#Because I still have A LOT MORE to say about how the love triangle was handled

[jakedustry]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 - 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔

IN WHICH Kim Mingyu has a plan for everything. Even you. But there are still things he can’t predict, no matter how smart he is, leading his “brilliant plan” to a disaster as his best friend falls for you — his girl.

pairing– Kim Mingyu x fem!reader ㅤㅤㅤ mentions of Wonwoo x reader

featuring– lot of seventeen members, user @adel222 as Adel, oc Hanni as Soonyoung's gf

genre– Angst, Fluff, Smut

contains– auctions, interior designer!reader, cook!Mingyu, kinda asshole!Mingyu, oh no they can't stop flirting even though they are supposed to be rivals!, rivals to lovers, loverboy!Wonwoo, Mingyu is plotting, love triangle, lots of lying, the greatest bsf!Seokmin, mentions of burn out, lots of flirting, use of pet names, lots of cursing, arguing, alcohol, two smut scenes

word count– 31k (I'm sorry)

smut warnings– breast play + worship lowk, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary, oral (f. and m. receiving), hair pulling (Mingyu's hair), praise, handjob, cum swallowing

playlist

↪ izzy adds... okay, it's safe to say this was a journey. I had this idea back in September and have been developing it ever since, and honestly, it's only thanks to the lovely people I have around me that I didn't drop this back when I was at 2k. I'm so thankful to everyone who listened to me yap about this fic and even more to my beta reader who always has my back <3

There were only three men you knew the names of when it came to your most significant and expensive hobby. Jussi Pylkkänen, Tobias Meyer, and Kim Mingyu. While Kim Mingyu wasn’t anyhow famous in the auction world outside of South Korea, he was undoubtedly one to remember. 

Whenever you sat in the auction room, bidding everything you could on your favorite art pieces, it felt monotonous. It felt as if you were sitting in the room with amateurs. Others were scared to bid high, you realized during your first two weeks. They feared coming home to their families with a piece of art instead of the billions of won they had in their bank account before they left the house. 

You didn’t have those problems. Unlike other millionaires and billionaires, you weren’t born with such money. You had counted your every penny since you were fifteen, working your ass off so you could live the life you always wanted. You spent every minute of your free time building this life for yourself to be able to spend millions on art that you could sell for double the price later if you wanted to.

That was the reason you got to where you are right now. You knew your way around with money. You studied how to make the most out of things. You understood how to talk well and influence people. But most importantly, what might have been your most substantial advantage in this industry, was that you were a woman. 

And men were naive. 

It only took a glance, maybe a little smile, to have whoever you wanted wrapped around your finger. When you did find a suitable opponent who wasn’t scared of bidding some money on what he wanted, he’d let you have whatever you asked for the moment you just so slightly leaned forward in your place, revealing a bit of your chest. 

Yet, there was still one man you didn’t get to toy around with. Kim Mingyu. Why? You were asking yourself the same question. Even though, deep down, you knew the answer.

He was the same as you. 

He toyed with people. And he enjoyed it. 

♡��⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It was your third auction when you heard his name for the first time. 

“Fuck, he decided to join too?” You turn around as you hear the chatters behind you, sipping on the glass of wine you have been holding for the past ten minutes. “Oh hell no, I am out. I heard Mr. Yang had spent over 200 million ₩ last month because they had some deal together, and then he took everything! Yang hasn’t shown up at any auctions since! I heard he had lost everything!” 

Your ears perk up as you listen to their conversation, slowly heading toward the two males you’ve been watching. “Mind me joining you, boys?” You bat your eyes at them with a smile, making it almost impossible for them to refuse. 

“Kim Mingyu. That’s his name,” the taller of them explains, and you notice how he straightens his back when your eyes shift to his figure. You smile at him, tugging the right side of your hair behind your ear. Something you’ve learned over the years. For a reason unknown to you, men found it attractive. “So, this Kim Mingyu… What’s his deal?” 

Such a simple question, and yet, no one seems to know the answer. 

“I heard he wants to dominate the auction industry.” — “His deal… don’t you want to know my deal instead?” — “No one knows how he does it!” — “Oh, I wish I knew. I’ve been trying to find out what he does to screw around with these people too. Let me know if you have any luck.” 

You sigh, leaving from another group of guys. You’d started at least twelve conversations by now, hoping to find out more about The Legend, as they all called him, but all you got from it were guys trying to flirt with you or tell you you were too young to be at auctions. 

“Care for a drink?” 

“I’m sorry, but if you excuse me, the auction is about to begin,” you try to decline his offer politely but stop when you turn around to face the male behind you. A face you don’t recognize. His tall figure leans over you, and you watch as dark strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes. “And what better way is to start an auction if not with a fine glass of wine?” He smiles. Only a half-genuine smile, you figure. Still, you nod to him, placing your hand on his arm when he offers. 

You didn’t know who you were messing with back then. You saw a pretty face to toy around with and thought that was your win. 

You thought you could wrap Kim Mingyu, the Legend Kim Mingyu, around your finger. 

You smile as he hands you the glass of white wine, commenting on the fact that it goes well with your dress. “I am not quite sure I caught your name, by the way,” he says casually once you hold his arm again, making your way towards the bidding room. It sounded rehearsed, as if he had said it a thousand times in the same spot. But you knew that wasn’t the case because, excluding you, there were only five other women, all of whom he was avoiding eye contact with. 

Maybe it was his personality then, you think. 

Your name slips past your lips in a heartbeat before you can even rethink it or come up with a pen name. “Well,” your name sounds better on his lips, more elegant. “What are you looking for tonight?” Now that was cheap, you tell yourself. A chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head slightly, looking up at him to see his face. His eyes don’t tell you he wishes your answer to be him, though. “Well, I bet you’re aware of the pieces in the auction tonight. They are all beautiful, but…” 

“But there is one that has your attention,” he adds before you can continue, making you nod. “Number six,” you inform him, your eyes shifting to the empty seats in the room.

“Number six is what I am taking home tonight.” 

You don’t turn to look at him again, not until his arm escapes your grip and he stands in front of you. “We’ll see about who it will come home with. Seems like we have a similar taste,” he smiles again, excusing himself as he walks away without another word. He doesn’t share his name with you, but you don’t mind. You don’t plan on seeing him again after this auction. 

You take a seat around the middle row. Not too far back, but also not in the very front. You notice the black-haired boy three rows ahead, calmly watching the front. The few chairs beside him are empty, and no one seems to be thrilled with having to sit next to him. You scoff, shaking your head at the loser you thought you found, and look at the moderator instead. 

Number six was yours. 

You sit silently throughout most of the bidding, only trying twice at the very beginning when prices weren’t high yet, but stop eventually, leaving others to take it. You didn’t care much about other art pieces. And, the less you bought before the painting you want turned up, the more money you would have to spend on it. 

You look down onto your lap, where your phone is, sighing upon seeing the black screen with no new notifications. “4 million.” You glance up again as you hear the bid, your eyes shifting from the taller boy from before to the painting on the podium. Your eyes widen, and you immediately raise your number card. “4.5 million.” The moderator doesn’t even have a chance to speak before the male raises his number again, doubling your amount. Another number, a new one, raises his hand, the words ten million leaving his lips. You grit your teeth, raising your number card to bid again, but before you can offer your price, the dark-haired male is talking again, increasing the bid on his own. 

“Alright then,” you mumble, raising your number greater so the moderator would notice you. You take a deep breath, ignoring the enthusiastic smile on the male’s face as he watches you. “20 million.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying no one would raise the bid again. 20 million won was already way over what you planned to spend when you arrived. The painting’s worth was 40 million, 43 at best. It would be irrational to spend any more than what you paid. It would be dumb to spend more than fifty percent of the painting’s worth. 

Still, you hear a voice again, and it isn’t the moderator. For fucks sake. “I’ll take it for 30.” 

You couldn’t. You didn’t have that kind of money to spend on a painting. Even though you’d love to have it home, hanging over your bed or in your living room, knowing it could get you money if you ever got into a crisis, you just couldn’t. 

And so, you watch the dark scenery turn white as the staff comes on the podium, hiding the painting with a white sheet. The dim gray mountains disappear right before you, making you shut your eyes immediately so you wouldn’t have to watch them carry it away, knowing you’d never see it again. Whisper of Hope. You scoff at the name. Right. That was hardly true when your hope disappears in the blink of an eye. 

But as you close your eyes, the painting comes back to you. The light that pierced through the murky clouds and the mountains covered in snow, you see it all. It helps you remember why you wanted it in the first place. There was always a feeling in that painting, a quiet sense of peace that made you feel like everything would be alright, even if it never really was.

You snap out of your thoughts as you hear the moderator speak up again. “Number six sold out to Kim Mingyu, number 89.” Your eyes widen, and you immediately redirect your attention to the dark-haired male three roads ahead. His eyes are already on you, a smirk spread across his lips as he bows his head slightly, as if his manners only came back to him now. 

You scoff, realizing this was his “Nice to meet you.” You have finally met Kim Mingyu in all his glory. 

And you hated him.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Aren’t auctions just another form of gambling?” You raise your eyebrow as you face your best friend—Seokmin. He shrugs when he notices the look on your face, glancing around the room for some help from your other friends. “I get where he is coming from,” Soonyoung nods, making you roll your eyes. Of course, he knows where he’s coming from. 

“Care to give me a proper explanation as to why then?” You encourage the two of them, making Jihoon turn around on your computer chair so he could face the rest of you, interested in what you all could possibly have to say. 

“I mean,” Seokmin starts, clearing his throat. “You have to pay even to be able to join the auction, and you can’t possibly know if you will walk away with something or not.” – “And you can also pay a ton of money for something just to find out its value is way lower than you thought,” Soonyoung adds, nodding to prove Min’s point. 

“Okay, so it can be a bit risky,” you agree whilst rolling your eyes. “But really, you would be an idiot not to do proper research about the value of things before buying anything.” 

“I’ve seen people,” Jihoon shrugs. “Remember Mr. Lee? I spoke to his wife a few weeks ago. They got divorced when he lost all of their money because he believed a stranger and invested in some company that went bankrupt.” Seokmin’s eyes widen, and his jaw practically hits the floor, making you scoff. “As in my favorite convenience store owner…ever?!” Jihoon nods, and the youngest boy whines. “You’re kidding me!” 

“Swear on Soonyoung’s girlfriend.” The boy immediately looks up, “Hey!” You laugh, as you always do when you’re around them. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend. We are fighting right now…” he mumbles, looking down at his lap again. 

Your smile slowly fades away, exchanging a look with Jihoon. “About?” You ask, raising your eyebrow. They never fought. All their arguments were about the stupidest things ever. You doubted it was anything serious this time. “She thinks I’m not spending as much time with her as I used to. We also fought about this one girl from work. It’s been a bit hectic,” he answers shortly. “But I know you guys don’t care about that. How’s your recent project been doing?” He tries to brush it off with a smile—a painfully fake one. 

“No, rewind. We do care,” Seokmin assures him, anxious at the sudden mood change. You can’t help but pity your friend. They never fight. That’s right. They never went through anything huge, so he never had to deal with something like this. “Hoshi,” you call out softly by his favorite nickname ever, making him look up. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No, not really,” he admits. “Thanks, though.” You nod, telling him there’s nothing to thank you for. 

It’s quiet for a bit after that. It feels as if you were all scared to break the silence. Too afraid to say something stupid when your friend’s eyes look so painful.

But Hoshi didn’t see it like that. “Oh my god!” He exclaims all of a sudden, catching you off guard. “I completely forgot to tell you! Hansol is throwing a party at his house next month. He’s finally planning to ask the girl he has had a crush on for months out,” he explains as if nothing ever happened. A part of you feels relieved. After all, this was the chaotic Soonyoung you were worried about. The same guy that jumped into your pool fully naked last winter because of a stupid bet. It wouldn’t be like him to stay down for the rest of the day. 

The conversation only flows after that, and you know not even Jihoon, who has been trying to ignore you all and work on his new project can focus on anything when Soonyoung and Seokmin laugh so much over a joke Hoshi said ten minutes ago. You smile as you watch the three people closest to you. Every time you sit with them like this you feel grateful to have them by your side. 

Jihoon chuckles, shaking his head at them. When your eyes meet his, you know he feels the same way. Happy, thankful, and delighted. It all shows in his eyes, no matter how nonchalant or unimpressed he wants to look. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

The following morning, you find yourself waiting for Soonyoung to pick you up at your place. He reached out to you soon after getting home the day before, asking to grab a coffee in the morning before work and talk. You couldn’t say no to him even if you wanted to. Waking up a bit earlier to go grab a cup of coffee with your friend wasn’t something you would hate to do anyway. 

You sit on your couch, your leg bouncing on its own as you intensely stare at the project in progress in front of you. The sketch is barely started, and you need to turn in the finished design in three days. You sigh, running your fingers through your hair. No matter how long you stare at it, nothing comes to you. It’s as if there was some wall in front of you, preventing you from being able to see anything. 

You give up, spreading on the couch and grabbing your phone instead. As you’re about to text your friend and ask where he is, you hear the doorbell ring, announcing his arrival. “Coming!” You yell back, quickly shoving your phone in your pocket and getting up. You glance at the papers on your coffee table once more before grabbing your bag and leaving it behind for later. That was a problem for the future you. 

“Hey,” The older boy greets you as soon as you open the door. You smile at him, quickly taking your keys and hiding them in your bag. “Ready to go?” He asks, and you nod.

“So I obviously told her there was nothing between us and that she doesn’t need to worry, but for some reason she just doesn’t believe me,” Soonyoung whined, ranting about the fight he and his girlfriend are going through. “I tried to talk to her and explain everything she worries about, but she doesn’t want to listen to me. It’s as if she wants us to fall apart. I don’t know what to do anymore,” he mumbles, creating a pitiful frown on your face. You can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

“It’s hard if she doesn’t want to listen to you…” you comment, trying to think of a way to help him. “I mean, I don’t know what’s going through her head, right, but maybe, next time, just don’t mention anything about why you guys are fighting. Take her on a date instead. Do something nice for her. Show her how much you love her, and I’m sure she’ll stop doubting you.” 

Soonyoung falls silent, thinking about what you said. When was the last time he gave his girlfriend flowers without a reason? How long has it been since they had time for a proper date? Honestly, he wasn’t sure. 

“God, you’re right. I need to have a date with her,” he breathes out, disappointed in himself. “Thanks,” he smiles again. “For reminding me,” he adds as his smile turns into a laugh, putting you at ease. You felt like that whenever you heard him laugh, especially in situations like this. He always made you remember that you have to enjoy the moment you’re in and not overthink everything. “I’ll pay for your coffee for that.” 

“I can’t pass on that, can I?” 

The café is right behind the corner, so it takes you almost no time to reach your destination. You’re laughing when you enter the small shop, not paying much attention to the people around you. “Maybe if he actually made an effort,” you roll your eyes. “Well, maybe if someone didn’t block him after the first date, he could have,” Soonyoung laughs even harder, walking over to the register to order your and his drinks. 

“As if,” you scoff, turning around to find a place to sit, but as you do, you stumble over a foot. Foot that isn’t yours. You don’t get a chance to react, your eyes widening as gravity fails you, taking you down. Thankfully, before you can reach the floor, you feel someone’s arms wrapping around your waist tightly, ensuring you won’t fall. You blink a few times, your eyes meeting the tall guy. “Hello,” you pipe, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Hi,” he smiles, clearing his throat awkwardly and helping you stand straight again. “I’m sorry, that was completely my fault,” he apologizes, his eyes landing on the dark stain on your blouse. He must have spilled his drink on you while catching you. “It’s okay,” you assure him, noticing where he was looking. “Shit,” you curse quietly, quickly searching for a bathroom with your eyes. “If you excuse me,” you apologize when you find your target, meeting his eyes again. “Wait, let me help you,” the black-haired male offers. His hair is neat, his forehead exposed, and he is dressed in a dark blue suit. He looks flawless. A part of you feels annoyed by how perfect he looks. Even the glasses fit him perfectly. “No need,” you shake your head. “Thank you for offering, though,” you smile politely, quickly getting to the bathroom. 

“Well, that was embarrassing,” you sigh as you join Soonyoung at a table for two he picked out. “It was funny,” he laughs. “I watched you from the counter. You had sparks in your eyes!” He slides your cup with caramel macchiato forward, a teasing smirk on his face as he sips at his cup of coffee. “I did not,” you roll your eyes. 

Honestly, you might have. You can’t remember much about the situation. You only see the boy and his stupid smile when you close your eyes, unable to think about anything else. 

“And now you’re blushing,” he comments with a chuckle. “Isn’t this what Seokmin would call love at first sight? I hope you got his name, if nothing else.” You shake your head, sipping on your iced drink. “You’re overreacting. It’s not love, admiration, or even a tiny crush. If anything, he is just someone who ruined my favorite blouse,” you point out the stain, trying to sound annoyed. You’re sure Soonyoung can see right through your bullshit, though. Because a big part of you wishes you had asked for his name. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“How’s the project been going, by the way?” Soonyoung asks, walking beside you toward your company. “Last week you mentioned something about being stuck,” he mumbles, the empty plastic cup still in his hands. “Still the same,” you sigh. “I guess I finally know what it feels like to have an artist block,” you laugh it off. “I might end up passing the project onto someone else. It’s not like I need the money right now anyway.” 

“No need to rub it in my face,” he rolls his eyes. “Just retire at this point and draw the paintings you buy yourself. Isn’t that what you always wanted to do, anyway?” You fall silent, staring at the ground under your feet. “No,” you disagree, but you can’t look him in the eyes. “Ah, I thought–” You quickly shake your head, stopping him before he couldn’t dig too deep into it. “No, you thought wrong. I like designing, and I like where I am now. If I became an artist, I might not even have a place to live now.” 

Hoshi is caught off guard, shutting his mouth when he finally notices your facial expression. He didn’t even realize it at first, but it seemed like he had found a weak spot. “Okay,” he mumbles, nodding confusedly. “If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters.” 

Soonyoung is quick to change the conversation, talking about anything and everything that comes to his mind at the moment to keep you distracted, but it doesn’t work out like he would want to. All you can think about are his words. If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters. You’d like to think you are happy right now. You have amazing friends, a great job, and most importantly—freedom. You live like many people wish for. You would be stupid not to be happy. 

So why do you keep thinking about what-ifs? Why do you always wonder how your life would look if you chose to continue painting back in high school? 

“Okay, I’m going to leave you to it now,” he smiles, stopping in front of your company. “Good luck. With everything.” You smile back at him, opening your arms so he can hug you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders while he squeezes your waist, making you laugh. “Thank you, once again,” he adds, slowly letting you go. “No need to,” you shake your head. “I should be the one thanking you for my coffee.” 

You wave him goodbye with a smile, sighing as you look at the front door. I’m happy, you remind yourself. There’s nothing more you would need in your life. Nothing was missing in your life. 

You take a deep breath, walking in with a smile as you greet the lady at the reception.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You sit in your office, trying to develop the idea for the Millers’ project on your laptop. It’s not until the loud ring of your phone gives you an excuse to think about something else. “Yes, Chan?” You hum, accepting the call from your assistant. “Ah,” you nod, looking at the clock on your wall. “You can send him in. I’ll hear him out and see,” you agree, hanging up again. Maybe a new project is just what you need at the moment. 

“Good morning,” you smile, reaching out your hand for the man opposite you to shake. “Morning, and nice to meet you,” he smiles back, shaking your hand. Your assistant stands behind him, giving a faint smile toward you, too. “This is Mr. Xu. He asked specifically for you to design his new house,” he explains, batting his eyes at you, almost making you laugh. He looks proud. “Alright, let’s look at it,” you agree, showing him the way to your table. 

“Can I get you something? A cup of coffee, tea, or water?” You offer, sitting down on your chair. You move your laptop to the side, along with some of your documents for the Millers’ project. “Tea would be nice, thank you.” You nod, glancing toward your assistant. Chan nods, turning on his heel and heading to the cafeteria to prepare everything. 

“So, do you have the house plans with you?” You ask, and he immediately pulls out his phone, looking for something. You mentally sigh, glad he came somehow prepared. If only all of your clients were like this. “It’s a two-story house. We were thinking of making this room the guest bedroom, then the bathroom, and then the living room and kitchen,” he says, pointing at each of the rooms as he shows you the main floor plans on his phone. He switches to the second floor with a simple click when he sees you nod, pointing out at the room in the left top corner, right next to the stairs. “This should be another bathroom, and here, right next to the balcony, I’d like to have our bedroom,” he explains. 

“What about these two rooms?” You ask, pointing at the room next to the bathroom and the second room leading to the balcony. “This will be my studio. And this will be a joint office for me and my fiance, ” he clears out. “Studio?” You wonder, looking at the house plans on his phone. “An art studio. I do art for a living,” he answers casually. He can see the sparks in your eyes almost right away, scoffing. He might have just won you over. 

“I’ll design the house for you,” you agree without another second of hesitation. “Are you looking for all the rooms or…?” You question, glancing at him again. He’s smiling at you, and it causes you to frown for a second. “Everything, if possible. I’m not sure how much experience you have with studios, but I would still appreciate it if you tried.” 

Chan comes back soon after, placing two cups of green tea on the table. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” your assistant clears his throat. You look up at him, questioning what he needs with your eyes. “The Millers called. They want to see how their project is doing,” he informs you, and you try your best to stay professional and not break down right in front of your client. “Come here when I’m done talking to Mr. Xu, and we’ll talk about it,” you decide, intuitively glancing at the empty draft on your laptop. Chan doesn’t push you anymore and nods, sending you a good-luck smile before leaving your office. 

“So, you were saying,” you turn to your client again, encouraging him to continue and tell you his ideas for the design. 

“Mind if I ask how you found me?” You ask, rising from your chair as the conversation with Mr. Xu comes to an end. “Through a friend’s recommendation,” he replies casually. You nod, then reach for a business card from the stack on your desk, handing it to him with a slight smile. “I’m glad your friend was satisfied with my work, then,” you say. “If you have any new ideas or want to discuss the project further, don’t hesitate to reach out. I might not always be available for a call, but my assistant’s number is right below mine.” He nods, offering a brief but polite goodbye before exiting your office. 

You sigh as you close the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment with your eyes closed. The thought of meeting Chan makes your stomach turn, but the idea of facing the Millers is even worse. You can not meet them. How could you? After two months of working for them, how do you tell them you’re done, that you don’t want to design their house anymore? The thought of it makes you sick. Not only would it be awkward, but it could cost you everything. Your career. All the work you’ve put in to get your name out there. You can’t afford that, not after everything. 

Your breath shakes, but you try to pay little to no attention to it. You need to figure it out somehow and collect yourself again. Otherwise, the tiniest next problem will be your breaking point. You fix your hair as if that was supposed to fix everything and return to your desk. Your assistant is just a call away, but you don’t dial the phone. Not immediately at least. Instead, you move your laptop back before you, forcing yourself to come up with something first. 

Minutes turn into an hour, and you never grab the phone to call your assistant. It’s as if you’re in a daze, finally getting the ideas you’ve been searching for. You only managed to finish the living room, but you're grateful for even as much. As you save the folder, leaning back in your chair to relax, the sound of the office door opening makes you groan.

“I hope you’ve been working and not lazing around until now.” You meet eyes with your assistant, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t call you, did I, Chan?” You raise an eyebrow, but it doesn’t budge him a bit. “We seriously need to talk about the Millers’ project,” he glares at you to let you know he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “You haven’t submitted a single draft since we accepted the deal. Mr. Miller is worried, and he wants results soon.” You sigh, unable to say anything in your defense. “I talked to him and asked for more time, but you have to show him at least somehow finished design during the next month.” 

“Thank you, oh my god!” You jump up, running around the table to get to him. “I love you, Chan. Oh my god!” You yell again, making him scoff as he wraps his arms around your waist. “Sure, sure,” he shakes his head. “You seriously have to do something, though. Got it? I can’t keep defending you every time.” You nod, promising to get it done soon. 

“Also,” he clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Don’t mention any of this in front of the guys. They’d tease me until I die.” You laugh, squeezing him once more before you let him go, stepping back. “I promise I won’t tell them anything. I’ll stay the only one knowing you can actually be useful sometimes,” you grin, making him roll his eyes. “I hate you.”

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You’re unsure why, but the following day you find yourself in the same café as yesterday. 7.45 am, just like the day before when you stopped by with Soonyoung. 

“So? Was it worth it?” Lee Chan asks as you’re about to order your coffee. ��An iced caramel macchiato, to-go please,” you tell the younger lady behind the counter, ignoring your assistant’s question. You take out one of your earphones to hear her when she talks back to you, doing your best to ignore Chan’s continuous bugging. “That will be 4 750₩.” You pay with your phone, stepping aside so the next customer can order. 

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t worth it,” you finally mutter, picking at the skin on your fingers. You still don’t know why you came back here. For some guy whose name you didn’t even know? You couldn’t have been that foolish, could you? You wouldn’t have sunk that low, right? 

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a relationship—or just gone out on a date with someone honestly. That must have been it, you convince yourself. Why else would you act so desperate? He was just a handsome guy who caught your attention due to the lack of gentlemen in your life. After your friends, who would use every chance they got to make fun of you and make your life a bit harder, he was a nice change. That’s all. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Yet, you step into the café the next day too. 

“Iced caramel macchiato?” The barista tries to remember your order when she sees you. You smile, nodding. You unlock your phone to pay, but before the lady can tell you your total, male’s voice interrupts you, his arm brushing against your own as he stops beside you.. “Make it two, please. I’ll pay.” Your eyes widen when you look up to see his face, holding back your smile when you notice the same boy with glasses you did two days ago. “Hi,” he greets you softly, smiling before he turns to the barista again to pay. 

“What did we get again? I was so caught up in getting to the counter I barely listened to what you ordered,” he says with a light chuckle, eyeing the drink in his hands. “Caramel Macchiato. It’s my favorite,” you reply, leading the way to one of the tables. “I see,” he nods, taking a sip as he follows you. 

When you sit down, he asks for your name, settling into the chair opposite you. He smiles, repeating your name to make sure he remembers it. “I’m Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo,” he says, extending his hand across the table for you to shake. “Nice to meet you, Wonwoo,” you say, giggling a little as you shake his hand. Immediately you cringe, a giggle? Really? What are you, a middle schooler?

You pull your hand back awkwardly, holding onto the cold drink to distract yourself. You try to steal subtle glances at his face, averting your gaze back to your coffee whenever you thought he might catch you in the act. With his hair down, brushing the top of his glasses, and that pretty smile, he makes it hard to focus on anything else. 

Today, he’s dressed casually—a simple black shirt that clings to his figure perfectly, making his muscles more visible. He might as well be asking you to fall for him when he looks like that. 

You quickly shake your head, snapping out of your thoughts. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve somehow turned into a middle schooler after all. Then your eyes fall to his side, noticing the camera case flung over his shoulder. “Are you a photographer?” You ask, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Ah, this?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he sets the case on the table and takes out his camera. “It’s just a hobby, not a profession,” he clarifies. 

“Can I still see some of your photos?” You ask, hopeful. Wonwoo agrees, nodding as he hands you his camera. He can’t say no to you, not when you look so excited. For a brief moment, he could almost see stars in your eyes as you took the camera from him. 

Your head tells you to ignore the feeling, but your body has a different idea. Your stomach twists in a (weird) way you’d prefer not to address—refusing to admit it could be anything like those so-called butterflies people talk about, and you swallow hard when your fingers brush against his, the soft touch sending shivers through your body. 

“You’re really talented!” you exclaim, flipping through his most recent pictures. A few are of an elderly couple—what you can only assume to be a part of his family—some are shots of nature or stray cats, and others are self-portraits of him.

You smile, finding him cute until you come across one that makes your stomach lurch: he’s shirtless, his hair wet, probably just out of the pool. A flush creeps up your neck as you quickly close the gallery, trying to shake off the image. You bring the camera up to your eyes to focus on something else, adjusting the lighting before snapping a picture of the man in front of you. 

“What was that for?” He smiles, sipping on his coffee. “Not sure,” you admit, handing him the camera back so he could take a look at the picture you took. “Actually, I could ask the same,” you proclaim, getting his attention. “You paid for me. You ran from the door to get to me on time. What was that for?” You question him, watching as his smile grows wider. He looks at his camera again, smiling at the picture of him as he shrugs, repeating your words, “Not sure.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

The saying “When you know, you know” was always stupid in your opinion. You weren’t sure what it meant in the first place. Logically, it didn’t make any sense. 

And as you walk through your company’s building, heading to your office with Margaret by Lana Del Rey playing in your earphones, you feel like you will never understand it. Because you don’t just know. 

But it doesn’t stop you from being happy. You don’t have to “know” in order to enjoy your time. 

“What’s that smile for?” Chan stops when he notices you in the hallway, a teasing grin on his face you’d recognize from miles away. You roll your eyes at him, taking out your earphones and turning the music off. “Nothin’” you try to brush him off, but you know your eyes give you away. “It’s about the coffee guy, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you went to the café again,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You frown. He doesn’t answer anymore. Instead he shrugs, accompanying you to your office. 

“Wonwoo,” you mumble as you step into your office. Chan raises an eyebrow, looking at you with confusion, mentally running through your list of clients to see if the name rings a bell. “That’s the coffee guy. His name is Wonwoo,” you explain with a smile. “I ran into him again today.” Your assistant freezes for a moment as if weighing his words carefully. “I’m guessing you didn’t hate him, then?” he asks, settling onto the couch in the room. 

You sit in your chair, opening your laptop, and immediately flashing yourself with the image of the Millers’ project. “He’s nice,” you answer casually. “And has a nice smile.” Chan frowns. “That’s all he needed to charm you?” You roll your eyes, zooming in on the room that was supposed to be for the Millers’ youngest. Thanks to your assistant’s relentless nagging, there are only two rooms left to complete. “Some people go for men just because they have money. So I don’t think I’m that bad.” 

“Yeah, because you have the money.” You glare at him, giving him a warning look and letting him know that if he continues, you’re kicking him out. “Okay, sorry,” he raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head. “I’m just worried. I haven’t seen you obsess over a guy like this…ever.” — “Honestly, that also freaks me out,” you admit, sighing. “He’s just got this aura that pulls me in. I’m not sure why.” Chan hums as a sign of understatement. “Maybe you found a soul to your non-existent one,” he jokes, but you don’t find it funny. “Out.” 

“I didn’t do anything!” He protests. “I need to focus. Out.” You repeat yourself firmly and watch him get up from the couch. “I’m expecting a finished project by tonight, then,” he says, not waiting for your answer and leaving the office. 

Your head hits the back of your chair, watching his back as he leaves. Then your eyes drift to your phone, lighting up due to a new message. Your eyes widen, and you immediately reach for it, smiling at the simple “Hi” Wonwoo left you when you gave him your number. Then another text pops up, and you know you won’t get him out of your head anytime soon as you tell him the time you’re ending today. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Chan’s head hurts. 

“Tomorrow. I’m serious,” he hisses, and you shut your eyes closed, feeling bad. You got so caught up in playing with Mr. Xu’s project and texts with your new acquaintance that you barely did anything on the Millers’ project even though you knew the deadline was close. “I will get it done tonight,” you promise. “I’ll work on it overnight, and you’ll have it on your desk first thing in the morning so you can show it to them.” 

Your assistant shakes his head, and you know he is disappointed. “Do whatever you want, but get your priorities straight,” your name leaves past his lips, and you gulp down. It’s been long since you’ve been scolded like this, and Chan might be the last person you would expect it from, but a part of you knows you needed to hear it. 

He opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can, the office door swings open, and someone steps into the room. Your gaze immediately lands on the man standing behind Chan, and you can already feel the atmosphere growing awkward. Your assistant turns around to see who just walked in, his confusion evident as he locks eyes with a man he’s never seen. “I apologize, but consultation hours are over. If you’d like a session, you’ll have to come back tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, I’m not here for–” He tries to explain, but you quickly stand up, grabbing your laptop and jacket as you make your way to the door. “Okay, that’s enough talk for today. I promise I’ll finish the project tonight,” you promise one more time, waving at Chan before grabbing Wonwoo’s arm and leading the way out. You don’t need Chan to know you are hanging out with the same guy who’s been distracting you all day. You wouldn’t hear the end of it then. 

“What was that for?” Wonwoo laughs, following you out of the building. “Long story,” you brush it off. “If that was your boyfriend, then maybe…” — “I don’t have a boyfriend,” you stop him before he can finish his sentence and silently scoff when you see the smile on his face. “Good,” he mumbles. You have to bite your bottom lip to constrain your smile, averting your gaze and pretending you are looking at the interior plans on the walls. 

“Alright, should we go?” He interrupts your thoughts, slightly moving his arm–which you are still holding–to get your attention. You look up at him, nodding. “Where exactly are we going, anyway?” You wonder, but you don’t get an answer to your question. 

“You have a nice car,” you comment when you sit in the passenger’s seat after he opens the door for you. You look around, smiling. It’s been a long time since you last went on a night stroll, and you missed it. The silence, the calmness, the moon, and even the street lights that added a somewhat serene atmosphere. “Do I?” He chuckles. You’re not sure, actually. You never knew much about cars, and all of your previous relationships always made fun of you for it. “That’s funny because Min–” he clears his throat. “My friend,” he corrects himself. “He made a whole joke about it.” — “I was annoyed at first, but now it’s slowly starting to be funny.” 

“Are you close with your friends?” The question might sound lame, and you are aware of it. But after meeting so many people who would have answered with a flat “no,” you can’t help but ask. “Some of them,” he agrees. “I usually keep my circle small.” You smile, “So do I. Well– I know people. But not many of them know a lot about me,” you clarify. “I get what you mean,” he nods. “It’s better that way,” he mumbles, driving off the parking lot. 

A part of you thinks you have found your ideal man when he parks his car again, and you step out. Your eyes widen at the scenery in front of you, and you immediately glance at the man beside you. “This is insane,” you breathe out, and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you take a few eager steps forward. You’re drawn to the railing at the edge of the mountain you’re standing on, where you can finally take in the full scope of the view. 

The landscape stretches far below, the trees barely reaching your height. The air feels lighter up here, and everything around you seems more vivid. This place would be beautiful to watch the sunrise. You can already picture it—the golden light slipping between the mountains, creating shadows on the trees below. It’s like a canvas, a moment you want to paint. 

It reminds you of the painting you lost for a second. You shake your head, snapping out of your thoughts as you turn around to face Wonwoo. At the same moment, you hear the sound of a picture being snapped, smiling when you see him with a camera in front of his eyes, taking pictures of you. “A memory,” he justifies. “And if you let me take you on a second date, too, then I’ll put the picture beside my bed,” he teases you, walking forward to join you. “So this is a first date?” You ask, chuckling when you see him averting his gaze. “If you want to call it that,” he shrugs, trying to be casual about it. 

“I can think of this as a first date, yeah.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Missed me?” 

You turn around when you hear the familiar voice and scoff. “Not really, no.” You turn your back to him again, thanking the waiter as you take a drink from his plate, trying to ignore the presence of another human being right behind you. “Oh, come on,” you can hear the smirk in his voice as he follows you, just like a puppy. You shake your head, glancing his way as he catches up to you, managing to get a drink for himself along the way. “I’m sure you keep thinking about me.” 

“You wish,” you retort. “Then maybe... you keep thinking about my painting, then.” You stop, staring him up and down. “Kim Mingyu, was it?” You ask as if you weren’t aware of who he was. “I’m not sure what experience you have with women, but I can assure you—just because you managed to steal one painting from me doesn’t mean you get a place in my mind. And definitely not my heart,” you fake a smile, and he chuckles, nodding. “I see. But it was enough for you to remember my name, huh?” 

He is unbelievable. Every bit of your body feels triggered when you speak to him, but still, you stay near him for some reason, unable to tell him to stop bothering you and leave. “It was a guess.” — “Yeah, right,” your name leaves his lips, and you have to gulp down. It still sounds as elegant as it did the first time he said your name out loud. 

“Well, m’lady, what are you looking for tonight?” Mingyu asks, following you to the auction hall. “I’d rather not disclose,” you turn him down casually, making his lips turn up into a smile. “Scared I’d go for the same art piece?” You stay quiet because you know he is right. You don’t want to go against him again. “Don’t worry, m’lady, I’m here just to observe tonight,” he leans down to your ear, assuring you. It makes a shiver run down your spine. “Good for you,” you try to sound calm, but you’re currently everything but that. 

As you sit down at one of the chairs, and he takes a place beside you, you rethink your whole conversation. Where did the nickname come from? And why did you have such mixed feelings about it? You felt confused. You were stunned when you felt the tickling in your stomach as he called you m’lady, but you also felt weird about it. You and Wonwoo have been going out now, and he had taken you out on some great dates, so you felt bad for him. You felt wrong about another man calling you nicknames like that.Obviously, you couldn’t say you have spent a lot of time with Wonwoo, or got to know him on a deeper level, but you had a feeling. Your intuition was telling you to go for it. 

“So? Which piece is it?” Mingyu nudges your shoulder, bringing you back to Earth. “What?” You ask confusedly, frowning. “What are you looking to get tonight,” he explains, glancing at the podium with all the things in today’s auction. “I think the vase looks quite nice, but I think you’ll like the flower painting more,” he comments, making you look towards the podium, too. “They are both nice,” you agree. “But in fact, I was thinking of a different painting. The abstract one on the right side. It’s mostly because of the colors.” He hums, and it feels like he’s zoning out, thinking about something. You don’t pay much attention to it, though. You didn’t come here to care about what’s going on through a man’s head. 

Throughout the rest of the auction, Mingyu stays quiet most of the time. He has stuff on his mind. Even a blind would notice that, but you don’t point it out. You’re too focused on the auction happening at the moment to be bothered with him. As long as he doesn’t annoy you, you don’t care what he does. 

“Yes!” You cheer quietly, making him look your way. “I got it,” you smile. “And for cheap.” He chuckles, shaking his head at you. “Good job,” he teases you, and you know he doesn’t mean it literally, but his words still get stuck in your head. 

Is Kim Mingyu trying to flirt with you, or are you just imagining things? 

“So, can we leave now?” 

“We?” You raise your eyebrows confusedly, but before he gets to answer, your phone goes off, causing everyone in the room to look in your direction. “Shit,” you mumble, pressing the decline button as fast as you can. Still, Mingyu catches the caller ID and frowns. Coffee guy <3 ?? Why would anyone name someone like that on their phone? “Tell me no one is looking at me right now,” you whine, staring down onto your lap. “I think everyone is staring,” he proclaims, making you slowly look up. You sigh when you notice everyone is busy with their own things and put your phone on do-not-disturb. 

“Was that your boyfriend?” He wonders. “None of your business,” you shut him down. You don’t intend to be Kim Mingyu’s friend. He’s weird, problematic, self-centered, tall, with tanned skin– No. You shake your head to interrupt your thoughts before they get the chance to go in the wrong direction. Kim Mingyu is problematic and self-centered. You repeat, looking back at the podium to keep your thoughts still. 

“Whatever you say, m’lady.” 

And you fail miserably. He throws you off with just one sentence, and you hate yourself for it. 

You run out before Mingyu can strike up a conversation with you again. You don’t know what his problem is, but you are certain you don’t want to deal with him now. So, instead, you pick up your phone and decide to call your coffee guy. 

“Hi,” you smile when he accepts your call immediately. “I’m sorry for hanging up on you earlier. I was busy,” you explain, but he only tells you not to worry about it. “It wasn’t something that couldn’t wait, don’t worry,” he assures you. “I was wondering if you don’t want to go out tomorrow, that’s all.” You pull the phone away from your ear for a second, checking today’s date as you head toward the taxi you ordered earlier. “Sorry, Wonwoo, I already got plans. And I’m working in the morning,” you apologize, sitting down in the backseat. 

“Actually,” you start, switching your phone from one hand to another so you can fasten your seatbelt. “Maybe you could come with me. My friend is having this party at his house to impress a girl or something. You could meet everyone I talk to when I don’t talk to you,” you chuckle awkwardly, greeting the taxi driver when your eyes meet in his rearview mirror. 

“Get to know your friends?” You notice the hesitation in his voice and panic. “You don’t have to, obviously! It was just a suggestion! If you don’t feel like socializing, it’s all good!” You assure him, shutting your eyes closed when you finish, regretting ever mentioning anything. “No, I’ll– I’ll come with you. I’m sorry if it sounded like I didn’t want to. I was just startled.” You breathe out in relief, opening your eyes again. “Of course, I’d love to meet your friends.” 

At the moment, you don’t pay any attention to his tone of voice anymore, but maybe you should have. It might have been for the better if you didn’t bring him with you, after all. 

Because while you smile on your way back home, Wonwoo, on the other side of the phone, is freaking out. He never intended for things to get this far—he shouldn’t be meeting your friends. That wasn’t the plan. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Wonwoo tenses when the loud music reaches his ears. He didn’t think people his age threw parties anymore, but he was dead wrong.

As he follows you inside, all he can think of is how bad of an idea this was. Befriending your friends was a terrible idea. What would be next? Hanging out with them in his free time? Talking about you with them? Being your plus-one at their birthday parties? He was fucked. 

He doesn’t even get a chance to think about what he was going to do when you drag him to a group of guys you notice immediately after stepping inside, insisting on wanting to greet them first. 

“You’re all early!” You grin, going in for a hug with your best friend. Seokmin wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly before his eyes land on the taller male behind you, a smile creeping up his lips as he lets you go. “And who might this be?” He asks even though he already knows. There wasn’t a conversation he had with you where Wonwoo hadn’t been brought up since you had gone on your first date with him. 

“Ah, I’m Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo. I guess I’m her…” he glances at you for some help, but you don’t know what to say either. He isn’t your boyfriend, but a friend sounds wrong, too. “Uhm, yeah,” he looks back at the three guys in front of him, nodding awkwardly as a small laugh leaves his lips. You’re cute. The helpless but excited look on your face you give him when your eyes locked with his is unforgettable. 

“I’m Seokmin, and I guess I’m her best friend,” Seokmin laughs with him, offering Wonwoo his hand. Soonyoung and Jihoon introduce themself shortly after, sending you teasing smiles immediately. You shake your head at them, wrapping your arm around Wonwoo’s to get his attention. “I’m going to find Hansol and get us something to drink. Wait here with them?” Your eyebrows raise in question, mostly asking him if he was okay with spending some time alone with the boys. 

In fact, he isn’t. He doesn’t want to give them a chance to see that there is something off about him, but he still nods for the sake of it all, letting you leave. 

You wander around the house, greeting people here and there that you recognize as Hansol’s friends until you reach the kitchen, where, to your luck, you find the man himself. “Vernon,” you smile, catching his attention. “How have you been?” You ask, walking over to pull him into a hug. “Hey,” he smiles, softly patting your back. “I’m good, except for the fact I haven’t seen Adel around yet,” he answers your question, taking a step back. “I’m sure she’ll come soon,” you smile back at him, leaning on his kitchen island. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asks and you nod, looking around to try and see what he has. “I’ve got your favorite champagne. What do you think?” He offers, and you can’t refuse. “Can I also get a beer?” — Hansol frowns, grabbing the bottle of champagne. “I wouldn’t drink both,” he advises. “I’m not stupid,” you remind him, thanking him as you take the champagne from him. “The beer is for Wonwoo. I don’t think he’d appreciate this much,” you laugh, grabbing a glass from his cabinet, along with one for Wonwoo. “Wonwoo?” Hansol raises his eyebrow teasingly, pointing towards the pipe with beer so you can pour it yourself. “You’re not the only one planning to get a partner tonight,” you answer simply, laughing as you walk away. 

Wonwoo, on the other hand, is finally relaxing as he engages in a conversation with your friends. “You make her happy, I’m glad,” Seokmin smiles, looking around to assure himself you aren’t anywhere near them. “She cannot stop talking about you. It gets to the point where it’s annoying,” he complains, and Soonyoung immediately agrees. Wonwoo laughs, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Hopefully, they are all good things.” 

“Some of them are nice, yeah,” Soonyoung nods, then glares at the older male. “But some…” — “Don’t pay attention to him,” Jihoon interrupts him. “He’s just teasing you,” he shakes his head at his friend. “Yeah, but if you do one bad thing,” Seokmin warns him, staring him down. Wonwoo swallows a lump in his throat. It’s not like he was scared of them. Heck, he could lean on Jihoon’s head if he wanted to, but he feels awful. Because honestly, you don’t deserve anything bad in your life. 

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he proclaims, catching both Seokmin and Soonyoung off guard. Jihoon, though, doesn’t seem much shaken by his statement. He’s smiling at Wonwoo as if he was proud. “I mean– that’s good. You shouldn’t hurt her,” Seokmin nods, glancing at his friends as he tries to find the words he wants. “Well, in that case, what are you still waiting for?” Soonyoung asks, making Wonwoo frown. “I’m sorry?” 

“When are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend? We’ve all been waiting. I don’t think she will shut up about you otherwise,” he explains, prompting him. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“That’s–” A great question, actually. Something he should have definitely expected to come from them. Of course they wanted to know what his intentions with their friend were. But the truth was, he didn’t know if he could ask you to be his girlfriend. It would only get things messy. It would be for the best if he just did his part as quickly as possible and then disappeared from your life before he could hurt you any more than he already has. 

“You look like you’re about to faint.” — Wonwoo sighs when he hears the female voice behind him, coming to save him. “Are these guys giving you trouble?” This time, it’s a different tone. There are two of them, he realizes. He turns around to see who is behind him, but before he can question the girls’ identities, Soonyoung pulls the slightly taller one into a hug while the other girl greets Seokmin and Jihoon. 

“We are nice to him, don’t worry, Adel,” Seokmin laughs, but her frown makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe him. “Just making sure he knows whose side we’re on,” he grins. “And who exactly is this lovely guy whose life you are making so much harder?” The taller girl asks when she steps back from her boyfriend and greets his two friends. “Jeon Wonwoo,” he introduces himself, sending a soft smile toward the two girls. 

“Ah, I see,” she laughs. “I’m Hanni. Soonyoung’s girlfriend.” — “And I’m Adel,” the shorter one introduces herself, too, before glancing around the room. “Have you guys seen Hansol anywhere? I promised him I’ll come meet him right when I arrive.” 

“I’ll help you find him,” Wonwoo offers, immediately taking his chance for an escape. He just needs to find you and get away from any more of the guys’ questions, and it will be all okay again. “Alright, I’ll see you guys later.” Jihoon nods toward her, sending a smile toward Wonwoo too, to let him know it was okay. He could sense the tension in him, the need for an escape. He couldn’t blame him, honestly. 

Eventually, it’s you who finds the two of them. “Hansol is in the kitchen,” you inform Adel, and she thanks you, leaving the two of you alone and going to find him. “I hope you’re okay with a beer,” you say, handing Wonwoo the drink you got him. “Definitely,” he assures you. “What did you get?” He wonders, glancing at the glass in your hand. “Champagne,” you smile, offering him a sip. “I’m good, thanks,” he shakes his head, smiling back at you. “Hansol said he’ll hide the whole bottle for me, so I have tonight’s drinks secured,” you grin, making him chuckle. “How about we get you that bottle then and go somewhere quieter? There’s too many people for my taste,” he suggests, looking around the room to prove his point. People were everywhere. 

“Yeah…Yeah, of course!” You nod, trying to think of a place to go. “Come with me for the bottle then. If we catch Hansol, I can ask him if we can chill out in his room for a bit.” — “Thank you,” he whispers, still smiling. You shake your head, saying it’s not a big deal. 

Vernon doesn’t seem to have any objections, but you are certain that’s only because he is too busy talking to the girl he likes. Still, you don’t waste your opportunity and grab the champagne bottle before leading Wonwoo to the bedroom. 

Wonwoo sits down on the bed, placing the glass of beer on the floor beside his leg while you close the door, making him immediately sigh in relief when the music damps. He watches your every movement as you place the bottle of champagne along with your glass on the closest table you see before turning your attention to him again. You bite your bottom lip, hesitating as you look him up and down. You take careful steps forward until you reach him, stopping right in front of him. He breathes out your name, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Is it…okay for me to sit down?” Wonwoo frowns in confusion at first, but when he notices your eyes on his lap, he gulps down hard, hesitantly nodding. 

You sit yourself on him, fixing his hair as you gaze into his eyes. At the moment, Wonwoo forgets about everything he promised himself before he met you, unable to resist you when you’re this close to him. His body moves before he can think of anything else, pulling you closer by the waist so he can press his lips on yours. One of his hands grips your waist while he takes off his glasses with the other, trying to think of the beer next to his leg so he doesn’t accidentally kick it down. 

You gently push him down onto the bed, your fingers wandering over his clothed chest while your mouths explore one another, and for a second, you think life couldn’t be any better. That’s only until his phone rings though. “Mhm, wait,” he whines into the kiss, searching for his phone in his pocket. You place a kiss on his jaw instead, glancing at his phone to see who is calling. 

Wonwoo turns his phone off before you can see anything, throwing it to the side as his hands cup your face and he brings your lips back to his. “Who was that?” You ask between kisses. “Friend,” he mumbles back. “I’ll call him in a bit.” You can’t have any complaints when he kisses you so nicely, so you don’t say anything else and let yourself enjoy the moment. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Good night,” Wonwoo smiles, and it melts your heart. “Good night, Wonwoo,” you smile back at him, letting go of his hand as you step inside your apartment. There’s nothing but love in your eyes, and it makes his heart ache. “I’ll text you later,” he assures you. He hesitates for a second but eventually steps closer to you again, pulling you into a warm embrace. You wrap your hands around his waist, burying your head in his chest. “Get home safe.” 

When you close the door behind yourself, Wonwoo sighs and takes out his phone, dialing his friend’s number. 

“Where have you been?” He asks impatiently, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too, Mingyu,” he greets him, putting his empty hand in the pocket of his jacket as he leaves the apartment building. “I was with her until now, sorry. She took me to her friend’s party,” he explains, making Mingyu frown. It was obvious what girl he was talking about. “You met up with her friends?” He questions, and Wonwoo can already guess what direction this conversation will take. “Okay, look. I don’t think I can continue,” Wonwoo admits, and Mingyu falls silent. “What?” 

“I just…” he starts, but before he can think of the right words, Mingyu speaks up again. “You actually fell for her, didn’t you?” Mingyu scoffs. “You’re unbelievable.” — “Look, it’s not as simple as you think it is. It’s only normal to like someone you’ve been forced to spend so much time with,” Wonwoo argues. “You are the one who got me into this situation.” 

“I got you into this situation?” Mingyu repeats his words with nothing but disgust. “I’ve asked you to get to know her and find her weaknesses, not to go on fucking dates with her and fall for her!” — “I’m hanging up if you want to yell at me,” Wonwoo states, the grip he has on his phone only tightening as he starts getting angry. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu mumbles, leaning back in his chair as he tries to think of what to do next. “So you really won’t do it?” Wonwoo sighs. “I can’t.” What was so good about you? Mingyu wonders. His best friend wasn’t one to fall for just anyone, so there must be something about you. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. Sure, you were pretty and smart. That was something he couldn’t take away from you, but that couldn’t be it, right? “Alright, I’ll do it on my own,” Mingyu sighs, glancing at his opened laptop. “Can you disappear off the scene for a bit?” 

Wonwoo hesitates. He wants to take a step back and calm himself because he knows he can’t actually be with you, but giving Mingyu a free hand scares him. He doesn’t want to see you break apart because of his friend. “What are you planning?” 

“I’m going to befriend her. See if she lets me get closer, and then I’ll figure out something else.” — “Two weeks,” Wonwoo proclaims. “Two weeks, what?” Mingyu asks confusedly. “I’ll leave for two weeks and let you do whatever, but… when I come back, I don’t want to play your game anymore, Gyu. If she wants to be with me, then I want to go for it. Right now, that’s more important to me than any money or stupid art pieces you want.” 

Two weeks. That’s all he gets. Wonwoo won’t give him any more than that.

But two weeks is something Kim Mingyu can work with. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It was shortly after your third auction when Mingyu sat in his bedroom, trying his hardest not to yell at his girlfriend. 

“Listen, you might think she is just some cheap chick that doesn’t know a shit about money, but I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” he repeats himself. “She knows what’s up.” 

“Oh, come on! No woman is as good as you!” Mingyu frowns when those words leave his girlfriend’s mouth. He always knew she wanted to kiss his ass whenever she got the chance, but now a part of him just felt disgusted. “We don’t have to go through any extra work just because of some slut, right?” You are a slut. The words stop at the tip of his tongue and he has to close his eyes for a second to calm himself. 

It felt funny hearing that from someone as his girlfriend. If it wasn’t for her ability to get into any man’s pants, he wouldn’t be keeping her around anymore. “We do,” he states simply, getting up from his bed with a sigh. She wasn’t there so she wouldn’t know but he saw it, the way you talked, and how all the men around were falling to their knees for you. One wrong move on his side and you could have all his opponents wrapped around your finger. He couldn’t let that happen. 

“Yeah, and what do you want me to do, huh?” Her voice gets louder, and it makes him annoyed. It wasn’t anything new, her voice always bothered him, but for her to have the audacity to raise her voice at him now? She must have gone mad. 

“I don’t fucking know. Eat her out for all I care. Just do what you always do. I’m not buying you expensive shit for you to just sit around and do nothing,” Mingyu tries to stay calm, refusing to fall so low and yell at a woman even though the girl in front of him makes him want to rip out his hair. 

“I can’t play with a woman!” She complains, making Mingyu groan. “For fucks sake, you just can’t do anything, huh?” He runs his fingers through his black hair, trying to think of a plan. “Well, then, it’s great you can do so much!” His girlfriend yells back at him, and Mingyu finally snaps. “Out.” His voice is strong, sending shivers down her spine. “What?” She blinks a few times, suddenly falling quiet. “Get the fuck out of my house. I’m done with you.” 

“Wait– What–What do you mean?” Her voice shakes, and she has to gulp down when she notices his stare. His eyes are full of hate, more than they were ever before. She would be stupid to think Mingyu ever loved her—or even felt anything romantic toward her—but she liked being around him nonetheless and knew Mingyu appreciated her company from time to time, too. Now, though, there wasn’t anything that could convince her Kim Mingyu didn’t hate her with his whole body. 

“You finally hit the final string. I’m done with you,” he explains, not bothering with saying anything else as his head tilts towards the door, telling her to leave. 

Mingyu sighed when he was alone again, lying down on his bed. The sudden silence was new to him, but it helped his thoughts to get running so he didn’t mind. He knew he couldn’t just track you down and try to get closer to you to do the job on his own. You would be an idiot to let him in. So, what else could he do? 

Then it hit him. He quickly sat up, searching for his phone with his eyes. When he finally found it, it took him less than a few seconds to dial his friend’s number. “Hey, Wonwoo, do you think you could come over today?” 

And that was how it all started in the first place. The plotting, the tracking down, all the effort Mingyu put in to figure out the things you like so he could give his best friend the perfect info. Even Minghao. Mingyu thought of it all. While one of his friends got closer to you in your free time, his other friend interrogated your workspace. 

It was perfect. He’s got it all covered. There was no way his plan could fail. He was taking you down. 

Until Wonwoo hit him with the call, and everything fell apart again. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

The following morning, the first thing you did was reach for your phone so you could text Wonwoo. 

You rub your eyes, trying to get them to focus properly as you open the chat with him, your eyes widening when you notice you have a new message. You smile when you see the text, but it fades away again when you read what it says. “What the fuck are you sorry for so early in the morning?” You sit up, hoping this is still just a part of your dream. “You’re kidding me,” you breathe out, pressing the call button and bringing your phone up to your ear. 

“Good morning,” Wonwoo greets you nervously, and you can almost see the way he rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly a good morning,” you proclaim, waiting for a further explanation. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “I forgot about it, and the guys texted me yesterday asking if I was already packed. I couldn’t tell them I am not going.” 

“Don’t you think the timing is a bit insane?” You call him out, scoffing when he can’t say anything in his defense. “And what the fuck is with the message in the first place? I’m sorry. I won’t be able to see you in the next two weeks?” You recite to him what he said. “That’s all I get after everything?” 

“I swear it has nothing to do with what happened yesterday. I– I like you a lot. And I don’t want to leave, not now, but I have to.” 

“What if I don’t believe you?” — “Sweetheart…” he starts, and it makes your heart ache. “Don’t sweetheart me when you left me a fucking message about leaving without any further explanation right after we kissed for the first time.” Wonwoo sighs. He knows he is wrong for doing this, but it’s better than cooperating with Mingyu on his plan to take you down. He can’t do that to you. So he chose the safer choice, even if it might hurt you a bit. 

You sigh as well. “You wouldn’t have called me if I didn’t, would you? You would just leave after one text and not speak to me after, right?” — “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and it hits you even more when you know you’re right. “Alright,” you nod. “Have fun with your friends.” 

“Wait, no, don’t leave just like that,” he tries to stop you. “Are you kidding me now? You are the one trying to leave just like that! If you don’t want anything to do with me, just say it. No need to hide behind your friends for it.” He wants to explain everything to you, say that he is doing it for your own good, but he can’t. So he stays silent, trying to figure out a different excuse. You don’t give him the benefit of the doubt anymore, though, and when he doesn’t say anything to prove you wrong, you hang up on him. 

You receive a few more texts from him afterward but decide to ignore them. You need space, and the two weeks he decided to take off from you sound like a perfect idea now. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” Seokmin tries to assure you as he walks down the stairs from your loft. “And I am certain he did,” you retort, waiting for him. “Remember how I disappeared for a week when we had that argument?” He reminds you, and you frown. “That’s different.” 

“I don’t think it is,” he shakes his head. “You can’t just stop talking to him because he forgot he planned a trip with his friends.” — “It’s not about the trip,” you argue. “We kissed the night before,” you admit, making Seokmin’s eyes widen. “You what?!” He yells, following you to the door. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I wanted to let it sit for a bit, figure out if it’s what I want,” you answer, sighing as you put on your shoes. “I thought I did, but now I’m hesitating again.” Seokmin leans against the wall as he puts his boots on, trying to find the right words. “Do you like being with him?” — “Yeah,” you nod, sighing when you meet your best friend’s eyes. “And do you want to be with him?” That question is when you hesitate. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I like him and spending time with him, but I’m not sure if what I felt when we kissed was right.” 

You thought kissing him was right, that you were meant to be, but the more you think about the night, the more unsure you feel. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t notice it, but you doubt you felt anything at all. You missed the touch of another human being, and you loved the kiss, but you couldn’t say it would make any difference if it was someone else that night. 

“There’s something good that comes from this trip of his, though,” you say as you walk out of your apartment, Seokmin following you immediately. “I have two weeks now to figure out what I feel. We’ll see if I miss him.” You want to miss him. You want to feel something for him, but a part of you knows you won’t. He had lost you the moment he thought a simple text was all he needed. 

“Can we stop talking about him now? I just want to get breakfast with my best friend and then get to work. Maybe I’ll feel better when Chan yells at me,” You laugh, but Seokmin doesn’t find it funny at all. “Let’s get something good,” he smiles anyway, hoping to make you feel better. “It’s on me today.” 

You and your best friend end up in the same café you’ve been going to for the past month. When the barista asks you if you want your usual, it makes you wonder if you’ve been spending too much on coffee lately. “Can we also get two of those sandwiches, please?” The lady opposite you nods, clicking on a few things on the digital cash register before her before she moves to grab those for you. 

“The handsome guy isn’t with you today?” She wonders as she hands you the two sandwiches along with the two cups of coffee you ordered. Before you can answer her, Seokmin is nudging you out of the way so he can talk instead. “I don’t think he is all that. Honestly, I’m way prettier.” The barista chuckles, nodding. “Of course you are,” she encourages him before telling him the total so he could pay. “Oh god,” you shake your head at him, laughing as you leave the counter and try to find a table. 

“I hope she didn’t think I’m your new date,” Seokmin frowns, sitting at the table in the furthest corner of the café. “Oh, that would be terrible,” you nod, but it’s obvious you’re making fun of him. He rolls his eyes at you, taking his coffee and sandwich from you. “Yeah, it would! You would block my chance of getting any girl, ever.” 

“You’re being dramatic,” you scoff. “And don’t tell me you couldn’t get any girl you want.” — “You’d be surprised,” he mumbles, and all of a sudden, you feel bad for him. “Are we starting an operation ‘get Seokmin a date’?” You suggest, making him laugh as he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll shoot my shot once I find someone I like,” he assures you. “You should worry about yourself now. You were so close to finally getting laid, and now–” You glare at him before he can finish his sentence, making him close his mouth. The teasing look he gives you makes it impossible for you to keep a straight face though, so you end up laughing again. 

“I love you, Min,” you smile. “Sorry—I don’t feel the same way,” he apologizes, with the fakest sad face possible to prove his point, and you know you will never find a better best friend than him. “I love you too, kiddo,” he teases you again, making it sound as if he was years older than you. You shake your head, sipping on your coffee. 

When you get into your office, and Chan isn’t already waiting for you, you feel something is off. For a minute, you wonder if Seokmin didn’t call your assistant and say something to him, but he proves you wrong when your phone rings, flashing you with your assistant’s ID. 

“Yeah?” You ask when you pick up the phone. “Good morning,” he greets you first, glancing at the male in front of him. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but do you think you could take on another project?” Another one? At this point, you might go crazy. You already feel behind on everything. You shouldn’t take on anything else. “What kind of project?” You ask anyway, relaxing in your chair as you open your laptop to see all the deadlines you have for now. Chan covers the phone’s microphone for a second, but you can still hear muffled voices as he repeats your question to the new (possible) client. 

“Apparently, he wants you to design the interior for his parents’ living room and kitchen. As a present,” Chan answers, already knowing you won’t refuse that. “Alright,” you sigh. “Send him up, and I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You’re kidding me,” you mumble when you see no one else but Kim Mingyu himself walk through your office door, your assistant right behind him. “Good morning to you, too,” he grins. “I can sit down here, right?” He points at the chair opposite you, not waiting for your reply as he pulls it away from the table to take a seat. Chan’s eyes flicker between the two of you, trying his hardest to figure out what’s going on. “You two…know each other?” He guesses, raising his eyebrows in confusion when you send him a glare. He quickly raises his hands into the air, unsure of what the tension in the room is supposed to mean. He wasn’t one of your exes or something, was he? 

“You could say we do,” Mingyu nods, glancing at your assistant and sending him a smile. “I’m just gonna…yeah,” Chan runs away before he can get himself into any trouble, leaving you alone. You sigh, taking a deep breath before you smile at the black-haired male opposite you. “I heard you want me to design two rooms for your parents?” 

“Well, of course!” He chuckles. “Could I get a paper?” You frown in confusion, reaching for a blank paper on your table and passing it to him. “And a pen,” he adds when you hand him a paper alone. “Thought that was obvious.” — You roll your eyes at him, grabbing your pen and giving it to him. “Look, if you are just here to make me waste my time, you can leave now,” you sigh, watching him doodle something on the paper. “I’m not here to waste your time. I really want you to do this,” he proclaims, sparing you a mare glance before he stares down at the paper again, continuing his drawing. 

You sit in silence for a few minutes, shaking your head at how unbelievable he is while he continues drawing something without saying anything. You consider working on one of your projects while he sits there, but push the thought aside when your eyes land on him again. You just can’t comprehend what he’s doing. Why would he come into your office, saying he has work for you, and then just sit there and do nothing? 

“Okay, I’m done,” Mingyu proclaims, making you look up. “What?” You ask confusedly, blinking a few times to comprehend what he is trying to show you. “The house plans,” he explains, placing the piece of paper in front of you. “I don’t have the original house plans on me since this is supposed to be a surprise. So, I drew it.” 

You think your mind might have frozen for a second. Your eyes widen when you glance down and see what he drew. It looked just like any other house plan. And the fact he just whipped that out as if it was nothing? “Are you an architect? No one is this good without a ruler or anything but paper and pen,” you really try to understand how he did it, but it’s impossible. You are certain none of the architects you know could do this. “I’m not,” he shrugs. “Just an ordinary cook, m’lady,” he smirks, excited that he could impress you. 

“You are not an ordinary cook, I can tell you that.” Mingyu laughs, shaking his head at you. “I did have an interest in engineering before, though.” — “Ah,” you breathe out, nodding. “That’s why you’re insane,” you proclaim, excusing his behavior as if it explained everything. “I’m not insane,” he frowns. You glance at him again, raising your eyebrows to show him you disagree with his statement. “Do you want me to be insane, though? I could.” You sigh when he ruins the moment, just like he always does when he talks to you. “Shut up, and rather tell me what you want me to do.” Mingyu chuckles, his head falling down as he shakes his head. “You’re no fun, sweetheart.” 

You don’t say anything to that, refusing to play this game with him. You know what he wants to hear, but you won’t give it to him. “Alright, alright,” he starts, trying to get serious again, but the smile on his face makes you doubt if he can. “I’m thinking of something cozy. Right now, I feel like my mom is going to bump into something every time she turns around in the kitchen, so something more open would be great,” he gets into a zone as he starts explaining to you how his parents’ house looks, pulling out his phone to show you some pictures. You’re not sure if he didn’t want to just flex though when you see the pictures of him in nothing but grey sweatpants and an apron. 

He tells you everything about what he has in mind, giving you a perfect idea of how the finished project should look by the time he finishes. “Okay, I can do that,” you nod, officially accepting his deal. “With this much information, it shouldn’t take long.” — “Take your time,” he shakes his head. “How much do you charge for consultation and the project itself?” 

“It varies. I can’t tell you the exact price yet,” you answer, writing down a few notes under Mingyu’s drawing of the house, making sure you remember everything the two of you talked about. “Alright, in that case, once you know the final price, just double it and send me the check, okay?” You frown, looking up at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“I guess you could say I’m giving you a hundred percent tip,” he shrugs as if it wasn’t a big deal. “But if you want a different tip, don’t hesitate to ask,” he smirks. You decide to ignore his comment. “I don’t need your money,” you remind him, but that doesn’t seem to budge with him even a bit. “You do,” he argues. “I’m giving you an advantage.” 

 “A what?” You raise your eyebrow confusedly. What was up with Kim Mingyu and his skill of confusing you? “So that the next time we go against each other in an auction, you have enough money to play a little longer,” he smirks, making you scoff. “Thanks, but no thanks,” you retort, annoyed. He shakes his head at you with a smile, standing up. You feel small all of a sudden when he does. It’s not only his height but also the way he stares at you—he makes you feel small. 

You stand up too but it doesn’t help much. Screw you, Kim Mingyu, and your tall ass. “Before I leave, can I get your number?” He asks, chuckling when he notices the look you give him. Honestly, you are cute when you try to stare him down as if he wasn’t towering over you. “I need a way to contact you about the project, you know,” he explains the reasoning behind his question, and you can’t say anything to that. “Don’t you have it already? I wouldn’t be surprised since you tracked down my office so well.” 

“I was just lucky,” he shrugs. “It’s not my fault my friend keeps going on and on about how great you did when designing his house.” A friend of his? “Minghao really likes what you did for his studio,” he praises you, and you finally connect the dots. Mr. Xu. “I–I see,” you stutter, feeling embarrassed immediately. Why on Earth would you stutter in front of him of all people? “You can tell him that I also enjoyed working with him.” Mingyu nods. “I will. Hopefully, you’ll say the same about me when we’re done,” he teases you with a playful wink. “I don’t think I will,” you grin, making him laugh. 

“Alright, my number is on the card,” you proclaim, handing him your business card. “But don’t use it for your personal enjoyment,” you warn him, but it’s as if you didn’t say anything when you wake up to five new messages the following morning from no one else but your new client Mingyu. 

“He’s kidding me,” you whine, rolling to the other side of your bed. You stare at your phone, debating if it’s better to answer or ignore him. Eventually, you decide on the latter. 

“You look…” Chan starts, trying to find the right words so he wouldn’t make you even angrier than you already were. “Annoyed?” He settled for the least offensive adjective that came to his mind, placing your coffee in front of you as you gazed into your laptop, too occupied with work to even look at him. You shake your head, blinking a few times when you sense his presence, questioning what he was doing. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” 

“Are you okay?” He asks simply, making you sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?” You think for a second, eventually moving your laptop aside and pulling the cup of coffee he brought you closer. “Okay, yeah, I’ll take my break now if you actually want to hear about it.” — “Of course I want to,” he assures you. “I’m not only your assistant but also your friend.” 

You love your friends a tiny bit more every time you speak to them. A part of you always thinks you don’t deserve them when they are this nice to you. 

“I didn’t tell you about Wonwoo, did I?” You make sure you start with the right thing, figuring out the answer is no when he gives you a confused look. “Well, you know we’ve been going out, right? A few days ago, we kissed for the first time,” you explain, and his eyes widen in surprise as he leans back onto the couch. “And I thought it was great! We were good and all, but then he texted me while I was asleep,” you sigh, getting irritated again just thinking of the message. “All he said was that he is sorry, but he won’t see me for the next two weeks. No explanation, no nothing. He couldn’t even bother with calling me or something! Instead, I woke up to that.” 

“That sucks,” Chan says, his tone understanding. “I get why you’d be upset. He could’ve told you earlier. And if he really forgot about it, he still could have at least called or stopped by when he was leaving.”

“Exactly!” You exclaim, feeling relieved that he gets it. “Thank you.”

“So, I called him,” you continue, “just to ask what the hell was going on.” Chan nods, following along. “And he couldn’t even explain himself. I asked him straight up if he even wanted to be with me, and he couldn’t answer. So, I hung up, and we haven’t spoken since,” you shake your head with a sigh. “He texted me a few times after that, but it was just him repeating how sorry he was, so I ignored it. Seokmin thinks I should call him, and see what he’s up to, but honestly, I feel like that would just make me look pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t be pathetic,” he assures you. “But I get what you mean. I think you shouldn’t be the one putting in the effort again when he doesn’t give you the same in return. Leave it up to him and see if he reaches out.” 

“What if we never talk again then, though?” You bit the inside of your cheek, your voice merely above whisper, almost as if you didn’t want him to hear. “Then it wasn’t meant to be,” Chan answers honestly, and even though you know he is right, it feels like someone stabbed you in the back. 

“When did this happen?” He carefully asks when you don’t say anything after. “He left two days ago,” you answer, sighing. You’re tired of it all, honestly. “I thought I could work to make my mind get off things, but it’s not working like I would want it to. I feel so much pressure, and it puts a block in my head or something.” 

“How about you relax tonight?” Chan suggests. “Should I take you out? Call everyone and see if they can hang out?” You think about it, eventually agreeing with him. When you are about to open your mouth again and thank him, your phone buzzes, and you grit your teeth as you take a deep breath when you notice who it is from. “And as if all of this wasn’t enough, I have this guy on my back all the time,” you whine, turning your phone around so you wouldn’t have to look at it. 

“Who is that?” He wonders, trying to think of a way to make you feel better.  “Mingyu,” you state, watching your assistant as he tries to keep track of all the names in his head. It’s obvious what he is thinking about when you look at him, and you admire him for his ability to have most of your clients’ names remembered. It was partly why you hired him in the first place. He has a good memory for names and can almost immediately connect people to projects when you talk about it. 

“He also attends auctions, so we met a few times,” you explain. “And then, apparently, since Mr. Xu talked about me so much, he thought it would be nice to ask me to design his parents’ house for him, too.” — “I’m not sure what his deal is, though,” you add, making Chan raise his brows in anticipation. “I don’t know, he just keeps trying to be around me, you know. It’s as if he is trying to get closer to me for some reason. He’s taking every chance he gets to talk to me. He is like a puppy.” 

“Before you say anything,” you warn him, making him laugh as he shuts his mouth again. “I know I usually find that attractive, but that’s when I’m interested. I can’t say that about him. Plus, in his case, I doubt he even means it in that way,” you explain, making sure he doesn’t get the wrong idea. “I mean, sure,” you start again, and Chan scoffs, knowing you are about to refute exactly what you just said. “He does call me by nicknames, but that doesn’t mean he wants me. He just wants to annoy me.” — “Mhm,” Chan hums, laughing. “I’m serious!” You complain. “Let’s just stop talking about it,” you stop him before he can say anything. “About tonight, should I call the guys?” 

“So we are in for it?” He asks, and you nod, smiling at him. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

He just can’t leave you alone, can he? 

You sigh when you see Mingyu’s phone number flash on your screen again, this time with a call. You wish you could just decline the call and block his number, but since you are now working for him, you can’t just do that. You hate not being able to win this battle. 

There might be something you hate even more, though. You are not sure anymore if it’s even him you have such a problem with. Maybe, possibly, it’s actually the fact he does everything you wish Wonwoo did. You want him to call you, text you, ask you how you are, just talk to you somehow, but he doesn’t do any of it, and you hate it. You hate Wonwoo, you hate Kim Mingyu, but mostly, you hate yourself for thinking about Wonwoo so much when he doesn’t even care. 

You don’t need him to chase after you—you wouldn’t want that even. But you want to see some effort. You want to know he likes you as much as you like him so you can feel secure. But instead, you feel scared. Scared that he is just going to disappear from your life without a word. 

Maybe he already has. 

Maybe your kiss was actually a goodbye. 

“Yes?” You ask, and Mingyu laughs into your ear. “You don’t have to sound so frustrated because I’m calling you,” he says, leaning back in his chair to make himself comfortable. “Alright, Mingyu, care to tell me what you need before I hang up on you?” 

“Calm down, sweetheart, no need to go that far now.” The snicker that leaves his lips makes you roll your eyes. You just can’t figure out what his deal is. “You didn’t answer any of my messages. I waited for you in the café, but you never showed up.” — “I had work,” you lie. “No, you didn’t. You don’t start work at 7,” he argues, so you try to come up with another excuse. “I don’t, you’re right. I was asleep at 7, and then when I woke up, I went to work right away.” 

“Why are you trying to lie to me? It’s not working,” he proclaims, enjoying the situation a little too much to your liking. He sounds like a stalker. “And why do you care so much? Isn’t it my thing when and what I do? Also, I told you not to call me for your personal stuff, so what are you doing?” — “Well, I had to know if you are okay, obviously. Since you weren’t answering my messages, there was no other way. What if something happened to you and I would have to find a new interior designer?” 

He has an excuse for everything, doesn’t he? 

“Okay, so, let’s say I start answering your texts sometimes. Will you not call me anymore then?” You ask, and Mingyu doesn’t hesitate at all as he agrees, holding onto the chance you gave him once again. 

Always. 

He always finds a way. 

“Then I’m hanging up now,” you proclaim, already taking the phone away from your ear when he yells at you to wait. “If it’s another–” He doesn’t let you finish when he hits you with another question, “What are you doing tonight? Do you want to grab dinner with me since you ditched me for breakfast?” He offers, making your eyes widen. Are you crazy, or is Kim Mingyu actually hitting on you? “I’m busy,” you brush him off. “With?” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before you speak again. “That is none of your business,” you state. You know as much isn’t enough for him, though, so you continue. “I’m going out with friends.” 

“I could tag along,” he offers, even though he knows he is overdoing it with it. He just needs to use up the time he has in the best way possible. “Definitely not,” you reject him, quickly hanging up before he can say anything else. If he continues like this, the only thing that might help you is going to be a restraining order. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Your laugh fills the room as Hansol hits his head on your ceiling. Adel, next to you, laughs along, covering her mouth as a snort leaves her lips, her eyes widening in embarrassment as she laughs even harder. “Oh, shut up!” He complains, holding his head as he sits back on your bed, glaring at everyone laughing. “Happened to me the first time I was over, too,” Soonyoung cackles. “Can’t relate to that,” Jihoon says, and in that moment, Hanni can’t hold herself back anymore either, bursting out into laughter as well. 

“I’ll go for the drinks instead,” you shake your head, still laughing as you get up from your bed, walking past everyone and then down the stairs to your kitchen. “I’ll help,” Seokmin joins you, sending one more snicker in Hansol’s way before he runs down to you. 

“Are you okay?” Your best friend asks, opening your fridge to take out more cokes while you grab a bag of chips and whiskey. “Yeah,” you nod, smiling. “I’m having fun. And Mingyu hasn’t texted me since I refused to go to dinner with him. Maybe he decided to leave me alone,” you laugh, but you know it’s only funny to you because you know that’s definitely not the case. “Mingyu as in the Mingyu?” — “Yes. The Kim Mingyu,” you answer, but it sounds like a mockery in your voice unlike when Seokmin said it. “I’m designing something for him, and since he got my number, he keeps bombarding my phone with messages,” you explain. 

“I…see,” he nods confusedly, the grimace on his face giving it away that he is thinking about something. “What is it?” You ask, leaning on your kitchen counter, knowing your friends won’t see you up as quickly as you thought. “I’m just…didn’t you say he looked like he was playing some mind game with you when you first met him?” Right. The first auction where you faced him. It was so long ago—still, you hate that he stole your painting from you. “What if he is doing the same now?” You shake your head, stopping him before he can say more. “It’s fine if he is,” you assure him. “I don’t care what he does. If he wants to flirt with me, then be it, but he isn’t going to get me to do the same. So, he can play whatever games he wants because I’m not going to get hurt by him.” 

“If you say so,” Seokmin nods, his uncertain tone of voice giving away that he doesn’t exactly believe what you said. “Let’s go back up before Hansol decides to go find us and hits himself again,” he laughs, making it impossible for you to keep a straight face. “Hey! I can hear you!” You laugh even harder when you hear Hansol’s voice, falling into Seokmin’s chest to calm yourself down. He pats your back when you do, the coldness of the drinks in his hands making you straighten your back immediately, a whine leaving your lips as you send a glare toward him. He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks out of your kitchen corner, going up into your bedroom again.

“So,” Jihoon clears his throat, exchanging a look with the others before turning his head toward you again, making you raise an eyebrow in question as you place the bottle of whiskey on your bedside table. “Mingyu, we’ve heard?” He asks, and you immediately glare Chan’s way, knowing it must have been him who told them about him. “No,” you shut down the conversation before it can even start. “For the hundredth time, whatever the fuck goes through his mind, isn’t my problem, and I do not care about him in the slightest,” you assure them, but you know Soonyoung doesn’t believe you a bit when he hums as he shares a glance with Adel. 

“I’m sure she would tell us if there was anything,” Hanni takes your side, sending you a warm smile. “But since I do not care about what he does, there is nothing to tell,” you nod, taking a seat on your bed again. “Enough about guys, though. They suck anyway,” you proclaim as if your group of friends didn’t consist mostly of guys. 

You’re happy with how things are, though. You can’t imagine your friend group anyhow differently. They make you laugh and are there for you all the time. What more could you want? 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You wake up to your phone lighting up with new notifications. You roll over to the order side of your bed, slowly forcing your eyes open as you look at your phone. You groan, opening the chat with one of your clients. You debate on blocking him. Maybe you should. It would make your life a lot easier. But as you try to click on the three dots next to his name, you accidentally miss, and press the call button instead. You sigh when he picks up the phone immediately, bringing it to your ear. 

“Why exactly do you want to grab breakfast with me?” You ask, and he chuckles at how tired you sound. “Do I need a reason?” 

“Yes. Yes, you do.” 

“In that case, I want to talk about how the project has been doing,” he reasons. You rub your eyes, glancing at the time on your phone. “That can wait until my working hours,” you argue. “Can’t I just see you then? Why do I need a reason?” 

“You’re unbelievable, Kim Mingyu.” 

“Thank you,” your name rolls off his tongue, the echoing sound shaking in your ears. 

“Okay, when and where?” You finally give in, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he tells you the location of the same café you’ve been a regular in. “Give me fifty minutes,” you tell him, hanging up right after and closing your eyes again. Maybe if you just give him what he wants, he’ll leave you alone. 

“Good morning,” you smile at the barista, looking around the café to see if Mingyu is already there. When you lock eyes with him, he doesn’t hesitate to get up from his place and join you at the front of the line. You scoff quietly, asking the lady opposite you for a cup of iced coffee, as always. “Run it on my card,” he says, handing you his card. “I can pay for myself,” you remind him, but he just brushes you off. 

“And don’t forget to tip the nice lady,” he sends a wink toward the barista, making you cringe. “Don’t mind him,” you shake your head, sincerely sorry for what she has to deal with. “He’s the one I’m the least worried about,” the barista chuckles, running Mingyu’s card through her system. “But you will have to tell me where you get all these handsome guys from later,” she giggles, and it makes you smile, too. “I’ll see you another time,” you say your goodbyes softly, following Mingyu back to his table. 

“I’m not interested, Mingyu,” you proclaim as you take a seat opposite him. He looks up at you, his eyebrows raised with a smug smile on his face. “In?” He asks playfully, making you scoff. “In you. I’m not interested in you,” you state firmly, watching him nod. You hate how unbothered he seems. After trying his all to get a breakfast with you, he doesn’t even care? 

You shake your head, pushing those thoughts aside. You don’t care about it either. You couldn’t care less about what he thinks or if your words hurt him. 

But you are a liar. 

Because deep down, you care more than he does. 

“Yet, you are here with me.” 

“Because you wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

“Or maybe because you want to be here with me.” 

You don’t answer him and just take a sip of your drink. He smirks, reaching for his own drink. “I’m not all that bad, you know. I also have a heart inside my hot body.” 

“And you’ve ruined it,” you sigh, but a chuckle manages to escape your lips. “What? I’m just saying,” he shrugs, laughing. 

As you walk to your company, you look around properly to make sure no building looks weird. 

With Kim Mingyu on your side, making you laugh with his lame attempts at jokes, you feel like this has to be some twisted dream of yours and not reality. But all the buildings look fine, and there isn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

“If you decide to try the new sushi restaurant after all, let me know,” he proclaims, and you end up nodding. Why not? You swore to all of your friends you wouldn’t fall for Kim Mingyu’s charm, but you enjoyed hanging out with him today, so why not go out with him again? “I might,” you agree. His head falls down as he tries to hide his smile, but you notice it. 

“You can go now,” you stop in front of your company, biting back your smile as you look at him. “Thank you for the coffee and waffles.” 

“No problem,” he shakes his head, taking the empty cup of coffee from you so he can throw it away. “I’ll text you again later,” he assures you, but that’s something you’re counting on. 

“Have a good day, Mingyu.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

On Wednesday, you wake up to Mingyu asking you if you have slept well. 

On Thursday, your phone lights up with messages around lunch time when he asks you if you’ve eaten yet and if you want to grab a bite with him. 

On Friday, you find yourself smiling as you chat about your day with him over the phone in the comfort of your bed. 

On Saturday, you decide to grab breakfast with him again, and laugh loudly when you watch him trip on a flat ground, refusing to look you in the eyes after. 

On Sunday, you spend your day off with your closest friends, but your mind keeps drifting to him every chance you get, wondering what he is up to. 

On Sunday night, you decide to call him. 

Before you can realize it, it’s Monday, and Mingyu is asleep on your call. You listen to the sound of his breath—it’s calm and peaceful, and it makes you feel at home. 

On Tuesday, you forget your phone at home and think about him again as you stare into your laptop, trying to figure out something, anything for the project in front of you. But you just can’t focus. You keep wondering what he is up to. 

On the same night, he insists on having to see you the next day when he couldn’t reach you today. So you plan a meeting, offering that he could come to your office since you need to discuss the project with him anyway. Mingyu agrees immediately.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It’d be crazy to say you understand the saying, “When you know, you know.” 

The saying is illogical and never made any sense to you. But as you walk through your company building with Margaret by Lana Del Rey playing in your earphones, this time, you feel like you know. Like it makes sense. 

“You are smiling, m’lady.” And your smile grows even wider when you see the man standing in front of your office with a coffee in his hands. “And you, sir, are early,” you tell him as if he wasn’t already aware of that. 

“Couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of you.” — You roll your eyes at how cheesy he sounds, taking out your keys to unlock your office door. “You got so excited because I called you to discuss your project?” You tease him, walking in first when he holds the door for you. “I didn’t expect you to be so into interior designs, Mingyu.” 

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, following you. “I’m into interior designers, and I’m just trying to see if you end up liking me.” 

It’s been a while since you started talking to him, so you got used to his presence. To his constant reaching out to you, to the incoming calls from him, and even to all the flirting. You knew he was pursuing you, and you stopped minding. He wasn’t ugly, and as you figured out over the time you got to hang out with him, he really wasn’t all that bad. 

Maybe you wouldn’t mind liking him. 

“Keep dreaming,” you respond, taking a seat in your chair. “Only if you dream of me as well.” You shake your head at him, looking through your folders until you find his project, showing him the few ideas you got over the past few days, trying to see what he thinks of them. 

When you hide your draft again, Mingyu doesn’t seem to be planning to leave anytime soon. “You got a little too comfortable there, don’t you think so?” You ask, watching him lying on the sofa in your office. “Yeah, I’m going to sleep here for a bit,” he states. “No, you’re not.” 

“Why not?” He whines, pulling himself up again to see you. “Alright, I’ll go,” he proclaims when he sees your face, refusing to mess it up with you now. “But let me take you out for dinner tonight. My place. I’ll cook.” 

“This is how you’re asking me out on a date?” You raise your eyebrow. 

Mingyu smiles, slightly nodding. “Yeah, I’m asking you out on an official date.” 

“Okay,” you also nod, biting back your smile. “I’ll come.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“You agreed to go on a date with him?!” Seokmin almost chokes up on his drink as he watches you stand in front of your closet, trying to pick what to wear. You don’t want to try too much but don’t want to show up in sweatpants, either. 

“Yeah…” you admit, turning around to face your best friend. “Is it a crazy idea?” 

Seokmin hesitates. “I mean, I don’t know. If you want to go with him, then you should. But…” 

“But?” 

“Isn’t Wonwoo coming back soon?” He questions, making you freeze. You forgot about that. You were so busy trying to shake Mingyu off your back and then playing along with his game that you forgot about the man you thought was going to be in your future. 

“Me and Wonwoo aren’t dating,” you remind, not only him but also yourself. “And he doesn’t want me either. If he did, he would have texted me or something.” 

“Alright,” Seokmin smiles, and it makes you even more confused. You never know what goes through his head. “If you want to go on a date with him, I’ll support you all the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem,” he shakes his head, walking closer to you and looking at the mess in your closet from behind your shoulder. “I get that you are worried,” you start, turning around to face your best friend again. “I don’t know what his intentions are, and I know I haven’t been hanging out with him long, but he makes me feel nice. I’m drawn to him for some reason. More than I ever was to Wonwoo.” 

“That’s all that matters,” he nods, making you smile. You’ve cared for Seokmin with your entire heart, and you knew it was the same for him. “Alright, get ready already so you’re not late,” he chuckles, turning you around and gently pushing you closer to your closet. You laugh, balancing yourself on your feet so you won’t fall. 

While you are getting ready, Mingyu, on the other side of the town, is currently running around his kitchen, making sure he has prepared everything. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Preparing a dinner for you was the last thing he thought he’d be doing when he decided on this whole plan. 

“What is it, Hao? I don’t exactly have the time right now,” he asks, putting his phone on speaker while finishing up the main dish. “Fuck, I’m not even dressed, and she is going to be here soon,” he curses, catching his friend’s attention. “Who is going to be there?” Your name falls off Mingyu’s lips before he can even think about it as he grabs his phone and runs to his room to grab a shirt. 

“You two…are hanging out?” Minghao asks after a moment of silence, trying to figure out what is going on. “Yeah, we’ve got a date,” Mingyu replies, unbothered as he quickly scans his closet to find his lucky button-up. Then he stops. Why on Earth does he care so much? Why does he need his lucky button-up when he has a date with you? “A date?” Hao exclaims, and Mingyu doesn’t need to see him to know he is shocked. “I’ll…explain later. Why did you call?” 

Minghao clears his throat, confusedly looking around as if he was trying to remember what he wanted to say. “Coups and Jeonghan took us out to play basketball, but I guess I don’t need to ask you if you want to join anymore since you have plans.” 

“Shit, tell Cheol that I’ll make it up to him later. We can grab beer next week. Have a get-together or something,” Mingyu suggests, his eyes finally landing on the piece of clothing he was looking for. “I’ll let them know,” his friend agrees. “If anything, I’m just a call away.” Mingyu smiles, nodding before he says his goodbyes. He throws his phone on his bed and runs to his bathroom to get his perfume. 

He might have gone crazy, honestly. He couldn’t comprehend how his best friend could fall for you days ago, and now, he was trying to be perfect for a date with you. For all he knows, you might have cast a spell on him or something. He went into this thinking he had nothing to worry about, that he would wrap you around his finger with ease and do whatever he wanted with you, but now it seemed more like it might be the other way around. For the past week, he couldn’t get you out of his head. No matter what he was doing at the moment, if he was at work or home watching the TV, you were always on his mind. 

“What the fuck,” Mingyu breathes out as he stops in front of the mirror in his bathroom, looking at his reflection. “You aren’t falling for her, are you?” He asks himself. He stays quiet after that, taking a deep breath. “You fucking idiot, this isn’t what you planned. You aren’t supposed to like her!” He wants to yell at himself more, get himself back in his place, and not do anything stupid, but before he can even try to do something about his feelings, his doorbell rings, announcing your presence. He closes his eyes for a second, calming himself down before turning on his heel and heading to the door. 

“Hi,” Mingyu smiles at you, completely forgetting what he was yelling at himself for when he locks eyes with you. “Hey,” you greet him, the words barely making it past your lips as your eyes land on his body. His dark blue button-up wraps around his muscles, his black pants staying up thanks to his belt, and his hair fluffy. He’s hot. 

You hardly get the chance to breathe when you step inside before he is behind you, helping you out of your jacket. You don’t expect it. Anyone could guess that from your expression, but you can’t say you would mind. “It smells great here,” you comment, smiling as you turn around to face him. “I told you I’m just a cook,” a chuckle escapes his lips as he points towards the kitchen, letting you walk first. 

You keep looking around the house as you walk, admiring his choices of decoration. He definitely doesn’t have bad taste. “This is nice,” you nod, your fingers softly brushing over the paint on his wall. “I didn’t expect your house to be so…” 

“So what?” 

“Clean? Fancy? All of those above?” 

“What? Just because I’m a guy, my house can’t be clean?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” you shake your head, but deep down, you know he is right. He might be the first guy you’ve seen to have such a nice place. All of your ex-boyfriends looked like they never cared about how messy their places were, and it was always your biggest deal-breaker. So, seeing a change for once felt nice. 

“I also play sports, you know.” You scoff when you hear him, knowing very well what he is trying for. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, turning around. Mingyu doesn’t notice your turn in time and bumps into you, swallowing the lump in his throat as he steps back again. What does he mean? He isn’t sure. All he is certain about is that being this close to you doesn’t do him anything good. “You want me to tell you just how perfect you are?” Your words reach his ears only barely. He hears you, and the tone of your voice gets stuck in his head, but he isn’t able to comprehend any words. 

“I– I should get the champagne bottles I bought earlier! Make yourself at home in the meantime,” he quickly changes the topic, running off before you can say anything. You laugh at him, grinning at the thought of the blush you saw creep up his cheeks. You shake your head at him softly, turning around again to finally reach the kitchen. 

“I asked your assistant earlier—by the way, for some reason, I think he hates me—but he said you liked this one, so I’m hoping he didn’t just play with me.” You look up when you hear Mingyu’s voice again, smiling when you notice the bottle in his hands. “Don’t worry, he didn’t play you. That’s my favorite,” you assure him and chuckle when you see his shoulders relax. “Okay, good,” he exhales. 

“And he doesn’t hate you.” 

“I’m sure he does,” he argues with you. “He sounded more annoyed than you ever had when he picked up the phone and realized it was me.” 

“Do you want me to put in a good word for you? It’s true that I might have done the opposite before, and now he is…wary about you.” 

“You’ve spoken badly of me?” Mingyu’s eyes widen as he places two plates with the dish he made before on the table, two glasses and the bottle of champagne following right after. “Careful, m’lady. My feelings will get hurt.” 

You scoff. “That was before.” 

“Before?” The curiosity in his voice makes you gulp down. It feels pure. You are unable to find any bad intentions in his behavior, and it scares you. “Before…you’ve won me over,” you admit, looking down at your plate as you take the first bite, hoping he won’t dig much into it. 

“I’ve won you over?” He tries to bite back his smile but fails. “Don’t flatter yourself too much now, though,” you warn him. “Doesn’t mean you can’t lose me again.” 

The time seems to flow faster when you’re with him. You finish dinner and stay at the table, slowly sipping on champagne while talking. You barely register how time goes, and before you can realize it, the night turns into another day. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking at the time on your phone. 1:27. “What’s up?” He wonders, slowly getting up to clean up the plates. “The time! Seokmin is definitely asleep by now, so I can’t call him to pick me up,” you complain. “Oh god, I should have been paying more attention,” you whine, closing your eyes and turning your phone off again. “You know, you can sleep here if you want to.” Your eyes widen at his offer, and a part of you is glad he has turned around at the moment and can’t see your face. “I don’t wanna–” 

“You can’t bother me,” he stops you before you can finish. “I can sleep on the couch and leave you the bed. It’s fine.” 

So you end up in his shirt and boxers, lying under his blanket while he lays next to you, telling you a story from his past. It makes you smile. “It’s late,” he comments quietly, sitting up. “I’m going to go to the living room.” You hesitate, but when he turns to get up, you reach for his hand, your fingers wrapping around the muscles on his arm. “I– what if you stay?” 

“You…want me to…” You nod, and that’s all he needs to lay back down. He’s also in his pajamas now, which, for some reason, only consists of pants. He pulls the other side of the blanket over himself, not taking his eyes off you as he does so. You can’t look away either, trying to read everything that hides behind his eyes. 

The moment is quiet, needy, and intimate as you reach your hand up to his face, your fingers brushing over his cheek. He leans into your hand, his eyes closed as he gets comfortable. You can feel your heart in your throat as you watch him, too scared that if you blink, he’ll disappear. 

When Mingyu opens his eyes again, it feels like his heart skips a beat. Being so close to you, looking you in the eyes, he knows exactly why Wonwoo fell for you in the first place. “Can I kiss you?” He asks carefully, and it feels almost vulnerable. As if he would break if you said no to him. “Please do,” you nod, and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to himself before his lips land on yours. The kiss isn’t rushed or harsh. It’s deep, full of all the emotions neither of you are able to say out loud. 

His hand slides down your thigh, glazing over your—his—boxers. His other hand slides up your shirt, stopping right under your breasts. Your gasp upon feeling his cold fingers on your skin gets muffled in the kiss, making him groan. “You can–” your sentence gets swallowed when his lips crash with yours again, this time with more need, almost desperate. His hand finally moves up again, squeezing your breast. He rolls you on your back, one of his hands reaching for yours while the other massages your boob, still unable to leave your lips alone. 

“I can?” He taunts, his lips moving to your jaw, slowly making their way to your neck and then collarbone. “Tell me, what can I do?” Your moan comes out shaky, your free hand sliding up his back, tracing his naked skin. “Anything– everything– God, Mingyu,” you gasp when he presses his knee against your core, your hand squeezing his. “Everything?” He hums against your skin, his kisses lowering to your chest. “So, can I take this off?” You nod impatiently, every inch of your body needing him in a way you couldn’t quite understand. “Please, hurry,” your plea sends shivers down his spine, but one part of him, in particular, feels it the most, and his cock twitches in his pants. Fuck. 

Mingyu slides your shirt off with ease, his eyes landing on your perky nipples immediately. “We shouldn’t,” he mumbles, but his actions don’t align with his words as his tongue licks your right nipple, his left hand taking care of the other one. “Definitely,” you agree, your head thrown back and moans leaving your lips. You’re not even sure what you agreed to at the moment. He could have told you he was the president of the United States for all you knew, and you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. “But god, you are so hot.” 

“Mingyu, please–” He hums against your skin, his pants becoming tight as he feels the boxers you’re wearing getting soaked under his knee. “What do you need, princess?” — “Need you,” you admit, moving your hips up and down. It’s embarrassing how wet you are when you are still clothed, and he is barely touching your pussy. He’s spent all the time playing with your boobs as if they were the greatest he’s ever seen, and even though he was incredible at worshiping your breast, the lack of attention on the bottom part of your body was starting to make you crazy. “Need your cock, so bad.” 

He groans, cursing under his breath as he sits up. “I don’t think I have a–” Before he can finish his sentence, you’re grabbing onto his hand, stopping him. “Go in raw. I’ll take the pill in the morning,” you assure him. “Please.” You sound desperate, and it’s safe to say Mingyu’s head spins because of you. If your needs contained his raw cock he couldn’t tell you no. Not that he would want to, anyway. 

He throws away your boxers without a second thought, the piece of clothing ending up somewhere on the floor where he’d have to find it in the morning. “Fuck,” he curses, freeing his dick right after when he sees just how wet you are for him. His fingers slide up your folds, collecting as much of your wetness as possible. “Shit, do you know how desperate you look for this?” He asks, bringing his fingers up again for you to see. “Maybe you are as desperate, actually, aren’t I right?” 

You feel embarrassed but nod despite it, unable to say anything as he slowly pushes his two fingers into you, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. Your hand squeezes the bed sheets under you, your legs closing themself on their own, which only makes him hold them open. “It’s only my fingers for now, princess. You can’t lose your mind yet,” he coos, adding a third finger as his movements quicken, indeed making you lose your mind. 

“‘S too much! Too–” your voice breaks in the middle, and the only sound that leaves your lips after is a mixture of whines and moans, signaling just how good he makes you feel. “‘S okay, baby,” he coos. “I’m going to give you what you want in a second.” He pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his lips. “You taste so fucking good.” You feel like a drug. Every time he looks at you, he wants more. He needs you. In every way possible, and he will do anything to have you, no matter what anyone else says. 

Mingyu groans as he pushes the tip inside, reaching for your hand. You squeeze his hand immediately, wrapping your legs around his waist and trying to pull him closer. It works, somehow, and you feel another inch in you. The moment is like an impulse for him, a sign that you are ready, making him thrust his entire length into you. “My cock fits in your pussy so perfectly, fuck.” 

You are a drug. He is so confident in it when he slams his hips against you, filling the room with his groans while you moan his name, begging him to slow down. He can’t, though. You make it impossible for him. With the way you squeeze him inside, it feels like you don’t want him to pull out of you in the first place. “Mingyu! Wait, I’m–” His curses reach your ear as he leans down, pressing his lips on yours and squeezing your hand tighter. “I’m close too,” he groans, stealing another kiss from you. “Do you want me to–” 

“Inside,” you mumble before he can finish and he nods. 

His thrusts slow down, becoming sloppy as he reaches his orgasm, releasing inside your tight hole. He feels you cum right after, making sure to thrust a few more times to let you ride out your orgasm before he pulls out, watching as the mixture of his and your cum slides out. “You’re so fucking hot,” he praises, falling beside you. You chuckle, trying to catch your breath. His hand wraps around your waist, keeping you as close as possible as he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath along with you. “I can’t believe I ever convinced myself to hate you,” he mumbles, and you hear him slowly falling asleep. You close your eyes, your fingers tiredly tracing his arm as you think of what you just did. 

You had the best sex of your life. That’s what you did. 

As you glance at Mingyu’s sleeping figure, his sweaty hair falling in his face, you know you can’t let him go. 

But that only applies if he doesn’t do anything stupid.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You sit in your office with so many tabs opened on your laptop that you’re surprised it hasn’t crashed yet. It’s like any other day. You’re busy with work, barely having time to take a break and drink. But this time, it’s different after all. 

Because, on the other side of your office, Kim Mingyu is lying on your couch, a sketchbook in one of his hands and a pen in the other. You smile when your eyes wander to him. “Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, and he immediately turns to you. “Please, I’m so hungry.” You laugh, saving everything before closing your laptop and getting up. “Will you cook for us again if I let you sleep in my apartment tonight?” His eyes light up, and he nods instantly, jumping up from his place. He’s next to you before you can blink, making you giggle as he wraps his arms around you and places a kiss on your shoulder. “You know I’d do anything for you.” Yes, you do. Still, you don’t mind finding yourself an excuse to ask him to sleep over. 

“Let’s go,” you smile, offering him your hand. Mingyu intertwines his fingers with yours without hesitation, leading the way out of your office. 

Your laugh fills the hallway as you walk towards your apartment, hand in hand with your lover. Your laugh rings loud and clear in his ears, bringing a smile to his face as well. At least until he takes his eyes away from you and sees the man sitting by your front door. 

“Wonwoo?” You call out to him, making him look up immediately. Shit. Mingyu couldn’t be more fucked. Your name leaves Wonwoo’s lips without hesitation, and he quickly gets up from the floor. His suitcase is right next to him, meaning the first thing he did was stop by your apartment. “What are you doing here?” 

“Wha– Why are you with him?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer your question and gives you one instead. You blink quickly to make sure you heard him right, trying to figure out why he cares in the first place. You open your mouth to answer him, but no words leave your lips as your attention shifts to the man beside you when he lets go of your hand. You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion, looking up to meet his eyes. “You didn’t actually– He didn’t– Are you that stupid?” Wonwoo spits out, the disappointment in his voice hitting you hard. “What?” 

“Wonwoo, don’t.” Mingyu tries to stop him, his eyes desperate. “Is this how he played you? With his fucking puppy eyes?” 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, now even more confused, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Wonwoo, we ended that morning. I don’t know what you think you can get from this, but it won’t work. I’m happy now.” Your words dig right into his heart, and you notice him swallow hard as if he had a lump in his throat. “Happy?” Wonwoo mocks your words, scoffing. “Because Mingyu told you some stories? Because he pushed me aside to play with you as if you were just his little toy–” 

“Wonwoo, that’s enough,” Mingyu interrupts him, his fist clenched, and he has to hold himself back to not hit his best friend right then and there in front of you. “No, it’s not enough at all!” He argues. “This was never supposed to happen! I never should have fucking left!” 

“But you did! And it’s not my fault she found out just how much better I am.” 

Wonwoo grits his teeth, his fist clenching just as Mingyu’s is. “Are you fucking–” 

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” You stop them, your eyes flicking between the two men. “How do you know each other?” 

“Baby, let me explain,” Mingyu starts immediately, making Wonwoo frown over the nickname. “It’s complicated, but– just don’t listen to him,” he tries to think of a way he can explain everything to you, but everything he thinks of only puts him into worse shit than he already is. 

You ignore him, feeling your heart slowly breaking apart as you glance at Wonwoo. “What the hell are you talking about?” Wonwoo sighs, opening his hand again when his eyes land on you. He hates seeing you this hurt, but he is sick of Mingyu and his toying with everyone around him. He might be his best friend, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to keep putting himself in front of the needs of others. He won’t stand that anymore. Not when you’re involved. 

He hesitates, glancing at Mingyu before he looks at you again, taking a deep breath. “I’m not going to be the one to break your heart,” he shakes his head, refusing to answer your question. “Let him explain everything. You made it pretty clear I’m done here,” he says, grabbing his suitcase. His eyes linger on you a bit more before he closes them, opening them again when he turns toward Mingyu. “Sometimes, being your best friend hurts.” 

Mingyu’s eyes soften, his heart breaking just as much as Wonwoo’s when those words leave his lips. “Wonwoo…” he starts, but the man is already on his way out, refusing to hear him out. “Fuck.” 

“This is a fucking bullshit,” he whines, hitting the ground as he squads down. You flinch, kneeling down to him and taking his hand to see if he was okay. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and you already know whatever he is going to tell you will break you. “What was this all about?” You ask, even though deep down you don’t want to know. A part of you would rather live in the illusion of how perfect Kim Mingyu is than get hurt by him. 

“I–” he hesitates, looking up to see your face before he continues. He sighs, squeezing your hand in his as if it was supposed to ease the situation. “Uhm, back when you met Wonwoo in the café…that was my doing,” he explains, making your ears ring. The words only flow from his mouth after that, continuous apologies leaving his lips as he tries to excuse his behavior, tell you that it all changed when he actually met you, that it’s all in the past. But it isn’t. You’re only finding out about it now. It’s in your present, and you can’t ignore it. You move your hand back away from him, your look broken when he gazes into your eyes again. It breaks him, maybe even more than it breaks you. 

“Wait,” he tries to stop you, saying something about making it up to you, but you barely register any of his words as you get up, running away from him. You don’t know where you’re going or what you’re going to do. You just need to get away. Run from everything he just told you, from all the lies and games you have been a part of. 

You let your feet take you to the safest place you can think of at the moment—the person who was also your home. 

“What happened?” You don’t answer. Instead, you run into his arms, closing your eyes shut and trying your best not to cry. “Shh,” your best friend coos, rubbing circles on your back. He doesn’t need to know what happened, not now when you’re in this state, but he’ll make sure to ruin someone’s life when he finds out. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It feels like you still have the knife stuck in your back when you sit on your best friend’s couch, a blanket wrapped around you as you wait for him to finish cooking lunch. You stare into nothing, your vision getting blurry as you think back to yesterday. His words ring in your ears again, and you feel like throwing up. 

I just wanted to find out more about you. I thought I needed to get you out of the picture to keep my title as the legend. I was scared of you. But then I met you—and I couldn’t– I can’t hurt you. I like you–

You shake your head, getting him out of your thoughts and turning around to see your best friend. He’s humming a song as he watches the oven to make sure he doesn’t burn anything, and it makes you smile. Who cares that your love life is terrible—you still have the greatest friends. Screw Kim Mingyu and Jeon Wonwoo, you can live without them. 

But your body says something else. You don’t feel like eating or even standing up to go out. All you want to do is lay in your bed and sleep. For as long as you can. 

“Hey,” Seokmin’s voice makes you snap out of your thoughts, questioning with your eyes what he needs. “At least drink some water,” he says, pushing a full glass in front of you. “It’ll be alright. This isn’t the end of the world,” he reminds you, and you hum. You know that. Of course you know that, but you can’t help it. You’re all over the place, and you hate that it was Mingyu who got you into this state. 

“Should I invite the others over? Maybe that could cheer–” 

“God, no,” you interrupt him. “I don’t want them to see me like this.” Your best friend nods, thinking over it. “What about Chan? Should I give him a call? Say you won��t come to work?” You hum again. It feels like a burden even to speak up. “Should I also explain what happened?” He hesitates as he asks you, and you hesitate as much when you answer. “You can,” you nod. “He’d call me anyway to ask about it if you wouldn’t give him a reason, so at least that gives me a call less,” you joke, but somehow, it only makes you feel worse. “I should go home,” you sigh. 

“Hey, relax,” he shakes his head. “You don’t bother me here, you know that. You can stay here for as long as you need,” he assures you. “I know,” you mumble, playing with the food on your plate. “Still, though. I need to work even if I won’t come to the office.” 

Seokmin sighs, trying to think of a solution. However, he gives up when he sees your expression. Maybe it would be better to leave you alone for a bit, let you rest, and figure out whatever you need. So he agrees in the end. “I’ll drive you later.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

As you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind drifts off to him again. It makes you feel sick. 

You’ve never felt like this over anyone. In the past, when you had your heart broken, sometimes worse than this time, you cried about it for a bit and then collected yourself again, but this time, you can’t even cry. Everything about this feels wrong. Everything about Mingyu feels wrong. 

Yet, you never wanted to be closer to him. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You have a missed call from Seokmin and Chan when you wake up the next morning. You decide to ignore it and roll over to the other side of the bed. You don’t have the energy to deal with them or anyone else. 

As you sit in your bed later that day, with plans of the Kims’ house, something in you breaks completely, and you don’t think anyone will be able to fix it again. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Come on, open the door, please.” You groan when you hear your best friend’s voice from behind the door. “You know I have the keys!” He reminds you. You glance at the door, sighing as you get up from the couch, and open the door for him. Your eyes land on the three guys behind him, and you regret it immediately, glancing down at your pajamas. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before you cross your arms over your chest, mostly to cover your hardening nipples from the cold air. “Why are you all here?” 

“Because we care about you,” Soonyoung speaks up, the sadness in his voice painfully obvious. You stand there for a second, rethinking your options before you step aside, letting them walk inside. “Wait here, I’m…going to change,” you inform them, not forgetting to send Seokmin a glare before you run upstairs, ignoring their chatter as you get to your closet. 

You glance over your back to what they are doing, closing your eyes as you already regret the question you’re about to ask. “Can you guys turn around?” For some reason, you feel embarrassed, and you guess Chan does too when you notice his ears turning slightly pink. Having a loft apartment was nice—until you had people over and couldn’t change without having to worry about them looking up and seeing you naked. Neither one of them protests and immediately listens to you. 

“Okay,” you sigh, walking down the stairs. “So, again, why are you here?” You ask, and the four boys face you again. “We were worried,” Jihoon comments. “You haven’t been picking up any of our calls,” Seokmin complains. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking a seat on your couch again. “I wasn’t feeling like it,” you say, but you know it doesn’t excuse anything. “That’s fine,” Soonyoung assures you, sitting beside you. “But a text would still be nice. To know you’re alive.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again and catch the four boys exchanging a glance. “I’m feeling a lot better now,” you lie. You have barely gotten out of bed for the past week, only going down to your kitchen when your stomach was being annoying about wanting food. You weren’t sure why you were feeling like this—so messed up and incapable of anything. 

Actually, you knew why. You just didn’t want to admit it. 

You couldn’t bear the thought of Mingyu, the man you felt so close to, using you as if you were his toy. 

“We brought you sushi,” Chan holds up a bag in his hands, making you smile. At least you knew these men weren’t here just to toy with you. 

“He’s been calling me,” you mumble between your bites, making all of them look up at you. You notice Soonyoung mouthing “Who?” toward Seokmin, and your eyes widen. He hasn’t told them anything. A part of you feels thankful, but you also feel bad for leaving them out of it and not mentioning anything when they are here now, doing their best to make you feel better without even knowing what got you into this state. 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, getting the attention back to yourself to explain it. “Wonwoo came back, and when he saw me with Mingyu, they started arguing,” you start, scrunching your eyebrows at the memory of it. “Turns out they are best friends—or were at least,” you correct yourself, unsure of what happened to them after Wonwoo dropped the bomb on him. 

“And also, Mingyu has been playing a fucking game with me from the start.” You spit the words out. But as angry as you are at him, your eyes soften when you remember him kneeling there in front of you, apologizing. You hate that, partly because you think he actually meant it. “Like…” Soonyoung starts hesitantly, but before he can finish his question, you continue. “Ever since we were in the café and bumped into Wonwoo. Mingyu was the one who sent him there to get closer to me.” 

It’s quiet after that, and the pity in their eyes makes you feel sick. You don’t want that from them. It makes you feel even worse when they look at you like that. 

“And now he is blowing up my phone. He said–” your voice breaks, and you stop to take a breath. “He said that was before he fell for me. That he likes me and wishes to take everything back.” — “Wonwoo also texted me. He apologized for ever being with Mingyu on the plan and for leading me on at first.” 

“Assholes,” Soonyoung sighs, receiving a look from Chan immediately. “What? I know damn well you guys are thinking it too!” He protests, not understanding why he’d glare at him like that for voicing his opinion. You chuckle, watching Chan’s freaked-out expression as he tries to shut him down. “It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I don’t want you guys to just sit here in silence while I talk.” Chan inhales but doesn’t say anything to that. 

“He also asked to meet up,” you add. 

“Who?” 

You roll your eyes, a chuckle leaving your lips. Does he have to make it sound like you have been seeing a handful of people at once? 

“Wonwoo,” you explain. 

“Do you think you’ll go?” Jihoon asks, finally speaking up too. He’s been trying to stay silent, listening to what you have to say without having comments that might make you feel even worse. You think about it for a bit, eventually nodding. “Yeah, probably. I…want to hear him out.” He nods to you, agreeing. 

However, Chan seems to have a different view of the situation. “Seriously? After everything, you want to see him and hear him out?” You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but it sounds like a laugh in your face. 

“Chan–” Jihoon tries to stop him before he can say something stupid, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint. “Both of them have been assholes to you, and that’s the nicest way to put it, and you still want to have anything to do with them?” He means well, you convince yourself, but can’t get over the fact of how mockery he sounds. “Come on, don’t be stup–” 

“Enough,” Seokmin interrupts, his voice strong. Your eyes wince, and you glance at him. “It’s okay, Min,” you assure him, surprised at his sudden reaction. “He can have his opinion.” 

“But he doesn’t need to be rude with it.” 

“I’m…sorry?” Chan’s eyes widen, looking at Soonyoung for some sort of help. “I just– It feels weird seeing you so out of place,” he glances back at you. “I’m not used to it, and it makes me worried. I don’t want it to get any worse, so I’m looking out for you.” Your eyes soften, and you send a smile his way. “I know, Chan,” you assure him. “But I’ll be okay. I promise.” 

And you’re confident you will because Wonwoo isn’t a bad person. You know you don’t have to worry about meeting him, which sadly isn’t something you can say about Mingyu. You know that if you were to meet him, you’d probably fall into an even worse place than you already are. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

As you walk through the door, the smell of baked cookies hits you immediately, and a smile curls up your lips. The cozy place makes you feel at home. Without you realizing it, the coffee shop turned into your comfort place over time. And so did the sweet lady behind the cash register, who always greets you with a smile. 

“Good morning,” she smiles warmly. “Good morning,” you greet her back, smiling just as much. “Caramel macchiato?” She wonders, and you nod. “Add extra sugar, please.” She chuckles, nodding as she makes a note of your order before passing it to her colleague. “He’s sitting over there,” she informs you, trying not to be obvious as she points toward the table of two you usually occupied when you came here with Wonwoo. “Thank you,” you whisper back. “I hope you have a nice day.” 

“Hi,” you greet the boy with glasses as you take a seat opposite him, placing your cup of coffee on the table. “Hey,” he looks up with an awkward smile. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again right after. “What is it?” You raise your eyebrows confusedly. He shakes his head, and it’s supposed to be a sign for you to drop it, but your expression doesn’t change, so he sighs. “You look good,” he admits so quietly you almost don’t hear him. Almost. 

His comment gets stuck in your ears, the words echoing in your head. You look down at the table, hating what goes through your mind at the moment. Wonwoo is sweet, and you know the last moments you spent with him were real—probably more real than anything you ever had with Mingyu was, but you just can’t bring yourself to him anymore. Not because of the situation he got you in or because of what he did, but because no matter how much you want to protest, your heart belongs to his best friend now. And it will for a while. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, hiding yourself behind your cup as you take a sip of your iced drink. “I know you didn’t come here because you’d want to hear those words from me, but that doesn’t change the fact I mean it.” You smile, gazing into his eyes for a brief second. “I know you do, Wonwoo,” you nod slightly. “But just as I know that, you know I can’t.” The rest of the sentence hangs in the air. It’s something you tell each other with your eyes, and it’s enough. He understands. That, you are sure of. 

Wonwoo nods. “Did he…What did he tell you?” The hesitation in his voice is obvious, but you take it as a sign of nervousness since he has an idea of how badly the conversation must have gone. You take a deep breath, staring into your cup of coffee as you repeat Mingyu’s words. They are still as vivid as they were that day, way too real. 

“We haven’t spoken since,” he admits suddenly, taking in everything you told him. To his surprise, Mingyu hasn’t changed anything to his advantage to seem like the nice guy in the end. You only hum in response. “I feel bad,” he sighs. 

“About?” 

“Everything. About everything I did in the past two months.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“But it is,” he argues. You breathe out, not having enough energy to argue with him. Especially since you know he is right. He wasn’t innocent. It was just easier to blame Mingyu and hope that might make you hate him. Even just slightly. 

“I should have never agreed to do this. I should have talked him out of it and told him how bad of an idea that was. I wish I could go back.” You frown at that. “You can’t go back.” 

“I know.” He sounds exhausted now that you pay closer attention to it. Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you notice the dark circles under his eyes. Suddenly, his skin wasn’t as flawless as when you met him for the first time. You feel bad for him somehow. You know that should be the last thing you’re thinking of, but you can’t help it. 

“I’m aware it might not look like that now, but he isn’t a bad guy. He’s just sometimes…putting himself before others in a way he shouldn’t.” 

You sigh, feeling the exhaustion hit you as well. 

“I don’t know what is so important to him about the painting or why he thought he needed to do this in order to buy it for himself, but I’m sorry. For ever being a part of this and doing things I normally wouldn’t.” 

“What painting?” You ask confusedly, and Wonwoo’s eyes widen when he realizes you don’t know everything after all. “I’m not– I think it goes up next week,” he answers, trying to remember what Mingyu told him about it. Honestly, it wasn’t much. Wonwoo wasn’t exactly oriented when it came to art. That was more of Mingyu and Minghao’s thing. 

“Is it this one?” You quickly unlock your phone, going through the upcoming list of auctions to find what you have in mind. You show him the phone, and he nods. You scoff. Of course. “It’s part of a collection,” you mumble, turning the phone toward yourself again. “I completely forgot it was going up for sale.” 

“It all makes sense now,” you sigh, looking at the picture on your phone. It’s a part of the Shadows and Glimmers collection, the same one your Whisper of Hope belongs to. It only makes sense he wants the painting. You would have too if he hadn’t outbid you back then. 

The painting shows a calm autumn scene. There’s a water path in the middle, small rocks lining the side, along with trees covered in orange and yellow leaves. Just like Whisper of Hope, it’s supposed to signal warmth and peace in nature. As far as you’re aware, it’s supposed to be from the other side of the mountains, showing that even cold places like these have another side to them. 

“Does it make sense? Because I can’t see what’s so good about it.” — You chuckle, shaking your head. “I think it has a deeper meaning to the both of us,” you mumble as you stare into your phone. You catch Wonwoo raising an eyebrow at that, but you don’t say anything. Not when you realize what you had just said. 

It does have a deeper meaning to both of you, something Wonwoo or your friends couldn’t understand. But you understand, and you know Mingyu does too. 

You close your eyes, trying to push the thought aside and not do anything you’ll regret later, but your heart takes over at the moment, and there’s nothing you can do now that you’ve decided. 

You’re going to the auction. 

And you will fight for what’s yours. 

If your thoughts drift to the painting or the man himself at the moment is something you’d rather not pay attention to. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

“Sometimes, whatever is going on through your head scares me,” Jihoon comments, making you chuckle. “Why? I don’t see anything weird about this.” He raises an eyebrow at you, Seokmin copying his movement. “Alright, yeah, maybe it is a stupid idea,” you admit with a defended sigh. “And I might regret it. But I’m not going there for him.” 

“Right,” Seokmin hums, exchanging a look with Jihoon. You roll your eyes at them, fixing your dress. “I’m only going because I want the painting. He might have gotten the first one in the collection, but I’m taking this one,” you say confidently. “I’m going to have my fun, maybe find a cute enough guy to leave with, and not pay any attention to Mingyu. That’s tonight’s plan.” 

“Well, good luck with that.” The tone in Jihoon’s voice makes you doubt yourself for a second. If they don’t believe you when you say you won’t break down the moment you see the handsome, tanned man, how are you supposed to believe in yourself? 

Honestly, you can’t blame them, though. Because you don’t believe in yourself either. 

As you step into the familiar building, you feel anxiety rush through you. Your eyes keep wandering around the room without you being able to control them, searching for the man himself. 

You only get to snap out of your thoughts when you hear your name from behind yourself, turning around to see who was calling you. You sigh, every sign of hope that was previously in your eyes disappearing as your eyes land on the man behind you. “Joshua,” you greet him politely, looking around once more, this time to find an escape route. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” he comments, offering you the glass of wine in his hands. You decline with a slight head shake. “I was busy,” you excuse. “So busy you couldn’t call again?” 

Joshua Hong. One of the finest men you got to play with in your past. He wasn’t anyhow bad as he was, and you probably would have called him if you had met under different circumstances, but it wouldn’t have been you if you had done that to him. It was already enough that you had used him before to get some extra money for an art piece you wanted. 

“I’m sorry, but you know how it goes.” 

“Do I?” He chuckles, looking down at his wine. “I guess I know how one-night stands go, yeah,” he nods, his eyes meeting yours again. “But what if I say I don’t care about the past? That we could start again and pretend you never toyed with me?” A part of you pities him. You open your mouth to apologize, say just how sorry you are, but you realize it wouldn’t change anything. 

“We could leave tonight acting like nothing happened,” he offers. “And get to know each other again.” You know everything about what he just said was meant sexually, and it makes you feel gross. “Uhm…” You start, trying to find an excuse for yourself. 

“I don’t think she wants to explore you in any way.” You freeze when the familiar voice reaches your ears. It’s loud, deep, and strong. The sound echoes in your ears, making you look up to see him immediately. His arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close to himself, and you feel like your heart stops for a moment. “So why don’t you get lost?” He hisses at Joshua. The shorter man glances at you, but you just send him an apologetic look, not saying anything else. You feel like even just opening your mouth might cause him to leave. 

You barely register Joshua walking away as Mingyu turns you to face him, his eyes soft when he sees your face. “Sorry,” he swallows nervously, bringing his arms back to his side. “I just–” he swallows the rest of his sentence when you take a step back. It feels like he can’t breathe. He hates being this close to you and yet being so far. What happened in front of your apartment back then might have hurt him more than it did you. 

“Thank you for that but…I will take my leave now,” you mumble, barely looking him in the eyes as you quickly turn around, running off to the bidding room as fast as you can without looking awkward. 

It’s only then that Mingyu exhales, closing his eyes in regret. There was so much he needed to tell you. And now that he knew you were here, he wasn’t sure if he could focus on the whole auction. But he has to. He has to do this no matter what. 

Mingyu takes a seat on the other side of the room from you, trying his best to keep his eyes off you. But it feels impossible. With the way your dress hugs your body and how you try to be inconspicuous when your eyes search around the room, he is sure to go crazy soon. He isn’t sure if you’re looking for the guy he pushed away from you earlier or him, but he hopes for the latter. 

The bidding starts soon after, making him snap out of his thoughts and focus on what’s happening on the podium. One painting goes after another, but Mingyu doesn’t care enough to try for any of them. He knows that if he wanted them, he would have had no problem getting them, but there is no reason for him to do so. He is here for the star of the show. 

There is a wave of fear that rushes through him when his eyes land on you again and he realizes you haven’t tried for any of the paintings so far either. This was exactly the situation he wanted to prevent. He isn’t so confident now, knowing you could go for the same painting he wants. 

With anyone else, he didn’t have to worry about a thing. Thanks to his reputation, the moment he’d raise his number, all other interested parties would give in, and it’d be like a walk in the park for him. But with you in the game, that isn’t going to work. He inhales through his nose, ignoring the stares from people around him as his grip on his number plate tightens. 

“2 millions.” He hears the familiar voice and looks your way, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head as he raises his number. “5,” is all he says, trying his best not to meet your eyes. If he did, he’d have to give up the whole auction. He wouldn’t be able to go against you. 

It’s a fight against the two of you the whole time. If anyone else raised their number plate and called out a number, Mingyu didn’t even notice it. All he can hear is your voice. It echoes in his ears, the soft, clear sound making his heart ache every time he has to bid higher than you again. 

“For fucks sake,” he mumbles. “I’m not letting you pay for it,” he says, squeezing his number plate even more, to a point he knows it will break if he doesn’t let go immediately. “I’ll take it for 32,” Mingyu calls out and watches you stare into your lap. Your shoulders tremble in regret, and he hates seeing you like this. All he wishes to do is run to you right away and pull you into a hug. 

But as the moderator announces he has won the painting and he sees you standing up from your place, excusing yourself as you pass the people around you to get to the nearest exit, he can’t even be happy about getting the painting. 

You’re not sure what you feel as you walk out of the building. Resent, anger, shame, or maybe you don’t feel anything at all, actually. One thing. It was the one thing you wanted to take away from him after everything, and you failed again. “Screw you, Kim Mingyu,” you mutter, taking out your phone to call yourself a taxi. You freeze when, at the same time, your screen lights up with an incoming call, and his name pops up. No. No, you can’t give in. Not now. 

It takes everything in you to turn off your phone, closing your eyes so you won’t be able to see it anymore. But he just can’t leave you alone. 

You hear your name behind yourself, his voice desperate, pleading. “Go away,” you whisper, unable to say it out loud. Because deep down, you don’t want him to leave you alone. You want to be close to him just like you were before everything. 

He doesn’t answer anything, and it makes you go insane. He messes with your head no matter what he does, no matter if he says anything or stays silent. You hate what power he has over you. 

You feel the warmth of his hand on you, and it makes you flinch. Before you can pull your hand away from him, he reaches for it again, turning you around with one easy pull so you would face him. 

His eyes are soft, apologies written all over them. His lips are slightly parted as if he were about to say something, and his wavy hair reaches under his eyes. It has grown since you last saw him. 

“Look me in the eyes, tell me you want me to leave, break my heart however much you want, and I’ll go, but please, hear me out first.” 

He takes a step forward, closing the space between you, and you feel like you can’t breathe. With him this close, you can’t avert your eyes or protect yourself from him. “You took another painting from me.” Your complaint sounds more broken than you’d want it to. His eyes soften as he exhales, squeezing your hand in his while his empty hand reaches to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your skin, and your breath shakes. When your eyes lock with his, you know you can’t escape him again. Not now, not ever. 

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head, his thumb moving up to your eye to stop the tears falling from your eyes. “Did this for you.” — “No,” you shake your head rapidly, trying to build a wall between you again so he wouldn’t be able to hurt you. “You don’t do anything for anyone else.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he argues. 

“Stop lying.” 

“I mean it.” You gaze into his eyes, and you hate that you can’t find a single sign of this being another one of his games. There’s nothing but honesty in his eyes, and it breaks you even more. Your head falls on his chest, and you raise your hand, weakly hitting him. “No,” you’re desperate. Desperate to find a reason to hate him, to turn around and run from him. 

You break in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles on your back to calm you down. He keeps you close, not saying anything as you hit his chest over and over again. “I hate you,” you mumble, but you both know you don’t mean it. 

You look up to meet his eyes, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’ve never regretted anything in my life as I regret ever hurting you,” he whispers, his hand moving from your back to your waist. “I’ve never thought of anyone as much as I’ve thought of you. Never chased someone like this, never needed anyone as much as I need you.” 

“Mingyu,” you say his name with the last bit of strength in you, but your poor attempts at keeping him away go to waste as you feel his lips press against yours. The kiss is urgent, fragile, and conveys all the emotions Mingyu is unable to say out loud. 

“I hate you,” you cry again, trying to convince yourself more than him. “And I love you,” he responds, chasing after your lips again. You give up at that moment, allowing yourself to kiss him back. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You can’t. 

“The painting is for you,” he breathes out. “What?” Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t answer your question anymore. Instead, you find yourself wrapping your legs around his hips and tightly holding onto his shoulders as he picks you up, not caring about anyone around. “I came here just to buy it for you,” he proclaims, trying to search with his eyes for his car while his lips stay on yours. He is unable to keep his mouth away, needing you as close as possible. 

“But you–” He interrupts you with another kiss, making you yelp as he walks towards his car. “I don’t care about the painting anymore, nor the collection. I’d give it up anytime for you.” His words ring in your ears, playing on repeat until your back hits his car, and he finally places you down. The hunger in his eyes is obvious, a whine leaving his lips in protest when you slide inside his car and close the door behind yourself. He just can’t get enough. 

The car ride is blurry in your eyes. You’re not sure what was said, which road he took, or how long it took him to park in front of his house. All you can think of is his hand on your thighs, squeezing the flesh every chance he got, stealing a kiss from you every time he stopped at a red light. 

“Wa–wait,” you stop him as your back pressed on his front door, his lips on your neck. You regret it immediately when you see the puppy eyes he gives you. “We shouldn’t,” you say, but your body does something completely different as your hands wander over his stomach under his shirt. “We– I–” 

“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles against your skin as he places another kiss on your collarbone. “Apologize for everything I did. And the things I didn’t do.” Your head hits his door, and a moan escapes your lips, your breath heavy. “Okay,” you nod in the end, unable to resist him much longer as you feel a wet patch creating between your legs. 

And that’s how you get to his bed again, your dress thrown to the floor, long forgotten along with Mingyu’s shirt. “So pretty,” he coos, his tongue tracing your inner thigh, making its way up to your needy pussy. His thumb rubs slow circles on your clit through your panties, groaning when he sees how wet the piece of clothing gets when he touches you. “I missed you. Missed you so bad,” he mumbles, pushing your panties to the side. “Kept thinking about you. All the time.” You’re unsure if his words are just needy blabs or if he means them, but you definitely aren’t in the right mind to figure that out now. 

“Min–” you swallow the rest of his name as you feel his tongue slide between your folds. You gasp when he tears your panties apart with ease, throwing them on the floor. His fingers part your folds, and he takes a minute to watch you as you try to thrust your hips up. “Patience, baby,” he coos, leaning down again to kiss your clit. His kisses slowly turn into sucking, his two fingers pushing inside to stimulate you more. “Oh, God,” you moan out, throwing your head back while your fingers find his locks, pulling on his hair. 

“That isn’t my name,” he says, pinching your clit as he looks up to see your face. Your whines fill the whole room, and it’s like pleasure to his ears. “Mingyu! Mingyu, Min,” his name leaves your lips repeatedly until he goes back to sucking on your clit and his fingers thrust into you again. 

The whines and groans that leave his lips as he presses his nose against your clit and licks your slick make your head spin. You’d let him do anything if it meant hearing him like this. If you had known he could get so pussy-drunk, you might have ignored the whole situation in the first place. 

“I’m– so close,” your moan comes out broken as he sucks harder. “Mhm,” he hums against your pussy. It doesn’t take much longer, and as Mingyu makes out with your cunt, you cum on his lips. Your breath grows heavy as you ride out your orgasm on his face, trying not to feel embarrassed as he starts blabbing again. 

You look at him, your heart beating faster as you lock eyes with him. There really is nothing but pure love behind them. You hesitate before you slowly sit up, his eyes watching you confusedly. “Come here,” you speak softly, and he doesn’t question you and does as you say. You tug on his belt, getting it off along with his pants while keeping eye contact. The change in his eyes when you do so is something you could watch forever. 

“What are you–” 

“Returning the favor since you’ve been so good,” you mumble, his mind going blank. He’s been good? The words repeat in his head, his mind wandering to fantasies he’d rather not tell you about yet. 

He helps you pull his boxers down, his already hard cock leaking with pre-cum. You look up at him one more time before you focus on his trembling cock, kneeling down in front of him and lightly squeezing him in your hand. 

Mingyu groans as you slowly move your palm up and down, your fingers quickly becoming coated in the shiny layer of his arousal. Rolling your wrist over his tip, you swallow hard as you feel his cock twitch under your hands. You squeeze harder, your movements becoming faster. “You– f-fuck. How much have you been training for this?” He breathes out, and had it been a different situation, you might think he’s calling you a slut. But you know he isn’t in his right mind at the moment. He hasn’t been since he kissed you for the first time after the auction. 

He tugs your hair behind your ear, his fingers softly brushing over your cheek. You look up at him, nodding to yourself when you see him biting his bottom lip. His hips buck up against your hand, and he lets out a strangled noise. “Slow–Slow down. Gon–Gonna cum soon.” That’s what he says, but when you let go of his cock, the disagreeing whine he lets out tells you all you need to know. 

You switch your hand with your mouth, giving his leaking tip a kitty-lick before you take as much of him as you can, his cock twitching in your mouth. He doesn’t hesitate after, his hands holding onto your face as he fucks into you, his tip hitting the back of your throat. “Shit– you’re too good, baby,” the praise leaves his lips before he can even realize what he’s saying, too lost in the moment as he watches his cock disappear in your mouth. You gag when he pushes into you with full force, but don’t pull away, ignoring the tears creating in your eyes and sucking on him harshly. 

Mingyu doesn’t bother telling you as he gets closer to his climax, releasing in your mouth without any notice. You gag again at that but make sure there isn’t a single drop of cum leaving your lips as he pulls out with a groan. “Fuck,” he breathes out, his dick twitching again when he watches you swallow. He’s never been this obsessed with a blowjob before. 

You straighten your back again, placing your hand behind his neck and pulling him closer until your lips meet. The bitter taste of his cum makes him frown for a second before your tongue meets his, and it becomes the last thing he is worried about. He pushes you back onto the bed, deepening the kiss as his hands wander over your body, squeezing your breast, his fingers brushing over your tummy, his hands harshly gripping your waist, and lastly, his fingers reaching your clit again. You moan at the touch, trying to tug on his hair again, but it’s no help. He needs to make you cum again, no matter if you’re already feeling overstimulated or not. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

As the smell of freshly done eggs reaches your nose, you groan and turn around on the bed. Slowly opening your eyes, you blink a few times when you see the mess on the nightstand. Your place definitely doesn’t look like that. 

Then it hits you. A wave of realization runs through you and you sit up, looking around the room to see if he was there. You breathe out and close your eyes when you don’t see anyone, collecting your memories of last night. Seokmin is going to kill you when he finds out. 

You run your fingers through your hair as you try to figure out your next move, but all your thoughts disappear when the door opens and your eyes land on the man you have so much history with. He is shirtless, his sweatpants hung low, and he is holding a plate in his hands. Your eyes soften at the sight. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he smiles, and you melt immediately. You can’t even be mad at him. 

You know you should regret it, collect your things, run away as fast as you can and never see him again, but it’s impossible when he looks at you like this. 

“Sleeping beauty?” You raise your eyebrow at the nickname, watching him as he walks over to you and sits at the edge of his bed. “I have a feeling you’d kick me in the balls if I called you a princess,” he chuckles, offering you the food in his hands. “And you are a beauty, so why wouldn’t I call you that?” 

“Come here,” you whisper, putting the plate aside. Mingyu’s eyes follow you confusedly, but he listens, moving closer to you. His hand runs up your covered leg, holding eye contact to see your reaction. He isn’t sure what he can and cannot do at this point. You hesitate, looking into his puppy eyes before you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Let’s start again and better,” you mumble, and the way his eyes lit up makes your heart skip a beat. Only he could have this kind of power over you. 

“I’d love that more than anything.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

“I don’t trust you.” 

Mingyu chuckles awkwardly, looking around the room for some help. However, all he is met with are killing stares from your friends, who haven’t grown to like him yet so much. 

You laugh as you put your hand around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder. “They are just teasing you,” you assure him, but he isn’t so sure about it as Soonyoung narrows his eyes at him, not breaking their eye contact as he holds his girlfriend beside him. “Right…” 

“Okay, who wants a drink?” Adel stands up to ease the awkward situation. Hansol—her now boyfriend—gets up with her, counting the raised hands so they could get everything. “Please, don’t kill him while we are gone,” she adds, purposely sending a glance at Seokmin and Soonyoung. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to miss it,” Hansol laughs, and she smacks his arm immediately. “Just go.” 

You shake your head at them. “Come on, guys. We talked about this,” you sigh when their stares don’t stop. It’s been a month since you decided to forgive Mingyu and left the whole thing behind you and three weeks since he officially asked you to be his girlfriend. Yet, the guys couldn’t seem to find their way to him. For some reason, they made it seem like he had hurt them more than you. 

“You guys are making it look like he killed your moms or something.” You turn your head to the side, smiling. “See? Even Wonwoo thinks it’s stupid.” 

Jeon Wonwoo, your past lover and Mingyu’s best friend. Chan said it was weird for you to still talk after everything, but when he and Mingyu made up, and he reached out to you to offer a friendship, you couldn’t just send him away. If he didn’t mind seeing you with his best friend, you didn’t have a problem with it either. 

The quiet tsk that leaves Seoonyoung’s lips makes you roll your eyes. They were holding a grudge against him for no reason. “Look, if you have such a problem with him, then we are leaving,” you proclaim, making sure they know you are a package deal. “Baby,” Mingyu stops you before you can stand and prove your point, shaking his head as he strokes your arm lightly. “It’s fine, I get them.” 

“It’s not fine,” you disagree. “Seokmin and Soonyoung need to pull their heads out of their ass and realize I couldn’t care less if they approve of you or not.” 

Your best friend gulps down as he watches you. You’re mad and not just a little annoyed with him mad like you always are. You’re pissed. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Seokmin apologizes, encouraging Soonyoung to do the same. “I admit I took this little too far.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Soonyoung mumbles, Hanni beside him shaking her head at him. “Sorry.” 

You sigh. Mingyu wraps his hand around your shoulders to put you at ease, and you turn your head to him with a smile. He returns your smile, leaning closer to place his lips on yours. There’s a grin on your face as you kiss him, ignoring the presence of all your friends. Because when you are with him, you forget about everything and everyone else. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, a secret for you and him only. You bite the inside of your cheek to constrain your own smile. Otherwise, you might look like a middle schooler who has just got together with her first crush. 

“I love you too,” you whisper back, and as if to seal the secret, you place another kiss on his lips. 

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @adel222 @liaatiny @cherrylovescheol @bamgeutsz @codeinebelle @gyuguys @ninigyuuu @whoa-jo @lixisoul99 @archivegyu @very-important-army @blaycke @cxsmicgyu ✶⋆ want to get notified? join taglist here!

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[ckret2]

Chapter 53 of human Bill Cipher not properly appreciating the fact that Mabel is his only friend on Earth:

Mabel has read a book about Bill's home dimension and is prepared to interrogate him all about where he comes from.

Bill is willing to do anything to avoid being interrogated.

(Featuring SEVEN illustrations, provided by 🌈 MABEL 💖)

####

Flatworld, from what Mabel had read, was probably literally the worst place to ever exist. 

The book was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

There was a lot of mathy stuff in the book about a square meeting a magical sphere and going on educational adventures to the higher and lower dimensions; but most of it passed by her in a blur. When she'd finished reading last night, Mabel had lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about dead baby shapes and fighting the urge to wake Bill up just so she could hug him; until she'd finally drifted off and woken up in her own bed.

At least, thank goodness, the bit about banning colors so lower shapes couldn't contour themselves to look like higher shapes was false. But she was sure that at least part of the story was true. And it had happened to somebody she knew. It was a lot to process.

So she processed it the way she usually did the stories that weighed on her: by creating a self-insert and pulling out her art supplies.

####

"You're drawing fan art of Flatworld?" Bill asked warily.

"I wouldn't call it fan art. I'd say it's more of a... thoughtful artistic critique. I don't think I'm a 'fan' of the second dimension," Mabel said. "No offense."

"Sure."

Mabel had designed a shapesona of herself: a pink heart with a rainbow-colored outline, a big sparkly eye, and skinny black stick limbs like Bill's. If, as Bill had said, colors weren't illegal, she didn't see any reason she couldn't be rainbow. The heart shape was maybe unconventional, but Bill hadn't said she couldn't be a heart yet, so she was sticking with it for now.

She'd honestly expected Bill to come over and interrogate her about her creation long before now. Usually, when she was doing art and he was unoccupied, he was hovering right by her, examining her work and dropping hints—some more subtle than others—that she should draw him next. But she hadn't immediately noticed when he'd silently drifted into the room, and she wasn't sure how long he'd been there before speaking up. He was still leaning on the wall, arms crossed, watching askance from halfway across the living room as Mabel worked with her crayons, as if she were playing with a chemistry set and he was trying to figure out if she was building a bomb.

"Is Flatworld really about your world?" Mabel asked. "Did you tell Edward Bishop Bishop all that stuff? With the circles and all the laws about shapes and stuff?"

Bill mulled over the question, staring into space. Mabel had never seen his face look so inexpressive before—at least, not since his first night as a captive, after he'd gotten all the screaming out and had looked too exhausted to feel. "We talked," he conceded. "I'm surprised you got your hands on it. I suppose Stanford brought it up."

Something in the back of her mind pricked up defensively—what was that supposed to mean, he was surprised she got her hands on it?—but she pushed it back down. "Yeah, he told me and Dipper about it when you guys got home yesterday," Mabel said. "But you brought it up to me first!"

"No I didn't. When?"

"A few weeks ago? You mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop."

"I don't remember that," Bill muttered. "I probably didn't think you'd make sense of it."

"Hey!"

"You didn't make sense of it! Ford had to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but—mean!" She shoved aside her drawing and started on another one, grumbling, "I could've made sense of it if I'd looked it up."

What was up with Bill today? He wasn't usually this much of a jerk. To her. Lately. Plus, she thought they'd really had a moment yesterday! But Bill had had a rough couple days. Maybe he was just tired and cranky. 

A wiser person might just leave well enough alone. But a wiser person wasn't exploding in their brain with curiosity about just how bad Bill's life had really been. There was something itching at the back of her head, had been itching since she'd woken up—something about Bill, something important, she was sure of it—but she couldn't quite put together what it was. She just needed to talk to Bill long enough to figure it out.

"So..." She glanced up from filling in a shape yellow, "were lines really executed if they didn't make noises all the time so everyone always knew where they were and they couldn't sneak up and stab anyone?"

Bill scoffed, rolling his eyes, as if the very idea was stupid. "It wasn't that extreme. Making a peace cry is like a human saying 'coming through' when they're trying to squeeze past somebody. Lines are just taught to do it in public because it's easier not to see a line, that's all."

"If they didn't, were they executed...?"

"No. They were just rude."

That was a relief. Mabel had been worried for her fellow ladies. She was plenty noisy, but she didn't think she could remember to make constant sound any time she was around other people. She turned back to coloring her newest drawing, but watched Bill out of the corner of her eye. "Is it true that rich people killed almost all of their babies by giving them surgery to break their sides?"

The corner of Bill's mouth curled in a sneer. "Do I look like a pediatric surgeon?"

"Um." Not a welcome question. She tried to backtrack to something softer. "So, in the second dimension, the outside of your body is just your outline and your guts are everything inside the outline, right?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah."

"So your bow tie is basically in your stomach."

Bill sucked in a deep breath; but quickly caved in to the need to be the most correct person in the room. "More like around my esophagus, but. Sure."

"So, where did you wear it when you were back in the second dimension? Was it on your side? Did you have to wear two so people could see them from both sides—"

"I didn't need a bow tie then."

Mabel stared at him. "What do you mean, you didn't 'need' it? What do you need it for now?"

Bill ignored the question. "You know, I didn't think Flatworld was an interesting enough book to deserve this much attention! Especially not from you. You like fun stories." It felt oddly like he was criticizing her for having read it.

"Well—yeah, but it's about your home! That makes it fun!"

Bill raised his brows.

"Right? Doesn't it?"

"Kid." Bill laughed condescendingly. "Don't give me that. You read an entire book. In the summer. About math. With a downer ending where the narrator goes insane and gets locked up. That's some people's idea of a fun time, but I know it's not yours."

Maybe "fun" was the wrong word—but it was still important. She was glad she'd read it. She'd cared about it. She'd cared enough to know Bill was describing it wrong. "That's not what happened. The square got locked up because he kept telling everybody the third dimension's real."

"Like I said! He went insane!"

"But he's not insane. Everyone says he is, but he's right about the third dimension! It's everyone else who's stupid!"

"So what," Bill said. "The things he knows mean he'll never be able to see the world the way other shapes do, and no matter what he does he'll never be happy with his home. If that's not insanity, what is?"

Last year, she'd heard Bill agree when Gideon called him insane. She'd always wondered. "Is that why you're insane?"

Bill shot Mabel a furious look. That was the wrong thing to say. "Shooting Star—"

(Oh no, she thought, he's using my full name.)

"—what's with the third degree." Bill crossed the room to lean on the other side of the table. He gave her the guarded glare of a guilty suspect facing down a cop in an interrogation room—and trying to figure out whether he could kill the cop before he was stopped. "What do you think you're trying to dig up?"

"I'm not trying to 'dig up' anything," Mabel said. "I just want to learn more about you!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you do! Who doesn't wanna know all about me! And right after I trusted you yesterday! Do you think you're the first person to start digging into my history? 'Hey, does anyone know what made Bill Cipher so crazy'?" Bill laughed bitterly. " You're not even the first Pines to try it. Not even the second."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" said Mabel, right before it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Right. I'm sure whatever you learn will make a nice two-page spread in Journal 5. Another secret you and Fordsy can add to your Mysteries, huh? Think he'll draw the dead babies?"

She thought back to Portland—to asking Ford what had made Bill so awful. I think if anyone’s ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Mabel shook her head. No. She didn't want to be that. "I'm not Grunkle Ford's spy, I'm your friend. I just—I just want to understand you—"

"Yeah, and the 'friends' who understand you are the most dangerous kind." Bill laughed harshly. "Your uncle and brother couldn't figure me out! And Sixer's been trying for years! So what makes you think YOU can?"

He was calling her stupid. He'd been calling her stupid all day. That was why he was so surprised she'd read the book.

"You—shut up!" She wadded up her latest drawing and flung it in Bill's face. (He snatched out of midair.) "All I did was read a book I thought was important to you, you jerk! I thought you'd like that!"

She hadn't meant for that waver to enter her voice. But she was exhausted from too little sleep and worrying about dead baby shapes and worrying about Bill's fear of death and worrying about what Ford had said about not giving Bill a second chance, and now Bill was being a jerk, and maybe he was just exhausted and upset too, but he was treating her like she was stupid—and there was that pathetic little waver.

But it made Bill pause in his onslaught; for a moment, he averted his gaze. Still, he said, "Maybe if you'd thought to ask—"

"You were asleep! I was being nice! And letting you sleep! In my bed!"

"But—"

"Just go away!" She pointed at the doorway.

Bill's face hardened again. "Fine!" He flung his hands in the air and stomped from the room. "Who wants to hang out with you when you're in such a bad mood, anyway."

Mabel glared at her stupid drawings so she didn't have to watch Bill's stupid back as he left.

Why had she bothered?

When Bill was out of sight, she dropped back onto her chair, pulled her sweater over her face, crossed her arms on the table, and buried her head in them.

####

Bill didn't think to smooth out the paper Mabel had flung at him until he was out of the room.

On one side she'd drawn Bill—properly triangular—with an expression that he thought was supposed to be fear and on the other side several angry-looking shapes, pentagons and hexagons, colored gray and black, being led by a pale figure shaped like a human skull and wielding a scythe; and between them, a bright pink heart, standing in front of Bill protectively, hands on its "hips," glaring down the would-be assailants.

The corners of Bill's mouth sagged down.

####

The bell rang and the shapes began filing out of class, muttering to each other about how they thought they'd done on the test. As the triangle cheerfully left the room, the teacher caught him by the arm again to pull him over. "Just a minute," she said. "I want a word with you."

Oh, he bet she did. Breezily, he said, "Sure thing! What is it?"

"Who was the first triangular president?"

"Wh— Th—" He spluttered indignantly. "There's been like—seven of them."

"Nine. And I'm only asking about the first one."

"How should I know!"

"You knew an hour ago."

He sputtered again. "That was— That was a multiple choice test! And it was an hour closer to when I'd studied! And I can focus better in the classroom! You can't expect me to remember anything in the hallway. You're using intimidation tactics. How could anyone focus under these conditions—"

"I don't know what you're doing," the teacher said, "or how you're doing it. Maybe I never will. But..." She sighed, and the anger seemed to leak out of her, and that only made him more nervous. "But whatever you're doing—you won't be able to do it forever. What will you do when you're out in the real world and you didn't learn anything in school?"

Her pity was worse than being hated had been. At least when he was hated, he knew she only looked down on him because she had something against him. What did he do with pity? With concerned warnings about the "real world"? He'd never heard anybody use the phrase "the real world" as anything but a threat. He hoped he was never out in the real world.

"Who cares! I'll never need any of this!" He should have shut up there. He didn't: "You're just jealous that me and my family make a million times more lying to everyone than you'll ever get trying to teach them the truth!"

His teacher gasped in shock; but before she could say anything, he was halfway down the hall with no intention of slowing down.

The next day, he stayed home, and his mom visited the principal. The day after that, he had a new teacher.

####

He was stupid. He knew that. He didn't know when he'd gotten stupid—if it was because he'd started touring so much and missing classes, or if he'd always been dumb and just didn't notice it before he registered just how often he was using his all-seeing eye to pick up answers that other kids couldn't see. It had crept up on him. But there it was. He was stupid, and he was too stupid to figure out what to do about it.

There was a big difference between being able to see everything, and actually knowing anything. And he might be all-seeing, but an idiot like him would never be all-knowing.

####

A trillion years later, he still didn't remember the name of the first triangular president. And look how far he'd gotten without it.

Lunch was toast and peanut butter. The toaster was the only source of heat he could use without having to ask his captors for access; and peanut butter and bread were the most nutritious foods he could reach without asking his captors to open a cabinet or fridge. He was sick of toast and peanut butter.

He wasn't about to ask Mabel to help him get lunch.

Well. He'd succeeded. He'd known just the right thing to say to get Mabel to lay off and drop the topic. Did he feel accomplished?

He stared out the window as he ate—there were hazy gray clouds on the horizon, beyond the trees, slowly inching closer—and he tried not to look at the picture Mabel had flung at him.

####

Mabel felt dumb about being upset that Bill thought she was dumb.

Because of course he did. Sure, he liked her art and he liked dance music and games without rules; sure, he was a willing student when it came to stuff like making friendship bracelets or artistically mixing sprinkles; sure, he was a weirdo fun guy; but he was also a Smarty McSmartypants, just like Dipper or Ford. And Mabel was the Girl Dipper who brought home C's. And even a weirdo fun Smarty wouldn't want to hang out for long with someone who couldn't keep up with nerd talk. He probably just... put up with her for as long as he could stand pretending he took her seriously, but he'd finally lost his patience...

And shown his true, jerky colors again.

Maybe Ford and Dipper were right about him; maybe he couldn't really change.

Except... there was something he'd said. And right after I trusted you yesterday. When he'd cried in front of her. When he'd told her about his fear of death.

He was being a jerk because he thought she'd betrayed him. But by reading a book?! Why couldn't he ever just explain himself? Did he think whatever was bothering him was obvious, and she was stupid for not figuring it out?

Something she almost but didn't quite remember thudded like a drum inside her brain. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dome.

From the entryway, Bill called, "Hey, star girl. I—"

He stopped in the doorway. Mabel had taped 28 pieces of paper together, drawn on a door knob, written "DOOR" at the top, and taped it across the doorway into the living room. Irritably, Bill said, "It doesn't work like that. This is obviously paper."

"Bill," Mabel grumbled. "Go away."

"No. I'm gonna say something to you."

He didn't phrase that like he was giving her a choice in the matter; but all the same, she said, "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know that horror story about a bride with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck, and her head falls off and rolls down the stairs when her husband unties it?"

She did. She and Dipper had read a book of scary stories to each other on Halloween a few years ago while waiting for it to be late enough to go trick-or-treating. In spite of herself, he'd piqued her curiosity. She reluctantly turned to look at him. "Yeah? So?"

Bill was leaning in the doorway, head tilted against the doorframe so he could see Mabel around the paper door curtain. "That's why I wear a bow tie."

Mabel blinked. "Wait—if you didn't, your head would fall off? What part of you is your head? How did it come off? Were you decapitated? Did you get decapitated for knowing about the third dimension—?"

"It doesn't keep my head on; it keeps my skin on."

Mabel's nose wrinkled. "Gross! How?"

"Remember how you said my outline is my skin and all my organs are inside the outline," Bill said. "That didn't change when we left the second dimension! We had to get exoskeletons on our top and bottom sides so solids like you can't stick you fingers in our guts. My bow tie keeps it tied in place."

"Whoa." So that was why they hadn't seen Bill's organs before. "Do you ever take it off?"

"Mostly when I'm eating!" He knocked on the doorframe. "So can I come in now?"

Of course. He'd been using information to buy his way back into her good graces. (No—that was what somebody who didn't think Bill deserved a second chance would think. He was making up for earlier by answering one of her questions about him.)

She took a deep breath, turned to face Bill, and said, "You didn't talk to me like a friend earlier."

"I—" Bill grimaced, looked at the ceiling for help, and conceded, "I mean—It's how I talk to my friends, but all right, I know you're not used to that—"

"Nobody should be used to that!" Mabel said. "What would Love Bunny say?"

"Wh—?! I— Th— You—" His voice cracked as it jumped higher, "What do I care what a cartoon rabbit thinks about—"

"What. Would. She. Say."

Bill's face screwed up in agony. He crossed his arms. "Ugh."

"Biiill?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bill said, "She'd say my breath smells like I've been eating mean beans."

"Aaand?"

"I'm not going to say it. I won't say it."

"And you need to eat your nice rice!"

Bill let out a long, slow sigh.

"Say it!"

"This is my penance," Bill muttered toward his feet. "This is my penance. This is fair." He took a breath. "And... I need to eat my nice rice."

Mabel nodded. He'd confessed his sins.

"I think we're out of nice rice," Bill said, "but I've had the peanut butter of kindness and the toast of remorse. Good enough?"

She considered it. "Yeah. You can come in."

Bill batted aside the paper door curtain and ducked into the room. 

He sat across the table from Mabel and set down the paper she'd chucked at him amongst her others. Mabel glanced at the drawing, embarrassed of it now; but Bill didn't say anything about it.

He just propped his cheek against his hand and started looking over her other art.

Mabel sat there with her hands under her legs, watching his spotlight eyes rove over the table, feeling like she was waiting for a teacher to grade a poster she'd made for class. He saw a stop sign red octagon in sunglasses that was labeled "Bill's parole officer" and snorted. She wasn't sure if it was an amused snort or a derogatory snort. His gaze stopped on her attempt to figure out how Flatworlder anatomy worked, and didn't move farther. She'd probably gotten everything wrong, hadn't she?

She couldn't stand waiting for him to pass judgment on her art. "You think they look dumb, don't you."

Bill took a moment to reply. He didn't look up from her drawings. "I don't think you're dumb, Shooting Star."

"You think I'm dumber than Dipper and Grunkle Ford."

Bill winced. "I don't." At her dubious look, Bill amended, "Only Stanford! And that barely counts, all humans are dumber than Stanford. It doesn't mean I think you're dumb-dumb"

"Could've fooled me," Mabel muttered.

"You bet! I'm good at fooling people. All I have to do is say things I don't mean that make people feel the way I want." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to feel like the conversation wasn't worth it. That's all."

She stared at him. "By letting me know you think I'm stupid?!" She chucked a crayon at his face. "You could have just told me you didn't want to talk about Flatworld!" Her voice was getting that stupid waver again. "If I'd known, I would have dropped it! I didn't want to upset you!"

"I wasn't upset, it's just a stupid thing to complain about! It's just a dumb book! It'd—it'd take a real loser to be bothered by talking about a dumb book! I'm not..." He sighed harshly. "I know you weren't trying to get on my nerves, kid. It'd mess up your sticker chart." (Mabel hadn't even realized he knew about her sticker chart.) Almost inaudibly, he added, "M'sorry."

She'd never heard him apologize before.

She let out a slow breath. "Biiill. I don't think you're a loser."

He muttered something she couldn't make out as he flipped his hood on and pulled it down over his burning face. "Forget it. Move on. It's in the past!"

"If you're so embarrassed—"

"Not embarrassed!"

She chucked another crayon at his chest. "Then why are you telling me this now?"

Bill shut his eyes; took a deep breath; and, with a look of solemn dignity, and no small amount of pain, he said, "Because. Teddy Tender says. Our friends can't help us feel better if we don't tell them why we feel bad." He almost, almost managed to say it without sounding sarcastic.

Mabel burst out laughing. Bill pulled his hood lower.

Bill didn't even like Teddy Tender—he thought he was the stick in the mud of the Color Critters—and he certainly wasn't actually trying to follow Teddy's friendship lessons. He was just... saying something he didn't mean to make Mabel feel the way he wanted. And he wanted her to feel better.

No matter what anyone else said, he could change. And he was changing.

"Apology accepted," Mabel said. "Gold star!" She peeled one off a nearby sticker sheet and held it out.

Bill eyed it, like a man so hungry he was too nauseous to eat eyeing a pizza; and then snatched it from her and stuck it in the middle of his hoodie.

Mabel said, "And... I guess I'm sorry for getting all diggy about your home world." Even if she hadn't known it was bothering him, she probably should've guessed, shouldn't she? With how crabby he'd gotten. "I just got all excited and curious and... kinda worried about you after reading that book?" She sighed. "I understand if you don't wanna talk about it. You probably hated your dimension."

"What? He lurched forward with the vehemence of his denial—"Of course I don't hate my dimension!" Mabel leaned away at the sudden rage that had flared up in his eyes; but it died just as quickly and Bill immediately reeled himself back in, sitting back, crossing his arms: "I mean, come on, kid, use your head: you read a book about a culture. We're talking about an entire dimension. Would you hold a grudge against Jupiter if an ant bit you on Earth?"

Even as casually as he played it off, Mabel was sure he hadn't meant anything as calm and measured as claiming it was technically irrational to hate an entire dimension. He meant—emphatically, with his whole heart behind it—that he didn't hate his home dimension, at all.

Then why didn't he want to talk about it? (Then why had he destroyed it? Or was not hating it just another fiction he'd made up because he'd prefer that reality? Or was the destruction itself a lie? He hadn't mentioned it once since they'd started talking about Flatworld. Or did he think she didn't know about that and didn't want her to know? Or...)

Something had been churning in her subconscious since she woke up, and now—watching Bill ball up around himself as he squirmed around the things he didn't want to say—it finally dawned on her. Two words. Another piece of the Axolotl's poem. She tried to hold the words in her head until she could write them down, repeating them over and over—Misses home. Misses home.

Quietly, she asked, "Then... don't you want to remember it?"

His face spasmed, like it was nearly cracking in two—and then smoothed out. His face was blank. He didn't answer for a moment. "The last time I told a human more than two sentences about where I'm from... he gave me the universe's most depressing geometry textbook."

Oh. Maybe Bill was following Teddy Tender's friendship advice. "That's because you were talking to a boring old-timey math teacher, duh."

He laughed wryly. "You may have a point!"

If Bill assumed anybody prying into his history was either looking for the reason something was wrong with him, or publishing a whole book about the super bad parts... No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "So you didn't dislike Flatworld? You just dislike the book?"

Bill grimaced. "Did you read Eddie's biography?"

"No?"

####

As soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat for the drive to Northwest Manor, Dipper read the summary on the back cover of Flatworld, and then the paragraph-long author biography underneath it:

Edward B. Bishop, born in 1838 in England, was an accomplished mathematician, writer, theologian, and closet occultist, as well as a professor at the esteemed University of Fancyton. He published twelve books, the last of which was Flatworld in 1884. After sentencing his square protagonist to a two-dimensional asylum for preaching of the existence of the third dimension, he himself succumbed to an ironically similar fate: three months after publication, he was committed to an asylum for insisting that two-dimensional alien invaders intended to conquer the Earth and were persecuting him for revealing their existence, a delusion he maintained until his death from sleep deprivation in 1886. His most enduring legacy is inventing the margarita glass, which he claimed came to him in a dream. 

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Ouch."

####

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Bill said. "But no. I didn't like the book."

"You poor thing! All this time you've been homesick for the second dimension, but the only things humans talk about is the bad stuff!"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want to talk about the non-depressy stuff instead? Like..." Mabel wracked her brain for something nice she'd read in the book. She winced. "Uh... I'm sure there's something. You could choose the topic?"

Bill didn't look directly at her. He just looked over all her drawings again. "Tell me why you want to know so badly."

It was basically the same question he'd asked earlier—what's with the third degree—but his tone was different. Mabel swallowed hard and repeated, "Because... I'm your friend. It's crazy that we've been friends for like a month and I barely know a-ny-thing about who you are or how you grew up! By now, I'd usually know about a friend's family, favorite subject, favorite animal, opinion on glitter, and biggest life dream! Plus all the stuff humans have in common—like, 'do you breathe?'"

This time, Bill didn't argue with her answer. (He could have called her a liar. A month ago, she had just been trying to find out what was wrong with him. But this version of the truth she'd made up was better.) "You already know I'm pro-glitter in all contexts and my life's work is to throw an eternal party. What else really matters?"

"Those are the two most important questions," Mabel said seriously. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you have glitter in the second dimension?" He'd already reassured her that they'd had color, but it was hard to imagine glitter in such a bleak world.

"Sure."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

She looked around at the morning's art production, pulled over the first drawing she'd done of her shapesona, and grabbed a bottle of glue to draw a thin line around the heart.

Bill watched as Mabel carefully sprinkled several separate colors of glitter on the line of glue, like a master chef adding a precise amount of spice to a gourmet recipe, to create a glitter rainbow gradient; and then he slowly sat up and leaned toward the table again. "So, who's this freak?"

Mabel gave him an exasperated look. She decided he'd meant "freak" neutrally; but she'd clearly labeled the heart "ME IN FLATWORLD," she thought it was pretty obvious who this freak was.

But Bill cheerfully went on, "He's the most hideously disfigured shape I've ever seen."

"Hey!"

"I'm not joking, it hurts to look at this guy. At least he's symmetrical, but woof."

"She's not a guy! She's supposed to be me in Flatworld," Mabel insisted. "She's a powerful lady and I think she's beautiful." She paused. "Can a heart be a girl?" Lines looked boring, but Flatworld said that girls were all lines and all other shapes were boys. (Or were they? When they'd talked at the mall, Bill had been very clear that he considered himself a triangle instead of male or female, which scuttled the "all polygons are male" concept. Maybe Edward Bishop Bishop had made that part up?)

"She can be anything she wants," Bill said firmly. "I don't see any gender cops around here, do you?"

Good point. "And when there's no cops around, anything's legal."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"Grunkle Stan says it!"

"Wise man." Bill leaned forward further across the table and tapped a finger on the deep cleft at the top of the heart. "Personally, I'm more worried about that agonizing-looking birth defect. I'm surprised she survived past infancy!"

Mabel glared at him, but she supposed she couldn't argue. A heart was a pretty irregular shape. And according to Flatworld, almost all irregular shapes were executed in childhood or else imprisoned in adulthood, since they thought irregular shapes would grow up to be depraved, imbecilic criminals—

"Wait," Mabel said. "Wait. Last year, when I called you an isosceles freak—"

Bill cut in, "It was 'monster,' but go on!"

"Was that, like..." Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, "a slur on Flatworld?"

Bill fought to keep his face straight as he decided how to respond. He went for the funniest answer. "Yes."

Mabel clapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "Nooo!"

"It's actually pretty impressive a human managed to come up with it!"

"I'M SORRYYY, augh I didn't know!"

Over her anguished whines, Bill went on, "It's just a good thing you didn't say 'scalene'! I would've had to wash your mouth out with drain cleaner!"

Mabel had pulled the collar of her sweater over her face. From within Sweater Town, she asked, "Was that the first thing I ever said to you?"

Bill choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

She squealed in embarrassment and slid under the table.

"Heck of a first impression, star girl!"

"i'm sorryyy."

Bill reached under the table to pat the top of her head. "Ahhh, it was funny. Get up here." 

As she climbed back into her seat, Bill added, "I'm getting back at you now, I'm not done making fun of your medical miracle yet. You know what she'd look like as a human? A headless, neckless body with an eyeball shoved six inches down her esophagus." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually... that sounds kinda cute."

"Eww, Bill."

"It is, it's cute. Like a clumsy puppy with a neurological disorder! I guess that's how the hideous Miss Heart here must look to humans!"

Mabel looked over her art again, wondering if she should change her shapesona, considering Bill's reaction to it. 

So, maybe she was creating a freak. She didn't see any shape cops around here. She kept drawing. "I'd be fine," she said. "You like weird freaks! You'd keep me safe."

A stricken look crossed his face. He was momentarily silent as he watched Mabel start another picture. And then, as though he were only considering it for the first time, he said, "Yeah. I guess I would."

His gaze drifted to the wrinkled picture of Mabel's shapesona standing protectively in front of Bill. "Freaks can't afford to tear each other down."

####

(THIS is the chapter that's been giving me hell the last few weeks. Months. Last few months. I'm so glad to finally have it out, and I hope y'all enjoyed!! This chapter probably brings up a lot more questions than it actually answers—and completely different questions based on whether or not you've read Flatland lol—so I can't wait to hear what y'all think.)

[exormilion]

a special find

abby anderson/reader

word count: 3,529

summary: abby found an interesting little thing while in patrol and she is hoping to use it on you. strap-on, explicit lesbian sex.

note: i fucking LOVE abby and i need to write more about her. really. expect a part two from this, i so plan to do it and as soon as possible <3 hope you like it :D

link to ao3

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You and Abby were dating for a few months now, the room she previously shared with Manny now had your stuff scattered around comfortably, matching and mixing with Abby just like in every other sense, like it always meant to be there.

(Poor Manny didn't even have a choice. He walked on you both so many times and you were there so often that he himself decided to take the decision. Moved in with one of his many girls and took all his things with him. You apologized profusely for giving him all that work just because you couldn't keep it in your pants and he simply answered with a: "No te preocupes, chica. You are both in love and i'm happy for Abby really, so just enjoy, but maybe start locking the door, huh?")

Walking over to her with a curious expression, you sat in bed, tilting your head as she threw her backpack by your feet and mover to kick her outside clothes off until she was only in her discolored beige panties and the gray tank top. Your body was only dressed in one of her shirts and panties as well.

She sat close to you, pulling your body onto her lap as if it weighed nothing. A yelp leaves your mouth but you were used being manhandled by her, melting against her warm body, sweaty from the patrol and humidity outside. You could smell gunpowder, sweat and pine, it was all very Abby.

"What did you find?", you lean down to take the backpack. It was pretty heavy, but that wasn't out of the ordinary, so you were curious.

"Hmmm, this thing...", she says mysteriously, her raspy voice by your ear as she takes the backpack from your hands and unzips it, holding it closed with her thick, big hand and looking into your eyes with mirth, "Thought of you the moment i saw it."

Your mouth opens into a perfect 'o' when she takes a pink cock from her backpack, her thick fingers closing perfectly around it. It was around seven inches, not too thick and not too big, with a flat base and a thick, realistic mushroony head. Bringing your index finger, you pull on the head, watching the pink dildo bob in Abby's hand. You both let out a little laugh at the sigh, but still a bit breathless.

"Oh. That's...", biting your lower lip, you look back at her face, "Where did you find this?"

"There was a hidden store on the lower floors of a library, had a few of these things... place was clear so i managed to rummage around and found a few things during patrol", she puts the dildo in your hands, taking another thing out of the backpack. You look curiously, hand squeezing around the soft silicone experimentally. One of your eyebrows lift as she takes a mass off leather strips, like weird belts with a thicker triangle and a silver ring.

"What's this?", watching as she untangled the strips, you feel your lower belly warm. Whatever Abby was planning was making you curious and tingly.

"I didn't know as well", she laughed, and as everything was untangled she took the cock from your hand and pushed it through the silver ring, pushing on it to make sure it was firm. On its own the leather thing didn't make much sense, but with the dildo firm and standing proud against the ring and the strips free, you somehow started to understand the thing. Your cheeks burned up, and you squirmed. "There were a lot of pictures on the walls... and a few books. This thing is called a strap-on", Abby's cheeks were slightly red as well, but she had a silly smile on her face, "It's supposed to be worn like some sort belt, and, well, i think you alredy got how it works"

Yes, you did. You gulp, looking down at the strap and dildo she held, thumb caressing the pink head delicately, almost scared.

"You wanna use it on me?", voice soft and trembling, you chewed on your lower lip.

"It's okay if you don't want to, baby", her voice was soft and she gave your nape a kiss, nuzzling her nose on your hair, "We don't have to do anything today. Nor tomorrow, after that or ever."

You can't contain a soft smile, every tension in your body immediately melting. You awkwardly turn on her lap, sitting face to face now to peck her plump lips softly.

"I want to, Abs", sighing and closing your eyes, you lean your forehead onto hers, sharing breaths, "It's just that... I never took anything like that?...", you glance briefly at the cock, nervous.

She glances at it as well and puts it on the bed, both her hands now coming to hold your hips under the shirt, calloused thumbs circling the skin softly.

"Yeah, i know that, baby. It looks more intimidating than it feels, i promise", her lips find your jaw, nibbling softly and wetly on the skin. You tilt your head on the opposite direction to give her more space. "You take most of my fingers like a champ, i think it'd slide in pretty smoothly after i stretch you up and make you all wet... but then again, only if you want to", she pulls back to look into your eyes, sincere, "and even so, we can stop anytime. If it's uncomfortable, if it hurts, it you simply don't like it... Wanna make you feel good, that's all".

You wanted to cry.

Abby was always gentle with you - of course, sometimes you both fell into a more rough dynamic, but she was always mindful about how you were feeling and if your expression and demeanor changed a little too much to the other side. Always asking how you felt before going harder, if you wanted to try things again, if you wanted to stop.

For someone so big and strong, she was still the gentlest being you've ever met.

"Abby", you hitch, wraping your arms around her strong torso and hiding your face on her still a bit sweaty neck, "Okay. I trust you'll make me feel good, let's try it"

Abby gave you that sweet little smile of hers that made you melt, a small ray of sunshine you could call yours.

The first step was cleaning the dildo, and Abby took her sweet time doing that. Washed it, took some boiling water from the kitchen to disinfect (which led to people asking why she needed boiling water and Abby simply saying "Tea", but she didn't even like tea) and washing it again. By the time she was sure about it being clean and safe to use you both were impatient and needy, trying your best to keep your hands to yourselves. It was different, new, and she wanted to take it slow and do it right.

She put the clean stuff onto the bed, sighing nervously to herself. You both took a shower together and were now clean and fresh and with the lingering smell of soap, naked and flushed.

Walking closer, you turned her around with your hands on her sides, humming as you pecked her face and felt her hard, defined belly, trying to ease the nervousness that filled your bodies.

Pulling back to look at her, you let out a dreamy sigh; she was a little piece of heaven and you couldn't believe how lucky you were.

Her muscles were simply amazing, the strong neck followed by the thick trapezium, turning into her big, beefy arms that made you bite your lips to contain the need to bury your teeth there, same for her forearm. Her chest muscles were so well worked that in divided on her sternum, two pillows of pecs holding her small, perfect and perky tits and peachy nipples, begging for your hands to hold them. The abs you loved to grind on, the texture hard enough to make you cum and cream all over her skin. The happy trail... You squeeze your thighs together, whining softly, hands squeezing her hips. Her dark blonde curls slowly turning into a bush, still a bit dump from the shower and framed by her enormous thighs, her tense legs making her quadriceps jump tall, deliciously.

"Oh, Abs", you lean to take her lips roughly, moaning against her and pressing your tits together. Melting, you could alredy feel your pussy warm and getting wet, her bush against your skin almost making you combust on the spot. Her roughened hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the free one cupping your cheek.

You feared you would pass out one of these days with the amount of force your heart raced on your chest, making your head dizzy and foggy and your breath come out in curt huffs. She'd be the death of you.

"Can i eat you out?", she whispered against your mouth, slowly pushing you gently onto the bed and sitting between your legs while massaging your tongue with hers, "Let me get you ready, baby..."

No verbal answer was given, only your legs opening wider for her, your pussy twitching as the air made contact with the wetness. It was embarrassing how fast Abby makes you wet, how fast she can make you cum, how fast you had just turned into mush as she wrapped her perfect plump lips around your swollen, angry clit, suckled it into her mouth and-

"F-fuck-", your back arches by its own, your cunt trying to shove itself against her face. She didn't warm up nor start slow, she simply dugged in, sucking the clit against the flat of her tongue until it twitched in delicious agony, making your thigh tremble. She pulled with a wet, loud pop, licking her lips hungrily with her eyes glued to your pussy like a starved woman.

"Taste so fucking good", she spreads your labia with her thumbs, hissing as your clit pulled shyly and your drooling hole clenched, begging to be filled. Her right hand slipped lower, index now massaging your wet little hole carefully, rubbing against the wetness before slipping it in. It went all the way inside without any trouble, and she massaged your gripping walls with care before her middle finger follow inside.

In truth, you weren't a virgin. You loved being stretched, your pussy could take a lot - you've taken four of Abby's fingers and a bit of her palm before, grinding against her thumb and she fucked you, cumming so hard your vision went black for a few seconds. You loved it.

You've never taken a cock though, so you were a bit intimidated by the vision of the pink dildo forgotten by the end of the bed, but it was Abby's cock and that was enough comfort for you.

She curled her fingers up just right, rubbing that sensitive little spot inside your pussy that just made you tense, close to your bladder. You bring your hand to her head, tangling your fingers on her slightly damp hair on it's usual braid, her eyes leaving your cunt with the contact and finding yours, pupils blown and filled with love and want.

"Baby-", whining, you tried fucking yourself a bit deeper on her fingers, alredy starting to sweat. You pulled on her head softly, just hinting, spreading your shaky legs a bit more, "please"

She kissed one of your trembling thighs before sucking on your clit again. She was a messy, loud eater, the clicking of her tongue and the popping of her spit on skin while the suckled was almost too much by itself, enough to make you squirm.

By the time she had three thick fingers deep inside you your legs were almost cramping her legs and asphyxiation her against your cunt. She new where to thrust and how hard you liked it, hitting the limit of her hand against you every time, almost making you bounce.

"'M gonna put it on now, okay?", she sat up with a kiss to your clit, her fingers leaving your pussy empty and gaping before squeezing, your body all shaken up. Abby wasn't very different - her face was wet with sweat and your wetness, a flush going from the tip of her ears down to her chest, hiding her beautiful freckles under the redness. You watched as she got up and standed next to the bed, taking the strap and fiddled with the strips, confused. Laughing, you sit up, moving to stay in front of her and taking it from her hands to take a look.

"Here, let me see if i get it"

It took some time to get it right. It wasnt clipped at first so the whole process of Abby holding the crotch leather piece with her back turned to you while you adjusted the strips by her strong ass was a little confusing, but you both managed to. It sat firmly but comfortably, digging beautifully against her skin and you couldn't contain your hand coming down to slap and squeeze that delicious, jiggly meat.

"Ah!", she jumped, turning around to glare at you but it quickly melted into a smile. Cupping your face with her meaty hands, she pecked your lips, your taste and smell still lingering.

When you both parted, you stretched your arm to take the dildo from the end of the bed, cleaning your throat as you pulled the silver ring and pushed the cock through it, holding your breath with the image.

The pink cock was standing thick and proud, the pink was a beautiful contrast against her pale skin and the black strap. You close your fist around the head, giving an experimental stroke.

"That's actually so fucking hot", with Abby standing in front of you while you sat in bed, the dildo was close to your face. You looked at it and then up at Abby, her blown pupils hinting at the same thought even when she stayed silent - she didn't want you to do anything just because she asked you to, she wanted you to want it as well.

So when you gathered saliva in your mouth and gave the cock a drooling lick, your ears were rewarded with Abby's small grunt, her hand pushing your hair back gently to look at your face. It didn't taste like anything, but you couldn't hold the urge to chew lightly on the silicone head, playfully, the texture almost making you laugh.

You did your best even if you didn't exactly know what you were supposed to do. Opened your mouth as much as you could, rubbed your tongue everywhere it reached and bobbed gently, just a little, taking half the length and pulling back to spread your drool until every inch was shining and covered in spit.

Abby looked down at you in awe, breath curt, entranced. Her chest jumped when you leaned back on the bed and opened your legs, plopping your feet on the corner of the bed, your pussy as exposed as it could now and as reddened and wet as ever, visibly pulsing and clenching. Your gorgeous curls were also wet, sticky with your need, Abby's fingers pulling gently on it and resting her palm on your mound, sighing as she stepped foward and took a long look at your laying form.

She took the cock in hand and rubbed the tip over your pussy, gently against your clit and spreading wetness. When the head found your tight cunt and she forced a bit if the murshoony head in, she looked up to your face in question, your answer being a positive nod and your knees falling even more opened.

The thick head going in was the hardest part. It stinged, the hard silicone strange, but you managed to take it without trouble. Your natural resistance left at least two fingers of the cock out and your head fell back, eyes closing as you took the feeling.

It was deep, deeper than anything you've ever felt and very strange. It felt good - a good preassure, a different massage, but not quite it and Abby knew that just by your response. She was attentive to your face as she pulled back until the tip was the only thing inside and slowly pushed it in again, hand caressing the back of your thigh.

"Wait, let me just-", she reached to both of your pillows, trying her best to not move the cock inside you too much yet, "Let me put these under your butt, baby. The angle will feel better for you."

And fuck, it did. The simple act of her lifting you with one hand on your lower back as if you weighed nothing and shoving the pillows under you was enough to make you squirm, the head of the dildo massaging your insides the whole time, but the angle change was actually insane. Both of you knew your spot and how to find it, but the dildo found it so deeply and so much more intense that the first slow thrust on the new position made you actually let out a throaty groan, hand coming to your mouth.

"Oh, fuck", looking down at where you both met, you couldn't believe that much was inside of you.

"Good?", her eyes were glued to your pussy, obsessed with the way your lips sucked the cock inside, the length disappearing so easily like it was meant to fit there.

You only nod, one of your feet leaving the bed to lift it closer to your chest, opening more of yourself. Abby took the hint and the hand caressing the back of your thigh now pressed the back if your knee, forcing it against your chest.

Oh, God. She was going to kill you.

She started thrusting for good now, and it felt like it was pushing your breath out with each one. Never pulling all the way out, just pulling a few inches and slamming hard back inside, your hips now propped up on the pillows making the angle for the head to slot just right between the meaty bumps inside your cunt.

It would not be enough to make you cum, no, but you felt so much that your eyes watered up and made hiccups leave your throat, hand coming to grip at Abby's one holding your leg. It made your thigh and glute burn.

The increase in rhythm was making you insane. The squelching noise your pussy made while being pounded made your ears burn and the grunts Abby left out with every thrust had your cunt gripping hard on the cock. She leaned foward, her hand resting by your head now, skin to skin and burning up.

"Baby", you whine, trying to force your eyes to stay open and look at her flushed, sweaty face, "A-Abs, please, i- 's too much, please baby, make me cum-"

She didn't need for you to ask again. Her hand left your leg and squeezed itself between your bodies, the movement with being sandwiched but her fingers rubbed your full clit with little care, just needing you to feel, making you tense and claw at her beefy back.

"Cum for me, baby, milk my cock", her voice was raw, breath warm on your face and her lips found yours with an open mouthed kiss, your head somewhere else enough that you could barely kiss her back.

You wrap your legs around her as your orgasm approaches, making her thrust deep and grind inside of you instead of the open rhythm from before. Your teeth find her shoulder when, finally, your lower belly boils and it snaps hard, but you could still hear your own little moans scaping, every little muscle tense and cunt impossibly wetter with cum, clit twitching against the fingers tapping on her.

Everything went black for a second and when you found yourself again, Abby had taken her hand away from your pussy and kissed your cheeks wetly, whispering sweet nothings and praise. Your hands released their painful grip on her back, legs now falling to rest hanging from the side of the bed.

Everything cramped and tears still fell from your eyes to the bed, brain foggy. With Abby's weight crushing you and her cock resting inside you, you've never felt more well fucked and drunk on her.

Blinking the tears and fog away, you look at her face. She looked so beautiful like this, sweaty and flushed and so happy to make you feel good.

"I love you", you whispered breathlessly, cupping her face, "Fuck, it's so deep inside me, 'm so glad for this cock"

"I love you too", she laughed, sucking on your lower lip, "Maybe you can show me, next time. How good it feel."

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You closed your eyes, groaning, head against the bed. You, fucking Abby? Watching her bounce on the dildo in all her buff glory, looking down at you with heavy eyes and moaning deliciously as the silicone cock disappeared inside her wet little cunt, her fat clit peaking between her curly pubes and rubbing against your belly when she bottomed out?

"Gonna cum again, i swear to god"

[yakichoufd]

Is it weird that I don't feel excited for the Deadpool and Wolverine movie?

I feel like X-Men 97 already scratched that X-Men itch and obsession in my head. Plus I feel satisfied with artists like you making Wolverine polycule fanart and fancomics.

Is something wrong with my head???

I think your feelings are valid cause you don't need to watch something else if you already feel satisfied. I am hype for that movie because I enjoyed the first two Deadpool movies. I am not expecting to fall in love of Logan there, or the other x-men we might see. I am expecting to watch a ridiculous movie with silly jokes and funny action scenes. I am hoping Scott will have a cameo but I think it won't happen. I've never been a super fan of Logan movies. He is fun and interesting (plus the actor is very handsome so my eyes are always happy when he is on screen), but his big lone wolf energy was a bit too much for me. Maybe he is too handsome and awesome and in the animated serie, he is a grumpy short king who has a lot to say and his lone wolf personnality seems more understandable to me. I really enjoy how unhinged he is in the 92 show and how he was in 97. It satisfies me a lot. I think you can take whatever please you in any adaptation and play around that. You don't need to enjoy every new adaptation from a franchise you like. There are some X-men comics where I find Scott really boring and not interesting at all. I enjoy very specifics things about him and therefore it makes me very picky about how he is portrayed. I still think I am a fan. I am a picky fan, but a fan regardless. Even if I mostly know the animated shows. I am tired of that childish fight "Oh I am a better fan cause I read the comics!" it is not a competition lmao! Enjoy whatever you want!! I personnaly read the comics cause I want more Scott content. That's my personnal reason. I want to know everything about him haha! I think we are many to be tired of the Jean/Scott/Logan drama ( where they are rivals instead of lovers) cause that rivality, usually, has a layer of misogyny and sexism. Jean is the prize and the 2 males love interests can't think straight and have to claim her. As if Jean has no choice but to accept the one who fight the hardest. I'm sorry but that is really stupid, and not how feelings work imo. That kind of relationship is based on something so weak, it will break at the first issue they would meet . I personnaly find that kind of writting insulting for every character involved, and it breaks the sincerity and depth of the romance. It removes all kind of feelings, character development and personnalities. It makes them so immature too. The polycule road on the other hand shows they could build something different. They could break the rules and be free to make their own. And as mutants, they don't care about humans society stupid rules. The can write what works for them and gain maturity over their relationship and sexuality. I am not saying every couples have to become a polycule to be mature. But for Scott, Jean and Logan it seems like a better fit for them. They can still act silly and fight over randoms things, but removing that very unhealthy incomplete love triangle and make it an actual love triangle, where each individual have romantic feelings for each other is better for them imo.

[bunny-hwa]

Popular, Boy

☆02: The first claim

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!Reader

Genre: +18, slow burn, angst, smut, drama, dark academic, love triangle.

wc: 9,4k

Summary: Lines are crossed, loyalties are teased, boundaries blur, and actions always have harsh consequences. But it seems that Hongjoong and Dann had no idea about that. In your world, every little action always has consequences and you will let them know it.

However... how far will they go even with those consequences knocking on their door.

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse, public humiliation, emotional manipulation, power dynamics, kissing... lot of kissing, dry humping. (MDN!!)

Series Masterlist

☆01 ☆03

It's the day of the party, and you're putting a lot of effort into your image. Something deep inside you says it's because Hongjoong will be there with you, but you try to ignore it.

Your outfit is a beautiful and expensive Chanel white dress, silver high heels and a matching bag that your dad brought you from Milan. You decided to accompany it with your hair styled in soft waves and neutral but beautiful makeup. Tonight would be your night... as it always is.

Taking a last look in the mirror you leave your room heading to the garage and be able to choose the car you will take.

On your way you meet Dann's mother. Mrs. Seo bows when she sees you.

“Good evening, miss YN. Are you going out?” You offer her a fake smile as you nod “Ah! Let me tell you that you look beautiful, miss!” She tells you with a radiant smile.

“Thank you. If you allow me, I must leave now.”

“Of course, miss. Have fun!”

Of course you will, and even more so if her daughter will be there. You thank her with another subtle smile and make your way to the garage, where your driver is waiting for you.

“Tonight I will drive.” You inform him contemplating each car, you don't know which one to choose.

“Of course, miss YN. What car would you like to drive?”

“I don't know….” You inspect every car in the great collection your father has, which one will be the best for tonight? “Mmm, maybe the Cadillac.” You raise your hand and he puts the car keys in the palm of your hand.

“Here you have, miss. Drive carefully.”

“Thank you…” You sing as you gently walk to the fabulous car.

It's time to go for the kid who dies to be popular, let's see if he can cope with the price of being so.

For his part, Hongjoong is anxiously waiting for you to pick him up. He's dressed in his best, but he still doesn't feel enough. The doorbell rings, and Hongjoong jumps up from the couch. He smooths his sweater one more time before opening the door. There you are, standing with a confident smirk, dressed in a stunning outfit.

You glance at him with a critical eye, taking him in from head to toe “Not bad. But we can do better than this.” He was wearing a trendy grey sweater, black skinny pants, and boots. He looks good but not to go to a party.

“I thought it looked okay.” Hongjoong laughs nervously looking at his outfit.

“Babe, we’re going to make you unforgettable tonight. I’ve got plans for you.” You shake your head while stepping inside his house. Looking around you can notice the warmth of the place, it was undoubtedly very different from your home and the economic level was remarkable if you compare your house with his. You sigh, turning to look at him again “Take me to your room.” You order. Hongjoong opens his eyes in surprise at your abrupt request “I want to see what other clothes you have in your closet, silly.”

You laugh tapping his arm lightly, and he smiles embarrassed but nods, guiding you to his room on the second floor. He is mentally grateful that his parents are working because otherwise they would think things that are not... as he did seconds ago.

Hongjoong stands frozen for a second, his heart skipping a beat as he watches you effortlessly move into his room and open the closet. He watches you rummage through his clothes for a while until you pull out a red leather jacket and a black silk shirt.

You turn around with a smile and make a gesture for him to take the chosen clothes and change. Hongjoong shyly approaches and turns his back to you so that he can change.

You bite your lip looking at its bare top. It never crossed your mind to see the boy that way, and now that you had the opportunity you are not going to deny that he has a beautiful silhouette. Wide back with a small waist, his arms are thin but you can tell that he exercises from time to time, the way his slight muscles flex everytime he moves his arms makes you want to run your hands over it.

Therefore; Hongjoong feels his face burn as he feels your gaze on his back, so he changes as quickly as he can to keep you from watching.

“Let me see,” You say as you sit down on his bed. He turns and lets you analyze the outfit, and you nod satisfied. Without a doubt, red is his color.

You offer him a smile and motion for him to sit down next to you. He does so without a second thought. Still smiling, you take a small comb out of your bag.

“You’ve got the face, the smarts, the charm. But there’s one thing you’re missing.” Your fingers start working through his hair “Confidence. And I know just how to make you feel like the king of this party.”

Your fingers are gentle, and Hongjoong can’t help but relax under your touch. He closes his eyes, trying to calm the nerves that always seem to rise when you're around.

“I don’t know if I can pull it off. You’ve got everyone at that party wrapped around your finger, and I’m just… me.”

“Hongjoong, you’re so much more than ‘just you.’ You have potential, you just have to believe it.” You finish adjusting his hair, standing in front of him and looking him over with a satisfied smile. You touch his cheek lightly, your gaze softening for a moment “Can you see without the glasses?” He nods slightly without taking his eyes off your eyes.

You carefully remove the glasses that hide part of his face and for a moment you are out of breath. His brown eyes are beautiful and his straight nose looks like it was carved by a surgeon. You're surprised,

Kim Hongjoong is really attractive.

“That’s better already.” You murmur, taking his hands so that he walks and looks in the nearest mirror.

He looks at himself in the mirror, still in disbelief “I look... different.”

You nod, smiling “And you will feel different too. Trust me, you’ve got this, babe.”

Hongjoong straightens up and adjusts the collar of his jacket, his confidence starting to grow as he notices the way you look at him.

Like you see something in him no one else has ever noticed before.

“You really think I can do this?”

“Of course, you’re not just going to the party as the guy who’s trying to be popular. You’re going as the guy who already is, because you are with me.”

You step back and take a final look at him, your eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and Hongjoong feels his heart race again. It’s a strange, exciting feeling, knowing that you, this girl who seems so untouchable, see him differently now.

And he feels proud of it.

“Let's have fun tonight.” You grin while taking your stuff.

“Let 's do it.” He nods with his voice more confident.

“We’re going to be the stars of the night.” Touching his arm lightly you give him a playful wink as you head out the door together.

When Hongjoong comes out, he opens his mouth in surprise at seeing such a spectacular car.

“Is that car yours?”

“That's right.” You say with a giggle at his expression “Come on, we're running late.”

And with that you take his hand and take him to the car and the party. Hongjoong still doesn't get used to you holding his hand, but he smiles at the warm feeling.

The road was silent, only the background music resounded. You were aware of the boy's nervousness, you could see how he wiped the palms of his hands on the fabric of his pants, and how he checked the time on his cell phone every minute.

While waiting for the garage of Wooyoung's house to open, you could hear the commotion of music and screams inside the house. Hongjoong became even more nervous and began to panic.

What if everything you told him is a lie and you humiliate him in front of everyone?

What if you tell them all the truth?

How did he beg you that day?

His head was creating a thousand and one scenarios that could happen within that party until a light touch on his arm took him out of his mental torment.

“Hey, babe. You okay?” You ask softly, Hongjoong watches you for a long time with a frightened expression until he finally sighs and nods “Everything is going to be okay, you're going to be by my side all the time, I'm not going to leave you alone.” You stroke his arm to give him some encouragement.

“Okay.” He murmurs and you smile tenderly, when he wants he can be cute.

“Very well. Your welcome to the world of the populars begins.” You let out a little excited scream that makes him laugh. You drive to park the car in the safety of Wooyoung’s garage and get out of the car, waiting for Hongjoong to do the same. As soon as he comes out, you can still see his anxiety, so you decide to grab his hand and interlock your fingers to give him more confidence. “Let's go.”

Hongjoong, for the first time, feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s not just someone on the sidelines anymore. Tonight, he’ll be part of the spotlight. And with you by his side, it might be everything he’s dreamed of.

Jung’s mansion is buzzing with music, laughter, and colorful lights. The living room is packed with students dancing, chatting, and drinking. You and Hongjoong enters, you hand still holding his.

You try to search your friends among all the people there, but suddenly you can see a smiley Wooyoung approaching with two red cups in hand.

“Babydoll! You’re here!” A dizzy Wooyoung gives you one of his cups “We were waiting for you. You know where the others are!” You nod with a smile "Oh, but if it's little Hongjoong! Have fun at your first party of many!” He gives him the other cup and goes diving into the sea of people who invade his house.

Hongjoong is surprised by that interaction, it's the first time Jung Wooyoung treats him in a good way.

“Surprised?” You question with a bit of mockery.

“Yeah, it’s… great.”

“Get used to it, baby. This is what being popular feels like, everyone respects you.”

You grin smugly as you walk to where your friends always are, in the center of the room, where you effortlessly take over, laughing and chatting with everyone.

Hongjoong stands awkwardly beside you, unsure of what to do, but answering when someone talks to him and smiling at the silly jokes.

He can get used to this kind of environment.

✮ ⋆

At one point in the night you notice Dann standing near the snack table, trying to stay unnoticed.

“Oh, look who’s here.” You release the smoke from your typical strawberry-flavored cigarette with a mockingly sweet smile “Your little puppy decided to follow you here.”

Hongjoong follows your gaze and immediately feels guilty “She’s not my puppy. She’s—”

“Let’s go say hi.” You grin mischievously.

“Wait, maybe we should—”

“Relax, I’m just being friendly.” You cut him off, dragging him along.

You approach Dann, who’s sipping soda and fidgeting with the edge of her cup.

Her eyes light up briefly when she sees Hongjoong, it's the first time she has seen him without glasses and she feels that her heart will jump out of her chest to see him so handsome.

But her dreamy expression quickly dims when she notices you by her side and your hand clasped with his.

“Dann, you are here!” You say with fake enthusiasm.

“Yeah… Hongjoong invited me.” She forces a smile.

You pretend to be surprised “Oh, he did? How sweet of him.” You lean into Hongjoong’s arm, your smile dripping with smugness “He is so sweet, isn't he?”

Dann bites her tongue to stop her from saying something reckless to you, but she's really hating the fact that you're so close to him.

“Yeah, but maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Oh, don’t say that, sweetie! You can be with us. Right, Hongjoong?” You smoke from your cigarette waiting for his answer.

Hongjoong looks at Dann, guilt written all over his face “Of course.”

Suddenly you take a step closer to Dann “But actually, I thought you would be more comfortable at home, you know…. doing homework or nerdy stuff.”

At your comment, Hongjoong shifts uncomfortably, he wants to say something but he doesn't want to be against you, not now that he is being treated nicely by everyone.

“Not everything is about school, YN.” She says with a low tone.

You shrung with a fake smile, putting what's left of the cigarette inside her drink, you can see the anger on her face.

“If you say so, Dann.” Turning to Hongjoong, your voice drips with sweetness “Lets go, babe. We’re missing all the fun.”

You pull Hongjoong away, leaving Dann standing there, her heart sinking as she watches him glance back at her apologetically before disappearing into the crowd.

The energy of Wooyoung’s party was in full swing as you walked through the crowd with Hongjoong at your side. You relished the stares and murmurs following you; having the school’s most notorious nerd on your arm was undoubtedly turning heads.

After the brief but awkward encounter with Dann, you turned your attention back to your goal for the night: enjoying yourself and showing off.

As you made your way toward the dance floor, Seonghwa suddenly appeared in front of you, his lopsided grin and slightly red eyes betraying just how much fun he'd already had.

His presence exuded a lazy confidence, one that always seemed to draw people toward him.

"Hey, pretty." He greeted, his voice slightly slurred but playful, his gaze flicking briefly to Hongjoong. "You’re babysitting tonight?"

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smirk “Hwa, Hongjoong’s here as my guest. I thought it’d be fun to switch things up a little.”

The tallest chuckled, leaning casually against the wall “Switch things up, huh? With him?” He gestured toward Hongjoong, who shifted uncomfortably under Seonghwa’s scrutiny. “Interesting choice. What’s the context?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I thought it’d be a fun little project.”

Hongjoong glances at you, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. The hint of annoyance is there, but he doesn't say anything. You’d made it clear. This is your game, and he had agreed to play it.

Seonghwa smirks, his gaze lingering on you before raising his hand to you “You’ve always got your plans, don’t you?” He raises a little tube with what appears to be weed, offering it to you with a mischievous glint in his eye “Take a hit, Queen Bee. Loosen up a bit.”

Hongjoong watches in surprise when you take it without hesitation, placing it between your lips and inhaling deeply, he had no idea you consumed that kind of things.

The warmth spread through your chest as you exhaled smoothly, handing it back to Hwa with a grin “Thanks.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing “Just don’t forget who’s got your back when your ‘project’ gets messy.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You didn’t waver, meeting his gaze with a sly smile “Don’t worry about me, Hwa. I’ve got everything under control.”

Seonghwa straightened up, his grin widening as he claps Hongjoong on the shoulder. “Good luck, buddy. You’re gonna need it.”

With that, he walks away, leaving behind the faint smell of weed and a lingering tension.

Hongjoong looks at you, his expression unreadable “What was that about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” You tilt your head toward the dance floor, the smirk returning to your lips “Let’s go. We’ve got a party to enjoy.”

And just like that, Hwa’s presence was a fleeting moment in the chaos of the night, though his words lingered in your mind like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

You pull Hongjoong into the center of the makeshift dance floor, and for once, he’s not overthinking, maybe it's because of the number of drinks he has had during the night or because he is with you.

He isn't sure, but he isn't complaining.

You dance leaning closer to him “Relax, just move with me.”

Hongjoong chuckles nervously, trying to keep up with your movements “I’m trying!”

You laugh, the drinks and the small smoke of weed that Seonghwa offered you, taking effect on your system. You toss your hair as you pull him closer, your hands brushing against Hongjoong’s shoulders.

He can’t believe this is happening.

You, the girl of his dreams, are smiling at him like he’s the only one who matters.

In your case, you don't know if it's because of how high you are but suddenly Hongjoong looks very attractive. His bright eyes when he looks at you, his beautiful nose, and his smile... His smile could become one of your favorite things.

In a movement of your head to the rhythm of the music, you can see Dann in the distance with her eyes fixed on both of you.

An idea passes over your cloudy thoughts.

“You are so handsome, you know that?” You say, stopping suddenly, your eyes locked on his.

Hongjoong immediately blushes “I… I am?”

“Yeah.”

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him. Hongjoong opens his eyes in surprise. He can't believe that the big YN is kissing him. This is everything he could ever want.

Closing his eyes, he carefully places his trembling hands on your waist and tries to follow the rhythm of your lips.

Without a doubt, this is what he always wanted.

Therefore; you kissed him just to annoy and show Dann that Hongjoong is not interested in her, but you didn't imagine that you would actually enjoy the kiss.

The sweet, electric collision that feels both thrilling and impossibly soft, a moment so charged it’s hard to tell if the heat comes from the kiss or the warmth of the crowded room.

Across the room, Dann stands near the wall, frozen as she watches you kissing Hongjoong. Her grip on her cup tightened, jealousy and anger bubbling in her chest.

She thought Hongjoong felt something for her, but seeing him so happy with you feels like a slap in the face. Her emotions get the better of her, eyes landing on a weird red alcohol bottle sitting on the snack table. Without fully thinking it through, she grabs a cup, fills it, and marches toward you.

You and Hongjoong broke the kiss breathlessly, both with small smiles on your lips.

“Why… Why did you do that?” Hongjoong asks with a shaking breath, still holding your waist afraid of you running away from him.

You smile at him, sincerely for the first time “Just wanted to do it, you didn't like it?” You ask with a fake sad expression.

He immediately shakes his head and takes a little courage, cuts the distance, and gives you a small peck on the lips. This time, you look at him with surprise.

“I like it… a lot.” He mutters without ceasing to look you fixed in the eyes.

Now you are the one that shyly looks away, you cannot handle his intense glare. But you immediately regret looking away when you meet Seonghwa's annoying gaze watching you from a corner of the big place.

“Fuck…” Your smile disappears, and Hongjoong looks at you confused.

“What 's wrong?”

You shake your head, giving zero importance to what happens with Seonghwa. At the end of the day, you are not together.

“Nothing, let's go for another drink, I'm thirsty.” You take his hand, and he nods happily.

He can get used to this, and he keeps repeating in his mind.

You were walking in your own little world that none of you saw Dann approaching. She stops in front of you, her face flushed with anger.

“Having fun?”

You pull a bit away from Hongjoong, turning to face Dann with an amused smile.

“Enjoying the party, Dann?”

She scoffs “Yeah, until I saw you.”

“Aw, is the little puppy jealous?” You say with mock.

People around you stop their movements to pay attention to what's going on between you, even the music gets quieter, and before you can say more, Dann lifts her cup and throws the red liquid onto your dress.

Gasps ripple through the crowd as the bright red liquid stains the expensive white fabric.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You scream in shock, stepping back in awe.

Hongjoong lets out a surprise sound “Dann, what are you doing?!”

“Joong! She’s just playing with you, and you’re too blind to see it.” Her voice is full of hurt and tears filling her eyes.

You laugh unfunny, this bitch really wants to provoke you “Big words coming from the girl whose mom cleans my fucking mansion.”

The crowd falls silent, the weight of your comment hanging in the air. Dann’s face pales, her confidence crumbling as whispers begin spreading through the room.

“Does her mom work for YN’s family? Ha! What humiliation.”

“Poor girl... literally.”

A bunch of laughs fill the place, and you smile gracefully at her. While Hongjoong can only look at her with pity, the hurtful comments also cause discomfort in him.

He also comes from a humble family and knows how hard it is to hear this kind of mockery, but... Why doesn't he defend her as she did for him several times?

“How dare she do this to YN, when thanks to her she eats?”

All those comments finally brought tears to Dann's cheeks and Hongjoong panics.

“YN…” Hongjoong is completely speechless. He doesn't know what to say.

“You're the most horrible and disgusting person I’ve ever met.” Her low tone is full of anger.

You scoff while casually fixing your hair. “You're not the first to say that, honey.” Suddenly, your bitter smile disappears. “Let's see what you do when I get home.”

For a moment you could see the terror in her eyes, she knows that she fucked up big and only now she realized it. Dann pushes past you and runs out of the room, leaving a stunned Hongjoong.

“Fucking meager.” You mutter, looking at your ruined dress, It was a special collector's dress, you'll never be able to get it again.

Hongjoong, coming out of his amazement, takes off his jacket and puts it on your shoulders. You smile at him in gratitude, leaning softly against him.

“Thank you, Joongie.” He blushes hard at the new nickname.

“No problem.” Hongjoong hesitates before speaking “I… I didn’t expect her to act like that.”

“She’s probably just jealous. You’re here with me, not with her. And she hates that.” You shrug with a grin.

Hongjoong feels a pang of guilt but pushes it aside. Your attention feels too good to let slip through his fingers. You brush your fingers lightly against his arm, drawing his gaze back to you

“Forget about her, and don’t let something as silly as her show ruin our night.”

Your words are smooth and intoxicating, and Hongjoong can feel the pull of your confidence. He nods, his posture straightening as he tries to focus on the moment.

“You’re right. She shouldn’t have done that.” He nods, trying to convince himself.

“Okay, I think it's time to go home, I need to change.” You grab his hand, and without waiting for his response, you lead him outside to the garage.

The noise of the party fades into a softer hum when you enter your car and start driving to Hongjoon’s house.

Again, there was silence, but this time, it wasn't because Hongjoong was nervous. It was because you had other things on your mind, jaw tightened as you thought about what to do with Dann when you got home.

That little brat had ruined your expensive dress, and there was no way you're going to let it slide.

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft and tentative.

You glance at him, his wide eyes fill with concern, and despite yourself, you smile.

“Of course,” Your voice is lighter “I’m okay because I’m with you.”

Hongjoong’s heart races at your words, his chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and joy. This was everything he’d ever wanted; to have you look at him like he mattered, to feel like he was finally part of your world.

When you pull up in front of his house, you shut off the engine and turn to him, your eyes softer now. You reach up and adjust the collar of his shirt, your fingers lingering just a moment too long, your touch warm against his skin.

“I really meant it,” You say with a quieter voice now, almost shy “I liked your company today.”

His breath caught at your words. ‘She’d liked being with me?’ Not just tolerating him, not just using him like a project….. She'd liked him?

“Really?” His voice barely above a whisper “I’m just… trying to keep up with you.”

You smirk, your confidence returning as you lean back slightly “You don’t have to,” Your tone playful but laced with sincerity “You’re already here with me. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. The tension in the car was electric, and Hongjoong’s pulse thunder in his ears as you lean closer, your gaze flicking to his lips.

He didn’t have time to overthink it before your lips were on his again, soft and slow at first, testing, but then with more confidence as if staking your claim.

He froze for a split second, his inexperience betraying him, but the warmth of the kiss pulls him in, coaxing him to respond. His right hand moves hesitantly to your waist, mirroring what he did earlier, his touch awkward but sincere.

You smile against his lips, your confidence growing as you deepen the kiss, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair. You shift slightly in the seat so you can sit on his lap, each of your legs pressing against the sides of his hip, your dress lifting up a little, and your body pressing closer to his.

Hongjoong gasps softly at the contact, your movements are deliberate yet playful, your clothed sex brushing against him as if testing his reaction.

Hongjoong’s head spins, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of you. He can't help the small, awkward motion of his hips in response, a reflex he barely registers but that you immediately notice.

You chuckle softly against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch his flush expression.

“Relax, Joongie. You’re doing fine.”

As you lean in again, your body presses more firmly against his, your hips shifting just slightly, enough to send sparks through him.

Hongjoong’s inexperience is written all over his stiff, tentative movements, but you find it endearing in a way you hadn’t expected. You guide him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, your hands steadying his in your waist as you let him follow your lead.

Hongjoong’s breath hitch as the friction built between you, his body reacting instinctively even as his mind raced to keep up.

You let out a soft moan when you finally feel his erection. At that sound, his nerves melt into a heady mix of excitement and desire.

With more confidence, he lowers his hands to your ass, squeezing and making your movements more precise, every soft sound you made fueling his confidence just a little more.

“You’re doing fine…” You whisper against his lips.

At your compliment, Hongjoong dares to lower his head and kiss your neck, you gasp, resting your palms against his chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breaths beneath your touch.

Hongjoong’s movements are more tentative but earnest, his fingers curling lightly at your asscheeks before sliding upward, unsure yet longing to explore. His lips brushes softly against the curve of your neck, testing, hesitant but impossibly sweet.

Your eyes flutter shut at the warmth of his mouth, your pulse quickening as he grows bolder with each kiss he places along your skin. He was so inexperienced, so utterly unpracticed, and yet that is what makes this moment almost intoxicating.

Every awkward touch, every slight tremble in his hands, was a reminder that you are his first.

A soft whine escaped your lips, unbidden, and you caught the way Hongjoong stills at the sound, his breath hitching as if he couldn’t believe he’d elicited it.

Encouraged, he presses his lips to your neck again, this time lingering, his confidence growing as your body leaned into him.

You smirk faintly, a breathy laugh escaping you while you stop the movement of your hips

“Getting too horny, huh?” You tease him.

Hongjoong lifts his head, his face red, and his wide eyes searching for an answer in your eyes as to why you have stopped your movements.

You tilt your head slightly, locking your gaze with his, and the sight nearly undid him. Your expression, half-lidded eyes, cheeks faintly pink, lips parted in something between a smirk and a sigh, was burned into his mind forever.

“I… I just want to make you feel good.”

He stammers, his voice cracking slightly as his fingers brush the fabric of your dress where it bunches at your waist.

Your smirk softens, and your fingers lift to cup his jaw “You did fine,” Your eyes glint with that teasing spark that always kept him guessing.

Your hands slid down to rest on his shoulders. For a moment, the world outside the car doesn't exist, there is only Hongjoong’s trembling hands, your steady smirk, and the way your body fits against his as if daring him to take another step closer to the edge.

You pull back slightly, your lips curve in a satisfied smile as you study his flushed face, his lips parted in wonder.

“Better than I expected, actually.”

Hongjoong let out a shaky laugh, his hands still resting on your waist as if afraid to let go.

“Thanks,” He whispers.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong.” You say finally leaning in one last time, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek before pulling back to your seat with a smirk. “We'll continue this some other day.”

You didn't intend to let it go that far. You hadn't planned for your heartbeat to speed up every time Hongjoong's hands brushed against your body or your lips met his again and again.

But it happened, and you don't regret doing it.

Hongjoong, still with heavy breath and a big bulge in his pants, gets out of the car, and with that, you start the car again with a grin, leaving Hongjoong staring after you, breathless and wondering if he’d just imagined the whole thing.

✮ ⋆

After dropping Hongjoong off at his house, you feel on top of the world as you drive back home, a smug smile playing on your lips.

The lingering heat of his touch on your skin and the way he’d clumsily but earnestly responded to you every move left you with an unshakable sense of power. For the first time in a while, you felt something real… like you weren't just toying with someone for the fun of it but unlocking a new kind of control you hadn’t realized you wanted.

But as you shift gears and the streetlights blur past, your mood suddenly darkens, the memory of the incident with Dann slamming into you like a freight train. Your jaw tightens, and your grip on the steering wheel hardens as you fume over the ruined dress and the sheer audacity of Dann throwing a drink on you.

The satisfaction from moments ago is replaced by simmering anger, your thoughts now consumed by how you will deal with Dann once you get home.

You walk through the big door, stepping into the foyer, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you notice your parents sitting in the big living room. Your mother is sitting there reading a magazine, while your father sits at her side with a glass of whiskey in hand.

The sound of your heels clicking sharply on the floor makes your parents look up, your mother frowns at the sight of your ruined dress.

“What happened to you, sweetie?” She raises an eyebrow confused, scanning you up and down, looking at the men’s jacket over your shoulders.

You immediately start your show “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, mommy.” You pout while passing your hands over the dry stain.

“Seems like Wooyoung’s party got out of control.” Your father says with a funny smile, knowing what the boy's personality is like.

You roll your eyes “Daddy, this time it wasn't because of Woo. Was someone you may know pretty well.” They both look at you curiously “Was the maid's daughter.”

“Sweetie, we have many maids. Who—”

“Excuse me, ma'am. Here I bring what you asked for.” Dann’s mother interrupts your mother, entering the room with a tray in hands.

“Oh, thank you.” She smiles at the woman, and you roll your eyes at her kindness.

“What were you saying, darling?” Your father asks you before taking a sip of his drink.

Taking advantage of Dann’s mother being here, you make a gesture with your hand.

“Her daughter.”

Your father frowns, your mom looks at you in surprise, and Mrs. Seo stands motionless when she sees you in detail, noticing the red stain all over your white dress. The same pretty dress she saw you in hours ago.

She curses mentally. She knows her daughter's temperament and believes her to be very capable of doing something like that, but she also knows rich people, and she knows how they can manipulate situations just because they have power over their workers. It's not the first time she's experienced something like this.

“What do you mean, sweetie?” Still stunned, your mother asks carefully.

“You heard what I said.” You are already frustrated. “Her daughter had the audacity to throw her drink all over my dress at Wooyoung’s party.”

Your father’s face hardens, finding your accusation a little suspicious “Why would her daughter be at a party held at the Jung’s house? I don't think her daughter is Wooyoung's friend... or is it?”

The woman moves uncomfortably in her place, that last comment leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

You smile as you cross your arms "Of course she isn't, but someone invited her."

Your mother frowns "Dear, Mrs. Seo's daughter is two years younger than you, and if I remember correctly, Wooyoung only invites his social circle to his parties." She murmurs the latter with sorrow, without wanting to make the woman more uncomfortable.

"Which is extensive… Whatever it is, someone invited her. I saw her and greeted her, then when I was enjoying the party with my friends out of nowhere she approached me and did this, she must apologize!” You exclaim, pointing to your damaged dress.

Your father, even suspicious, sighs "Can you call your daughter, please."

"Honey…" Your mother tries to stop him.

"Only then we can solve this." He murmurs to his wife and she sighs in agreement.

"Sorry for the inconvenience Mrs. Seo."

She denies with a slight smile "Don't worry ma'am, I'll call her right away."

And without further ado she leaves to look for Dann.

"YN, if this is one of your plans to harm these women, please don't." Your father looks at you harshly, already knowing your tricks.

"Honey, don't assume that about our daughter." You see how your mother gives him a light tap on the arm and he shakes his head.

"She's done it before, so I can't trust her word without hearing the other version of the problem."

You scoff rolling your eyes while your mother gives you a compassionate look, knowing that her husband can be very harsh with his words.

Meanwhile, Dann was lying on her small bed, reading the first book she saw. She wanted to distract her mind from what had happened tonight, she knew that she shouldn't get carried away by her feelings for Hongjoong and go to that silly party, she must have expected the worst and not have gone.

"Dann, are you awake?" Her mother's voice makes her let out a tired sigh, the truth is that she didn't feel like talking to anyone.

“What's up, Mom?”

The woman opens the door and pokes her head out "Mr. and Mrs. Clarke and his daughter want to talk to you." At the mention of that, she opens her eyes worried, shit... it was obvious that you were going to do a scene "Dann..."

"I know, I'll explain it to you later."

Guiltily runs through her body when she sees how her mother closes her eyes disappointed, but she doesn't say anything. Putting her book aside, she stands up and with a loud sigh walks beside her mother. When she gets to the living room she almost wants to run when she sees your parents staring at her, but when she sees you standing in the middle of the place with your arms crossed, she feels rage again at the sight of Hongjoong's jacket on your shoulders, however she decides to bite her tongue.

“Hello…” Your mother starts.

“Dann.” She says bowing her head.

Both adults don't know how to start the conversation without it being uncomfortable.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but have you attended Jung Wooyoung's party tonight?” Your mother asks carefully.

Dann swallows nervously and nods, "That's right, ma'am."

"My daughter here mentioned that during Wooyoung's party you threw your drink on her dress... Is that true?" This time your father asks, crossing his arms.

Dann looks at her mother frightened before answering “I... I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to." She lowers her head in shame and you scoff.

“You should apologize to me, not—”

“Miss YN, she is apologizing… don't be mad at her, please.” Dann’s mother interrupts you, and you look at her furiously.

Your mother closes her eyes with pity. She knows how much you hate it when people interrupt you when you speak. Your father simply lets you be, surrenders and takes his drink again while watching your movements.

“Your daughter humiliated me tonight. She thought it was funny to throw a drink all over my dress, and you know what? This dress costs more than your fucking year’s salary!” Dann’s mother looks startled, and the tension in the room is suffocating as your voice drips with disdain “She owes me an apology.”

The woman takes a step forward, her hands trembling slightly as she clasps them together.

“Miss YN, I understand you’re upset, but please—”

“No.” You interrupt sharply, pointing a manicured finger at Dann “She needs to learn that her actions have consequences. Apologize, Dann. Now.”

Dann’s face is pale, her eyes darting to her mother for support, but she knows there’s no escape. Swallowing her pride, she mumbles.

“I’m sorry…”

You arch an eyebrow with a little grin forming in your lips “I didn’t hear you.”

Dann looks up, her voice trembling but louder “I’m sorry, miss YN. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You smirk triumphantly, satisfied with her humiliation, but your mother clears her throat, cutting through the tense silence.

“That’s enough, sweetie. The apology has been made.”

You pout, clearly annoyed. “Mommy, she ruined my night. A simple ‘sorry’ isn’t enough. I think she should pay for the dress.”

“Honey, that’s inappropriate.” Your mother scolds, her tone firm but still sweet.

You scoff, now looking at your dad “It’s only fair, isn’t it? You taught me that actions have consequences, right?”

“YN, stop!” Your mother begins to lose her patience.

Your father raises his hand to silence your mother’s objections, his tone calm but firm “Actually, darling, Our daughter has a point.” He swirls his glass of whiskey in his hand, leaning back in his seat “Actions have consequences. If we let this slide, it sends the wrong message.”

Your mother looks at him surprised, “You can’t be serious.”

You grin, triumphant, as you glance at Dann and her mother “See, Daddy understands. It’s only fair that she takes responsibility. She can pay for the dress.”

Dann’s mother steps forward, her face pale and her hands trembling “Sir, please… I.. I can’t afford to pay for that dress. It’s impossible—”

“Well, Mrs. Seo, if money’s an issue, I have another idea.” You cut her off with a fake sympathetic smile. You turn your gaze to Dann, your eyes gleaming with amusement “She can work for me.”

“What?” Dann’s voice is soft, incredulous, but the anger in her eyes is unmistakable.

The room falls silent, all eyes on you. Even your father looks intrigued. “What do you mean, work for you, darling?”

You clap your hands, turning to look at your father with a sweet smile. “Well, since I’m the one who has to deal with this mess, it’s only fair she makes it up to me directly.” Now you turn to see Dann keeping a smile, but this time it's a mischievous smile that makes Dann swallow the lump forming in her throat. “I could use an assistant to carry my things, run errands, clean my room, do my homework… whatever I need until the dress is paid off.”

“YN, this is ridiculous!” Your mother exclaims, appalled. “She’s already dealing with enough as it is.”

You shrug nonchalantly “Then maybe she should’ve thought of that before throwing a drink on me. I’m being generous here, offering her a way to make amends.”

Your father nods slowly, taking another sip of his drink “It’s a reasonable solution. It teaches her responsibility and lets her make things right. I’ll allow it.”

Your mother looks at him in disbelief “This isn’t teaching responsibility; it’s exploitation! She’s just nineteen, for goodness’ sake.”

“Then she should start acting like an adult.” You say coolly, crossing your arms “It’s either this or she pays the full cost of the dress. And we all know she can’t afford that.” The mockery tone in your voice doesn't go unnoticed by anyone.

Dann’s mother looks horrified. “Miss YN, please, there’s no way we could afford—”

“I will do it.”

Dann says determinedly, maintaining eye contact with you. She is not going to let you humiliate her anymore in front of her mother and your parents.

Mrs. Seo looks at her daughter, her expression a mix of worry and defeat. “Dann…”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Dann says quickly, her voice small. “I’ll do it.”

“Perfect! You start Monday at school, see you there.”

Dann looks down at the floor, her shoulders slumping in resignation. Her mother’s lips press into a thin line, but she says nothing. Your father takes another sip of his whiskey, clearly satisfied with the outcome, while your mother looks away, her face clouded with disapproval.

“Thank you for understanding.” You say sweetly, looking directly at Mrs. Seo. “This will be good for Dann, she will learn a lot with me.”

“It’s already decided.” Your father sets his glass down firmly on the table “She works for YN until the debt is paid off.”

Dann swallows hard, glaring at you as you smirk “Fine.” She says through gritted teeth.

As you turn to leave the room, a victorious smile playing on your lips, you can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction. Dann may have tried to ruin your night, but now she’s under your control, and you fully intend to make her regret ever crossing you.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” You turn your head towards Dann’s mother “You should remind your daughter who helped her get into that fancy school. It’s the least she can do for the hand my parents have extended.”

The tension in the room thickens as you throw that last barb at Mrs. Seo. Her face flushes with humiliation, but she doesn’t say anything, only nodding stiffly. Dann’s fists clench at her sides, but she remains silent, her jaw tight.

Your mother finally rises from her seat, her face etched with disapproval “That’s enough, YN. You’ve made your point.”

You flash her an innocent smile, but the mischievous glint in your eyes doesn’t fade.

“Of course, Mommy. I was only reminding them how generous we’ve been. It’s important to show gratitude.”

Dann can't keep his mouth shut anymore, she won't let you humiliate her mother like that.

“Gratitude?” Dann’s voice cuts through the tension, low but steady. Her eyes meet yours, blazing with defiance “I don’t owe you anything, YN. Whatever your parents did for me was their decision, not mine.”

Your smirk falters, just for a moment, but you quickly recover, tilting your head condescendingly.

“Oh, Dann… You really don’t get it, do you? Everything you have now, the school you go to, the opportunities you’re given. It’s all because of us. Without my parents, you wouldn’t even be in the same room as me.”

“YN, that’s enough!” Your mother snaps, her tone sharp. She turns to Dann and her mother, her expression softening “Mrs. Seo, Dann, I’m so sorry for all of this. You can leave now.”

Mrs. Seo nods again, her lips pressed into a thin line “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. We appreciate everything.” Her voice wavers, but she keeps her composure “Come, Dann. Let’s go.”

As they turn to leave, Dann pauses, her gaze lingering on you. There’s anger in her eyes, but also something else, determination. She doesn’t say a word, but you can tell she’s not going to make this easy for you.

Once they’re gone, your mother rounds on your father, her voice tight with frustration.

“How can you condone this? It’s cruel.”

“It’s a lesson.” He replies evenly, taking another sip of his drink “And maybe it will teach YN some responsibility too. How to manage someone under her command when she takes her position in the company.”

You roll your eyes, already bored of the conversation “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

Your mother shakes her head, exasperated, and sits back down, rubbing her temples. Your father gives you a small nod of approval, and you take it as your cue to leave.

As you ascend the stairs, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement. The night might have started with Dann embarrassing you, but now the tables have turned. She’s in your hands now, and you plan to use every second of it to your advantage.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Dann walks into the bustling school courtyard, keeping her head low, trying to avoid attention. She spots you sitting on a bench with your group of friends and Hongjoong, all laughing and chatting. The sight of Hongjoong sitting next to you and his hand on yours, sends a pang through her, a reminder of the kiss she witnessed at the party.

Just as Dann thinks she might escape unnoticed, your lips curl into a slow smile and your sharp voice cuts through the noise.

Time to remind her who is in charge.

“Dann! Over here!” You call her out with a sweetness that hides your malice. Dann hesitates for a moment before walking over, her expression tight.

You watch her approach with amusement. You got her on a leash now, and everyone will know it “Good morning, Dann. I hope you’re ready for your first day as my assistant.”

Dann doesn’t answer right away, but everyone can see the anger simmering beneath her surface.

Good. That makes it more fun.

“What do you need, YN?” She snorts, already with a headache.

Feigning innocence you tilt your head “What do I need? Where is my matcha latte… did you bring it for me?”

Dann looks at you, confused “You never said you wanted one.”

“Oh, I must have assumed you’d know. After all, a good pet knows what it has to do without even asking.” You shrug, leaning your head on Hongjoong’s shoulder.

He stiffs, not because of your closeness, he loves that you are this close to him, but that dirty nickname by which you just called his friend makes him feel a pressure in his chest.

Pet... the nickname that tormented him for more than two years.

The tension in the air thickens as your friends start to giggle. They know the game you’re playing.

“What’s this about, babygirl? Since when does she run errands for you? You didn't inform us about adding little Dann to the nerdy slaves.” Mindy says with a big smile as she sees Dann up and down, making her feel smaller than she already feels.

Dann swallows hard, her face heats up with embarrassment and guilt. She feels small standing there, like she’s the one on trial.

Hongjoong looks at you with concern, and then looks at Dann looking for answers in his downcast gaze. He doesn't want Dann to be a part of this, he doesn't want her to go through everything he went through at some point.

“Wait, what 's going on here?” He asks you softly.

You smirk, enjoying his confusion “She’s just here to make up for the mess she made at Wooyoung’s party. Right, Dann?”

Dann’s eyes flash with anger, but she says nothing, knowing that if she reacts, it will only make things worse. Dann’s voice trembles, trying to stay calm she answers.

“I didn’t mean to—”

You interrupt her by raising your hand “It 's fine. But you still owe me, and I’m not going to let it slide. So, are you going to get my latte or not?” Dann stands there, still in shock.

“Hurry up.” You toss your designer backpack at Dann “And take this to class for me. It’s heavy, so don’t break anything. I know you don't want to have a bigger debt.”

Dann stares at the bag in her hands, feeling humiliated but doing her best to stay composed. Your friends are watching her like a hawk, clearly enjoying the show.

“What happened at Wooyo’s party anyway? We didn’t get the full story.” Mindy asks slyly and you sigh with false sadness.

“We saw you two talking, but me and the guys were too busy partying to notice.” Other of your friends say with a grin, clearly enjoying Dann’s humiliation.

“Our dear Dann here had a little… accident. Spilled her drink all over my dress.”

Mindy giggles narrowing her eyes at Dann “No way! The new one? The… what was it? Chanel?”

“The very one.” You nod solemnly “So, as compensation, she’s working for me until the dress is paid off. Isn’t that fair?”

“Totally fair. I mean, who does that? So trashy.”

“I said I was sorry.” Dann mutters giving them a hard look.

“And now you’re showing it by helping me. Speaking of which…” You turn to Dann, voice dripping with sweet venom “Grab me a matcha latte before my first class starts.”

Hongjoong glances over, discomfort on his face. He doesn’t like the way you’re speaking to Dann, but he’s too caught up in your popularity to argue.

He’s come this far. He promised you he’d do anything, and that’s exactly what he’ll do, that’s why he hesitates before speaking to you, not fully meeting your eyes

“YN… why are you making her do all this? I mean, she apologized, didn’t she?”

You turn to him, your eyes narrowing slightly and pressing your grip on his hand more as a warning to shut up. At this point you’re used to his questions and comments, but you’re also aware that he’s still adjusting to his new position in the social hierarchy you control.

“Babe, she’s lucky I’m letting her work off the damage instead of asking for the money to pay for the dress. Besides, it’s not like she’s doing anything special. She’s just running errands for me. It’s not that hard.”

One of your friends nods “Exactly. Besides, What were you even doing there, Dann? You’re not exactly on the guest list for those kinds of events.”

“Probably hoping to get a glance at Hongjoong. You know, since she’s so obsessed with him.” Mindy laughs as she folds her arms.

Dann stiffens, her face flushing as she looks at him, who avoids her gaze.

You scoff as you place your and Hongjoong’s clasped hands over your bare thigh, so Dann can see them better “Aw, is that true, Dann? Were you there to see Joongie? That’s cute.”

“I was invited.” She gritted her teeth, seeing somewhere other than you or Hongjoong.

She clearly knows that you're trying to show off that you've got him by your side.

“By who?” Your friend mock surprise.

Dann stays silent, refusing to give them the satisfaction of an answer. You wave your hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t matter. She was out of place, and now she’s making up for it. Right, Dann?”

Hongjoong swallows, his mind conflicted. He knows this is wrong, but the thought of losing your favor, of being cast aside as easily as he had been before, makes him hesitate.

“YN…. This seems a little harsh.” His voice is almost a whisper but you heard it.

Your eyes flash with something dangerous. You move closer to him, placing your free hand on his arm, the perfect picture of sweetness masking your control.

“Are you defending your little puppy?” You ask in a sweet tone, but your subtle anger is noticeable “Hongjoong, I’m doing this for her own good. She needs to learn a lesson. Besides, she’s lucky I’m not asking for the full price of the dress. What would she do then, huh? She should be thanking me, not questioning me.”

He stays quiet in the face of your harsh tone, so to calm him down you decide to move your hand from his chest to his low abdomen, only his belt avoiding you go lower. Hongjoong stiffs, his eyes widening both in surprise and embarrassment.

“Babe, I know you’re just concerned for your friend, but I’ve got everything under control. Right, Dann?” You turn to look at her, the malicious glint in your eyes resurfacing.

Dann doesn’t answer. She’s too humiliated to say anything. You already reached her breaking point touching Hongjoong in that intimate way.

“Good. Now, don’t forget to get that latte for me. Oh! Also get one for Joongie and my girls.”

Dann nods stiffly and turns, the weight of your expensive bag dragging her down as she walks away.

As she leaves, Hongjoong watches her go, a knot in his stomach. The doubt is there, a gnawing discomfort settling in his chest.

He looks at you, your back to your radiant, confident self, and then glances toward Dann’s retreating figure.

For a brief moment, he wonders if this is what he really wanted. But then you lean closer, your perfume intoxicating, and your pretty smile pushes the thought away, falling back into the role he begged you for.

He tells himself that everything will be fine, that he’s doing the right thing by standing next to you. But deep down, something tells him this might not be the kind of life he truly wanted.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, knowing that you have him right where you want him.

You got him, and you're not going to let him slip away.

Not now, not ever.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[tesscourtes]

saw you had asks open, not a drawing request but wanted to know if there was any more story to your human bill’s punishment-for-weirdmageddon-is-to-turn-weak-human au, I really like it (sorry if you explained this a while back, I only just watched gravity falls😭I’m a late-comer to the fandom)

it’s just superepiccool to me, how are dipper and mabel about him being human now? Soos n Wendy, Stan and Ford? What was it like for them (especially Ford) when he just turned human? What was it like for Bill?

oh hey don't worry, I haven't really talked much about the details of the AU like ... ever. I just started reviving it because I got my partner into the show (they are also a new fan! yay, new fans! Funny enough I had no idea TBOB was coming out so the timing was mad exquisite.) and they have just been an amazing help shaping my messy thoughts and coming up with new, fun plots! It's also nice to know there's someone out there interested in it, so thank's for asking! Now that I read TBOB I want to change the premise a bit, but the core is still the same.

Let me tell you this AU is silly. I'm aware Billford is toxic and there are many corners to dive into to picture their messy relationship. But I kinda wanna keep the spirit of the show here and make it equally as fun as it is disturbing. Given that Bill canonically is trapped in endless Therapy gives me even more food to work with, he just out there being toxic and people repeatedly telling him to cut it out.

I'm not gonna go into too much detail because I'm actually working on the first comic chapter for this AU, but regarding the characters: Each of the Pines, as well as Wendy and Soos, are not happy seeing him, but individually grow more accustomed to him and with him. I guess going from "most accepting" to "least accepting", Mabel took it the best. I wouldn't say she was quick to forgive, but quick enough to give the guy a chance. And I honestly have to say that, although this is 100% a Billford AU, there's so many plot ideas for just Mabel and Bill and their amazing, chaotic shenanigans. Put these two together and the stories basically write themselves. Wendy is pretty similar, and the most chill in actually helping Bill figure out human stuff.

Naturally, Ford took it the hardest. I'm aiming for slowburn here, haha. They got to figure out some stuff that I'm so ready to put onto pages... Ford is a lot of emotions. Confused, angered, curious... Meanwhile Stan is Bills biggest hater. (There is a lot of bullying in this AU) He just keeps up with it because his Family makes him. He's very protective and tries to kick Bill out several times. Soos sticks with Stan, but he's also Soos and has a big heart, so in Bills eye, he's very gullible and a target he can mess with easily.

Dipper is not a fan either, he has a hard time adjusting to the triangle just getting to ... be there. He's suspicious for the most part and Bill has to try hard to get on his good side. But honestly he might be more upset with Mabel (and later on Wendy) for making friends with Bill so easily, even though he knows that's just their nature. I just recently started thinking about Gideon and how I'd like to include him, but nothing worth mentioning so far yet.

With Bill himself, one my favorite parts trying to portray so far is how he's dealing with his new mortality. He adjusts to the body fine, he knows how to navigate flesh, but he has a hard time accepting that it's his body. His new prison, essentially. If it's gone, he's gone. If he treat's it like shit, he feels like shit. Then we add the psychological aspect of things. And more importantly, we add Ford to the equation. When I tell you, that demon is experiencing psychological damage here, and it's fully his fault. TBOB really pointed out to me that I need to dive into his obsession with Ford. How do you even get a man you fumbled so bad, to even acknowledge you again?

I love yapping about this AU, thanks again for giving me the grounds to do so anon! I'm an insecure writer so it'll probably take another hot minute to choose which script feels best to draw out, haha. But I'm glad you seem to be up for the ride!!

[delicateperspective]

I think people who assume Harry is completely free tend to overlook a lot—especially things he shows during his concerts and in some interviews. Starting with the queercoding, but also those really vulnerable moments. You can literally see it in his face what it means to him when he waves a rainbow flag. And when he says things like “that doesn’t happen to people like me”—it’s heavy.

And I don't blame them because Harry's public image has been pushed very hard, especially with dwd and that stunt with the director. But If you really pay attention to the details, it’s pretty clear that Harry isn’t fully free. He’s just doing what he can, playing the game with everything he’s learned along the way.

I’m sure he’s negotiated as much freedom as possible over time, and what we see is a gradual result of that. I really hope in this next chapter, with all the leverage he’s gained, he’s been able to secure even more freedom.

I honestly just wish the best for both H and L.

yes exactly. you put it so well — that’s the thing about public perception. in order to see H & L the way that some people do, you have to be willing to accept a version of events that genuinely doesn’t make sense unless you ignore… well, everything.

to believe that version, you have to believe that:

harry was a womanizer from the very beginning. that he dated half the girls at bootcamp and then moved on to older, high-profile women who just happened to boost his image (taylor, kendall, olivia). that he’s a commitment-phobe who’s never had a long-term relationship. that he leans into queercoding and wears obviously queer clothing just to sell albums — even when he doesn’t know he’ll be photographed. that he writes intimate songs about home, about loving the same person through every season of life — despite having no personal experience with any of that. and that he deliberately distanced himself from the other boys in the band — especially louis — because he thought he was better than them.

louis, meanwhile, apparently changed his entire personality between 2011 and 2013 for no reason. that he got angry at a magazine for implying he supports LGBTQ+ rights. that he got a triangle on his achilles heel because he just… liked the shape. that he wears t-shirts and brands with overt queer symbolism (Tchaikovsky, All Out, Only the Brave, Maison Margiela) without realizing or caring what they mean — even though he loves fashion. that he used to call himself “camp” and “flamboyant” all the time, but only as a joke. and that he had a long-term girlfriend during the band, which is clearly why no fans ever had a shot — not because he was gay.

and that’s just the surface level stuff.

the more you pay attention, the worse it gets.

you have to eat a lot of narrative gymnastics to believe that version. honestly? in some cases, you have to make more illogical leaps than even the most unhinged larries do. you have to completely discredit every contestant who’s ever spoken out about x factor. every person who’s criticized modest management. every lyric change — like: “women just don’t feel right”, “i’m hoping someday i could be open”, “i can’t compete with my boyfriend”, "hopelessly devoted to Lou", etc. — has to be chalked up to coincidence or queerbaiting or… misheard. and you have to believe that none of it means anything — even when it obviously does.

i’ll always go back to the metaphor harry gave us in the As It Was music video — the red pill and the blue pill. just like in The Matrix: the red pill means you wake up and see the truth. the blue pill means you stay in a comfortable illusion.

so many people would rather take the blue pill. and honestly? i don’t blame them. it’s easier. it’s lighter. it doesn’t force you to confront how corrupt the industry is. how normal homophobia still is. how much trauma they endured. to accept that kind of truth — especially about people you love — takes a toll.

because once you see it, you can’t unsee it. you’ll always question the narrative. you’ll always feel that unease when something doesn’t add up. you’ll always see through the bullshit.

and yeah — sometimes I wish i could close my eyes too. especially in this world, in this moment, where everything is already so heavy. but i can’t.

so we keep paying attention. we keep listening between the lines. we keep hoping the next chapter brings them more peace, more truth, and more freedom.

because they’ve earned it. and they deserve it.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Foxglove Downs Chapter 3: The Race

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Teen. (Eventual E. MDNI) Summary: Marcus is jealous, Lucius is charming, and Sunny is stuck in the middle. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, angst, flirting, a kiss, wet Lucius, one slap across the face, age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,000

A/N: Listen, IDK what'd I'd do without @devineconjuring's help and amazing beta work. She's the best and she always imparts wisdom like... ...how I can still take a bath with a toaster... if I just don't plug it in. Also she yells at me and calls me names because I use too many ...'s and I can't stop talking about Lucius's eyes being blue. Soooooooo... ... ... ... I 🩵 her... ... ... Thank you to @artsy-girl-76 for the Lucius pic colorization and everyone who helped me stop overthinking about photo decisions. 😉

Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Days have passed since the moment Marcus saw you while you were under the warm comfort of Lucius’s jacket. You busy yourself with your daily tasks, checking on the horses and taking care of your breeding program. But the less you see of Marcus, the more his pull on you consumes your thoughts–especially the intensity of his stare when he saw you that morning Lucius dropped you off.

He’s kept his distance since, choosing instead to communicate through brief messages about a few business matters. You wanted to speak to him, yet he seemed to be in a hurry every time you saw him, always heading in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding you, yet you could feel his deep brown eyes on you whenever you were near him.

—-

“Sunny,” he calls out one afternoon, breaking through your peaceful reverie as you lead your horse Harvey out for a ride.

“Yes?” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.

“Can we talk?” His voice is low, making all surrounding noise fade away.

“I was just about to go for a ride. Do you want to join? Maybe take Barley out as a treat?”

“Sure,” he responds, his voice still low.

“Okay,” you smile, trying to calm your heart. “Meet you at the back gate in five?”

He nods before heading to the stables.

—-

You greet Marcus as he arrives atop Barley, cantering towards the back gate.

“Ready?” you ask. His face is a mystery, his shoulders tense as he nods. “I figure we’ll just ride to the other side of the lake?”

Another nod without a verbal response.

“Let’s go,” you say, nudging Harvey forward. The horse responds eagerly, trotting out along the well-trodden path that meanders through the lush greenery surrounding Foxglove Downs. Familiar scenery allows your mind to drift, and you wonder what Marcus is thinking about. The beat of hooves on the ground helps you focus back on the present–you can feel Marcus studying you, an air of tension straining between you.

“I’ll never get sick of this ride,” you say, glancing sideways at Marcus, hoping to catch any sign of the thoughts that are hidden behind his stoic facade. His eyes remain ahead, scanning the horizon as if he’s searching for something just beyond reach.

He doesn’t respond. You feel a pang of disappointment.

“Harvey loves this trail,” you continue. “Or maybe he knows that whenever we get to the lake, he always gets a treat.” You chuckle lightly, trying to lighten Marcus’s mood.

His lips twitch, a quick flick of amusement crossing his features before vanishing just as quickly.

“So, Daisy’s looking a lot better already.”

“She is,” he replies tersely.

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh, taking the hint that he doesn’t want to talk just yet.

As you reach the edge of the lake, you pull Harvey to a stop and look at Marcus, sitting tall on Barley.

“Beautiful day,” you remark, attempting to break through the silence as you dismount Harvey and tie him to a nearby tree.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering lake. “It really is.”

Uncertainty charges between you as you pull a small apple out from your saddle bag for Harvey. You offer it to him while keeping an eye on Marcus as he dismounts and finally turns to meet your gaze.

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

His shoulders deflate with a deep sigh as he ties Barley to a nearby tree. His usually composed demeanor seems to waver just a bit.

“Sunny,” he begins, but then stops himself.

You lean against a large oak tree, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Come on, Marcus. Can you just tell me what’s on your mind?” you tease, trying to lift the mood.

He gathers himself, his brow furrowing as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thumb nervously tapping against his forefinger as if trying to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking about…”

“About what?” you ask, trying to coax him and get rid of the confusion surrounding the two of you.

“Lucius.”

Your eyes widen at his name, your breath caught in your throat. Marcus’s eyes flash darker when he notices your response.

“Lucius?” you echo, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. “What about him?”

He takes a step towards you, his voice careful and questioning. "Tell me… how serious is he about you?"

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, a mixture of shock and annoyance brewing inside you. “S-serious? Is that what you think?” Your tone stays light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness underlying your words.

Marcus takes a step closer, his brown eyes fixed on you, his jaw tense.

“Come on, Sunny, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just business for him.”

You avert your eyes, suddenly finding the leaves of the oak tree far more interesting than the intensity of his stare. “He’s… charming. He flirts. It doesn’t mean he’s serious.”

A thick silence fills the space between you.  Tension emanates from Marcus as he closes the distance, trapping you against the tree with his body. Your arms instinctively fall to your sides as he leans in, his chest pressing against yours.

“But you like him,” he states, a note of steel in his voice.

You don’t lie. His closeness pulls at something deep within you. “I… he’s fun,” you manage to say, your breath hitching as your heart races.

His hand tenderly brushes against your cheek, and his touch takes your breath away. “Did it feel good to have fun with him this weekend?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower. A shiver skims along your spine.

“Fun?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath mingles with yours as he hovers just a heartbeat away. “You looked really good in that dress, Sunny. Never seen you in something that short before.”

You swallow hard, trying to maintain your composure as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Marcus, I—”

“It felt good, didn’t it? To have someone like him give you attention?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before he masks it with anger. “Was it as fun for you as I’m sure it was for him?”

You stand wide-eyed and mouth agape, staring into his dark brown eyes. How dare he. The anger rages inside of you.

“Who the hell do you think I am, Marcus?” you ask, anger raising your voice.

His focus stays on you, unwavering, his expression a blend of frustration and longing. “I think you’re someone who deserves more than just a good fuck and a drive home in a designer car.”

You slap him across the face right then and there. “We didn’t fuck, you asshole.” Your voice is sharp and authoritative. “For the record, he was a perfect gentleman. He saved me from a shitty situation and lent me his bed, which I slept alone in.”

You slide under Marcus’s arm, quickly freeing Harvey and climbing on top of him. "And just so you know, I had a dream about you and I having fun at this lake while I was sleeping ALONE in his bed," you nearly shout.

With a swift kick of your heels, Harvey bolts past him, galloping towards the stables. You glance back briefly to see Marcus standing there, his tall frame silhouetted against the lake.

—-

After a restless night filled with thoughts that shift between deep brown and sparkling blue eyes, you dress in your most comfortable jeans and a loose-fitting shirt before heading down to the stables.

Your horses never leave you feeling trapped. They don’t critique your actions. They will always be by your side.

You lose yourself in the simple jobs, caring for them, grateful for their familiarity and companionship. You feel a sense of peace as you finish your morning tasks in the stables.

As you enter your office, you spot a vase brimming with pink foxgloves on your desk. You reach for the card and read the message. "Please forgive me" is written in angular writing above Marcus’s signature. With a sigh, you toss the card back onto the desk and rub your eyes with your palms, trying to relieve some stress.

This is why you try to keep your distance. This is why you never intended to entangle yourself in the rivalry between Marcus and Lucius. This is why you have always tried to resist both men.

It’s been three hours of trying to focus on work. Your vision blurs and your head pounds as you struggle to make sense of the words on your computer screen. Your heart aches just as much, if not more. You can’t seem to concentrate on anything except the urge to occasionally check out the window to see if Marcus or Lucius are practicing on the grounds.

You grumble to yourself as you get up, throw on your jacket, and head to the stables. Today is not an in-the-office day.

—-

The moment you step into the stables, your worries quiet down. Your boots echo across the cobblestones as you approach the stall where the new stallion is housed. As you get closer, you spot Lucius leaning against the wooden railing, softly talking to the stallion, his voice soothing as he moves steadily closer to the horse.

“Hey there, boy,” he says, extending his hand to pet the stallion’s neck. The horse leans into him, its large dark eyes reflecting trust. You’re captivated by Lucius’s gentleness and patience, unable to look away as you approach.

“Lucius,” you call gently. He looks towards you, a smile full of charm breaking across his face when he spots you.

“I was just meeting the new addition.”

You move closer to him, leaning against the railing beside him, offering your hand for the horse to nuzzle. “His name is Maximus.”

“I think he likes me.”

The gentle smile of joy he gives you fills your heart with a certain feeling–but it’s not the same weighty feeling you get when you’re with Marcus. No, this is a lighter, more hopeful sensation that beats within you.

“Want to take him out for a ride? I’ve been breaking him, and he’s responding great. I’ll take him there, you take him back. Maybe you can grab Edgar? He’s about the only horse Maximus can stand. ”

Lucius raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting his blue eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”

“Perfect,” you say with a nod, heading towards the tack room.

Lucius follows you in, reaching for his boots and Edgar’s saddle.

“You want to help me with Maximus first?” you ask as you grab the stallion’s saddle.

“Of course.”

Maximus stands in his stall, watching as you both approach with a saddle and bridle.

Lucius gently places the saddle onto his back while he whispers sweetly to him. His hands work skillfully, knowing exactly how to read the stallion and take care of him. It’s like he’s known Maximus for years.

You pick up Edgar’s saddle and head to his stall, allowing Lucius to finish up Maximus.

You struggle with one of the straps on Edgar’s saddle, softly swearing to yourself as you hear Lucius’s boot steps approach. 

“That one is a pain,” Lucius says, leaning in. “Here, let me show you how to do it.”

You try to steady your breathing as he guides your hands through the motions, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he adjusts the straps.

“You know, if you keep this up, I might have to hire you as my official saddle strap consultant,” you tease.

Lucius chuckles softly as he takes a step back, allowing you to secure the last strap on Edgar’s saddle yourself.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he praises, giving you a warm smile that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Once both horses are saddled and ready, you lead Maximus out of his stall while Lucius brings Edgar up alongside you.

The afternoon sun warms your skin as you guide Maximus along the cobblestone path that leads toward the back gate. You still can’t help but look around the grounds, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcus.

Lucius mounts Edgar, and you swing yourself onto Maximus, the stallion shifting beneath you, eager for a run.

“Race you to the lake?” Lucius challenges as the two of you make your way out onto the trail behind the grounds.

“Yeah?” your eyebrow raises as a smile lights your face. “I don’t think I’ve raced in years.”

“Maximus looks like he’s ready, but Edgar’s fast. Loser has to jump in the lake?”

You laugh, your head tilting back and your head shaking. “Now? Jump in the lake now?”

“You heard me,” his eyes are alight with joy, making your smile stay on your face.

“Are we twelve?”

“Fine, if you win, you can push me in… and If I win, you have to… kiss me,” he offers.

“So, we’re twelve,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“So… deal?”

“Deal,” you say, your cheeks hurting from smiling.

“Count it down then, Sunny.”

“3… 2… 1!” you shout, kicking Maximus into a gallop. The world you know so well blurs into a streak of greens as Maximus surges forward. The wind whips against your body as the rhythmic thud of hooves against the trail echoes through the air.

You glance back over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Lucius wearing a smile as he commands Edgar confidently.

You can feel Maximus’s excitement beneath you, feeling his happy spirit as he races ahead.

Edgar gains, matching Maximus’s stride. You look over at Lucius, his expression fierce yet playful. He meets your focus and sends you a wink as he shifts forward, pushing Edgar to go faster.

You also lean forward, urging Maximus to give it his all. “Come on, boy!” you whisper fiercely. Maximus pulls ahead just a little more, the lake glimmering in the distance as it gets closer and closer.

“Come on, Edgar!” Lucius calls out, but his voice is fading as you gain ground ahead of him and the trees thin out the closer you get to the water.

“Almost there!” you shout over your shoulder, laughter spilling from your lips as you sense Lucius straining behind you. “You better catch up!”

Soon, the lake is fully revealed to you, the water’s edge just within reach as Maximus gallops towards it, Lucius and Edgar much farther behind now. You and the young stallion easily win the race as you reach the water’s edge.

You pull Maximus to a halt at the edge of the shimmering lake, the stallion snorting and stamping his hooves in triumph as if he understands the victory you’ve just claimed.

“I win!” you shout, unable to contain your excitement. You slide off Maximus, your heart still racing from the ride and the sight of Lucius approaching. His body is framed against the bright blue sky that matches the color of his eyes. He dismounts Edgar and jogs over, his breath coming in quick bursts, yet a broad grin remains plastered across his face.

“You got me this time,” he concedes.

“Just this time?” you tease.

“I guess next time, I’ll ride harder. But for now…” he pauses, glancing at the lake, then back at you. “A deal’s a deal.”

He strides towards the dock, a small wooden structure stretching out into the lake. Its weathered planks creak softly beneath his weight, the water rippling in the warm breeze as Lucius reaches the edge of it.

“Wait! You don’t have to—” You start to protest, but it’s too late.

Lucius leaps off the dock, and time seems to slow as he jumps into the air. His body gracefully twists before hitting the water with a large splash.

Your laughter echoes across the lake as he emerges from the water, his white shirt now drenched. You can’t stop looking at him and how the now-transparent fabric clings to his muscles.

His blue eyes lock on to yours, a smoldering look sent your way. You feel like you’re in trouble, like he’s almost angry with you. That is, until a broad smile breaks across his face and he runs toward you.

Before you can react, Lucius tackles you to the grass, his wet body crashing down over yours. You gasp as the coolness of his skin meets yours, the weight of him pressing you into the earth beneath. Laughter escapes your lips as he grins down at you, water dripping from tendrils of his brown hair and his strong nose.

“Now who's winning?” he teases, his breath warm against your face.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you reply as you squirm beneath him, trying to find a comfortable position without pushing him off. The way he looks at you–half-smirking with his bright eyes shining–makes it hard to focus on anything else.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, leaning in closer.

Your heart pounds, no longer from the race, but from Lucius. He hovers above you, and it’s just you and him. The imposing oak tree that Marcus pushed you up against is only a few feet away, but it disappears from your periphery when Lucius’s gaze drops to your mouth.

“Sunny…” his voice changes, becoming lower and more serious.

You swallow hard, caught in the pull of him. “What are you—”

But before you can finish your thought, he closes the small space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle yet searing kiss. You feel your heart beat faster as you respond instinctively, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands cradle your face as you let out a soft sigh, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

But just as quickly as it begins, reality crashes into you like a splash of cold water.

You pull back abruptly and breathlessly. “Lucius,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the sudden rush of emotions swirling within you. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”

He lifts himself off you, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but the playful sparkle in his eyes remains. You sit up carefully, brushing blades of grass from your hair while trying to regain your composure.

“I mean…” you stammer, searching for the right words amidst the haze of what just happened. “This is—it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He leans back on his hands, water still glistening on his skin under the afternoon sun. The way he looks at you—both amused and intrigued—makes it hard to maintain any semblance of seriousness.

“Yes! The whole business of it all,” you say, waving an arm towards the stables in the distance. “We both know how small this world is.”

You don’t mention to him that it’s because the lips you truly desire belong to his biggest rival.

Lucius chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Sunny, I’m fine with calling this whole thing a… business meeting.” He raises an eyebrow. “One kiss isn’t going to ruin your carefully constructed empire.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his teasing. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You know this whole world is riddled with… rivalries. If word gets out… well, it will complicate things.”

“Sunny,” he says, his voice growing more earnest. “I’m not interested in gossip or rivalries. I’m interested in you.”

You glance away, taking a moment to collect yourself. He looks at you like he sees right through you.

“But what about Marcus?” you ask finally.

Lucius lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his damp hair, sending droplets flying in every direction. “What about him? Why does Marcus matter?”

“Lucius, I like you, but I just… I–”

“Sunny, look at me,” he softly commands.

You obey, your eyes meeting his. His face is understanding, a gentle smile lifting his lips that you can still feel against yours.

“I understand,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go on. Just know, I’m here for you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Some of the weight sitting atop your shoulders—and your heart—lifts. “I’d like to have you as I’ve had you–as a friend,” you offer. 

“Of course,” he grins, his handsome face and sweet voice reassuring.

You shift closer to him, resting your head against his still-damp shirt as you sit in companionable silence, watching the sun begin to set.

—-

“So, you want to ride Maximus back to the stables?” you ask as you and Lucius walk over to the horses. “I’d love to see how he runs for you.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he replies.

“Just remember,” you say as Lucius moves to mount the stallion, “he can be a bit stubborn. Handle him firmly—but with care.”

Lucius laughs, swinging himself up onto Maximus. “No wonder he and I get along.”

You mount Edgar and give him a gentle nudge with your heels as Lucius maneuvers Maximus to trot ahead of you.

You trail behind, admiring as you observe how Lucius interacts with the horse.

“Keep your heels down!” you call out teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah! Is that your only complaint on my form?” he asks over his shoulder. “I’m a champion, Sunny. I don’t need your opinion. I pay many people to yell at me about my form!”

You shake your head and laugh. There’s something so uncomplicated about this moment—the laughter, the beautiful sunset, the understanding Lucius has shown your heart.

As the back gate comes into view, a bit of sadness settles in you now that your impromptu ride with Lucius is over.

The last time you approached this gate from the lake, Marcus had made you feel so small that you could almost still feel the tears stinging in your eyes.

As you dismount from Edgar and guide him through the gate, Lucius follows with Maximus, the two of you leading the horses to their stalls and bringing their saddles to the tack room.

“Thanks for letting me ride Maximus,” Lucius says, putting the stallion’s saddle away.

“You commanded him perfectly,” you compliment as you pick up a brush to groom Maximus’s coat.

“Perfectly, huh? You know, after one ride, I’m ready to purchase.”

“He’s not cheap–champion bloodline and all,” you say, heading back to Maximus’s stall.

“I’m sure I could afford him. Not every day you find a horse that truly connects with you.”

You nod in agreement—until the memory of how Marcus also commanded Maximus during the stallion’s arrival overtakes your brain. 

Lucius watches as you enter Maximus’s stall and begin to brush the stallion’s glossy black coat.

“I should probably get going,” he says reluctantly, checking his watch. “I have a planning meeting about Rome early tomorrow morning, and then I’m training all day. Thank you for today. I needed it.”

“I needed it too,” you reply softly, walking closer to the stall gate.

“Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow?” he asks hopefully as he moves to stand in front of the gate and reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Definitely,” you smile. “Come see me in my office. I have your jacket.”

“Keep it. Like I said,” he says, his eyes looking you up and down. Even in your baggiest pair of jeans and loosest fitting shirt, he still makes you feel like the most attractive woman on earth. “You look much better in it.”

He turns to leave, and you watch him go with a slight pang in your chest before you turn back to the soothing work of caring for your horses.

—-

Thank you for reading! Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring

@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen

@pedrit0-pascalit0, @ace-turned-confused, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @lotusbxtch, @almostfoxglove

@lady--lynn, @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup, @copperhalfcent, @ferns-fics, @thesoftdumbass

[h4nj1sunggg]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓

pairing: 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻 han jisung x 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗹 lee minho x f!reader

content: rom-com, heroes and vigilant, love triangle into a poly relationship, delicate topics (su!cide, PTSD), mafia mentioned.

summary: You never forgot the antihero, Deadpool, for taking your father away from you. You never forgot the hero, Spider-Man, for saving your life from a suicide attempt. You forgive, but you never forget.

warnings: mentioning of guns and weapons, blood, reader has some PTSD, minho calls reader pet names. reader talks about her suicide thoughts so, if this trigger you do not read it, mafia mentioned.

words: 18.1k

  ᯓᡣ𐭩　  ( masterlist )  .

NSFW warnings: fingering (f receiving), nipple playing, double penetration, breeding kink. I think it's all.

There are two types of people in the world: those who support heroes and those who believe they only bring chaos to the city.

You don’t belong to either category. You don’t care about heroes. Your life in a tiny apartment in Manhattan has never changed because of them. Your small pizza restaurant in one of the quietest neighborhoods of New York hasn’t thrived thanks to them, either.

You’re just there, waiting for the big event in your life. Until then? You spend your time listening to cheap music from your dad’s old radio.

“Y/n, vieni qua, c’è gente!” Your father’s voice snaps you out of your daze. His strong Italian accent interrupts the music, and you pull your headphones off. The song still plays on your phone, but you don’t have time to stop it. You have to get back to work.

Your family runs a small business. Your father works in the kitchen—making pizzas with the authentic recipe from Italy. Your mother, on the other hand, prepares traditional desserts like tiramisù, panna cotta, and even gelato. Your grandmother spends the whole day in the same spot, wrapped in her purple shawl, glasses slipping down her nose, eyes fixed on a Hispanic soap opera while working on her puzzle book.

You work as a cashier, helping out when you're not at university. You got into a very expensive school, full of people who’ve been spoiled their entire lives. You, on the other hand, learned the meaning of money differently.

Your grandmother came to the U.S. when she had just turned 25. In one hand, she held a suitcase; in the other, her dreams. She learned English from scratch, juggling three part-time jobs, while your grandfather worked two more. It was a simple, chaotic, but happy life—until your grandfather passed away, leaving your father the small business they had built from the few pennies they had managed to save.

You’ve never really understood why your grandparents bought a place so far from Little Italy—closer to Times Square than the other famous Italian restaurants. Every time you ask your grandmother, she simply shrugs and says, “Your nonno was really stubborn.”

Your grandfather truly believed it was the best option—a small place for a sliced pizza business with an apartment included. It had just enough room for you and the rest of your family.

You know the place isn’t very successful. There are only a few regulars, just enough to scrape by and cover the end-of-month expenses. You also know you can’t ask for too much, and that your college grades must remain impeccable to keep your scholarship. Every day, you think about how lucky other people seem—not that you know their stories, but just hearing someone casually say during a lecture, “Let’s go to karaoke after this,” makes you jealous.

You’re not popular, and you’re definitely not rich. That’s cut down a lot of your social life—but not enough to leave you completely friendless.

As you step out the back of the restaurant and head to the cashier spot, you spot your best friend with a huge grin on her face, waving at you.

“Yo mama is fine as hell.”

You can’t help but laugh. Her obsession with milfs—and girls in general—always manages to lift your mood. Holding your stomach from laughing, you tease, and she laughs along with you.

“What are you looking for today?” you ask.

“Some girls to kiss. Wanna be the next one?”

Her cheeky pick-up lines never fail to make you smile. You start punching in the price for two slices of pizza.

“It’s three dollars.” She sighs dramatically as she pulls out her wallet from her expensive bag. “If I really have to.”

You chuckle as you grab the three banknotes from her hand. Her smile makes you smile. And for a moment, you’re truly happy. No worries. No thoughts. Just peace. For a single second, your life doesn’t feel as miserable as you usually think it is.

Until.

Until you hear screaming. Until you hear glass shattering. Until you see the terror on the faces of the people you love. You never imagined how quickly life could change—how everything could shift in just a matter of seconds. That is, until you see a figure in a dark red costume, weapons strapped to his back, and a gun in his hand.

You’re not a huge nerd, but even you recognize that costume. It belongs to only one person. Deadpool.

He’s not a hero. He’s not a villain. He defines himself to the police as a “cleaner of other people’s shit.” Basically, a hitman—one who doesn’t kill unless he’s forced to by whoever’s paying him.

And now, as you crouch behind the counter, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to explode, your hands shaking and your ears buzzing with the rush of blood… you pray. You pray he’s made a mistake. That he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But he’s not. He’s pointing his gun toward the kitchen. Your blood feels like it stops flowing. A chill floods your body. The atmosphere is so heavy, so dark, you can only curl tighter under the counter, paralyzed with fear.

“No! Please!” Your mother’s voice jerks you back into reality. You rise from your hiding spot. Your best friend is helping your grandmother, who’s fallen from her chair. Your eyes burn with tears, but you fight them back. There’s no time for that now. Before you can even take a step toward the kitchen, a shotgun blasts through the air— Piercing the screams.

Silencing everything. You never thought silence could feel so terrifying. You run into the kitchen.

Your mother is on the floor, sobbing. Your father is moaning in pain, a chest wound bleeding out across the tiled floor. And there’s Deadpool—calmly wiping his gun with the towel your mother usually keeps folded neatly on the counter. The tears spill freely now, anger rising like a fire inside you.

“I didn’t kill him,” the antihero mutters, walking past you as if nothing just happened. His mask is lifted just enough to reveal his mouth as he chews on a slice of pizza. “Easy, blondie.”

The sound of police sirens begins to echo in the distance, growing louder as they approach the scene of chaos. It's only a matter of time—and you pray for every second. The floor is littered with shards of glass from the shattered windows. Chairs and tables are overturned. The TV your grandmother usually watches during the day lies face-down on the ground. Somehow, it's still working. The screen flickers with an image of news reporters gathered just outside your family’s restaurant. Without warning, Deadpool hurls one of his katanas across the room. It strikes the TV dead center, perfectly shattering the screen.

“Damn, I always hated reporters,” he mutters.

His voice is deep—so deep it sends a chill crawling up your spine. You instinctively take a step closer, but stop instantly. One of his guns is now aimed directly at your forehead.

You freeze. The chewing sound of his pizza is the only noise cutting through the room, aside from your dad’s pained groans and your mother’s quiet sobs. “Don’t step too close, blondie,” he warns. “You’ll get hurt trying to dance with evil.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns his head toward you. You’re frozen in place, barely able to get the words out. “Why did you do this?” you whisper. “Why us?”

Your voice shakes. He steps closer, too close for you to focus properly on his face. His cologne hits your senses—sharp, cold, almost metallic. “I just follow the work, sweet thing,” he replies flatly. “Grow up with that.”

His tone is harsh, and it makes you tremble from head to toe. Before you can catch a glimpse of his eyes, his mask drops again, covering the lower half of his face. His voice switches back to something oddly playful just as the police storm in, guns raised. The windows are blown open, letting the spring wind drift in and stir the dust on the floor.

That was the first time you ever met Deadpool.

-

Lee Minho feels like heavy rain. The kind of heavy rain that comes after a thunderstorm—summer rain that seeps into your bones, soaking your clothes until they cling to your skin, drenching your shoes, and plastering your hair to your neck. That kind of rain.

You don’t know if it’s because of his charm, or the fact that he never lets anyone get too close, but something about him draws you in. From your very first day at university, your eyes betrayed you by constantly seeking him out, lingering on his features. You don’t even know what his voice sounds like, or what color his eyes are. He’s the kind of guy you instinctively look for in a crowded, noisy room.

That copper-red hair, always poking out from under his hoodie, and that worn backpack slung over one shoulder—he walks the corridors like he doesn’t owe anyone a glance. He never makes eye contact. You don’t even understand why he goes to a place like this. It’s hard to imagine him as a spoiled rich kid. Maybe that’s part of the reason you find him so intriguing.

No one really knows how he affords a university like this one. The only thing you're certain of is that Minho doesn’t care about his grades—because he’s too smart to need to. He walks out of class when he’s bored, and the professors never stop him. He’s that genius—the one everyone accepts is on another level. No one ever beats him in tests or assignments. He always turns things in on time, always perfect. So perfect it’s almost annoying.

At least, that’s what you used to think.

Now, after your father was arrested, you can’t even sit through a lecture without your skin prickling at the sight of the windows—always waiting for them to shatter like they did that day. Your usual seat is right next to one of them, where your desk is still covered in little scribbled drawings. But not today.

Today, that seat is already taken—by Lee Minho.

You feel your cheeks flush. That’s your seat. Everyone knows it.

“Excuse me?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. The boy is scribbling something in his notebook, eyes down, spinning a pen between his fingers. He doesn’t even glance up.

“Sorry, uh…?” Minho sighs. You’re still standing beside the desk, not moving away. He lets out a slow breath before finally turning his head toward you.

It’s the first time you see his eyes—dark brown. And suddenly, the image of heavy rain from that first day resurfaces. That’s exactly what his eyes look like.

Cold.

His voice cuts through the silence. “What?”

"That’s my spot," you say, pointing lightly at the desk where his things are already spread out. Minho doesn’t like moving around once he finds his place—it’s like he’s a cat, settling into his favorite angle of the room.

"No, it’s mine."

The entire conversation feels so childish that you almost can’t bring yourself to argue.

Your cheeks warm as his voice comes out firm, making you trip over your words. You turn on your heel and start to walk toward another table, part of you feeling a strange sense of relief. Your usual spot is right by the window, and being that close to one would make you panic. But of course, Minho doesn’t know that. Or at least, that’s what you think.

For the entire week, Minho took your spot. You didn’t know why, and he’s not the type to get close to anyone, so you couldn’t ask him. You just… accepted it. Who were you to tell him what to do?

Every morning—though you weren’t sure exactly when it started—you passed by to greet him, leaving a jug of juice that you bought from the vending machine. No one had ever approached him like this before. You knew you weren’t special, but you felt pleased when Minho smiled after about ten seconds of you leaving the juice on the table, his lips raising just at the corners. That little gesture made you feel good.

Then, the following Monday, Minho wasn’t there. He’s never late, which made you worry. Not that you were friends or anything more, but a situation had formed where you felt a duty to… understand, to know why he wasn’t there.

“Do you know where Minho is?” you murmured to your friends, who were engrossed in a conversation about the latest assignment that was hell on earth. You had your head in your hands, your eyes scanning the room for one person and one person only.

“Y/N, why are you so interested in him?”

Your expression is pure surprise as you look up at your friend. “Me? Uh, no reason.” You can’t lie when your cheeks are getting red just thinking about the man who has taken up residence in your mind.

“You keep asking about him today! And murmuring stuff, do you have a crush on him?”

Their sudden questions make you retreat into your thoughts. Is it really like that? You’re not sure; you’ve never named what you feel for Minho before. You just… let it happen. You can’t control your feelings.

You hear the door slam against the wall, shaking the windows. It makes you flinch.

Minho enters the room, and there’s a brief silence. No one says a word. His face is covered in wounds—split lip, cut above his eyebrow. You feel dizzy just looking at him.

“What do you have to look at?” he spits out, as if surprised that everyone is paying attention to him now. No one ever has before.

But he’s hurt, and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand seeing anyone hurt, especially someone you care about, even if you haven’t fully acknowledged that yet. You almost jump out of your seat, making a loud screeching sound as the chair drags across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. Your friends murmur something to try and convince you to sit back down, but you can’t.

Your eyes are locked on him.

You see the surprise in his expression when you stand up for him, but he doesn’t move a muscle. He knows that you care, more than everyone else does. You walk toward him, the only sound in the room is the soft thudding of your shoes on the floor. Your mind keeps whispering: Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. You’ve never skipped a class. You’ve always been the perfect student. But… oh, screw it.

You grab Minho’s hand, and he hisses at the feeling of your skin against his. His hand feels almost burning hot, and his cheeks flush red, but he won’t admit it. He doesn’t pull away.

You walk out of the class, his eyes on you the whole time, and you feel so stupid right now.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he mumbles, tightening his grip on your hand, but not letting you go.

You take him to the nursing room, opening the door and guiding him to one of the beds. “Let me take a look,” you insist, but when you try to pull away, his hand stays firmly holding yours. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to steady yourself, his thumb brushing gently against your knuckles.

He lets you grab some bandages and disinfectant, and you start to carefully tend to the cut on his lip. You stand right in front of him, and he moves his thighs apart to give you more room. His hands continue to play with the edge of your skirt, making your whole body tremble.

You can’t stop yourself from crying at the sight of his injuries. Your hands touch his face with the utmost gentleness, surprising even him.

Minho chuckles, his eyes softening as he looks down at you. “Why are you crying, blondie?”

The nickname makes you chuckle, even as your cheeks flush. He’s not the first to call you that, but you wonder if he’s the last.

“Nothing. I… I don’t like it when people I care about get hurt,” you sniffle, and he stays silent, his face unreadable as always.

“What happened, if I can ask?” he finally says, his voice soft. For the first time, Minho seems genuinely interested in what you have to say, and you let your thoughts spill out.

“Two months ago, my dad’s business got attacked by a hero. He stabbed my father and then just left, letting him go with the police. Turns out, he had some sort of side business with drugs or something. I didn’t know, so I don’t feel totally okay these last couple weeks.”

Minho’s chuckle interrupts your words, and you look up at him, confused. His lips curl into a smile, showing his teeth.

“A hero? No hero would do that in such a cool way, princess,” he says, pausing, then noticing your confused expression. “I mean, it’s still horrible, but he took your father for a good reason. I wouldn’t call him a hero, though. Pff.”

Minho almost seems pissed off at the way you described Deadpool as a hero, and you can’t help but chuckle as you move his jaw gently to check for other cuts.

“You seem almost like a fan.”

“He sounds cool. Are you scared of him now?” His voice deepens, making shivers run down your spine. He stops you with his eyes, his hands slowly finding their way to the back of your thighs. “Are you scared, bunny?”

“I’m… not.”

“You sound like you are,” he smirks, and the way he says it makes your stomach do flips. He stands up, and you’re suddenly facing him, though your small height only reaches his chest. Minho walks slowly toward you, and you instinctively move backward until your back hits the wall.

You’re trapped.

“I’m not scared!” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut slightly as he leans in, his face just inches from yours. His skin smells faintly like disinfectant. “Turned on then?”

His low giggle makes you whimper under his touch, because you know he’s right. He knows exactly what effect he has on you. He suddenly steps back, making you whine in frustration at the loss of contact.

“Why are you teasing me like that?” you ask, your voice trembling.

His laugh fills the room, making you blush. It’s the first time he doesn’t look like someone you should be scared of. He just looks like Minho.

“God, you’re damn cute, bun,” he chuckles.

After that, things between you and Minho changed. He started asking you out more frequently, texting you just to ask if you’d help him with assignments (though you knew it was really an excuse to talk to you). He was completely unaware that you knew his game, and it became so normal that you forgot about everything else when Minho was around. You felt… safe.

And, he started feeling safe too. He stopped hiding under his hood, his smile became bigger and more genuine—especially when you were around. He looked so different now.

He was still your heavy rain, but somehow, you saw him a little more clearly.

One day, as you walked down the hall after your last class, you felt two hands cover your eyes, and you jumped in surprise. Minho’s chuckle reached your ears, and you blushed under his touch as you gently grabbed his wrists to move his hands away.

“I got you again, bunny.”

“You always get me, Min,” you chuckled, walking alongside him as his arm draped over your shoulders, his smile just for you.

“Wanna grab some dinner together?” he asked.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Sorry, have to work with Mom.”

“Oh, you guys opened the Pizze—?” He stumbled over the words, unsure of how to pronounce it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s Pizzeria, and yes, we did. It’s hard without my dad, but it’s the best we can do for now.”

Minho nodded, walking beside you, not letting you stray from his side. His phone buzzed, but you were more important right now.

“Okay then, I’ll help.”

“What?”

“H-E-L-P, is your Italian mind not working today?” he teased, pressing his finger against your forehead and moving you closer to his chest.

You missed the green light, so you stopped, and Minho leaned in closer, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. His phone buzzed again, and you could feel it against your back.

“Your phone,” you said, trying to move away from his warmth.

“I heard it the first time,” he mumbled, his chin resting on top of your head. The gesture made you blush. “Still don’t care about it.”

As you both started walking again, a car honked loudly, and you turned just in time to see a web stop it from crashing into you and Minho.

Minho moved you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Are you okay?” he whispered, holding your shoulders gently as his hands moved up to your cheeks.

Your heart raced as you nodded, still shocked by the sudden near-miss.

That was the first time you ever saw Spider-Man in your life.

Xoxoxo.

When you were a child, people always thought you could be a heroine.

You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the way you always find a compromise between two sides, or the way you smile even when it hurts. You never really got it. Whether you had powers or not, the thought of sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, looking at the city as if it were yours, never seemed right.

Because New York was never yours.

You get up here, but it never feels like home. You like the view, but you never loved it. It’s the same as when you accept your fate and don’t try to go beyond it. You adapt easily—pretty much everywhere.

At university. At work. With your family. With your friends. Everywhere, it’s like you blend in, and sometimes, that’s good enough to survive. Because that’s how you are. You jump around, survive, and keep going.

At least that’s what you do.

You can’t imagine yourself as a hero. Not even an antihero or a villain, if that would interest anyone. You’re just... you. In your easy life that somehow turned chaotic, full of people trying to change it.

Like Han Jisung.

You’re walking down the hall, your mind scattered because this morning, after you left your house, Minho wasn’t there at the gate. He said he was sick, but he’s never sick. His immune system is practically immortal. But you didn’t ask questions. You just texted back with a light pout.

[ minho 07:50am ] too early to pout like that bunny.

His text makes you chuckle lightly. He knows you so well that he can picture you pouting like a baby because he’s not there with you. What you don’t know is that Deadpool is sitting on top of a skyscraper, swinging his legs over the edge with his phone in hand, watching you walk down the street. He knows exactly what you’re doing because he’s watching you from afar, but... you don’t know that.

And that breaks Minho’s heart a little, because he’s so scared of telling you who he really is. So, he decides to lie for your own good. If people who are against him knew that he cared about someone as much as he cares about you, that would put you in too much danger.

As you walk into the university, Minho sighs deeply, knowing that inside those walls, he can’t protect you like he should. It would be too crazy to follow you into the classes dressed in his costume; it would draw too much attention. Even though he likes the attention, he only wants your attention.

Minho stops when he hears a whistle from behind. He glances over his shoulder and instinctively reaches for his gun in the holster. “Hey, hey, go easy, Deady,” the voice behind him says, making him groan in annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

Spider-Man walks up beside him with a toast in his mouth, the mask slightly raised as his blue electric costume catches the older man’s eye. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care?”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he notices his friend with a backpack. “So, you go to this university?”

“Good try, Deady, but I’ve gotta go,” Jisung says, faking a flattery with a smirk. He finishes his toast and pulls on his jacket before swinging away with his webs.

You’re walking down the hall, your headphones in, blasting noisy music that perfectly reflects your morning, when you realize that today marks exactly six months since your father was sent to jail.

Your mind feels blurry. You can’t figure out why he did it—why he started selling drugs right under your nose at the shop. You never noticed. You never noticed because his smile was always the same, and the money never increased enough to shock you. You never thought something like that could happen to you, to your mother, to your grandmother.

It’s hard to have a conversation with them now. Your eyes tear up, or your anger tries to cover the gentle tone you want to use with them. 

Something changed in you that day. It’s hard to say what, hard to explain why. It just happened. You started sneaking into your room through the window at night, almost like an uninvited guest in your own home. Your mother is always curled up on the couch, a blanket over her body as she tries to get a few hours of sleep between her two jobs. 

Your grandmother always stares at the little window in the living room.

She doesn’t do the crosswords anymore, and you’re too tired to fight about it. You’re too tired to keep doing the things that once felt normal. Slowly, you’re drowning in your thoughts, buried in a fog that you can’t shake off.

You’re so deep in your head that you don’t notice when you bump into someone. You quickly turn, almost tripping over your own feet. “God, are you okay?” you ask, your eyes wide with surprise.

Jisung immediately grabs your shoulders to steady himself, his face flushed with embarrassment and the adrenaline of the sudden movement. “Oh no, no, it’s alright,” he chuckles, offering you a smile. “You’re quite nimble for a clumsy girl, hm?”

“Am I?” You chuckle, feeling a little shy as you blush. His hands move away from your shoulders, and his posture relaxes, a moment of calm in the bustling hall. He recognizes you immediately. Even though he saves countless people during his workday, your face sticks in his memory like a bright, sunny day. He remembers the way you smiled at him that one time, right before he swung off into the night. It made him feel so alive, like his little secret was worth it. It’s not such a little secret, but he’s not quite confident about it yet.

“Yeah, yeah, you look like it,” he grins lightly, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

You try to catch a hint of awkwardness in his eyes, but his entire presence is so warm and friendly, it makes you feel like you should talk to him more than you’d planned. “Did we ever meet before?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

Jisung shakes his head, blushing as he fights hard to keep his big secret hidden. He’s not great at lying, and his nerves are making it harder. “I don’t think so. But I’d definitely remember a pretty girl like you.”

Just then, you hear your best friend calling you from the end of the hall. You check the time—your class starts in exactly two minutes. “Well, I’m gonna see you around…?” you trail off, unsure.

“Jisung,” he responds softly, offering a light smile. He moves his hand closer to yours, and you hesitate for just a moment before quickly grasping it. “Call me Jisung.”

You give him a quick nod, feeling a flutter in your chest, and with one last smile, you turn to walk away, your steps quick as you hurry toward your class. “I’ll see you around, Jisung!” you call over your shoulder.

Later that night, you're sitting at the edge of the Manhattan Bridge, looking down at the city. 

Why does everything feel so small? You’re surrounded by the massive skyline of New York City, yet everything seems distant, as if none of it belongs to you. Your feet dangle off the edge, the cold breeze ruffling your hair as the city lights twinkle below. 

It’s beautiful, but somehow it doesn’t feel like yours. You wish you could find a way to make it feel like home.

You feel the city suffocating you, its weight pressing against your chest, wrapping around your neck, slowly squeezing, making you ache, making you want to escape. Escape from New York, escape from your father, escape from everything.

But at the same time, guilt claws at you. How could you even imagine leaving? Leaving your mother, your grandmother, Minho. You can’t picture your life without him in it. He’s become so embedded in your being, so close to your heart, that he’s the only emotion you can feel that doesn’t suffocate you. His voice, his touch, they make you feel safe, loved.

You blush at the thought of him, your heart racing. You shake your head lightly, sighing deeply. You don’t understand why you feel this way. You never minded his teasing or sarcastic comments. He was always there when you needed him—when your dad called from prison, when your grandma came home, when you had that horrible fight with your mother. He never judged you; he just gathered up the clothes on the floor, gave you a gentle smile, and said, “Let me clean you up.”

He was there. And right now, you just want to run away. You just want to hide, to escape into your feelings, to forget about the reality that hurts more than you can bear. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you look down at the street below. The jump seems so easy, the only escape that might bring you relief.

“Hey, blondie,” a voice calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. A blue electric suit lands beside you, the figure settling next to you on the edge of the bridge. “You getting ready for a big jump?”

You squirm in surprise, your heart skipping a beat as you turn to face him. Spider-Man’s mask stares back at you. He sounds so casual, almost like he’s talking about something mundane, but the weight of his words makes your pulse quicken.

“I- maybe?” You stammer, unsure of what you’re really saying, but something about his presence calms you just a little.

His head tilts, and you can almost imagine the confused expression hidden beneath the mask. “Maybe? So I should stay here?”

You chuckle nervously, shaking your head. “No, I think, I think you can actually go.”

He falls silent for a moment, and you feel the tension in the air as you both stare at the city below. Then, in a low murmur, Spider-Man speaks again, his voice softer now. “Do you like the view?”

You let your gaze drift back down to the streets, the chaotic pulse of Manhattan. The endless motion of the people, the sounds of the city filling the air. The lights blur into the darkness.

“No,” you whisper, your voice tinged with bitterness. “I hate it.”

He doesn’t respond at first, the quiet hanging between you, and then, with a gentle sigh, Spider-Man speaks again, his tone full of something you can’t quite place. “It’s not the view that matters, you know. It’s what you do with it.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you just stare down, lost in the noise of the city, feeling like an outsider in a world that’s moving far too fast for you to catch up. “Do you?”

“Jeez, no,” he giggles, and that sound makes you turn in his direction. He’s still looking at you. “Really? But… you’re Spider-Man.”

You chuckle as his hand moves really close to your thigh, just in case you get too close to the edge and fall. “And? Can’t Spider-Man like the city he’s from?”

“No, I mean, you protect this city.” His voice is still laced with confusion, running through your thoughts. 

“Protecting the city and liking the city are two different things for me, sweetheart.”

You nod lightly, chuckling, because you can feel the meaning behind his words. It’s the same for you. You don’t like the city, but you’re still here. For your mother, your grandma, and maybe even Minho. You're starting to accept that, too.

“Can I show you something?” Spider-Man asks softly, almost like a whisper that's hard to hear. You turn your head to him and nod lightly, still confused.

Suddenly, you’re in his arms. Swinging through the city. You scream as you hold onto him, his arm wrapped around your waist. “Oh my god!”

“You’re a natural,” Jisung chuckles as he swings between the skyscrapers, his strong arm holding your waist as you try not to scream every time his webs drop you dead weight among the city lights.

“This is my favorite way to see the city.”

Looking down at the streets, your stomach drops. The beautiful view stretches out before your eyes. “Oddio... Oddio!” Every time you get flustered or scared, you end up speaking in Italian. Jisung laughs loudly when he hears your very loud scream.

“What was that, angel?” His voice is right against your ear, making you blush and feel butterflies all over your stomach. You should say something, but before you can, he gently sets you down right in front of your parents' little pizza place. You can feel that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his arm slowly moves away from your waist.

“Well, I... I should go.”

“Spider-Man, I... can I ask you a favor?”

He stops before he can move or step away from you, his eyes focused on you. You can tell by the movement of his mask that he’s happy. “Yes?”

Your eyes fill with determination. You want revenge. “Can you... go after Deadpool? He did... something to me and my family. We— I need revenge for that. I want him in jail.”

Xoxoxo.

Jisung’s body stiffens for a moment, his grip on the web shooter tightening, a slight pause in his usually confident demeanor. The words “revenge” and “Deadpool” sit heavily in the air between you, and for a split second, you see something in his movements shift, a hesitation he wasn’t expecting to feel.

“You want revenge…” His voice drops lower, more serious now. “I get it. I really do. But... it’s not as easy as you think. Deadpool’s not someone you can just throw in jail. He’s... complicated. And I’m not sure if you really want to get mixed up with him, trust me.”

Your heart sinks a little as you meet his gaze, but you refuse to back down.

“Why?” you ask, the anger and hurt barely kept in check. “What’s so complicated about him? He hurt my family—my father, my life.”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Because he’s not someone you can just punch out and walk away from. Deadpool’s... unpredictable. And he’s not afraid of anything, especially not jail.” 

His eyes soften, looking at you with a mix of pity and concern. “I don’t want you to make things worse for yourself. You’ve already been through so much. You deserve more than to become tangled in all of this.” The air between you both feels thick, like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, one wrong move could send everything spiraling.

“But I need to do something,” you say, your voice trembling a bit. “I can’t just sit here while he... while my family is still paying for what he did.”

There’s a long pause. The city lights flicker in the background as the sound of traffic hums faintly in the distance. Finally, Jisung steps closer, his voice quieter now. “I can’t promise you that I can take down Deadpool, not the way you want me to. But... I’ll help. I’ll help you find a way, okay? You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You feel a mix of relief and tension wash over you. It’s not the answer you were hoping for, but it’s something. “Thank you,” you whisper, your heart still heavy, but somehow a little lighter.

He smiles, though there’s a sadness in his eyes you don’t miss. “I’ll be watching your back. You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out.”

As he swings off into the night, you’re left standing there, more determined than ever. The weight of what you’re about to do hasn’t fully hit you yet. But with Jisung’s promise, it feels like a step toward taking control of your own fate—however dangerous it may be.

The quiet hum of the classroom buzzes around you as you sift through your notes, trying to focus. You barely hear your professor call out the next group project announcement until you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around, expecting to see your best friend, but instead, it's Minho, grinning like a cat with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, huh?" he teases, leaning casually against the back of your chair.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. "Wait, what do you mean 'stuck with you'?"

Minho just shrugs, a smug grin spreading across his face. "The professor just assigned us all to groups. You and I are in the same one, lucky you."

You groan internally. You're always paired with Minho for projects, and while you do work well together, it usually means a whirlwind of sarcastic remarks and endless back-and-forth teasing. At least with Minho, you can sort of predict what he’ll do next, but what’s going to throw you off this time is that, somehow, Jisung is in the same group.

You glance over at him, seated in the row behind you. He’s got his headphones in, but his eyes are clearly already scanning the room. He makes brief eye contact with you, and his lips curl up into a friendly, almost too-casual smile. You can feel your heart skip a beat, your brain reminding you that this Jisung is just a normal guy, and nothing about him should make your chest tighten like that.

Minho notices, of course, and his smirk grows even wider. "Well, aren’t we lucky. The trio is complete."

You try to keep a straight face as you turn back to Minho. "Seriously? You’re telling me we’re working with Jisung on this? This is gonna be a disaster."

“Hey,” Minho says with a sly grin, “you know what they say about working with the best.” He murmurs with his hand that moves around your neck froom behind, tilting your head upward, his lips placing a soft peck against your forehead.

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. With Minho, you’ve learned to expect the unexpected. And with Jisung? Well, you’re still trying to figure out what to think about him. His smile always seems to catch you off guard, and there’s something about the way he talks to you that makes you feel like he’s both a stranger and someone you should know.

The professor calls out, “Alright, your group work begins today. Make sure you all meet up after class to discuss the project. I’ll see you all next week with your first ideas.”

You gather your things, watching as Jisung approaches your desk, a lazy walk that hides the subtle confidence in his stride. His casual smile never falters as he slides into the chair next to you, and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Focus, Y/N. This is just a project, nothing more.

“Well, looks like it’s just the three of us, huh?” Jisung says lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let’s make it a fun one.”

You can feel Minho beside you rolling his eyes, but he can’t help the grin that tugs at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure this will be... interesting.”

The awkward silence stretches for a second, and you’re the first one to break it, trying to steer the group back on track. “So, uh, we should probably discuss the project.”

“Right,” Jisung says, leaning forward. “What’s the project about?”

You pull out the assignment paper, scanning the details for any indication of what kind of project it is. “It’s about urban development,” you say slowly, trying to piece it together. “We have to come up with an idea to improve the city's infrastructure. Maybe something with public spaces?”

Minho’s eyes gleam with an idea. “What about incorporating green spaces? Like rooftop gardens or more parks. It’d balance out the concrete jungle.”

You nod in agreement, but Jisung leans back in his chair, his hand resting on his chin thoughtfully. “That could work, but what if we went further? We could add eco-friendly transportation options. Maybe a system of public bikes, but with solar charging stations?”

“Solar charging stations?” Minho scoffs lightly. “You’re really thinking this through, huh?”

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, his smile never leaving his face. “Gotta go big or go home. Plus, think about how cool it’d be to have a whole city powered by solar energy.”

You catch yourself smiling, despite yourself. Jisung’s enthusiasm is oddly contagious, and it’s hard not to get drawn into his excitement. You’re still trying to figure out why he makes your heart race, but for now, you can focus on the project.

“Alright,” you say, tapping the table to get their attention. “Let’s make sure we keep it realistic, though. We want to wow them, but we don’t want to bite off more than we can chew.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho mutters. “Realistic. You’re no fun, Y/n.”

But even with the teasing and the sarcastic remarks, you can tell that Minho is fully on board. The trio might be unconventional, but you can’t deny that it feels... right. Even if it’s chaotic, even if you don’t know where this project will take you, you can’t help but feel that something’s shifting.

The way Jisung looks at you sometimes. The way Minho’s teasing feels strangely affectionate. You wonder, for the briefest moment, if you’ve gotten yourself tangled in something bigger than just a group project.

You push the thought aside as you gather your things, ready to take the next step. 

It’s just a project... right?

It’s only been a few days since the project began, but already, Minho and Jisung are at each other’s throats. Every time they meet, it’s like they’re competing over who has the better idea, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as they try to outdo each other.

You’ve been here before—watching them argue over the smallest details, throwing passive-aggressive comments about each other’s suggestions. It’s a mess. But somehow, even amidst the chaos, you can tell they’re both passionate about it.

"Okay, let’s hear it," Jisung says, leaning forward with his arms crossed, giving Minho an expectant look. 

"You think adding more green space to the city is gonna solve everything?"

Minho doesn’t miss a beat, shaking his head. "No, I’m saying it’s a good start. You want your solar-charging bike stations to work, right? Well, people are gonna need a place to park those bikes, so why not give them green spaces to make the whole thing work?"

"You’re missing the bigger picture," Jisung counters. "How do you even plan to make the city’s infrastructure sustainable long term? You’re just throwing a few plants in there and calling it eco-friendly."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. You thought this was supposed to be a group project, but instead, you’ve been stuck in the middle of what feels like a never-ending battle.

“Guys, can we just—” you start, but you’re quickly cut off as Minho raises his voice a little too loudly. “Are you seriously doubting the impact of green spaces? People need a breath of fresh air in this city! They can’t live in a concrete jungle!”

“Oh, I’m not doubting it. But you're not thinking of the logistics. People are gonna need more than just a place to hang out. They need sustainable solutions! Bikes that can be charged while in use, not just a place to park them like some… park bench project!”

Their bickering intensifies, and you’re starting to get a headache. But it’s at that moment that the tension escalates in a way you weren’t expecting.

Minho, who had been pacing the room, pauses for a second, his eyes narrowing. “Wait, are you—are you seriously thinking we’re just going to throw a couple of solar panels on some bikes and call it a day? You’re acting like this is all just some random side project.”

Jisung’s face flushes a deep red, and you can see his jaw clenching. “What exactly are you implying?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp, making the air around you seem tenser.

You watch the two of them, sensing the rising tension. The air feels thick, like it’s on the verge of snapping, and you’re starting to get a headache just from the silent battle of wills between them.

This project was supposed to be a team effort, but now it feels like a competition—one that you don’t have the energy to be part of.

“Okay, I’m gonna grab some food. You two can sort this out," you say, standing up quickly, eager to escape the mounting tension. You throw a glance over your shoulder at both of them, then exit the room before either can protest.

The door clicks shut behind you, leaving them alone.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of Jisung exhaling a frustrated breath.

Minho crosses his arms, clearly not ready to let it go. “I still don’t understand what your problem is with this. The whole point is—”

“The whole point?” Jisung interrupts, his voice rising just slightly, a sharp edge to his tone. “The whole point is sustainability, Minho. Something you obviously don’t care about if you think throwing in a couple of parks is gonna solve anything.”

Minho takes a step forward, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Oh, you mean like swinging from building to building, throwing out webs and calling it saving the city like that stupid spiderman guy?”

Jisung’s eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something dangerous passes through them.

"Don't talk like you understand anything about real responsibility," Jisung mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the edge of the table.

Minho opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, Jisung, in a flash of irritation, shoots a web from his wrist. It zips across the room and lands directly over Minho’s mouth, completely covering it, rendering him silent.

Minho’s eyes widen in shock, but instead of fighting back, he stands frozen, his eyes locked on Jisung. The tension in the room shifts, no longer about the project, but the quiet understanding that passes between them.

Jisung pulls back the web, letting it retract with a flick of his wrist, but he keeps his gaze firm. “That’s better,” he says, his tone low. “Now, we can actually talk.”

Minho blinks a couple of times, his jaw clenched in silent frustration. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, as if clearing away the remnants of the web.

“What about that Deadpool old man, huh?” Jisung finally says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as if he’s just given up. "The city’s supposed ‘hero.’ A real pain in the ass.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Jisung’s eyes widen at the slip, and the realization hits him like a punch to the gut.

“That’s... definitely something Deadpool would say,” Jisung mutters, his voice lowering as his brain races to catch up. He gives Minho a long look, then shakes his head, realizing it.

Minho rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, well. Guess you’re not the only one with secrets.”

Jisung’s expression softens for a moment, before he quickly changes the subject, looking at the door. “We can’t tell her.”

Minho looks back at Jisung, his face a mix of frustration and reluctant agreement. "Yeah, I know. She can't find out. Not yet. She's already too involved as it is."

Jisung nods, but there’s a part of him that’s still uneasy. He can’t quite shake the feeling that this is all about to spiral out of control.

"I don't want her to see us like this," Jisung mutters, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve gotta keep this normal, at least for her.”

“Yeah,” Minho agrees quietly. “She doesn’t deserve to be caught in all this mess. Not yet.”

Another long silence passes, the weight of their secret identities hanging over them like a shadow. They both know the stakes are higher than ever now, but for the moment, there’s nothing they can do but play along.

A few moments later, you return with some snacks, unaware of the tension that’s still hanging in the air. Both Minho and Jisung are back to their usual selves—trying their best to ignore the secret that they just shared between each other.

You walk in, trying to act casual, but even you can feel the weird vibe in the room. “Alright, I’m back,” you say, offering them both a smile as you sit down.

Minho and Jisung glance at each other before turning back to you, each of them hiding something behind their smiles.

“Everything okay?” you ask, trying to read the room.

“Yeah, fine,” Minho answers quickly, his voice too smooth. “Let’s get back to work, yeah?”

Jisung nods in agreement, though his eyes still flicker toward Minho, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

You sigh, relieved that the atmosphere has lightened, even if just a little. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

As you dive back into the project, the two of them work silently next to you. But underneath the surface, the tension hasn’t gone away—not yet. The secrets they’re keeping from you feel heavier than before, and you can't shake the feeling that something's not right.

But for now, you’re all pretending things are normal. And in that moment, that’s all you can do.

The city hums around you as you walk down the busy street, your mind still preoccupied with the tension from earlier. The strange atmosphere between Jisung and Minho hasn't quite left you, but you try to shake it off, focusing instead on the project you need to finish. You're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don't notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it’s too late.

A pair of rough hands grip your shoulders from behind, yanking you into an alleyway before you can even react. The world tilts as you struggle, trying to break free, but the stranger’s grip is ironclad. Your heart starts to race, panic rising in your chest.

"Hey, what do you—" you try to shout, but your voice is quickly smothered by the hand clamped over your mouth.

The man pulls you deeper into the alley, his breath hot and rancid against your ear. You kick and squirm, but it's no use. He's too strong. You feel the cold steel of a knife pressed against your side as he threatens in a low voice, “Quiet down, sweetheart. We’re just going for a little ride.”

Your breath quickens, panic flooding your veins as your mind races for a way out. But just as you're starting to lose hope, you hear the unmistakable sound of a webbing snap against the air.

“Let her go!” a voice shouts from above, clear and demanding. Your heart skips a beat. It's Spider-Man.

The kidnapper freezes, his eyes darting up to the rooftop above. Jisung, in full Spider-Man mode, swings down on a web with perfect timing, landing in a crouch right between you and your captor.

“Spider-Man, huh?” The kidnapper sneers, his grip tightening on your arm. “You think you can stop me?”

Jisung’s posture shifts, ready for action. “I don’t think, I know.”

Before the man can make another move, Spider-Man shoots a web directly at his hand, pulling the knife out of his grip with lightning speed. The man yells in frustration as he tries to retreat, but Spider-Man’s webbing quickly ensnares his feet, pinning him to the ground.

“Not so fast,” Jisung says, his voice steady, though there’s a flicker of anger beneath it. He’s clearly furious that someone dared to hurt you. “You’re not going anywhere.”

But before Jisung can deal with him, a loud crash rings through the alley. You turn just in time to see a figure in a blue and red suit landing with a heavy thud right next to you.

Deadpool.

“Sorry I’m late,” Minho—Deadpool—says, his voice muffled under the mask. He holds up a pair of handcuffs, looking at the struggling kidnapper. “I had to stop for tacos. You know, priorities.”

Jisung shoots him a look, his eyes wide behind his mask. “You’re—how did—what are you—” Deadpool shrugs, completely unfazed. “I’ve been around. Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, you were the one who—?” You gasp, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Minho grins beneath his mask. “Yeah, yeah. Deadpool, the guy who totally didn’t save you from getting kidnapped.”

You blink, feeling like the world is spinning. Your brain scrambles to process this new information, but the kidnapper—who is still struggling beneath Spider-Man’s grip—gives you no time to think.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as your eyes dart between the two masked figures—one holding your attacker with webbing, the other acting like this was all some twisted joke.

Your body tenses. “No,” you mutter, your voice trembling with disbelief. “No—I don't want your help.” You jerk away from Minho as he approaches. “Get away from me!”

“Y/n—” Jisung tries, but you take a step back, heart racing, chest heaving. “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?!” you snap. 

“You’re Deadpool. You ruined my life. You turned my dad in without saying a word.” 

Minho flinches, and for a second, he doesn't speak. Then, slowly—deliberately—he reaches up and pulls off his mask. Your breath catches. His dark eyes meet yours, and they're not smug, not cocky, not playful.mThey're full of guilt.

So you see it, it’s Minho, your breath itches as you feel the world spinning under your feet, “You disappeared. You lied to me every day while pretending to be my friend—”

“I did it for the best,” he says quietly. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d hate me. But I couldn’t let him keep hurting people, Y/N. And I couldn’t watch you act like it wasn’t destroying you too.”

Your throat tightens, hot and raw. “You had no right.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.” A heavy silence hangs between you for a long moment—until Jisung steps forward. “Minho…” he murmurs, but Minho just glances at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Spider-Boy. You’re next.” Jisung sighs and turns to you slowly. “Y/n... I didn’t want it to happen like this either.”

Your eyes narrow. “You knew?”

“No.” His voice breaks slightly. “I didn’t know he was Deadpool until a few days ago. But I knew I was keeping something from you too.” Then—without another word—he reaches for his mask and pulls it off.

Your breath stops. “Jisung…” His name falls from your lips like a broken prayer.

“I swear I was going to tell you. I didn’t want you to be caught in this. But then you asked me to go after Deadpool and—” he trails off, eyes flicking guiltily to Minho. “It got messy.” You stumble backward, shaking your head as you try to process everything. Two people you trusted. Two people who lied.

“You both… lied to me. Every day.”

Neither of them speaks. And that hurts the most.

Your eyes sting. “Get out of my way.”

“Y/n—” Minho begins.

“No. Both of you,” you say firmly, lifting your chin despite the tears beginning to fall. “I don’t care if you were trying to protect me. I didn’t ask you to. I asked for honesty.”

Then, stepping around them both, you walk away—heart pounding, steps shaky, mind spinning—leaving behind the only two people who ever made you feel safe… and the only two who just destroyed that trust in seconds.

The university halls are loud again. Midterms are creeping in, people are caffeinated beyond logic, and the world moves on—even when your heart feels like it slammed into a wall.

You walk in with your headphones on, eyes locked on the floor, clutching your backpack like it’s a shield. You know they’re both there. Jisung, sitting by the window like always. Minho, slouched in his seat with a frown that could burn holes in steel. You don’t look at either of them.

“Y/n—” Jisung’s voice is soft. Desperate.

You keep walking.

Minho straightens up. “Can we talk?” 

Nope. Not today.

You walk past them, not even flinching when your name is called again. You do, however, pause at the back of the classroom. Your usual spot is next to Jisung—but your eyes drift to the middle row. There's an empty seat… next to someone new.

He’s relaxed, arms crossed, hair tousled in a perfectly effortless way. His black hoodie is slightly oversized, and he’s scribbling something in a notebook like he doesn’t care if the world burns down outside. He looks… safe. But also like he knows things.

You clear your throat softly. “Hey. Is this seat taken?”

He looks up, slowly. His eyes flicker with something unreadable before he smiles—crooked and quiet. “It is now.” You sit.

From across the room, both Minho and Jisung are frozen. You don’t even need to look to know that they’re staring. You can feel it. The tension. The questions. The confusion.

But you don’t care. Because the guy next to you smells like mint and ink, and when he turns the page in his notebook, you catch a glimpse of your name written in the corner. Wait—what?

Your head turns. “Did you—?”

He smirks, not looking at you. “Guess I’ve heard about you.”

“Who—” you pause, suddenly cautious. “What’s your name?”

He finally looks at you again, eyes darker than before but not unfriendly. “Chan. Bang Chan.”

The rooftop is quiet, bathed in soft neon glow from the city below. Somewhere far off, a siren wails, but for now, there's nothing urgent. Just two masked vigilantes sitting on the edge, legs dangling like bored teenagers.

Deadpool tosses a half-eaten taco in the air and catches it with his mouth. “So. She’s sitting next to that guy now.”

Spider-Man, sitting stiffly beside him, doesn’t respond. “I mean, what’s his deal anyway?” Minho continues. “Bang Chan? That sounds like the name of someone who’s too hot to be real. Like, he was made in a lab.”

“You’re literally a mercenary with swords and sarcasm. You don’t get to judge names.” Jisung glares through his mask, but Minho just shrugs, chewing noisily.

“She ignored both of us,” Jisung finally mutters.

Minho scoffs. “Yeah. Because we lied to her. Multiple times.”

A gust of wind brushes over the rooftop. Jisung fiddles with his web-shooter. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… didn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well, now she’s sitting next to Bang Perfect Jawline Chan and pretending we don’t exist.”

“She’s allowed to do that,” Jisung sighs, then adds under his breath, “Still sucks though.”

A pause.

“Think he’s… like us?” Minho asks suddenly.

“What do you mean? Like, charming and emotionally unavailable?”

Minho shoots him a dry look. “I mean powered, dumbass.”

Before Jisung can respond, both of their comms beep sharply in their ears. Robbery in progress. Lower East Side. Minho groans. “Duty calls.”

Jisung’s already jumping off the roof. “Race you there.”

The warehouse is chaos. Smoke. Screams. Gunshots. Spider-Man swings low, yanking a rifle out of someone’s hand while Deadpool flips over a stack of crates, landing a punch that sends a guy flying.

“Watch your left!” Jisung yells.

“I have a left!” Minho shouts back, slicing through a metal bar like it’s butter.

They fall into rhythm. Their synergy unmatched. Like muscle memory. But even while fighting, their minds are elsewhere. “You think she actually likes him?” Jisung pants, throwing a web at a goon’s legs.

Minho ducks under a punch. “She laughed at something he said. I saw it. Like, really laughed.”

“Oh god. Not the laugh.”

“She doesn’t laugh like that at us.”

“Yeah, because we keep secrets and get her kidnapped.” They both pause for a second, catching their breath behind a pillar. A moment of silence. “…We’re idiots,” Jisung mutters.

“Yeah,” Minho agrees. “But I’m a sexy idiot in red leather, so.” Jisung groans. “God, why is that actually true?” Another round of thugs comes charging, and both of them spring into action—still processing heartbreak, betrayal, and the fact that Bang Chan might be better at math and emotions.

The late afternoon sun filters through the tall university windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor. You're sitting in your new usual seat, notebook open, doodles replacing actual notes. Next to you, Bang Chan leans back in his chair, effortlessly casual, one arm slung behind you on the backrest—not quite touching, but close enough to make your skin prickle.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says, voice low and smooth, his eyes flickering over your expression.

You offer a half-smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t tease. Just nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s been a weird week.”

You glance sideways. “What do you mean?”

Chan taps his pen against the edge of your notebook. “I mean… masked guys crashing through warehouses. Unmarked cars around campus. You hanging out with those like it’s nothing.”

Your body stiffens. “I’m not hanging out with them.”

“Oh?” he says, eyebrows raised with mock surprise. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed real close back in the alley the other night.”

Your jaw tightens. You hadn’t told anyone about that. Not in detail. “Were you there?”

He smiles—not innocent. Not threatening. Just… knowing. “I hear things,” he says smoothly. “People like me, we tend to be in the right place at the right time.”

“And what kind of person is that?” The look he gives you makes your stomach twist. “Someone who sees the bigger picture.”

You go still, your pen frozen mid-word. Chan leans in slightly, his voice just above a whisper. “You don’t have to choose the losing side, Y/n. You’re smarter than that. Stronger, too.”

You swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do.” His smile drops, just for a second. “And when the time comes, I hope you remember who was honest with you.” Before you can respond, the professor walks in and the room shifts with movement. You stare forward, heart racing. Chan sits perfectly still beside you, flipping open his textbook like nothing happened.

But the air is heavy. Too heavy.

The wind whips gently at your coat as you climb the final ladder step onto the rooftop. The city glows below you, soft and buzzing with its usual rhythm—but tonight, it feels quieter. Like it’s waiting.

You shiver, even though the air isn’t that cold. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or instinct.

“Y/n?” Jisung’s voice comes first—his Spider-Man mask pulled halfway up his face, eyes wide with concern. Minho, still fully dressed as Deadpool, leans casually against the railing, but you can feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

“You okay?” Minho asks, dropping the casual act for once. “You said it was urgent.”

You take a breath. “It’s Chan.”

Both heads snap toward you immediately. “I think he’s—” You pause, rubbing your arms. “I think he knows something. About everything. About you guys. About me.”

Minho straightens. “What did he say?”

You explain everything—his tone, the things he mentioned, the weird feeling that clung to you long after the conversation ended. By the time you’re done, Jisung is pacing and Minho is practically vibrating with protective rage.

“He was trying to recruit you,” Minho mutters darkly. “Of course he was. I should’ve seen it.”

“I don’t understand why he’d come after me,” you say quietly.

“Because you’re important,” Jisung says instantly, almost without thinking. He stops pacing and looks at you, eyes soft. “To us.”

You look between them, suddenly overwhelmed by the way both their faces—masked or not—hold the same worry. Not frustration. Not disappointment. Just fear. For you. “I didn’t know who else to talk to,” you admit. “I can’t talk to anyone about this. Not my mom. Not even—myself, half the time.”

“You did the right thing,” Minho says, stepping forward. He places a gloved hand on your shoulder. “And next time he tries to talk to you alone, you tell us.”

Jisung’s jaw ticks. “Or better—don’t talk to him at all.”

“I can handle myself.”

“We know,” they say in unison.

You snort. “You two rehearsed that?” They glance at each other and both grin—just for a second, the tension breaks. Then Jisung’s expression hardens again. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Just… stay close, okay?”

Minho nods. “We’ve already lost you once. Not again.”

The smell of fresh pasta hits you the second you walk through the door. It's comforting, something that tethers you to the familiar—home. But tonight, the warmth of the restaurant doesn't comfort you the way it usually does. The tension has been thickening all day, ever since Chan walked in with that smile that somehow felt too practiced. Too knowing.

You find yourself sitting across from him again. The air is thick with the sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations around you, but here, at this table, it feels like it’s just the two of you. Chan leans back in his chair, that same relaxed smile on his face as he swirls the wine in his glass. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light. “About what?”

His smile deepens. “About you. And what you really want.”

The words sink in slower than you expect, and you feel your chest tighten. “What do you mean?”

Chan leans forward now, his voice dropping low, a velvet smoothness lacing every word. “I know your family’s situation. Your father’s... business deals. I know you’re struggling with all of it.” His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.“But I can help you, Aurora. We can help each other.” You frown, a cold chill running down your spine as his words swirl in your mind. 

The mafia. 

Your father. 

The dangerous world you tried to distance yourself from.

“I don’t need your help, Chan,” you say, your voice more defensive than you want it to be.

But Chan just smirks, unfazed. “I think you do. You think you can escape this? Leave it behind? But it’s in your blood, Aurora. You’re already in deeper than you realize.” You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a soft laugh.

“I’m not trying to pressure you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice almost too gentle. “I just want you to see the bigger picture. You don’t have to fight it. It’s just a matter of understanding the rules. Play the game, and it’ll be easier. For everyone.”

The weight of his words lingers in the air, like a noose tightening around your chest. You don’t want to admit it, but something about the way he speaks... sells you the idea. The idea that maybe, just maybe, you could stop running.

“Do you really think I’ll join you?” you ask quietly, your gaze shifting away from him.

Chan leans back again, his gaze never leaving you. “I think you already have.” He pauses, watching your face carefully. “But you just don’t realize it yet.”

You feel a sting of panic. The way he says it—it’s not a threat, but it’s a promise. A quiet, dangerous certainty.

“Chan, I—” You stop yourself, shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts. "I can't do this. I can't get involved in whatever game you're playing."

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he lifts his glass, swirling the wine again as he watches you carefully. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just think about it. Think about what you really want. What you need.”

The smile he gives you next is laced with something darker, something you can’t place—but it feels like the weight of everything pressing in on you. You don’t know if it’s his words or something else that makes you feel so... uncertain. You don’t know what this is. What he wants from you. But you can feel it. The pull.

Later that night, you find yourself walking home in the quiet of the city, trying to shake the feeling of Chan's words clinging to your thoughts. The sound of your footsteps echoes against the empty streets, and for a moment, you almost forget about the weight you’ve been carrying. But then you hear a soft rustle in the alleyway beside you.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn to look, but there’s nothing there. Just the darkness. You exhale, trying to calm your nerves. Just your imagination.

That’s when you hear it—a soft chuckle. And then, from the shadows, a figure steps out.

“Minho?” you gasp, already recognizing the red-and-black suit before you even see his face.

But he’s not Minho right now. It’s Deadpool. His mask is half on, and his eyes gleam behind the fabric.

“Are you out here alone, or did you decide to take up a side gig with the mafia?” Deadpool—Minho—teases, stepping closer with an amused smile.

You try to hide the uncertainty in your eyes, but you can feel his gaze drilling into you. “I—I’m fine,” you stammer, not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

Deadpool’s expression shifts, the teasing smile fading just slightly. “Chan’s been getting under your skin, huh?”

You blink at him, surprised by the accuracy of his words. “What are you talking about?”

But Minho just sighs. “I don’t trust him, Y/n. He’s not just some businessman. His ties run deep—deeper than you think.”

You don’t know why, but hearing him say that does something to you. It feels like a warning. Maybe even the kind of warning you should have heard sooner. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Minho says softly, stepping closer until you feel the heat of his body next to yours. “I care about you too much for that.”

And for the first time in a long while, you wonder if you really can escape the world Chan is offering. Or if Minho and Jisung are right. Maybe you’re already too far gone.

You, fully aware of the mafia's grip on the city and Chan’s role in it, feel a storm of conflicting emotions as you stand in front of him. You smile softly, masking your anxiety. Chan’s slick, charming demeanor never falters, the kind of person who could sell ice to an Eskimo. 

But today, he’s about to be his own downfall.

“So, what’s your proposal, Chan?” you ask coolly, playing the part of the interested, willing participant.

He leans forward, eyes gleaming with that familiar coldness.

“It’s simple, really. I can offer you everything. Power. Protection. A life of luxury. All you have to do is align yourself with the right side—my side.”You nod, pretending to consider it, all the while scanning the surroundings in your mind. The police are ready; the call has already been made. Chan continues to talk, oblivious to the trap you’ve carefully set.

“I’ve got deals lined up, Y/n. Big ones,” he continues. “I’m not just running the city from the shadows anymore. I’m taking over.”That’s when you see the moment. He’s letting his guard down, giving you the information you need. His pride, his arrogance—it's his biggest weakness.

"Right," you say, nodding again, trying to suppress the rising sense of triumph. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Chan leans back, grinning, clearly thinking he’s already won you over. "You’ll see soon enough. But first, let’s seal the deal, shall we?" He offers you a handshake.

-

The tension between Jisung and Minho hangs thick in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. The situation with you and Chan has pushed them both to the brink. 

They're angry—at themselves, at each other, at the world around them. Each word feels like a spark ready to ignite something much bigger. "You think you can do everything alone?" Jisung snaps, pacing, his voice full of frustration and something darker. His hands ball into fists, his knuckles white. 

"She doesn't need us to fight her battles! We should've been there! But you—" He points a shaking finger at Minho, the words bubbling up in his throat, "You never let me help her! You never let me—"

Minho’s mask tilts up slightly, his eyes blazing with a fire that mirrors Jisung's. He steps forward, voice low but simmering with anger. "I didn't let you help? Are you kidding me? I wanted to protect her just as much as you did!" His breath is heavy, the tension between them thickening with every word. "But we can't always be there! I... I care about you, Jisung. You’re not the only one who worries about your safety."

Jisung freezes. The words hit him like a sudden punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. For a split second, his world slows, and his anger fades into something deeper, something he doesn’t want to admit.

He looks at Minho, standing there, eyes burning with concern—concern for him. The realization stirs something within him, something he can’t ignore.

“You care about my safety?” Jisung’s voice is strained, his own frustrations bubbling back to the surface. “How would you know what it’s like to be the one who’s always left behind? To watch her go off without us, to know you can’t protect her—” His chest heaves with the emotion coursing through him.

But Minho’s not listening to the words anymore. Without thinking, the distance between them disappears in a flash. He moves so fast, it’s almost like the world has stopped moving entirely. His hands grip the sides of Jisung’s face, pulling him in, and before Jisung can even protest, Minho presses his lips to his.

The kiss is nothing like either of them expected. It's rough, urgent—passionate, desperate. All the frustration, the fear, the pent-up emotion they’ve kept locked away explodes into the moment. Minho’s lips crash into Jisung’s, and it feels like everything they’ve been holding back, every word they never said, is poured into this single, searing contact.

Jisung, momentarily stunned, feels his whole body stiffen before he melts into it. His hands find Minho’s waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel the connection. His breath mingles with Minho’s, each movement of their lips speaking volumes—words left unsaid, frustrations turned into something else entirely.

Minho’s fingers tangle in Jisung’s hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss, his body pressing against his. The kiss is messy, raw, but it’s everything they’ve both been too afraid to express—until now. There’s no holding back, no room for hesitation. It’s the release of all the weight they’ve carried for each other, for you, for everything that’s been left unresolved between them.

When they finally pull away, breathless and wide-eyed, the silence feels different. The world has shifted in a way neither of them expected. Neither says anything at first. The heat between them lingers, crackling in the air. Minho’s voice is soft, almost uncertain, but the emotions behind it are clear. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this...”

Jisung, still recovering from the kiss, barely manages a laugh, but it’s lighter than anything he’s felt in a long time. “Yeah, me neither...”

The fight feels smaller now, the anger dissipating like fog in the morning sun. What was once heated and full of tension now hangs suspended between them—a new understanding, one that’s only just begun to take root.

You hesitate for just a second. You lock eyes with him, your hand moving to meet his, but this is it. This is the moment where you get him, where you shut him down.

As soon as your hands clasp, a familiar sound fills the air: sirens. Chan’s face drops, his smug confidence vanishing in an instant. Police officers rush in, and you step back, watching as Chan is cuffed.

“You... you tricked me?” Chan hisses, fury flashing in his eyes as he’s led away.

You stay composed, a small smirk playing at your lips. "Tricked you? maybe."

Before you can fully process the feeling of relief, a voice rings out from above. "Y/n?!"

Your heart races, and you whip your head up to see none other than Spider-Man (Jisung) swinging down from the rooftop. He lands softly beside you, his mask hiding the concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, but before you can respond, his eyes flick to the police officers. “What’s going on here?”

You, despite everything, try to keep your composure, and with a flicker of uncertainty in your chest, you meet Jisung’s gaze. You see the moment he realizes what happened.

"You... called the police?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. "You caught him... you—"

You nod, your voice calm. “Yeah. I did.”

For a second, you both just stare at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in. Jisung, still in his Spider-Man suit, stands in front of you, visibly tense, unsure of what to feel. But you can tell that his protective instincts are at war with his pride.

"Good job," he says finally, voice softer. "But you shouldn't have done it alone." You look at him, your heart twisting a little. You know it’s coming. You know he’s going to be upset, and you don’t want to hurt him—especially after everything that’s been happening. You open your mouth to speak, but the words get caught in your throat.

Before you can say anything, Deadpool appears, and he glances at the scene, his mouth curving into a grin under the mask. “Did you get him, blondie?” he teases, his voice light, but there’s an edge to it that you know too well.

You nod. "Yeah, it’s done."

Minho steps forward, looking between you and Jisung. There’s something in his eyes now, a quiet intensity. "You don’t need to do this alone, you know."

You swallow, your heart racing. You know they’re both trying to process this moment in their own ways, but all you want is to be honest with them. "I just... I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. Not anymore."

The silence is thick, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It’s as if a weight has been lifted, but another one—much more personal—has settled in its place.

The city hums under the rooftop like a secret waiting to be heard. You’re sitting on the ledge, legs dangling, the wind teasing your hair. It’s late—too late for anyone sane to be out here—but the chaos inside you makes everything feel louder than the sirens below.

Jisung sits beside you, not too close. Not yet.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches the streetlights dance in your eyes. You’re the one who breaks the silence. “He told me… my dad had a deal with them. That’s why they’re watching me.”

Jisung’s hands clench. His jaw ticks. “Chan?”

You nod, eyes glazed. “I don’t know if he’s lying. I don’t even know who’s lying anymore.” There’s a stretch of silence, but it’s not cold. Jisung shifts closer, his knee brushing yours.

“I’d never lie to you,” he says softly. “Neither would Minho.”

You bite your lip, looking at him. “But you did hide things. Both of you.” He nods, guilt flickering in his gaze. “Because I thought I was protecting you. But now... I just want to be honest.” A pause. Then he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—his fingers brushing your cheek just a second too long.

“I care about you,” he whispers. “More than I should. And I know Minho does too.”

Your heart stutters. “I don’t want to choose,” you murmur.

“Maybe you don’t have to,” he says, almost breathless. You blink at him—surprised by his words, your lips parting as if to say something— And then the door creaks open.

Minho walks in. He stops mid-step. His gaze flicks from you to Jisung. His mask is off, and the mix of pain and jealousy in his eyes hits like a bullet. “Oh. I see,” he says dryly.

You stand, suddenly overwhelmed. “Minho—”

But he steps forward, dropping whatever sarcasm was building in his throat. “No. I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve told you first.”

“Told me what?”

Minho walks right up to you, gaze steady. “That I love you.” The air splits in two. You forget how to breathe. Jisung rises behind you, stunned silent. “Hyung…”

But Minho doesn’t stop. “And I know he does too,” he adds, nodding toward Jisung. “So maybe… just maybe… we stop pretending that this is a triangle. Maybe we stop pretending it’s a fight.”

You stare at both of them—heart thundering, hands shaking. “And if it’s not a fight… what is it?” you whisper. 

Minho’s eyes soften, though there’s still that edge to him—something sharp in the way he moves toward you. It’s as if he wants to reach out, but there’s hesitation. Not because he doubts you, but because he’s afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the depth of what’s between the three of you.

Jisung, standing just slightly behind Minho, seems lost in his own thoughts for a moment. He’s always been the more open one, the one who wears his heart on his sleeve—but there’s something about this moment that has him hesitating too.

“It’s us,” Jisung finally says, his voice low and steady, as though he’s putting everything on the line. “If you want it to be.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his words sink in. The weight of them presses against your chest. It’s not just a simple statement—it’s an invitation, a promise, a vulnerability laid bare. You meet his gaze, searching for any sign of uncertainty, any sign of fear in his eyes. But all you see is something deeper, something raw and real.

Minho steps forward, his gaze intense, his expression unreadable. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, and you feel the tension in the air shift. It’s like everything in the world has come down to this moment—the three of you, here, together.

“I think we’ve both been waiting for this,” Minho murmurs, his voice soft but firm. You can hear the weight of his words, the longing behind them, the way he’s been holding himself back for so long. “But it’s not just about us. It’s about you too.”

Your heart races as you try to steady your breathing. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in around you as the three of you stand there, caught in a moment that’s so heavy with meaning, it almost feels unreal.

There’s a flicker of something—something unspoken—between Minho and Jisung. It’s like they’re both reading the same page of an unwritten story, and they’re waiting for you to join them. It’s a moment of connection, of shared history, of desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long, it’s impossible to ignore any longer.

And then, before you can say another word, Minho steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The touch is light but filled with meaning, a simple contact that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften as he looks at you, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world disappears.

You feel Jisung behind you, his presence a steady, comforting force. He doesn’t speak, but you can feel his gaze on you, on the way your heart races, the way you’re trembling slightly in the face of everything that’s happening. He’s waiting too—waiting for you to make the decision, to step into something new, something uncertain but full of possibility.

The tension in the air is palpable, like a storm about to break, and you can feel it in your chest. The three of you are standing on the edge of something, something you’re not sure you’re ready for, but can’t walk away from. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady your thoughts.

Minho leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve got you, you know. In every way. If you want us.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize—you want them. Not in the way you thought you did before, but in a deeper, more honest way. This is no longer just about the tension or the heat between you. It’s about something more real, more fragile. It’s about letting go of the fear and the uncertainty and just letting yourself feel—truly feel—what it means to trust them, to be with them.

Jisung’s hand is on your back now, his touch warm and grounding, his presence comforting and steady. It’s all so overwhelming, so intense, that it almost feels like you’re floating. You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and see something soft and tender in his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he murmurs, his voice full of understanding. “But when you’re ready…” Minho nods, his fingers brushing against your skin. The warmth of his touch is enough to melt the walls you’ve built up around yourself. He’s here. They’re both here.

The space between you and Minho feels like it’s shrinking, and before you can think twice, his hand gently cups your face, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a longing there, something raw. It’s not rushed. It’s tender. Minho leans in slowly, closing the distance between you, and for a moment, time seems to stop. You breathe in together, the quiet tension before the kiss almost unbearable.

And then, his lips are on yours—soft, warm, gentle at first, as if he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. You let yourself fall into it, the moment feeling like it was always meant to be. He kisses you slowly, savoring the connection, the sweetness of the moment. It’s different from everything else that’s happened. It’s grounding. It’s real. You feel his other hand come up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he deepens the kiss, just enough to make your heart race. You melt into him, your own hands finding his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

When he pulls away, you’re left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. He’s still close enough for you to feel his warmth, his breath, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the vulnerability that he doesn’t often show.

Before you can say anything, you feel Jisung’s hand on your back, his touch like a silent promise. He doesn’t say anything either—he just pulls you toward him gently, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief moment, a silent question in his eyes.

Then, Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against yours, not as gently as Minho’s, but still soft—there’s an intensity to his kiss, something more urgent, more fiery. It’s like he’s trying to say everything that words can’t. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of him against your body.

You give in to the kiss, your lips moving with his, a rhythm that feels familiar already, even though it’s the first time. He tastes like something sweet, something all his own, and you lose yourself in it. The world outside seems to fade away as you sink into the kiss, your arms wrapping around him to keep him close.

When he pulls away, his eyes are darker, filled with something you can’t quite place, but you know it’s real. The air around you feels heavier now, charged with the weight of everything unspoken.

You can’t help the nervous, lighthearted laugh that escapes you as you look at both of them. Their gaze is so intense, so full of warmth, that it makes your heart flutter. “I think I need a moment to catch my breath,” you say, feeling your face heat up. “God, I need ten business days to recover.”

Their laughter fills the air, light and easy, but it’s enough to make your heart race. Minho chuckles and reaches out, brushing his fingers against your cheek in a surprisingly tender way. “I think we should go inside now,” he says, his voice teasing but filled with a softness that catches you off guard.

But Jisung’s eyebrow arches, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he smirks. “You dirty thinker.” His tone is playful, but the way he looks at you makes it clear he’s not letting that moment pass by without some kind of response.

You turn away, your heart hammering in your chest as you try to regain your composure. You didn’t expect things to escalate so quickly, but now, with both of them so close, everything feels different.

As you step toward the door, Minho and Jisung follow closely behind, their steps in sync. You can feel the weight of their eyes on you, their presence right behind you, and it only makes your heart beat faster. 

When you finally reach the door, you hesitate for just a second before opening it, but as soon as you do, you feel two warm hands gently grip your waist from behind, pulling you back against their bodies.

Jisung’s breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “You don’t get away that easily.”

Minho, on the other hand, leans in, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but gasp, your skin tingling at the touch. His lips move lower, brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you can feel the pressure of his kiss intensifying, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels in this single moment.

Jisung, not wanting to be left out, moves his lips to the other side of your neck, kissing and nibbling lightly, sending another wave of heat through your body. The way they both move in sync, each kiss sending jolts of pleasure and warmth to your core, makes it almost impossible to think straight. Their hands stay firmly at your waist, steadying you as they continue their gentle assault of kisses, their presence all-consuming.

Your body instinctively leans back into them, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The air around you feels charged with something electric, something undeniable. You can feel the weight of their affection—how much they want you, how much they care.

Jisung and Minho press in closer, their breaths hot against your skin. Your heart’s pounding so hard you swear they can hear it, a frantic little rhythm that matches the way your body trembles under their touch. 

Lips crashing and tongues tangling, before they guided you here—your bed looming like some unspoken promise in the dim light. Jisung’s on your left, his soft lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear, and oh God, it’s like he’s teasing you on purpose. 

His kisses are light at first, playful nips that make you squirm, but then he drags his tongue slow and wet along the curve of your neck, a low hum vibrating from his throat. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, voice all breathy and needy, like he’s losing himself in it. His hand slides up your arm, fingers digging in just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. He’s got that switch energy—sweet one second, then hungry the next—and it’s messing with your head in the best way.

Minho, though—he’s something else entirely. 

He’s on your right, and where Jisung teases, Minho claims. His mouth latches onto the other side of your neck, firm and unrelenting, teeth scraping against your skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. 

You gasp, your head tipping back without you even meaning to, giving him more room to work. 

“Stay still,” he growls low against your throat, and it’s not a request—it’s a command that sinks straight into your core, pooling heat between your thighs. His hand’s already on your waist, gripping tight, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there like he’s anchoring you in place. 

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his dark eyes glinting as he inspects the red bloom he’s left on your skin. “That’s better,” he says, voice smooth and dangerous, and you’re already melting under the weight of it.

Your shirt’s bunched up from their hands roaming, the cool air hitting your exposed stomach, and I can’t tell whose fingers are brushing there first—Jisung’s, light and curious, or Minho’s, deliberate and possessive. 

Either way, it’s too much and not enough all at once. 

Jisung’s lips move lower, kissing along your collarbone now, sloppy and eager, his breath hitching like he’s just as wrecked as you are. “Fuck, you’re so soft,” he whines, and there’s that switch again—he’s needy, almost begging, but then he bites down lightly, testing you and you let out a shaky little moan.

Minho’s not having that, though. His hand slides up to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and his lips hover just over yours, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. 

“Eyes on me,” he says, sharp and low, and you obey without thinking, your gaze locking with his. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just watches, like he’s savoring how flustered you’re getting, how your chest heaves with every ragged breath. 

Then Jisung’s tongue flicks over a sensitive spot on your neck, and you whimper, and Minho’s grip tightens. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “Tell me.”

“Y-yes,” You stammer, voice barely a whisper, and Jisung chuckles softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through me. 

They’re everywhere—Jisung’s messy kisses trailing lower, Minho’s control pinning you in place—and you’re dizzy with it, sinking deeper into whatever this is, your body begging for more.

Your room feels like it’s shrinking, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and something sweeter, maybe Jisung’s lingering cologne or Minho’s leather-and-gunpowder vibe clinging to him from some earlier chaos.

 You’re pinned between them, your pulse racing as their hands and mouths work you into a haze. The bed’s right there, mattress dipping slightly under your weight as they press you back, and you’re not sure how much longer your legs can hold you up with the way they’re unraveling you.

Jisung’s lips sliding from your collarbone down to the edge of your shirt, tugging at it with his teeth like he’s half-teasing, half-desperate. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathes, voice cracking with want, and his hands—those quick, clever hands—slip under the fabric, brushing your bare stomach. 

His touch is light at first, fingers dancing over your skin, but then he presses harder, palms flat and warm, and you feel the faintest tremble in them. He’s switching again—needy to bold—his mouth finding the curve of your chest, kissing through the thin material, a wet spot blooming where his tongue lingers. 

Your back hits the matress of your bed, you’re in ful display for them to play with.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he mumbles, and his teeth graze your skin, sending a jolt straight through you.

Minho’s not about to let Jisung have all the fun. He grabs your chin tighter, forcing your gaze back to him. “Don’t get distracted,”he says, voice low and dripping with that cocky authority, and then he’s kissing you—hard, messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s claiming every inch of your mouth. 

It’s overwhelming, the way he takes control, his other hand sliding down your side, hooking into the waistband of your pants. He pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “You’re ours tonight,” he says, and there’s no question in it—just pure, filthy promise. His fingers dip lower, teasing the edge of your underwear, and your breath hitches, loud in the quiet room.

Jisung’s not backing off, though—he’s tugging your shirt up higher now, exposing more of you to the cool air, and his lips follow, kissing a sloppy trail up your ribs. “So fucking pretty,” he whines, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to just rip everything off. 

Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction, but Minho just chuckles and pulls back, denying you.

"Someone's impatient," he murmurs, voice low and teasing. His breath ghosts over your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Tell us what you want, blondie. Beg for it."

As you arch into their touches, Jisung and Minho's gazes lock over your shoulder. The air crackles with tension, and before you can say another word, their lips crash together in a heated, desperate kiss. 

Jisung's hands grip Minho's shirt, pulling him closer as Minho's fingers tangle in Jisung's hair. They're kissing like they're starving for each other, tongues tangling in a messy dance that mirrors the chaos of their touches on your body. 

You're between them, every hitch in their breaths, and it's pushing you closer to the edge. Jisung's free hand roams over your hip, squeezing possessively, while Minho's fingers finally slip beneath your underwear, teasing your wet heat. 

Your sharp gasp breaks through their heated kiss, and they pull apart, panting. Jisung's eyes are dark with desire as he watches Minho's fingers brush against your pussy lips.

"Fuck, she's so wet," Minho murmurs, his voice rough with want. He presses a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling it just right to make your legs tremble. Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You like that, don't you? Being touched by both of us?"

His hand slides up your stomach, squeezing your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over your nipple. You can only whimper in response, overwhelmed by their touches, their words, the heat building inside you. “Oh fuck.”

Minho smirks at the view of you being so needy, “Yeah? Like it?”

You nods and he adds a second finger, pumping them in and out at a steady pace, his thumb circling your clit. Jisung's hand slips into your bra, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. They're working in sync, pushing you higher and higher, their touches sending jolts of pleasure through your body. 

“S-Shit please!”

You're writhing between them, your hips moving on their own, chasing the friction. Jisung captures your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your moans as Minho's fingers curl deeper, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur. 

"Come on, Y/N," Minho encourages, his voice a low growl. "Show us how much you love this. Come for us."

Their touches grow more urgent, more demanding, as their own desire reaches a boiling point. Jisung breaks the kiss, panting heavily, his hard length pressing insistently against your hip.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you," he growls, his fingers digging into your thigh. Minho's breath is hot against your neck, his hips grinding against your backside, his erection evident through his pants. 

"Now,Y/N," he commands, his fingers pausing their movements. "Tell us what you want. Beg for our cocks." They're both trembling with restraint, their patience wearing thin, waiting for you to give them the green light to take you completely.

Your head moves backward as you can barely contain your moans, you’re seeing the stars.  “Please.”

The single, desperate plea falls from your lips, and it's like a dam breaking.

Jisung's hands are shaking as he unbuttons his pants, pushing them down just enough to free his hard, leaking cock. 

Minho's not far behind, his zipper echoing loudly in the room as he pulls out his own thick length. Your pants and panties moves down with your shaky hands, your eyes half hidden.

They position themselves at your entrance, the heads of their cocks pressing against your soaked folds, one from behind, jisung in front of you, waiting for your signal.

"Say it again," Jisung urges, his voice strained. "Tell us you need us."

Minho's hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head back, his eyes boring into yours. "Beg for it, Y/N.Beg for us to fill you up."

Your whimpers echoes in their ears, “Please, please i need it...” Your whines, desperate and needy, push them over the edge. With a synchronized thrust, they bury themselves inside you, stretching you deliciously. 

Jisung's hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he sets a fast, hard pace. Minho's hand remains on your throat, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock as he meets Jisung's thrusts. 

They're moving in perfect sync, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin barrier, creating a delicious friction that has you seeing stars. "Fuck, you're so tight," Jisung pants, his hips snapping forward. 

"So perfect," Minho agrees, his lips brushing against your ear. They're consuming you, filling you completely, their bodies pressing you between the mattress and their hard muscles. The room fills with the sounds of their grunts, your moans, and the slick slap of skin on skin.

You clench around their thick length, you can’t last long. “Guys... g-guys i don’t...—” 

Your words trail off into a high-pitched whine as your orgasm crashes over you, your inner walls clamping down on their cocks. Jisung and Minho groan in unison, their thrusts growing erratic as they chase their own releases.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're squeezing us so hard," Jisung grits out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. Minho's grip on your throat tightens slightly, his other hand snaking around to rub tight circles on your clit, prolonging your pleasure.

"Com’on, baby, milk our cocks," he encourages, his voice a low, dirty murmur in your ear. Their hips piston forward, driving into you with abandon, the bed shaking beneath you as they pound you through your orgasm and into another. 

The sensation is overwhelming, your body convulsing between theirs as they fill you with their hot cum, marking you inside and out.

As the final waves of your shared orgasm subside, Jisung and Minho collapse on either side of you, their bodies slick with sweat. They're breathing heavily, their chests heaving against your back and side. Jisung presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his hand brushing your hair back from your forehead. Minho's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your stomach.

“That was... intense," he murmurs, a hint of a smile in his voice. You're sandwiched between them, their warmth enveloping you, their scents mingling with yours in a heady mix. The room is quiet except for the sound of your labored breaths and the occasional soft murmur from Jisung, still high from the passion.

You’re lying between Jisung and Minho, their arms still around you, and you’re trying to catch your breath—though, it feels like it’s still stuck somewhere in your chest. Every time your mind tries to process what just happened, your heart starts to beat faster, and your stomach does little flips, making it impossible to focus.

You shift a little, your body pressed against theirs, and it sends a jolt of warmth through your skin. The soft pressure of their arms around you makes you feel safe, and the intimacy of it all hits you in waves. This is really happening. You’re trying to act normal, but it’s impossible when you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out.

“Ugh, I don’t even know what to do with myself right now,” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper, but loud enough that both of them can hear. You let out a little giggle, not sure if you want to laugh or groan. “I just... I just had an intimate moment with Spider-Man and Deadpool—and I’m freaking out.”

Jisung chuckles softly, nuzzling the top of your head with his nose. “What’s wrong, angel? Not used to being surrounded by two heroes?”

Minho grunt, hitting jisung’s head with his hand slapping it lightly, making the younger whine, “I’m not such a ‘hero’ thing.”

You groan dramatically, burying your face in your pillow to hide your flushed cheeks. “I mean, yes! This is crazy! How do I even—” You cut yourself off, feeling like you can’t even form a coherent thought right now. “I mean... you two,” you manage, your words coming out in a tiny, whiny voice. “I... I can’t believe I just had an amazing time with you two.”

Minho shifts beside you, his hand brushing gently against your waist. His voice is low and soothing, but you can hear the teasing lilt in it. “You seemed to enjoy it, though. You kept asking for more.”

Your entire face flushes at his words, and you groan again, hiding your face in the pillow even harder. “Stop!” you whine, flailing your arms a little in frustration.  Minho chuckles, leaning in to press a light kiss to the top of your head. “You’re adorable when you’re all embarrassed like this. Don’t worry, though. We’re not going anywhere.”

Your heart flutters even more at that, and the gentle reassurance makes you want to curl up into them even further. What did I just get myself into? You’re overwhelmed, your mind still racing, but somehow in the best way possible.

“God, I feel like I need to take a moment to breathe,” you say, burying your face in the crook of Jisung’s arm. “I’m so dizzy. You two are so... intense.” You giggle again, trying to make light of the situation even though your body is tingling with heat. 

Minho hums lowly, his hand lightly caressing your back. “We’re not going to make you regret it, blondie. Trust me.” You sigh dramatically, still feeling the aftershocks of the intimacy. 

The weight of everything hangs in the air for a moment, and then you feel them both press a kiss to your forehead, making your heart flip once more. This is real. This is happening. You can’t deny it anymore.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says softly, his voice tender now. “We’re here. Always.”

You close your eyes, smiling to yourself, feeling the warmth of their closeness. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I guess... I guess I’m lucky. I have Spider-Man and Deadpool here. With me.”

[17020]

RULE OF THIRDS

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ high school is home for a lot of things, including jealousy and drama. My ex's misery is your enjoyment this time! this is love triangles, with the wind breaker men. warnings for manga spoilers (last blurb), drinking, ooc ume (sawrryyyy) !!

A NIGHT OF REVELATIONS.

REN KAJI, featuring TOMA HIRAGI

ren kaji set aside his ego and pride to attend some afterparty because he knew you would be there. that meant a lot.

and at first, everything was… fine? he stepped out of his comfort zone, headphones down as he listened to the beats of the music which played over the speakers. his eyes met yours, with you linking your pinky with his.

"what? you wanna dance with me?" he questioned, his tone almost accusatory. it was what he wanted more than anything, yet he made it sound as if it was your desire. the mere thought of your skin grazing his made his heart want to burst out of his chest.

"you want me to dance to feid? no fucking way rennie, i don't dance to that. plus, you should take care of toma, he's on another planet."

sure, the song was ass, yet he still felt his heart shatter. he watched as you waltzed away, heading towards your friend group to chat. kaji turned his head to the side, only to find his upperclassmen staring back at him. his bloodshot eyes were puffy, lips pursed before he raised an almost empty bottle of god-knows-what to his lips.

great. now he has to babysit.

when he sat down next to hiragi, kaji had a bad feeling.

“m’gonna do it tonight, kaji.”

call it foresight, or a crazy good intuition, but ren kaji knew his heart would sink this very night. “good” he hummed. it was the only thing to come out of his mouth, as he felt his stomach churn from the anxiety.

“ya sure ya don’t feel anything for her?”

“all good” he squeaked, “let me know how it goes.”

when he found you a while later, kaji was stunned. there you were, drunk out of your mind and blowing smoke out of your pretty lips, body swaying to one of fanny lu's greatest hits.

with kota. fucking. sako.

it was a night of revelations, seeing as the once grumpy blond had a tiny smile on his face, mouthing the lyrics to don juan while facing you. his stiff body was now in sync with yours, chuckles escaping your lips as you commented on how great of a dancer he was.

kaji saw you stumble, and he took that as a sign. he knew he had to care for you. that, and the fact that he also had to get you away from sako, for his own mental wellbeing. with his hand getting ahold of yours, kaji guided you to a more secluded space of the patio, patting your head and asking if you're okay.

"you should go home, yn. you've had enough to drink."

when he asked to hang with you the day after, kaji was wary. sitting down next to one another in one of cactus bakery's booths, he sighed.

"you got home safe?"

"mhm."

"you didn't dance with me."

"yeah, i didn't."

"you did with sako, though."

resting your head on his shoulder, you laughed. "fanny lu is certainly not denied to anyone! if you had chosen another song other than feid's, i certainly would've danced with you, rennie."

a small smile appeared on his face as his mind raced on about what could have been the greatest night of his life, only to come back to his senses after he realized it could have been someone else's.

"anything else happen?"

"yeah" you shrugged, "hiragi texted me this morning, said he liked me."

he froze. since when was he hiragi to you?

"…well, what'd you say?"

ren kaji thought he was going to die.

"turned him down. he's like a brother to me, and i made that abundantly clear. he took it well, so that's that! he thanked me for being so mature about it."

last night was now certainly the greatest night of kaji's life, as he realized he still has a chance.

WHEN ONE STORY CLOSES, ANOTHER OPENS.

HAJIME UMEMIYA, featuring JO TOGAME

hajime umemiya was going to pop a blood vessel when he saw none other than shishitoren's second-in-command's hand holding yours, noses nearly grazing each other as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. your giggles, which were once his favorite tune, were now like nails on a chalkboard.

because it was togame who made you laugh.

his anger was indetectable, a smile plastered on his face as he observed the way in which you laughed at his jokes, how you tilted your head to the side and looked at him with those alluring eyes of yours, how you reached out to him when talking.

screw that, it was so obvious that umemiya was fucking jealous, as his eyes were squinted, his face had an expression of disgust, and one could swear that his left eyelid was trembling.

when you went to him a few days later telling him you had exchanged socials with togame, umemiya simply nodded with a smile on his face, congratulating you on how well things were going. he thought his soul was going to leave his body.

"he said he used to play street ball, and he played as a striker, and he wants to play volleyball with me! can you believe that, ume?"

"that's great, y/n! y'know i used to play street ball too, i was well-known for that back in the day, i used to play for my middle school as a striker" he grinned, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "i could teach you to play both sports if you'd like! you wouldn't have to hop onto shishitoren turf that way."

hajime umemiya was utterly adorable.

that same night you received a text.

UME !! <3 This Thursday me and my siblings are gonna play ball! You wanna join?

umemiya's t-shirt fit you like a glove.

having little attire for a match, umemiya offered to gift you one of his shirts for you to play in, and the white and baby blue stripes made you look fantastic. to him, you were an angel sent from heaven to bless his eyes, as well as the football 'field'.

after playing like total lunatics, umemiya sat down cross-legged in the middle of the park's grass, you laying down and having your head resting on his thighs.

what umemiya wanted to do in that moment was kiss you senseless.

"hey ume… can you help me with something?"

"sure thing."

"togame's sort of being a bit pushy, and i don't have any interest in him at all. can you take a picture with me so that he'll shoo?"

his eyes sparkled more than the world's most expensive diamond. he excitedly nodded, asking you to open your phone's camera as he gently moved so that he laid beside you, resting his head on your shoulder and his arm wrapped around your waist.

click!

umemiya felt like the luckiest man in the world when he found out togame had seen your story with him and had suddenly ghosted you.

GOOD PEOPLE, GOOD DEEDS.

HARUKA SAKURA, featuring YAMATO ENDO

when haruka sakura heard of a certain someone's temporary return to furin, he thought nothing of it. except for when that certain someone came waltzing up to him after seeing him interact with you a few minutes prior, a smug smile on his face.

"so, sakura! mind slippin' me her number?"

"huh?"

"yeah! that girl you were talking to before, she's totally my type."

"and why the hell would i do that?"

endo laughed as he placed his arm on sakura's shoulders, seeing how the boy in question's face turned beet red. "because, sakura, you're a good person! good people do good deeds!"

there was no way in hell haruka sakura was giving him your number. matter of fact, he didn't budge!

so why in the fuck were you giggling in front of him at pothos, telling him yamato endo was in your messages asking you out to breakfast?

sakura's eye started to twitch as he asked how he got your number, nearly spitting out his omelette rice when you told him nirei had given him your number. when you told him that endo was planning on coming to furin on saturday to meet up with you, his face became a newfound shade of red. whether it was from anger or from endo's affection towards you, he did not know.

friday came by, and to sakura's surprise…

"oh gosh, haru!"

"what's going on?"

"endo cancelled breakfast, said he couldn't make it since he's on his turf and can't come to bofurin's."

"'s a shit move to cancel last minute."

"but, tsubaki told me there's a party over at keisei street tomorrow night. wanna come with? i don't wanna go alone."

sakura's ears and cheeks were flushed as he stuttered a reply: a meek and simple 'yeah'. you smiled as you wrapped your arms around sakura, too excited to even let him react. when saturday night came around, you thought you were going to die.

yamato endo was in keisei street, grinding on another girl as he asked for her number.

your jaw dropped to the floor. to your surprise, sakura was even more enraged than you were. grabbing your wrist, he dragged you over to a bench, sitting you down and placing your head on his shoulder.

"let it out."

confused, you asked what he meant by it. he laid his head on top of yours, with you feeling how his stiff body slowly softened as he sighed.

"i said let it out. yer obviously hurt by that asshole, so let it out."

your sobs were swallowed by the blaring music, but for some reason, the sadness quickly faded away, instead being replaced with a sense of tranquility. as if you belonged there, with sakura by your side.

sakura was sure that yamato endo was a good person, doing him a favor by leaving you all to himself.

note. this is for my boyfriend. this is what you get for calling me your stinky poo. i am not a poo. the poos are your friends who tried to get with me later on. or perchance the poo has been you all along, because you did not give one shit that they liked me and you made your move. love always, your princess.

update 15/10: this is for my ex. you deserved this because you're a piece of shit who literally (allegedly) got with your best friend's (the character behind endo) girlfriend. fuck you.

[blackenedsnow]

IT'S ME AGAIN! YES I KEPT THE PROMISE AND I HAVE AN IDEA AGAIN BUT THE OTHER FIC INFECTED ME SO BAD I HAD TO GIVE PART 2 OR SUM?!?!? And I see that you have A LOT of request lately please do take care of yourself sometimes! 🤍

Anyways hold your tits! I'm explaining the part 2 of forgotten project AKA Raiden shogun!reader, (I don't know if you've ever received a request about yandere sonic characters or a love triangle with sonic characters but being the first one is flattering for me 😼)

After the massive attack on the city and litte bit of drama teader and shadow made up with each other (she made peace with Sonic, of course, and she apologized all of them) months later they all wanted to hang out together it was of course Amy's idea, but reader didn't know shadow was starting to like her...but I think it is little to like he was obsessed with her, Knuckles were coming from behind shadow because every day she and him would go to protect Chaos Emerald(s) on the angel island. And Shadow and Reader would hangout in a quiet place talk about their past or what happened to her after 50 years ago. Anyway, I'm getting to the point. They all came to the picnic together (she convinced/begged shadow and knuckles to come to the picnic) but there was only one problem..reader was getting a princess treatment by the two of course reader was cold to them because she was surprised like.....lemme give a scenario ↓

↝Reader didn't know how to tie shoelaces while everyone was waiting in the car she was in her room trying to tie their laces, then shadow and knuckles came into the room a few minutes later, and when shadow saw her pathetic state, she put him on the bed and tied her shoelaces as knuckles brushed her hair cuz her hair was messy, after doing their princess treatment for her she stared at them for a while before immediately leaving the room.

It may seem normal, but you can't call it normal when an obsessive person falls in love with you, but let's say reader/she already has a boyfriend, she was hanging out with her boyfriend, shadow and knuckles were watching them in the shadows/dark places.

One day when reader came to her house which is all of the sonic team lived of course they we're outside so sonics werent home,she was tired because of her last mission but when she entered the kitchen she found her boyfriend dead on the floor the blood was everywhere she trembled and dropped the bag in her hand to the floor, just as she was about to ran away, she turned to her back and there were two shadows infront of her..she closed her eyes after screaming for help.

I LEAVE THE REST TO YOU BECAUSE SOMETIMES YOUR FICS CAN BE SO TERRIBLE (what I mean, it can be so scary that I think of a lot of ideas, long story short..youre doing it perfectly)THAT MAYBE I CAN COME BACK WITH ANOTHER IDEA WHICH IS PART 3 OR SUM BUT I DON'T WANT TO BOTHER YOU!! PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR HEALTH!! TAKE CARE!! 🤍

twisted

WARNING: Yandere behavior, obsession, possessive behavior, murder, gore, violence, angst, manipulation

PAIRING: Yandere! Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader, Yandere! Knuckles the Echidna x Reader

NOTE: I'm so happy to see you again, and I’m thrilled you enjoyed the first part! Your idea for the continuation is absolutely amazing, and I loved writing it! Thank you so much for your kind words; I’m definitely taking care of myself too! Hope you enjoy part two! 🤍

SUMMARY: After the battle for peace, things should have returned to normal. But obsession runs deep.

FIRST PART: Here

The sky over Angel Island was a quiet expanse of blue, broken only by the distant cry of birds. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded months earlier—the storm, the destruction, the agony that had coursed through your veins like lightning. Now, the world had quieted. You had quieted. But in the silence, something far more sinister was brewing.

You glanced at Shadow, walking beside you in the stillness. His eyes were focused ahead, sharp and brooding as always, but there was a weight in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. His presence was more intense, his proximity something you could feel even when he wasn’t touching you.

There had been a time when his company brought a strange sense of comfort, his silent understanding of the chaos within you something you had clung to. But lately, that comfort had begun to morph into something else—something darker, more suffocating.

Knuckles appeared behind you both, his usual gruff demeanor softened as he fell into step beside you. He had become your protector in recent months, always by your side when you made the daily trip to the Master Emerald. His presence was different from Shadow’s—warm, grounded, safe. But even his quiet companionship had taken on an edge, a possessiveness that unsettled you.

You’d been so focused on piecing yourself back together after everything that had happened that you hadn’t noticed the shift between them.

A picnic. A simple suggestion from Amy, who always seemed to know how to bring everyone together. It had been months since the attack, and she wanted things to feel normal again—to heal the rift between you and the others. Sonic had forgiven you, of course, with his usual breezy smile, as if the destruction you’d caused had been a bad dream. Tails had been cautious, but understanding. The others had followed suit, but things between you and Shadow had... changed.

And Knuckles—sweet, stoic Knuckles—had become something of a quiet shadow himself. Always there, always watching.

Now, the two of them flanked you as you all made your way to meet the others, the air tense with something unspoken. You were lost in thought, your fingers fidgeting with the laces of your boots as you had stopped walking to tie them. The delicate motion distracted you from the strange tension building between your two companions.

The sun was no longer warm on your back as you had reached your room, but the laces still wouldn’t cooperate. Your fingers fumbled again and again, tying knots that weren’t quite right, your frustration mounting with every failed attempt.

Just as you were about to give up, a voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Need help with that?"

Shadow’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, low and calm. He was already standing by the door, watching you with that unreadable look he always had.

You didn’t answer, but before you could react, he was there. In a blur of movement, he was in front of you, kneeling down. Without a word, his gloved hands moved over your boots, undoing the messy knots you had made. His touch was firm, precise, and his closeness sent a strange chill down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come.

And then, as if the atmosphere wasn’t already thick enough, Knuckles entered the room.

You hadn’t even heard him approach, but suddenly he was there, his large, strong hands reaching out to gather your hair. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his touch, surprisingly gentle for someone with such raw strength. You hadn’t realized your hair had gotten tangled, hadn’t felt the knots forming in the strands, but he worked through them with an almost methodical care. His fingers brushed against your neck, feather-light and deliberate, the sensation making your skin prickle with a strange mixture of unease and warmth.

You stared at the two of them—Shadow tying your laces with mechanical precision, Knuckles carefully brushing your hair, their actions so casual yet so heavy with meaning. You should have felt comforted by their care, but instead, unease twisted inside you like a vice.

“There,” Shadow said, his voice soft but steady. He rose to his feet, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth that made your pulse quicken.

Knuckles was silent as he finished with your hair, stepping back just enough to let his hand linger on your shoulder, a quiet reminder that he was still there.

For a long moment, the room was thick with tension, their presence pressing in on you from both sides. You could feel the weight of their stares, as if they were waiting for something—waiting for you to say or do anything.

You forced a smile, standing quickly and brushing past them. "I’m... going to get my bag. We should head out."

The picnic was a welcome distraction, but the air was still heavy with an undercurrent you couldn’t ignore. Shadow and Knuckles stayed close, hovering like silent sentinels while the others laughed and talked as if everything were normal. Amy was her usual bright self, Sonic’s laughter ringing through the air as he teased her. Tails was chatting with Cream, and everything seemed perfect on the surface.

Except you weren’t sure what was real anymore.

Shadow’s dark eyes followed you everywhere, a silent intensity behind them that made you feel like prey. And Knuckles... He was different, too. His usual grounded presence felt more like a protective cage, his every glance heavy with meaning.

But it wasn’t until later—when you found yourself alone in the quiet shade of a tree with Shadow—that things began to unravel.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Shadow said quietly, his voice deep and soft as the two of you sat under the trees. His eyes were piercing, and there was something dangerous beneath his calm tone. "You’ve changed. We’ve changed."

Your heart raced in your chest, and you swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, pinning you to the spot.

“We’ve both been through hell, haven’t we?" he continued, his hand brushing against yours, his touch cold and firm. "But I’ve realized... you’re the only one who understands.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with an implication you didn’t want to acknowledge. You pulled your hand away from his, standing quickly as the unease in your stomach twisted into something darker.

"Shadow, I—"

Before you could finish, Knuckles appeared, his eyes narrowing as he saw the two of you together. His usual calm demeanor had a sharp edge to it now, and for a moment, you could feel the tension between him and Shadow flare like a fire ready to burn out of control.

The following weeks were a blur of confusion and tension. Shadow and Knuckles were always there, always watching, always too close. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that they were just being protective after everything that had happened. That they were just being good friends, looking out for you.

But then there was your boyfriend—the one source of normalcy in your chaotic life. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that things could still be okay. You spent time with him whenever you could, clinging to the feeling of peace he brought.

But Shadow and Knuckles... they didn’t like it.

They would watch you from the shadows, their eyes always on you when you were with him. Their jealousy was palpable, their obsession growing with every passing day. And you... you somehow noticed everything except for that.

One night, you returned home late, exhausted from whatever the hell it was you were doing. The house was quiet, too quiet. You set your bag down on the kitchen table, rubbing your temples as you tried to shake off the lingering fatigue.

That’s when you saw him.

Your boyfriend. Lying on the kitchen floor, motionless. His body twisted in a way that no living person could survive. Blood pooled around him, staining the floor, the scent of death thick in the air.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as terror clawed at your insides.

"No... no, no, no..." You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch him—only to pull back as the reality of the scene hit you like a sledgehammer.

He was dead.

The blood... it was everywhere.

Before you could react, a shadow fell over you. You turned, your heart slamming against your ribs as two figures emerged from the darkness—Shadow and Knuckles, their expressions cold, unreadable.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling, your eyes wide with disbelief. "Why did you—?"

Your world shattered in an instant. The weight of your boyfriend’s lifeless body lay heavy in your mind, the blood on the floor an all-too-vivid reminder of what had just been taken from you. It was impossible to process—the violence, the senselessness, the betrayal. You couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Knuckles and Shadow stood before you, shadows in the dim light of your kitchen, their figures imposing and silent. The air was suffocating, the silence more deafening than any words they could have spoken. It felt like time had slowed to a crawl, the seconds stretching into painful, excruciating moments where nothing made sense.

Your voice cracked as you tried to find words that wouldn’t come. "Why...?" you whispered again, your gaze flicking between the two of them. Their expressions—so cold, so calculated—stopped you in your tracks. This wasn’t them. This couldn’t be them.

But it was.

Shadow was the first to speak, his voice low and eerily calm. “It had to be done.”

His words sliced through the air like a blade, their weight knocking the breath from your lungs. You recoiled, stumbling back from your boyfriend’s body, as if distance might somehow undo what had already been done.

Knuckles, ever stoic, looked down at you with something far more unsettling than anger. There was no regret in his eyes, no hesitation in his stance. “He was in the way. We couldn’t let him hurt you.”

"Hurt me?" The words felt foreign on your tongue, your mind reeling. You had been through so much, survived countless battles and moments of chaos, but this—this was a different kind of horror. "He didn’t... he wouldn’t..."

Shadow stepped forward, his presence overwhelming in the small space, his red eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. "You don’t understand. We had to protect you. He was weak. You deserve more than that."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head in disbelief. "Protect me? You—You killed him! How is that protecting me?"

Knuckles knelt beside you, his frame making the room feel even smaller. His hand reached out, brushing against your cheek with surprising gentleness. “We did what we had to. You’ve been through so much, and we can’t let anything hurt you again.”

But it wasn’t comfort you felt from his touch. It was dread. Every word they spoke sent chills down your spine, their distorted sense of protection wrapping around you like a noose.

"You’re safe now," Shadow added, his voice unwavering. “With us.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the panic setting in fully. Safe? Safe from what? From them? The very people who had taken everything from you in the name of protection? You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, the room spinning around you as the full weight of the situation pressed down on you.

"Please," you begged, your voice shaking, "this isn’t what I want. You’ve... you've gone too far."

But they didn’t hear you. Or worse—they heard you, and they didn’t care.

Shadow’s hand closed around your arm, his grip firm but not painful, as if he believed what he was doing was for your own good. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore."

Knuckles rose to his feet, towering over you, his expression softening just a fraction. “We’ll take care of you. No one else can do that like we can.”

It was suffocating, the weight of their presence, their obsession. How had you missed it? How had things gone so wrong?

You tried to pull away, your breath coming in short, frantic bursts, but their grip—both literal and metaphorical—was unyielding. You were trapped, caught in a web you hadn’t even realized had been spun around you.

"I didn’t want this," you choked out, tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of the situation settled in. "I never wanted this."

But your protests fell on deaf ears.

Shadow’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and for a moment, you thought you saw something normal beneath the intensity—a flash of something almost like tenderness. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same unwavering determination.

"You’ll understand in time," he said, his voice almost... soothing. "We’re doing this for you."

Knuckles stepped closer, his large hand resting on your shoulder again, his strength radiating from him like a silent promise. “We won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

But in that moment, you realized the truth. The ones who were hurting you... were standing right in front of you.

[kindaasrikal]

Cole and Nya’s relationship is very special to me, even despite the love triangle thing, which you could technically say helped develop their relationship. Especially with how it links to their mothers.

Cole and Nya are both familiar with loss, specifically in regard to their parents. They both lost a parent(s) at a young age, and quickly became independent because of it. They learnt how to survive on their own without depending too much on their only family left. They both care deeply for the ones they love and are sensitive to their emotions, and when they were left with only Lou/Kai as their only family, they didn’t want to rely on two people deep in grief and were deeply effected by that loss.

They both are stubborn and sure, protective and confident, but they are both also soft and kind underneath all their layers, Cole showing that more than Nya.

I like to think that while the whole love triangle thing and love machine fiasco was annoying, you could actually twist it to show how it developed their relationship. Jay is the one Nya loves, that is not something you can change or even disagree on, seeing as she was willing to lose everything that makes her her for him, but the perfect match machine doesn’t have time be explicitly based on romantic interest. The machine is essentially like a ‘soulmate finder’, so it’s easy to say that one of Nya’s soulmates are Cole.

Soulmates have been shown in many different ways, and in this case its not showing a soulmate in the sense of a ‘one true pair’ or someone who you are inexplicably tied too, but someone who understands and can click with you a whole lot easier than most.

That buddied up with the whole love triangle thing definitely helped Cole and Nya realise how similar they are to each other, and how they deeply care for each other as siblings. Almost like twin siblings if I’m being honest. They don’t give a younger and older sibling vibe thats for sure. More like two twins where one is an aggressive wild animal and the other is also a wild animal but they don’t have as much of a temper as the other weirdo.

My favourite scene of their relationship is in Dragons Rising where Nya hold her hands against Cole’s cheek after not seeing him for months upon months.

Now about their mothers….

Knowing all of this, connecting it to how they both see their mother in each other seems so much more special.

Cole and Maya have both said ‘Its how the cookie crumbles’, both in relation to Nya. After Nya was possessed by the overlord, Cole tries to comfort everyone by saying that line, implying how its just how things must be, the same way Maya has towards Nya specifically, telling her that life is difficult, no matter what we try. Nya doesn’t know they both have said this, but its still so important how its come in full circle towards her, from her beginning all the way to her supposed end.

And then you remember how both Nya and Lily have worn the same kimono. The same kimono Lily wore, and the one that Cole gave to Nya.

ITS THE EXACT SAME.

Cole willingly gave him dead mother’s kimono to Nya, his sister.

Nya and Cole were never supposed to be in a romantic relationship, they were both have such a strong platonic love for each other it hurts. They both have similar experiences and similar personalities yet still have their differences, but those differences aren’t as big as most people would’ve expected.

I love these two so much they so deeply care for each other im going to cry i hope they don’t die for Jay.

[rurann]

Ruthless x Empathetic (Geshu Lin x Reader)

Chapters:

Next: Chapter Two

Tag list

Summary:

All you wanted was to help the wounded, to be a healer in a chaotic world. But after a fateful encounter with the cold and feared General Geshu Lin, your life takes a dark turn as he becomes dangerously obsessed with you.

[I made this because of the lack of Geshu Lin fanfics!]

Tags: Explicit

Love Triangles, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, General x Medic, Yandere Geshu Lin

[Tags will be updated as the story goes but I intend to have this story rated Explicit.]

Chapter One

The Ruthless General

Your dream was to heal as many people as you could. You had witnessed your older brother take his last agonizing breath in the clinic, and since then, you harbored the dream to become a medic and bring recovery to everyone.

It was probably due to your immense determination towards your goal that you soon became blessed with a Tacet mark and the Glacio attribute at a very young age. By the time you reached your older teenage years, you became a well-known, reliable medic in Jinzhou. This popularity aided you in getting a spot among the Midnight Rangers. As soon as you reached eighteen, you received the military letter of recommendation.

After undergoing the necessary programs, you were finally thrust into the real, harsh battlefield as a rearguard, a combat unit specializing in healing the wounded.

Wounded soldiers, who had faced the gruesome Tacet Discords in Norfall Barrens, came rushing into your tent. Each of them elicited their own noises of pain - either by grunting, groaning, screaming or wailing. You had seen and heard it all. It reminded you of your dear big brother.

After numerous waves of TDs, it finally stopped. All of you were given a chance to rest at the main base in Desorock Highland.

You dragged yourself to refill your bottle with water somewhere in the base. You almost chugged everything in that bottle in one drink. It finally dawned on you that you were sweating lightly all over.

“You may take a full rest if you need to.”

The masculine voice staggered you out of a trance. You looked over to see it was a man with rather long teal hair, tied high in a ponytail. You recognized him in an instant.

Jiyan. He was one year older than you, and he was very wise in your eyes. He impressed you so much at first sight. He was still a young adult and he already joined the Midnight Rangers as a doctor. His medical prowess and knowledge were astounding as well. He helped you a lot during your training as a newly enlisted soldier. It was safe to say that he was your mentor when it comes to medical subjects.

“Oh, Jiyan, it’s you…” you let out a sigh. You refilled the bottle again and addressed him. “I’m doing fine. How about you?”

He approached you calmly, his teal eyes soft with concern. “I've been through worse. But you… you've been working nonstop since we arrived. Even healers need to rest.”

You gave a small nod, though your mind was still racing with images of the wounded soldiers. “I know, but… I can’t. Some of them were so close. If I hadn’t…”

You trailed off, gripping the bottle tighter as your knuckles turned white.

Jiyan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. His grip was very gentle, the same way he’d guided you through your toughest moments during training. “You did more than enough. You’ve saved lives today. That's what matters.”

You glanced up at him, the tension in your chest loosening slightly. His presence was like a calming wind, as it had always been. Still, the weight of responsibility pressed down on you, relentless. “I suppose… but it's hard to shake off these images…”

Jiyan gave you a small smile. “That's the burden of a healer. You feel every loss as if it's your own, but you mustn’t forget the ones you saved. You need to take care of yourself, too. Otherwise, how will you keep saving others?”

You stared at him for a moment before sighing, your shoulders finally relaxing. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Other than being a knowledgeable medical healer, Jiyan proved to know how to get someone’s spirits up as well. As you watched him walk away, his words lingered in your mind, offering a sense of reassurance that you didn’t know you needed. He had a way of grounding you, reminding you of the balance between healing others and caring for yourself. You felt the tension in your body ease a little more, and for the first time since the battle ended, you walked with the weight on your chest lightened.

You went back to your tent and took the time to clean up and prepare for what little rest you could get. As you scrubbed away the grime of battle, you felt the tension in your body slowly ease, and for the first time in hours, you felt a glimmer of peace.

“General Geshu Lin!”

The sudden call outside snapped you out of your thoughts. You peered out of the tent to see a figure approaching—the renowned General of the Midnight Rangers, Geshu Lin. His presence commanded the space around him, with his flowing white hair and sharp amber eyes that seemed to cut through anyone who dared meet them. The subtle scar that crossed his lips only enhanced the intensity of his expression. Dressed in his signature black uniform, he was a striking figure, one that demanded both respect and fear.

The atmosphere shifted the moment he arrived. The rangers in the camp stood straighter, their expressions turning tense. Even the wounded seemed to gather some strength, driven by the authority that surrounded him.

“General,” one of the rangers stepped forward with a hesitant but respectful tone, “the Tacet Discord attacks have weakened significantly. What are your next orders, sir?”

Geshu Lin stopped in his tracks, his sharp gaze surveying the area before finally resting on the ranger who had spoken. His shadow loomed over them, casting a cold and imposing aura.

“We will seize this opportunity to strike them while their numbers are diminished,” he said, his voice as steady as it was commanding. “Prepare everyone within fifteen minutes.”

Your heart dropped at his words. The idea of going back into battle so soon, after barely having the chance to rest, sent a wave of dread crashing through you. As if reading your thoughts, another ranger dared to voice the concern on everyone’s minds.

“But, sir, many of us are still recovering. We’ve barely had a moment to rest.”

Geshu Lin’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing with a cold edge that silenced any further complaints. His gaze cut through the ranger who had spoken as he replied, “If you value Jinzhou and your families, you will not question my commands. The enemy will not wait for us to recover. We must stand tall against all threats, no matter the cost.”

A few of the rangers straightened, their fear replaced by a grim sense of duty.

“Yes, sir!” they answered in unison.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily in your chest. The call to battle had always been relentless, but with Geshu Lin leading, there was no room for hesitation. His resolve was as unwavering as the cold steel of his broad blade.

You and the other rearguard rangers sprang into action, accelerating your efforts to heal the wounded with a newfound urgency. Every second mattered now. The faster you worked, the sooner the vanguard rangers could press forward under General Geshu Lin’s command.

In no time, the vanguard rangers stood in formation behind the general, their faces set with grim determination. You watched from the side, heart heavy with unspoken prayers for their safety as they marched deeper into the Norfall Barrens. The barren wasteland seemed to swallow them whole, a black abyss that held nothing but danger. You could only hope that every single one of them would return.

As the vanguard disappeared from sight, you hurried back to your tent, located in a safe zone at the edge of the barrens. This area had been reclaimed just days ago, a hard-fought victory led by General Geshu Lin and the Midnight Rangers against a seemingly endless army of Tacet Discords. You prepared yourself for the inevitable—more wounded would be coming soon.

Minutes later, the first wave of injured rangers arrived at your tent. Bloodied and bruised, they stumbled in, collapsing onto the makeshift beds. You didn’t hesitate. With your Resonance abilities, you quickly got to work, healing torn flesh, mending broken bones, and soothing the aches that came from battle. But as you worked, you overheard bits of conversation from the injured, and your heart sank.

“They ambushed us,” one soldier muttered weakly, his voice trembling. “Came from every direction the moment we entered the deeper territory…”

“They were waiting for us,” another added, his eyes wide with fear. “We didn’t stand a chance.”

But what struck you most was the mention of Geshu Lin. The soldiers spoke of him with awe and… resentment. They recounted how he had single-handedly cut through half of the Tacet Discords in a single swing of his broadblade. His power was unparalleled, but he kept rushing forward. He did not glance at his soldiers as he advanced ruthlessly. Tears fell from the eyes of some as they recalled comrades who had fallen, struck down before they could even raise their weapons in defense.

Your hands moved faster, desperate to heal them all, to keep them alive so they wouldn’t be added to the growing list of casualties. Exhaustion began to claw at you, each burst of healing taking a little more out of you. Your arms felt heavy, and your vision blurred, but you couldn’t stop. No. Not yet. You mustn’t faint when everyone is relying on you.

The last ranger staggered out of your tent, his wounds healed, and you slumped against the side of the cot. Just as you were about to call for backup, your Terminal beeped. A message flashed across the screen: Mission success. We’ve reclaimed a large territory in Norfall Barrens. Casualties are heavy, but we’re retreating.

Relief washed over you, but it was bittersweet. The message confirmed their victory, but also hinted at the price they had paid. You knew you couldn’t relax just yet. There would be more wounded on their way back, and likely more stories of loss.

The relief of victory quickly vanished as you saw the true cost of the battle. As the soldiers returned to the base at Desorock Highland, their weary, hollow expressions told the story of a pyrrhic triumph. There were no celebrations, no cheers of success—only the quiet murmur of soldiers, weighed down by exhaustion and loss.

You moved quickly through the base, checking on the survivors as they trudged back from the battlefield. But as you passed by groups of rangers, you couldn’t help but overhear the low voices filled with bitterness.

“It’s the general, you know...”

“Yeah, he just charged forward, slaying monsters like nothing, but he didn’t even glance at us. We were left to deal with the Tacet Discords coming from all sides.”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. He’s the reason we lost so many this time.”

You swallowed hard, the murmurs sinking into your bones. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard whispers like this about Geshu Lin. His reputation was as cold as the steel of his broadblade. A ruthless leader, famed for his unmatched power on the battlefield, but infamous for his lack of concern for his comrades. Many admired his strength, but few respected the way he wielded it—without mercy, without hesitation, even if it meant his soldiers paid the ultimate price.

No one dared to voice these complaints openly, though. Despite the casualties, despite his seemingly callous leadership, General Geshu Lin was the strongest Resonator in the Midnight Rangers. He alone had faced and obliterated the Tacet Fields and Overlord Discords that would have otherwise wiped out entire battalions. His power was undeniable, and the Rangers needed him—even if it meant enduring his relentless, unyielding command.

That’s when you heard your name called sharply, breaking through your thoughts. You turned to see a familiar figure approaching—Changmin, a seasoned rearguard ranger. He was easily twenty years your senior, his graying hair and weathered face telling the story of decades spent in the field.

“The general is injured. I need you to heal him pronto,” Changmin said urgently as soon as you reached him.

Your heart skipped a beat at the request.

“General Geshu Lin?” you asked, and then you realized how dumb you might sound.

Changmin confirmed with a firm nod. “I saw it myself. A deep cut on his left arm. But, as usual, he’s refusing treatment.”

Standing beside Changmin, another senior ranger chimed in with a sigh, “He insists he’s fine. Says he doesn’t need any assistance. It might be hard for her to heal him without his consent.”

Changmin's brow furrowed deeply, frustration was evident in the creases of his weathered face. “He always refuses help. But have you seen the wound? If it isn’t treated properly, it’ll just add to the many scars he already has.”

The other ranger let out a weary sigh before looking at you. “Just do your best to convince him. If he still refuses… well, maybe he prefers handling his injuries alone.”

You nodded, feeling a growing unease in the pit of your stomach. The thought of approaching Geshu Lin, someone who exuded both power and distance, was daunting. You imagined him yelling at you the moment you stepped foot in his tent.

As you made your way toward Geshu Lin's command tent, the soldiers gave you wary looks, likely surprised to see you headed in that direction. It wasn’t often that anyone approached the general for anything outside of official orders.

When you arrived at the entrance, you hesitated for a brief moment, gathering your resolve. Then, with a steadying breath, you stepped inside.

The tent was sparsely lit, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the room. And there, seated at a makeshift desk, was Geshu Lin himself. His back was to you, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his left arm hung stiffly by his side, the bloodied bandages around it doing little to hide the extent of the damage.

“General,” you called softly, your voice barely breaking the silence.

He turned slightly, his amber eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and assessing, as though he could see straight through you.

“I was told you’re injured,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Please allow me to help you.”

“Go back to your station,” he replied coldly, turning back to his desk.

You threw a short glance at the bloodied bandage on his arm and said, “Respectfully sir, I can heal your wound almost instantly. It will take only thirty seconds.”

In his deep voice, the general replied, “Do not waste your medical equipment on me. I can do it myself.”

“I am a Resonator with healing Glacio abilities, sir,” you informed him. “I can heal you without any tools. It will only take seconds.”

He fell silent and for a moment, you thought he would refuse again. Then, to your surprise, he turned to face you fully. His eyes scrutinized you as if trying to gauge the degree of your determination. His gaze was intimidating, an invisible force that made you feel vulnerable under his scrutiny.

He spoke, “I don’t see a Tacet Mark on you.”

You got shy right away. Oh, so he was looking for my Tacet Mark.

With your eyes looking to the side, you answered with a pale blush, “I have one, but it’s just hidden under this uniform.”

“Your abilities can be better used on anyone else,” the general said dismissively, either ignoring your sudden bashfulness or not noticing it.

Feeling fed up by his stubbornness, you retorted, “Please, general. I insist.”

Then, there was a long moment of silence as he narrowed his eyes at you. The silence made you realize how rude you might sound. Uh oh, was I being forceful? Did I sound disobedient to him?

His eyes were like orbs of glacial fire, unyielding and fierce. With every passing second, your heart pounded against your chest. You couldn’t hear anything, not even the hustle and bustle outside of this camp, except for your own heartbeats.

“Fine,” Geshu Lin suddenly spoke up. “You have one minute.”

The relief washed over you like a wave, followed instantly by nervousness. Healing the general was not a small task, but doing so under his watchful gaze? That was a whole new level of pressure.

You moved swiftly, standing by his side, and began to inspect the wound. As you peeled back the bandages, you saw the deep gash—far worse than he had let on. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath to compose yourself and then began. Time seemed to still around you as you focused all your energy on the task at hand.

Summoning your Resonance ability, you felt the characteristic Glacio coldness spreading through your veins, reaching your fingertips and palm. You placed your palm on that large gash. A pale blue glow enveloping your hands illuminated the night air around you.

You observed as your Resonance skill utilized Glacio properties to heal the gash. The general would have surely felt the intense cold, but he remained stoic, his attention solely on your healing abilities.

The wound slowly began to close; the torn flesh seemingly stitching itself back together under the icy, healing touch of your hand. It was a spectacle that would have induced gasps from the onlookers, had there been any. But at that moment, it was just you and the general.

Suddenly, you felt a twinge of pain zip through your head. You barely winced, trying to withstand the pain so as not to alert the general. It was a side effect of intensive healing you had been doing that day - a reminder of the power you were wielding and the toll it took on your body.

“Enough,” Geshu Lin commanded out of the blue. Apparently, your wince did not go unnoticed.

He withdrew his arm away from your hold. You noticed the bright glow of your Glacio connecting from your palm to the gash on his arm, and you saw it stretched to nothingness as the general pulled away more and more.

You looked directly into his eyes, and in this close proximity, it looked as if you were scowling at him. You persisted with a tiny firm tone in your voice, “I am fine, general.”

You paused to grab hold of his arm and pulled it back to the previous spot where you could see it clearly between you two. You said, “It’s about to finish, so please do not move.”

The general’s brows furrowed in anger and you quickly averted your gaze to the gash. The Glacio properties were glowing and reconnecting your palm to the wound. It resumed its healing progress steadily.

Meanwhile, you began to feel intense warmth under the general’s intense glare. You could sense his burning stare. You could feel it burning a hole through your skull. Apparently, he was unamused by how forceful you were.

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of fear under his icy cold glare.

“Insolent,” you heard him murmur, but he made no move to withdraw his arm.

In your mind, you thanked the Sentinels above that he did not yell at you and kick you out of his tent. With that, you focused back on your Resonance skill.

In the dimly lit tent belonged to the general, the two of you were standing there closely with him leaning slightly on the makeshift table. He held his arm in the air between the both of you, and you had one hand holding his arm steady from below and another hand hovering over his wound, connecting your healing Glacio properties to his injury. You two were so close to each other, yet you both only focused on the healing process.

You channeled the last rush of your Resonance skill toward the wound. The flesh knit together faster under your touch, and within moments all that was left was a pale line where the deep gash had once been. The glow subsided around your hands, and you took a step back, pulling back both of your hands.

The general raised his arm close to his eyes, scrutinizing the healed injury. You clarified, “It is done. The pale line will fade away in a few hours, sir.”

Geshu Lin remained silent, his gaze still focused on his healed arm. A range of emotions flickered in his eyes, but not one of them was decipherable. It was as if you were looking at a painting crafted by a masterful artist who wove shades of emotions on a canvas too complex to discern.

The silence stretched on as Geshu Lin examined his arm. You stood there, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, unsure whether you should say something or simply leave. The tent felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken tension. For a moment, you wondered if he would dismiss you without a word, if all your effort to heal him would pass unacknowledged.

Finally, Geshu Lin lowered his arm, his sharp amber eyes locking onto yours once more. The intensity in his gaze hadn't lessened, and it dawned on you that perhaps you had overstepped by being persistent like a fly and grabbing his arm as if they were friends. You internally cringed.

“You’re persistent,” he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of an unspoken challenge.

Your pulse quickened, but you met his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster. “I am here to do my duty, general. Whether it's healing you or the soldiers, I won’t back down from what’s necessary.”

For a brief moment, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch—almost a smile, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. Geshu Lin stepped away from the table, rolling his newly healed arm with a precision that spoke to the countless battles he'd endured.

“You’re bold,” he added, this time with a hint of something like approval in his tone. “Most wouldn’t dare speak to me the way you just did.”

You gulped down nervously. It had occurred to you once again that your persistence, bordering on defiance, might have come across as insubordination. Your heart raced again. You half-expected him to file a harsh complaint about you to a senior rearguard member of Midnight Rangers.

“If I overstepped…” you began, but he raised a hand, silencing you.

“You did what needed to be done. That’s more than I can say for most.”

He turned his back to you, his long white hair flowed briefly with his movement. For a moment, you thought he was dismissing you non-verbally. But then you noticed him turn his head to the side, indicating that he still wanted to address you.

“You fought me today,” he said, not looking back. “But don’t make a habit of it.”

There was no malice in his words, but the warning was clear. He would tolerate your defiance this time, perhaps even respect it. But that respect was something you’d have to navigate carefully.

“Yes, sir,” you replied softly, feeling utterly relieved.

The general turned his head to the front and said, “You are dismissed.”

With that, you bowed your head, turned and left. The rush of the past few moments finally caught up to you, and your knees almost wobbled as you rushed back into your tent. You zipped the tent fully closed and sat down, catching your breath, the weight of the interaction settling on your shoulders.

The general was unlike anyone you had ever encountered. His power, his cold demeanor, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the entire world on his back—it was overwhelming. You could understand why no one dared to lash out at him about his ruthless behavior on the battlefield. He was ruthless to the enemies and, according to the soldiers, also ruthless and uncaring to his allies if he felt they were too slow. And yet, he was okay with you. You had definitely overstepped your boundaries, but he disregarded it. Why?

As you sat there, catching your breath, a thought began to form in your mind. Maybe, just maybe, there was a reason behind Geshu Lin’s relentless nature—something that drove him to push others and himself beyond their limits.

But for now, you allowed yourself a moment of rest. Perhaps you were just lucky to escape his wrath unscathed. And hopefully, that would be your last interaction with him. You hoped so. You couldn’t deal with this kind of stress and nervousness again in your life. No way. That fear of overstepping your boundaries to a general was too much for you. All you wanted was to heal everyone.

[meazalykov]

love letters

sydney lohmann x f!reader

writing loving letters to your girlfriend always warms a part of her soul

warnings: one letter is suggestive

august 3rd, 2023

dear sydney,

I hope you find this somewhere in the pit of the clothes in your locker ha. i'm sorry the world cup didn’t end the way you wanted, and i know that’s weighing on you in some way.

yes, I was with my own national team but I watched you out there, giving everything, your heart stitched into every sprint, every tackle. it hurts to see you break down like that.

sydney.. you’re still a great player. you lift up your teammates with a smile, making everyone feel like it’ll be okay.

I am just your bayern teammate, not your national one. however, it hurts to move on in this world cup tournament while you go back to munich. I am someone who sees you from a distance, but i needed to write this.

you’re not defined by one tournament. your fire, your kindness, the way you make people feel alive just by being near you...that’s what matters. you’ll rise again, syd. i know it.

your teammate <3

october 15th, 2023

dear sydney,

training’s been intense lately, hasn’t it? I felt it, and you did too. we've been together for a month at this point, but one thing I've noticed is how you make football look like a dance.

i saw you today, laughing with klara after a drill, your hair catching the sunlight, and i couldn’t stop smiling while listening to the both of you in our small triangle while sitting.

you have this way of making my hard days feel lighter, like you’re carrying a secret spark that spreads to everyone.

i’m still too shy to say this to your face, so here i am, hiding behind paper again even though you are my girlfriend now.

you’re beautiful, not just because of how you look (though, wow, you really do glow you beautiful girl). it’s how you listen when someone’s struggling, how you fight for every ball like it’s the last.

i admire you so much, more than you’ll ever guess. keep shining, okay?

you can guess who <3

december 20th, 2023

dear sydney,

it’s almost christmas, and the team’s all festive, but i keep thinking about you. we have been officially together now for the last few months... can you believe it?

i was so nervous when i finally told you it was me writing those letters, but the way you smiled… syd, i’ll never forget it.

you’re my girlfriend!

you’re beautiful in ways i’m still discovering like how you get this little crease in your brow when you’re planning something sweet for me, or how you cheer louder than anyone when a teammate scores.

i’m falling for you harder every day, and i just needed you to know that.

happy holidays, my love.

your love, y/n <3

january 15th, 2024

dear sydney,

my heart’s been aching since you got hurt. as I stood down beside tuva, it hurt watching you go down in the middle. it felt like the world stopped.

you’re always so unstoppable out there, and now you’re stuck healing, and i know it’s driving you crazy. injuries have happened to you a lot but you’re still you...still cracking jokes, still making me laugh even when you’re in pain.

that’s what i love most about you, syd. your spirit never dims.

you’re beautiful, even now, with your crutches and your stubborn determination. it’s how you care so fiercely, how you’re already talking about coming back stronger.

i’m here for every step, holding your hand, loving you through it all. rest, heal, let me be your strength for a bit.

your love, y/n <3

march 10th, 2024

dear sydney,

you’re back on the pitch, and i swear the whole team feels brighter for it. being back with me, even if it’s just for light drills, makes my chest ache in the best way.

you’ve been so strong through this recovery, syd. i know it wasn’t easy, but you faced it with that same fire you always have...the one that makes you chase every ball, every dream, like nothing can stop you.

i love how you light up when you talk about the game, how your laugh echoes across the field.

you’re beautiful in your passion and for this club, in the way you make me believe in impossible things.

i’m so proud of you, and so lucky you’re mine.

y/n <3

may 25th, 2024

dear sydney,

the season’s winding down, and i keep thinking about how far we’ve come.

you’re back to your old self by flying down the wing, making defenders look silly, and god, it’s a sight.

the thing is that you're more than just a footballer, it’s you off the pitch that steals my heart. the way you check in on me after a long day, the way you hum when we’re cooking dinner together.

you make everything feel like home.

your beauty’s in those quiet moments, syd. it’s how your eyes soften when you look at me, how you always know what to say when i’m doubting myself.

i love you more than i can ever write down, but i’ll keep trying.

your love, y/n <3

august 6th, 2024

dear sydney,

today was heavy, and i’m sorry. scoring those goals, especially that second one which curled it past you into the top right, felt so strange.

you were right there along with the other defenders like feli and midge trying to block me, and i saw the fight in your eyes. you were aggressive, I'm happy you didn't let our relationship stop you from trying to stop me.

i didn’t celebrate much as trinity and mallory jumped on my back like I'm some sort of train ride...you probably noticed.

i can get wild with my cellys, but not today, not with you and so many of our bayern teammates out there, giving everything.

it’s weird, isn’t it? how we’re family at club, but out here, it’s country against country.

i know germany’s headed to the bronze match now, and i hate that i had a part in that.

the thing is that you’re so strong, syd with your heart and your fire, it’s why i fell for you.

you’ll face spain, and yeah, they’re world champs, but they’ve got holes now. don’t let their press or the famous ones like alexia scare you.

I am not your coach, but it is clear that you can break their lines if you stay sharp and capitalize on their overcommits.

i believe in you, always.

go get that bronze medal.

i love you.

y/n <3

[sydney's pov for the next letter]

august 10th, 2024

dear y/n,

its me writing you letters now, haha. I hope my handwriting is not too bad.

i’m sitting here with this bronze medal around my neck, and it feels good, really good, but nothing compares to the way my heart swelled watching you today.

you won gold, and god, you deserve it.

the way you lit up out there, the pure joy on your face when they called your name… i don’t think i’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.

the olympic committee draped that medal over you, and the crowd lost it, screaming louder than they did for anyone else. i was right there with them, cheering from the stands with my german teammates, my voice hoarse from shouting for you.

even in our colors, i was yours first.

that navy blue tracksuit of yours, the way it hugged you with that gold gleaming against it...it was like the whole stadium faded away, and all i could see was you.

your skin was glowing, love, like the medal was made to sit against it. i kept thinking about that header you scored against brazil, in the last minute, sealing that 2-0 win after your other teammate scored the first earlier.

the way you leapt, so sure, so alive, and sent the ball screaming into the net, it was perfect. you were perfect.

i must’ve replayed it in my head a hundred times already, grinning like an idiot every time.

i’m so happy for you, y/n. you worked so hard, fought through every moment, and now you’re standing at the top of the world. i know how much this means to you, how you’ve carried your country’s hopes and turned them into something real.

it’s one of the reasons i love you...your heart, your creativity and your fire, the way you give everything and still have so much left to share with me.

i’m proud of my bronze, too. we fought for it, scratched and clawed against spain like you said we could.

just standing here, knowing we both get to go home with something shining around our necks, it t feels right, doesn’t it? like we’re in this together, even when we’re on opposite sides of the pitch.

you looked so happy up there today, and that’s what i’ll carry with me most. your smile, your laugh, the way you waved to the crowd like you couldn’t believe it was real.

i could watch you shine like that forever.

i love you, my gold medal girl.

i’m counting down the minutes until i can wrap you up in my arms and celebrate you properly. you’re my everything.

your bronze medalist, sydney <3

[back to your pov]

september 1st, 2024

dear sydney,

happy one year, my love.

a whole year since you said you loved me too, since i stopped being just a secret admirer and got to hold you instead. i still get butterflies thinking about it...how you took my hand that day, how you make every day since feel like a gift.

you’re beautiful, syd, in ways that stop me in my tracks.

it’s your heart and how you pour it into everything, from a perfect cross to a silly joke just to see me smile.

it’s your courage, your warmth, the way you make me want to be better. i’m so grateful for you, for us.

here’s to forever.

your love, y/n <3

[sydney's pov once again]

august 27th, 2024

dear y/n,

god, y/n, you’re making it impossible to focus today, and i’m not even mad about it. i caught you watching me at training, your eyes lingering a little too long, and it set something off in me.

i’m writing this with my pulse racing, my skin tingling, because all i can think about is you. the way you moved out there, your confidence in every stride, the way your shirt clung to you when you were drenched in sweat... i had to look away to keep from losing it.

your aura, love, it’s dangerous, so bright and teasing, like you know exactly how you’re unraveling me.

you’re beautiful, and it’s driving me wild. it’s how you light up the pitch, throwing yourself into every play with this fire that makes my heart skip. it is the way your hair catches the light when you tie it back, making me want to tug it loose just to see you glare at me.

it’s deeper than that, y/n. it is how you lean into me when we’re alone, making me feel like i’m the only thing that matters.

you’re this mix of fierce and tender, and i’m addicted to every second of it.

i keep picturing us tonight, slipping away somewhere quiet, just you and me. i want to touch you, y/n. my hands on your waist, sliding up your back, feeling you shiver under my fingers.

i want to pull you close, my lips grazing your neck, hearing you sigh my name like it’s all you can say. i want to press myself against you, slow and deliberate, until you’re melting, begging for more.

i’m dying to take my time, to explore every inch of you again even if we do this almost every night already, just to make you feel how much i want you until you’re breathless and clinging to me.

you’ve got me so worked up, love...i can’t think of anything but you, your taste, your heat.

i’m yours, y/n, every part of me burning for you.

you’ve turned me into a mess, and i need to show you what you’re doing to me.

i love you, always, but tonight, i want to make you feel every single thing i’m feeling right now.

your love, sydney <3

[back to your pov]

october 30, 2024

dear sydney,

the new season is in full swing, and you’re killing it out there. every time you step on the pitch, it’s like you’re reminding the world who you are.

to me, you’re so much more than goals and assists. you’re the one who makes my mornings better with your sleepy smiles, the one who listens when i’m overthinking everything.

your beauty is in how you love everyone syd. you do it so fiercely and openly without holding back. it’s how you celebrate the little things, like when we nailed that recipe last week.

you make my life brighter every day, and i’ll never stop being amazed by you.

your love, y/n <3

january 20, 2025

dear sydney,

it’s cold out, but you’re still my warmth. we’ve been together through so much now, and yet every day with you feels new. i was thinking about those early letters today...how nervous i was, hoping you’d notice me.

now, i get to wake up next to you, and it’s more than i ever dreamed.

this letter is short since we have to go get ready for training soon but i love you, syd, today and always.

y/n <3

february 25, 2025

dear sydney,

i miss you so much, syd.

being here in california with the national team feels so far from you in germany, and my heart’s aching for you. the days are busy, but every quiet moment, i’m thinking of your laugh, your warmth, how you make everything better.

i can’t wait to be back with you in munich, just four days from now.

today was full, at least.

we had a light training session this morning.

there was a funny moment at lunch that made me think of you. cat or catarina, you know how she gets... was teasing alyssa about her coffee order, something about how she’s “too predictable” with her oat milk latte.

alyssa, deadpan as ever, just goes, “at least my coffee order doesn’t taste like shit,” and points at cat’s triple espresso.

i laughed so hard i nearly choked on my water.

the out-of-pocket joke was crazy! you’d have loved it, syd.

oh, and get this... there is the homophobe on the team, the one who’s acted fake around me this whole time. I've told you all at bayern about her when you guys asked.

well, she finallyyyyy mumbled some apology too all of us on the team yesterday after her scandal happened LAST YEAR???? i guess she felt guilty after all this time.

i just nodded and walked away. i don’t have the energy for her drama, so i keep my distance at these camps. it’s better that way, and honestly, i’d rather focus on the teammates who’ve got my back, like literally anyone else.

california’s sunny, but it’s not the same without you. i went for a walk by the beach after training, just to clear my head, and i kept wishing you were here, holding my hand, making fun of how i always trip over the sand.

i’m counting down the hours until i’m back with you, syd. four days, and i’ll be in your arms again, where i belong. i love you so much.

your love, y/n <3

march 26, 2025

dear sydney,

i’m sitting here, syd, and i feel like i’ve been run over.

bayern’s out of the champions league, 4-1 to lyon in that second leg, and it’s eating me alive. i’m so burnt out, so sad, and honestly, pissed...but not at the team, not at you. it’s me.

i keep replaying every moment, every goal we let in, and i can’t shake the thought that i should’ve done more.

i should’ve stopped them. diani’s goal. that is all on me. if i’d passed down to tuva instead of pernille, that whole play wouldn’t have fallen apart.

i see it over and over, my mistake, and it’s like a knife twisting.

i let us down.

you, though...you were brilliant out there. you fought like hell, every sprint, every tackle, pouring your heart into it like you always do. i’m sorry if my frustration’s spilling over, love. you don’t deserve that.

you never stop amazing me, even when i’m drowning in my own head. i just wish i could’ve matched you today, could’ve been the player we needed.

i love you, syd, and i’m trying to pull myself together for the team, and for you.

y/n <3

april 16th, 2025

dear sydney,

spring’s here, and the world feels alive, but you’re still the brightest part of it. you’re still the same sydney who stole my heart. you are brave, warm, always finding a way to make even the toughest days feel okay.

I can't wait for our trip to mallorca in the summer. I have been to ibiza, but never mallorca. i cannot wait to spend time on the beach with you <3

you’re my home, my future, my everything. i hope you know i’ll love you forever.

you know who by now <3

masterlist

authors note: I kinda hate this but I spent too much time on it

[castlebyersthoughts]

Okay, I heard there's a new Finn interview and both sides are celebrating, so I'm gonna give my two cents about Finn's answer.

I'm linking the full video, question is at 2:39. On a related note, please, guys, before you make up your mind about something and start to relay it, go check the source for yourselves. It's easy for people to cut something out of their posts and reactions, and this is how misinformation gets spread.

So, the question was: "What are your thoughts about the Eleven storyline?", which is such a vague question, what does it even mean? What Eleven storyline? I believe they meant the Mike and Eleven romance storyline, but it would've been interesting to see how they worded this question to Finn directly. Instead we'll just have to assume he's talking about Mike and El's romantic relationship.

I'll try to be objective first, then I'll give my opinion. In the first part of the answer, Finn's talking about how their relationship started as an "ET kind of thing" but then it "turns out to be a young girl that (Mike) ends up having feelings for". Once again, Finn doesn't seem to believe it was love at first sight for Mike. To be completely fair, this doesn't have to mean anything about season 5, it could be a difference of opinion between Finn and the writers, which is a thing that happens. Sometimes actors interprets their character's feelings differently.

So here Finn is re affirming the canon: Mike saw El as "creature" he had to protect, then ended up developping feelings for her and they got into a relationship. He could be saying the truth or he could lying here, in order not to spoil a certain season 5 twist, there's really no way to know. As a bi Mike truther though, I think that part was true. Notice how he never talked about Mike's current feelings for El though, he only said that the relationship evolved.

Then it becomes more interesting, as once again, Finn shifts the focus from Mike and El as a couple to instead talk about "having close relationships with people that are outsiders", which is something that he thinks "a lot of people identify with". If he was still talking about Mike and El, why did he say it like that? It would've been so easy to say "I think people see themselves in Mike and El because they're both outsiders and that's why they identify with this relationship". Simple and to the point. But he didn't, instead he kept it vague, not directly saying who he was talking about. So, definitely eyebrow-rising.

Then we get to the last part of the answer: "It's a storyline that I really liked doing and I think fans will be happy with in the fifth season". Knowing that the question was initially about Mike and El's relationship, I'll admit it would be a bit weird for Finn to say that fans would be happy with this relationship ending (even though we know most will). But there's also the possibility that he's talking about the whole Mike storyline of season 5, which includes the love triangle, and Mike eventually ending up with Will. If that's what he's thinking of here, it makes perfect sense to say that the people who identify with a relationship between outsiders will be happy with the resolution of this storyline, especially when we know that Finn is aware of how big the Byler fanbase is (I'm referring to his comment at the Paris Con). But we have no way of knowing for sure what he's talking about here, and he could still be talking about Mike and El, although I personally don't believe he is, mainly because of his use of "people".

So, my conclusion is: it's not exactly a clear win for us, but it's definitely a loss for M*leven, since Finn is still incapable of talking about their love and always has to shift the focus away from them, saying vague stuff and basically word soups instead. It's night and day compared to how Caleb talks about Lumax and how unconditional and forever their love is. I've seen this since the season 4 promo, every time Finn has to answer a M*leven question he searches his words and stutters and starts being super vague, it's so different from how he answers other questions. I also remember he already said the "relationships with people" thing during the season 4 press tour, it was basically: "Mike learns a lot about how he sees himself and his relationships with people", and we ended up getting a love triangle between Mike, El and Will. So I guess it's safe to say that the love triangle is continuing in season 5 (not that we needed confirmation).

Ultimately I'm of the opinion that we shouldn't rely on interviews because actors can say anything and lie and they have to come up with something on the spot that they may regret later when they think about it. Interviews should never be used as a way to prove or confirm something about a future season, instead it should be a fun little thing to analyze!