mark the topic as closed. He has learned from their first sexual encounters and does not intend to repeat such a mistake.

Luo Binghe has never been allowed to pleasure his Shizun with his mouth. Not even once, in the year since they finally worked out their communication and started to build a life together.

It wouldn't be a concern, if it were simply that he thought Shizun did not prefer sex that way. He is certainly a particular and exacting man, with clear and strong opinions on most things, even if he tries to hide them behind a thousand painted fans. Luo Binghe has learned how to notice every subtle twitch, every change in posture, and he would never want to do something that his husband would not want.

It doesn't matter that he fantasized about it so much, as a young disciple in the side room, quietly muffling his breaths into his arm while he pleasured himself in the small bed. He worked so hard to be accepted as the person who would serve his Shizun, in every way that he might desire, and he would imagine all the ways that could happen and evolve. Imagine one day sitting next to Shizun at the table over dinner and being called over to bend down and provide pleasure in one more way.

Luo Binghe has many, many extensive fantasies of the various ways that something like this might occur, and has only become more creative over the years.

Even so, Shizun was always a willing and eager participant, in these fantasies. Even the rougher ones.

So, if it was simply that this was not the way his husband preferred to receive pleasure in bed, then that would be the end of it.

Luo Binghe has learned how to notice every subtle twitch, every change in posture, that might indicate something that his husband would not want. He learned how to do it when he was still a new initiate, struggling desperately to figure out just what it was everyone else on the peak had figured out that he had not. Just what it was that made him so despicable to his peak lord, so that maybe he could stop doing it. And then, he learned it all over again, when he changed into his kind Shizun, and all his terrifying little mannerisms changed with him. This time, not to avoid rage, but rather to find out just what it would take for one more smile, one more head pat, one more soft gesture of warmth.

So, he knows when his Shizun is saying no because the thing being suggested is repulsive to him. He knows what it looks like when he is saying no so gently so as to not upset the overly fragile feelings of his endless admirers, even when he would rather spit than consider whatever they may be suggesting. And he knows what it looks like when his Shizun is saying no but what he's really saying is something more like please, Binghe, I can't admit how much I want this until you bully me into it.

That one is Luo Binghe's favorite.

Which is why it is so infuriating that the face his Shizun makes when Luo Binghe suggests one of his many childhood fantasies is none of these options. Instead, it seems to be some kind of horrified shock. Like it is completely unfathomable to Shizun that his devoted disciple might want to pleasure him in this way as well.

It seems, to Luo Binghe, a completely natural extension of their dynamic. Shizun is the kind of person who loves to be cossetted and pampered. He loves nothing more than to read a book, fanning himself lightly under the warm and comfortable rays of the sun while his adoring husband toils away in the kitchen and brings him snacks and tea and soft kisses pressed just to the crown of his forehead.

His husband loves nothing in the world more than being spoiled. How convenient, then, that Luo Binghe gains such joy and fulfillment from being the one to spoil him. There is no greater pleasure in Luo Binghe's life, after his childhood of endless deprivation and loss, after years in the Endless Abyss when he often had nothing to eat but his own limbs, after the years when Shizun was away and he had all the wealth he could want and no reason to use it. What more could he want than to have the ability to keep the person he loves near to him, meet their every whim, ensure that they want for nothing?

It seems like a natural extension of their dynamic. Shizun loves nothing more than to be pleasured and Luo Binghe loves nothing more than to bring his husband pleasure.

He would think that Shizun would enjoy it, to lie back and relax while his adoring husband worshiped him, brought him to climax with his clever mouth and careful hands. (Or, even more so - while Binghe is bringing up his husband's myriad and confusing sexual reservations - to allow his Binghe to undergo all the time-consuming discomfort and preparation so that he could take his pleasure from the clutch of Luo Binghe's body. Binghe would certainly enjoy it. Both. Either.)

But always, in this one way, his Shizun behaves as though Luo Binghe has said some terrible, taboo thing. Shocking and unthinkable. The sort of topic he will not even give enough thought to in order to discover whether or not he might want it.

Which is why this is such a concerning situation. The System has set such a thing as the necessary requirement in order to return memories. Luo Binghe is willing to at least have an intentional conversation about it, in the way his husband has always been so quick to avoid. Should he continue to report discomfort or displeasure at the idea, Luo Binghe will simply hunt down and torture the System until it agrees to return them without such unnecessary requirements.

At that thought, a bright and happy little blue screen appears in front of him again, providing cheerful encouragement and a hint toward how to achieve his goal. As if Luo Binghe does not know his own husband and is not aware of what will be necessary to complete this achievement. He closes the screen with barely a glance. If it is still so quick to respond to his thoughts in that direction, then he remains firm in his belief that it is possible to kill this System. He has only refrained from doing so due to his enjoyment in growing to know this alternate Shizun, and the fact that a clear path back to their home is laid out before him. As soon as this becomes any more convoluted or unattainable, he will set out to circumvent these ridiculous quests.

For this moment, though, there is something more interesting for Luo Binghe to focus on. "maximizing positive feelings that User Shen Yuan has toward him." He had known that his husband was growing fond of him again, but the idea that Luo Binghe can know that his husband feels as fond of him as he is capable of feeling. Despite it all, it's a heady feeling.

It also means that he has lost his last excuse as to why he has not told Shen Yuan the truth of his existence here. Up until now, Luo Binghe has been waiting until they had built a relationship strong enough that Shen Yuan would at least listen to what he has to say. In the best case scenario, he will simply believe him. But Luo Binghe at least needs him to be willing to listen.

His husband does not have the best track record in responding to stark revelations about hidden details of Luo Binghe's identity. Even if he may eventually change his tune, come around to understanding, his husband's first reaction to such information could easily be to lash out and push Luo Binghe away. He has been trying to make sure that their relationship was close enough that this would not be the automatic response. He has maybe been putting it off, and using the closeness of their relationship as an excuse.

Luo Binghe promised his Shizun that he would never let any more harm befall him. And yet, over and over again, he has failed in that promise. He is doing all that is within his power to fix it. It's selfish to hold back this detail, just because he would not know how to survive in this strange world if his husband were to cast him out.

Not true. He could survive. Luo Binghe knows how to survive anywhere. He's being selfish, because there is always a way that he could find to solve this problem, even if it means killing the System itself, but he instead holds himself back, just because he does not want to be alone again. And so, again, he is choosing his own happiness over the potential harm of his husband.

These revelations all occur while he is sitting on a couch next to Shen Yuan, distantly watching the drama that his husband has been so eager to show him. Luo Binghe is enjoying it, but there is so much space left in his brain with which to agonize over things like this. Enough space left to remind himself just how selfishly he is behaving.

"Shen-ge?" he says, because he tried calling him Shizun and Shen Yuan wasn't willing to let it happen. They arrived on this compromise just a day or two into their meeting in this world. It's overly-familiar, just as much in this world is. At first, it almost made Luo Binghe blush to say it. Now, he has noticed that Shen Yuan will often be the one who is blushing, when he says such things, and it's become much easier to say. "This Jiang Ruobing has something he would like to tell you."

Shen Yuan has been trying to dissuade him from speaking in such a formal way, but that has yet to happen, and will likely never occur. At the tone in Luo Binghe's voice, though, he can clearly see as Shen Yuan straightens up, leans forward to pause the drama, turns back to face him on the couch.

"Of course, Ruobing. You can tell me anything and I will listen."

How lovely, to be back in a world where his Shizun says such kind things to him. The same sort of kind words that he would use when Luo Binghe was a child too, before he threw him into the Endless Abyss anyway.

Selfish.

"This Jiang Ruobing is not who he has portrayed himself to be." Luo Binghe goes to pour out his whole story, but just that first sentence alone causes the System to flare up before him.

Unlike previous times, when it has arrived with a cheerful-sounding bloop and shared its words on an easily-dismissed blue screen, the System begins flashing a bright and blinding red. The screen is so large that it takes up the entirety of Luo Binghe's vision, blocking out even his view of his husband.

[Warning! Mission failure warning! User Luo Binghe must not disclose the existence of the System or his status as someone from another world to anyone else! Doing so will result in the loss of two thousand C-Points and his automatic deportation to his original world.]

The words remain there, flashing, as Luo Binghe feels a sudden, staggering, overwhelming rage rip through him. A level he has not felt since the destruction of Xin Mo. He knows he is on the edge of lashing out, of vicious and destructive violence.

He cannot do that. Not here and now, while his husband of this world sits before him with his uncalloused hands and a delicate constitution. The window of the System's screen will not close without him manually telling it to do so. He cannot focus long enough to give the command.

Luo Binghe is a demon. A Heavenly Demon. His blood runs hot in his veins and he has lived the last decade with one foot in the more violent culture of the Demonic Realm. He will not allow that to overtake him. Luo Binghe breathes in deep, holds it, pushes through the overwhelming pressure of the screen before him. He breathes the air out slow through jaw-clenched and volcanic fury. He closes the window.

Shen Yuan still sits on the couch before him. His Shizun. His beloved husband, unable to remember anything about his Binghe. Unable to understand what Luo Binghe might be feeling at this moment. Unable to provide the same kind of soothing words and touches that he would, were he to remember his place at Luo Binghe's side.

He looks worried, a furrow between his thicker brows and a hand outstretched onto the couch between them. Luo Binghe has worried him, and he cannot even explain why.

He will force it down. He cannot do this now. This is not what will return his husband to him, and that is the goal here. Luo Binghe forces his face to relax, none of the fury showing. He smiles a loose and calm smile into the face of his husband's worry.

"Apologies, Shen-ge. This Jiang Ruobing was simply overcome with worry for a moment." The tension and release as Shen Yuan initially doubts the explanation before buckling under the trust he holds for Luo Binghe. Buckling under the lies and manipulation. "If Shen-ge is still willing to listen, this one would still like to share his thoughts."

Another lie. He cannot say what he was planning to, but there are so many secrets between them, and the System is only the largest.

It may be wrong, to try and seduce his husband under such false pretenses as this, but there is no option for telling the truth beyond the loss of him entirely, and Luo Binghe is willing to cross every boundary he has to avoid that outcome. If this is the way in which he is able to regain his husband, then this is how it will happen.

Luo Binghe glances down, blinks slowly in a way that he knows emphasizes the length of his eyelashes. His blood moves as he wills it to, and he wills it to flood his cheeks in a high flush. When he glances back up toward Shen Yuan with wide eyes, it is obvious that this is having the impact he intended. Shen Yuan stares at Luo Binghe open-mouthed and with a matching flush on his own cheeks.

"This one only means to say that he admires Shen-ge very much. Shen-ge has been so welcoming and kind to this Jiang Ruobing, and this Jiang Ruobing would like to be a part of his life for as long as Shen-ge would allow, as a boyfriend or a spouse or a friend." The only way to confess to his husband is to remove any possible room for misinterpretation. Luo Binghe allows a little bit of fang to peek out the corner of his mouth and worry at his lips, as if in nervousness.

"Jiang Ruobing!" Shen Yuan gasps the name as if any of this should be a surprise to him. His eyes are locked onto the place where Luo Binghe's tooth is showing, and he pauses to lick his lips before continuing. "That's, I mean, huh. I never would have thought that someone like you would be interested in men." This is not a surprise to hear only because Luo Binghe's husband has said such things to him before. Luo Binghe accepted long ago that his husband has some internal rule system for who he expects Luo Binghe and others to be attracted to, and it is rarely anything close to accurate. He never worked to correct this because, if Shen Qingqiu suddenly gained the ability to notice when someone is romantically interested in him, Luo Binghe's life would become significantly more complicated.

"This one hopes he has not made Shen-ge uncomfortable with his feelings." This is a lie. Luo Binghe knows that he has made his husband uncomfortable. It happens any time anyone takes the time to speak of genuine emotions. He also knows, after a year of marriage and a decade of shared life before that, that it is impossible to progress in a relationship with Shizun if one is unwilling to make him somewhat uncomfortable. This is another reason why Shen Qingqiu has yet to become aware of his many admirers. Also, Luo Binghe knows what his husband looks like when he is attracted to someone. He knows what it looks like when his husband wants him. Shen Yuan has been looking at him in such a way for weeks now.

"Oh, no, it's okay. I'm an ally and stuff." Luo Binghe nods as if this is a word that he understands. He certainly understands the tone. "Just, you know, I'm straight. So, it's cool and shit, but I don't really feel that way about you." This does not bother Luo Binghe, because he knows that his husband finds him attractive. He also knows that his husband has always struggled to come to terms with this attraction. It wasn't until Luo Binghe came to this world and saw how they might treat attraction to other men that he started to understand part of why that might be.

"This one thanks Shen-ge for being so kind to listen to this lowly one's confession, despite his lack of attraction. This lowly Jiang Ruobing is simply thankful to be in Shen-ge's presence, however he will have this one." Luo Binghe's dear husband sighs in relief, thinking that this conversation is over and that he has escaped unscathed. This is because he has forgotten his history getting to know Luo Binghe. "This one only hopes-" Luo Binghe lets a hitch in his breathing cut off his words for a moment. He calls tears to his eyes, effortless as breathing. "This one only hopes that his dearest person will not send him away now."

It is a delicate balance, navigating the endless invisible barriers and hangups that prevent anyone from reaching the part of his Shizun that is willing to be loved and touched and desired. It takes years to master. Luo Binghe has put in those years. Now, for him, it is not effortless, but his muscle memory can easily take him through the steps.

"Oh, no, Jiang Ruobing." Shen Yuan's soft hands flutter helplessly in the air around Luo Binghe. He ducks his head, as if embarrassed about this display of tears, calling more blood to his face as he does so. The bright red of embarrassment. "No, it's okay. We can still be friends and hang out every day and stuff. Nothing has to change about this friendship. It's, shit, please stop crying."

Shen Yuan's hand finally crosses that invisible boundary that has existed between them in this world, reaching out to pat gently at Luo Binghe's bent head, settling in among his curls. Luo Binghe manages not to curl into the warmth of it, only barely, because then Shen Yuan would take it away and he can't stand to lose it so soon. Despite the lie of some of this, he truly has been desperate to feel his husband's touch in any form over the past two months. This whole process is a show, only in that Luo Binghe is intentionally letting some of the upset that he carries with him show externally. His Shizun always knows when he's exaggerating, and it has never stopped him from showing his endless care and love, so Luo Binghe has never bothered to get out of the habit.

"I'm sorry," Luo Binghe whimpers. "This one will stop crying. It is only that this one has wanted so badly to kiss his Shen-ge, just once. But this one understands. He will not bring this up again." Luo Binghe huffs out one more shaking breath, stops the flow of his tears, raises his eyes back to his husband without wiping his face. He takes one more breath and forces out a smile with a lip that is trembling just a little.

"Hush, hush," Shen Yuan murmurs, reaching out to wipe away the tears that have smeared across Luo Binghe's face. The pads of his thumbs are so soft and smooth, and the gentle brush against his cheeks brings Luo Binghe back to the first time his Shizun was so kind to him after he cried, when Luo Binghe was still newly 14 and ashamed to show such weakness, before his Shizun reassured him that he never needed to hide his tears again.

It only lasts a second, before Shen Yuan seems to notice what he is doing, at which point he jumps back to reinstate the distance between them, rubs his hand against his pants, and clears his throat stiffly. "Ah, that's, sorry about that."

"This one did not mind."

"Right, of course, yeah, sorry about that." Shen Yuan clears his throat again. Luo Binghe allows the silence to stretch thick and heavy in the room. He can see Shen Yuan fidgeting a little, in the way that he always does when he's being made to sit in an emotionally vulnerable conversation.

Finally, when the silence is becoming almost painful, Luo Binghe takes one more deep breath and glances off to the side. "This one apologizes for bringing it up." He gets to his feet. As he stands from the couch, Shen Yuan's fingers twitch in his direction, as if to grab him and keep him from walking away. Good. It is still just as he thought it was. "Please allow this one to make dinner for Shen-ge, as a way to make up for any discomfort this one may have caused." That helps his husband relax, just a little, knowing that Luo Binghe is not about to leave the house entirely.

Luo Binghe makes his way to the kitchen. These past few weeks, he and Shen Yuan have created something of a routine. Usually, in their home world, his Shizun will work on creating lesson plans and evaluating field reports from the students back on Qing Jing Peak, while Luo Binghe cooks dinner, and then they will eat together. It is peaceful and quiet, for them to both go about their respective duties and then share their thoughts afterward. In this world, however, Shen Yuan does not seem to have any such duties or responsibilities, and so a new routine has developed. Instead of working quietly and in tandem, Shen Yuan will often perch on some chair or counter and make idle conversation with Luo Binghe while he prepares their meal. It is something about this world that Luo Binghe has grown to treasure with every part of his heart.

Tonight, they do not follow that routine. Luo Binghe sets to work on several of Shen Yuan's favorite dishes, modifying them in ways he has already tested to make sure they do not include any of the foods he is unable to digest but still have a taste that is up to Luo Binghe's standards. Some are complicated dishes. Even with much of the preparation completed ahead of time, it will take almost an hour for Luo Binghe's competent hands to bring together. Luo Binghe works in silence and Shen Yuan remains in the other room, presumably sitting still on the couch where Luo Binghe left him.

Luo Binghe is not worried. His husband is the sort of man who needs time to adjust his thoughts to new information, especially when they include details about other people's feelings. Especially when it involves things like attraction. He has not always understood this, and it contributed to many of the complications between them when he emerged from the Abyss, as well as many frustrated nights when they were first married. His husband does not understand what someone is feeling unless they state it to him as directly and clearly as possible, sometimes multiple times. And then, his husband does not know what to do with that information unless he is given time to process it.

Poor Shizun. Everything Luo Binghe has ever learned about him suggests that he has never encountered a person who treats him in this specific way, allowing him to go through most of his life in blind denial and oblivious ignorance. It makes Luo Binghe furious, at times, to think that no one in his Shizun's life before him had ever taken the time to learn how to form a genuine connection with him. At the same time, however, and much louder than all that fury, is the jealous possessive pleasure, at the fact that no one else on earth has ever known his husband the way that Luo Binghe knows him.

He finishes with his cooking, chicken mei fun, a sliced tofu salad and honey lotus root with sticky rice. And eclectic combination, perhaps, but one that he has learned Shen Yuan is always delighted to see.

"Shen-ge," he calls, quietly, to not startle his Shizun from where he has likely completely descended into his own mind. "Dinner is ready, if you would still like to share a meal with this one."

The soft patter of Shen Yuan's slippers against the floors of his apartment, as he quietly makes his way over from the sitting room. Just that sound alone is enough to make Luo Binghe's heart turn over in his chest again. He loves him he loves him he loves him.

"Jiang Ruobing, ah, you didn't need to go through all this trouble," Shen Yuan mutters, but he still sits down eagerly at the table to join Luo Binghe, so he doesn't pay the protests much mind at all. He has been hearing similar things from his Shizun for years, at this point.

"This one loves nothing more than to cook a meal for his Shen-ge that he might enjoy," Luo Binghe demurs. His husband clearly starts to respond, but is blocked by some silly thought or another, because he opens his mouth, stutters, closes it, clears his throat, and begins to eat instead. Luo Binghe is more than happy to join him.

The silence persists, because Luo Binghe is letting it persist. It is generally his job to break through the awkward tension his husband will sometimes create, lost in his own thoughts. Luo Binghe isn't going to distract him, though, this time. He wants his husband to be having these thoughts.

Sure enough, they make it through almost the entire meal, before Shen Yuan clears his throat again. Luo Binghe wastes no time in snapping to attention. This is, after all, still his Shizun. Also, his Shizun had always enjoyed what an attentive student Luo Binghe can be. He is not above taking advantage of all of his prior knowledge, in a situation like this.

"Jiang Ruobing," he starts, then clears his throat, tries again, "you said earlier that all that you had wanted was to kiss me, just once." That high flush is back in his Shizun's cheeks and Luo Binghe wants to bite them until they stay reddened like that for days to come. Yes, that is exactly what he said. Yes, this is what he thought his most beloved husband may have been thinking about, alone in the other room.

"I did say that, Shen-ge. But I would never want to make you uncomfortable and will be sure to never bring it up again."

"Well, ah, well hold on for just a second. I didn't tell you you needed to never talk about it again."

"Shen-ge did not, but this Jiang Ruobing values this friendship as it stands, and has no desire to bring strain to it by making Shen-ge uncomfortable."

"Hush," Shen Yuan snaps, just a little. Luo Binghe can feel his blood responding to that fond, embarrassed, chiding tone. "Let me say this. Cause, see, I was thinking that kissing really is just the same, whether you're kissing a girl or a guy, as long as the guy doesn't have a beard or mustache or things." Oh, this is a fantastic excuse. Truly, Luo Binghe will never tire of seeing the intricacies his husband's mind will go through to allow himself to want the things he already wants. "It's really just lips, at that point."

"I suppose that is true, Shen-ge."

"Right, exactly. So, you know, a guy kissing another guy doesn't necessarily mean that he's gay. Or that he's attracted to men, just that kissing feels good and it feels the same either way." This is one of the most ridiculous things that Luo Binghe has ever heard, as someone who has only ever wanted to kiss one person and has, in fact, only ever kissed that one person.

"I had never thought of it like that, Shen-ge." His husband's face becomes just slightly more red every time he calls him Shen-ge, and it is something Luo Binghe will never forget.

"Right, well, no one is willing to talk about things like this. It takes a lot of security in your masculinity, and stuff. So. I'm not surprised you've never heard about it before."

"As Shen-ge says."

"So!" And here, his Shizun shifts a little skittishly. Luo Binghe is a wolf at the table, watching as a rabbit slowly explains to him just why it would be perfectly okay to crawl into his mouth. He uses every piece of his self-control to keep the hungry smile of a predator off of his face and nod like the little white sheep his husband likes to say he is. "If that's the case, then, ha, I don't see why it would be a problem for me to let you kiss me, just the once."

The rabbit is setting one dainty paw right on the edge of the wolf's maw, smiling calmly and easily while it does so. Luo Binghe holds himself so, so incredibly still.

"Shen-ge does not have to force himself, if he does not want this."

"Well," his husband sputters, "It's not necessarily that I want to kiss another man, but I don't mind kissing in general-" his husband has never kissed anyone before and Luo Binghe knows this for a fact, "and if it’s something my friend wants, then I don't know why it has to be a big deal or anything."

"As long as Shen-ge is sure that he would not be making himself uncomfortable for this Jiang Ruobing's sake," Luo Binghe hedges.

"Haven't I just said so?" He clicks his tongue and Luo Binghe loves him so incredibly much he will have to invent new languages just to capture it all. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"Of course. Sorry, Shen-ge." Luo Binghe ducks his head. There is a silence that stretches and pulls like taffy, now. "So, then, if Shen-ge is willing, may this Jiang Ruobing kiss him?"

"Not yet!" Ah, so he needs time to adjust to this idea as well, now. Luo Binghe can wait. He can hold so still. "With our dinner only halfway eaten? Are you trying to have all of this food go to waste?" Only until the end of dinner? Oh, Luo Binghe can easily wait that long.

"Sorry, Shen-ge. Forgive this one for being over-eager." Both of them are blushing now, only one of them intentionally.

"Eat your food."

"Yes, Shen-ge."

They finish their meal. It is silent again. Shen Yuan fidgets more and more as they draw closer to the end. Luo Binghe is going to ruin him.

First, though, he carefully carries the dishes back into the kitchen and begins to wash them. His husband drifts quietly after him, clearly still caught up in his head. Luo Binghe holds the dripping bowls out and Shen Yuan takes them to dry silently.

And then the dishes are done. There are no more convenient excuses to delay the kiss. Shen Yuan has an anxious, frantic energy to him now, as if he is thinking the exact same thing.

"If Shen-ge would allow it, this one would like to kiss him now." Luo Binghe has dried off his hands. Shen Yuan is still standing near the counter, and Luo Binghe takes a large step toward him, so that his back is pressed against the marble just so he can maintain the space between them.

"Shouldn't we move to the living room or something? Wouldn't that make more sense?" He has nervous, fluttering hands, and his eyes are darting, but there is no trace of true fear in his husband's face, nor is there any sign that he might flee.

"This Jiang Ruobing would like to kiss Shen-ge here, but of course Shen-ge can choose where he would be most comfortable."

"Ah, well, then. Ha. Haven't I told you you don't have to address me so formally?"

"This Jiang Ruobing cannot help but wonder if Shen-ge is trying to change the subject." Luo Binghe tilts his head to the side in curiosity, smiles gently and with a little bit of fang, glances up through his eyelashes.

"Ha," another strained laugh, but his eyes are lingering on Luo Binghe's teeth again. "Of course not. You can, you know, go ahead and everything."

Luo Binghe takes that final step forward, closing the space until there is only a breath between their bodies. Shen Yuan leans back over the counter just a little, but not out of Luo Binghe's reach. He moves slowly, hand in clear sight, so that Shen Yuan has every warning and chance to pull away. When he doesn't, Luo Binghe traces his too-sharp nails along the thin skin at his husband's temple, hungrily watches the resulting shiver, threads his fingers into the shockingly short hair that his husband has in this world.

"Thanking Shen-ge," he murmurs, and then he uses that touch on Shen Yuan's face to pull him in until their lips make contact.

When Luo Binghe had his first kiss, he was desperate and overeager and terrified and willing to do anything in the world to keep his Shizun by his side. It had been messy and full of teeth and likely painful. Now, though, he has over a year of learning how to kiss this very man in a way that he enjoys. Shen Yuan, on the other hand, does not remember ever having been kissed at all.

Luo Binghe wants to make it good. He knows how to make it good.

The kiss is soft but not chaste. He holds Shen Yuan's face like a soap bubble, guiding him into a good angle and pressing into the warmth of it. There is a tiny mmph noise from Shen Yuan, as he adjusts to the feel of it. Luo Binghe holds it there, for a moment, to allow him to settle before he deepens the kiss.

It starts with a smile, because he can't hold all his joy at this moment inside himself, pulling his lips into a new shape and opening his mouth a little. And then, now that his mouth is already a little open, Luo Binghe refocuses, alternating between sucking gently against his Shizun's lips and little kitten licks against the seam of his mouth. Another noise, this one in a slightly hungrier tone, and Luo Binghe can't help the way his hand tightens in Shen Yuan's hair, the way his other hand latches onto the plushness of his hip.

Shen Yuan's hands are smaller and softer than his husband's usually are, and one of them comes to rest tentatively on Luo Binghe's chest, where the soft fabric of his shirt gapes low over his collarbones. There is still a dampness there, the faint smell of soap, because they are standing in the kitchen together and just finished washing the dishes and it is suddenly so much that Luo Binghe can feel the tears, real this time, gathering in his eyes and choking him.

This is his husband. This is the husband that Luo Binghe has been missing for months now, finally showing some of that affection back. He doesn't deserve this, not with all the ways he has failed in his promise to keep him safe, but Luo Binghe wants to be near him all the same. He is always skin-hungry and starved for love, always craving touch with an intensity he doesn't think will ever truly go away. And finally, finally, finally here is his husband, loving him again. Kissing him again. The kiss does not stay light, though it never loses its gentleness. Luo Binghe would chew off his own arm rather than hurt his Shizun again.

The accumulation of all those weeks is yawning up withing Luo Binghe, and Shen Yuan is soft and pliant under his touch, and Luo Binghe cannot help but dive in further. He kisses him, adjusts their angle, kisses him deeper. Shen Yuan has opened his mouth to welcome him, now, and Luo Binghe has never the type to refuse an invitation such as that. He delves into his husband's mouth, tastes the meal that he just worked so hard to make for him.

Shen Yuan moves his tongue as well, touching back so tentatively and artlessly, and it's almost enough to knock Luo Binghe's legs out from under him. He leans in further, closes the space between their bodies, until they are pressed together head to toe and breathing in only each other. Shen Yuan keeps making those quiet noises, and at some point he has raised his hand into the mass of Luo Binghe's hair to tangle in among the curls. It's so much. It can't fit inside of Luo Binghe's chest. His arm is around Shen Yuan's back, pulling him in closer, an embrace along with the kiss.

It carries on for just a moment longer, Luo Binghe doing everything in his power to merge their two bodies into one. He could have kept going for hours more, taking advantage of the invitation to kiss Shen Yuan “just once,” but his husband has not learned the skill of keeping his breath while engaging in such activities, and he pulls away with a wild gasp.

And then Luo Binghe is left to be struck over the head with what his husband looks like in this body, when he has just been freshly ravished. Shen Yuan blushes easily, and that carries over here. There are two spots of pink high on his cheeks and his lips are red as fresh blood. His eyes are dazed and unfocused even as they slowly blink open and look in Luo Binghe's general direction.

It is too much. It's all too much, and Luo Binghe can't help but pull him in closer, by the grip on his waist and his back, pull him into an embrace and hide his own face in the short hair, just to take a moment to remember this feeling.

"Ha," Shen Yuan gasps, still out of breath from the way his chest his heaving against Luo Binghe's. "Well. Ha. I hope that was, you know, everything you were hoping for."

"Shen-ge could never fail to live up to all of this one's hopes." Luo Binghe can't help himself from nuzzling into Shen Yuan's hair a bit, feeling too-big and animal in this moment. There are still tears wet on his face, and he hopes Shen Yuan didn't see them. He doesn't have the ability to explain why this mattered so much to him. He doesn't want to scare him away. "This one hopes he did not make Shen-ge uncomfortable, in return."

"Jiang Ruobing shouldn't fish for compliments. You surely know that you are a good kisser." And maybe Luo Binghe preens a bit at that. He wasn't a good kisser for his husband, not very long ago. He dedicated himself as a student to become better.

"This one is glad to hear that Shen-ge enjoyed it."

"Okay, you can't keep talking to me so formally when you just did...that." Shizun's words are slightly strained, but he is making no moves at all to distance himself from where he and Luo Binghe are still pressed together. "I officially am not allowing it. It'd be too weird."

"This one simply desires to show his respect and care for Shen-ge."

"Yeah, but don't you feel weird about it? You're making me feel like a creep. I'm not going to let you kiss me again, if you keep addressing me like that."

Luo Binghe knows that he has been compared to a dog many times before. Even so, he cannot help but perk up as though he has just heard his name called.

"You would be willing to kiss me again?"

Shen Yuan snickers a little, where his nose is somewhat mashed against Luo Binghe's collarbone. "So it was that easy, to make you stop?"

"You are trying to distract me, but I will not be moved from this topic."

"You still pick words that sound like you're in a historical novel."

"Begging your forgiveness, but there is only so much I can change at once."

Shen Yuan grins, and if there is one thing that Luo Binghe enjoys about this face of his husband's, it is just how freely it shows his emotions. A smile like this, toothy and joyful, is something that would only show in the delicate light of the early morning, from one pillow to the other, and only when Luo Binghe is very very lucky. In this world, there are no fans to hide behind and, it seems, less pressure to present as a peerless, calm immortal master.

He still looks kind of hazy and well-kissed, though, and is still resting comfortably in Luo Binghe's grip. Luo Binghe is running his calculations into just how far he can push his luck, here.

"With this change, would you perhaps like to continue?" Luo Binghe cocks his head to the side, relishes in the resulting gentle brush of fingers through his hair. What a good idea this was. Finally, the touch of his husband's hands again.

"I mean, I don't know if we need to jump right back into it and stuff." Shen Yuan is sputtering, but Luo Binghe allows him to continue rambling. That's usually the best way to get to a desirable outcome. "Of course, every red-blooded man would enjoy some kissing. That's completely natural. I suppose you haven't had much time to go out and pursue women, or, I guess, men, if that's what your preference is, with the way we've spent pretty much every day together. I can't blame you for being a little bit pent up after something like that."

Luo Binghe smiles blandly and does nothing to deny the assumption.

"And you're younger than me too. I know that I can even get, a hem, I mean, look, I could see why this would be something someone your age might be interested in. Just as long as you understand that I’m not interested in men. Like, I don't want to accidentally send you the wrong message or hurt your feelings or anything."

"Shen-ge would not hurt this one's feelings, no matter how he decides to proceed in this relationship." Shen Yuan raises an eyebrow, and Luo Binghe grins apologetically at the slip back into overly-formal language. He cannot help himself. He was raised alongside a teacher who beamed with joy every time he presented himself in the most proper and upstanding way possible. How could he speak in any other way now?

"As long as you understand, it's fine, then. It's really normal for people to be friends-with-benefits and things. Some friends just kiss each other sometimes and it doesn't mean anything more than two normal people allowing themselves to meet their needs."

"Just as you say."

"So, I guess, it wouldn't be so bad if we did something like this again." Shen Yuan's cheeks are a furious red, and he can't make eye contact, but this is all that Luo Binghe has been waiting to hear.

"Is Shen-ge saying that he is willing to continue, then?" Luo Binghe can feel the leer starting to stretch across his face and, for the first time in weeks, he does nothing to stop it. Shen Yuan's eyes dip again, to the fangs, and Luo Binghe is making a note of that. He has always worked hard to keep himself as human and fluffy and innocent as possible, around his husband. That is, after all, when he showed the most affection toward him. His husband likes a fluffy little white sheep, that cocks its head to ask questions and smiles guilelessly in joy. Of course, he has been kind to welcome Luo Binghe back into his life and his bed, even following all the changes that have overtaken him, but it has never been easy for Shen Qingqiu to hide his joy and endearment when Luo Binghe shows himself a certain way.

That is part of why Shen Yuan's interest in the more demonic parts of him has been so intriguing. Yes, Luo Binghe keeps them hidden to the point of plausible deniability, but there is only so much he can do. His canines are pointed, his nails are pointed, his ears are pointed. All less so than they could be, but unavoidably so.

The first time they had spent several hours together in this world, watching a drama, Shen Yuan had reached out a cautious hand almost to touch Luo Binghe's ears, before pulling back.

It's funny, it almost looks like you have elf ears. He had flushed in embarrassment, and it had been too cute for Luo Binghe to bother with the panic of what he might mean by a comment like that.

That, and then the focus on his teeth, the shiver at the touch of his claws. There is something about this version of his husband that is quite happy to see the more demonic and threatening parts of Luo Binghe. He would ask about it, if he thought this version of his husband would have the memories to answer or if the other version of his husband would have the face to have such a conversation. As it is, Luo Binghe suspects this might be one of the mysteries that comes with loving someone like his Shizun.

His Shizun's eyes drop now to the fangs on display, and Luo Binghe smiles just that little bit wider, lets his nails press the sharp tips in where they touch Shen Yuan's hip. His husband has a very showy swallow, in this body, all exaggerated Adam's apple. He doesn't say yes, but he jerks the tiniest little nod and rolls his eyes in a sort of get on with it manner, and Luo Binghe has known him long enough to know the ringing endorsement that stands for. He wastes no more time, swooping in close and taking his husband's lips with joyous enthusiasm, now that he is even more secure in his welcome.

It goes on like that for almost an hour. His Shizun is perfectly virginal in this body, seemingly surprised by every new sensation and eager to chase after any new thing that he has learned feels good. Luo Binghe is eager to comply with his wishes. He will always give his husband what he asks for, and here is no different at all. They stand there in the kitchen, Shen Yuan grabbing tight to the collar of Luo Binghe's shirt with one hand and the other tugging a little at his hair in a way his clever husband has already discovered Luo Binghe enjoys.

Luo Binghe, tired of the novel strain in his neck that comes from a husband who is suddenly so much shorter than him, had reached behind him to lift with one hand and place him up on the kitchen counter several minutes ago. Shen Yuan had released a preciously adorable yelp at that, and then had gone back to their kissing with deep huffing gasps and a wet mouth that made Luo Binghe quite sure of his welcome between his spread thighs.

Husband, husband, husband

This is as close as Luo Binghe can get, in this world. This is the bare minimum, and it should be enough. If this was all he was allowed to have, he should learn to be content with that. He has, however, always been a starving animal. When that is such a large part of your childhood, it never really leaves, and he spent so much of his childhood fighting with the feral dogs and children on the street for a scrap of food, a scrap of attention, a scrap of opportunity.

He is a desperate, starving thing, and he has never learned to be satisfied with what he is offered. If he loves someone, he wants all of them, all they can offer. If the person he loves loses their memory of him, he wants all of it back, with the new knowledge added, not some halfway compromise.

But he will take it. That's part of being a starving, desperate, feral thing too. You take whatever is offered to you. You take all of it and you still want more but you don't leave a single scrap of it behind.

His husband, in this form, seems to enjoy a little bit more manhandling than he is used to getting away with, and Luo Binghe is willing to take that too, take everything offered. Shen Yuan has more fat to him than his Shizun did in his previous body, and it makes for two glorious handfuls when Luo Binghe grabs him off the counter and starts to walk them over to the couch. Shen Yuan yelps, sure, and slaps a bit at his arm in indignation, but he gets a handful of Luo Binghe's bicep and leans right back into the kiss, so he isn't too concerned about this beyond his husband's tendency to always protest anything that makes him happy.

He wants to devour him. He must hold himself back. This Shen Yuan does not know the lengths to which his husband can go, and Luo Binghe will not destroy this, as he destroyed the first sexual encounter between himself and his husband in the first world. As he complicated many of the ones following that, as well. He will do better. He will be gentle. He will listen and be responsive.

It is appreciated, clearly. For all that Shen Yuan has protested his lack of attraction, there is no denying the whining moan that falls from his lips into the space between their mouths, when Luo Binghe lays him out on the couch in the living room and drapes himself over him. He has moved his hands from Luo Binghe's hair and collar, one hand now around Luo Binghe's neck and holding him so close that it would be impossible to pull away, were he not many times stronger than Shen Yuan. Holding him so close that it is still impossible to pull away, if only because his husband has made it quite clear where he wants him to be. The other hand is slowly sliding from Luo Binghe's bicep, to his pectorals, to his abdominal muscles. The appreciative drag of soft fingers along the ridges of muscle, particularly in areas where it is difficult to deny the masculine features Luo Binghe possesses, does much to destroy the last remnants of his husband's arguments.

He pulls Luo Binghe down onto him and then, when Luo Binghe thinks he can't feel any more self-satisfied, he feels the gentle brush of his husband's foot along the back of his leg. It's tentative at first, before it properly winds its way around and latches on. The leg that was wedged between the back of the couch and their bodies has found a much more comfortable position for itself, wrapped around the back of Luo Binghe's thigh and bringing their bodies even more flush together.

Luo Binghe is a desperate, starving, feral thing. He takes what is offered to him. He cannot help the luxurious roll of his hips against the place where his husband could not more clearly be interested in their activities.

It startles another high, whining moan out of Shen Yuan's mouth, and he flushes red immediately, pulls away to stare at the ceiling, slaps a hand over his mouth. There will need to be some damage control, then, before they are able to continue.

"Do you have a third fucking leg, what the fuck is that?" Shen Yuan's voice is high and flustered and Luo Binghe knows that he is particularly well-endowed, particularly because his husband wastes no opportunity to mention it and complain about it. He huffs a small laugh against the exposed line of Shen Yuan's neck and nibbles at the delicate tendons there.

"This one thinks Shen-ge knows what he is feeling."

"Bro what the fuck. You cannot think that you are putting that fucking monster cock anywhere near me." Luo Binghe cannot help the full-bodied laugh that breaks out of him at that. It shakes his body atop Shen Yuan's, sets him to squirming away from the breath on his neck, and that is one more delicious discovery: that this body is ticklish. Luo Binghe licks a long stripe over the same area, just to feel the tremble course through his husband's body one more time, as well as to receive a slap that goes to the area within Shen Yuan's reach. This just happens to be his upper thigh, right near the crease of Luo Binghe's ass, and this does absolutely nothing to cool his ardor.

Even so, there is some truth to this. Luo Binghe knows that he hurt his Shizun. It was, actually, quite frustrating to be so well-endowed, at the beginning of their relationship, before he had learned how to properly prepare his husband. Before his husband had learned to relax and trust him and tell him when it hurt. Even beyond that first time, it had taken months before it had been properly good for both of them, and they still make mistakes.

This body is smaller. This body had no spiritual veins of qi. This body is not accustomed to taking Luo Binghe and, most importantly, is certainly not relaxed or particularly trusting in this moment. It would not be a good idea, to try anything close to putting it in, right now. Which does complicate things, a bit, because that tends to be the only sexual position his husband is regularly open to, and Luo Binghe is significantly less practiced in other options, outside of a lifetime of vivid imagination and dream control.

[Reminder: User Luo Binghe may earn C-Points though sexual pleasure provided to User Shen Yuan. Important: Success criteria for this mission require that User Luo Binghe provide oral sex to User Shen Yuan. Good luck!]

The System winks helpfully in the corner of his vision. Luo Binghe closes out of it and returns to the more important things before him.

"This Jiang Ruobing would never think to do something like that without his Shen-ge's invitation," Luo Binghe licks another stripe up the jutting tendon along his husband's neck, following with his teeth and savoring the shivers that result from it. "Shen-ge made it very clear that this was only kissing, and only between friends." Luo Binghe rolls his hips again, feels his husband's erection against his hip, pointing out the obvious interest Shen Yuan seems to have in progressing further. "Although, this lowly one cannot help but think that, if kissing is the same whether it is between two men or a man and a woman, then that should be true for kissing anywhere, should it not?"

"Huh?" gasps out Shen Yuan, where he has clearly lost focus on the conversation in his effort to lean his head far enough back that Luo Binghe can leave a line of bright hickies along his neck, while simultaneously trying to squirm enough that it relieves some of the desperation in his cock, all while trying to pretend as though this is accidental and something that is happening to him, rather than something he is an active participant in. Truly, his husband is a multitalented individual.

"This one merely said-" his words cut out, because Shen Yuan's effort to focus seems to have reminded him that he has requested that Luo Binghe not communicate in this register, and he slaps another reprimanding blow against Luo Binghe's thigh, leading to his hips jerking helplessly forward and a shudder running through him, head to toe. "Of course, of course. I merely wished to confirm my understanding of the terms of our encounter." Another roll of the hips, with delicious slowness, and the unquestionably positive reception of his dear husband's body.

"Right, right."

"I am happy to stop, if it would make it easier for you to follow this conversation," Luo Binghe sniggers, and he feels the offended huff travel up his husband's throat before he is given the gift of hearing it.

"Don't think so highly of yourself. I can do both at once. This is merely a casual kiss between friends."

"Of course, of course, of course," Luo Binghe murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Shen Yuan's jaw in between each repetition. When he makes it to his chin, he bites it once, softly, before moving in to kiss him for another few minutes. "And a kiss does not necessarily need to be only on the lips?"

He can see the time it takes for his dearest beloved to refocus, remember the conversation they were having, and it is one of the greatest feelings in the world, to hold this man in his arms, bring him pleasure, drive him to distraction. "Right, it wouldn't really be different. Cause it's just lips and shit."

"Right." Luo Binghe cannot help his smile, the grinning pecks he smatters over Shen Yuan's face. "Just casual. Just lips. And it doesn't matter where."

"Right," Shen Yuan echoes, clearly more focused on finding a way to get Luo Binghe back to his lips properly. Luo Binghe smacks a few more pecks around the line of his brow before answering his husband's request, as he always has, as he always will, and pulling him back in for a toe-curling kiss, grabbing tight to his hip and pulling him in even closer, following the tightening grip of the leg around his thigh. He would crawl inside his Shizun's ribcage and live there, if he could. He would sew their skin together into some grotesque amalgamation of bodies, so that they would never not be touching again. He would swallow his Shizun whole, just to never not know where he is.

"So, then, if this one were to ask to kiss Shen Yuan elsewhere, he would not be opposed?"

"I just said, didn't I?" he snaps, cranky and beloved.

"Of course, of course, of course." Again, the kisses down the neck in between each repetition, but this time Luo Binghe does not stop at the neck, tugging Shen Yuan's shirt out of the way to latch his teeth onto his collarbone. Shen Yuan whimpers and squirms more aggressively, grabs at Luo Binghe's hair, but, notably, does not stop him. In fact, he seems to be holding him in place, to the point that Luo Binghe would be fighting against resistance, if he were to try to pull away. And, well, if this is his husband's request, then he is more than happy to grant it.

Luo Binghe contents himself with his husband's chest like the dog that he is, as though he has been handed a bone to gnaw on. There are marks all along where a gaudy necklace might sit and, after several minutes, he is even able to convince his husband to remove his shirt, exposing endless soft and plump skin for him to taste and nibble and suck.

His nipples are there and, based on his reactions to Luo Binghe going near them, would likely be quite sensitive. Luo Binghe knows better, though. This is a tentative balance, and his husband's hangups are the type to emerge suddenly and devastatingly, ending any encounter as they arise. The first time he attempted to taste his husband's nipples, it had led to a week-long conversation regarding whether that was something only women were meant to enjoy. Luo Binghe hadn't understood at the time, why it mattered whether or not this was something only women were meant to enjoy, as his husband clearly had enjoyed it, for the moment he allowed it to happen, and surely that was the deciding factor?

Luo Binghe does not want to stop this encounter for another week-long conversation. He does not want to have to wait another week to see his husband again, particularly when it seems as though they are headed in a direction that may result in his return today. So, even though it is clearly a lost opportunity, Luo Binghe steers clear of his husband's nipples, leaning down to teethe against the love handles that cause him to whimper and squirm.

"It would be okay, then, for this one to kiss you here?"

"Obviously, yes. Stop asking."

"This one merely wishes to be sure of his hu-, of his friend's comfort."

"It's just kissing."

"Right, of course." And Luo Binghe returns his focus to the task at hand, even as those words land with a strange pang against his heart. There is a trail of bristling hair leading from Shen Yuan's navel to the waistline of his pants. Luo Binghe buries his nose in it and takes several deep, huffing breaths, even as Shen Yuan laughs above him, apparently ticklish here as well. "And that would mean that Shen-ge would be comfortable, even if this Jiang Ruobing were to continue kissing lower? Even if he were to remove some of the barriers in his way?"

A part of Shen Yuan is clearly not at all opposed to this idea. The jut of his erection through the soft cotton of his pants is unmistakable, where it presses against the lower corner of Luo Binghe's jaw. There is a damp spot in the light grey fabric, where his excitement has already leaked through. Even so, there is a blatant pause in the stream of agonizedly pleased noises that have been emanating from his Shizun's mouth, so far above Luo Binghe's head already. His hands are still in Luo Binghe's hair, kneading and tugging, but every other muscle has frozen. Luo Binghe leans back, rising to sit back on his knees opposite Shen Yuan.

For a moment, he is allowed the glorious pleasure of surveying his disheveled husband where he is sprawled out, well-kissed and aroused, with his limbs all akimbo, before the thin face kicks in, and Shen Yuan sits to mirror Luo Binghe's position on the other side of the couch. His knee is cocked up beside him, though, in a clear attempt to disguise his erection. Luo Binghe makes no such effort himself, very aware that his cock is straining against the stiffer fabric of his own pants.

"You mean, ha," Shen Yuan clears his throat when it comes out all shot to gravel, tries again. "You mean, like-" he gestures toward his own crotch in what he clearly determines to be demonstrative enough without having to say the words. Ah, his beloved, thin-faced husband. If they were back in their world, he would make his dearest Shizun say the words out loud, tease him until he was red-faced and pouting and finally starting to say the things that he desires of his lover.

This is not his world. The man before him is his husband, yes, but his husband as if he had never met Luo Binghe in the first place. Never worked for a decade to figure out how they best interacted with each other, communicated with each other, built a life together.

And so he does not push his husband on this. Because he does not think his husband would be willing to take that leap of faith right now, trust that Luo Binghe would always be there to catch him, to meet his needs when he finally works up the nerve to ask for them. This is fine. This is what it will take for him to get his husband back.

Instead, Luo Binghe follows his husband's gesture down to where he is still trying to play off his obvious erection. He smiles salaciously and then, when that still seems to not properly convey the message, he licks his lips to make them wet and shiny, leaves his mouth just slightly open. "Shen-ge has made it clear that kissing is something that does not need to indicate sexual preference or attraction. It should stand to reason that, if kisses are kisses, then it does not matter where that is happening."

"Right, yes," Shen Yuan says, with a level of confidence that makes it quite clear he is faking it. "That is the perfectly logical extension of what we have already been doing."

"Then Shen-ge would not mind if this lowly one were to pleasure him with his mouth?" There it is, that lovely flush that the countenance of a peerless immortal would never allow, that starts at Shen Yuan's chest and travels in bright red splotches up until it covers his entire head. Luo Binghe can see now, with his shirt off, just how low that blush goes. What a shame, to be sitting in this position and unable to lick around the edges.

"You don't-, Ruobing, What are you-. What kind of man just volunteers for something like that?" That is not a no. That is so, so incredibly not a no, and Luo Binghe can work with that.

"This one has made it clear that he values Shen-ge above all others." No, that's not the approach to take. Not here, with this version of his husband. "That is, you said that friends will do things like this, casually, sometimes. I assumed that you would be comfortable with something like this too, but please tell me if that is not the case."

He has left the bait out. He does not know if his husband will take it. He has put it on the table, made it his own request, given him an easy out. All of this makes it easy for Shizun to say no if he wants but, more importantly, gives him the ability to say yes out of a desire to help Luo Binghe and not needing to bring his own desires anywhere near it. Were this something he wanted, like a home-cooked meal by Binghe's hand, then the trap would have already snapped closed.

This, on the other hand, is a little more unclear. His husband has never been open to this proposal before. There is something that prevents him from wanting to. If Luo Binghe had the impression that it was due to some unpleasant memory or deep fear, then he would have already killed the System for even suggesting it and also would have found and hunted down whoever it was who dared to make his Shizun afraid.

It seems to, for the most part, be a preference. More than that, it has all the markings of another one of his Shizun's sexual hangups, similar to his reaction to having Luo Binghe lick his nipples, or pick him up during sex, or refer to himself as a "wife." So, this is not a brick wall, rather a potentially permeable barrier. Luo Binghe will never again hurt his husband during sex, or push past his genuine boundaries, but he will ask about things, and he will proceed if his husband indicates that he is consenting.

"I mean," Shen Yuan scoffs, and Luo Binghe would do well to focus on this conversation rather than get lost in his own thoughts about a husband who is not here. This is what it will take to get his husband back so, as long as Shen Yuan is willing, this is what is going to happen. There is nothing else to it. "I mean, yes, that is exactly what I was saying."

"Unless, of course, this would make you uncomfortable. Or if you would not want to go that far."

"What is this?" Shen Yuan snaps, and it is looking more and more like this will be happening today. This is more than Luo Binghe ever thought he would accomplish, walking through that door this afternoon. "I might as well be asking if you are comfortable! Are you trying to imply that I wouldn't be experienced with things like this?" He is not experienced with things like this. He has told Luo Binghe this before. "If I tell you that this is something casual friends do, then this is something casual friends do."

"As Shen-ge says."

"Don't talk like that." There is a fraught pause, and Luo Binghe is about to try diving back in, as it were, when Shen Yuan clears his throat again in an uncomfortable way. "But, you know, I know I said it earlier and everything," another long pause, "but, you know, I mean. This is casual. Because I'm straight and everything. So, you know, if you are uncomfortable with this, we also don't have to do anything."

How sweet, of his husband, to try and look after his feelings like this. As if there would ever be a time when Luo Binghe would not want to have sex with him. He smiles with the kind of feral, desperate hunger that he hopes conveys everything he is holding back for the sake of his husband's thin face. "I am, of course, willing as long as Shen-ge is as well."

"Well." Shen Yuan coughs, looks to the side, holds his leg in a little tighter to his body, stares up at the ceiling. He's so inexperienced and cute. Luo Binghe is going to ruin him for anyone else, and then he's going to have his husband back, and he won't have to worry about anyone else anyway. "Well, then, you know. I guess we can get on with it, then."

And that is all that Luo Binghe's self-control can take, actually. With the invitation, he practically lunges back across the couch, into his Shizun's space, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. This is not what he thought it would be. This is not what he thought would happen when he arrived here today. This is not what he thought his husband would say, when he made the offer. This is not what he thought Shizun would say, when told of his husband's feelings.

It will be okay, of course. All he needs to do is pleasure his husband in this way. The way that he has fantasized about since he was nothing more than a young cultivator, sleeping in the woodshed, still overcome by what it looked like the first time he saw a genuine smile on his Shizun's face. The first time he saw him disrobed and tied up.

He kisses him, kisses him, kisses him. And Shen Yuan is still so clearly new to all of this. Has never kissed anyone before and especially not like this, not for this long, with this much intensity and anticipation. Luo Binghe is happy to show him, happy to help him discover what parts of this body are sensitive, happy to help him become more confident in his own actions and touches.

Luo Binghe kisses him, laughs for a moment into the space between their mouths, kisses his way back down again, nipping at chin, at neck, at collarbone. The flush is still there, and he takes his time dragging his tongue along the border, savoring it all the more for how long he had to look at it without being able to do this. His husband's stomach in this body is soft and plush, and Luo Binghe takes a playful bite of it as he passes. Shen Yuan yelps, the skin jumps away from Luo Binghe's teeth, and he is giggling. Ticklish. The wonders never cease. Luo Binghe breathes out against the skin, making a terrible raspberry noise, and Shen Yuan is laughing, laughing, slapping playfully at the top of his head, and this is so good. It's so good, and he seems so happy and comfortable with it, all things considered, and why haven't they done this together yet? What has been stopping his husband, that does not stop Shen Yuan?

No matter. No matter and no answer available at this point in time. Not until Luo Binghe proceeds with this until its natural conclusion.

He kisses further down Shen Yuan's stomach, stopping to laugh, stopping to give his husband time to thread his fingers into his hair. Shen Yuan is sputtering a little in discomfort, the way his husband does when he is unsure what to do with himself in a situation and is trying desperately to pretend as though that is not the case. That's okay. Luo Binghe doesn't know what he's doing either. He's never actually had the chance to do this before, beyond his extensive imaginings and the several not-at-all-shameful-and-actually-very-practical times he might have practiced with a daikon in his youth. Shen Yuan has done it once or twice to him, and that was certainly quite pleasurable, no matter what he did. So, there is no reason to be nervous about this. Surely no matter what he does, it will be good for his Shizun.

Luo Binghe has never been anything less than an unambiguous teacher's pet and try-hard, for as long as he has known his Shizun. No one would argue with that. Is it so strange, then, to want to excel here as well?

Still, there is no way to improve without doing, as he has already applied himself thoroughly to every bit of technical study he has available to him.

Luo Binghe slides off the couch and situates himself comfortably on his knees. It is already unbearably erotic, actually, to be in a position of such obvious subservience and worship. The heat that lances through Luo Binghe's stomach, just from this view, so close and still needing to look up, is a reassurance. The interest is undeniably there. The desire is staggering. All he must do now is be so incredibly careful to take his time, not allowing for his passion and excitement to override the comfort of his partner. It is the thing that ruined his technique for so long, in the beginning.

"Where, ah," his husband hesitates, "where do you want my hands?"

"Shen-ge can-" Shen Yuan tugs harshly against a lock of Luo Binghe's hair in warning, as soon as he hears the tone and term of address, and Luo Binghe cannot help the whimper that wrenches out from him. Kneeling like this, preparing to serve his husband, having him tug his hair and instruct him on just what to say, Luo Binghe is vibrating with how much he is enjoying it. There is something buzzing and shifting under his skin. "Apologies. You can hold my hair, or pull it if you want. You can do whatever you want to me and I would be happy to take it."

Shen Yuan seems almost struck across the face with those words, sitting back against the couch with eyes blown wide. He does not, notably, look the way he does when he is about to call everything off and run away. It's for this reason that, rather than jumping into apologies and explanation, Luo Binghe tilts his head to the side and smiles at him with sunny innocence.

"Don't. Don't say something like that."

"It is important to communicate about what feels good and what does not. Is there anything that Shen-ge - ah - that you would like from me as well?"

"I don't have, like, anything in particular. Just, you know, go ahead with it, I guess? If you're still good?" Shen Yuan squirms a little awkwardly, and Luo Binghe cannot help but lean forward and take another sharp bite of his side, just to hear the way he yelps and jumps away. See? It's fine. This is Shen Yuan, and this is Luo Binghe, and this is his husband, even if he doesn't know it right now, and this is going to be fine. This is how he gets his husband back. This is what needs to happen.

Luo Binghe slides his hands down from where they grabbed at Shen Yuan for the bite. He presses his nose into the inner close warmth of his thigh and snuffles there for a second, reveling in the fact that he gets to have this, even if it is nothing like what he would have thought it would be.

Shen Yuan is holding himself as still as possible, but after Luo Binghe has lingered there for a second, his hands drift down to his hair like gently falling leaves in the autumn. Luo Binghe wants to encourage this behavior, so he leans hard into the touch and revels in the firmer pressure that comes as a result. When Shizun has wrapped his fingers deep into the roots of Luo Binghe's hair, hasn't used the grip to push him away, Luo Binghe begins his work.

"Have dreamed about this for so long, so long Shizun," he gasps, and maybe it was a slip-up to use that name, but Shen Yuan seems suitably distracted by the movement of Luo Binghe's hands. Some of the trousers in this world are hellishly complicated and difficult to get in and out of. Luo Binghe has learned how to do and undo those fastenings because he has found that he is particularly eye-catching to Shen Yuan when he has a few more straps, buttons, belts, and the like. Thankfully, his ever-wise husband tends to wear softer pants that fasten closed with a simple tie, similar to the underrobes that Luo Binghe has been wearing his whole life. It is a simple matter to pull the threads loose and luxuriate in the strangled whimper that his husband makes in response.

These pants do not open at the front, conveniently, the way that so many other pants in this world do, which means that, once Luo Binghe has undone the drawstring, he must reach around to Shen Yuan's lower back, reach his hands into the waistband of the pants and the underclothes beneath them, and lift just enough to create space for him to pull it through and out. Shen Yuan tries to make a secret of his reaction, but there is no disguising the noise that he makes when Luo Binghe uses the strength of his biceps alone, while kneeling on the floor, to lift the entirety of Shen Yuan's body, merely through a firm grip on his ass. His hands tighten viciously in shock at the base of Luo Binghe's curls, where they meet the back of his neck, and it sends such a glorious shower of shimmering sparks down his spine that he cannot help but falter for a moment before continuing. Luo Binghe would be lying if he said that he didn't allow for that sound to go directly to his ego and feed it in a way that it has been lacking for these past few months.

And then, well, then there is very little stopping Luo Binghe from pulling Shen Yuan's pants down the rest of the way, loosening them from his ass and sliding them down his legs, allowing his cock to spring free, still very clearly and eagerly interested in all current proceedings. Luo Binghe, suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that this is happening, that he is sitting here, about to pleasure his husband like this, about to get his husband back, has to take a moment to bury his face in the soft creamy skin of Shizun's exposed thigh. Just a moment, to get it all back together. To come to terms with the fact that this is how this will be happening for the first time, rather than with the person that he worked so hard to build up trust and intimacy with.

Just casual. Just a thing between friends. And that's fine, because that's how his husband had to justify everything that brought him pleasure, back when they were first figuring out their relationship together. It's the mask his husband still hides behind, at times, but always with the willingness for Luo Binghe to reach out and pluck it from his face.

There are, mortifyingly, tears gathering at the corners of Luo Binghe's eyes, and he'll be damned if the first time he tries to pleasure his husband this way begins with him crying all over his cock. He does not have time for this breakdown, because he is minutes away from solving this entire problem, anyway, and also because the one person that he would want to talk to about something like this is not available to him right now. There is nowhere to go but forward, and that is where Luo Binghe will be going. It is fine, that Shen Yuan says that this is simply a casual encounter between friends, because Luo Binghe knows better than to take his husband's words about things like this at face value. He gathers it all back inside, presses down the tears, commands his blood and body to take them away.

"Uh, Ruobing?" Shen Yuan seems to be kneading at his head again, rather than pulling the hair. "Is, uh, everything, like, okay? Down there?"

"Of course," he purrs, because this is what needs to happen, and he's happy to be here. This is what he has wanted for years. "Everything is perfectly fine, Shen-ge. This one was simply overcome by Shen-ge's beauty and required a moment to recover."

The flush grows deeper, spreads further, but Shen Yuan is still sitting on this couch, with his legs spread apart, completely unclothed, with Luo Binghe kneeling before him. There is no way for him to pretend as though he does not have a vested interest in these proceedings. No fan for him to hide behind in this world.

"Ha, well, okay."

And then, well, the soft fat that gathers in his inner thigh is right there, and Luo Binghe is already down here, and there's nothing against leaving a love bite, where no one will ever see it. Luo Binghe sets his teeth to worry against the delicate, pale skin and feels the way that Shen Yuan is already suddenly wound tight as a bowstring, bending over his head and pulling his hair even if it is without conscious thought. Luo Binghe purrs, somewhere deep in his throat, at the sensation and feels the trembling that shudders through Shen Yuan as a result.

He is so sweet, and so soft, in this body. And, most importantly, still his husband. The same as how Luo Binghe loved his Shizun in the mushroom body. The same as how he would love his husband, if some terrible accident were to occur and he were to lose his memory of Binghe forever. Of course, it is difficult to reach out for the well-established patterns of fondness and support that he has built over a decade with his Shizun and to instead be met with empty air. That is painful. But, most importantly, that does not mean that the soul that composes his Shizun is gone, and he must never forget to be thankful for that.

Even though his husband may not be in a position where he would be willing to marry him again, that does not mean that he would never reach a place like that. Surely, this alone is indication enough, the fact that he is currently allowing Luo Binghe here, between his legs.

Luo Binghe can feel the beautiful, glorious flush of his husband's soft skin between his teeth, the increasing warmth that comes with a rush of blood to the surface. He bites into it in the same way that he might bite into a fresh breast of chicken, when he had still been a starving child in the depths of the Endless Abyss. There is the same hunger here, the same animal instinct to burrow in with fangs and gnaw.

When he pulls away, there is a string of five bright red love bites lining the skin of each of Shen Yuan's inner thighs, and he has started to breathe with a sort of rasp on the end of each exhale, alternating between pulling tight at Luo Binghe's hair and smoothing his hands over where he must imagine there to be stinging pain.

And even if his husband does not remember him, at least there is this, the blatant mark of Luo Binghe's presence here. No one else would be able to see his husband like this without knowing that someone had been there first. Without knowing that, even if Shen Yuan does not remember it, there is someone who has laid a claim on him. The idea is so satisfying that he cannot help but run his tongue over them one more time, worry one of them between his teeth, pulling a high whine out of Shen Yuan's throat.

"It would seem that you are still comfortable, then, unless something has changed that this one is not aware of." Shen Yuan does not deign to respond to that with words, huffing in indignation and pushing uselessly at Luo Binghe's head. He lets it move him a little bit anyway, just enough for him to roll away and then roll back, pressing the teeth of his smile into the ravaged skin of Shen Yuan's thigh. "If that is the case, then this one would quite enjoy the opportunity to continue."

"Ah, yes, well. You, if you must."

"Thanking Shen-ge," he murmurs, and then there is nothing standing between himself and the main event. Shen Yuan's hands are still in his hair, right where Luo Binghe asked for them to be, and they move with him as he leans forward.

Shen Yuan's dick is a perfect size for the size of his body, perhaps a little bigger than one would expect, honestly, considering how small and compact the rest of him is. It strains red and wanting up toward his abdomen, canting toward the left slightly. Luo Binghe has a large mouth. He is able to open wide, and he had worked hard as a young disciple, with the aforementioned daikon, to learn how to swallow around something like this without choking and without needing to come up for air all the time.

He wraps one hand around the base of his husband's cock, confident in this motion from practice, though not with this body, and even that is enough. Shen Yuan lets out a long, wandering groan, and leans his head to flop against the back of the couch. His hands are loose in Binghe's curls, and what a wonder, to know that Shen Yuan is so responsive in this, so much more so than the body of Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe has a grip on it, and the tip is red and winking over the top of the wrap of his large hand, and there's really nothing more to do than to give it a welcoming little lick, just to get an idea of what this might taste like.

"Ha!" Shen Yuan shouts, in a sort of giggle-yell, and that's as good a sign as any to keep going. The taste is bitter and musky, but that was to be expected, and it is his husband, so of course Luo Binghe will be honored to take it into himself, no matter what the taste is. Besides, there is something about the huffing breath, the animal physicality of this, that has him trembling like a leaf. It's so much. It's so much to be here, right now, doing this, kneeling before his husband and letting him take his pleasure while Luo Binghe is nothing more than a servant to it.

The tug of hands in his hair is what grounds him, what holds him here, in this moment. It's an aching sting, a sharp counterpoint to all the wonderous thoughts in his head, and Luo Binghe is here. He's here, and he's holding Shen Yuan in his hand. He is here and he is pleasuring his husband, and there is nothing else that needs his attention right now.

The world narrows. The sounds of the room, of the city, grow quiet. There is only this moment, here, with Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe laves several wet kisses over the tip of his husband's cock before sucking it into his mouth like tanghulu, swirling his tongue across the top. Shen Yuan is groaning, whimpering, his voice travelling up and down the registers of several octaves. He's forgotten his strength, and there is nothing he could do to hurt Luo Binghe, but he has been pulling at the mass of Luo Binghe's black curls with what seems to be all of his might, pulling him in toward the crux of his thighs, ever tighter.

If that is not a welcome, then Luo Binghe does not know what else is.

He learned this much from watching his husband, actually, the few times that he tried to provide a similar service to Luo Binghe. Cocks are not easy to fit in one's mouth, without any kind of lubricant, and there is very little of that along the shaft, unless one is willing to be quite diligent with their spit and tongue.

Luo Binghe has always been a diligent student.

It is no different here. He kisses a teasing hello along the shaft of Shen Yuan's pillar, laves little kitten licks behind him, moving all the way down to nose at the hair curling around the base. He sucks one stone into his mouth, suckling at that too, rolling it behind his lips, and Shen Yuan has thrown his head back again, wrapped his hands around behind the back of Luo Binghe's head, as if to hold him in closer, bring him nearer to the center of his body.

Luo Binghe, more sure of his welcome than ever, moves to pay close attention to the other, and then kisses his way back up until he can press one peck to the winking tip of the head.

"Ruobing, Ruobing," Shen Yuan gasps, and Luo Binghe pretends it’s his name instead, his real name, and not some strange pretense he doesn't know how to break. It's fine. This is how he gets his husband back. This is what his husband is willing to offer him right now. He's still shaking. "Shitting fuuuuucking god-damn hell," Shen Yuan adds, very elegantly, as Luo Binghe decides he has been patient enough and fits the entirety of the head of his cock into his mouth. Another swirling lick of his tongue, because Shen Yuan had seemed to enjoy the pressure against the spongy tip, and the increase in pitch and volume indicates that this is still the case.

He slides down, the way slicked and somewhat tacky from his attentions earlier, but there is still a need to ease his way now, with careful application of lips and tongue. Luo Binghe is up to the job, as Shen Yuan's cock presses against the hard palate of his mouth, then further back, until it is brushing the back of his throat.

It has been several years since Luo Binghe has practiced something like this, but he was a motivated student, alone with his daikon, and he has control over his blood, his bodily functions. He will not choke at this.

And indeed, he does not.

“Ruobing, Ruobing," Shen Yuan is still gasping, rocking his head back and forth along the back of the couch cushion. Luo Binghe takes this as positive feedback, focuses in on the task, focuses on the warmth and lust in his husband's voice, and not the fact that it's still the wrong name. Not the fact that he can't stop shaking, just a little. "Fuck, ha, yeah, good boy." He sort of sighs out those last words, and there is no way for Luo Binghe to respond, with the fact that his mouth is somewhat occupied at this point in time.

And that, oh. Luo Binghe has known that he enjoys being praised in bed. He enjoys praise from his Shizun at any time of day, really, no matter the activity. He enjoys knowing that he is doing well, that his husband is pleased, that he continues to meet or exceed expectations. He has always enjoyed that.

Something about this, though, the way that his knees are aching against the hardwood floor, the way that he remains fully clothed while his Shizun is sprawled and flushed and indolent, the way that his own pleasure has been entirely neglected for that of his husband's. That, paired with the praise, knocks something a little bit loose in the connection between Luo Binghe's head and his body. Suddenly, it does not matter what his Shizun calls him, what the specifics of the situation are.

Luo Binghe is on his knees. He is working to pleasure his husband, and he is a good boy.

The tingling outside-himself feeling spreads like sparks from all his extremities into the very center of him, and Luo Binghe is nothing more than a vessel for his Shizun's pleasure. How could he ever desire to be anything but that?

He frees his hands from where they have been bracing the base of Shen Yuan's cock, reaches back to where Shen Yuan's hands are clasped at the back of his neck. Luo Binghe holds his hands over top of Shen Yuan's, unwilling to free his own mouth long enough to explain, and presses with his fingers until Shen Yuan has grasped on even tighter, until the strands of Luo Binghe's hair are held like a leash. Like a choke chain on a misbehaving and unpredictable dog.

He presses, hard, against that grip, using it to force his own head forward, and Shen Yuan swears again, under his breath, as the pressure makes his mouth bob on his dick. Luo Binghe hums at the deep satisfaction that wells up in him, just at the suggestion of this kind of guidance, and it triggers some kind of beautiful chain reaction. Shen Yuan's leg jerks up, spasms a little in shock at the feeling of Luo Binghe humming around him. It ends up thrown over Luo Binghe's shoulder, the knee right at the curve of his neck, another point of leverage. This staggered shift draws Luo Binghe closer again, and he cannot help but moan around Shen Yuan's cock, imagining what it is they must look like. The simple disciple, kneeling to pleasure his most beloved person, while that person pulls him forward, uses his mouth to take what he wants in the haze of his own pleasure.

That moan has Shen Yuan's hips jerking, reflex, and his hands pull tighter, and Luo Binghe feels as the head of his husband's cock, which had been pressed at the back of his mouth, shoves all the rest of the way in, past any resistance, until it is pressed into the back of his throat. Luo Binghe's nose is pressed tight to the scratchy curls of his Shizun's pubic hair, huffing deep breaths of the musk and sweat there, when he is able to snatch a bit of oxygen between thrusts.

"Wait, shit, Ruobing, pause a second."

Luo Binghe pauses, because he is a good boy, and he will always listen to his Shizun. Luo Binghe does not pull away, though, and simply allows his husband's pulsing erection to sit hard and throbbing against his tongue.

"We need to, fuck," a small, helpless thrust of his hips, back into the back of Luo Binghe's throat before pulling out to leak against his tongue. "We need to talk about, like, safe words, and shit. What if, ha, what if you need to stop, or something."

Luo Binghe still does not pull away. He has his husband warm and safe in his mouth, after years of wanting this, and there is no indication that he has stopped enjoying or wanting this, and so Luo Binghe is not going to pull away. He does, however, take the time to look up and make eye contact, which is enough for Shen Yuan's pupils to blow that much wider and to coax another swear out under his breath. When Luo Binghe is sure that he has Shen Yuan's attention, he reaches up to slowly gather a pinch of the soft flesh of his inner thigh between his fingers and twist. Shen Yuan yelps a little, in shock more than pain, and his cock twitches against Luo Binghe's tongue.

"Oh, yeah, okay, sure, I guess that works."

And that's all that Luo Binghe needs to hear. He lowers his hands back down, allows them to twist behind his back and out of the way. The haze that he had peeked out from under settles fully back over his mind, and he refocuses on the task at hand.

It is easy, now, to swallow around Shen Yuan's cock, bring it deep. He has practiced for this moment. He has spent his whole life preparing to be the perfect vessel for his husband's pleasure. And here, now, finally, he can do that. He can be the good boy that his husband wants him to be. He can kneel and service his husband however he sees fit to take from Luo Binghe.

Shen Yuan had paused, drawn himself out of the fugue of it, but it is not hard to draw him back in. Luo Binghe is discovering the mechanics of this, the best way to maintain lubrication, the best way to maintain a rhythm as he pulls away on Shizun's pull back, maintains suction, swallows him back down and deep on the return, lets him bury himself as deep as he wants to go, move Luo Binghe's mouth wherever he sees fit, fuck into him until he is nothing more than a hole to be filled.

"Good, good, good, it's so good, Jiang Ruobing," Shen Yuan gasps, and that's enough. That's good. The taste of him is growing more bitter. His rhythm is turning jagged, and it is clear that he is close to his climax. This is good. This is what Luo Binghe is for. He can keep doing this. He is doing so good.

Shen Yuan's climax, when it arrives, seems to surprise him. There is no word of warning, not that Luo Binghe would ever do something ridiculous like pull away, in a moment like this. Instead, Shen Yuan seems to almost flinch forward, his hips pistoning to fuck into the back of Luo Binghe's throat one, two, three times, and then there is a pulse of tacky fluid, salty and bitter and barely tasted with how far back he is buried in Luo Binghe's throat. He releases one long, wandering ahhh that breaks in multiple places. Shen Yuan curls forward, wrapping his arms and legs and body all around where Luo Binghe's head is buried, until there is not a single part of him not held and squeezed.

Luo Binghe is good. He's a good boy. He did this, brought his Shizun pleasure with his mouth alone, and his own arousal is such a distant second to the buzzing peace that has come with this. He waits there, suckling, allowing his beloved to ride out the aftershocks of his orgasm across his tongue with little, shivering thrusts, until he has truly taken all that he might want from his Binghe.

[Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be repeated three times! User Luo Binghe has completed quest This New World Sucks. Current C-Points: 1252. Memories will be restored to User Shen Yuan, Bound Role Shen Qingqiu at this time.]

Luo Binghe startles a little at the sudden appearance of the bright blue box before his eyes, when he had eliminated the automatic information it provides several weeks ago. He doesn't even take the time to read it, head as empty as it is right now, simply waving at the air to make it go away and be something he can deal with later.

This matters more, more than any ridiculous celebration the System seems to be trying to throw. Shen Yuan is pushing away a little bit, at Luo Binghe's head, and he pulls off with a sense of bereavement.

"Ha, well, yeah man, that was pretty fucking, uh, um, ha-" Shen Yuan's tone of casual dismissal fades out into some kind of disorganized confusion, before his voice fades out entirely. There is a moment of silence, just a single moment, where Binghe continues to kneel before him and wait for further guidance and instruction, before he hears that beloved voice again, this time with a sound of panicked shock. "Binghe?!?"

And, suddenly, the world is slamming back into Luo Binghe's full awareness, with all the color and sound and feeling returning to him in a rush.

"Shizun?" he asks cautiously, and his voice comes out rough and raspy, ruined from his previous activities. Doesn't matter, couldn't matter less, shizunshizunshizun.

"Binghe, what on earth is-" but he doesn't have time to finish the sentence, because Luo Binghe is scrambling up his body, off his knees, throwing himself at his husband, slamming their mouths together and breathing deep at the way that his Shizun, despite the confusion and disorientation, relaxes immediately into it, kissing back and reaching up to hold Luo Binghe back the way that he always has. There are tears streaming down his face, and he can feel them, can taste them, even, as they catch at the place where their lips join. There is a sob building in his throat, juddering against the parts of him that are rubbed raw by friction, and he would never regret something like that with his husband but it's different now, it's all different now because his husband is back he came back to him and Luo Binghe is going to rip open his chest and crawl inside his ribcage so he can never leave him ever again.

"Binghe," his husband tries to ask, but Luo Binghe is not done kissing him in welcome yet. He presses into the words, swallows them down, keeps kissing, and his husband accepts the intrusion, allows the indignity with nothing more than a quiet chuckle between their mouths, kisses him back again. It is his husband, back, because Shen Yuan had never responded to him like this. Like he was welcome and comfortable and eager to touch.

"Shizun," Luo Binghe murmurs, mouth still pressed against his husband's while he says it.

"Yes, husband?" The brightest point in the universe says.

"Shizun," he says again, still pressed against him, using both arms and all his strength to pull him even closer.

"Yes, husband?" The only one that matters laughs.

"Shizun," he can barely manage to get the word out, caught and wrapped up as it is with all the sobs that are ripping through him.

"Yes, husband," his most desperately beloved coaxes, pulling gently at Luo Binghe's hair, just so that he is far enough away to show his face and the tears that decorate it. Shen Qingqiu shushes him gently, thumbing the tears away with the same motions that have comforted Luo Binghe since he was nothing more than a young adolescent, learning what it was to want someone like this.

When Luo Binghe does not stop crying immediately, when it becomes clear to his Shizun that these are not the same as the tears that he will bring out at the drop of a hat, Shen Qingqiu clicks his tongue in the warmest chastisement and pulls him back in. He tugs Luo Binghe down until his head is resting against his husband's breast and he has draped all of his larger body weight over top of him, on the couch again.

"This husband is assuming that his lord would not allow them to pass their time in such a way, if there were some pressing danger." Luo Binghe doesn't bother to respond, which his husband seems to take as a confirmation, because he hums to himself after a moment and taps his fingers in a gentle pattern against the nape of his neck. When Luo Binghe does nothing more than nuzzle in a little closer, Shen Qingqiu begins a gentle scratch with the tips of his fingers.

The press of his still-exposed skin is so lovely and soft and warm. Luo Binghe could live in this moment, right here and now, and never emerge again. He feels that way about almost any moment, when he is with his husband. And, thanking every good thing in the world, his husband simply holds him in silence for an uncountable length of time, stroking through his hair and scratching at his scalp while he waits for Luo Binghe to stop holding him quite so tightly, for the tears and weeping to stutter to a quiet halt. When that finally happens, he does not try to pull Luo Binghe back, but allows him to stay there, pressed close, while he starts the conversation.

"This one remembers, now, all that has happened in these past few weeks. It was disorientation from suddenly remembering everything that caused this one to be confused, for a moment." And that's a relief, because Luo Binghe would not know how to put any of this into words, if his Shizun did not remember. "I am going to assume, though, that there were many parts of the story I was missing, considering the fact that you and I are here at all."

"Shizun vanished," Luo Binghe grumbles, because that was the start of this all, and also is an accurate summary, in some ways, of the last two months completely. "What could this husband do but follow him to wherever he may have gone?"

"Yes, and what a lovely job my husband did, finding me in this world as well as every other." There is a soft kiss laid at the point of his forehead where his hairline begins, and more tears leak from the corners of his eyes at such a familiar touch. "But this one still wonders how it was either of us came to be in this world in the first place."

"Shizun vanished from his very bed, from within his husband's arms, in this lowly one's inner castle. When his husband awoke, he was frantic and searched day and night for his lost love. When even that proved fruitless, there was-" and here Luo Binghe pauses, starts to pick around his words carefully. The System has already made it quite clear what would happen if he were to reveal it, and he is unwilling to lose his chance at bringing his husband home safely, now that they are so close to regaining everything that was lost. "An entity appeared to this lord and offered him the opportunity to try and recover both his husband and his husband's memories."

"An entity?" His husband, for all that he appears to be a face-changer and all that he can be spoilt and lazy and a thousand other wonderful things, has never been a bad fit for the scholar's peak. Shen Qingqiu is relentlessly curious, especially in the face of an unfinished story or a mystery with missing pieces. His husband, when set before something nonsensical, is scathing in his critique and relentless in his pursuit of knowledge. It is one of the infinite things that Luo Binghe loves most about him, and he can see the spark of it enter Shen Qingqiu's eye now. "What entity has the power to travel between dimensions like this?"

"This lord would imagine it to be the same sort of entity that would allow his husband to travel between worlds previously. Unless this is not the case?" He pauses there and watches the inspiration light behind his husband's eyes.

"When I returned to this world-" and his husband pauses even here, seeming hesitant to confirm that much of Luo Binghe's theory. As if waiting for some kind of consequence to strike from above. When it does not, he exhales a shaky breath and continues, each word chosen with care and precision. "I did not make the choice to do so, unless this is the only memory that continues to elude my grasp. It sounds, though, as though this one's husband did not have a similar experience."

They sit in silence for a moment, and there is clearly something large hanging in the air between them. Luo Binghe has not seen his husband afraid in years, not since the times when he was still fleeing from Luo Binghe himself. Perhaps he was afraid at Maigu Ridge as well, but Luo Binghe's memories of that time are red-tinged and hazy. He has not seen his husband afraid in many years, and it sits differently on this version of his face, so it takes this long for Luo Binghe to realize that is indeed what he is seeing. Something here, something in the topic of conversation, is scaring his husband enough to be this hesitant. It makes Luo Binghe want to rip the world to shreds until that expression leaves his face.

"Would this...entity still have access to my husband, even in this world?" Careful, careful, his husband is being so careful right now. Luo Binghe is going to kill whatever made his husband look like this. As soon as he obtains all the information his husband is willing to bestow upon him.

Luo Binghe is hesitant to answer back, now, catching his husband's caution like a virus, and staggeringly aware of that earlier warning, that revealing the System would result in his immediate return to his universe, without his husband or his husband's memories. Has that changed since he completed his "mission"?

"This lowly one would assume that, should an Entity have the power to travel between realms, it may also have the power to observe the one that it sent, in this other world." He waits for the screen to appear again, flashing and red and too close to his face. When it does not, he finds himself more tense rather than less so. His husband's eyes are shrewd and focused on every minute twitch in his expression. Are they speaking of the same thing? Does his Shizun know of the System? It would presumably be so, given that it seems to frequently refer to Shen Yuan as a "user" and indicates extensive knowledge of both faces he has used.

"This teacher wonders, if he and his husband are speaking of the same entity, whether it may be safer to delay conversation until they are returned to their home." He can see the effort it takes, for Shizun to say something like this, rather than continuing to chase down the information and solve the mystery immediately. "Unless, of course, Binghe believes there to be some danger to following that plan, or has information this teacher does not."

"Shizun is wise," Luo Binghe murmurs, and Shizun scoffs, making a motion to hide behind a fan that he is not holding in this world. Luo Binghe takes advantage of the fact that his face is not covered, that this body of his blushes so much easier than the other, and leans in to steal another kiss from his lips.

And then his husband's body turns to stone beneath his hands. Luo Binghe feels himself snap to attention, watching for the threat. When the room around them remains still, his qi flares out to sense nothing, his blood mites find no sign of threat, he is able to relax smug in the knowledge that there is nothing more causing them danger than the rising blush on his husband's face.

"Binghe, where are my clothes?" If he thinks the sudden, stern tone he has taken on is going to discourage his husband, then the sudden predatory smile and the twitch of his cock against his hip will hopefully dissuade him of that notion quickly enough for Luo Binghe to take some liberties. "You ridiculous man, where did you put my shirt!" Shen Yuan's smaller body starts to wiggle beneath Luo Binghe's bulk, trying to look around and see where Luo Binghe ended up throwing the shirt (it went over the counter and into the kitchen. There's no way he'll be able to see it from here). Luo Binghe makes himself as heavy as possible and gives exactly no effort toward helping.

"This lowly one will be happy to help his husband find his clothes. Or, if his husband would prefer, this one could join his husband so that he will not feel uncomfortable." Shizun slaps a little at the bulk of Luo Binghe's bicep, a fond reprimand, and there is nothing Luo Binghe can do to disguise the way this, too, makes his erection twitch.

Shizun gives up after a few more squirms, flops his head back onto the couch and allows Luo Binghe to kiss a reverent trail down the tendon in his neck.

"This husband," he starts, and then stops himself, and this is when Luo Binghe knows it is important to listen. He continues with his soft pecks, drawing a necklace of them on his love. His husband is more wont to speak when there are no eyes on him, when he does not feel as though someone is waiting on him. "Before this husband regained his memories-" Another pause. Binghe presses a smile into the crook between his beloved's shoulder and neck and nuzzles in, blowing lightly over the places he has kissed. "That is, ah, it seems as though Binghe was very intent on engaging in certain...activities. That we have not done before."

"This Binghe loves any activity with his husband."

"Hush." A gentle rap on his head. "What I mean to say is, this one did not know his husband...desired such things. Before." His husband is naked and in a strange body in a strange world. His husband does not find conversation or vulnerability to be a simple thing. Luo Binghe sits back up, reaches down to the floor to hand Shen Qingqiu his underthings, makes his way to the kitchen to retrieve the shirt.

When Shizun sees what he is doing, he rolls his eyes in exasperation, a mannerism that Luo Binghe has only come to see and understand in this world, but he quickly takes the articles of clothing and dons them, seeming much more settled once he has done so. Luo Binghe's own arousal is flagging. While he has always been the type to easily return to that place, it is clear that this is not the moment for such things. When Luo Binghe returns to the couch, he leans against the opposite side and opens his arms. Shen Qingqiu puts up a nominal fight and resistance, but is soon laying atop Binghe instead, with his husband's arms wrapped around him and his face hidden from view, nestled in at Luo Binghe's neck. He can still feel the hot flush of embarrassment against his skin. This form is so much more prone to blushing. So much smaller. He could wrap him up and hold him with one arm, Binghe thinks. What a precious thing, to hold every single thing that matters within his arms.

"This Binghe hopes that his husband knows that he desires any and every thing his husband is willing to give to him." The flush grows hotter, but no sound of resistance comes. "While it is true, that he has desired such things as that before, his husband did not seem to share such desires."

"Well," sputters Shen Yuan, "this husband has always thought that Binghe would prefer to be the one, ah, in charge, as it were." He is hiding his face, not looking, barely able to get the words out. The obvious difficulty his husband is having is the only reason that Luo Binghe does not react in a more extreme manner.

"This husband often wonders where it is that Shizun finds such ideas." He does not pressure Shen Yuan to show his face, but nuzzles his nose in among the short hair that he can reach. "This husband loves nothing more than to take care of his most beloved person, in whatever way that person may want. If my Shizun would enjoy being looked after in such a way, how could this one do anything but thank him for the opportunity?"

Silence reigns for minutes after, and Luo Binghe resigns himself to the conversation stopping there. It was already far outside his husband's usual comfort zone. And then, into the silence, he hears his husband speaking with even more care than when he was trying to avoid the wrath of some great being that may be listening in.

"In that book. That book, Proud Immortal Demon Way."

"Ah. Yes, husband spoke of this book at length."

"Hush. In that book. The Luo Binghe of that world. He never. He was always the one in charge. When he was. Yeah." That is all of the information that Shizun seems willing to provide at this time, but it is more than enough for Luo Binghe to begin putting the pieces together. This other version of him, with 3,000 wives and no idea of what it is he is missing. Yes, he does sound like the kind of man who would be unwilling to serve another. There is no room for pity or empathy, not when Luo Binghe is almost certain that he has met this other version of himself. And did not like what he found.

"It seems that this other version of me may have influenced my husband in many ways, over the years." He cannot bring himself to make the statement into a question. There are things, ideas, suspicions that have been growing in the back of his mind since that first day, when Shen Yuan was so eager to recount the plot of that horrible novel. Ideas about the Endless Abyss. About his husband's fear of him. About the way he ran. The way he always seemed to know what things to avoid doing. There are things in this world that, when Luo Binghe comes across them, they send him back to the abyss or the years before his kind Shizun arrived. He has issued edicts in the demon realm to avoid having to come across such things.

He has never once had to tell Shizun to avoid things that make the same sort of sharp cracking noise that a whip makes against soft flesh. He has never had to ask his husband to make a sound when he approaches from behind, so as to not catch Luo Binghe off guard. He is starting to suspect that this is not only because their hearts sing the same song, but perhaps because his husband knew of these parts of him long before they even came to be.

"This husband also could not help but notice that Shen Yuan seemed to very much enjoy learning more about the adventures of this other version of me." He cannot help the teasing tone, and can feel the subsequent burrowing of his husband closer into his neck. This is safer. He can tease, here, about this. While his husband may be embarrassed about his previous interest, this is not the same kind of ripped-open vulnerability that they have been engaging in. "From the decoration in this place, this one may assume that Shen Yuan had quite the appreciation indeed, particularly for this one's physical form."

"He was an interesting character!" Shen Yuan wails. "He had potential! Just because I was interested in him as a character, it does not mean I was attracted to him!"

"Is my husband saying but he is not attracted to this Binghe?" Luo Binghe allows his voice to tremble, a tear to rise to his eyes. "And here I thought I had finally come across the proof that my husband appreciates me in the same way I do him."

And then, well, there's a little bit of a terrible thought. Because Luo Binghe looks almost the same as that other version. Except for the parts where that other version is more willing to wear his demonic traits proudly. Except for the parts where he smiles with blood spattered across his face and bloodlust in his eyes. Except for all the parts where he doesn't look like this Luo Binghe at all.

He doesn't say a word, and yet, Shizun still seems somehow able to tell, when it has shifted from light-hearted teasing to yet another one of his husband's insecurities.

"I only liked him as a character. I was never attracted to him or anything." Shizun mumbles the word into Luo Binghe's chest. He's clearly trying to help, but it's not having the effect that he might think. That's the tone of voice that his husband uses when he is claiming to not be attracted to someone he is attracted to. Luo Binghe has dedicated much of his life to being able to identify this particular tone. He cannot bring himself to agree, and the silence where his acquiescence would usually fall is glaring. "You can't be jealous of an alternate reality version of yourself. That doesn't make any sense."

"I think Shizun will find that this one can."

"You've already met that version of you. I have too. And. Well. I chose you, didn't I?"

It would be mere scraps in some relationships, perhaps. But Luo Binghe doesn't care about any of those other relationships. He knows his husband. He knows what incredible vulnerability it took for him to say something like that. Luo Binghe cuddles him closer and presses three quick smacking kisses to the top of his head.

"Shizun likes this version of me better?"

"Who's fishing for compliments now?"

"Even so, if he could say it just this once."

"This is the version of you that your husband married, is it not? I have met that other version as well."

There is a balloon of warmth growing in Luo Binghe's rib cage. This joy, this love that he worried he might never get to feel again in quite this way. He loves his husband with every single piece of himself. He’d tear himself apart to find new pieces to offer, if he thought that his husband would accept them.

"If that's the case, then perhaps husband will not assume that this version of his disciple wants the same things as that other, terrible version."

"Perhaps," Shen Qingqiu pauses, clears his throat, tries to start again. "Perhaps this husband could work harder to ask what it is his own husband would want. Making assumptions based on that terrible book has never seemed to work."

"Husband can always ask for the things he wants as well. This one will always listen to what it is his husband has to say."

"Ah, my face may be too thin for that."

"Did husband not just say that so many of these problems come from assumptions? If this lowly one were to assume based only on behavior and reactions, he might assume that husband also enjoys when the roles are reversed in such a way."

Shen Yuan slaps gently at Luo Binghe's bicep, but does not protest with actual words. Binghe cannot help the sharp smile that grows across his face at that. From his husband, that is a ringing endorsement. He will be sure to listen closely and learn well.

"This husband also cannot help but notice that, if Shizun likes this version best, he must like this one quite a lot. It is hard to imagine a house decorated like this to be the lesser version of his regard."

"Binghe," Shizun hisses, seemingly becoming overwhelmed to his limit with Luo Binghe's shameless words, to the point that there is nothing left for him to do but bite at Luo Binghe's chest in reprimand. This does not deter Luo Binghe. This may, in fact, cause a terribly indecent moan to rip its way out of his chest and linger in the air between them. Shen Yuan pulls away from where his face is hidden, staring down at Luo Binghe in shock. Luo Binghe does not feel any sort of shame for the way that he desires his husband, and the smug smile he shows in return makes that abundantly clear. He has been trying to find ways to convince his husband to be a little rough with him since long before the day they were married.

They stare at each other, like that, for a long moment, Shen Yuan's eyes dipping down to catch where Luo Binghe's fangs peek through, just as they always have since they met in these bodies. Luo Binghe is going to have a conversation with his husband about that too, when he has the chance. Slowly, the heat of the lust and embarrassment in their gaze fades, until they are left smiling softly at each other, and his husband, so small in this body, nestles back in out of care rather than an effort to hide.

"Shizun," Luo Binghe calls, only to experience the bone-shaking joy of hearing his husband call him back, "Binghe."

"Is there anything else that Shizun wishes to do in this world, before he returns home? Or, rather, does Shizun wish to return home at all, or would he prefer to stay in this strange world instead?" Luo Binghe's arms tighten around his husband with that question, and he forces himself to loosen them again. It does not work to trap his husband. He has tried that. He must simply hold him when he can and trust that he will not run away.

There is a long pause while his husband thinks. Luo Binghe allows it. He holds down the tears that threaten. It does not mean that his husband is reconsidering their life together. This is likely difficult for him, if this is the world that he is originally from. If this is a place he left without the time to properly plan for a goodbye. Perhaps he will want one now. That is not a bad thing.

"I think-" another pause, briefer this time. "I think that the only thing I might want would be to see my family again. But, well, I don't know if they still think I'm alive or if they already know about my, ah, passing." This time, Luo Binghe does nothing to stop himself from tightening his grip. His husband is speaking of his own death as if that should be something understood and accepted by the both of them. He has done this before, in their world, when referring to his past self-destruction, but this lends some clarity as to why that might have been such an easy topic for him, if that was also the prerequisite for his ability to change his face. Perhaps that is part of why it has always been so much easier for him to talk about.

"This husband is here, Binghe." A soft pat against his bicep. A soft kiss to the hollow above one of his collarbones. The gentle ways that his husband provides comfort. Luo Binghe tucks them away inside his heart and tries to bring himself back to the conversation.

"This one is here, as well."

"Good." Another soft kiss. "I would like to see my siblings, I think, before I leave. But I don't think that we can talk to them. That wouldn't be fair, if they have already grieved me."

"Shizun can do whatever it is that he wants. The others can manage it on their own." Luo Binghe grumps, because he is still having trouble hearing all of this talk about the death of his most beloved person, and also because he truly lives his life by that belief. It's just that he doesn't always say it out loud.

"They are your family too, you know." There is a shyness in the way that his husband says this, as if he is hesitant to say such a thing. As if he has not just laid a paralyzing blow to Luo Binghe's chest. "We're married, so they are your family as well."

Luo Binghe has not had family in so long. The only person he considers family passed away decades ago, and he only had her in his life for a few years at that. Of course, he has met his biological father much more recently, but he has never particularly counted as an actual father or family member. His family is his Shizun. Luo Binghe had always...assumed that his Shizun was without family, just the same as he is.

And, well, in a way, he certainly is. It seems that his husband has family, multiple family members, but if they are living in this world and he has lived in Luo Binghe's world for the past decade, then his family is, in a way, just as dead as Luo Binghe's has been. To suddenly be struck with this idea: that Luo Binghe has family-in-law, is something he had never known to prepare for, and suddenly Luo Binghe is aching with the desire to see them as well, even if only from a distance.

And so they do.

Luo Binghe helps his husband get fully dressed again, allows his husband to help him do the same. They put themselves back into order, covering each other in light kisses as they go, pausing at the end for Luo Binghe to hold him close and savor being near a husband that remembers him again. And then, well, it is a simple matter to find each of their family members. Shen Yuan shows Luo Binghe how their family is, apparently, quite well known and, if one has the desire to do so, one can use the clever Internet to find updates on where each member of the family is at most points in time.

They go to see Shen Yuan's da-ge first, finding the restaurant where he is meeting business associates for lunch and watching him through the wide windows while he conducts his business. He entertains many other people who carry themselves with the familiar body language of power. He seems like the kind of warm and firm individual who easily charms others into thinking it was their idea to do the things he wants. Luo Binghe can see similar hand gestures here, things he had always seen as unique to his husband alone, but here it is again, mirrored over onto a completely different man, because they are family. Because they learned them in the same childhood home.

After that, they go to find his er-ge, who is apparently a professor in this world. The room in which he conducts his lesson is large and many-tiered, and they are able to slip into the back row of seats without catching the notice of anyone else in the room. Luo Binghe is able to marvel, here, as well, over the similarities. He has watched his Shizun teach with the riveted eyes of obsessive first love, and so he is easily able to note the ways that they explain things, the use of metaphor and quiet checks for understanding. They teach in much the same way, because they are family. Because they learned how to teach from the same parents.

The final visit is to Shizun's meimei, and that is a different sort of visit altogether. It seems as though she spends much of her time making videos, similar to the ones that Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe have spent their time watching together in the past two months. Shizun explains that this is not like the other things they have watched, that the video they are watching is a vision of what his meimei is doing at this exact moment, and that other people are watching as well, and able to comment in the words on the side of the video.

I am so very honored to meet you. You remind me of someone whom I love very much. It is my dearest wish that you live a fulfilling and loving life. Luo Binghe types, in what Shen Yuan has explained is a way to talk, with her seeing him in the disguise of an anonymous "guest" rather than the person that he is. When she sees the message, Shen Yuan's meimei, Luo Binghe's meimei, holds her hand to her chest and smiles warmly and kindly out of the screen, and it is the same warm and loving smile that his Shizun bestows upon the disciples that he cannot help but love.

I miss you. I will always miss you. I hope you are well. His Shizun types, in disguise as the very same "guest," and her smile goes a little funny but no less warm. It is the same, because she is family. Because she may have learned how to smile from watching her brother.

And then, when that is complete, his Shizun stands in the center of his apartment, tears in his eyes, and steps close into Luo Binghe's arms.

Luo Binghe holds him close, so so so close. The System, when he calls for it, comes easily.

[Would User Luo Binghe like to return to his original world at this time?]

The System will be returning both this Lord and his husband, correct?

[That is correct! User Luo Binghe has completed the bonus chapter mission In Another Life and can now return to his original universe, accompanied by User Shen Yuan, Bound Role Shen Qingqiu.]

[Would User Luo Binghe like to return to his original world at this time?]

Luo Binghe holds his husband close in his arms. He reads the messages over again, one more time, to make sure there is no way that this will result in his leaving without his Shizun.

Mentally, he tells the System yes.

And then the world around them shatters into glowing blue squares. Luo Binghe holds tightly to the most precious person in his grasp, as the rest of the world spins around them, tearing itself to pieces and rebuilding from the ground up.

When the world stabilizes, and it's possible to see again, Luo Binghe is standing on the forest floor, just below where he was flying when he accepted the mission.

In his arms is his husband, back in the body of Shen Qingqiu. Tears are still wet on his face. When Luo Binghe makes a noise of inquiry, he looks up, loops his arms around Luo Binghe's neck, and kisses him full on the mouth. It's more initiative than he usually takes, and Luo Binghe cannot help the sigh of contentment that leaves him as he wraps his arms around his husband's waist, pulls him that much closer.

They will figure the rest of it out. Luo Binghe still wants to find out exactly how much of what happened was different due to the influence of Shen Yuan and what sort of things were things that his husband may have wanted all along but never said, with such a thin face. He still wants to know more about this family that now belongs to both of them, that both of them have lost. He wants to know how often they cross his husband's mind, what it would take for them to find a way to visit again, in a way that would cause more good than harm. He still wants to know all the things that his husband knew about him from that terrible novel, and where it was wrong, and where it led him astray. He wants to understand why his husband seemed to so easily accept the existence of an omniscient being that was providing quests and monitoring Luo Binghe's words. He wants to know if the suspicion he has been nursing since then is true and, if so, how that has played a role in their lives these past years.

There is so much he wants to know. And they will talk about it. They have time.

For now, though, Luo Binghe simply wraps his arms closer around his husband, holds him that much tighter, and lets the rest of the world pass by. They will figure it out, when it's time, together.

[bloggingboutburgers]

I'm here to bonce back on the "non tagging x reader content" when... Shippers do the EXACT same thing and get no flacks in returns?

ESPECIALLY mlm ones?

I mean why even bother? You either drool over those two men kissing or you're just a raging homophobe! Simple as that ! 😌 😇

You have no idea of the numbers of shipper accounts i had to block because they posted content for that ship that i hate without tagging it as shipping. And nobody bats an eye, everyone is cool with that because everyone ASSUMES you're into this.

And then they say shits like "Wow x reader is such a HATE CRIME am I right?" And everyone's agreed with them and you can't say shit in response because all the fandom back them up. (True story, i wish i made that one up)

And as a sex/romance repulsed aroace woman who's only comfortable with x reader fanfics to safely explore those complicated feeling the fuck am I supposed to do? I would get gutted on the street by the entire fandom.

And before everyone slash my throat : everyone should tag their content. No matter what it is. Shipping, x reader, whatever...

But why everyone is so comfortable shitting on the x reader community while the shippers get to do everything they want without any pushback????

Like idk how to say it, all the goods the x reader community gave me. Its the only community who accepted me in ANY fandoms i have been as an aroace woman, all the rest of the fandoms bullied me and tried to chase me away because i """"shipped myself""""" with male characters i saw as aroace coded too. The x reader community welcomed me and helped me carve my own space while the rest gave me fucking slack because I saw those characters as aroace instead of gay. (Because it is apparently the only valid queer interprétation ever)

Like fuck man...

This community is the only one who accepted to listen to me rambling about how those character were aroace coded and cheered for me writing about them while i was bullied off my first account because i did not agree with the popular ship.

I met more aroace people writing nsfw/romantic fics (YES I TAG THEM ALL) about those characters than i ever met in my entire life. HELL, each and every single Friend I made on this site came to me to thank me for my writing and they ALL turned out to be sex/romance repulsed aroace people.

TLDR : why is it always the x reader community that get flacked for doing something the shippers do since the very begining of fandoms without any repercussion?

Its getting old.

Sincerely an aroace sex/romance woman that will never let go of her x reader fanfics.

...OK ima be honest on that one

Personally I don't dig shipping OR xreader, I kinda put them in a "nope don't wanna read it" same bag

So yeah I don't get why people wouldn't see them on a same scale of value.

Literally people like different things and some would rather read different things and some wouldn't and everything's fine let's seriously just tag stuff to make our life easier and stop judging each other.

The absolute state of all of this. Jeeeeesus. That's part of why I don't even bother in fanfiction spaces anymore. That and the fac there's hardly ever anything that'd interest me anyway, I guess.

[kamisatomay018]

Until We Reunite..

A Kamisato Ayato Fanfiction

Warnings: modern au, mentions of character death and violence, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, reincarnation themes. Ayato x fem!reader (reader is named Sakura)

This one’s gonna be pretty long!

“A..Ayato…” you whispered softly, voice broken with pain as you reached out your bloodied hand towards your husband, tears streaming down your cheeks. “S..Sakura..forgive me..I couldn’t..protect..” he cried softly, barely managing to crawl towards you, holding your hand. Both of your bodies were filled with slashes and wounds, blood spilling uncontrollably ruining the expensive silk clothes that once shone brightly, adorning you both. You both knew this was the end, that you both were going to die. At least by the grace of God, you would die together. You weakly reached out your other hand to him, cupping his cheek. “Don’t..blame yourself my love..this is not your fault..nor is this the end of our love.” His pain filled amethyst eyes stared at you, somehow trying to pull you closer despite how badly wounded he was. “Will we meet each other again, perhaps in a better time?” He whispered weakly, not wishing to part with you. How cruel fate was, snatching away his happiness from him just when he had found it. You mustered up a small smile, nodding as you felt your energy being drained away, your heartbeats fading into nothingness. “I promise..we will find each other again in another life. I am forever bound to you, Kamisato Ayato..” Taking deep ragged breaths, he managed to place a last kiss on your forehead, holding you close as his own life force started giving away. “Until we reunite my love..” And just like that, you both breathed your last, buried in a bloodied embrace and an unfulfilled promise..

500 years later

There he stood, as elegantly as ever, his messy blue hair, classy outfit and AirPods in his ears. His bag hung loosely down his right shoulder as he stood leaning against the wall, engrossed in his phone completely unaware of the number of girls fangirling over him, their eyes dreamy and filled with daydreams of this immaculate man, or so they thought. After all, Kamisato Ayato was the smartest boy in college. You too, were no different except the fact that you were way more subtle and decent than the other girls present around. You had been crushing over Ayato for around 2 years now, but of course you could never confess. He was the epitome of perfection, class and elegance, and he was no doubt very rich. Yet his demeanour was that of a gentleman, he was eloquent and an excellent student. It wasn’t like you were just some random student, on the contrary you were beautiful yourself, but you were very different. Unlike everyone else, you preferred a simplistic lifestyle, without any makeup or heavy accessories. You were always clad in simple yet classy clothes, and never attended college parties or fests. Being around crowds was just not your cup of tea, you would much rather spend that time in the library, reading about ancient civilisations and historic records. You were a history major after all, while he was a business management student.

In your eyes, you both were worlds apart. You weren’t as rich as him, not were you as popular as him. You both were…acquaintances at best, having collaborated twice when he, to your utter surprise, had requested your help in his project. He wished to show in his detailed project the future prospects of creating devices that can decipher ancient texts and inscriptions. His particular interest was in the ancient civilisation of Narukami, which had fallen to a Great War. He needed someone who could provide him with honest feedback on his idea, and after doing his own research, he decided that you were the most capable person for the job. You were a top student in your major, and had done multiple research papers on inazuman history. You still remember the way your infatuation had just grown during the time you were helping him, but alas, all good things must come to an end, and so did your collaboration. Ever since then, you both never had the chance to interact, except sharing courteous smiles when bumping into each other in the corridors.

Sighing softly, you shook yourself out of your thoughts. “He can’t be yours Sakura!” You kept reminding yourself, making your way to the library. It was way better to distract yourself in reading than get distracted by the handsome features of Ayato. Walking through the isles of your large campus library, your eyes searched for a book you had been waiting for, ‘The Tales Of Narukami’, which had become a best seller recently. Your eyes lit up as you found the book, but then you mentally groaned seeing the book kept so high up in the rack. “Oh for god’s sake..” you mumbled, standing on your tip toes to try and reach the book, but to your dismay, you could not reach it. As you were about to give up, you saw an elegant hand easily grab the book, adorned with a gold and platinum ring, and a limited edition Rolex.

“Here you go.”

Oh gosh you knew this voice all too well. The same deep voice that gave you butterflies in your stomach, the same voice that made your heart skip a beat and the same voice you yearned to hear every single day. You turned around to face him, gasping softly at the close proximity between you two as you timidly reached out to take the book, trying not to blush right in front of him. What you didn’t notice was the way Ayato’s amethyst eyes flickered with amusement and adoration. Ah if only you knew how adorable you looked with your pink cheeks. “Thank you so much Ayato.” You mustered the courage to look into his gorgeous lavender eyes that shown ever so brightly. Gosh he was so perfect, so tall and handsome, leaning over you effortlessly. “Don’t mention it Sakura.” He gave you his charming smile, stepping back leaving space between you both. You immediately felt this sense of disappointment as his warmth and scent left you, but you were careful not to let it show.

You smiled softly, heading to an empty table in a corner of the library and to your utter confusion, Ayato followed you, sitting right in front. “I do hope you don’t mind me taking some of your time? There are a few things I wish to discuss with you.” He spoke, his voice soft and eyes tender as he gazed at you. “Oh of course not, please tell me what it is that you wish to discuss.” You watched as he placed his hands on the table, adjusting his posture. “Well then- I will not beat around the bush. I wish to…take you out on a date.” What? What did he just say? It was very clear by your expressions that you were absolutely dumbfounded. Ayato found it so endearing that he wished he could click a picture and save it for himself. “Huh?” Was the only thing that you could say. Were you dreaming? Your absolute crush was asking you out on a date?

Ayato let out an amused chuckle as he nodded, ever so gently holding your delicate hand into his larger and warm one. “I know this may seem very sudden, but truth be told, I have been infatuated by you for quite some time now..So Sakura, will you do me the honour of being my date?” That’s it, you could no longer hold back your smile. You blushed profusely, butterflies swarming your being as this moment felt like a dream come true. “I…I would love to Ayato..” His smile visibly brightens, making him look heartbreakingly handsome. Of course, he knew you would say yes, but hearing you say it felt even more surreal. “I am truly delighted to hear that. If you are free this Saturday, I can arrange something that will definitely be to your liking.”

You smiled shyly, nodding. “Saturday sounds good.” “Great! Well then how about you give me your number, and I’ll come to pick you up on Saturday?” You became flustered at how gentlemanly he was, stuttering. “Oh! You..you needn’t go through so much trouble-“ He holds you hand again, silencing your words. “It is no trouble, it is but proper etiquette. Besides, where I’m gonna take you will be a little surprise~” You ended up giggling shyly, and your melodious giggles made Ayato’s heart flutter. Eventually you agreed, giving him your number and assuring him that you’ll send him your address. “Well then I’ll take my leave, my class is about to start. I’ll see you soon Sakura.” “Goodbye Ayato!” You smiled happily at him, waving sweetly as he left.

You still could not believe what had just happened. You got up, issuing the book to be borrowed as you headed home, feeling so giddy and excited. The whole day you lay in bed, kicking your feet like an excited child. Just then you heard your phone’s notification, and to your delight, it was Ayato. You quickly opened his texts, a smile adorning your features.

“Hey, it’s me, Ayato. I hope you got home safely.”

“Hello Ayato, and yes, I did reach home safely.” urgh, how is he this perfect and such a gentleman??

“I am glad to hear that. And I am looking forward to seeing you again.”

“So am I.. ah which reminds me, here’s my address!”

“Noted, I’ll be there by 4 pm. Dress up a little, I’m taking you somewhere fancy.”

“What- Ayato you don’t need to!”

“Oh hush, it’s nothing. I want you to have the best date ever. After all, first impressions matter~”

“No need to worry about that Mr. Kamisato, you’ve already made an excellent first impression..”

The next 2 days pass by in a flash, only this time, you saw Ayato way more frequently as he would come to visit you in the library, listening to you fondly as you talked animatedly about the history of Inazuma. He loved the way your eyes shone due to how passionate you were about the subject, and your knowledge impressed him. Likewise, he would also share his interests with you, once even bringing his favourite boba tea for you. The increasing closeness between you both had become a hot topic for gossip at college, as a lot of girls envied you, and a lot of guys envied Ayato. Oh well, neither of you cared as your feelings for one another kept blossoming.

Saturday arrived finally, and you looked at yourself in the mirrror, wearing a beautiful floral dress with stilettos and your hair down. Grabbing your wallet and phone you rushed outside hearing a car honk, which was probably Ayato. Upon stepping outside, your eyes landed on the immaculate man seated in the car, wearing a black shirt with black pants, his hair falling gracefully on his right shoulder. Oh he looked so good that you couldn’t handle it. He was indeed God’s finest creation, each feature of his perfect self crafted with care and time. You smiled shyly, sitting in the car beside him.

Ayato meanwhile, was completely awestruck by your beauty. You looked so magnificent that all he wanted to do was wrap you in his arms and kiss you until you were breathless, he just wanted to make you his girlfriend already. “You look…so beautiful Sakura..simply stunning..your beauty always amazes me.” You blushed at his words, and to his delight your cheeks turned as pink as the flowers on your dress. “Thank you Ayato, you look reallly handsome too..” He chuckles at your words as you both set off for your destination. “Why thank you. Now as for our destination..Well have you ever heard of the Grand Narukami Museum?” Your eyes widened in disbelief at his words. “What..no way..Ayato that is the biggest and most sought after museum! Its tickets are literally impossible to get! How did you even-“

Ayato simply laughs at your babbling, shaking his head. “It was not that difficult really, my mother is a trustee of that place. When I told her that my date was such a master at history, she was more than pleased to let me take you there. I figured you would enjoy being there.” You felt your heart melt, and you swore you just fell so in love with him. “Oh Ayato..I cannot thank you enough..I’ve dreamed of going to this museum!” “Is that so? Well then, I’m going to fulfil many such dreams of yours, if you’ll let me.” You blush once again, nodding “I would like nothing more than that..” He smiles at your words, gently holding one hand of yours, intertwining it with his. You felt instant shivers at his soothing touch, his warm and larger hand engulfing your giving you a strange feeling of safety and comfort. How was he able to have such an effect on you already?

After a while the car stopped as you both reached the biggest museum in all of Inazuma, one where getting entry was next to impossible for a common person due to the precious and mysterious artefacts present here. It is said that there are countless precious objects from the ancient Narukami civilisation that archaeologists and historians have still not been able to classify. You still could not believe that you were getting a chance to see this place for yourself. “Shall we M’lady?” ayato’s soothing voice snapped you out of your trance as he offered you his arm like the gentleman he was. “Yes, yes we shall..” holding his arm gently, you both made your way inside. Upon spotting Kamisato Ayato, the guards and staff bowed to him, as you both reciprocated the action. “Sir Kamisato, we welcome you. Everything you had requested has been arranged. We hope you both have a wonderful time.” He nods with a polite smile “You have my utmost gratitude.”

As you two made your way inside the museum, a soft gasp left your mouth due to how much you were in awe of this place. “Oh my god…this is..beyond beautiful..” Ayato smiles at you, not disturbing your train of thoughts, rather choosing to admire you in this moment. He loved how you gained happiness from such simple and knowledgeable things rather than materialistic ones. You were unique in his eyes, and the fact that you stood out from the crowd drew him towards you. He showed you around the museum, your enthusiasm was contagious as you excitedly spoke about all the relics you recognised, even leaving the staff of the museum in awe of your knowledge. “Miss, your extensive knowledge is truly remarkable. We have never seen someone identify these objects so quickly.” The manager spoke, making you flush. “Ah I..i just am very interested in the history of our land that’s all..” Ayato chuckles at your modesty, holding you closer with affection. “She is indeed extraordinary..”

The two of you had a lot of fun there, as your bond only seemed to grow stronger. The last section of the museum was the portraits of the rulers of the ancient civilisations, which was an area not many were allowed to see. But since you were with Ayato, anything was possible. “This is the final section of our tour I believe.” Ayato spoke, his eyes roaming around the countless portraits. “Oh my…these are all original paintings from back then!” You left Ayato’s side to walk ahead, eyes shining. He chuckled too, walking behind to a section of paintings.

As you were walking, you came across a portrait that made you stop dead in your tracks. There stood a man, wielding a hydro sword and dressed in expensive silk robes, his blue hair and lavender eyes staring right into you. What on earth was Ayato’s portrait doing here? The resemblance was almost terrifying, making you turn around and look at Your Ayato, who was admiring a painting of the Grand Narukami Shrine. You stepped closer to the painting, reading the details. “Kamisato Ayato, head of the Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commissioner of Inazuma. Murdered along with his wife in 1530 at the age of 28..” How come you had never read about this man anywhere? And…why on earth is he the exact same like the man you’re on a date with? The name, the features, everything…You stared up at the portrait again, and an unexplainable ache took over your heart, tears filling your eyes. It felt like you knew him, like you missed him dearly. You felt connected to him. But why?

Meanwhile, Ayato walked towards a portrait that made him stunned, as he froze on the spot. It was..you. A painting of you, only..you were dressed in a beautiful silk kimono embroidered with threads of gold, your hair made in an elegant bun. Your eyes were gentle, an expression of authority and elegance was visible on your face. What..what in Teyvat was going on? He searched for details of the portrait, reading softly. “Kamisato Sakura, First Lady of the Kamisato Clan and wife of the Yashiro Commissioner, Kamisato Ayato. Murdered in 1530 with her husband at the age of 26..” wait what? Kamisato Sakura? The name, the face, everything was the same. That was undoubtedly you, but how? And the Yashiro Commissioner had the same name as him? He looked at the portrait again, and winced as a dull pain struck his head. Countless emotions flowed through him the longer he stared at the portrait. Guilt, agony, anger, grief…

“Ayato..”

“Sakura!”

You both spoke at the same time, facing one another. You both were shocked again to see portraits of people who looked just like you, the resemblance so uncanny that it left you both speechless. “Ayato look..” you pointed at a portrait of the Kamisato couple, standing together in all their glory wrapped in a gentle embrace. Their eyes were full of love for one another, the joy visible on their faces. At that very moment the world spun around as you winced at the sudden headache you got, closing your eyes as countless memories flooded through your mind like an untold story forgotten in time..

“Do you take Kamisato Ayato to be your husband for all eternity?”

“Yes, I do”

“And do you take Kujou Sakura to be your wife for all eternity?”

“Yes, always.”

Ayato’s amused eyes flickered towards you, the all too familiar teasing smile adorning his features. “Daarin, how long do you plan on staring at me hm?” You blushed at his words, getting up to adjust his clothes and help him put on his coat. “Is it a crime for me to admire my husband Lord Kamisato?~” his melodious laughter filled your ears, as he held you close, placing a loving kiss on your forehead. “Of course not Lady Kamisato, I am all yours.”

“Ayato come on, take a break my love, you seem so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea.” He gave you a grateful smile, looking visibly tired from all the paperwork. “Thank you Daarin, you’re right, I should take a break..”

“I’m home my beloved!” “Ayato!! Welcome home, how was your trip to Watatsumi island?” He smiled lovingly, embracing you as he inhaled your scent. “It was successful, negotiations have been going smoothly.” You snuggled closer to him, basking in his warmth. “I’m so proud of you! Her excellency will be very pleased to hear this.”

“I love you Kamisato Sakura.”

“I love you eternally too Kamisato Ayato..”

“Sakura!! No, please don’t hurt her, leave her alone!” Ayato begged for the first time, crying as the enemies stabbed you, making you fall onto your knees, gasping for air. “NO!!” He shrieked, wanting to reach out to you but alas, the enemies surrounded him, enjoying the agony of the Yashiro Commissioner. He fought endlessly, his body filled with slashes and wounds, but it was of no use. In the end, he lost, thrown to the ground near you, bleeding profusely. “A..Ayato..” you whispered brokenly, reaching out your bloodied hand to him.

How cruel fate was, only giving you both 4 years of bliss until you both were brutally murdered on that fateful night, ending the legacy of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commission. That was how the downfall of the great empire of Inazuma began, as the two lovers breathed their last, dying in one another’s embrace with a promise left to fulfill…

You gasped audibly, tears falling down uncontrollably as all the memories of your past life came rushing back to you. As you blinked through your tears, you noticed you were sitting on the floor, embraced in a tight hug by Ayato, who also seemed to be crying endlessly. All the memories had come back to him, making him fearful of losing you again. It felt like yesterday when he saw you getting stabbed and kicked away, while he was helplessly surrounded by countless enemies. Both of you stayed like that for a long time, embracing each other as you shed tears for your past life, for all the memories you could have made if only you had lived. Tears that symbolised love, pain, loss and now, a fulfilled promise.

“Ayato..” you spoke after a long while, looking up at him. Now it felt so different, now it felt like you had known him all your life. You cupped his cheek softly, wiping away his tears just like you had all those centuries ago. “Dont blame yourself..” He cried bitterly, caging you in his arms. “It was all my fault, I could not protect you..everything was lost..we could have had so many more memories..” You smiled sadly, making him look into your eyes. His tear filled amethyst eyes hurt your soul, as you brushed his hair away. “We have an entire lifetime to make memories now. I told you, my soul is bound to you..that was not the end of our love. Look, we found each other again..” Those words put a smile on his face as he nodded, hugging you closer than ever. “Yes..our promise has now been fulfilled. We are reunited my love, and this time I promise, no one will ever come in between us and our love. This time, I’ll protect you until the end of time..”

As you both sat there, embraced in the safety and warmth of your arms, the portrait in front of you glowed, the smiles of your past selves widening a little. Your love was unending, having the power to transcend time. After all, your wedding vows to each other were that you would love one another for every eternity.

[lamprophonia]

》 [ yandere!Musician. ] 《

yan!musician x gn!reader: introduction. 1038 words. reader referred to as 'you'. cw for stalking, general yandere behavior. DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE.

amir saba, or just amir on stage, was the latest up and coming sensation.

his first single stayed on top of the indie charts for weeks on end. his (by then, long awaited) debut album went platinum. he was skyrocketed into stardom practically overnight.

he met you by chance, through a friend that worked as part of his road crew. you weren't really supposed to be backstage — but the moment he saw you, amir couldn't take his eyes off you. how could he get mad or even mildly upset when your friend sneaking you backstage allowed him to witness perfection in human form?

he immediately had to learn everything about you, naturally. your first conversation was more of an interrogation, but he honestly just couldn't help himself. he asked every question in the book and the appropriate follow ups, and asked for your social media practically immediately.

he spent that next night stalking your entire online presence. every photo you posted, every tweet, everything and anything he could find. he went through your entire following list, as well as your followers, taking note of friends, family, acquaintances.

with every second amir spent researching you, he was falling deeper.

he didn't question the feelings you were stirring up in him. isn't this what everyone wants, after all? love at first sight, immediate, intense, and unconditional. he didn't need to think too hard about it to convince himself that the two of you were soulmates.

he was, ironically, glad he was on tour at the time. it made tempering himself much easier — he wasn't sure how he would have been able to stop himself from stalking you. instead, he settled for quietly working his way into your circle.

he remembered something you mentioned during that initial conversation-slash-interrogation you two shared, and he just saw something that reminded him of it while on tour! of course he took some time out of his busy schedule to text you about it. isn't that thoughtful?

how could he not be when you occupy 99% of his thoughts at this point?

it wasn't long before he was finding excuses to text you more and more frequently. once, twice a week, every other day, every day... he made his way into your life so naturally, so easily, it only confirmed what he already felt: you're meant to be together. plain and simple.

by the time he got back from tour, he was more than head over heels. he made plans to see you as soon as possible and slowly but surely continued to make himself from an acquaintance into a constant presence in your routine.

texts he sends you every day at 6 as he's sipping his morning coffee, sometimes updating you on something interesting, and sometimes just to wish you a good day. telling you what funny thing just happened in the studio when he's on his lunch break. asking your opinion on song snippets when he gets home, starting a conversation before you go to sleep just to have an excuse to end his day by saying good night to you.

and, of course, whenever he's in town, he's already making plans to see you. no matter the season, he'll find some way for the two of you to spend time together. music festival he's been waiting for for months and just so happens to have an extra ticket to. art exhibition his friend has been raving on and on about. he's been so stressed, he needs a break, and hey — a new restaurant just opened up downtown, so how about brunch?

the first few times you initiate hanging out with him, or even just text him first, he's sure he's going to have a heart attack then and there.

when amir's not monopolizing every ounce of your free time, you're monopolizing his — you wouldn't really know that, though. he just happened to run into you right as you're leaving your workplace. wait, you live in this area? crazy, he was just visiting a friend who lives right around here.

those are the times you do run into him, anyway. being on tour really was the only thing that kept him from stalking you.

he takes up more and more of your schedule as you get more comfortable around him. he does his best to pace himself and not become overbearing, but it's ridiculously difficult sometimes. why would you want to spend time with anyone else when you have him?

it's not even a surprise when he asks you out. you've practically been acting like a couple for a while before you actually put a label on it, and he's been making barely even diguised puppy dog eyes at you since you've met him.

his behavior only gets more intense from that point on. texting you practically nonstop, or at least as often as his schedule allows, dragging you out of the house or coming over every day; hell, he doesn't even need to make up excuses for why he's in your neighborhood or by your workplace so often. he just wanted to surprise you.

is that so bad? you're his partner and his muse, after all.

amir's shameless in how much he adores you. the muse thing is so much more than a nickname; he seriously has never felt more inspired in his life. he's been writing songs about you and how you make him feel since the day he met you, but once you're officially together, he starts showing you the best ones.

he definitely has to control himself a lot. he doesn't want you to realize he's written enough music for four different albums, all dedicated to you. after all, you've only been together for a few weeks. he wouldn't want you to freak out... but he'll gladly put forth the idea of releasing a single for you early in the relationship. how quickly he'll actually do it (because there's no doubt he will, sooner or later) depends on your reaction.

amir's obsession with you is nowhere near a slowburn. he just has to force himself to not go too fast, to cautiously make his way into your life for good.

and once he has you? he's not letting go.

[beevean]

I decided to break down down this absolutely beautiful poster because I love it and there is some interesting content to notice <3

Starting from the big character portraits:

The Hecboi being his usual badass self. You can spot his earrings which I love, it's such a cute detail <3

Isaac practicing his "step on me daddy" routine. yes sir i get it your boots are fabulous and your pants can't contain your d

I find highkey underrated how Kojima associated him with skulls in official artwork. I wish it didn't get lost in time lol.

Trevor, my friend Trevor :) much more serious than the sass master he is in the game lol

Julia taking care of Hector's Innocent Devils :)

Side note, while I love most of their designs in the game, I find Kojima's idea of what Hector and Isaac's Devils could look like very fascinating. I like how she draws dragons.

The big man himself, St. Germain standing in front of a clock, and Zead holding a four-leafed clover for good luck (+ Isaac again lol)

Now, the more minute detail, going anti-clockwise:

Not only we can see Dracula's Castle, but the figure in the center is the Devil Forgery lab in the PtR manga:

Another underrated detail of lore :)

Oh, this one is just. juicy <3 It took me ages to understand what's going on, but with some help I finally realized it.

So this is essentially the moment where Hector went to Dracula and was like "hey boss, would you mind if you stopped to order me to kill humans? dunno if you noticed but i'm human too and it feels weird. thanks", and Dracula was like "hmm. let me think about it. no. have a nice day :)".

In the PtR manga, it was depicted like this:

With Dracula threatening Hector with his extended claws, and then throwing him off the castle keep. i don't know what you were expecting, man

But in the poster, he's straight up holding Hector by his throat and stabbing him with the fingers of his bat wings! So much that you can see blood dripping from his mouth! Ouch!

This only proves my headcanon that Devil Forgemasters are superhuman and can withstand wounds that would kill a normal person.

also, between this and his sippy attack in the game proper, dracula sure likes to manhandle hector a little too much.

the besties going to work <3

You have no idea how much this little drawing pisses me off. This is the closest thing I have of a canon depiction of Hector and Isaac working as Devil Forgemasters.

I need to see them slaughtering humans together in my bloodstream D: not even NFCV had the courtesy of depicting a villain Hector actually doing villain things D: guys. guys the potential-

Aside from that, this also incidentally proves that PtR's interpretation of Isaac's fabulous outfit (being what is left of his normal Devil Forgemaster outfit after Hector destroyed it) is retroactive. My man was apparently already going shirtless just because he felt like it. Imagine being killed by Dracula's most loyal soldier and your last sight in life is his tiddies. King shit.

also

yeah it's stupid but that's the vibe i get lol

I get it, Kojima-san, you love your blorbo. understandable

A bit more seriously, I really appreciate how much Isaac doesn't have the certified Kojima Pretty Man face, he's instantly recognizable. I like his big nose :)

Hector practicing Devil Forging, a smaller version of this panel from the PtR manga:

I like how in the poster it looks like a typical yin-yang symbol, but also closer to the black-and-white motif of the Devil Forging crest :) they look like two lil dragons chasing each other.

why does isaac look 150% more naked without his shoulder armor

It's hard to tell which even this is supposed to represent. I guess it's his defeat at Hector's hands, if we take the black splotches on the ground as his outfit being slashed. Notice the crest on the floor, similar to the intro of the game!

The worsties fighting. Hector is pissed and Isaac is a troll, must be a day ending in Y. they're flirting

The End! Hard to tell if it's Hector's golden Devil or Abel, but it looks awesome <3

This one... puzzles me. I can tell that Hector is being attacked by some little devils and he's defending himself. But why is he using a small pumpkin as a weapon??

(what if this is him trying to defend rosaly from the mob who accused her of being a witch :<)

Hector angsting. Sadly I'm not sure of what kind of flower that's supposed to be, perhaps a dandelion? I wish it was a lily of the valley like in PtR.

Our friend Trevor again. Interesingly, in the full poster, Isaac and Trevor are directly mirroring each other.

Trevor being like "bruh are you for real" after whipping Hector's ass black and blue. (i hate his second fight so much...)

I would say "Hector's revenge", but actually it looks like he's bleeding and in pain. So... I think this the moment when Dracula nearly clawed Trevor's eye out.

Trevor and Isaac fighting! Love that scene in the game :D

isaac how are you even twisting yourself. what are you doing. you're showing off, aren't you.

Not sure about what location these ruins are supposed to be, but fascinating detail of the skeleton holding a scale of justice. It's close to Zead...

tl;dr i want to eat this poster because it's just so fucking good and a great way to summarize the game

[thealogie]

I'm sorry but I'm about to treat your ask box like a confessional.

You kind of deserve it, though, because due to your Sherlock rewatch posts I've been forced to remember that 1. Sherlock is a show that exists and 2. that I wrote Sherlock fanfic when I was 13... about SHERLOCK and MOLLY.

In my defence, I was a deeply deeply deeply repressed bisexual who hadn't realized it yet - so all of the obvious and insane gay stuff between Sherlock and John just completely sailed over my head. Also propaganda worked really well on me as a child - so basically I was the ideal viewer for Moftiss lol. There'd be scenes where people mistook Sherlock and John for a couple and I'd go 'huh that's kind of strange that keeps happening' but then it would be played off as a joke and I'd go 'oh yes of course, silly me! Gay people only exist as the punchline! Sherlock and John would NEVER be interested in each other that way. I can't believe anyone would ever think that haha.'

Flash forward to 2017. I'm 17 years old. I've kissed other women by now and have had my brain chemistry rewritten by copious amounts of slash fanfiction. Still young, but wiser to the ways of the world than I once was. The last time I watched Sherlock, I had been 14 years old. Sherlock season 4 airs. I watch it with my mom. It's so bad my brain immediately initiates a trauma response and wipes all memory of Sherlock away. This continues for years. The only times I remember Sherlock exists is whenever I joyfully watch hbomerguy's Sherlock Is Garbage video while I'm knitting or painting or something. Also whenever I have to type in a password for an account I made when I was 13 - because my go-to password was 'SHERLOCKED' back then, unfortunately.

Flash forward to now. I'm 24 years old. And I start seeing your posts about Sherlock. Like a sleeper agent, it awakens something in me. Yesterday, I spent a perfectly good Saturday - one I could have spent doing literally anything else - reading Johnlock fanfiction. I am suddenly re experiencing the show through new eyes, seeing all the queerbait I never did before. Getting hate-crimed on the daily. I'm thinking about Sherlock at work, at my adult fucking job. I'm watching scenes from the show on youtube in my office, quickly and guiltily clicking away whenever a coworker comes to chat. I am considering doing my own rewatch. I am realizing for the first time that John and Sherlock were literally in love. It's the only lens through which you can view the show and still have it be somewhat enjoyable. They literally put Mary in a wedding dress shooting Sherlock in his mind palace on TV. I feel like I'm having a religious experience, I feel like I'm insane, I feel like I'm 13 again. This is all vaguely November 5th-ish for me lol.

Anyway. I just thought you should know the impact your rewatch is having on the population. Sorry for the novel in your inbox. I've been desperately trying to find my old Sherlock x Molly fanfic to read for the lols but I think I deleted it off ffnet. I am both having the time of my life while also desperately hoping I forget Sherlock ever existed again soon. So, basically - thank you/curse you for this.

This is perhaps the best ask I’ve ever received?? I converted a sherlolly shipper in the year 2023? Listen I’d never wish a season 4 rewatch on anyone but I would highly recommend watching s1-2 and the wedding episode for a truly out of body experience. I felt more strongly about this show/ship than any other in my life and it was STILL worse than I remembered

[bitter-panacea]

Goultard's introduction in the Dofus manga, his confrontation with Clustus Part 2

Part 1

Let's get right back to the fight. Clustus tells Goultard he talks too much and attacks first.

Clustus : You shouldn't have been called Goultard the barbarian but Goultard the chatty!

I still think the D at the end of Goultard's name was supposed to be silent. First of all because in french the D is usually silent in words that end in -ard-, just like here in "bavard", but also because they make a lot of rhymes with his name and none of them work if you pronounce the D. Goultard le barbare, le bavard, le bâtard etc

ANYWAY! Back to the fight. Goultard is hoping this fight won't be yet another disappointment...

Goultard : King Clustus, I hope you have more to offer me than a pityful crow spell.

Turns out Clustus isn't king of Bonta for no reason and is actually quite skilled in combat. And Goultard seems pleased to see it. Maybe this won't be as easy and boring as he expected.

Goultard : Well, well, well... This old man can do some damage.

"Bonhomme" is a very interesting word to me. It can mean "man" or more accurately "fellow". For example "bonhomme de neige" is a snowman, "un bonhomme" is also what you'd call a child's drawing of a person, there is something childish about it.... It's informal and can be affectionate or condescending, maybe even both at the same time. Goultard calls Joris "petit bonhomme" (little fellow), but he's not the only one who uses that word to describe him. (If I'm not mistaken, Gou affectionately calls Arty bonhomme... I might be wrong but I'm too lazy to check right now)

BACK TO THE FIGHT

Clustus invokes the royal crackler (whose name happens to be Kabor). Goultard gets crushed by Kabor and buried under the rubble but frees himself and destroys him with ease.

Rip Kabor

And Goultard starts talking again (he wants to be mysterious so bad but he simply cannot stfu)

Goultard : You said earlier that you knew me... But I'm not so sure, you must be wrong. Because, you see... If you really knew me, you would hold more of a grudge!

Clustus basically tells him to "be more clear or shut the fuck up".

Clustus : A grudge? What do you mean by that? Be more clear, if you will, I'm too old for guessing games. / Goultard : I'm much older than you, Clustus, and I still love riddles... But let's not get distracted, what I meant to say... Oh!

Goultard loves riddles apparently, (I find that hard to believe but why not.) Goultard says "let's not get distracted" and immediately gets distracted by a cool sword he saw. Clustus attacks while Goultard has his back turned (to pick up the cool sword he saw.) Goultard parries the blow and slashes Clustus across the chest (with the cool sword he just picked up.)

Goultard: As I was saying...You can't know me, we've never met before. However, I know you, and I've known, your father well. The king Balbosus Sheran Sharm! / Clustus : What... Impossible!

Goultard : a king well-deserves a few explanations before dying! You see, Clustus, I've spent wonderful moments with your father. He even almost "freed" me. Shortly before I took his life!

Clustus' reaction to that information

Clustus : It's impossible. My father died sixty years ago! I don't know what you're playing at but your story makes no sense! He lost his life facing a monster named Dark Vlad.

Goultard shapeshifts into Vlad just a moment to make Clustus understand they're part of the same entity.

Clustus : You killed my father... He was a good man... Generous and certainly the best king Bonta ever had! / Goultard : Maybe...

Goultard : But once again... That changes nothing! You all are nothing but humans. Whether rich or poor, kings or peasants... Only your combativeness and eagerness interests me!

(I will explore this whole thing with Goultard's contempt for humans, how he doesn't see himself as a human yet wishes he could feel like one, his self-loathing, in a future post focusing on Gou and the symbiote)

Goultard : And to get back to your father, know that he didn't hesitate to sacrifice his men to get me! And when time came for him to be reunited with his ancestors, he begged me to spare him...

Goultard : If you're saying the truth and he really was the greatest king this city's ever known... I don't dare imagine what the others must be like!

We don't know anything more about Goultard and Balbosus' realtionship but I go absolutely fucking bonkers imagining what it could have been like. Wonderful moments, knew each other well, almost freed him, but in the end sacrificed his men trying to capture him... I could talk more about it but It's all stuff I completely made the fuck up in my head. In my head Balbosus wished to free Goultard in a messed up dehumanizing savior complex way "I must free this creature and if I can't, i'll be the one to kill it". They fought many times but Goultard would always let Balbosus live because he was amused and intrigued by his weird obsession for him. A sick game of cat and mouse. Goultard enjoying the thrill of being chased... Until the symbiote grew more possessive of his prey, or Goultard got bored of Balbosus, or he felt betrayed when Balbosus sent his men after him... The fact Dark Vlad is the one who killed Balbosus in the end could also imply Goultard lost control at some point before he finally decided to kill him... Much to think about.

Goultard then starts to shift between his different shapes, revealing only now that, all along, Vald (who we thought was dead), was a part of Goultard, or that Goultard and Vald are both part of a whole. He talks briefly about Vlad and Vald having 50% and 5% of his potential strength, respectively. Clustus calls him insane.

Goultard : No, in hindsight... You could have only beaten me in my Vald form.

Clustus : Well, boy... Seems like you have a couple bats in the belfry! Quickly, put me out of my misery, I've had enough of your ravings... (why is he so funny)

Goultard : My... ravings? My ravings, as you say, make my immortality easier to put up with. / Clustus : If you say so!

Goultard HATES being immortal. Being immortal is a curse, unbearable without adapting by developping a dissociative disorder.

Goultard gets bored of talking to Clustus and decides to leave to find something better to do. Clustus realizes Goultard isn't going to kill him after all.

Goultard : Time has already taken its toll on you, Clustus. You're but a shadow of your former self. So don't count on me to give you the warrior's death that you dream of so badly! It's much more cruel to imagine you passing away on your throne like the senile old man you are.

Clustus shouts at Goultard to come back and finish him off. But Goultard is gone.

Volume 6 continues with Goultard's backstory and ends when Goultard finds Arty and offers him to fight. I'll probably make a post comparing Goultard's manga backstory and the animated one.

[the-bar-sinister]

Not Needed, But Desired (8322 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Baby 5/Komurasaki | Kozuki Hiyori

Additional Tags: Femslash, Rare Pairings, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, genre: pirate slice of life, Background Slash, Third Corazon Trafalgar D. Water Law, Minor Donquixote Doflamingo/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff Summary: Baby 5 finds herself head over heals for the newest member of the Donquixote pirates, Komurasaki, the runaway princess of Wano. In the aftermath of a minor scuffle with the marines the two women grow closer despite their wildly different backgrounds.

-

It took most of the day for the family to denude the island of anything interesting— between the marines, their ships, the materials the Spade pirates had left and, yes— the buried treasure that Pica had unearthed underneath the encampment. 

Fred's tidepool had been left where it was, and they took a sliver of the vivre card just in case.

Dinner was the usual raucous affair with the family, everyone back on the ship and talking about the island and the fight, and the haul, and the upcoming Uta concert. Komurasaki sat beside her once again, and once again, came to help with the cleanup after it was over.

Baby 5 scrubbed at a dish as the conversation still buzzed in her mind, her smile lopsided as she glanced over towards Komurasaki to hand her a plate. "Excited for the Uta concert, Saki?" 

Saki nodded and handed her another plate, before drying the first. "I imagine that it's going to be a lot different from the musical performances I've been to."

Baby 5 giggled and ran the offered dish under the water. "Probably yeah, what's the music of Wano like anyway?" 

"I wish I could play some for you," she said, "unfortunately my instrument was destroyed when the Polar Tang sank."

"Awww…." Baby 5 pouted around her cigarette as she scrubbed hard at the plates. "That sucks, maybe Giolla can make you a new one? She's a talented artist, she could probably figure it out if you told her what it was like." 

"Perhaps," she considered, carefully drying more dishes, as they worked together in a dance considerably less brutal than their battle together earlier. "Though I'm almost curious to learn a new instrument now that I've left Wano behind."

"Oooh…Dia's got a guitar, if you're interested in that! I can probably beg him to let you borrow it. I think some of the others have instruments too. I tried to learn one once, but I'm kinda iffy when it comes to musical talent." Baby babbled on as she fussed with a plate, turning it over and over and over again. 

"Do you ever sing?" Saki asked her. She cocked her head, giving her a curious look with her sea-deep eyes again.

Baby 5 flushed deeply, catching her eyes with a flustered half smile. She sang, she'd sing for Diamante when he played the guitar, or when Vi danced along to the feverish beat in her dances with Doffy.

She didn't think she was very good, admittedly. Back in the day, Law had always snarled that 'she sounded like a dying cat trying to sing a love song', much to her embarrassment. But the family never seemed to complain.

"S-sometimes," she murmured, "for Dia and Violet, and Doffy when he's feeling lonely." 

"If I can borrow Dia's guitar, will you sing with me?"

Baby 5 felt her face heat up even more. 

"Y-yeah of course I will! I'd be happy to!" She half turned to look at her with a wide smile "But I warn you, I'm—okay—at best, but I'm going to try my hardest for you, ok?" 

Saki smiled at her. "I think a genuine voice is nicer to listen to sometimes than a well trained one. My own is… very well trained." Her smile flickered a little.

Baby 5 reached out and her suds-slick fingers brushed against Saki's cheek near her flickering smile. "Anything I sing'll be genuine, promise. I… can bet it is, Saki. Honestly I'm curious to see how you take to the guitar, huh?" 

Komursaki paused and leaned into her touch. "Perhaps we can ask this evening. Oh– speaking of which. I noticed that there were clothes among the things we brought onto the ship."

Her fingers lingered against her skin, brushing softly near the cheekbone as she titled her head. "So there were, actually. A whole bunch of 'em, even. Think anything'll fit you?" 

"That's what I was wondering," she said. She turned so that her lips touched her wet fingers and kissed them softly. "Do we need permission to go through them?"

Baby 5 felt a sudden thrill roll through her at the sensation of the woman's lips against her fingers. "You're an officer of the Corazon Army, Saki-baby. You don't need permission for somethin' as simple as that. We can just walk right in and help ourselves. 

She smiled brightly and pressed her cheek against her fingers again. "After we're done here then. Would you look with me?"

Baby 5 leaned in and pecked her lips before she grinned widely. "I'd fuckin' LOVE to. Let's hurry up with these dishes, Saki! I'm dying to know what we find!" 

"Let's hurry then. So am I." She smiled, and kissed her back softly.

The kiss lingered over the smell of soap for a long moment before Baby 5 redirected their attention to their chore. Usually she delighted in the little chores and tasks she did around the ship, reveling in the small hits of validating happiness at helping her family even in such small ways.

But today she found herself rushing side by side with Saki as she worked to clean the dishes as fast as possible.

She couldn't wait to see what Saki wanted to wear, or how damn good she'd look in it. 

-

Komurasaki had never seen so many unfamiliar clothes. There were several crates of them, including the ones that had been brought from the island, and the ones apparently retrieved from the personal items of the marine ships. There were a lot of various sizes, and styles, and levels of wear, and almost without thinking, she and Baby 5 had started to sort them as they went through.

"They're so different." Komursaki— Saki, as she was starting to like being called— liked how unfamiliar they were. She'd been enjoying wearing Violet's dresses, certainly, but this presented an opportunity to pull herself even further from her roots on Wano.

Baby 5 was holding up a marine coat, her cigarette dangling from her lips as she tossed it over her shoulder into the 'to be heavily altered' pile. She seemed rather happy to be sorting through clothes with her, enthusiastically shoving various pieces at Saki as she found them when they didn't quite fit into this pile or that.

"From the stuff in Wano? I'd say, this stuff came from all over the great blue seas!" 

"So I can tell! Are all of these common to wear? Aside from the uniform pieces, I mean."

For most of Saki's life, she'd worn ceremonial clothing— clothing that had been picked for her, and was worn for a specific display purpose, and which she often needed assistance to put on or take off.

Baby 5 grinned at her around her cigarette, the ruffled frill of her maid's apron rustling as she bent down and picked up a pair of tall boots and held them up to her foot to judge their size. "Yeah, most of it anyway. See…this kind of style was really popular around Dressrosa."

She picked up a shirt , meant to be worn open at the chest in a garish pale green animal print of jagged stripes. "Bright, flashy, animal print. Very common where we used to operate." 

"It has a very eye-catching look." She ran her fingers over the fabric. "I wonder what it would be like to wear something like that. Do you think I'd look ridiculous?"

Saki was pretty certain that no matter what she wore, she'd look ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She was a princess. An oiran. The best oiran. She was a decorative novelty at best, something to be dressed and cared for. To have her hair brushed and styled.

The fact that she had left Wano was ridiculous.

"You wanna give it a try?" Baby 5 asked her excitedly. "Doffy and Derringer and…geeze, a buncha the other officers and executives all love that kinda look. I think it'd look fuckin' adorable on you! Hell! It kinda goes with your hair, too!"

Baby 5 didn't seem to think it was ridiculous at all. Maybe because she herself was a little ridiculous. If it would make Baby 5 smile her ridiculous smile, then Saki would try it whether she looked adorable or not.

"You think so? Then I'll happily try it. You'll have to show me how to put it on, however."

Baby 5 made a muscle, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm the best at helpin' people put things on. I used to help Derringer out when he was trying different dresses and stuff as a kid. And Sugar has me help her all the time!" She laid out the shirt, and looked around "Y'want a skirt to go with it, or a pair of pants?" 

Saki thought about it. "I've never worn pants."

Baby 5 looked up at her with wide eyes "Wano doesn't even have fuckin' pants??? What DO they have? I mean, besides 'way too much fuckin' propriety' I guess."

She tutted her tongue and pulled out a pair of pants in lemon yellow with a little sunburst on the ass.

She held them up with a big grin. "Ta da!" 

"Kimono, mostly," she answered. She looked over the pants. They were absolutely ridiculous, and Saki loved them immediately. There was no way anyone would ever think that someone wearing those pants was a princess, or a famous oiran. "Oh those are fascinating. Please show me how to put them on, could you?"

"Y-you got it!" Baby 5 saluted before she turned a deep and flustered red. "but you're gonna have to strip. Is that alright?" 

Komurasaki was very familiar with being naked in front of people. Clients and servants mostly. She hadn't even thought for a moment to be embarrassed about it, but as Baby 5 brought up that she might be, she felt her cheeks flush.

"Is it a problem?"

"Not with me, Saki-baby!" Baby 5 chirped as she brushed her hand through her curly and unruly hair. Still, there was that notable flush on her face as she looked her over. "I mean—you're beautiful, and I'm comfy around you, and if you're comfy around me…"

Saki decided to tease her a little. "Would you help me undress, then? If there's no problem."

She turned and raised her arms for Baby 5 to help her out of her dress.

Baby 5 turned a deeper shade of pink before she scurried over in a rather animated fashion to dip down and start unlacing the back of Saki's dress with nimble fingers. "Y-yes ma'am~" 

She laughed softly, and teased a little further. "Ma'am, hmm?"

The dress slipped off her, exposing her pale, soft flesh. One day, she hoped, it would be marked with scars from a life well lived. For now it was a soft, unpainted canvas.

"I mean if you want me to call you ma'am! Or I can just call you Saki-baby, like usual!" Baby 5 had started to babble as her fingers trailed down her unmarked skin as she peeled the dress downwards. 

"It sounds like you like calling me 'ma'am'," she teased. "So I'd like that."

"S-sometimes," Baby 5 squeaked as she half knelt to lower the dress down Saki's hips. "I mean it's what a maid calls people…and Doffy likes it when I call him Young Master, so, I mean.."

She was certainly flustered now as her smile went lopsided. "I'm glad you don't mind it, ma'am." 

Saki chuckled, letting the dress fall around her hips, exposing the soft rise of her breasts, and flustering Baby 5 further– she was certain.

"Not at all."

From the slight tremor and the intense heat coming off her as she eased the dress aside and stood to look up at her—and very briefly but obviously her breasts—it was safe to say she was very flustered.

"You wanted me to show you how to…uhm…wow you're pretty, ma'am." 

Saki tilted her chin down to look at her with a coy glance. "Why thank you."

Baby 5 smiled up at her–that wide and ridiculous smile that she wore sometimes, this time with cheeks flushed red as a rose and eyes visibly trying not to drift down to Saki's chest as she fumbled for the yellow pants. "You're welcome, Miss Saki." 

Saki liked that smile of hers. It was so unrestrained, so carefree. It made her happy to see.

She lifted her feet, one after the other, to step into the pants as Baby 5 helped her.

Baby 5 slid the ridiculous yellow pants, their fabric slightly thick and stiff but soft to the touch as they slid up her legs as Baby 5 knelt with her arms around her, smoothing out wrinkles as she pulled them up. 

Saki watched her with amusement, letting her dress her. Saki was very good at letting other people dress her. It was more fun with Baby 5 doing it. The pants felt strange however. A little bit constricting, but not in an unpleasant way.

"They fit?" she asked.

Baby 5 ran her hands up her legs with a flustered edge to her big grin. 

"Yeah, I'd say. They're snug, but they're kinda meant to be? They're the type of pants that are meant to show off your curves, you know? Your hips." She lightly patted the sunburst on the ass, flushing as she did. "That's why it's got a decoration there, too." 

"That's very new for me," she said, smirking a little as her ass was patted. She was working to show her emotions more naturally— to restrain herself less. "Showing off curves. When I'm dressed, at least."

Baby 5 seemed to notice, especially with the way she wiggled down there in seeming joy.

"There's a kind of thrill in showing off even when dressed, you know? That's why I wear such a short skirt and low cut blouse." She stood slowly as she grabbed the shirt, still standing rather close to Saki. "Ready for your shirt, Miss Saki?" 

Saki ran her hands down her waist and hips– snug in the pants. "How do the pants look without it?"

Baby 5 seemed to have a physical full body shiver—a very strange one as what looked like a brief ripple of small knife edges trailed up her body as she looked at Saki with wide and interested eyes. "Gorgeous, I mean, it's a bold look!" 

She chuckled, watching Baby's shiver. "Good. Too bold for now, I think. But perhaps some other time."

Baby 5's eyes lingered on her chest again for a moment as she smiled. "Maybe some other time. You'd look great, Miss Saki."

She shifted and raised the shirt, which she started to help her into with a quiet hum. "so this is meant to be worn open at the front, or at least mostly open." 

"Does it need a garment under it?" Saki asked curiously.

-

Baby 5 felt like her brain was sputtering out in real time. At some point she'd gotten so entranced with Saki that she'd started slipping in her coy little 'Miss' and "ma'am's" before she knew it. Flirtatious deference, not like the desperate and needy deference she showed when she needed, NEEDED, to be wanted—but the same sort she showed for Doffy.

She looked up at her, as she slipped the fabric of the shirt over her arms with a chew of her lip. Saki was beautiful, the most beautiful woman Baby 5 had ever seen and certainly one of the most charming. There was just something about her, especially as she introduced her to things outside the narrow box of Wano.

She'd helped her dress, picking through the admittedly impressive pool of seized clothing to find what might suit her until she found something that just screamed 'Saki the deadly pirate'. A bright and cheerful color that'd well reflect any blood splattered across her in the heat of battle.

As they goofed around together she seemed to start to show more, a smirk here and a smile there, opening herself up to Baby 5 in a way that made it feel almost intimate.

Baby 5's crush was threatening to turn into something deeper as she buttoned up the buttons up to just under Saki's chest.

"You can wear one but they're not necessary. A tube top, or a bustier would probably work, but if you leave it open like this it covers the breasts but shows the curve of them and the overall shape of your torso."

She smoothed out the long lapels of the shirt and tried to arrange it nicely around her chest "just be careful bending over for stuff." 

"Hmm." Saki let Baby 5 arrange it for her. The way she let her help her dress reminded Baby 5 of Doffy, too. It was clear that Saki was used to people dressing and undressing her. "I'll keep that in mind. I'm curious how it looks without."

She hoped that familiarity wasn't ruining it for her, she hoped that it wasn't 'too close to Wano'. There were few casual and intimate moments Baby 5 liked more than dressing and undressing someone she cared about. The lingering of touch and the choosing of the right outfits to make sure the person shined—it was something that appealed to her honor as a maid, and the part of her that buzzed with affection and attraction.

"Then I won't get an undergarment! And maybe find you a mirror, Miss Saki!" 

Saki leaned into her, letting the touch linger just like Baby 5 had hoped. Her smirk was hitched and comfortable. "Do please find me a mirror, Baby. I'd like to see how it looks."

Baby 5 bowed her body with a widened grin. Impishly, she lifted Saki's hand and kissed it before she scampered away with a nod, looking around the room for any mirror that might help. "There's got to be one around here…"

She remembered seeing one in one of the chests of the Spade Pirates' clothes, and sure enough there was a large mirror under a few pairs of denim pants.

"Do you think it looks good?" Saki asked curiously as Baby grabbed it.

Baby held it up in front of her, peeking out from its side to grin widely at her as she spoke honestly. "I think you look fantastic, Miss Saki. It's very West Blue, or-–I mean, it's very Dressrosa too. You look, wow…you're takin' my breath away."

It was true. All of it. The way the brightly colored pants clung to her thighs and the curve of her hips, and the open dress shirt with its bold minty animal print baring her milky flesh and the just-visible curve of her breast….it was making her a little weak at the knees. 

Saki pushed her shining green hair back behind her shoulders. "Taking your breath away? That's a high compliment. I think I like how it feels, anyway."

"It is! Lookit, I can barely breathe!" she put her hand to her throat with a flustered grin. "Wheeze, wheeze." She flushed, that– that was a stupid joke. She looked up at her again and tried to babble it off. "you do huh? It's a comfortable kinda outfit and it REALLY suits ya…Miss Saki." 

Saki was, unfortunately, too busy giggling at the joke. She pushed her hair back again and caught her breath. "Thank you… thank you. Can I see the mirror now?"

Baby 5 jolted before running it over to hold it out to her with a grin. "Here you go!" 

Saki gazed into it for a moment, and then started to preen, smoothing her new clothes and her hair. "I really need to do something about my hair, I think…"

Baby 5 watched her preen, so much like Doffy in that way again. She flushed, ducking her head. "They look natural on you, ma'am…your hair? Are you gonna cut it?" 

"I don't know," she said. She grabbed it and held it back, looking at herself in the mirror. "I've always worn it up."

Baby 5 leaned closer, bringing the mirror up to better reflect her face and hair. "like in a ponytail?" 

"No," she shook her head. "Quite complicated hairstyles. I'm contemplating what it would look like simply tied back, versus cut."

Baby 5 chewed her lip for a moment before she reached back with one hand to fiddle with her own hair. The wide curls bounced as she slowly undid her favorite ribbon and pulled it from behind her head.

She paused before she asked. "Can I tie it back for you, Saki-baby?" 

Saki paused too, and glanced curiously at the ribbon in her hand. She smiled warmly. "Please."

Baby 5 put the mirror down, and twisted the pale yellow ribbon around her fingers for a moment before she slipped behind Saki. 

"Just tied back huh? Alright gimme a sec…I used to do this kinda thing all the time for Miss Monet." Her nimble fingers gathered up Saki's hair "and luckily I had this ribbon on me…I mean, I usually do—"

"I suppose it's still warm from you using it," Saki said teasingly, letting Baby toy with her hair.

"A-absolutely, it is!" she wound it around Saki's beautiful hair, working to tie it back. "It was a gift to me when I was a little girl. It's kinda old now, but Doffy gave it to me when I first joined the gang as a child. I got really into collecting bows for a time, wearing all kinds of different ones, including this really cute big red one. But this one was always the most special to me." 

"That's so sweet," Saki leaned into her. "It's… touching that you trust me enough to use in my hair, even for the moment."

Baby 5 flushed, leaning into her from behind as she tied the ribbon and let Saki's hair fall between them. For a moment– one lovely moment, she let herself nuzzle gently against her back and take her in, feel and scent. "Of course I do! I-I mean you're a part of the Donquixote family, right? And we've been getting along, and, I trust you. I know you won't do anything to it." 

Saki smiled at her. "No, I wouldn't."

She turned to face her again, and put her arms around Baby 5's waist.

Baby 5 looked into her eyes, her hands lingering on her shoulders as she gave her another broad smile. "Well that looks fantastic on you, too." 

"Then I should get some ribbons of my own. I don't think I'm ready to cut my hair just yet." She leaned her forehead against Baby 5's.

"You should, Miss Saki," Baby 5 leaned forehead to forehead, her fingers gently tracking down her upper back. "Did that mean something special in Wano? Cutting your hair? I'd heard some islands have special ceremonies around it."

Geeze, though. Saki was gorgeous like this. Unbuttoned from the prim and proper 'Wano' life she talked about in such a tired voice, dressed colorfully with her hair tied back—she really looked like part of the family.

Baby 5 brushed her thumb in a gentle circle against her shoulderblade. She had really gotten to like Saki. A lot. Her heart pattered in her chest as she met her eyes over the smolder of her cigarette.

She let it fall to the ground where she snuffed it with the tip of her shoe. They'd kissed..--- they'd kissed earlier. That meant that Saki liked her too, right? More than just needed her, maybe. Possibly—if she was lucky. 

"Mmm…" she shook her head gently against Baby 5's. "I don't want to think about what it meant or didn't mean on Wano. I want to cut or leave my hair because I like it. That's the way I'd like to do things from now on."

"Good. Then you just gotta keep following your heart, Saki," Baby 5 murmured "and I think your hair looks beautiful. It's nice to see my favorite ribbon on you…" 

"You like it, hmm?" she smiled that teasing smile at her.It made Baby 5's heart race. She was being teased, like a whole hell of a lot . But somehow she didn't mind it at all.

"I d-do, yeah. I'd love to help you experiment with your hair, too. If you want." 

Saki batted her eyelashes, and her voice lowered coyly. "I'd love to experiment with you, too."

Baby 5's face went brick red, and she was damn sure that she'd started steaming like a kettle or the tank of some kind of explosive. She sputtered a little, unable to find her voice as she tightened her arms around Saki.

"I…ah, you wanna experiment with me, Saki?" 

Saki pressed her nose against Baby 5's. "If you'd want to. Tell me, please, if I misunderstand."

She was asking her, directly asking her—so many people in the world outside the Family disregarded her feelings or pressed their advantage on her desperate to please nature, but Saki asked.

She smiled shyly, nuzzling her nose against her. It was no wonder Doffy approved—and it was no wonder that Saki was tightening the threads around her lover's heart.

She nodded slowly. "I want to, you didn't misunderstand Saki—I promise you didn't." 

Saki kissed her softly on the lips. "Why don't we go back to your cabin. I believe we had a conversation from earlier to continue."

Baby 5 let the kiss linger a moment before she nodded and offered her hand to Saki with a chuckle "I was hoping you remembered that, Saki. C-come on before someone comes in and teases us huh?"

A conversation to continue, wanting to experiment—Baby 5's heart skipped a beat. She could take that as proof, right? Real proof. Proof that Saki liked her and didn't just 'need' her.

She wanted her enthusiasm, their mutual enjoyment…

Baby 5 was all too happy to give it to her. She gripped her hand firmly for a moment, holding it to her chest with an increasingly warm and eager smile "come on, Saki—Lemme show you around my room." 

[wvoonie]

What are your oc relationships with each other and/or other characters?

Sorry for not answering this before 😭 this is kinda of a difficult question since I have quazillion ocs (I'm also kinda stupid) I'll just write for the two ocs i brainrotted out more 😿 (?)

Spoilers ahead and tw for gore ! (Not super explicit btw) And bad writing ahead 😭 (I swear I will write for my other ocs one day)

— Makoto Hikiuchi ; mantis breathing ; kinoe

based on her rather two-faced personality (?) it's very difficult to describe her relationship with other people. With other fellow corps members she keeps a polite smile, she doesn't talk much to them unless they come up to talk to her. With Kocho she does show more genuine emotions, but she also tries to conceal her "ugly emotions" in front of her, because she respects Kocho a lot. (Ugly emotions as for example, her anger at the thought of having a demon living in the butterfly mansion, though you could see her veins bulging out and her obvious forced smile)

With Tanjiro she was very, very hostile at first, threatening him and well, you get the point. She hated that this boy worked with a demon, a DEMON. The creatures that killed her brother and ruined her life and other's, and this boy had the nerve to work with it?? Siblings or not it was shameful, she would have slashed that Nezuko's head off if it wasn't orders from the head of the corps and Kocho not to do so ; but maybe slashing was too mild — maybe she could've sliced her into pieces, but that wasn't a possibility for now. As the time went on and she got to know Tanjiro better she became less hostile, still hating Nezuko but understanding the boy more.

It changed when Nezuko conquered the sun and spent more time with the other butterfly girls, Makoto was able to at last feel sympathy for the demon girl, finally approaching her with a genuine smile and patting the younger girl's head.

And for the sake of Genkoto... Ahem her relationship with Genya.... is feeling disgusted at the fact this guy actually just ate a DEMON and is making Kocho worried for him. But they didn't meet since Makoto is usually busy, until they once met gazes, the scary looking boy turned into looking like a tomato — it's strange according to Makoto, maybe she'll ask Tanjiro about that when she has the time.

— Akabana Okugawa ; spirit breathing ; Kinoto

Akabana is rather tricky, she is be categorised as intimidating to lower ranked slayers because of her serious, deadpan expression and the fact she barely talks or hangs out with other people other than her cousin.

She developed a sibling-like relationship with shinya due to him being her only remaining family member, despite their closeness she still does feels guilty of what happened that day so she prays that Shinya will forgive her. She tries hard to make him speak to her but the latter remains quiet all the time.

Her relationship towards the kamaboko squad is well, towards Tanjiro she is indifferent, she respects his unwavering resolve to save his sister but she thinks it's wishful thinking, Akabana only thinks it'll be soon until Nezuko decides to give in to her demonic urges, she keeps those thoughts to herself most of the time (she sometimes shares them with Shinya)

With Zenitsu she doesn't have an opinion on him, I believe they haven't met or had a brief interaction in which she deadpanned at his antics.

Inosuke is the one she interacted with more, every time he wants to fight her she unsheathes her nichirin, though she is usually stopped by Tanjiro. Due to her gullible personality she does believe everything the boar-headed boy tells her, he's the king of the mountains? Okay; a shiny acorn just for her? Thank you; "fight me"? Alright.

She's interested in the girl that Inosuke talks much about, she seems to feed him most of the time, are they in a relationship?

@ramuunene, @muuumuiiii, @kanaokanzaki-op, @stellapuffs, @cherieonow, @vampiir3d