#I only really changed the face but I think it works-

[azzibuckets]

every time we feel

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: am obsessed with the dynamic of best friends who always brinking on the edge of something more. best friends who touch each other in ways that are intimate but not necessarily sexual, because all they know is that they love each other, and so maybe it doesn’t matter that they mistakenly define themselves as something less when everything between them has always been more

word count: 3.7k

main masterlist | oneshots masterlist

“aight, i’m done.” paige scoots out from under the table, sitting up with her palms pressed to the carpet. damp curls of hair tousled from lying on the ground stick to her damp forehead, and her face is flushed from the warmth. “you need help with anything else?”

“na, i think that was it.”

paige collapses on the ground with a grunt, biceps flexed as her arms splay out. “is your ac broken or something? it’s hot as fuck in here.” she wipes at her forehead, arm coming away shiny.

“we’re getting it fixed soon,” azzi replies apologetically, moving from her spot on the couch to paige’s side. the blonde is warm, and smells a little like sweat, and her sports bra is damp and clinging to her chest. paige smiles at her, worn and soft in the way she always is when she’s tired from a long day. and although she’s more subdued like this, meager energy left to banter back and forth and play around like they usually do, there’s an unusual softness in the way she speaks to azzi, words worn with quiet affection. azzi loves it.

paige flips onto her side, mischief knit in the familiar quirk of her eyebrows. azzi knows what’s coming before it happens, but it doesn’t stop her from yelping loudly when paige tucks a hand into her waist and burrows her perspiring face into her chest.

azzi doesn’t know why she’s not as grossed out as she should be—her best friend is wiping her sweat all over her, for fuck’s sake. but something in her stomach stirs, and she lets paige continue being annoying for longer than she should before she utters out a weak, “paige, gross,” hitting her shoulder, as the older girl breaks out into obnoxious laughter.

“nah, princess gotta pay for all this work somehow.” paige lifts a limp finger to poke at her dimple before flopping down again, this time onto azzi’s chest instead of the ground. azzi has half a mind to push paige and all her unshowered mess off, but decides that she’s already gross anyways, and there’s no harm in letting paige rest after the two hours she’d just sacrificed doing menial work around her apartment.

so azzi wraps an arm around her neck, presses her lips to her temple. “thank you, bob the builder.”

“it’s really not that hard, mama, you just gotta follow the instructions,” paige chuckles. “did you even try?”

she’s met with resounding silence, and the blonde raises a smug eyebrow. “knew it.”

azzi flicks her forehead. “why do the work when you’re always there to do it for me?”

paige pinches her waist in retaliation, and the younger girl giggles before they’re interrupted by a buzz of the phone. frowning, paige’s attention quickly shifts to checking her notifications. as she types on the screen, azzi rolls onto her stomach to study the blonde. paige has always been objectively pretty—pretty in a way that azzi could appreciate and compliment, just like all her other beautiful friends—in a way that she never really gave too much thought to.

but the foundation of their friendship had been long distance, and in all the brief moments throughout the years that they’d seen each other, azzi hadn’t had the time to focus on how paige’s body was changing. yet now, with near constant proximity to paige clad in only a sports bra and her signature low-hanging sweats always hugging her hips just right; or paige sweaty after practice, rolling up her sleeves to proudly show off her pump; or paige in the cold tub, water gleaming and dripping off tan skin and long thighs, azzi has quickly realized that the blonde has been hitting the weight room. a lot. gone were stick-skinny arms, replaced with visible biceps and thrraded muscle. she’s grown into her height, lankiness turning into sturdiness that azzi could feel whenever she pressed her hands to her chest.

and probably the most stunning realization azzi has had to come across is that paige is hot. like, veiny hands, ringed fingers, raspy voice, type shit hot. the kind of hot in all those shitty smutty books she reads. the kind of hot she would’ve never expected from her best friend, who’s always been annoying and goofy and sweet to her. but somehow paige manages to be all of it, and azzi’s not, like, in love with paige or anything, but fuck, does it screw with azzi’s gay head.

her focus shifts down. there’s a light sheen of sweat coating paige’s tummy, and before azzi can consider all the ten thousand reasons why her next decision would be a bad idea, she lowers her mouth and licks paige’s stomach, tongue sweeping out to taste skin and sweat. paige’s mouth hinges open, phone immediately dropping to the ground, forgotten.

“fuck.” she swallows, staring at azzi in disbelief. “that was kinda hot.”

“i’ve never given someone a hickey,” she blurts out. she blinks, not knowing how that even came out of her mouth. it’s not like she’d been thinking of hickeys, only how annoyingly good paige looked, how soft her skin seemed.

paige looks pained. “you’ve never given someone a hickey?” she repeats, voice a little scratchy. her hips shift, so slight that azzi couldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t already staring at the way the waistband of her boxers peeked out tantalizingly over her pants. azzi licks her lips.

“i mean, i’ve gotten hickeys, but i don’t know. i’ve just never felt the urge to give them to someone else.”

paige rubs her tongue over her bottom lip. “you sayin’ that like you wanna learn, princess.”

azzi can see the goosebumps forming on paige’s arms, the nervous flick in her eyes. it only spurs her on. “i mean, i might be down to learn.” her tone shifts, low and smothered with heat. “with the right person.”

paige’s eyes flutter shut, temptation fighting a war in her heart. when they open again, azzi’s heart skips a beat when she sees that her pupils are completely blown over, irises now a dark, hazy blue with hooded and heavy lids. fuck.

paige pushes her sweats down. “right here. where no one can see.” her thumb brushes over the indentation of her waist, where it slopes down to meet her hipbone. when azzi touches with her own fingers, grazing slightly over the curve, a little breathy sigh leaves her parted lips.

azzi dips her head down, mouth meeting the tender, soft skin of her hip and immediately going to work. there’s a hitch in paige’s breath, her hand steadying on azzi’s head as her hips involuntarily rock up, desperate for more. azzi meets her gaze, big brown eyes rounded over while her full mouth suckles at her skin, and paige moans, loud and unashamed. azzi hooks the cotton material with her thumb and drags it down further, giving herself a bigger canvas to paint over with her mouth. when every inch of the entire area is covered with angry marks, azzi soothes over the redness with her tongue, dragging it slowly over the dip of her hip.

“god, azzi.” paige’s eyes are glazed over, and she swallows hard, unable to tear her eyes away from the tattoo kisses.

azzi sits up, breathing hard, tongue sweet with the taste of paige’s skin and teeth itching to sink into more. her best friend looks wrecked, bottom lip bitten raw between her teeth. azzi nips at her jaw playfully, and paige groans when she pulls away. they’re both too lost in the moment to notice the click of the door unlocking, with paige, sprawled on the ground, v-line exposed, chest heaving up and down as azzi hovers above her, thumbs rubbing her bare hips.

christyn drops her bag on the floor. nika snorts. evina sighs.

“fuck.” paige yanks up her pants in a hurry, mortified, and azzi rolls away quickly, staring up at the ceiling.

“actually, i don’t even wanna know what y’all were doing,” christyn mutters, grabbing her belongings and walking to her room.

“you guys know it’s legal, right?” nika giggles, earning a smack to the back of the head by evina.

“go to your room, nik,” she says, and with a huff the brunette trails off.

paige clears her throat and starts throwing nails and screwdrivers into the toolbox. “sorry, e. was just putting some shit together for azzi.”

“it’s alright.” evina eyes them warily. “paige, you should go home. it’s getting pretty late.” shaking her head a little, she leaves the room.

“i’m gonna…” paige jabs her thumb at the door.

“your shirt.” azzi throws it at her, and paige winces. “that really didn’t help the allegations, huh?”

“whatever. they can think what they wanna think.” azzi runs her fingers through paige’s ponytail, twirling the strands in a loop before giving it a playful tug. “see you tomorrow?”

paige clears her throat. she feels awkward, for some reason, but azzi moves around her like everything is normal. “yeah.”

“alright.” azzi cups her neck and kisses her cheek. “good night. i love you.”

paige hooks a finger through the band of her jean shorts. “i’m…” azzi stares at her expectantly, and paige realizes how stupid she looks and changes her mind. “never mind,” she says. “i love you too.” she doesn’t even know what she’d been trying to say—only that she wasn’t quite ready to let azzi go.

“you sure you don’t wanna stay over?” azzi asks softly. she purses her lips, almost embarrased, and paige gets it. they’ve spent the entire day together, spotting each other at lift before matching up in practice. they’d even grabbed lunch before heading to azzi’s apartment, and still, paige thinks it’s not enough time with the person she loves most.

“i think evina would kill me.” she jabs azzi’s stomach playfully. “but i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“okay.” azzi walks her to the door, squeezing her hand before she goes, and paige walks home in silence.

in reality, she knows that they’ll be fine, that they’re the type of friends who can give each other hickeys and be completely normal the next. a little voice in her mind wishes that they weren’t. that maybe something would finally change, that azzi be seem as affected as she was. then she’s confused on why she even thinks that, why she would want anything in their relationship to change when things are perfect. the lack of sleep must be making her go crazy, so she rushes through her shower and slips into her sheets.

barely ten hours later, they’re sitting on the locker room floor. paige is leaning against her locker, sipping out of her water bottle as she scrolls mindlessly on tiktok, while azzi is next to her, legs splayed out, socked feet knocking against paige’s as she plays with the drawstrings on her shorts. “can i see them?” azzi asks after a while, voice low against the buzz in the locker room.

“see what?”

“you know what.” azzi’s knuckles brush against her knee. “wanna know if i did good.”

“i don’t think you gotta worry about that,” paige snorts. she’d been late to practice that day—turns out it’s easy to lose track of time on the toilet seat when you pull your pajamas down and are reminded of the night before by dark bruises, splotchy and harsh against your pale skin, and start thinking about your best friend pressing you down, the feel of her pink mouth, wet and possessive, against your bare skin, how good the pain from her teeth and tongue had felt. fuck.

“i wanna see my masterpiece.” azzi tugs her to the bathroom, and they lock the single stall before azzi’s hands are on her waist and fisting her shorts down. a low whistle comes out of her mouth. “damn. i don’t even have to practice.”

pine shakes her head, waistband snapping back into place. “ion even wanna know who you’re practicing with.”

azzi grins. “did it feel good?”

paige avoids her eyes. “it was alright. kinda tickled.”

“nah, don’t be lying now,” azzi snorts. “you were moaning.”

“was not.”

“getting all hot and bothered just from a hickey,” she snickers.

paige sends her the nastiest look she can muster, which turns out to be not very nasty when it’s aimed towards her best friend, someone she can never really stay mad at. “shut the hell up, azzi.”

“let me know when you’re ready for round two,” azzi sing-songs.

paige pushes the dark haired girl as they walk out of the bathroom. “aight, it wasn’t like that. and you know it.”

“i’m just saying, maybe you need to get laid. it’s been a while.”

“what, you tryna make me fit the allegations?” paige snorts.

“pretending as if i don’t know you got a dirty ass mind.” azzi’s voice drops a note. “what were you thinking about when i was giving you a hickey, paigey?”

paige goes red all over. “you’re a little shit.”

༉‧₊˚✧

azzi isn’t all that surprised when paige is a no show at dinner. the bus ride over from the game had been loud, and even though the team had pulled out with a meager win, azzi could tell from the way paige had pulled the drawstrings of her hoodie and slipped in her earbuds that despite the final score, she was brooding about her own performance. there’s never been anyone harder on her best friend than herself.

“she’s in one of her moods,” ice grumbles when she shows up alone and the whole team looks at her.

“maybe you’re just annoying,” aaliyah shoots back.

“i didn’t even say anything and she threw her sock at me!” ice says. “i was just tryna be nice and get her to dinner. she can starve for all i care.”

azzi huffs out a sigh and gets up. “i wouldn’t bother,” her teammate warns. “this is like, the angriest i’ve ever seen her. i was scared.”

“it’s azzi,” ines interjects, and no one bothers to argue. azzi doesn’t have time to worry about what that means. thankfully, dinner is arranged at the hotel buffet, making it easy for her to slip out unnoticed in the crowded dining room.

it takes a full minute of knocking on the door for paige to open it. when she sees azzi, she only rolls her eyes before returning to her bed, slumping in the sheets without a word. azzi allows her a moment to pout before picking up a stuffed basketball from the ground and throwing it at her head. “stop sulking.”

paige doesn’t spare her a glance. “shouldn’t you be at dinner?”

“yeah, and i could be eating right now if you weren’t all mopey alone in your room.”

“i didn’t ask for you to come, azzi. just go back down and eat.”

azzi takes a seat next to paige. she doesn’t touch her, not yet. she’s still trying to gauge where her head’s at, and sometimes when paige is really in it she doesn’t like anyone touching her.

“you mad at how you played?”

azzi can practically feel paige rolling her eyes. “what else would i be mad at? jesus.”

“don’t be mean, paige.”

a long exhale leaves the blonde’s lips. “i’m sorry, but i don’t feel like doing this right now, az. turns out i’m asscheeks at basketball and i’m tired and my knee is giving out on me and i hate my life.”

“at least you’re hot.”

one blue eye finally opens. slowly, the apples of her cheeks start to form, and although her mouth is still hidden in her pillow, azzi knows that the older girl is smirking.

“you think i’m hot?”

“alright, don’t let it get to your head,” azzi scoffs. her palm smoothes over the wrinkles in paige’s hoodie as she starts long, slow scratches on her back over the hoodie. paige softens almost immediately at her touch, the wrinkle in her forehead relaxing and shoulders loosening.

“you love having all my attention, hm?” azzi teases. to her surprise, paige doesn’t deny it, merely tugging azzi down on the bed to face her. she looks at the younger girl, not quite smiling, but not frowning either.

“ice said you were being an ass to her,” azzi says after a beat of silence.

“i was being an ass to you too.”

“you threw a sock at her.”

a smile tugs at the corner of paige’s lips. “well.”

azzi tugs at her ear. “you’re like a toddler when you’re mad.”

“nuh uh.”

“throwing a tantrum then you get some cuddles and you’re happy again.”

“swear i’m gonna kick you out of this room, azzi,” paige threatens.

azzi only smiles, continuing to stroke her arm with her nails. “let’s get some ice cream,” she suggests.

“not hungry,” the older girl grunts, slamming her face back into her pillow.

azzi stands up and grabs her wallet. “well, i want ice cream. either you come with me or i’ll go myself. alone. at 11 pm. at night.”

paige swears under her breath and follows her. in the elevator, she presses against azzi, leaning her entire body weight on her like she knows she’ll be supported. her hands dig into azzi’s hips as if to make sure she’s real, that she’s there, that she’s hers. azzi tucks the moment into her heart—as much as she gives her shit for it, she loves when paige is acts like a baby around her. humming, the younger girl runs a hand through her hair. “you smell good,” paige murmurs quietly.

“yeah?”

“you always do.” paige’s nose brushes her jaw lazily, then her cheek, then her hair as she plants a kiss on her earlobe. her body is heavy against azzi’s, but it’s grounding, and she can almost fall asleep like that, with legs intertwined and fingers tangled together in the dim lighting of a cold, moving machine. when the elevator dings on the ground floor, they linger, neither wanting to pull away first.

at the store, azzi doesn’t miss the way the cashier’s gaze falls on paige’s abs. azzi doesn’t know what possesses her—or maybe what she’s possessive of—but when paige finishes paying, she turns and kisses the blonde’s face as thank you, lips lingering on her cheek. paige looks at her curiously—azzi is never one to show pda, but she welcomes it, her hand moving to its familiar spot on azzi’s lower back and brushing the sliver of skin between her top and shorts.

paige hops on a stool, pulling azzi in with her legs as her hands work their way into the pockets of azzi’s hoodie. azzi feeds her a spoonful of ice cream, and paige nods in satisfaction. rocky road had been the way to go. “see? not so grumpy anymore,” the dark haired girl says smugly, pinching her cheek.

“i wasn’t even grumpy. i was just thinking,”

azzi wipes away a smear of chocolate from paige’s mouth, the pad of her thumb trailing her bottom lip for longer than necessary. “what were you thinking about?”

“how i gotta hit the gym more.” paige abruptly stands up, dodging having to give an actual answer. the disappointment in her best friend’s eyes is hard to ignore. “the team’s in nika’s room. let’s go.”

/

paige can push aside her ego to admit a lot of things, but she’s never been a pussy ass bitch. honestly, she’s never found a reason not to be confident. she’s awesome at basketball, has a chill group of friends, is decent in school, and she certainly doesn’t spend so much time staring in a mirror because she’s ugly.

so she’s not sure why the fuck she feels so nervous right now. like, it’s azzi. azzi, whose been her best friend for years now. azzi, who she knows like the back of her hand. azzi, who she can totally let her guard down around. azzi, who’s also on her lap, ass pressed to her thighs, and smelling way too good.

and it’s like she jinxes herself, because azzi leans back, shifting to make herself comfortable, and paige has to bite down on her lip to stop herself from groaning. her fingers flex on azzi’s thighs, squeezing the muscle there for a brief second before sidling a little higher, just brushing up the hem of her shorts before they’re slapped away.

“paige,” azzi hisses, eyes darting nervously around the room.

“sorry,” paige mumbles, not feeling really sorry at all.

from across the room, nika eyes them. “thought this was team bonding, not team fondling,” she snickers to amari, and the entire team doubles over in laughter like it’s the funniest fucking joke they’ve ever heard.

“yo, paige, let us know when it’s our turn for lap time,” aaliyah adds, and by now the girls are howling.

sending a death glare to dorka, who’s wiping tears from her eyes, azzi pointedly slides off paige’s lap and into the opposite end of the couch with a resolute harrumph. she might as well be miles away, and paige’s fingers flex this time around empty space. “i hate y’all,” the younger girl mutters.

paige tries to catch her eye, to make a gesture of apology, but azzi stares straight at the tv, throat bobbing and cheeks faintly pink. damn. paige should’ve accepted evina’s offer of a blanket when she had the chance. not that that would’ve stopped azzi from pushing away wandering hands, but still. at least it would’ve saved them the humiliation of three seconds prior.

as paige watches the movie, she resists the urge to turn her head and watch the girl beside her instead. she wonders if azzi misses her as much as she misses azzi. it’s silly, she knows, especially because the feeling of missing someone has become so familiar to her—so familiar that she knows, logically, that missing someone is supposed to be reserved for distance and miles of separation. not for someone who’s not sitting right next to you. but still, there’s a deep sort of yearning in her that slows the beat of her heart, making it hard to focus on anything but her.

she sighs. deciding to hopefully distract herself and get a snack, she gets up and heads to the kitchen. upon return, azzi’s snuggled into a thick wool blanket, eyes low and heavy with sleep despite her blinking efforts to stay awake. paige glares at the blanket a little, because what has it done to deserve being wrapped all up in azzi? then she realizes she might be going insane for getting jealous of a blanket. she swallows, gently thumbing away a tendril that’s escaped from her bun before returning reluctantly to her own cushion.

azzi shifts behind her as the couch dips. “you cold?” she murmurs. paige shakes her head; she’s wearing three layers and is actually starting to feel a little too warm, but then azzi sends her a meaningful look.

paige’s eyes widen. “super cold,” she backtracks. “who turned up the ac so high? because i’m freezing in here.” she grabs the other half of azzi’s blanket and dramatically pulls it over herself. then she shivers hard to really sell it, but all she gets is a weirded out glance from amari and azzi rolling her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching.

paige stares steadily at the screen again, and her well practiced nonchalance quickly rewards her when she feels fingers hiking up the sleeve of her sweater and landing on her palm. agonizingly gentle, azzi traces feather light patterns into her callouses and the grooves of her fingers, and paige feels weak in the head. someone is literally just touching her hand, and paige is already a bitch. god.

azzi’s shoulder bumps into hers. “stop blushing,” she whispers, warm breath fanning over her cheek before she pulls away with shining eyes. “you’re giving us away.”

“i’m not blushing,” paige says defiantly, although her face is so warm it feels like it’s on fire.

“okay,” azzi says disbelievingly, a smirk on her lips that paige so desperately wants to kiss off. wait, what?

as her heart pounds from holding azzi’s hand under the blanket, such an act of intimacy that seems so trivial but is so sacred between just the two of them, a simple way of feeling each other’s touch as a reassuarance from all the complicated things left unsaid, paige realizes that maybe it’s not normal to feel this way around your so called best friend. oh.

[auntopossum]

Capital 'T', Capital 'M': The Manager

Saja boys x Gender Neutral! Reader

Content warning: Job Application

Chapter 1: Associate's Degree in Minding Your Own Business

Authors note: Sat down. Read through the Saja Boy x Reader tag. Thought: "Man, I wish there were more manager stories. I eat these up." Paced, possessed for 2 hours while listening Your Idol on repeat. Thought: "Be the change you want to see in the world." Blacked out. 4k long, first chapter

Summary: If anyone were to come up and tell you that the Saja Boys are a bunch of demons, you would laugh in their face and tell them to get out. That's because the Saja Boys are totally normal humans. Nothing odd about them at all. That's just their quirks from how harsh the idol life is. What's wrong with temporary tattoos? You don't like their newest stage concepts? The media thinks the Saja Boys are a group of absolute, adorable and perfect, bunch of angels. The world believes you and your boys got where you were through luck, willpower, and skill. They praise you, The Manager, for being so open and honest about their struggles through idol-dom. Everyday you get better and better at cultivating the ultimate Professional Persona. Of course, if you're actually honest, then why are your pants on fire? No really. These pants are on fire. You and your boys got where you were because you saw the boys lay out a perfect pair of pants and heard them discuss how it needs to be lit on fire. Then, you put them on and lit them yourself. And if anyone were to run up and scream that the Saja Boys are a bunch of demons, you would laugh in their face and tell them you'd do it all over again.

Chapter 1: Associate's Degree in Minding Your Own Business

Your bedroom reeks. It’s nearing the rainy season, and already, the humidity has been hitting hard. Your A/C unit begs for mercy as it miserably chugs along, dangling precariously from your apartment window. Powdered flavoring and oils stick to the letters of your keyboard. Your monitor and pulsing PC lights are the only things illuminating the bags under your eyes. Thumping bass can be heard through your taped over window along with the roar of thousands of fanatic music enthusiasts. Tonight is the Huntr/x’s last performance before they go on an undisclosed hiatus. 

The rhythmic beats pound away at your already frayed nerves. You close your eyes and pray to anything that can answer as your email loads your latest messages. Junk. Junk. Junk. College asking for money. Junk. Tracking number for latest purchase. Food delivery receipt. Junk. Junk. Junk. Jun— Hang on!

Re: Job Applicant

It’s from one of the job listings you applied to. One of many. Many. MANY. MANY!  

You cross your fingers over your mouse as you click to open it. Please. PLEASE. PLEASE!!!

Of course. It isn’t an offer. Why would it be? That’d be really silly. It’s not like you haven’t applied to nearly a thousand job listings in hopes for something. But… It isn’t an outright rejection. The email informs you at the bottom with size 8, gray font a different listing within their company, ‘Better suited for your skillset’. The overtly friendly wording pisses you off, but you grumble and follow the link anyway. 

It takes 5 minutes to create a new account, despite already having made one for the other job listing. It takes 1 minute to upload your resume, bullshitted cover letter, and appropriate licensure. It takes another 5 minutes for the website to actually load and accept the files. It takes 12 minutes to re-enter all your relevant information. Something that can be easily seen on your resume. That you had been forced to upload. It takes 22 minutes of crying and bashing your fists on your desk, ‘God damn it! God damn it! God damn it!’, as you struggle for nice things to say in the mandatory 2k word essay. The application website has the audacity to demand you beg and sing their praises. Demand you explain why you felt destined! to work at this low paying job. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. goes the beat of the music. Chug. Chug. Chug. goes the hospiced air conditioner. Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. goes the struggling fans of your computer. 

The scream you let out is completely silent, and for a moment you see pure red—then blue!—then black! You hold your breath, trembling with a slew of broiling emotions and watch as your monitors and computer system attempts to reboot itself. Luckily, it takes less than a minute to come back, and you’re able to safely restore your tabs. All is OK. It’s OK. You’re OK.

Except you’re not. You’re so very not OK. The application website, which took 2 minutes and 26 seconds to buffer and refresh, informs you with an absolutely pathetic ‘ :( ‘, letting you know in a bastardized version of comic sans that you missed the window. They have already hired someone else. 

The scream you unleash is buried by the cheering over taking the city air. You shriek until your lungs are burning and your eyes stop watering. Checking the time, you decide to call it quits for the night. With a sniffle and a snot filled HONK! into a tissue, you shrug your jacket on and fumble for your keys. Slipping on some sandals, you miss your door’s key hole several times before finally, shakily locking it. 

It’s time for a little sweet treat. You deserve a lil’ sweet treat. You need a sweet lil’ treat, or you’re going to pass out.

With a whoosh the automatic door to the convenience store opens, and you step easily over the threshold. You furiously blink your swollen eyelids as your face is assaulted by their industrial A/C. Shuffling further in, you grab a small basket and make a bee line to the refrigerated drink section. 

Faced with 5 door’s worth of options, you pause and consider your choices. Mist curls around you as you squat to inspect a can. Too focused on envisioning its artificial taste on your tongue, you miss the several, ‘excuse me!’s coming from behind. You only move, just to fall flat on your ass, with a flinch as a burning hot hand sears into your shoulder. 

“Oh my goodness! I didn’t mean to startle you!”, apologizes the man above you with the perfect face. No really, that dark black hair and smooth face is uncannily perfect. You ignore the hand being offered to instead grip the rubber siding of the door. With a zombie-like groan, you haul your aching body up. 

“S’all good.” You mumble out, fiddling with the zipper of your jacket instead of making eye contact with the handsome stranger. That’s when you notice three more pairs of shoes by you. You twitch, slamming the fridge door closed, and stumble back into the slightly exposed abdomen and legs of a fourth pair. A set of uncomfortably warm, burly arms steady you, and you nearly flush with fever yourself. 

“While we have you~” purrs another equally good-looking gentleman. They sport a unique cut of pink hair and step too close into your personal bubble. Something cold touches the underside of your chin, and you're forced to look up into their face. “What is this?” The object moves from your skin to reveal itself to be a beverage can. 

“Uh…” You stupidly say, leaning back into the hot, supple chest behind you in an effort to clearly read the label being shoved in your face. “Soda?”

“What’s it taste like?” asks the boy to your left with blue hair, hugging a party sized bag of chips like a life line. 

You look over the vibrant packaging, and thankfully, it’s a brand you have the unfortunate luck to recognize. Intimately. There was a dark, dark time back in college where you drank enough to make a little christmas tree from the recycled tabs. 

“Chemically sweet. Exactly like—” you gesture with a semi-restrained limb to the can’s exterior. “You would expect the color, ‘icy blue’, and the name, ‘Coastal Tundra’, to taste like. 

“Is that… a good thing?” asks the original, beautiful stranger. They look slightly off kilter, and you take a moment to survey the cluster of absurdly handsome young men. The heat radiating by your back feels obscenely good as your muscles cease their insistent ache. 

With a long huff, blowing an imaginary strand of hair from your face, you lean back on your heels before recoiling to your tiptoes, momentarily forgetting how close they’ve gotten. You let a weary smile grow on your face and look straight at the nutrient label of the displayed soda.

“It is if you want a new vice.” You laugh with exhaustive experience. “55 whoppin’ grams of sugar and over 150mg of caffeine. Enough to kill ya’ and then raise your anxiety-filled corpse back from the dead.”

Immediately after you let the casual joke spill from your lips, you regret it. Swiftly, all 5 men dart back as if burned, and you shiver in place, resisting the urge to turtle into your jacket. 

“Sorry! I’m just gonna—” You swing open the door nervously, nearly whacking the dark haired man in the face, and dart down into a squat. As you grab your chosen beverage, you gently close the now fogged up door and turn around to find all exits blocked off.

Khisssss! sing both the icy blue can and the sealing fridge door. Your thoughts flatline as you watch Mr. Hot Muscles crack open the drink and chug it back into one go. After a moment, he sputters and chokes. You gulp down thick saliva as the clear, carbonated soda dribbles down his thick adams apple. He folds over in a near perfect bend, gasping for breath. His pink haired friend slaps him on the back several times while a look of confusion passes over the man’s face.

“So?” demands the blue one, shuffling closer to reach for the can that’s been placed on the freshly waxed tile. 

Finally recovered from choking, the man straightens to an impressive height and smacks his lips in consideration. Pondering with a sculpted hand on his chin, he announces to his fellow, pastel-wearing monkeys, “They’re right.” He nods his head sagely. “It’s exactly what you would expect that color to taste like. I can’t think of any other way to describe it.”

“But is it good?”

“No… but yes?” Smack. Smack. Lickkk. “It was honestly painful in my mouth, but the after taste has me craving more.”

“That’s how they getcha.” You comment, reminding the circus of your existence before realizing your error and slowly backing away. No luck though, as you’re roughly yanked to the side. Suddenly, you have the blue haired boy slung over your shoulder. 

“What’d you recommend?” He asks, voice slithering through your ear in a ticklish whisper.

You look up through your lashes at the gang and struggle. Despite their interesting choice of bright colors, they’re giving off seriously, drop-dead gorgeous vibes. Are these rich lil’ boys coming down from their castles to play with the common folk or something? Everything about their appearance screams Money, but none of them have that kind of nepo-baby air about them. If anything, they feel more like a clamoring bucket of small crabs, moments away from being speared through as fish bait and intimately aware of that fate. 

“What’s the vibe?” You try and shrug the sweltering weight off, to no avail. 

“Vibe?” mumbles one to another. 

“Mood? Theme? Aura?” You attempt to take a step further, wriggling your shoulders with a gnash of teeth. Can this guy get off you? You do not want anyone to be so close to you right now. Not when you’re so miserable. Not when you’re so tired. Not when your poor nerves are so fried and your tears have all but dried up. You take a shuddering breath as you successfully dislodge your clinger and turn to face the misty fridge once more. Your head throbs from stress and dehydration, and you press your forehead against the cool glass in search of relief.

“Heh. Whatever a bunch of out-of-touch demons would enjoy,” jokes the pink one from directly behind. He’s snuck close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, his hips and chest hovering just out of touch.

You tilt your head to press the left side of your face into the door and regard the black haired one with one fatigued eye. 

Eyebrows raised in a challenge, you hum. “I like that. Original.” Eyes dart back to the shelves to scan for a good recommendation. Torn between two, you find yourself asking, “Freshly arrived or been here for too long?”

Nobody says anything for a moment, and you distract yourself from your own emotional constipation by doodling a smiley face in the condensation. Immediately, it reminds you of the ‘ :( ‘ from the stupid, awful job website, and soon, you're sporting a frown to match it. 

“Freshly arrived.” declares a previously unheard voice. You glance at the man with hair shrouding most of his face, but his lips are quick to fall into a deliciously neutral position, as if he never spoke. 

With a thumbs up, you sidestep and whip the door open. This time, you actually hit the dark hair stranger. With a horrific, sickening crunch, chilled plexiglass makes contact with a perfectly sculpted nose. Before he can stumble away, you close the accidental weapon and lunge for his arms that rise to shield his damaged, no longer pristine, face.

“Oh fuck! Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” you cry out, wrapping your fingers around his forearms. The skin burns under your clammy palms, but you hold firm and keep him from escaping. “I know first aid! Let me take a look!”

Then, a second round of crunching and popping occurs, muffled by taloned hands. A pair of watering, glowing eyes peeks at you through bloodied fingers. With the strength of someone two seconds away from truly Mc-freaking-losing it, you rip his hands away and take in the fully repaired cartilage. He uses your momentary hesitation to pull away completely, and you watch him tug his sleeves further down his arms. Just like your dying PC back at home, glowing tattoos pulse in a steady pattern from beneath his shirt and up his flaming cheeks. 

“Holy shit. Those are sick as hell.” You dumbly compliment, leering down at any inch of exposed skin, only to be met with swift disappointment as it returns back to its typical, normal human tone. 

Everyone is silent yet again, and you start discretely shuffling towards the candy aisle. 

Unsure of what to say, you’re rewarded with a whispered, “Uhhhh, thanks?” from him. You wordlessly pass him the chosen drink with a nod, and start step, step, stepping away. 

Dipping around the corner, you successfully get the hell out of that dodge and can now put your mind towards better things than properly socializing. Like minding your own god damned business and focusing on something sour, sweet, or savory. Down the ways, you can hear a quiet argument break out.

“What the fuck was that, Jinu?” 

“You think I planned to get my face smashed in?”

“So much for us being discrete and blending in.”

La la la. You love minding your own business. It’s just that there are so many options, and you’re standing here dutifully looking at them all. Still as stone so as to not bring attention to your proximity. 

“And you didn’t think to charm them or anything?”

Oh wow, what a steal! Buy 1 get 4 free for a mix and mash of this brand’s candy! 

“I’m not about to charm someone this soon! We’re trying to not catch any attention from hunters until we get ourselves established.”

Hm. This nutrition label is very informative. You could stand here in this exact spot all day. 

“And how are we supposed to gain a name for ourselves if we keep this up? We can’t just magic our way to fame you know!”

“Maybe they didn’t notice?”

“Are you kidding?! They totally noticed! They even complimented him!”

“That was a compliment?”

It’s so awesome that these sour snacks have jokes written on the back. It was like they knew someone would be forced to suffer through a critical enough situation that one must kill time by reading microscopic font. It’s so incredibly interesting because you are totally here minding your own business.

“Hang on if we can’t just charm our way through this plan, where are we supposed to even start?”

“I bet Jinu doesn’t even have a plan.”

“I have a plan!”

“Ok then. What’s the next step, oh leader of this-is-a-stupid-idea-that’s-totally-not-going-to-get-our-asses-scorched-by-hellfire.”

“First… We need to get a… manager?”

“Why was that a question?”

You just can’t choose. Do you go for the share sized chocolates or the 3 discounted packs of salted chews? It’s a really difficult decision, and you have to stand perfectly still and contemplate such a monumental choice.

“It’s hard to properly do research from the other side of the barrier! I’m pretty sure the best place to start would be to get a manager!”

“This is because you couldn’t figure out how to use that… Not-spider web thing… What is it???”

“The internet?”

“Yeah, that!”

“Well, what do we have to do to get someone for a manager? Pay for a newspaper ad? They still have those right?”

“I saw some for sale by the entrance. It’s really impressive how far printing presses have come.”

“I know right? I was shocked when I saw how colorful everything is!”

The tile by your foot has been placed upside down. You believe this because the spacing and cluster of small dots is more pronounced on one side, than the other and thus ruining the flow of the nonexistent linoleum pattern. It is very critical that one takes the time to notice these things. So important, you think you’ll just continue to chill here and check the ceiling tiles as well. 

“Guys. We’re getting off topic. Manager.”

“What kind of qualifications does a manager even need to have?”

LA! LA! LA! This is the region of Minding Your Own Business.

“And how much do we even pay them?”

You’re holding your breath because you’re totally in your own world and not listening to the goings-on of other people.

“Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. We really just need someone who can be a human front for us to help get hunters off our backs.���

“Ha. And make sure we don’t show our age.”

“...and show other things, but we’ve already messed up once. How are we going to handle working that closely with a human and keeping up appearances?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“So basically, we’ll hire based on… vibes?”

“Please don’t start using modern slang. You’ll actually reveal your age.”

Wowza! This store should really replace the middle left, second down, in the far upper corner, light segment. It’s been flickering ever so slightly as you work on finding your inner zen at this exact moment in time and space. 

“Ok, so from the sounds of it… literally any human will do as long as they are willing to hold up some sort of charade?”

“Yeah. That’s about right.”

“Where are we even going to find someone like that? None of us can use this age’s technology easily, and I really don’t think newspaper ads are the way to go.”

“Well, do you have any better suggestions for the job listing? I think it’s better than doing nothing right now. It’s not like you can expect a manager to appear out of thin air or something?”

“Hey guys.”

“AHHH!”

All five jump and flinch in on themselves as you lean your head around the aisle’s end cap display. All sport various, perfectly handsome, guilty looks, like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. Twisting your back with a crack! you round the bend and stand a few meters away.

“I guess, first, for the record, yes. I totally noticed. BUT—!” You stress, holding your hands up as the light around them darkens, and you're treated to 5 pairs of smoldering eyes pinning you in place. “W- W- Whu- Was. Oh my god— AHEM!— Sorry… Was that a job offer that I just overheard?”

5 pairs of glowing eyes look amongst each other in bewilderment before they all nod their heads synchronistically. 

“Great!” You say with a near manic smile, a twitching right eye, and a cute clap. “How much are you willing to pay me and when can we start?”

“Uhm.. the sooner the better.” replies the dark haired man awkwardly. Slowly, they all straighten out from their hunched, crooked postures, and resume their model-like posing in the back of the convenience store. “As for pay… uhhh… how does…”

“$14?” offers the blue haired one.

“$14? How does $14 sound?” the leader of the troupe says with much hesitation and a perfectly perfect smile.

“$14.” You glower. “$14-a-what?”

“A day?” suggests the buff guy.

“A DAY?!” You shout a little too loud. A feverish hand clasps over your mouth and suddenly, you’ve swept back into the inner ring of their cluster. You can’t tell if they’re actually hissing at you or shushing aggressively. 

“What’s wrong with $14 a day? Isn’t that good with today’s inflation?”

You easily shrug the hand from your face and clasp the muscular shoulder of the gentleman in front of you. The only thing you can hear is your own breathing and the staticky jingle of some ad through the store’s overhead speakers. 

“Brother.” You warn with a full toothed smile, sinking your nails into rock hard flesh. “A dozen eggs are like $10. Five pounds of rice is like $12. I want a livable wage, not a barest minimum wage.”

“Damn! That’s so expensive.” You hear softly exclaimed behind you.

“We— We, uh. We honestly don’t have that much money right now.” The black haired man admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How about this?” You begin, relaxing and removing your hand only to have it snatched by the stranger with the mop of silver hair. You huff to yourself and reluctantly let them inspect your smart watch, cringing only slightly when they aggressively sniff the wristband. “You help charm folk. I introduce you to the wonders of credit card fraud and spear phishing scams. We find a really swanky place for our base, and you pay me… hm… 14? Yeah. 14 percent of your earnings as you gain popularity and make it big.”

“...and in return, you’ll become our manager and help us become world famous idols?” He asks.

“Yup. Something like that. I guess I can help with your totally normal human stuff and not at all nefarious plans as well… as long as it’s within reasonable working hours, or I’m compensated with a sweet treat. Sound like game plan?” You throw them a double thumbs up for good measure.

“I guess. Uhm, welcome aboard..?” He sticks his hand out and tilts his head in search of your name. You laugh and try to shake hands with the opposite one, having your dominant taken up by Mr. Sniffers over here.

“You know what they say is better than a devil you don’t know?” You grin, offering your full name before giggling. “A devil you do. Nice to meet you, and you are?”

“Jinu.” He says with a pearly white, perfectly blinding smile.

“I’m Abby.” solemnly declares the handsome hunk.

“Romance~” says the pink haired one, stealing your hand from Jinu’s and kissing it lightly like a chivalrous knight. You recoil your arm back into your chest and try to discretely wipe the boiling hot saliva from the back of your hand.

“...Baby.” grumbles the blue haired boy. The chip bag in his hand is nearly empty, and you watch him adorably pout down into the remaining crumbs. 

“And that’s Mystery.” announces Abby with a jerk of his thumb and a hot hand on your shoulder. 

Before you can put your foot in your mouth some more, you feel a blistering tongue lave up your palm and all the way to the crook of your elbow. You twitch and shudder from the odd feeling, eyes widening at the realization of what he just did.

“Did?! Did you just?! Did you just lick me?!” You squeak out, body curling in on itself as if to protect your soft stomach. 

Romance tsks and shakes his head while Jinu tries to stamper out a professional apology. Both go ignored as another realization hits you with a dramatic gag.

“Bleugh! Grosssssss dude!” You whine, slipping from Mystery’s grasp and furiously wiping the hot, menthol-like feeling from your skin. “I took public transport to get here. Who knows where my hands have been or what they’ve touched!”

“That’s the problem here?” One of them whispers to another. 

Arm and hands finally free of weirdly warm, totally normal, human saliva, you cross them and think for a moment. 

“Ok so you guys want to be idols. Do you have a name in mind?” You question with a tap, tap, tapping of a foot, sandals hitting the humid, waxed tile with a damp plap.

“Yes.” Jinu perks up, relieved to steer back into a conversation he’s mentally prepared for. “The Saja Boys.”

“Saja Boys?” You hum to yourself, twisting open the drink that’s been in your basket and taking a swig. You look between all the colorful hair surrounding you before your exhausted eyes fall back to the group’s leader. “Hey, can I get a cool, fake band name too, or do I have to stay boring like Jinu?”

“Did you have something in mind?” Baby asks over Jinu’s soft, ‘hey!’.

“Yeah. I wanna be known as The Manager.”

“The Manager? Really? That feels too literal.”

“Like your names aren't? Also you have to say it with a capital ‘T’ and ‘M’, like ‘The Manager’.”

“Wh- You can’t capitalize sound when you talk. What’s even the point?”

“Hey man, if ya know ya know.” You grin smugly with a shrug, pivoting on your heel and heading towards the door. “Now, it’s just past midnight. The day can’t get any younger. Let’s go transform you bunch into some spiffing popstars. First thing’s first. We’re going to catch you up on modern pop and idol culture.” You blatantly walk out without having purchased any goods, holding your stolen drink high in the air. The plastic reflects the twinkling lights of the electrified city, and your eyes glimmer with life. “To an internet cafe!”

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

"Act of desperation" is maybe a little strong, but otherwise, this! Hunting through the bookmarks, even as someone who's only ever got one needlessly unhelpful bookmark in all my time writing, is an active chore - either going through every fic manually (at this point I have the bookmark count of my last ten or-so fics memorised...), or having to do an elaborate search with the extended search filters.

I'm not complaining because that's more work for me! But the fact that this takes so many more steps for the author to even see makes it feel like this wasn't for them. It's that same weird phenomenon of fans talking to each other on social media about a fic, but never leaving a comment. To some extent, even the thing where you make a post advertising your fic on tumblr or elsewhere and someone reblogs it saying "oh this is my favourite I read it all the time!!", but they never left a comment on the fic itself.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still happy to hear I made someone happy with my writing - but comments aren't payment for a fic. If they were, it would all be equal, right, bookmark comment, regular comment, kudos, recs, discord convo... Butt they're not payment. I want to have conversations with my readers about the thing we're both passionate about! And all these options - comments in bookmarks, discord conversations, fic recs - specifically put extra steps between yourself and the author. They do something else really nice for a fic, because they get the word out and might bring more people to it! But there's some odd implicit rejection of the author in choosing all those options before leaving a comment that the author can reply to. Especially with bookmarks! I've had some people leave incredibly sweet bookmarks on my biggest fic. I'm very emotionally invested in that work and every kind word on it means the world to me, and I can never thank these people! Because you can't message people on Ao3, you can only reply to comments, and they never left one.

Again, I really appreciate a bookmark, or kudos - but it doesn't change the fact that there's a weird trend of isolating the author from the conversation around their work. This would be normal if this were a published work of writing - if everyone who read Suzanne Collins's books or Stephen King's books sent them individual reactions, they would drown in mail (though I'm willing to bet they would still appreciate the gesture a little bit even as their inboxes crash).

But Ao3 writers aren't on the New York Times Bestseller list! This etiquette of how to engage with published art does not apply to us! We are not too far above you to hear your "trivial" opinion you share with your friends - we want to hear them too! We want to also talk about our fic! Fic writing, to most of us, is literally back to sitting around a campfire and sharing a story. I want to look up and see your faces, and talk to you about how scary that last part was, and wasn't that a fun idea to have the power come back on in that moment, and what do you think would be a cool idea for next time! I don't want to look up to ten people staring at their phone as they text their friends about the cool story I just told them, or blankly look at me until I send around a link to a recording of me telling the story so they can send that to their friends or give a little thumbs-up emoji on it.

Again, I don't mean to say that I don't appreciate these other forms of engagement and feedback. It's still way nicer than sitting at the campfire alone. But again, I'm not Stephen King hitting send on an email to his publisher. I'm looking up from the campfire, and I want to see your faces.

Comments versus Bookmarks on AO3

A few people seemed appreciative of my post about how to use AO3's Marked for Later feature, so I thought I'd follow up with another tip about comments versus bookmarks. As part of the amazing @justleaveacommentfest I noticed a few people mentioned leaving nice comments in bookmarks, and I thought it might help to have a little info about how comments are different from bookmarks, and why it's better to send a comment if you want to make an author happy or make fandom friends or have an interesting discussion.

Bookmarks *are* viewable by everyone, unless you make them private. If you plan to say anything negative in your bookmark, please make it private. It's not really the flip side, however, that leaving positive statements in your bookmarks will reach the author, though.

Most authors are alerted when they get new comments, either through their dashboard or via email if they choose, or both. Yay! Serotonin boost, and also the ability to reply back and start a conversation! Plus, readers can have great discussions with each *other* in the comments section of a fic! If you're super into a fic you can read comments on the chapter even years later, and sometimes find the author adding additional thoughts or discussing their thought process while writing! It's like DVD extras for fanfic! (Do kids these days know what DVD extras are any more? Damned if I know).

You don't really know, as an author, when someone bookmarks one of your fics. Some authors, particularly when they are feeling low (cough cough) may also look at bookmarks to see if there are nice things there. This would basically just involve clicking on the bookmarks for each of your fics individually to see if there's anything a.) new and b.) nice in them.

This is an act of desperation. It's not really a wise thing to do, as 99% of bookmarks have no comments, or just list the title and author in fear of the fic being deleted some day and not knowing what you're missing. Even worse, if you, as an author, get desperate enough to cruise your bookmarks, you are as likely to see someone say something like "Meh" or "This got boring so I stopped reading at Chapter 5" or "Too many werewolves 3/10" in a werewolf fic than you are to see a nice compliment.

So, if you loved a fic and want to memorialize your love in a bookmark, be an extra super-duper sweetheart and cut and paste that into a comment for the author! Make the AO3 environment enriching for both authors and fellow readers in the comments section, and protect your friendly local author by not providing intermittent positive reinforcement for the negative behavior of scrolling through bookmarks!

I still recommend bookmarking fics. Bookmark those favorite fics you want to come back and read later, or use bookmarks to leave yourself little reminders if they are nice or in private bookmarks if they are not nice. Bookmark good resources, like how to code things in html or how to use AO3 filters most effectively. Find awesome new things to read by looking through the bookmarks of your favorite authors, because if you vibe with someone's writing you may also vibe with their favorite fics to read!

[craske]

dejammed au beast heightchart, plus sort of a reference for their new looks

beasts are huge when compared to other cookies. the overwhelming amount of magic of the soul jams needed a proper vessel, so as the corruption progressed, so did the beasts grow to be able to contain it. even if that is now absent, their bodies were forever changed

the colored horizontal lines represent the ancients

+ some design info and some explanations under the cut

shadow milk cookie is the shortest out of beasts, however he was able to shapeshift before dejamming, and especially before gaining a new body. his entire body is covered with very short and surprisingly soft fur, except for his forearms, back and legs which show some scales. not that you could see it normally, since his almost entire body is hidden under his clothes. both his ears and tail react to his emotions, tail is semi prehensile. fun fact, when flustered, instead of blushing the fur on his face bristles. his tongue is forked, and shilk has venomous fangs in the back of his mouth. the venom causes hallucinations and minor paralysis. the shadow eyes present in his hair and under his coattails are also gone, his connection to the other realm greatly weakened. they pop back up when he strains himself magically or gets emotional enough

eternal sugar is the only beast with regular hands, instead her legs being much more monstrous. plays more into the duality of angel/devil looks, though she is more of a dragon here, with her hoarding cookies in her sugary paradise. she also has horns and head wings now, playing into it even further (her ears dont have proper earlobes, the head wings work as them, the ear holes are right under the wings). after dejamming, her hair lost the sparkly effect, making her look a bit duller. also, the halo is gone, smashed to pieces while her angel wings got clipped during the dejamming. they are now too weak to fly, just like the dragon wings.

burning spice got some of his traits from the avatar of destruction, namely the whole cat face thing and purple feathers on his forearms. i also think he shouldve had more tiger stripes, they add to his otherwise rather monotone dough (not talking about face, hair or clothes, plus his shoulder guard is gone). the antenna are also mostly low now that his power is mostly gone, but they are reactive to his emotions, plus they perk back up when he does fight and such. it doesnt show here, but his ears are mostly human-like, but clipped for safety and also hidden in his hair.

mystic flour is the biggest out of the all beasts, however she is also rather frail. not like shadow milk though, she can take a hit still. the sensory hairs on her forearms and legs make up for her surprisingly bad eyesight, even though she has additional two pairs of supporting eyes above her eyebrows and on her cheeks. these can only register light though. her ears are immobile in the way human ears are, theyre just really long. the little antennas on top of her head are actually very thin horns, since she has a noodle dragon on her gacha screen i wanted to implement something draconic, but it looked really out of place. so instead she has way more subtle head decor. her dark hands are always cold, and feel very numb most of the time too.

[aernx]

IT'S A WRAP ! ⌗ 이희승 ( oneshot ver. )

synopsis ⟢ wrapping is easy when it comes to dumplings. but when it comes to your feelings…not so much. after getting separated from your childhood nemesis, lee heeseung, you think your life will go smooth like butter (js like what BTS sang). but fate has other plans when he was forced to help around in your family’s dumpling restaurant.

◌ wordcount﹒ 13.1k

◌ pairing﹒ lee heeseung x fmr

◌ genre﹒ childhood enemies to lovers, hs au, takes place in their summer break, reader is taehyun’s (txt) older sister, tbh no srs hating js silly rivalry, crack , heeyn parents r silly

◌ featuring﹒ txt, chaewon lsrfm, enhypen, brief mentions of seventeen (ily joshua n hoshi)

◌ warnings﹒ profanities, harsh language, jealousy, heeyn hating eo, kissing, fluff, heeyn silly stuffs, denial, i think that's it, oh probably bad and inconsistent grammar at times, miscommunication (that shiii)

aerinotes ⟢ u guys don't know how much i giggled at the screen when i write this 😁 THIS FIC MEANS SOOO MUCH TO MEE I HOPE U GUYS GIVE IT SOME LOVE 💗💗💗 also MY FIRST EVER LONG FIC??? aerin long fic debut!!! so im sorry if there r lots of mistakes n it's kinda messyy n if the pacing is badd !! i'll improve next time guys TRUST‼️‼️

this was previously a smau but now the smau is discontinued. i can finally say goodbye peacefully to my heeyn 🙁 i’ll miss them <3 hope you guys enjoyed this! be sure to leave a like, comment n reblog to let me know watchu think abt it !! ENJOYYYY

"MOM YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT!?" It’s only been a week since you returned from your exchange student program in Japan yet your mom was quick to throw you a bucket of ice water on a hot summer evening.

“Which part of it is not clear, dear? Heeseung is going to start working in our dumpling shop this in this last month of summer and I want you to be his mentor tomorrow.” Excuse me what? Mentor?? “You know, teach him how to use the register, how to serve the customers, and later how to wrap the dumplings.”

No way there was no chance in hell that you were going to do this. Become Heeseung’s mentor? Hell no! You would rather give Taehyun your first born privileges.

Okay, maybe reasoning with her would opt her to change her decision. “Yes, I heard you for the first time but I can’t really place the reason why you want me to do this, mom. You know that we don’t…get along that well.”

Don’t get along that well? You scoffed internally at your choice of words, it was clearly an understatement, your mother knew that too.

You and Heeseung never got along. At all. Your mother and his mother were the best of friends so ultimately that means that he was there for good and you could not escape him. At first, mini-you was glad at the thought of having a childhood friend. Maybe you two could replicate the friendship of your mothers.

Yet at the age of five, where the two of you met for the first time and he stole your toy and decided to hide it from you, you knew from that moment that you would never get along. That first impression only triggered the competitiveness in you and it became a never ending game of chase. Of course, your mothers showed disappointment with the fact that their children did not enjoy each other’s presence, hoping that as they grow up, you and him would learn to overcome this little feud of yours.

Oh how they were wrong. Along the years that follow, your hatred towards each other only grew. Even though you both hated each other, he was still a big part of your childhood. And him being your neighbour didn't even help. You were so fucking bored of that face of his.

Eventually everyone got used to this relationship you shared with the boy and both parents didn’t try to do anything about it anymore. After all there was no point.

Although your feelings towards Heeseung were more on the negative side, you adored his parents, and your parents adored him too. Your families were close but you two weren’t. When you were younger, you would make it your life mission to get Heeseung to cry and he made it his to make you irritated. But as you both grew into adolescence your behaviour began shifting.

Now, instead of sitting by your side to provoke you, he would sit the farthest from you at the dinner table and you would do your best to ignore him at every family event. This never changed, even when you got into highschool. Both of you would try your hardest to let the other’s presence turn to ghosts, yet the tension around you remains haunting.

“Come on Yn, I know you don’t have the best relationship with Heeseung, as you guys are always fighting like cats and dogs,” Your mother muttered the last part quietly. “But I trust you with him, dear. Even though you both hate each other, you’re the one that knows him best there and I feel like he’ll focus more under your gaze instead of anyone else.”

Gosh why was your mother so persistent? “Mom, have you met us?” You can hear your mother’s snicker. “Then you should know that he won’t listen to me! There’s a reason why we don’t get along, mom. He’s gonna cause so much ruckus if I become his mentor. I find no problem with asking Taehyun to guide him instead.”

Your mother knew that you didn’t want to go forward with this. But it was really a last resort of sorts. And a little part of her wished that maybe this occasion would end your feud with him because she and Mrs. Lee always wanted their kids to get along well, just like them.

“Initially, I thought about that too. But Taehyun already has a lot of plans for tomorrow and you just went home like a week ago so you have lots of free time before your senior year starts.” She pointed out.

“Who knows maybe Heeseung changed these past six months without you. Maybe he even misses fighting with you everyday.” Chuckling, your mother gave you a knowing look as your face scrunched at the thought of that.

Hah! He? Missed you? There was no way. Heeseung was probably glad you were gone for six months. In fact he probably wished you were gone forever.

“Come on, my Yn. We’ll go shopping together with Aunty Lee and I’ll get you those concert tickets for that group you like so much. I’ll buy 4 for Chaewon, Yeonjun, and Soobin too. So you guys can watch it together.”

Your eyes lit up as her offer ringed your eardrums. One day of mentoring Heeseung for shopping sprees with your mom and Aunty Lee PLUS concert tickets for you and your friends?? Sounds like a fair deal.

“Ah…you know me so well, mother. You know I will never decline those.”

“You know it, darling.”

*

“You want me to-what?!” Disbelief, Heeseung stood from the couch and turned towards his mother who was currently sitting cross legged on her armchair.

“What did you expect?! I told you to stop sneaking around all the time and this is final! You are working in MANDU4U, Yn’s family dumpling shop tomorrow.”

Spending his summer break working? Are you fucking kidding?

“Bu-”

Mrs. Lee stood up from her chair, levelling her gaze with her son. “No buts! I already talked to your Aunty Kang and all you have to do is show your ass over there and work.” From the tone of her voice, Heeseung knew that he messed up. It was bad, like REAL bad. Maybe he should’ve listened to his friend's advice to NOT sneak out.

Mrs. Lee shrugged before continuing. “Think of this as a new experience. You’ll be learning new things and you’ll be earning money. I see nothing wrong with this. You don’t have any right to complain, young man.”

As much as Heeseung dreaded it, he knew no point in resisting. He was at fault and if it was in other circumstances he would stand his ground but he knew better. Oh well, at least she didn’t forbid him to hang with his boys.

And besides it’s not as if he’s going to meet her. He’s aware of the fact that she went back from that program a week ago. Of course he was, his family insisted that they also accompanied picking up Yn from the airport.

Did he come along? Yes. Did he have the option not to? Also yes. Did he know why he came along? Not really. Maybe he missed her and their fights just a little bit. Or maybe not. That question remained ominous as he himself didn’t even know the correct answer.

But was he glad with the fact that she was gone for the past six months? Of course he was! Well it was a bit more quiet than usual but hey! Quiet is good right? Yeah of course. Now that she’s back does he still hate her guts? For sure, yeah definitely.

“Also Yn will be your mentor and I want you to be on your BEST behaviour and do whatever she says.” Mrs.Lee abruptly added before striding out of the room trying her best to contain her smile.

“Mom WHAT?!”

*

You idly stood on the gazebo of your family’s shop, glancing back and forth towards your watch as the digital digits morphs into what seemed to be eight past twenty. Heeseung was supposed to be here at eight sharp but here you were, still waiting for his stupid ass to come.

It was only five minutes after that, the sight of Lee Heeseung appeared in your line of view. Fucking finally. “Heeseung, you’re late.” You aligned your body opposing his, blocking the entry of the door with your figure as he tried to brush himself through.

“Tch, it’s whatever. Let’s just get started.” His hand longed for the handles but you were quick to stop him. “Drop that attitude, Heeseung. I don’t want this as much as you do so you better not make this any harder on me.” Your grip on his hand opted him to fix his gaze with yours.

You tighten your grip on his wrist. Not caring whether it hurted him or not–which it probably didn’t. “Use that tone on me one more time and you’ll be scrubbing the bathroom floors instead of working behind the cash register.”

Heeseung clenched his fists in between your grasp on his wrist, a low attempt of wanting to break free. “You’re not my mother, you can’t tell me what to do.” He gritted as an annoyed expression washed over his features.

“You’re right, Seungie. I’m not. I’m your employer. And you-” Your point finger shoved his chest “-have to do exactly what I say."

*

Lee Heeseung hated it–hated this. That helpless feeling of not being in control. Especially when his arch enemy is the one stringing him like a puppet.

Kang Yn loved it–loved this. How couldn’t you when your arch nemesis had to grovel in submission for the sake of punishment from his mother. It’s fun really. It's like having a maid–you mean– personal assistant of your own.

“No Heeseung, that's not the right way!”

“Be more thorough when checking someone’s order!”

“Gosh this is tiring. Heeseung, get me a coffee.”

*

Ignoring some mistakes made, the first day of work went surprisingly fine. You taught him various things. Starting from how to work the register and basic manners to serve customers and he was actually going along with what you instructed. Gee, maybe your mom was right all along–you could be really intimidating sometimes.

“This is it for today.” You said, handing him a pen to sign his attendance. “Okay, Thanks.” He calmly received it before signing under his name. Along the string hours of work between you and Heeseung, the atmosphere remained tense. But much to your surprise (and a certain part-timer named Sunoo who went to your school) the both of you endured the entire shift without biting each other’s head off.

Sure there were some occasional fights here and there but the graph always dies down after, returning to its normal wavelength as the days progress. And you were quite happy with the outcome.

One; you did not let the intrusive thoughts win and slice his throat when he was on his break and two; you did not embarrass yourself in front of the customers by screaming frantically at him (although you did do it in private) You could say that this day was a success and you were proud of yourself. Ah you were finally free from him.

Or so you thought.

*

“So you’re telling me your mom told you that you’ll be mentoring Heeseung for the rest of the summer break?” Soobin questioned, making you groan against your pillows. You raised your head towards the window still, the sight of the moon greeted you in an instance, gracing your room with its incandescent glow.

"She made sure to leave that part the first time she mentioned, alright." You grumbled under your breath.

Chaewon patted your head as she noticed your current distress while Yeonjun and Soobin looked at you with sympathy laced upon their irises. It was currently near twilight in the nearing end of summer. From a distance, you can hear a few neighbours that stood up late making BBQ in their backyards, while some of the houses remained still and quiet.

The light on your window was like a singular lamp amidst a dark room to your unlit neighbourhood. It was summer break so your parents didn’t mind you staying up late. They even let your friends stay over with the exception of Soobin and Yeonjun sleeping on a spare mattress on the floor.

“Yn, I knew it was too suspicious that your mom was offering you THAT much just for one day of mentoring!” Yeonjun pointed out from his mattress below before joining everyone on your bed.

“At least you’re getting money out of this, am I right?” Chaewon said after smacking the poor boy with her elbows, triggering a laugh from Soobin as he saw Yeonjun’s current state.

“-Ouch! Gosh Chae that hurt!” He threw her a nasty glare and Chaewon stuck her tongue out in response. “Plus the fact that Mama Kang AND Mama Lee promised to take you shopping makes it too good to be true to just make that a one time thing.” Yeonjun shrugged before dodging another hit from Chaewon.

“Ugh I hate it when you’re smart sometimes, Junnie.”

“Don’t forget the fact that your mom promised to buy us all concert tickets!” Soobin reminded. “Work your ass off Ms.Kang. We would be thanking you for your services!” He stood from the bed, bowing 90 degrees to you causing the room to erupt in laughter.

“You all better be thanking me for this! I don’t know how I'm going to handle him for the rest of the summer! He’s literally my neighbour! I see him everyday. I can even see him across my window!” Once more, you buried your head on the pillows, gaze unconsciously averting to the blinds covering the glass panels.

“But you hadn’t seen him nor contacted him for six months right? Surely he changed.” Chaewon pondered earning a scoff from you. “Girl let me tell you, he did not.” You answered, emphasising the “not”.

Yeonjun laughed at your misery, opting you to throw a pillow at his face. The room had gone through its nth time of laughing fit before you all started to calm down.

As the room went down from its climax, Soobin’s question seemed to pique everyone's interest. “By the way if it’s okay to ask, how did you and heeseung hate each other like this? I mean the two of you never got along. Everyone knows that but like you both definitely seem more intense now like ever since you got offered to join the exchange student program.”

You sighed before answering. “Well it’s a long story but-”

*

“-I was supposed to get the offer to join the exchange student program.” Just a few meters from where you and your friend gathered, Heeseung and his friends were doing the exact same thing you were doing.

They all gathered on his mattress, sharing stories as the moon reaches its peak of serenity. “Ohh i get it, so from your point of view, it seemed as if she “stole” your future.” Jay nodded at his friend as the room was filled with collected hums and a few shocked faces.

“No lie I would’ve hated them too if someone did that to me.” Jake added, agreeing to his friend’s current situation."

Heeseung only shrugged and buried himself in the comfort of his pillows. “So what are you gonna do now, hyung?” The youngest of them questioned. “I don’t know. I mean there’s no point in defying my mom when she’s persistent. So I guess I’ll just go with it.”

“Do you still hate Yn because of it now? I mean it’s been six months.” Jungwon tilted his head, curious. “I…I don’t know. We’ve never gotten along since we were five so I don’t think our relationship changed a lot.” Heeseung raised himself from his pillows, now sitting upright.

“But it's not entirely her fault, is it? If you had been a better option for the program you would still be chosen regardless.” Jay knocked some sense into his friend.

“I guess I just blamed her for being better.” A strain smile settled on his lips.

“But to be honest I don’t really care about it anymore, you know? If i really did get that exchange student program, I would've missed so many moments with you guys, including how Niki literally got a girlfriend?? Earlier than me??” Their hearts warmed to Heeseung’s statement before laughing at his last.

The night on both sides of the window ended after crescent smiles and glee surrounding the atmosphere as the sun began to rise causing them to go to a much needed slumber.

*

“Hey, Noona. Looks like you're in a good mood.” You entered the shop with a smile as you greeted the smiling Sunoo. “Yes because you're the first person I see here, and not that brat.” You whispered the last part.

“Quite the charmer you are, Yn.” A familiar voice rang your eardrums. Speak of the devil. “Right, I was praying you would forget this whole thing and just go sulk in your room all summer.” You grumbled, not bothering to avert your gaze to align with your nemesis behind you.

You feel his presence drawing closer and closer before halting just a few inches from your back. Sunoo is long gone now, opting to prepare some stuff in the storage room.

“And make you look good, whereas I look like the rebel child? Keep dreaming, Kang.” He whispered, voice dripping with mirth.

You scoffed rolled your eyes in response, moving forward towards the register, leaving Heeseung to fend for himself at that moment.

This is going to be a long day.

*

One week has passed and you are now used to seeing Heeseung lurk around the area. Now that he’s already familiar with the register and serving people you have to go to the next step: teach him how to make dumplings.

At first, you were against the idea. But your mom insisted that Mrs.Lee wanted Heeseung to be more adapt than any other employee. Hence why he needed to master more than one skill to manage. So, you gave in.

Heeseung was ready to start his new routine. Coming to the shop everyday (excluding Sundays and Saturdays) at 8am and start preparing the register and other things before opening at 9am. He’ll be honest, the first few days, he was dreading it. But eventually, being surrounded with the busy yet calming atmosphere of the shop feels so comfortable? Or maybe because he was spending his summer productively.

But yesterday, Yn had messaged him to arrive at the shop an hour earlier than usual. Seven am?! That’s basically dawn in Summer! Heeseung dragged his feet towards the welcoming door, the sun greeted him with a morning glow as he slowly entered his demise.

“Morning, sunshine. Are you awake?” Sitting in one of the chairs, you chuckled, amused at his hunched silhouette.

“You’re crazy for forcing me to work this early on. This is basically child labor!” He sat opposing you, hands folded above the table as he buried his head in between his arms.

“Well your mother consented to this. Get up.” Your request was left hanging as Heeseung replied an audible “no”, prompting you to leave the boy behind.

Droplets of water trickled to the back of his neck, stirring him awake before he-hold on why was he wet? His fingers touched the source of coldness, his head jolted up meeting your gaze. ”You’re fucking crazy!”

“Thanks, baby. Awake now?” The smirk on your lips is evident and Heeseung swore that he was going to rip your face off.

*

“What are we doing?” Instead of answering, you hand a slightly-damp Heeseung an apron and ushered him to wash his hands before starting. “Just go wash your hands first.” He rolled his eyes before complying to your demands.

After finishing with such tasks he returned to his position beforehand. “All clean now.” He dangled his palms to align with your vision. Now that the two of you are clean it's time to start this mission. Wrapping dumplings.

Heeseung eyes lingered on the swift movement of your fingers. Quick hands easily wrap the ball of meat between a thin layer of dough. He shifted his attention elsewhere for a second and when he returned, you were already done with the process. The perfectly wrapped mandu sat in the heart of your palms, sitting proudly before him.

“That doesn’t look hard, let me do it.” The boy shrugged, earning an amused scoff from you. He took the initiative to try it for himself, but before he could reach the layers of thin dough, he felt a slight sting lingering on his arm. “Gosh! What was that for?!”

“Do you ever pay attention? Lace your hands with some flour before taking the dough so it’s not sticky, bambi.”

Bambi? Did you just refer to him as a Disney cartoon animal?! Well sucks to be you at least he was a Disney character. Not some meaningless being.

“Crazy bitch.”

“What did you say?!”

“I said I got the hitch!” Was hitch even a word? Probably. Or not. Heeseung grudgingly dipped his fingers into the bowl of flour before spreading a light amount in his palms. He then took a thin layer of dough and a little ball of minced meat mixed with onions and other dumpling stuffings(?). He placed the ball in the center of the surface before…before…uhm what was the next step again?

His hands froze mid air for a second. Should he ask for help? Oh and get roasted for not paying attention again? No thanks, his ego was too big for that. Right he’ll figure this out. This is Lee Heeseung we’re talking about. Lee Heeseung vs dumpling, let’s see who’ll win this game.

The tall boy recalled your hand movements, trying hard to remember the steps you did. Right it was uhm….take the left corner, then the right, unite them to the center? Yeah that right. Next is…squish the edges! He’s too smart and talented for this. Heeseung 1, dumpling 0.

The satisfied smile he wore was so apparent. The tips of his finger lightly pressed onto the dough in an attempt to link them together. Except it was not sticking. He kept on applying pressure, more and more as the seconds tick. Once he thought that it would hold, he settled the…ill-shaped dumpling on the table. With his hands on his hips, he turned to face your observing stance. Not bad for his first try. Or so he thought.

Five seconds of victory was cut short when the dumpling slowly–but surely–unwrapped itself from the shape Heeseung molded it to. Heeseung 0, dumpling 1.

The guise of his face showed it all–his mouth hung open, eyes deadpanning the dumpling like it was his sworn enemy–it was so hard not to erupt in laughter. You covered your mouth to contain your glee. This was too funny.

Your oddly timed coughing shifted Heeseung’s gaze to yours. At first the look in his eyes reeks of annoyance but the sound of your echoing laugh was enough to leave a ghost of a smile on his face. You didn’t get angry, that was a first.

Heeseung was shocked to see how calm you were after witnessing his failure. (except for the laughing part) “I would be a hypocrite if I got angry at you.” You started. “The first time mom taught me how to wrap these, I would always rip the dough.”

“Oh.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. “Let me repeat the steps again, slowly this time.”

The clueless boy watched your movements distinctly. He noticed how eased you were as you did the task at hand, focused yet you were doing it so effortlessly. He also noticed how you poke your tongue slightly when your fingers pinched the perfectly folded dumplings’ little details, and the little specks of flour that landed on the tip of your nose. There was something about you today that he couldn’t ignore.

Heeseung looked at your current expression, and suddenly you both were five again. You were sitting in his living room with a crayon tucked in between your fingers, your tongue slightly stuck out as you avert your attention to your drawing as your mothers chatter dissipates in the back.

Twelve years have passed yet you still look the same to him. The first girl that entered his life other than his mother, the first girl he fought with, and the first girl he ever loved. Not that he was ever going to admit that. But perhaps just for today, he would forget your fuse with him and pretend that everything is okay

“That’s how you make a perfect dumpling.” The curve of your lips was so warm and inviting and he felt a suspiciously warm feeling slowly settling on his chest. Well that was new. Maybe because it was too early in the morning that’s why Heeseung felt so out of it today. “Ehem, okay. I should be able to do it now.”

*

“Mom, I’m back!” You enter the living room, goals set to lay comfortably down at the soft cushions of your couch. “In the kitchen, sweetie! Come Yn, Aunty Lee is here.”

The smell of homemade cooking dragged you to your mother. “Hi mom, hi Auntie Lee.” Eyes crinkled as you smiled widely at the two most important figures in your life.

“Hey, honey. Hope Hee hasn't given you a hard time.” Mrs. Lee softly smiled. “Do you really need to ask that to know, Auntie?” Your joke (not) prompts the two middle aged women to laugh. “Jokes aside, I guess he's tolerable when he shuts up.”

“Yn!”

“Kidding, mom!” Not really.

“Anyways, we owe you a shopping spree. Let's go this weekend. Your shift ends at noon right, darling? What do you say?” Your eyes lit up at the offer.

Who were you to refuse?

*

Smell of dumplings and busy chatters crowded the shop, sunlight beaming through glass tinted windows as customers took over the vacant seats available. “Here’s your freshly steamed mandu, Auntie Park.” Mrs. Park was a regular, don’t get me wrong, she was lovely, but she could be a little…nosy.

“You’ve gotten much more beautiful since coming home from Japan.” She smiled knowingly. “Tell me, have you found any Japanese boyfriend, dear?”

Your eyes widened–not expecting her direct question. “ I can assure you, auntie. No boyfriends here.” The curve of your mouth formed upwards. “Is that so?” She squinted her eyes in suspicion, eyes darting to follow Heeseung’s moving figure a few feet away. “I see that Ha-eun’s boy is here helping. Is that one your boyfriend?”

Heeseung? You boyfriend? You grimaced at the thought. You would rather eat a raw dumpling.

“Oh auntie, literally anyone but him. Besides, I’m too busy studying and helping with the shop while dad is busy planning on opening other branches.” You chuckled, denying her assumption.

“What a perfect daughter you are! I bet Ha-yoon and Ji-woo are proud to have you as their daughter.” You were about to leave before hearing her continue. “You know, I have a son your age. You should know him, he goes to Decelis too. Park Jeongsong, are you familiar? Maybe I should set you guys up.”

She lifted her point finger to her chin. “I think you guys are compatible, he's mature….”

Park Jeongsong. Of course you were familiar. He’s one of Heeseung’s close friends and the only one that you tolerate. To be honest you were quite tempted at her offer. Jay’s got it all. Perfect looks, ridiculously sharp jawline, and most importantly manners (one that Heeseung lacked for sure). You scoffed mentally at the thought. But unfortunately, you were not looking for anyone to date for the time being.

“I’m sure he’s great, auntie. I’m just focusing on myself right now.” You politely turned her down. “Enjoy your dumplings, please tell me if you need any assistance.”

“Yes, thank you dear. I hope I wasn’t being too nosy. I’m still working on that.”

“Don’t worry about it, auntie.”

*

Mrs. Lee and your mother promised to pick you up right after your shift ends. It’s been two weeks since Heeseung’s arrival and you notice that he’s becoming accustomed to the work before him. Given so, this was your first time leaving him alone in the shop. Even though there were other workers, you still hadn’t completely trusted the boy.

“Double check the orders, got it.”

“-And shut the blinds when closing.” He repeated after you.

“Honestly, why are you so anxious? I’m not going to bomb this place when you leave, Yn.” Heeseung crossed his arms. “Don’t trust me enough, flower?” His glint is mischievous, teasing apparent in his tone.

“First of all, don’t call me that.” You shudder at the nickname. “Second of all, no I don’t trust you. What if this place turns to ashes when I return.”

“Okay, flower.” He was playing with you, you knew that. “I’m not even in charge of the kitchens, I promise I won’t blow this place down.”

“Hmm, okay.” Your pupils shifted left and right–as if you were looking for someone. “Sunoo, watch over him for me when I’m gone.” You untie your apron from the nape of your neck before nearing the exit earning a nod from the young boy.

*

The shopping spree was fruitful, they really went all out on this one. Insisting on buying you dresses, cute tops, pants, shoes, as well as a few accessories. You were grateful–of course–but you would be lying if you said it wasn’t tiring. Though as tiring as it can be, you were having fun.

You entered your house with shopping bags occupying your upper limbs, the weight heavy on your arms. Your mother had a few of her own too and you wonder how she was carrying them with grace. You both dropped the bags on the floor before entering the empty living room. “Huh, I guess Tae and your father have gone to sleep.”

To be honest, any sane person would. It was almost twilight. The three of you found a night market on your way back, compelled by the mannequins and price tags, the two women dragged you out of the car to have a look around.

“So, Yn, now that we’re alone.” Your mother settled on the couch. “Tell me-”

*

“-how’s everything going on in the shop?” Lee Hae-in met her son still sitting in the lounge room upon her return, his eyes glued to the show on tv. But now, the dark screen reflected two figures sitting on the cushions, a mother with the son she grounded.

“It’s not that bad, I guess.” Heeseung started. “At first it was-”

*

“-dreadful. I hated mentoring him. He did everything wrong and would make annoying expressions everytime I corrected him. I felt like I wanted to pull his hair out!” Your hands went up to your head in frustration triggering a laugh from your mom.

“Is that so? Now that we’re basically halfway there,-

*

“-How do you think about her now? About all this, I mean.” The Lee woman questioned, ears perked as she listened contently to her son before her. “Uhm, I guess we’re getting along more? I mean we don’t fight that often anymore. A few insults are thrown now and then but that’s just how we always are at each other.”

“That’s good to hear.” A satisfied smile graced the older Lee. “How about the shop? Are you doing your tasks well, dear?”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

The two older women were happy at their children’s answers. Just two more weeks or so and maybe just maybe this will mark the end of awkward dinners and uneasy tension.

“Heeseung, honey, I know you were upset with Yn after she won the exchange program instead of you. However, you’re almost an adult now. I think this is bothering her as well, why don’t you two take some time to talk about it?”

Heeseung pondered before answering his mother. Even though the tension has resided between you two for the time being, it was mostly due to professionalism to maintain poise in front of other employees and customers. If he wanted this to remain forever (or at least longer than the summer break) he would have to clear the air.

“I’ll think about it, mom.”

*

“Heeseug, I told you to be gentle with that!”

“Yn, I’m doing it exactly like what you told me!”

Shuffling noise and exclamation marks were the first thing Taehyun heard as he entered the shop at the break of dawn. “Gosh it's six am, they better not be fucking.” He grumbled under his breath before going into the kitchen.

“What are you guys doing?” Body leaned at the doorway, Kang Taehyun watched his hyung and noona–who claimed they hated each other–wrapping dumplings (more like wrapping each other) in a very close proximity.

Ha! Two weeks in, and they’re already getting closer. He was right. Now mom and Auntie Lee owe him so much cash for this.

You were quick to add some space in between you. The blood rushed to your face resulting to a pinkish hue. “We’re just preparing the mandus for today.”

“Riight. I’ll be at the register if you need me. Which you probably won’t.” He turned his back from the seniors behind him, the smirk on his face widened as he imagined how much money he’ll receive upon winning the bet with his mom and Heeseung’s.

flashback (few weeks ago)

Rays of sunlight occupied each corner of the living room as the songbird sang its morning praises. It was a perfect day to relax. Lee Hae-in and Kang Ha-yoon sat amidst thick cushions as they waited for their steamed milk buns to cook.

“You know, that was cheeky of you when you suggested this summer activity for Heeseung.” Ha-yoon started earning a light giggle from her dearest friend. “I have the biggest opportunity laid bare in front of me! I couldn't resist even if I could help it.”

“How long will it take for them to warm up to each other?”

“Two weeks.”

A familiar voice urged them to snap their heads in its direction, only to find the youngest Kang standing with his hand crossed over his chest.

“How are you so sure, Taehyunnie?” His mother questioned. The Lee woman also looked reluctant. “They've been hating each other for years, Tae. I don't think they will get along in two weeks.”

“Are you willing to bet on it, Auntie Lee, Mom?” His challenging tone was inviting. Who were they to deny a bet? Without a second doubt, the two women nodded their heads and smirked. “You're so on.”

*

With a final click!, the shop was officially closed for the day. Heeseung handed the key to you before taking something from his bag. “Yn, hold on.” His hand is placed on your shoulder, urging you to turn towards his direction.

“Hm? What’s wrong? You tilted your head, confusion written all over your face. The boy released the light grip he had on you before lifting up his free hand and unfolding his wrapped fingers.

A gasp escaped your lips at the item he held before you. There it was, a small lego figurine sitting on the center of his palm. And it was not just any figurine, but it was your favorite back when you were five. Your eyes wander into his own, the small smile adorning his face along with the swirl of emotion pooling in his vision.

You remember the day you lost it. How the world seemed to crumple beneath your feet as you lost–no–Heeseung stole the main character of your ultimate favourite lego friends set.

“Missed her?” He nudged the figurine towards you, a sign for you to take it and you did just so. “So you did steal her, huh. You denied it so much back then, I still remember.” You bite your lip in effort to suppress the curve that was slowly creeping in, but seemingly failed as you examined the small toy in your hands.

The plastic was old and details were worn out due to aging but aside from that, all the parts remained intact and well kept. Heeseung did not break it nor ruined it like you thought he would. Instead he took great care of it. Why?

“I recall, it was the first time we met. We were at my housewarming party and I really wanted you to play with me and Tae, but you didn’t.” The raven haired boy reminisced, the smile still etched on his face. “You kept playing with this lego set without any bother in the world. I really wanted to play with you but all you do is ignore me.”

“So you stole the figurine to get my attention?” You raised your left eyebrow, an attempt to guess where he was going. A small chuckle rang through your ears. “Well, it worked I guess but not in the way that I hoped. After that I just–I don’t know–kept annoying you because that’s the only way you’ll ever pay attention.”

His words settled heavily on your heart. All this time, your feud growing up was just a matter of attention. Guilt crawled from the depths, slowly leaking through your eyes. Heeseung was quick to notice. “Yn, that was so long ago, no need to be guilty.” His hands went back to your shoulders. Somehow, the warmth radiating from him felt nice–comforting.

“We could’ve been those childhood friends.” You whispered, rewriting memories inside your head. Echoing a “what if” scenario if you got along from the beginning.

“We could be now, if you want.” Dozens of stars are reflected in the dark pupils of Heeseung’s doe eyes and you can’t bring yourself to look away, not even if you tried. Your gaze shifted to his lingering hand on your scapula before urging closer in his embrace. Arms wrapped itself around his body, your movement slow and careful, giving him space to walk away. But he didn’t. He enveloped you further into himself. Your face is pressed against his chest, eyes closed. No words are spoken but the gesture speaks volumes.

“I’m sorry, Yn.” Heeseung broke the silence between you. “For everything I did to you since we were five.” He whispered, fingers trailing the strands of your hair. “And more importantly, for taking out my anger on you when you got accepted to the exchange program instead of me.”

“I’m sorry too.” You replied, head turning up to meet his waiting gaze. “I joined the program to spite you. Didn’t think I would get it, but I somehow did and made everything worse.” You unwrap each other from the embrace, solemn looks embroidered on your faces. A gulf of harsh wind swept through you, your body shivered slightly at the impact, instantly missing the warmth from the previous action.

“You deserve it, Yn. I was jealous, I could admit that now. If I had been the better choice, I would still be chosen regardless.”

“Oh, Heeseung.” Your frown is evident, denting your features and the boy before you feels the urge to wipe it off so badly as if it had no right to tarnish your perfect face.

“It's all in the past now, flower. We're good now, right?” Heeseung smiled and after, you feel a hand slip itself into your own, relinquishing the comfort from the hug. You looked at your entwined hands before offering a small nod.

“It’s getting late. Let's walk home together, yeah?”

*

A week has gone by in a blur of routine. Summer break is ending and no amount of complaints is going to stop the time from running. Heeseung now stands right in front of your door, heart palpitating and hands sweaty. It's been 5 minutes now and he's still contemplating whether he should knock on your door or just leave at this point.

After that night, your relationship with him began to shift. As you arrive at your designated homes, you two meet again across the windows of your rooms. Exchanging waves and passing short notes through the glass barrier before bidding good night. It was like straight out of a Taylor Swift music video.

Heeseung caught a smile corrupting his features before closing his mouth in shock. Did he just smile at the memory of you?? What. The. Fuck. He shook his head abruptly from side to side, almost as if he had a goal to remove something from his mind.

Just as he was doing so, the door suddenly swung open. “Heeseung?” A voice called out, confusion lacing her tone. “Auntie Kang, Hi!” The boy offered a flashy smile, almost blinding the middle aged woman. “What are you doing here, Hee?” The woman smiled at the sight of him and raised her eyebrow in amusement at his…enthusiasm?

Heeseung was happy in the early morning. This was a first.

“Are you okay? Why do you seem so happy? Too happy maybe.” Her eyes squinted in suspicion. “Whaaat? Nothing, Auntie! Just excited because dad said I could use his motorcycle today.”

Your mother hummed in understanding. Muttering how kids these days are so funny before asking the bambi-eyed boy, “What are you doing here thou-”

“Hee, you're here!” An excited voice called out, prompting the two figures on the doorway to look your way.

So this is what it's about. Mrs.Kang bit her bottom lip to contain the smile from seeping through. Noting the interaction in her mind to tell Heeseung’s mother for their planned brunch in a few hours.

Your mother wasn't oblivious, something clearly changed between you too. Gone were the two kids that used to chase each other in the courtyard, sabotaging each other’s items for revenge. You’re all grown up now and Kang Hayoon almost felt a tear drop from her left eye.

Call her dramatic but hey, Heeseung is as much like her child as you are. Just like you are a daughter to the Lees. And these two children used to be muttering curse words why chasing each other.

Kang Hayoon felt a wave of surging proudness. While your father is busy taking care of building another branch for the restaurant, you offered to manage the current one for the summer so your mom could rest. Even with your position as Heeseung’s mentor, you still insist doing so with the excuse that Heeseung is already well adapted with everything now.

You reached the door, giving your mom a quick kiss on the cheek and a goodbye before leaving with the boy. “Bye mom, it’s almost eight. We’re going to the restaurant now!” You greeted her from the motorcycle seat. “Bye, Auntie! We’ll be careful, don't worry!” He smiled once more and with a final wave, the two sped away from the driveway leaving the smiling woman on her porch.

“Hae-in needs to hear about this.” Your mother giggled before calling Heeseung’s mom on dial and closing the door as she decided that she could not wait for brunch to tell her.

*

To say Sunoo was shocked was an understatement. He stood behind the register, preparing the cash for change as he was met with his boss (you) and the intern (heeseung) got out of a motorbike together. His eyes were like saucers and his jaw was wide open. He’s so used to seeing you both fight in the mornings that it felt so…weird seeing the two of you all smiley.

“Fuck, I owe Taehyun 5 bucks now.” He whispered lowly, silently cursing at the bet he lost. The boy smiled and greeted you as well as Heeseung before returning to his current task, not forgetting to make those classic Sunoo bewildered faces behind the register and away from your prying eyes.

Taehyun arrives later with some special premade dumplings made by your mother. Passing by Sunoo as he received the cash with a swift motion in triumph. You and Heeseung are both too easy. He thought, suppressing the singular curve forming on his lips.

*

The restaurant thrives under your management. You silently thank your dad for teaching you these skills since you were little. Heeseung is currently working as a waiter (because you think he is still wonky at wrapping dumplings), busy tending to curious aunties with his charm. After your little heart to heart, you start to see him in a different light. The way his smile deepens as he is asked about his interests, the politeness seeping through his crinkled eyes when he excused himself and moved closer to you-wait what??

“You think I wouldn't notice you staring, flower?” You grimaced at the decor beside you, finding any mistake palpable in your surroundings, and ignoring the way your stomach fluttered at the nickname he just called you. Heeseung chuckled at your antics, finding you adorable.

“Staring? Hah! You’re so full of yourself, Heeseung.” Your false laughter echoed through the restaurant, turning a few heads from other workers before you threw them a glare to go back to work. “That was Jay and Jake’s moms. They were wondering how I’m doing.” You scrunch your eyebrows at his explanation. “Okay? I didn’t ask what you were doing, Lee.”

“Back to last name basis? You wound me, baby.” The bambi-eyed boy placed his hand on his chest, feigning a hurt look on his face. You rolled your eyes at him (and that ridiculous petname) before shoving him lightly. “Go back to work, employee.”

“On it, boss.” He replied, not forgetting to throw a wink at you before opting back to work. Fuck, what was he doing to you?

*

You’re pacing back and forth across your room, hands on your hips, and hair all disheveled. Chaewon laid comfortable on your mattress, elbows supporting her upper body as she watched your distressed state with amusement. “Yn, you’re going crazy.”

Tonight was an overdue girls night, meaning Chae is over at your house for the weekend. This day also marks the second last week of summer. That means one more week ‘till you are back to textbooks and exams. You groaned at the thought (and at Chaewon) before inching towards the window. Your eyes subconsciously reached the house across yours, revealing your beloved neighbor–shirtless–his ridiculously sculpted figure standing there on the other side of his window for the whole world (you) to see as he held what looked like shirts on his left hand and his phone on the right pressed on his ear as if he was calling someone.

“Uhm Yn, you’re gawking.” Your best friend peered behind you. Her hands on your shoulders as she took a peek of the sight before you. You hurriedly closed the blinds in reflex. “Damn okay, you don’t want me looking at your man. I’ll be respectful.” A sheepish smile kissed Chaewon’s face before turning her back on you and jumping back into bed.

“Chae, something is wrong with me.” You fall face flat to your bed, right beside your girlfriend. “Everytime I see him, I feel this weird feeling in my chest–and no it’s not the urge to pull out his hair.” You murmured, flipping your body to align with the ceiling before continuing. “Which is really weird because I used to always feel that way.” You pointed out, index finger up to enhance your stance. “But now everytime I see his face I just want to-want to-”

“Kiss him?” Chaewon’s smirk is glowing in her features, fully dripping with mischief. You sat up at her reply before turning your head towards your best friend, your expression shaped in disbelief. “Chaewon, what the hell.” You grab your nearest plushie–one that you stole from Taehyun’s best friend, HeuningKai–before (affectionately) beating the brown-eyed girl with it.

The sound of laughter filled the room like oxygen. “Yn, you can hit me all you want but you can’t deny it.” The raven haired girl said between her fits of giggle. “After that little apology session, you just want to kiss him pretty.” The wiggle of Chae’s brows urged you to throw the plushie right at her face. Your friend groaned at the impact before recovering as if it was nothing.

Suddenly, everything comes crashing down like an airplane with a failing engine. You paused abruptly, a huge thought bubble forming above your head. Fuck did you like him? Like, like–like him?? No, you can’t. You can’t be catching feelings with the boy you just made amends with a week ago. The boy you swore to hate since you were toddlers.

Chaewon read the expression on your face like an openbook before opting to sit across from you. “Yn, for what’s worth, he’s a really nice person. And he’s practically already family.” Her hands made their way to your shoulders. The feeling is familiar but different. Chaewon’s arms are lighter and more poised in contrast to Heeseung’s warm touch. Your head darted to your covered window, curiosity pooling in your heart at what he was doing and what he would think of this–of you.

“Imagine telling your family that you and Heeseung are a thing.” Your best friend started. “Auntie Lee and Auntie Kang are going to start jumping in glee and start preparing for your wedding with an eight week honeymoon plan to the Bahamas.” You rolled your eyes at Chae’s daydream. Though deep down, your heart swelled at the thought, offering a silent prayer as hope for the future.

“Ever since that day, he’s been, I don’t know, different.” Distress is evident in your sigh, storms of doubt clouding your thoughts. “Maybe I’m getting attached to him, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m spending too much time with that guy.” You place two hands on Chaewon’s shoulders before shaking her. “Chae, baby, loml, cleanse me, like right now.” Chaewon nodded at the request like a diligent soldier before shaking you with much more intensity.

“All cleansed now?” She asked, before stopping the vast movement. Your head is spinning, figuratively and literally, and you raised both of your thumbs toward the raven haired girl. “Fuck, I like him. I like Lee Heeseung.” You confessed against a pillow you found beside you, banging your head at the soft cushion before muffling your exasperated scream as Chaewon sat behind and patted your back in reassurance.

What a way to start girls' night.

*

Heeseung thinks you’re acting weird. You’ve been avoiding him lately–more than usual. Was it because he’s not improving with his dumpling wrapping skills? Or was it because that stunt Jake convinced him to pull, ending with him shirtless before his opened window across your own as he pretended to call someone, looking all important, while it was Jake on the other end, fully assuring him that this plan is foolproof. That it will make you go all drooling on him and finally fall in love.

The bambi-eyed boy mentally cursed at Jake. His plan definitely made you think Heeseung was some weirdo. Fuck, he just ruined all his chances with you and it’s all because of that stupid Austrilian.

Heeseung came true to his feelings one random night in the middle of a night ride with you. You both just finished closing up the shop, bidding farewell to your other workers before logging off for the night.

The boy noticed your tired demeanor, immediately slipping your hand in his before leading you to his bike. “What's the hurry, Hee?” You giggled softly at his antics, the sound speeding his drumming heart ever so slightly.

“Come on, I wanna show you something,” He unclasped your joint hand, and the warmth soon returned as he fixed your helmet on your head before adjusting his own.

Heeseung drives at a medium pace. Not too slow to bore you but also not too fast to risk your lives. The bambi-eyed boy passed your houses, earning a curious look from you. You watch as you exit the suburbs to a little road near the highway. The view from above was breathtaking, city lights cover the vast land like pieces of your lego city collection. You gasped at the beauty ahead of you. The dark haired boy stopped at the hook of the road, taking off his helmet and yours as his steps started inching towards the railings of the empty road.

You follow closely behind, basking on the beauty of the night. The city is still lively–it always is. A contrast to the sleeping stars that hung on the horizon, blinking in haze as humans are left to wonder from below.

Your hand is placed beside his on the railing. Gentle wind kissed the tip of your nose with grace, prompting you to close your eyes to enjoy the serene moment. “This is nice.” You whispered, releasing all the stress harboring on your shoulders and Heeseung hummed in agreement, his head turning in your direction.

The boy watched the sight before him with much intent. His focus shifted to the details of your skin, blurring the busy city’s whispers. Remnants of neon lights were reflected on your face below the moonlight. He noticed your lids fluttering before gazing at the stars above. “What a pretty view.”

Heeseung’s eyes remained on you, the city and sky distorted as he pinned his vision on you. “Yeah, it’s breathtaking.”

The two of you went home in comfortable silence. Your head slowly drowsing on his back before you fix your position to sit upright. Heeseung chuckled at your sleepy state before muttering, “You can sleep, flower. We’ll be home in no time.” His tone is soft on your ears and you hummed at him–too sleepy to voice a proper reply. And before you know it, two arms wrapped itself around Heeseung’s waist, prompting his heart to stop for a second before running at a faster pace. You settle comfortably behind him, your cheek pressed on his back as he drives with such carefulness and grace to your homes.

After returning to his own room, we wasted no time to call his closest friends, confiding to them about his newfound realization. He was in love with you, so badly.

*

Today was the day. The day where Heeseung is going to confront you. He’s tired of having to walk around eggshells around you, he wants to make things right, clear out any misunderstandings (and maybe confess if it all goes right). You texted him yesterday that you won't be needing a ride from him as you had to tend to other matters earlier than usual. As much as it disappointed him, he had no choice but to comply, not wanting to push past the boundaries you built.

Heeseung arrived at the restaurant much earlier than usual. He glanced at his watch, the time read 7:30. Seven fucking thirty. Gosh it was dawn for holiday mood Heeseung (even though it was 30 minutes earlier than his usual routine, BUT that was 30 minutes of sleeping wasted) The things he’d do for you. The boy sighed, fumbling with a copy of the key you gave him before.

He inserted the key towards the hole, turning it to the left in an attempt to unlock the door but failed in doing so. Heeseung paused before examining the handle, confusion glazing his features as his hand grabbed the knob before slowly pulling it down and opening the door with success.

What? Did you forget to lock the door before closing yesterday? No, he was sure you didn't. You were never that irresponsible. In fact you were probably never irresponsible at all. Did someone break in? There were no signs of force breaking in so that was not possible.

An echo of laughter rang through his ears, stopping Heeseung from his tracks. He peered his eyes at the sound that seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Slowly, the boy made his way towards the source, curiosity tugging his heart.

The kitchen light was on and through the window, Heeseung could perfectly see two people standing at the dumpling-making-table-thingy. His eyes widened at the revelation, there was you talking to another man beside you. He's seen him before, but he just can't quite place who. It’s one of those boys you hang around with. Soobin and Yeongjum? Whatever it was.

The boy squinted his eyes, trying to make out who exactly was this person beside you. A distraction to suppress the gnawing feeling pooling in his chest as another line of laughter escaped your lips.

His heart ached when your laugh settled on his mind. A pang of jealousy hit him across the face. You never laughed that much with him. Well maybe it was due to your past rivalry, but it's all gone now, right?

Well maybe he was wrong because your words proved him otherwise.

“By the way, Yn.” The man before you called out, prompting you to hum in reply. “How's everything, you know? With the Heeseung thing and all.”

“It's been really tiring. With school coming soon and everything, ugh.” You sighed, the crease in your eyebrows deepening and Heeseung felt the urge to kiss it away. Though he grounded himself at his position, still behind the walls as he listened to your conversation.

“I’ve been avoiding him lately, Junnie.” His ear perked up at your confession, subconsciously leaning in to hear you more clearly. Ah yeah, Yeonjun. That was his name.

“Why?” Yeonjun asked, confusion wrapping his tone as his hands skillfully wrapped the dumpling before him. Your lack of answer shifted Heeseung's focus to the ridiculously perfect dumpling sitting proudly on Yeonjun’s hand and how quickly he moves on to the next one, wrapping with such professionalism as if he's been folding dumplings since he was born.

Heeseung’s annoyance was cut short as he heard your answer. “I don't know. I just…don't want him to get the wrong idea.” Your voice is small, barely heard, but Heeseung could hear the words clearly.

You didn't want him to get the wrong idea. That was it, that was basically a rejection. You don't feel the same. The bambi eyed boy felt his heart sinking in his chest. The same organ weighs fifty thousand pounds heavier than it usually was, dragging him down with it.

“Anyway, you're driving to the concert, right?” You questioned, tone picking up ever so slightly.

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows. Concert?

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He heard Yeonjun reply. “You've worked so hard to earn these tickets, we’ll have the best time there together, Ynnie.”

The boy behind the kitchen window resisted the urge to scoff. So that's it? You agreed to mentor him for a stupid concert date? Jealousy was a drug and Heeseung dwelled in it with no hesitation. He ignored the way his heart clenched at the thought of losing you. Well, you were never his in the first place.

They boy left the restaurant in the same manner he went in but with more passive aggression. Taking the keys with him before driving off back to his house. Fuck this stupid mentoring shit and Fuck these stupid frelings.

You remained unaware of the tragedy that happened outside as you continued to focus on preparing the delicacy. “Yn, you have to tell him.” Yeonjun’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You still, knowing exactly what he meant, while hands are still moving–folding the dough as if it ran an automatic program. “I don't know, Junnie. What if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings?”

“He would be stupid not to.”

*

Yeonjun was right, you had to be true to your feelings. Your friend left after he finished helping you with the dumplings, leaving you alone amidst your thoughts as the workers arrived one by one. You watch by the front door carefully, eyes focused to find a certain bambi-eyed boy. Concern clouded your mind, the clock strikes nine and Heeseung has yet to make his appearance.

This was weird, he was never late (save the first day). Well maybe because you’ve been going here together for the past few days, but he was never late even at the beginning. Did something happen to him? “Sunoo, have you seen Heeseung?” You turned your head towards Sunoo behind the register, eyebrows furrowed in question. The boy shook his head in response and you ignored the way your heart sank.

You grab your phone from your pocket, muscle memory automatically hovering towards his contact. These past few days you and Heeseung’s been texting more often, and though you hate to admit it, the feeling made you giddy to the heart. Your fingers typed on the keypad in a swift move, texting a quick “where r u it’s late” and a “r u okay?” right after.

The boy in question was laid in his bed. Back against the mattress as he wallows in heartbreak songs all morning. The ping from his phone urged him to open the screen, his chest heaved heavily upon seeing your messages. Why do you care? He scoffed after reading the message mentally. Just let that Yeonjun replace him or something. Heeseung suppressed his impulsive thought to type that in and settled with a lame excuse instead. “not feeling well, won’t come today. sry." Before turning up the volume as Mr. Loverman comes to play.

You frowned at his reply, a worried expression taking over your features. “oh no :( get well soon hee.” Your fingers moved before you could control them. “rest up. I’ll come over after my shift.”

Heeseung widened his eyes as he read your reply, clearly not expecting your last statement. He quickly sat up, thinking of yet another lame excuse to avoid you seeing him. Fuck this was bad, his plan surely backfired on him. “U CANT! Uhm it’s infectious, don’t come near me or u’ll get sick.”

Infectious? What? Is Heeseung okay? You spent the whole week maybe even month with him lately, and whatever it is he caught, there’s probably a big change you’ve caught it too. “Did u get covid or smthn?” You typed in, concerned for yourself too slowly creeping in. It’s been years since the pandemic, you were even surprised it was still a thing. “does it mean I cld have it too? Shld i get tested? Yk what imma get tested rn.”

“It’s not covid!” His reply made you pause on your tracks. “It’s nthn srs, u don’t have to come. Js focus on the shop.”

“Will u return tmrw?” You questioned, no effort in containing your curiosity. “Idk, we’ll see.”

Yeah right, “we’ll see.” Heeseeung scoffed at his own text. He’ll see if he recovered from heartbreak enough to be able to see your stupidly beautiful face. The boy locked his phone before opting to throw it to his bed as he continued to blast to a thousand more sad songs. Fuck you and your perfect self. Why don’t you just go take care of Yeonjun when he’s sick of something.

*

Friday comes in a flash. The sun has set twice since Heeseung’s disappearance and he thinks two days are enough time to sulk and return to his current summer disposition. It was his last day here anyways. After this, school will return and you both will just pretend the other doesn't exist as usual.

He makes his way past the front doors, mind unfocused as he ventures inside the restaurant. His tired eyes met yours, and for one second Heeseung forgets everything he eavesdropped that morning. “Heeseung.” You called out, surprise laced on your tone, clearly not expecting his return after disappearing from the face of earth. The boy resisted the desire in his heart to just run and hug you until you suffocate. But the remnants of your voice that haunted him till this day pulled him back. “I’ve been avoiding him, Junnie. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

Right, you don’t like him that way. He has to remind himself of that and drill it onto his brain. “Heeseung?” You draw closer at his silence. Your hand slowly made its way to his arm, touching the skin slightly before the boy nudged back, avoiding your grasp.

Oh.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, whatever. I’ll just go to work now.”

You don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know what’s wrong. His tone is indifferent, cold, and weaved with a harsh emotion you can’t quite place. The boy passed by you, accidentally bumping your shoulder before starting his usual routine. You could almost hear your heart breaking in your chest, the feeling dragging you down as rain started to pour, the clouds diminishing the ray of sunlight left in your eyes and the sky.

*

The rest of the day is filled with awkward tension and forced professionalism. Heeseung is aware of his status in the restaurant so he maintained his poise. Though he can’t help but steal glances of you, managing the schedule and tending the customers with such light in your eyes, contrast to his gloomy vision. The pain in his heart is subduable but he hates it. It was stupid of him to fall for you in the first place. You were always there, not even 200 meters away from him everyday, yet why do you still remain so out of reach?

Yellow hue dissipates into serene blue, the stars finally waking up to light the dark night. Heeseung waits behind, leaning on his motorcycle as you close up for the day. This was it, his last shift and probably his last one-on-one interaction with you.

As much as Heeseung wants to avoid you right now, he doesn’t have the heart to make you walk back alone. After all the past two days has been enough.

The ride back home was quiet, awkward silence cut through the tension like knife slicing though a piece of room temperature butter. The boy stops in front of your driveway, waiting for you to remove your helmet before parking the bike in his garage.

“Thank you.” Your whisper graced his ear, your gaze finding him like a pirate longing for her lost treasure. “For the ride…and for everything.” Was what you said before turning your back on him and reaching towards your front door.

Heeseung was quick to return home, not forgetting to wipe the strain tear that escaped his right eye as he reached the comfort of his room. Gosh was he stupid.

*

“Babe, do you think Hoshi is going to notice me if I use this top or the other?” Chaewon stands in front of the full length mirror, opting two tops each on her left and right hand. The question rang pass through your ears, your focus all poured towards your window, gaze stuck on the glass panels across your own, his midnight blue curtains covering the interior, screaming at you like it held a “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS” sign right on your face.

Your best friend turned her head towards you at your lack of reply, eyebrows furrowed as she noticed your current predicament. She was quick to move towards your window and closed the blinds, bursting the rain cloud forming above your head. “Yn, spill the beans.” Chaewon’s voice is serious and compelling, and just like that, words start spilling from your mouth. You told how gentle and considerate he’s become for the past week, the occasional night rides, the conversation that continued till midnight, the little notes you passed from your window, and the fact that he suddenly started to act cold and weird on you since Wednesday.

Chaewon listened with much intent, her hands moved quickly to wipe your damp cheeks as the tears fell without any warning. Well good thing you haven’t started your makeup. “You have to talk to him, baby.” She started, hands gentle on the crown of your head. “I’m going to beat him up for making you cry.” She whispered lowly, triggering a chuckle from your throat.

“How? All he does is avoid me. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

The raven-haired girl hummed in response, the gears of her brain spinning. “Don't your families have a joint dinner together every last Sunday of the month?” You nodded slowly at her question, mind deliberately following where she was going. “That’s tomorrow, you’ll talk to him then. Steal him away after dinner or something.” She lifted up her arms to your shoulders before shaking them hard. “Let me cleanse you. For now, let's have fun, look at hot men dancing and doing fanservice. Forget ALL the drama.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as the light made its way back to your eyes. She’s right. Today you’re going to forget about Heeseung and that stupidly pretty face of his. Tonight you’re going to go to that SEVENTEEN concert and occupy your mind with Joshua Hong.

*

Family dinner is awkward as usual. Well for you and Heeseung, not for your parents and brother. Taehyun talking about something with your parents as you sat across the boy that’s been avoiding you. You dismissed the desire to look at his face because right now you are stuck in a perplexity. You don’t know if you want to punch him or you want to kiss him. Well you do know that you want to do it hard, either of the options doesn’t matter.

Your mothers left the dining room to prepare dessert and Heeseung excused himself to go to take something from his room. You took this as an opportunity, muttering “I need to go to the bathroom real quick.” before exiting the space to follow after him. Missing the way Taehun spoke to your dad and Heeseung’s. “50 bucks say that they’ll make out in his room.”

You sped towards the hall, taking his hand as you pulled him into his chambers. The bambi eyed boy felt like an intruder at his own living quarters, his eyes widened in shock, not expecting your actions. “Heeseung, let’s talk.” You start, voice sturdy and serious, cornering the boy before you with an arm beside his shoulder to block any escape route, his back pressing against the wooden door.

“What…what do you mean? Th-there’s nothing to talk about.” The boy grumbled, trying his best to not fluster under your gaze. Gosh why were you so close? Heeseung’s breath became shallow and quicker, the tips of his ears morphed into a crimson shade as he noticed your proximity.

Your eyes squinted at his sheepish reply. “Don’t act stupid, Lee. You’ve been avoiding me all of a sudden with like absolutely no reason!” A polished finger made its way to the dark-haired boy’s chest before he felt a light pressure at the contact. “You disappeared from the shop for two days–you’re welcome by the way for not telling our parents–and started acting like I don’t deserve your time or something.” You shove repeatedly at the same point, frustration swallowing you entirely and Heeseung? He just braced the impact like it was nothing to him.

Heeseung stilled as he waited for you to calm yourself, his gaze tenderly settled on you, in contrast to the emergency sirens that’s swarming his head like a busy ER hospital. Fuck, what was he gonna tell you? That he overheard you and Yeonjun and that he avoided you because he can’t handle a little jealousy and perhaps competition? Were you and Yeonjun even a thing? His mind is in scrambles and he can’t seem to get anything out.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” You peer towards the floorboards, features flushing scarlet as guilt wraps the previous emotion away. Your finger is still on his chest and before you can lower it down, a warm hand enveloped your knuckles. Chocolate colored iris melt into your own letting a thousand emotions seeping through like an overflowing glass of water akin to an eternal fountain. “Yn, let me explain everything.”

So he did and you let him. Heart echoing in sync against your ribcage, his hand not leaving yours anytime soon as he rubs soft circles. You almost melt in his touch. Keyword: almost. Gosh Yn were you that touch starved? Or did you really miss him that badly?

“I overheard your conversation with Yeonjun last Wednesday morning.” He confessed, thumb caressing your skin in a gentle motion. You can hear the gears of your brain spinning before wondering, “Last Wednesday…Yeonjun…What? It was like half past seven, how were you there? You said you were sick.”

“Yeah, let me continue first.” You nodded at his statement. “I wanted to, uhm I don’t know, like surprise you by going there early?” Heeseung paused, silently questioning his past self. “Oh, I also got curious why you didn’t want to ride together that morning.” The boy spontaneously added. “First when I entered I was confused why was the door unlocked but then I heard laughs–your laugh from the inside and I guess I wanted to know who made you laugh like that.”

You soaked his words like a sponge’s first contact with running water. The pattern of his thumb movements is still softly caressing your epidermis, offering you a peace of mind as you sink in his explanation. “Then I saw you with Yeonjun all comfortable and I got jealous. I realise you never smiled at me like that or laughed that much with me around. I got so jealous that I just couldn’t see you or I’ll burst in frustration.”

He stopped stroking your palm and instead squeezed it firmly before fidgeting it with both hands. “I also heard about the concert date. So I found out you mentored me for a month to get a concert date with another man. He must be pretty special, huh.” His movements went to halt and you hate how your heart seemed to ache for more–more of his touch.

“Yeonjun and I are just friends.” Your whisper is gentle upon his ears, the implication of another statement relieved his whole body. You’re still single. “He was helping out because he lost a bet and well he was damn good at wrapping dumplings too.” You chuckled, mind drifting to that particular moment and as if on cue, Junnie’s wise words echoed through your mind. You have to tell him how you feel, Yn.

“Yn I-”

“Heeseung-”

You both started simultaneously startling each other with the synchronisation. “You go first, Hee.”

“Are you sure? You can go-”

“You look like you need to get something out that badly.” You attempted to joke, lifting up the heavy mood that surrounds you like a thick fog.

Heeseung took a deep breath as he stepped closer towards you. His back is not leaned against the door anymore and his gaze is stuck on yours. “Yn I…I like you. Fuck, I love you, even, probably, I don’t know.” The boy pulled your still joint hands, lifting it up before kissing the skin in a gentle manner, one that leaves you yearning for more.

“But I want to…figure it out. With you, if you don’t mind.” Your connecting gaze doesn’t break. You breathe in his confession like a drug, addicted to the true sound of his heart. The light in his eyes dimmed at your lack of reply. But before he could turn away, a force pulled him down from the nape of his neck as warm lips pressed against his own, soft but also fierce, not lacking of passion. Almost as if you’ve been waiting to do this.

The boy doesn’t wait to reciprocate, one of his hands slithered on your waist like it was meant to be there as the other cups your cheek, angling it sideways to deepen the kiss. You could feel it, all the raw emotion rushing through the action. And right now, this is all that matters. His lips are gentle on yours, moving with such care like you were the most precious thing in his possession. Years of tension and harbored feelings melted into the kiss, you pulled him even closer to you, like you can’t handle any remaining distance between you.

Heavy breaths echoed across the room as your faces deepened into five shades of maroon, your past actions finally settling into you. You couldn’t believe it. You just kissed Lee Heeseung. And he kissed you back. If you were to tell this moment to your five year old self, you swore she was gonna punch you in the face for having Heeseung’s cooties.

“So…uhm, I like you too?” You sheepishly smiled, still enveloped in his embrace. The warmth excluding him started to feel like home.

The boy before you mirrored your smile before quickly pecking your lips. You both laughed at the carefree moment. Finally after a decade and two years of constant fighting and suppressed feelings, you both came true to another.

“Come and give me another kiss, girlfriend.” Heeseung felt the corner of his mouth curling up, eyeing his love. The newfound status rolled out of his tongue like it was second nature, like he had practiced it a couple hundred times before.

The butterflies swarming your stomach still continued to linger and even increased tenfold. The tips of your ears showcasing the color of your favorite fruit–strawberries. But instead of melting into a mush (like you would prefer to tbh), you hummed in thought, leaning backwards with his hands wrapped on your waist supporting your back before replying, “Girlfriend?” Your eyebrow shot up. “Maybe after one date, then I’ll consider.”

Heeseung harbored no other emotion in his gaze rather than one reeking of amusement and love as he kissed the tip of your nose, amplifying the crimson shade of your facade.

"Okay, next Saturday, 7pm. Wear something nice, baby."

BONUS:

You and Heeseung made your way back to the dining table with flustered faces, (slightly) swollen lips, and a suspiciously good mood. Taehyun raised his eyebrows at the two older people before him, his gaze later shifted to the side, making eye contact with your dad and Hee’s before receiving two fifty bucks under the table.

Ah, what a good day. Now he just needs to collect the remaining money from Auntie Lee and your mom’s bet.

Kang Ha-yoon and Lee Hae-in watched as their children exchanged sheepish glances instead of muttering curses at the other, a surging proudness fills the air like oxygen, letting the two woman finally breathe in the air with no cut throat tension radiating from you and Heeseung.

They might’ve lost a hundred bucks and may or may not owe Taehyun a new PS5, but as awkward dinners turn into lively conversations (without any passive aggression lacing in your tones) the two women send knowing smiles to each other.

It seemed as if their plan had worked. A little too well maybe but hey, maybe they'll officially be family if this continues. After all, your mothers have always secretly fantasised about yours and Heeseung’s wedding without any knowledge that there is a bigger chance of it coming true.

The private pinterest board rotting in your mother’s account may be for good use after all.

Fin.

TAGLIST -> @jiwuu @xylatox @ttulixia @iboughtnjz @bubblytaetae @wintereals @manuosorioh @ddolleri

AERNX 2025

[rainandsentences]

Hello, I really like your chef Luca work. I was wondering if you you write something where Luca is protective of the reader in their day to day life, and when she gets into a car accident in the middle of service on a Friday night, she asks EMS to call the restaurant instead of Luca because she doesn’t want him to leave service for her (he can get kinda mad not really about it later). Richie is the one who answers the phone and has some type of protective reaction as well (Richie being Richie), whether or not he tells Luca during or after service is up to you. And maybe for the extra angst reader is in surgery by the time Luca gets to the hospital?

i appreciate your request and i loved the idea. (ily richie) here you go, gumpy! xo

Call the Restaurant

Luca x f!reader

synopsis: You’ve always been the type to downplay your needs — especially during a rush. Even dating Luca doesn’t change that.

rating: 16+

word count:1k

a/n: love the idea! (ps. sorry for taking so long)

——————————————————————————

You’re the kind of person who brushes things off.

Spilled coffee? No big deal.

Snide comment? Whatever.

Twisted ankle on the way to work? You’ll limp your way through prep.

So when the SUV runs the red light — when you feel the jolt of impact in your ribs, when your face hits the window — your first thought isn’t pain. It’s panic.

Not only because you’re hurt.

Because it’s Friday night and it was Luca’s special day of pastries, and he probably was in the middle of service.

He was excited all week trying new recipes to present to the restaurant, he couldn't sleep well and you were the one who calmed him down.

So when the paramedics find your phone and ask, “Do you want us to call someone?”

You shake your head and mutter, “Call the restaurant i work in... please."

“Ma'am, is there someone more accesible? A family member?"

“No. Just the restaurant. Please.” You say softly before passing out.

⸻

Richie’s the one who picks up. Of course he is.

“Beef, what?” he snaps, barely audible over the noise. There’s shouting in the background — tickets flying, pans hitting steel, someone cursing in Spanish.

“This is EMS. We’re calling from University Hospital. One of your employees was in a car accident.”

He goes quiet. Fast.

“Who?”

“She didn’t want us to call her emergency contact. She said to call here instead.”

“What happened?”

“She’s stable, but it was a T-bone impact. She lost consciousness for a moment, so they’re taking her into surgery —”

Richie cuts him off. “Wait. Surgery?!”

“Her arm is broken so we have to —”

“I’m coming. Don’t — fuck, okay, hang on.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, under his breath:

“ I know she’s gonna kill me if I tell him.” He watched as Luca is stirring a mixture in a bowl

Luca doesn’t find out until after service.

Richie’s pacing by the lockers, jacket already on, but not leaving. He looks up when he sees Luca.

“Hey.”

Luca frowns. “What?”

Richie runs a hand over his face, clearly wrestling with something. Then he mutters, “She got into an accident.”

Luca freezes.

“She’s in the hospital. They called during service. I was gonna— I was gonna tell you but—”

“Where is she?”

“University.”

Luca’s already moving.

Richie follows, yelling after him, “She told the EMTs not to call you directly, bro! She didn’t want you to leave service—”

Luca stops in the middle of the alley and turns.

And for once, his voice is sharp. Not loud. But sharp.

“She’s in surgery, Richie.”

“I know.”

“She didn’t call me.”

“I know.”

They stare at each other.

“She didn’t want you to worry,” Richie says finally. “You know how she is.”

Luca swears under his breath. His hands are already shaking. Not with anger just fear.

You’re not awake when he gets there.

The waiting room is beige and far too quiet. Luca checks in, finds your name, gets the room number — but they won’t let him in yet.

“She’s still in surgery,” the nurse says gently. “You can wait here.”

So he does.

For thirty-six minutes, he stares at a blank wall. He thinks about your laugh. Your bare feet on the kitchen floor in the morning. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening.

He thinks about the fact that you didn’t call him.

And he gets it — he gets it — but he hates it too.

Because you’re his.

And you didn’t give him the chance to show up.

You wake up sometime after midnight.

Groggy. Sore. Eyes bleary with pain meds.

Luca’s sitting beside your bed. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. His coat is still on. There’s a cup of vending machine coffee on the floor, untouched.

You stir.

He looks up instantly.

“Hey,” you rasp, voice thin.

He’s quiet. Just stares at you. Eyes tired. Shoulders tense.

“Hi,” you say again, softer.

He nods once. Then leans back in his chair.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You blink. Not because you’re surprised by the question — but because you were hoping he’d pretend.

You shift slightly, wincing at the ache. “Didn’t want to ruin your night.”

He exhales through his nose.

“Didn’t want you to leave service,” you mumble.

“That’s what you think I’d care about?”

You glance away.

He runs a hand over his face. Sits forward. Voice quieter now.

“You were in a fucking accident. You’re in a hospital bed. You really think I’d be mad about service?”

You don’t answer so he leans closer.

“I don’t care if it’s two hours before doors open or during a ten-top with influencers. I don’t care if I’m plating the final course of a Michelin inspection.”

His voice softens.

“If you need me — I go. That’s it. I go.”

You look at him then. Really look at him.

He’s not mad because you got hurt. He’s mad because you didn’t let him be there. Because he was scared.

And because he loves you.

You try to speak, but your throat closes. So instead, you whisper:

“I didn’t want to be the reason you got distracted.”

He exhales sharply. Almost laughs — but not with humor.

“You are distracting,” he says. “You always are. That’s what being in love with someone means.”

Your breath catches.

He squeezes your hand gently. Not tightly. Just enough that you feel him.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

You nod. Eyes burning.

“I promise.”

⸻

The doctor clears you a few days later. They tell you to rest.

Luca doesn’t leave your side.

He stocks your fridge. Adjusts your pillows. Doesn’t let you carry anything. Even sits on the floor next to your couch when you fall asleep midday with your head propped on the armrest.

One night, you wake up to find him asleep in the chair next to your bed. Arms folded, chin tucked, the kind of deep sleep that only happens when someone’s completely worn out.

You reach for him.

And this time — you don’t hesitate.

You whisper his name.

And when he stirs, and sees you awake, you smile softly.

“I’m glad you came.”

He blinks. Then nods.

“Me too.”

[andy-15-07]

Imagine Ash Garver being protective if younger reader

Stay Behind Me

PAIRING: Ash Garver x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1068✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The snowstorm outside screamed against the walls of the visitors center, wind howling like a wounded animal. You sat huddled on a creaky couch, arms wrapped around yourself, trying not to let your nerves show.

Ash noticed. Of course he did.

He always did.

He sat a few feet away at the edge of the vending machine area, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His eyes never stopped moving,sweeping the room, watching the other stranded travelers, especially that guy who wouldn’t stop glancing your way.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable under the stranger’s stare. Ash straightened immediately, stepping over to you.

“You good?” he asked, voice low but firm.

You gave a tiny nod. “Yeah. Just…storm’s louder than I expected.”

His eyes narrowed, not buying it. “He’s bothering you.”

You didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Ash crouched in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. “Look at me.”

You did. His eyes were soft, but there was steel behind them.

“If something’s wrong, you tell me. Got it?”

“I didn’t want to start something,” you whispered. “You always say to stay cool in situations like this.”

He gave a slight smirk. “That’s true. But I didn’t say let creeps stare at you either.”

“I’m fine, Ash.”

He stood up slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the man in question, who quickly looked away and started fiddling with his phone like he hadn’t just been caught.

Ash turned back to you. “Stay close to me.”

“You’re acting like we’re in danger.”

“We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers during a snowstorm. I don’t know about you, but I don’t call that ideal.”

You gave him a tired smile. “Okay, fair.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear with that careful gentleness only you got to see. “You cold?”

“Not really.”

“You hungry?”

“Maybe.”

He stood and turned toward the vending machines. “I’ll get you something. Don’t move from that spot.”

“I’m not a kid, Ash.”

“You’re younger than me. I get to boss you around sometimes.”

You scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”

He looked back at you with a wink. “It is in my head.”

You watched him punch buttons on the vending machine, broad shoulders tense even when he tried to play it cool. You knew him well enough to know he was on edge. Protective wasn’t just a mood with Ash,it was a constant instinct.

He came back a moment later with a bag of chips and a bottle of water.

“Gourmet dining,” he said, sitting beside you and handing them over.

“You spoil me,” you teased, opening the chips.

He chuckled softly, but the look in his eyes lingered. “Just wanna keep you safe. That’s all.”

“I know.”

For a few quiet minutes, the storm outside did all the talking. Then the guy from before stood up, slowly making his way toward the area you were sitting in.

Ash clocked him instantly.

He leaned into you, whispering low. “Don’t talk. Just follow my lead.”

You straightened up slightly. The man stopped a few feet away, fake smile plastered across his face.

“Hey,” he said casually, “sorry to bother, just thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

Ash rose to his feet, casually inserting himself between you and the stranger. His body language changed,shoulders square, arms loose but ready.

“She’s not interested,” Ash said evenly.

The guy blinked, hands raised like he didn’t mean anything by it. “Whoa, man. I just said hi.”

Ash didn’t budge. “And now you can say goodbye.”

The tension thickened instantly. The man scoffed. “Jesus. Okay. Relax.”

Ash took a step forward, voice quiet but cutting. “You think because she’s younger she won’t speak up? She doesn’t need to. I’m right here.”

The guy backed off, muttering something under his breath, and shuffled away to the far corner of the room.

Ash waited a beat before sitting back down beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, heart still racing. “You didn’t have to do that…”

“Yes, I did.” He turned to look at you fully. “You think I’m gonna just sit there and let some guy make you uncomfortable? No way.”

“I didn’t want it to turn into a scene.”

Ash frowned. “Y/N, I don’t care if he thinks I’m dramatic or whatever. You’re my girl. I’m not letting anyone near you like that.”

You smiled softly. “Your girl?”

He rolled his eyes affectionately. “You’ve been mine for a while, babe. Don’t act like that’s new information.”

“I like the way it sounds. ‘My girl.’”

“You’re not mad I stepped in?” he asked, softer this time.

“No. Just…sometimes I think people underestimate me. I don’t want them thinking I can’t speak for myself.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “You’re strong as hell. I know that. But just because you can handle it doesn’t mean you have to,especially not alone.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Act all gruff and tough and then say something really sweet.”

“Damn it. You caught me,” he muttered, nudging your knee with his. “Don’t tell anyone. I got a rep to protect.”

You giggled, the tension finally melting from your chest. “I’ll keep it between us.”

“Good.”

Ash let out a breath, wrapping an arm around you. “I just hate when people see you like that. Like you’re small. Breakable. You’re not. But the way that guy looked at you…”

“I know.”

He glanced over at the guy again, narrowing his eyes. “He tries anything else, I swear,”

“He won’t,” you cut in gently. “Because I’ve got a six-foot guard dog watching me.”

Ash chuckled. “Damn right you do.”

You turned toward him a little, watching the hard lines in his face slowly soften as he looked at you.

“You’re really not gonna let anything happen to me, are you?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. I’d go through hell to keep you safe. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

He kissed your forehead, pulling you closer. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll keep watch.”

“Storm’s still loud.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re safe.”

You nestled into his side, listening to the sound of his heartbeat,calm and steady.

“I’m glad I got stuck here with you,” you mumbled.

Ash smiled against your hair. “Me too, princesa. Me too.”

And with him beside you, nothing felt quite as scary anymore.

[tommysparkles]

moment in a life

Heya. This is a little fic for today's @bottomtommyweek prompt, which is mpreg. It's so fluffy, you guys, lol. Also this is my first mpreg fic? Dunno how that's possible, but here we are. Hope you like it!

lol, oops, I'm a day early. I thought it was Tuesday 🙃 Oh well.

bucktommy - words: 1.1k - rating: gen - complete

Sometimes Buck can't believe this is his life now. 38 years old, waking up next to the love of his life, smiling even before his eyes open, because he knows exactly what he'll see.

Said love of his life, on his back, mouth open, a protective hand over his bulging stomach, even in his sleep.

When Buck finally does open his eyes, sure enough, there he is, exactly how he imagined, although, to be fair to his husband, Tommy doesn't have much choice in sleeping positions these days, being that he's 7 ½ months pregnant. Sleeping on his side used to be the way, but the bigger he got, the less comfortable that was, no matter how many types of pillows they tried.

His mouth is open wide, his snoring sounds like a frieght train. Buck thinks he's the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

It had been a hell of a surprise when they'd discovered, the long way around, that Tommy was a carrier for the male pregnancy gene, but Buck wouldn't change a damn thing. He's married now, he's about to have a kid with the best person he knows. He loves his life.

He watches as Tommy's hand jumps on his stomach.

"Hi, nugget," Buck whispers, though he knows it's unnecessary; Tommy is a hard sleeper, even in pregnancy. "Too bad you can't tell me what you want for breakfast yet, huh?"

Buck snags Tommy's left hand carefully, watching his face for signs he's waking. When there's nothing but another deep snore, he grins, kisses the wedding ring on his left ring finger, before kissing the spot on Tommy's stomach, where he can clearly see a limb poking through. How Tommy manages to sleep through that, Buck will never know, but he's grateful. He knows Tommy needs all the sleep he can get.

He climbs out of bed, pulls on his boxers, and makes his way out of their bedroom. Tommy's cravings have only heightened his sweet tooth, so he's thinking chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. This will be the third time this week he's made them but he knows that Tommy certainly won't argue with that.

He's just got the batter on the stove when he feels shuffling behind him. Buck flips a pancake and turns. "Hi baby."

"Hi," Tommy says around a yawn. He waddles (Buck thinks it's the cutest thing he's ever seen in his life) up to Buck and wraps his arms around him as best he can. Really, the best he can do is his hands on Buck's hips, but that works too. "Smells good."

"Should be done soon," Buck says, shivering as the cold tip of Tommy's nose buries itself in the back of his neck. "Want a smoothie too?"

"Yes, please," Tommy says. "The blue-"

"-berry and raspberry," Buck finishes for him with a grin. "I know. Sit down, I've got everything covered."

Tommy makes his way over to the table, sits down in one of the chairs.

He's getting everything plated when it starts.

"…room already for you," Tommy is murmuring to his stomach, hand rubbing up and down. "We hope you like the colors we picked."

Buck loves the room that they made for their little boy. Baby farm animals, the room is done up in soft yellows and greens. It's adorable.

He freezes when he hears Tommy's next words. "…hope you like me."

They've been together long enough that Buck knows all of Tommy's insecurities, but this one…it's said so softly that Buck is almost sure he wasn't meant to hear it. It's said as though Tommy hadn't meant it to come out at all.

He takes deep breaths, decides maybe he'll see if he can bring up the topic later. He finishes Tommy's smoothie, holds it in one hand and their two plates in the other, setting Tommy's in front of him with a soft kiss to his mouth.

Sitting across from him, Buck can tell something's off and when Tommy looks at him and sighs, he knows the decision of what to do about what he heard is out of his hands.

"You heard?" Tommy asks softly.

Buck nods. "Yeah. He's going to love you, Tommy."

Tommy shrugs, trying to affect nonchalance, but it's certainly not working. "I don't have a great example to go from. What if I'm not good at it?"

Buck really does feel like he should have seen this coming. "Baby, you put on a tiara for Jee last week."

Tommy looks embarrassed. "She asked me to, what was I going to say, no?"

Buck bites his lip to hold back a grin. "When Robbie handed you his fire truck at the last barbecue, you sat on the ground with him and played for like half an hour."

"Oh man, it took me forever to get up," Tommy groans. "I thought we were gonna have to rent a crane or something."

"You're gorgeous," Buck says sincerely. He's said it a lot over the last few months, as Tommy's body changed and his stomach got bigger.

He continues, "The farm animals for his room were your idea."

Tommy motions to him. "Have you seen you? If he looks anything like you, he's going to be adorable. He should be surrounded with other adorable things."

Damn it, Buck loves him so much. "And you take care of me. You have for years."

"I'm not sure that's the same thing," Tommy points out, but Buck can see it's working. Helping Tommy through his insecurities over the years has become almost second nature. Tommy had once admitted that he'd always thought he'd deal with his own issues, well, on his own. Buck's made it his life's work to prove otherwise.

"Maybe," Buck allows. "You're going to be the best dad, Tommy. I know it."

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek before he says, "Really?"

Buck gets up from his seat, knows he's going to have to reheat his own breakfast, but he doesn't care as he sinks to his knees in front of him. "You're the best man I know. My person. I'm not worried at all about your abilities as a dad. It never even crossed my mind."

Tommy sniffles and Buck reaches for a tissue from the box on the table, dabs it at his eyes. "You're my person too," Tommy says, voice thick.

Buck grins, holds up his left hand, and wiggles his ring finger. "I had a feeling."

Tommy laughs. "Sorry, I don't know why today, it just sort of hit me that we're going to be dads soon, you know?"

Buck rubs his stomach, feels their son kick under his hand. "Don't say sorry, I know. Jesus, Tommy, there's a little person in there. I'm scared to death. But I've got you, so I'm not worried."

Tommy laughs again, nods. Buck moves up to kiss him. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Tommy says sheepishly. "Thanks."

Buck kisses him again. "Always." He motions to his plate. "Want me to reheat those for you?"

But Tommy's already digging in. "No, they're perfect."

Soon enough, they're eating their breakfast and when Tommy gently sets the glass with the smoothie onto the shelf of his stomach as he tells the baby about how helicopters stay up in the air, Buck thinks his life is pretty damn perfect.

[mafiadad5]

Teach me to not love, Epilouge: Haechan’ s Journal.

Read: Teach me to not love -> Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

W/c- 1.3k

Now playing: Journey Mercies- Mark Lee

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #1 – The Day You Left

I messed up.

I keep replaying her face from that night— when it all finally hit her. She looked so exhausted, so tired. Not just physically, but like her soul had been carrying too much for too long.

Yeah, Jaemin was part of it, but so was I. Probably more than I want to admit.

I tried to protect her, but it was too late— and in the worst way. I thought just being there, having feelings, meant I was doing something right, but love isn't enough if your actions don't show up with it.

I wanted to explain everything. I wanted her to scream, to cry, to throw something, anything but just walk away, but I slipped up, and made it worse. Everything she said before she left... about me ending up alone... it hurt. Not because it was new, but because I've told myself that for years. Hearing it from her made it real though. Because she tried, she gave me a chance, and I blew it.

I drank myself sick that night. Don't even remember calling her. But when I woke up and saw her there— water on the nightstand, trash can by the bed, I knew I didn't deserve her.

I don't really know if I'm writing this for her or for me, maybe both.

But I know one thing: I want to be better. I have to be.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #2 – A Week After You Left

Therapy's weird.

I hate silence, but this kind of silence... it pulls the words out of you. And once I start talking, it's like I can't stop.

Today I told him I feel like I ruin every good thing that touches my life. That even my own parents didn't really want to deal with me. He asked when I learned to survive like that.

I didn't say anything at first, then I said everything.

We talked about control, about how I hold back, how I try to manage pain by never letting anyone get too close.

I realized something. I didn't just want her, I wanted the moment she chose me and I wanted to hold on to that moment forever. That's not love, that's fear dressed up as romance.

Real love lets people walk away, and still hope they find peace.

I'm starting to understand that.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #3 – One Month Later

If she ever comes back, and that's a big if... I'm not going to be the guy who just says, "I've changed."

I want her to see it. 

I'll show her patience. Speak softly, even when I'm hurting. I'll listen, even when I want to argue.

If she needs space, I'll give it. If she says no, I'll respect it. If she doubts me, I'll understand.

Clarity is something I need to meet, not fight.

Now, I just want to deserve her.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #4 – The Night You Came Back

She came back.

It felt like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

She looked different, not in a physical way, but like... whole. Like she found pieces of herself I never even realized she lost.

When she said she was willing to try again— slowly, I didn't feel like I got her back. I felt like I was being given a chance to love her right this time.

And that's the only way this works.

If this is all we are... soft steps forward, quiet moments, a journal and a promise, I'll take it.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #5 – One Month Later

We're still taking it slow.

Some people think slow means uncertain. Like we're tiptoeing around something fragile, but it doesn't feel like that.

It feels calm. Like we're both learning to breathe again in the same space, at our own pace.

She smiles more now. Not the kind of smile that hides things. This one's different, it's soft, real, and sometimes when she doesn't know I'm watching, it breaks my heart in the best way.

I didn't know watching someone else heal could feel like healing too.

I still get urges to rush— reach for her hand, kiss her, ask if she's mine yet, but I don't act on them. Not out of fear, but out of respect.

And honestly? I like this version of us.

If love is slow and steady, I'm finally ready for that kind.

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Journal Entry #6 – Two Months Later

I think I'm ready to ask her out.

Not in the casual, "let's see where this goes" way. I mean for real, with intention.

I've thought about what I'd say. I'd tell her this isn't about our past, it's about what we've built through it.

That loving her like this— slow and steady... with care, has been the best thing I've ever done.

If she says no, I'll be okay.

That's how I know I'm really ready. I don't need her to say yes to feel whole. I don't need her to love me back to believe I'm worth loving.

Still... I really hope she says yes.

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Journal Entry #7 – Five Months Later

She said yes.

I asked her while we were walking, hands in my pockets, stumbling over my words. I was so nervous, it probably didn't even make sense.

She laughed, then she smiled and said yes.

It wasn't fireworks, it wasn't some big cinematic moment. It was quiet and it meant everything. 

We're not perfect. We still have tough days, we still talk things through slowly, but now there's honesty.

She doesn't wonder if I'll change. I don't worry if she'll leave.

We both did the work. First alone, then together and now we're here. Still growing,  still healing, but in love— for real this time.

And if this is where the story ends... I wouldn't change a single word.

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You stayed up later than you meant to. The apartment was quiet, just the hum of the AC and the soft rhythm of Haechan breathing beside you, out cold after insisting he "wasn't tired" and falling asleep twenty minutes into the movie.

The journal sat open in your lap.

You hadn't expected him to hand it over so casually tonight. Just said, "If you're ready... I think I want you to read this now."

And you were ready, you didn't realize it until the first few lines, then you couldn't stop.

Entry after entry— his fear, his shame, the way he tried and failed, and tried again. The way he broke things, the way he realized he wanted to fix them... not just for you, but for himself. The way he started to become someone better, even before you said yes.

You wiped your cheeks more than once.

Not because it was sad— but because it was honest.

And now, sitting here in the glow of the hallway light, with his words still fresh in your mind and his arm gently brushing yours in sleep, you felt it for real. 

You weren't the same girl who spiraled at parties and mistook chaos for love. He wasn't the same boy who ran when things got too real. You both unraveled and then rebuilt yourselves in the quiet, and in doing that, you somehow found each other again, not as broken people clinging to each other, but as two whole people finally learning how to hold love the right way.

You closed the journal, laid it on the nightstand, and slid under the covers beside him. He stirred slightly, mumbling your name like it was instinct. You smiled to yourself, letting your fingers trace gentle patterns along his back.

You weren't sure what the future held, but tonight, you were sure of this:

You were healed. You were in love. And this time, you weren't losing yourself to keep him.

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a/n- hi guys ! Thank you so much for reading, I truly hope you enjoyed it. I poured so much of myself into this, so it’s a little bittersweet to let it go… but also kind of a relief, lol.

Just a quick reminder: part one, two, and the beginning of three portray a VERY toxic version of love. This is not how you deserve to be treated, so If you ever find yourself in a similar situation— run 😭.

And with that… goodbye 💋 <333

© mafiadad5 2025

[popeabbot]

Good Luck Charm- Andrew “Pope” Cody

Summary: you go to support your favorite underground boxer, and you get a treat when he wins ~ Pope Codyxfem!reader

WC:1k

A/N: this is my submission to the ratwritingunder1k challenge!!! I hope everyone enjoys as this is literally the shortest thing I’ve ever written and I’m not sure how to feel about it. This is also my first fic for Pope so lmk what yall think cause I have some more stuff in the works💕

Tags: fighting, blood mentioned, smut

Underground fighting had never been your scene. Not when Pope Cody was a teenager and not now. It was quick, dirty and the money was never really that good. Pope knew he didn’t need the money, but he liked to spoil you .

Yet here you were walking out of your uber in a tight outfit, with shining red lips ready to support your favorite fighter.

The concrete building was hot. Sweaty bodies were pressed together so as to not miss the action. Through the yelling, the sound of bone crunching peaked your attention.

“You here to bet on the gringo again?” A short greasy looking man slid up to you, sliding his glasses down to glance down to your low cut top.

“Nacho, I know my boobs are at your level, but my eyes are up here,” your sharp comment made him jump. “I’m not here to bet on anyone….but is he winning?” You turned to the cage, Pope was on top of his opponent laying blow after blow. Blood was dripping from his face and chest, you glared back at the man waiting for a response. He simply shrugged and walked away, he wasn’t going to talk unless money was involved .

Heads turned your way as you pushed through the crowd. You had older brothers, and you’d been around the Cody boys long enough to know right where to throw a punch that would knock a grown man’s lights out. Your eyes never moved to look at the people around you, they stayed trained on him.

The way his muscles flexed with each pull and punch, the way he practically danced around the ring to escape his opponent. There was nothing but pure murder in his eyes, even if the blood continued to flow from him. Boxing was always a cruel dance, only one would win but at the cost of being beaten and bruised regardless.

The sweat began to bead and roll down your neck as the fight carried on. Your eyes widened as Pope was shoved against the cage, it rattled under his weight. You hated watching him fight, hated seeing the way he’d let someone fuck yo his perfect face for money. You'd also be a damn liar if you said it didn’t turn you on, his sweat glistened body right there on display made you go crazy.

When the fighters were pulled to their corners to take 5, you rushed to him, fingers lacing the metal. In 0.5 seconds he changed from the murderous Pope Cody to your boyfriend Andrew.

“Hi baby, what’re you doing here?” He ignored the water bottle being shoved in his direction to take you in. Hair pulled up so it didn’t stick to you, that bright red lipstick smudging in the corners and the tight outfit that had been making him go crazy since he spotted you two rounds ago. “You hate watching my fights.” His head tilted ever so slightly it the way it always did when he spoke.

“Well I just wanted to come see my favorite fighter, who’s looking excellent might I add” you shrugged slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. A frown tugged at the corner of your lips, seeing the bruises already starting to bloom.

“Now that you’re here he can’t touch me,” He gave you a crooked grin, pulling you in for a bloodied kiss through the cage.

“Why is that?” You asked, a smile tugging at your frown.

“Because!” Pope’s eyes sparkled, a rarity for him, chest out and confidence high. “You’re my good luck charm!”

The fight was over in two more rounds. Pope had worked his opponent around the ring until he was so dizzy he didn’t even feel the final fist connect to his temple.

Popes face was stone cold as his fist raised in the air declaring the win. Groans could be heard as high dollar rollers lost their money. Earnings were handed off, Pope cleaned himself up quickly by his truck, he needed you home now.

-

Your legs were wrapped tightly around Andrew as he pushed the back door to your home open.

“God Andrew- you looked so fucking hot-“ He bit at your neck, growling at the praise. The two of you didn’t even make it to the bed, he tossed you onto the couch stripping your clothes off as fast as possible.

“Had me so distracted, you’re so beautiful.” His hands were everywhere, your waist, your breasts, he palmed them roughly as you worked his pants off. Sitting yo beneath him, you covered his body in red stained kisses.

“Got all worked up watching you fight.” You groaned at the mere sight of his dick as he released it from his boxers.

Andrew didn’t even work you up with his fingers first, he pulled your legs around his waist and angled himself where he could get as deep as possible. You cried out at his fast pace, using his winners high to his advantage. You clawed at his back, nails leaving hot red marks as you tried to find anything to hold on to.

“B-baby- shit you feel so good!” Andrew hissed as you bit down his neck, licking the bruises as they formed. The heat was rising in both of you as his hips bucked and snapped as he kept his fast pace, his calloused thumb slid down your body until it was rubbing your aching clit.

You were sure your neighbors would file a noise complaint as he had you screaming praises. You gasped as Andrew pulled out suddenly. He only smirked as he placed kisses at your sternum and belly button, his hot tongue slid up your inner thigh until his face was finding solace in you. Your hands flew down to his curls as he lapped up the orgasam that shot through you. His nose hit just the right spots as you shamelessly pulled him into you further.

You should be his good luck charm more often.

omg I hope yall like it, this was such a fun challenge I don’t think it will be my only submission so keep an eye out!!

tags: @ebodebo @sceletaflores @kchronicallyonline @glamorizethechaos @birdofcauthon14

[xylatox]

Manacled Hands, Shared Sins || csb

I am back reading another of Yun’s work (my precious shayla) and God. I’m so excited!! Been loving Soobin extra more recently so im looking forward to this even more :)) 

There was no time to think, let alone breathe. The fast approaching footsteps of the caretaker and his cat reverberated into your bones. You spun on your heel and cast one murderous glare in Yeonjun’s direction, one that said you’d personally transfigure his organs the next time you see him, and then darted into the hidden passage behind the filing cabinet. 

I immediately love how high stakes the beginning is. 

Hexing him in your mind wasn’t enough. You needed to see him writhe and squirm and regret every breath he took from the moment he decided to knock over that damned lamp. You wouldn’t stop until he begged. Until the arsenal of curses in your vocabulary bled dry.

I love her personality so damn much of my god

Also, Im always so obsessed with your vocabulary Yun like, it truly amazes me everytime

Out of spite, your hand twisted the knob.

This is so me

I am so intrigued with everything relating to Soobin because what on earth is going on 

You always steered clear of situations that never concerned you. It wasn’t indifference; rather, it was a necessity. It was a rule you clung to with the kind of desperation only survival breeds.

I will always be in love with your words I swear to god.

I think its super sad to that mc has to lean into the narrative people push when it comes to those sorted into Slytherin, like its sad that shes treated like that because of how some people behave. Even though I am by no means a HP fan (I never finished the books or movies) I have done the house sorting for fun since my mum is a die-hard fan and this women gets disgusted every year when I get placed into Slytherin and its hilarious honestly.

He existed on the other end of the spectrum, where people assumed the best instead of the worst. Head Boy. Top of the class. House of blue and bronze. Teachers adored him. Students respected him. To them, he was the golden standard, someone whose light could not be touched by shadows.

Yun please I swear I gotta get a glimpse into how you think because this line is amazing what the heck

Until that summer of your freshman year, when you pushed open an unused storage room’s door on the outskirts of the castle, you found him hiding away with tears running down his cheeks. 

My poor baby :( 

Also MC truly playing into the Slytherin narrative just breaks me eventhough you can tell she doesnt really want to :( 

"Until then, our hands are manacled."

SCREAMING PART OF THE TITLE IS REFERENCED AHHH

"I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt," Soobin said, and though the words came soft, there was nothing weak about them. They were steady enough to sound like a decision had been made. “So whatever it is you want — name it. Just say it, and you’ll have it. Then we’ll be done.”

Im sick I find him saying this back kind of hot I cant lie😭

????HE JUST COLLAPSES LIKE THAT???

Poor baby is exhausted oh my goodness

I love that theyre both literally just surviving, trying to fit into the mold that is expected of them and honestly? Im a bit obsessed

“No,” he said, voice clipped but not raised, the change in tone enough to make the prefect blink. “Leave the Slytherins out of it. Unless you’ve got solid proof, there’s no cause to single them out. You told me the last magic trace showed the artefact was by the lake, didn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, the smile now gone from his face. “Then if you’re so eager, go dive in and see what you find.”

This made me giggle so stupid oh my god i love himmmm😭😭

To your surprise, he laughed — a proper one, soft but genuine, and you found yourself momentarily thrown. It wasn’t the reaction you’d expected, and as the sound settled, you noticed how it pulled deeper creases at the corners of his eyes. His dimple deepened, and though you’d never admit it aloud, your gaze lingered on it a moment too long.

On my knees, in love with him so bad hes so fucking cute i might pass out

Then came the grin again, lopsided and strangely genuine in a way that didn’t suit the polished Head Boy the rest of the school had come to revere. “We’re sharing sins.”

THE OTHER PART OF THE TITLE REFERENCE IM FUCKING AHHHHHH

Whether you spoke of it again or not, you’d both remember.

Yun I swear to god Im going to crash out (in a good way). I feel sick (in the best way) I love them so freaking much that my words cant even explain the extent ugh. Im soso excited for the continuation of this. Your work as always continues to be soso amazing.

Manacled Hands, Shared Sins || Choi Soobin

i. CHAPTER ONE

.☘︎ ݁˖ Back to story ml .☘︎ ݁˖ Event masterlist

Being a Slytherin was never about villainy – it was about survival. So when you stumble across Choi Soobin, Ravenclaw’s golden Head Boy, accidentally ripping a hole through reality itself, you do what any sensible person would: you make it his problem.

Unfortunately, you’re also a witness to the ritual. Which means if this whole mess comes to light, you’re just as screwed as he is.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 11.7k/ ?

Ravenclaw!Choi Soobin x Slytherin!afab!reader

[NOTE that: Specific warnings will be listed before every chapters || Check the story masterlist page to get the genre + whole warning section] chapter warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, except for the first part of this chapter - the entirety is written in flashbacks, prejudiced system, reader and soobin starts with a rocky relationship (they're both emotionally constipated and just trying to survive), mild description of nosebleed and fainting, dual pov

MHSS is finally here oh my god this fuckass fic made me pull my hairs out and crash out on a daily basis. It's totally on me for making such a detailed plot back when I dropped the teaser I'm ngl don't even know what was going through my head when I came up with the storyline. I'd like thank my moa friends for this chance and allowing me to bring this story to life <3 ily all so much. The story will be updated weekly! Hoping you like this story as much as I hated writing it <3 Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated! © filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

Tonight, everything had the chance to change.

After a failed heist of the Marauder's Map from the caretaker’s office, you were compelled to take an improvised detour.

It was supposed to be a perfectly well planned infiltration of the said office to get the magical tool before anyone even realized something was missing. It should have gone without a hitch.

But then Choi Yeonjun, in all his infuriating recklessness, knocked over a lamp with the crook of his elbow.

There was no time to think, let alone breathe. The fast approaching footsteps of the caretaker and his cat reverberated into your bones. You spun on your heel and cast one murderous glare in Yeonjun’s direction, one that said you’d personally transfigure his organs the next time you see him, and then darted into the hidden passage behind the filing cabinet. You didn’t need to tell him where to go — he knew. The two of you split, vanishing into separate secret tunnels that curved beneath the stone walls like veins.

It was an old maneuver in the textbooks — splinter the team to fracture pursuit. Let the enemy scramble. Let them guess which way you’d gone and lose time deciding.

You ducked beneath low beams, boots scraping against damp stones, and emerged somewhere near the third-floor Charms corridor. It was dead silent. You took a moment to press a palm against the wall, steadying your breath, your other hand clenched into a fist.

You felt the irritation bloom in your bloodstream. You hated disruptions to your perfectly constructed plans. More so if the plan promised you nothing but the desired result in your desired way. You despised the unpredictability of someone else’s incompetence.

The map should’ve been yours tonight. You could’ve had one of the greatest magical tools in your very hands if Choi fucking Yeonjun didn’t fuck up. 

Hexing him in your mind wasn’t enough. You needed to see him writhe and squirm and regret every breath he took from the moment he decided to knock over that damned lamp. You wouldn’t stop until he begged. Until the arsenal of curses in your vocabulary bled dry.

Tonight, everything had the chance to change.

You didn’t know what it was exactly but suddenly you felt uncomfortable inside. If your senses weren’t keen, you would’ve almost missed it. The air felt uncharacteristically colder, a dip so slight it could’ve been passed off as a draft. Especially during this time of the year considering summer was fast approaching. Yet here, in this corridor, the air felt wrong. Not just cold, but cutting in a way that made your skin tighten beneath your robes. Your eyes narrowed as you stared ahead.

It was not safe to stay outside now considering the caretaker is well aware someone is breaching the curfew hours. You should’ve doubled back the moment you reached the junction. You should’ve taken the route back to the Slytherin dorm long ago.

But instead, you found yourself walking toward the far end of the corridor. It felt like something magnetic was pulling your being to it. It was as if a vicious voice in your mind telling you to see what you could find in there. You stood in front of the door, now feeling the chill biting into your skin through your robes.

Turn around. Leave. 

Magic tainted the air and the darkness that surrounded you, but it was almost foul. It reeked of something utterly bestial. 

Just before your hand gripped the doorknob, you paused. You stared at it, eyes slightly narrowed and one single thought planted itself in your mind: But what was the point of going in? There was no logic to this, and definitely no reward waiting on the other side. You didn't even know what was behind that door. If you had the map, perhaps you would’ve had some semblance of direction. Instead, all you had was this knot of frustration curdling in your stomach and a bitter aftertaste crawling up your throat reminding you of your failed heist.

Out of spite, your hand twisted the knob.

Locked.

Your head tilted slightly. There was a strange tension in the air that clung to your skin the moment you touched the door. Magically sealed.

Colloportus, probably.

Someone was inside. Now that tickled your curiosity. 

“How useless,” you muttered under your breath before fishing out your wand as you stepped back half a pace, “Alohomora.”

The enchantment peeled away with a faint metallic creak. The door opened, spilling cold, stale air into the corridor like breath from a tomb. Your instincts made you grip your wand tighter, the tip barely alight, casting only a faint glow that brushed against the floor.

As you stepped inside the door shut softly behind you, muffling out the corridor. At first, the light seemed distorted, your vision struggling to orient itself to the strange hue tinting the air.

You didn’t know what you were expecting on the other side. An unused room with dust-slicked furniture, perhaps. Rows of forgotten bookshelves or peeling chalkboards — the leftovers of a classroom that no longer served a purpose. At worst, a Gryffindor huddled over some misguided prank, ready to bolt at the sight of whoever crossed them.

Anything, really. Anything but this.

Tonight, everything was going to change.

Anything but him.

You could've sworn your heart stopped beating for a moment. The hand holding the wand slowly dropped to your side as your eyes adjusted to the dark — hoping you were seeing things.

A rift in space, like a violent slash through the air itself. The air around it warped, sucked inwards and shuddered out, like the room was caught in a perpetual gasp. Blackness spilled outward from it in slow drips, thick tendrils of darkness stretching and recoiling, disappearing again, only to return seconds later with renewed intent. The edges shimmered faintly, like oil catching low light, and the space around it throbbed with unnatural pressure.

And standing before it, back to you, head tilted upward like he was staring into the maw of a god in utter defeat was—

"Soobin?" His name slipped out of you before you could help it. A bewildered recognition punched out of your chest. 

Choi Soobin flinched like you’d hexed him.

His body twisted sharply as he turned to face you, eyes wild and trembling. There was a pale sheen on his forehead and a terror in his gaze that had nothing to do with being caught and everything to do with what stood — what moved behind him.

You stepped back instinctively, wand lifted a little higher now. Everything was supposed to change tonight but not like this. You were never supposed to find him, let alone come near him.

It had been a year already without exchanging more than what the corridors and shared classes required — brief flickers of coincidental glances, not even nods. It was meant to stay that way until you took your last breath, until you could forget what he’d asked of you with those eyes, what you gave in return without ever saying yes. But here you were, standing just a reach away from him, again.

“Soobin… what are you doing?”

A little over one summer ago, your world unexpectedly collided with Choi Soobin. 

You always steered clear of situations that never concerned you. It wasn’t indifference; rather, it was a necessity. It was a rule you clung to with the kind of desperation only survival breeds.

From the moment you were sorted into Slytherin, your name had carried a shadow. You had no freedom to define yourself because everyone else decided who you were before you had a chance to be anyone.

Peers assumed the worst — that you were manipulative and power hungry. Even the smallest act of kindness from you was met with suspicion, as if it were part of a larger scheme. You still remembered a moment in second year — offering to help a Hufflepuff carry a stack of books, only to watch them recoil like you’d threatened them. You remembered thinking to yourself, what would a twelve year old possibly do?

In group projects, Slytherins were the ones no one wanted to be paired with. In duels, you were expected to go too far, and so you held back until it was dangerous to do so. 

You learned fast that there was no benefit in trying to prove yourself otherwise. No matter what you did, your actions would always be dissected under the same poisoned lens. This prejudice, this reputation that Slytherins couldn’t escape sometimes baffled you. You had to learn to lean into the mask they gave you just so you could quietly survive. The unfairness you faced didn’t soften with time; it calcified. Hardened into something dense and cold in your chest. It was rage, maybe, but rage so familiar that it settled inside you like second skin.

Therefore, you began to adapt. If the world expected you to be dangerous, then at least you’d make sure they were right to be scared. You started giving them what they wanted. You built a shell so tight around you that you could breathe without fear of anyone getting too close. You developed a habit to always make sure you’re the one in control.

Because being in control meant being safe. Control was how you survived. In this twisted, prejudiced system that you’ve come to resent so deeply, you had to make sure you played the game cunningly. People always assumed Slytherins were power-hungry. They never realized that power was just another word for safety — one you were forced to cling to, because of how the world decided who you were before giving you a chance.

The House prejudice. The biased professors. The way people assumed light was good and dark was evil — you despised all of it. But instead of trying to break the system, you chose to play it better than anyone else. The only power you craved was the kind that let you live without compromise.

And maybe that’s why people like Choi Soobin made no sense to you.

He existed on the other end of the spectrum, where people assumed the best instead of the worst. Head Boy. Top of the class. House of blue and bronze. Teachers adored him. Students respected him. To them, he was the golden standard, someone whose light could not be touched by shadows. You’d always watched him from a distance, not out of envy, but as a way to study the architecture of privilege. The kind of boy who never had to prove he was good — people just believed he was.

You had always seen him as the perfect, pristine model of a student — without a hint of fault, always so thoroughly put together that it seemed almost unnatural. His uniform never bore a crease, his hair always neatly styled and his dimpled smile which was entirely too charming — was the sort that teachers favoured and classmates admired. His record gleamed with achievements, badges, merits, and praise. It was only natural, then, that you saw him as one might look upon an altar, some polished figure placed far above your reach, never faltering and never flawed.

He always looked so unbreakable. 

Until that summer of your freshman year, when you pushed open an unused storage room’s door on the outskirts of the castle, you found him hiding away with tears running down his cheeks. And just like that, everything you thought you knew began to fray.

The summer sun flared behind you, casting a wide spill of golden light across the dusty floor, stopping just short of where he sat crumpled in the dark. That spill of light caught his face, and for the first time, you saw Choi Soobin — utterly shattered.

He was crouched down, knees pulled to his chest, shoulders trembling as though whatever composure he usually clung to had slipped completely from his grasp. His face was flushed and puffy, neat hair now askew and those lips — bitten and swollen — looked like he’d tried to hold the sobs in until it hurt.

Your eyes widened on instinct, mirroring his, except his were glassy and bloodshot, and the moment hung between you like glass waiting to hit the floor — your breath stuck in your throat, his faltering in his chest.

The tear tracks that streaked his cheeks glistened faintly in the scant light ought to have made your stomach twist with empathy. But that sight of him — this pathetic, crumpled version of Choi Soobin — sent a rush through your bloodstream so sharp and immediate you almost didn’t recognise it. 

It slithered through your chest like a thrill you had no right to feel, a bitter sort of satisfaction rooted not in cruelty but in the cruel symmetry of it all. Because right in front of you was Choi Soobin with a crack in his polished shell. How lucky were you to catch it? Alone, and by sheer accident?

A strangled sound left his throat as he stumbled upwards, hands fumbling to steady himself against the wall. One arm reached out towards you as though bridging the space might undo what had just occurred.

"Why are you here — no, it doesn’t matter. You—!"

Your heart kicked to your stomach at the sight because of what it meant. He was going to plead. You could see it forming in his panicked eyes, in the way he was reaching out slightly, from the shadows he curled in, towards you who stood at the threshold in the light.

It was ironic, almost cruelly so. All this time, you had been the one forced into shadows while he basked under everyone’s approval. And now, here he was, desperate and cornered in the dark, with you holding the door. That image clung to your vision, tipped the balance of your thoughts.

"Please," he rasped, voice hoarse and shaky. "Don’t tell anyone. You didn’t see this. Alright? You didn’t see me. Please."

Because even as your heartbeat quickened, even as your mind raced through the possibilities this encounter had suddenly opened, a low, grim voice inside your head reminded you that this was someone breaking. You weren’t supposed to feel satisfaction watching it happen. It came with an edge of shame, twisting itself around your ribs. You weren’t cruel. You never had been. But the balance of power had always been something you fought to claim, and now that it lay squarely in your hands, warm and alive and real — you couldn’t pretend you didn’t want to close your fist around it.

He said it again, almost tripping over the repetition, each plea more frantic than the last. His tone was splintered with desperation, barely stitched together by what little dignity he had left to himself. He sounded as if the very idea of you walking away with this memory terrified him more than being found in this state by anyone else.

Because you were the one person who’d say nothing, and mean it. Unless you didn’t.

And oh, the way your heart picked up with each of his pleas. This wasn’t the sort of power you clawed tooth and nail for in the face of prejudice. This was power handed to you, freely, through the very act of witnessing. He had no clue what you might do with it — and that, more than anything, made him panic.

A part of you recoiled at the sensation and as much as that part of you that still remembered the sting of loneliness wanted to offer him mercy, the part that had learned to survive by staying three steps ahead… it could already see the leverage hanging between you.

For years, you’d learned how to hold your tongue, when to manipulate a conversation, how to survive being judged before anyone saw the green and silver snake emblem — after all the side glances, all the mistrust, and all the assumptions it was like the universe had thrown you a bone. 

Golden, rule-bound, Head Boy Soobin, asking for your silence.

You didn’t need to think very hard. If he didn’t want this moment to exist, then you held the power to erase it — or hold it like a noose. You wondered, idly, what it would feel like to have him caught in your palm. What might he give for your silence? What could you make of that control if you truly chose to keep it?

"Why?" you asked, your tone cutting through the charged air. "What’s in it for me?"

Soobin froze, eyes widening, clearly taken aback by the question. His mouth parted, searching — no, scrambling for something, anything to say in return. But for a few seconds, he came up empty, lips working soundlessly until his gaze flickered to the floor. The apparent defeated breath which slipped past his trembling lips ruefully had you claiming your victory. You should’ve known better than to think you could easily seize up a Ravenclaw like him.

You watched the change wash over him like it was a spell. He straightened up fully, the trembling in his frame gradually pushed aside by the sharper angles as if remembering the role he was supposed to play. There it was again — that mask. Neatly pulled back into place, only this time you knew how easily it cracked.

"Forget it," he said sharply, though his voice cracked slightly around the edge, betraying the rush with which he reclaimed control. "Just go. If you’ve got what you wanted, then go on. Walk out. It won’t matter either way, will it?"

You blinked once, your brow twitching in surprise that slowly bled into caution. There was something in the way he said it, a calculated precision that felt as though it had been honed under pressure. It was meant to cut.

"No one’s going to believe you anyway."

With two long strides, his frame came close enough but still maintained a safe distance. He towered above you in height, his shoulder far above where yours stood, and  you took in the way that if you had stood a little more close to him — his lips would have easily brushed your forehead if he so much as leaned in. Yet, your chin stayed level. Your feet didn’t budge.

But the meaning behind the words struck harder than you anticipated. You’d heard that before too many times, from too many people, in too many forms. Like he’d plucked it directly from the mouth of every person who'd instinctively blamed your house for bruised egos.

The implication that your voice held less weight simply because of the house you’d been sorted into. He meant it as a bluff, a wall of indifference to hide the very real fear he’d shown before. But those words scraped across old wounds, and the sting made your fingers twitch.

A breath caught in your throat, then left as something closer to a scoff. You've played this game too many times to lose your balance now. You gave him a look that teetered on the edge of disbelief and smiled, or rather, allowed your mouth to curl into something too restrained to be mirth.

"Are you sure about that, Head Boy?" The title left your lips like a mock coronation stripped bare. "Because not long ago, you looked frightened out of your skin over what I might do after seeing you like… this. Doesn’t seem like such a throwaway moment now, does it?"

You stepped forward slowly, one foot after another, until there was barely an arm’s length left between you both. Soobin didn’t move but his throat bobbed with a swallow, jaw clenched — and your gaze stayed level with his, unshaken.

"If you’re confident," you said quietly, laced with the barest edge of challenge, "then say it again. Tell me to leave, to walk out of here bearing witness to your pitiful state, trusting that blind hope of yours that I’ll just let it all vanish. Go on, Soobin. Tell me."

His jaw ticked, eyes flickering with too many thoughts at once, and for a long, stretched-out second he simply stood there, every inch of his tall frame taut with conflict. Then, lethargically he dragged a hand across his face. His fingers pressed hard into his brow, then down over the curve of his cheek, wiping off the exhaustion with those long drag of his fingers. 

"What do you want?" he asked, finally.

This was him giving in — not to you personally, but to the situation. And that’s when you get to decide the terms of how this arrangement will proceed. You took a moment yourself to think over what you truly wanted. 

You didn't hold any personal vendetta against him nor do you want to hurt him. You never wanted to hurt him in the first place, only sought to solidify the leverage he himself presented in front of you. Having the Head Boy tethered to you — even by circumstance — might one day tip the scales in your favour. And right now, you weren’t above playing the long game.

Your gaze flicked briefly to the scuffed floor beneath your shoes, your expression falling into one of mild, almost disinterested contemplation, though your mind raced through possibilities with exacting clarity. After a few moments, you let your lips curl into the faintest semblance of a smile.

"Hmm. I’ll think about it," you said at last, voice low but audible. Then, meeting his eyes again, you added, "Until then, our hands are manacled."

Your smile had barely faded, the echo of your words still hanging in the air —

"Until then, our hands are manacled."

— when you made the turn, prepared to let him go, to walk out and leave the silence to stitch him back together. You had no intention of dragging it further, no desire to bruise what dignity he still had, only to mark the moment, to keep the upper hand. But before your foot could land into a stride, his fingers closed around your wrist.

They weren’t rough or bruising, but they held just enough insistence to halt your step and to command your attention. Your head turned sharply. He was looking at you not with that frantic panic from earlier but with a kind of stillness that unsettled you. The flush had left his face, leaving behind a pallor that did not suit him, and his breath came shallower than it should have.

"I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt," Soobin said, and though the words came soft, there was nothing weak about them. They were steady enough to sound like a decision had been made. “So whatever it is you want — name it. Just say it, and you’ll have it. Then we’ll be done.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off-guard by the vehemence in his voice. You weren’t sure what surprised you more — that he still had it in him to bark terms, or that he thought this was a simple trade to finalise and forget. You studied his face, the stubborn tilt of his chin clashed with the dampness at his temples, the taut lines around his mouth, the sheen over his skin. Your eyes flicked to the point of contact between you — your wrist, small in his hand — and you gave it the faintest twist, more a signal than a struggle.

"Let go," you muttered.

But before you could follow through, before you could wrench your hand back fully, your gaze caught on a detail that hadn’t been there seconds ago. A line, red and stark, had begun its slow descent from his nose to the curve of his lip. You blinked once, processing it.

"Soo—"

Your attempt to speak his name fractured mid-syllable as his expression shifted — eyes unfocused and jaw slackening. His frame swayed alarmingly, head tilting forward but he looked at you mustering all of his might one last time.

“Please,” he managed to breathlessly croak out. His grip, which had held you fast only moments ago, tightened just once, a brief flare of strength as if trying to hold onto something, anything. Then it went slack completely.

In a heartbeat his knees buckled and the full weight of him collapsed forward.

Soobin woke with a start, lungs dragging in air that felt stale and far too cold against his damp skin. His chest heaved once before he shot up onto his elbows, eyes darting around with a vague urgency as though he couldn’t quite piece together where he was. The dimness of the room pressed in on him, shadows stretching long across the stone floor. It was only when he caught sight of the small, rectangular window near the ceiling — its glass tinged with the bruised hues of dusk that it clicked. He was still in the storage room. The sun had gone down. How long had he been unconscious this time?

He shifted slightly and saw a robe, folded neatly and placed beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. His own had been draped over him, now pooled in his lap where it slipped down when he sat up. His brows furrowed, and he was about to straighten up further when a voice made him flinch.

"You’re up?"

His gaze snapped across the room. You were sitting against the opposite wall, legs stretched out in front of you. There was nothing pointed about your tone, nor any warmth either. 

At a loss he turned his head slightly, taking in the storage room with a fresh glance but the abrupt movement sent a sharp throb blooming behind his temples and he winced.

"Don’t move around too much," you said, uncrossing your arms and getting to your feet with minimal fuss. "You passed out from exhaustion."

You crossed the room in even strides before crouching down beside him — not too close, but near enough that he could see the faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone, likely from the stress of the situation rather than the air itself. His eyes tracked your movement before narrowing slightly.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, tone lower than usual, roughened by wear.

Your eyes rolled over to his with a sardonic tilt to your brow. "Surely you weren’t expecting me to lug you up to the Hospital Wing, were you?" There was a dry slant to your voice, and your gaze flicked once to his tall frame, your meaning crystal clear.

He had the decency to look slightly confused.

"I nicked a few healing potions," you added, pulling a small vial from your pocket and turning it over in your hand. "Didn’t use a Reviving Spell because you looked too comfortable knocked out cold."

But Soobin just blinked at you, frown deepening as he shook his head faintly, strands of hair brushing against his forehead. "No... that’s not what I meant. I meant—" he faltered, eyes narrowing again, "—why didn’t you leave?"

You stilled, the potion vial cooling in your palm. You looked at him squarely then, and a soft sigh pushed from your chest as if the answer, though simple, was too tangled to unpack in full. You let your gaze fall away for a moment, tracing the dull lines on the stone floor, before you leaned forward and offered the vial towards him.

"Why were you crying?"

The question came out quiet but not tentative, as though you already knew the answer — which you did — and were just daring him to name it aloud.

He didn’t take the vial nor did he answer, rather his eyes dropped to his fists, now limp against his lap. He stared at them for a moment, before murmuring, "I thought I said I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt."

You chuckled, the sound soft and lacking any real bite, though it made him glance up with mild surprise. It was clear then that he hadn’t expected that reaction. You, on the other hand, were beginning to see him more clearly with every passing minute.

The perfect version of Choi Soobin in your mind had long since shattered. And now, as he sat there frowning at his own hands like they’d betrayed him, you could finally admit that he was no different from you in the ways that mattered.

You gave the bottle a small shake and then dropped it into his lap, where he fumbled clumsily to catch it.

"You won’t be in my debt," you said evenly, and got to your feet again without waiting to see whether he drank it or not.

Soobin's fingers tightened slightly around the healing vial in his hand, knuckles paling as his eyes lifted slowly, gaze steady in that way of his — still somewhat guarded, but no longer openly confrontational.

"For what?" he asked, a rasp still clinging to the edge of it. "For your silence? Or the fact that you helped me?"

You paused in your step, then turned just enough to glance down at where he sat. The rigidity hadn’t left his posture, and you could see the way he was still watching you like he expected the other shoe to drop. It struck you then, how similar it looked to the way you’d spent half your life waiting, anticipating, calculating. It almost felt like staring at a mirror.

And for once, you couldn’t fault him for it.

"You’re still on guard," you observed, your tone level, not accusing. You turned back to face forward again, keeping your gaze on the opposite wall as you spoke. "Can’t blame you. I’d be, too."

Soobin didn’t respond straight away. But then his voice came, a little rough, the words spoken slowly like he wanted each one to land. "You asked what was in it for you. So how do I — why should I — trust that you’re not just doing all this because it benefits you somehow?"

You didn’t look at him right away. Your gaze flicked to the dim slit of the window, the last strips of sun thinning out like paint against the castle wall, and you exhaled slowly before finally meeting his eyes again.

"You’ve every right to be cautious," you murmured. Then, quietly, as though confessing it more to yourself than him, "I might’ve wanted a transaction earlier. I’d be stupid not to. But I’m not heartless. I couldn’t walk out and leave you there, knowing full well I could help."

The question in his eyes was still there, though fainter now, as though his certainty was beginning to wear thin. And maybe that’s why you said what you did next.

"I’m not what they make me out to be," you said. "Most times, I’m not even close. And you of all people should know what that’s like, shouldn’t you?"

That made his brows draw in, and the crease between them deepened just slightly. You knew he’d caught the implication.

"People see what they want, right? They call you perfect because it suits them. Just like they look at me and see trouble. A Slytherin must be scheming. I’m used to being doubted. But you—" Your voice softened just a notch, not in pity, but in recognition. "You get doubted for the opposite. No room to slip up because you’re the one everyone bets on."

"You don’t know anything about me," he muttered at last, gaze dropping and away from yours.

"I could say the same," you replied without hesitation. "Besides, I’ve seen plenty already."

You watched the storm gather behind his eyes again, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was less bite in it, more weariness. With a sigh, you stepped closer and crouched beside him again, retrieving the vial he still hadn’t opened. "Drink it," you said, holding it up in front of him. "It’ll help. You’re still half out of it, and it’s getting late. They’re probably already wondering where you are."

He hesitated, but finally took it and drank, his throat working through the bitter liquid. You waited, arms draped across your knees. When he lowered the bottle, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, you didn’t bother sugar-coating the next question.

"Why don’t you want people to see you like this?"

He didn’t look at you, just stared down at his hands. Then, almost like the words slipped out without meaning to, he said, "My worth only matters if I come out on top."

Your head tilted, just slightly. The pieces had been falling into place from the moment you found him, but now they were slotting in too perfectly. You didn’t say anything for a moment. Slowly, you exhaled.

You were beginning to think there wasn’t much point in keeping him leashed by some hollow agreement. He was just as misjudged as you. So you shifted back, sitting on your heels, and said, "Look, I know trust isn’t a word people use around Slytherins. I’m not asking for that. But if it’s fairness you want, then here’s my offer. You agree to help me out when I ask — and in return, I keep this between us. That’s it. Just an even trade."

You watched him closely, saw the flicker in his expression as he tried to process your offer, the way he was weighing the edges of your words. And maybe you should’ve been more idealistic, more kind-hearted, but that wasn’t how you’d learnt to survive.

You hoped he’d say yes — not just for your sake, but because it meant he’d started to see you as more than the house stitched on your robes. But even then, deep down, you knew better than to let your guard down. Because in your world, trust was a currency far more dangerous than gold, and if he ever turned on you, you’d have to do what you always did: survive.

“Alright.”

Soobin couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept properly. His days began far too early, long before the rest of the castle had stirred, trudging into duties that he never had the heart to refuse. The badge stitched into his robes caught the sunlight just right, glinting with every step, as though reminding him of what was expected. He ticked every box, filled every space that others left behind. It was never enough to simply do well; he had to do more. He had to be more.

By the time evening fell, Soobin had already run himself ragged. His nights were riddled with broken naps, eyes shut only to be startled awake by the persistent tug of responsibility. More often than not, he’d catch the sunrise from the dormitory window — bleary-eyed, blanket kicked to the floor, still in uniform from the day before. If he did sleep, it was never for long, and it was never uninterrupted. And yet, every single morning, he would rise and reapply the polish on the version of himself that the world had come to know. He’d fasten the buttons on his robe, draw his tie straight, and pull that mask on with both hands — the one that made people proud of him. The one that made them believe he had it all figured out. The one that hid the parts of him that no one cared to ask about.

He hadn’t even realised, until recently, just how long he’d been wearing it. It had grown into his face like a second skin. He often told himself that he was doing it all for his own sake. That the pursuit of perfection was something he wanted. But if he peeled back the layers, if he really sat down and looked the truth in the eye, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Since he was a child, affection and approval had come tethered to achievement. A good grade earned praise, a trophy won applause, an honour badge earned a pat on the head. It didn’t take long for the boy to understand: his value was conditional and was tied directly to success. And so he adapted. He became whatever was needed of him. The world taught him that love and worth were things to be earned.

So, every morning, he told himself again: this is for me. But behind that mask Soobin was already rotting.

The real him — the raw, tired, fallible boy that existed beneath the accolades and expectations had long been buried beneath a veneer of perfection polished so thoroughly that even he struggled to remember what lived underneath. It wasn’t that he wanted to fool anyone, but the thought of letting that image slip, even by a thread, left him dreading what might be left behind. The fear was always there, crouched at the back of his mind: if he stopped producing, if he slipped up, even once, would he still matter? Would he still be worthy of the praise he’d spent his entire youth collecting? Each day they asked more of him — more excellence, more responsibility, more poise and each day, Soobin gave them all of it with a smile that never reached his eyes. He gave until he had nothing left, and still, the asking never ceased.

No one had ever managed to break through the mask he wore — not classmates, not professors, not even his closest acquaintances who only ever saw the version of him that smiled at the right time, performed when needed, and never once faltered. The hollow part of him, the part hidden behind tired eyes and rehearsed words, had been left untouched. Until you appeared with a sledgehammer and hit it square on his face, cracking the mask in one go.

You, who were supposed to be a stranger.

Soobin hadn’t known what to make of you. He knew your name, of course. You’d both walked the same corridors for years. Sat in the same exam halls. Existed in the same world but it had never collided. He had always been far too consumed with perfecting himself to ever stop and consider the people around him. While yours seemed untouched by that particular strain of madness, carved from a quieter kind of resilience. 

He thought you were the sort who liked to be alone, someone who kept to the shadows by choice. Maybe he hadn’t cared to look beyond the lines he’d drawn in his head. He had never paused to wonder what you might be like beyond the stories told in whispers between students, never thought your paths would cross in a way that mattered.

And now, in the wake of a single moment that had slipped past control, you were there, woven into the edges of his thoughts, tethered to a side of himself he’d worked desperately to conceal. You had seen a part of him that he hadn’t even let himself look at for too long. And Soobin, for all his cleverness, didn’t know how to untangle that without losing hold of the rest.

“Soobin?”

The voice cut clean through his thoughts, sharp enough to pull him back from wherever his mind had wandered. He blinked, turning his head toward the Ravenclaw prefect standing beside him with an expectant look. Right. They were in the middle of an inspection. A lost artefact, supposedly one of the older enchanted trinkets tucked away for display, had gone missing over the weekend, and somehow it had turned into a full-blown investigation. Not that the item held any real threat or value; if anything, Soobin thought the whole affair had been blown grossly out of proportion. He cleared his throat, mustering a faint smile as he straightened up.

“Sorry — what were you saying?”

The prefect, arms folded and brow creased, let out a sigh. “I said we ought to check the dungeons next. The Slytherin prefects have been acting shifty ever since we mentioned rounding up their lot for questioning.” Another groan followed, the boy’s voice carrying an exaggerated drawl. “Honestly, I’ve seen them slinking about corridors they’ve no business being in. Always somewhere they shouldn’t be. Isn’t it obvious who we ought to start with?”

Soobin listened, the words floating past him like smoke, leaving behind only irritation. It had been three days since that afternoon in the storage room — three long days filled with restless thoughts, unspoken questions, and your voice echoing in the corners of his mind: "I’m not what they make me out to be." — "You of all people should know what that’s like." And he did. Merlin help him, he did.

“No,” he said, voice clipped but not raised, the change in tone enough to make the prefect blink. “Leave the Slytherins out of it. Unless you’ve got solid proof, there’s no cause to single them out. You told me the last magic trace showed the artefact was by the lake, didn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, the smile now gone from his face. “Then if you’re so eager, go dive in and see what you find.”

The prefect’s face coloured with disbelief. He opened his mouth to object, but Soobin cut him off before a single word could leave his lips.

“You’re dismissed.”

The prefect faltered then turned on his heel and stalked off. Soobin’s eyes drifted to the window at the far end of the corridor, to the grey skies outside. Three days, and yet your words still stirred something uncomfortably real in him.

Yes, this was what his mind had become in the aftermath; an utter disarray because of you.

To clear his mind, Soobin had taken to sorting potions in the classroom long before any of the junior students were due to arrive. The room was still and faintly lit by the slanted sunlight pouring through the narrow windows, and for a short while, that silence had granted him the illusion of peace. He busied himself sorting through labelled vials and rattling jars filled with potion ingredients, meticulously aligning them according to the Professor’s usual arrangement, hoping the orderliness would somehow impose itself upon the growing disorder in his mind.

Anything to stop his mind from drifting back to that moment three days ago. Anything to stop thinking about you. And of course, as if summoned by thought alone, the door creaked open.

He froze mid-reach, heart lurching with the sharp recognition that some part of him had known it would be you. You paused in the doorway, your own expression unreadable, but you masked your surprise more effectively than he did. Glancing around at the empty classroom, you ambled in and let a few vials drop onto the surface with a clink.

"You following me now?" you said, tone dry but teasing, your eyes flicking toward him with a faint quirk of your brow.

Soobin, throat dry, feigning a disinterested scoff and muttered, "Don’t flatter yourself."

You smirked faintly, then leaned back against one of the desks. "Word is, someone’s lost a trinket and now the castle’s having a meltdown over it."

He watched your face more than he listened to your words, wondering if you, too, had already been on the receiving end of those narrow-eyed stares and baseless suspicions like the rest of your house? He wouldn’t put it past them. Slytherin had always made for convenient scapegoats. He didn’t know if anyone had singled you out yet, and he wouldn’t ask — but the thought made his chest tighten regardless.

"I’m looking into it," he said at last, hands fiddling with a cork that didn’t need adjustment. "I’m doing what I can to stop people jumping to conclusions. But — well — I mean, I just hope —"

You snorted and held up a hand, cutting him off without needing to raise your voice. "Don’t pity us. Told you, we’re used to it by now. Frankly, it’s getting funny. Watching them scurry around like rats thinking they’ve uncovered something worthwhile. But I will say this — you’re wasting your time rounding us up."

You reached into your robe and pulled out another small vial, turning it over between your fingers before tossing it lightly to the desk beside him. He watched you cross the room with an unhurried gait before you leaned your side against another desk, tilting your head slightly as you continued. "One of your prefect lackeys cornered me yesterday, asked if I’d been out past curfew. Couldn’t lie — of course I had. Have you seen our dorm? Feels like a cupboard on the best of days. Sometimes I need air, that’s all."

His eyes widened, caught off guard by the ease with which you admitted to rule-breaking, and you laughed at the expression he wore.

"Lucky I was out, though. I had such a magnificent view of the Great Lake. You might want to check with the Gryffindor Quidditch lot."

He blinked, processing your words. "Are you sure you saw —"

You shrugged, straightening up, brushing past him with a careless grace. "Up to you, Head Boy. Whether you believe me or not, that’s your decision."

Just before stepping out, you gave him a languid wave over your shoulder. Just like that you were gone, leaving him standing there amidst the shelves and sunlight and questions.

Soobin stood unmoving for several long moments, your words echoing louder than he’d expected. There was no logic in doubting you — not when everything you’d done until now pointed away from manipulation. Besides, you had every reason not to help him. Perhaps it was your way of keeping the suspicion away from your house, now that you had him at a disadvantage. Or were you truly doing it because you simply could?

Either way, the more he thought of you, the less sense you made, and the more you occupied his thoughts.

But for now, he had to take a chance. A risk, yes — but one rooted in instinct. By mid-afternoon, he had assembled his group of prefects and approached the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What followed sent a ripple through the castle by sundown: sure enough, buried beneath spare brooms and scattered playbooks, the artefact was found, tucked into a leather duffle that bore the team’s crest.

The case, to the astonishment of many, was closed within hours.

In the Great Hall, under the enchanted ceiling dimming into evening stars, Soobin had been summoned to the front of the room and praised, his name ringing out across the four long tables amid applause and murmured admiration. He bowed his head politely, offered the required responses, accepted the accolades — but it felt hollow. 

Because the truth sat heavily in his chest: the success wasn’t his. It all felt wrong because it wasn’t his doing.

As his eyes swept over the Slytherin table, he found you seated among the others, your chin propped on your palm, your expression as unreadable as ever. But you were watching him. He held your gaze, his shoulders slumped with the breath leaving him in a slow sigh. If his eyes could speak, he hoped they’d managed to say the words he couldn’t voice aloud, not here.

You did this.

You smiled faintly, a small twitch of your lips before you looked away.

The applause continued, but Soobin could no longer hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. The recognition refused to sit right. Praise meant nothing when it was built on someone else’s truth. If the system failed to acknowledge how to recognise the likes of you, someone had to.

Because he, at least, knew the full story — and he wasn’t about to forget it.

For as long as you could remember, sleep had never been something that came easily to you. It was a fickle guest at best, arriving uninvited and leaving without warning, more often absent than present. There were stretches of time where your nights blurred into each other, endless hours spent staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, thoughts circling like vultures over carrion, refusing to give you peace. On nights when the insomnia bit harder than you could handle, you would find yourself wandering beneath the stars, seeking calm in the open air and high arches of the Astronomy Tower. It had long since become your refuge, a haven away from the noise, both external and internal.

Draped in shadows and starlight, the tower had always felt like another world entirely, a secret space far removed from the buzz and bustle of daily life. Up there, it was just you and the sky, the stretch of it so vast it made your problems feel smaller, if only for a little while. Over time, the late hours had become sacred, a carved-out slice of the day that belonged solely to you. You knew the patrol schedule of the prefects by heart, memorised the patterns of their rounds and adjusted your movements accordingly, weaving yourself between the gaps they left behind. It was a routine that had served you well for years, earned and protected with vigilance.

So when you reached the floor just beneath the tower that night, bleary-eyed from another restless stretch and wrapped in your usual cloak of solitude, it came as a rude jolt to realise your calculations had, for once, failed you. The faint scuff of approaching footsteps told you someone else was near, and your brain kicked into high alert, racing to concoct a plausible diversion or escape plan that might buy you time. But your mind never had the opportunity to come up with a plan.

A strong hand caught your arm, and before you could so much as draw a breath, you were pulled into a narrow alcove, swallowed by shadows. Another hand came over your mouth firmly and you froze in alarm. Your heart thundered in your chest as your back hit the cool stone of an alcove wall. You blinked trying to restore your disoriented vision in the dark and when your vision steadied, you saw Soobin.

He was pressed close, his body angled between yours and the faint light spilling in from the corridor, and he looked at you with a warning glint in his eyes as he brought a finger to his lips, silently urging you not to make a sound. You stared at him, stunned into silence, and after a long beat, he slowly withdrew his hand from your mouth and stepped back. The sudden lack of contact made the air feel colder somehow, and you drew in a sharp breath as if recovering from a plunge underwater.

From where you stood, tucked away in the shadows, you listened to him speak with another prefect. His tone was levelled as he dismissed her presence with a few convincing words about being on patrol and already checking the area. Eventually, the sound of footsteps receded down the staircase.

You remained still until you were certain the coast was clear, then turned your head toward him. He leaned against the entrance of the alcove, arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment there was something almost rueful in the way he looked at you.

"Had a feeling you’d be here tonight," he said, voice softer than you expected.

You eyed him warily; instinct dictated your response. Your brow arched, tone dry as ever. "So you are following me."

To your surprise, he laughed — a proper one, soft but genuine, and you found yourself momentarily thrown. It wasn’t the reaction you’d expected, and as the sound settled, you noticed how it pulled deeper creases at the corners of his eyes. His dimple deepened, and though you’d never admit it aloud, your gaze lingered on it a moment too long.

He motioned his head toward the staircase. "Come on."

You hesitated for a heartbeat before following him up the remaining flight, steps silent against the worn stone. When you reached the top, he didn’t speak immediately, simply moved to one side to let you pass through the archway that opened into the Astronomy Tower. The wind tugged faintly at your hair, and above, the sky stretched wide and blinking with stars.

"I was wondering," he said eventually, glancing sidelong at you, "if you wanted to seal our transaction."

That caught your attention. You regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Oh? What do you propose?"

He exhaled slowly, as though choosing his words with care. "Top floors are part of my patrol area. I usually take the tower last, so it’s clear most nights. You could use it — whenever you like, really."

You tilted your head, assessing him, weighing the truth in his words against the instinct that had long since taught you to doubt everyone. He seemed to sense it because his voice softened, the bravado peeling back just slightly.

"It’s my way of saying thank you. And... I’m sorry. For the things I said back in the storage room. The way I looked at you then. If using the tower brings you any kind of peace, then maybe it’ll bring me some too. Knowing I could give you something in return."

You scoffed at his words, startled perhaps, but far too practised at hiding it to let the slip show for long, and as always, you reached for the oldest armour in your arsenal: deflection. “You do realize I didn’t do anything grand for you, right?”

Soobin didn’t so much as blink at your reply. If anything, he looked rather resigned to hearing it, offering a soft nod that seemed more of a confirmation to himself than a response meant for you. “Yep. Had a feeling you’d say that,” he murmured, then he held out a hand, as though proposing a treaty. "Truce?"

Your gaze dropped to his outstretched hand, studying it as though it were a foreign object before your expression twisted with incredulity, arms crossing in front of your chest in a motion that was part self-protection, part calculated provocation. “And access to the Restricted Section whenever I need it. You’ll cover for me,” you bargained smoothly.

One of his brows arched, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest flicker of exasperation in his eyes, perhaps even reluctant amusement at your audacity. “I don’t even have permission to enter that place myself,” he replied, the protest lacking any real conviction.

You only shrugged, unbothered. “Yes, but you’ll be let off the hook far more easily than I would, wouldn’t you? I’ll take advantage of that,” you said, voice light but the meaning underneath it anything but.

A long sigh escaped him, and he brought his fingers up to rub at his temples as though your very presence were both a headache and puzzle. You raised your hand with theatrical flair, interrupting him with a disarming smile that hinted at mischief rather than apology.

“I think that evens out the weight of our deals. I’m being so terribly generous by keeping your secret, after all. Surely you can manage this much for me in return. Unless —” You tilted your head, letting the smirk curl lazily across your lips. “Your saintliness is repulsed by my sins?”

That drew a comical snort out of him, and he shook his head, shoulders dropping a touch as though conceding the match, if only this round. He turned without answering, crossing the space to where a weathered satchel lay slumped against the stone wall of the tower. From it, he pulled a book bearing the tell-tale signs of having been plucked from the shelves no ordinary student was meant to touch. 

When he held it out to you, you didn’t move to take it right away. Your brows drew together, gaze narrowing as it moved between the book and his face. “You don’t have permission to enter the Restricted Section, you say?” you asked slowly as the implication sank in.

Because it was obvious now — to get that book, he would have had to slip past more than one barrier, and likely break more than a few rules. The smile on his lips told you he hadn’t borrowed it under anyone’s good graces. He’d gone in himself, without approval and permission.

He didn’t look the least bit remorseful. If anything, there was a flicker of pride in the way he stepped closer, extending the book again, as though this too were part of the truce. “As you can see, I’m no saint,” he said with a soft laugh bordering on irony. “You already know that, don’t you?”

Then came the grin again, lopsided and strangely genuine in a way that didn’t suit the polished Head Boy the rest of the school had come to revere. “We’re sharing sins.”

You looked down at his hand again. The very hands that had been manacled to yours by shared sins and lighthearted transactions, as though the pair of you had sealed some farcical pact made in jest. Who could have predicted that those same hands would soon find themselves bound in matters far graver, knotted into secrets far more treacherous, tangled in deeds that could not be wiped clean with a simple curfew excuse or concealing secrets? 

You shook his hand once, a simple act that now bore the full weight of a promise neither of you could have fully understood at the time. That was where it began — the point from which everything gradually, almost imperceptibly, began to shift. What started as necessity quickly became habit, and habit became familiarity, until even the strangeness of it began to fade into routine.

It surprised you, how quickly the pattern formed. The corridors would be vacant by the time you arrived, just as he had said, and you no longer had to move with the same guarded tread or cast furtive glances over your shoulder. He would appear after his patrol, and there would be a brief exchange of acknowledgement before you two went into your bubbles.

Most nights passed in that strange parallel silence, with the only sound being the occasional turning of a page. He studied a lot, not just schoolwork but obscure texts filled with difficult incantations, ancient theory, and dense paragraphs even the professors didn’t bother assigning. Sometimes he muttered to himself, testing wordless charms under his breath, barely more than a whisper of intent and flicks of his wand. Other times, he simply fell asleep.

You would watch, faintly incredulous, as his posture would slacken and his chin drop slowly to his chest. There were nights he barely lasted twenty minutes before nodding off, and you had to wonder if he really lacked that much awareness or if he was just that used to trusting no one would disturb him.

Or worse, if he thought you would be kind enough to rouse him when it was time to leave.

He’d be disappointed if he thought you’d be that nice. You weren’t his minder. Yet each time, as if on cue, you found yourself going back to your words; fingers tapping his shoulder or nudging his arm with a muttered, "It’s time."

The days rolled into weeks. There were nights when the silence gave way to words without preamble. One such night found you with your back resting against the cold surface of a column, head tilted back to peer up at the invisible sky beyond the high windows, while Soobin lay sprawled nearby on his back, his arms folded over his midriff. The silence between you transformed into something so harmless now that when he spoke, it didn't feel jarring.

"Mind if I talk?" he asked, not so much seeking permission as gauging whether your presence was receptive to it tonight.

You said nothing, only glanced down at him briefly before returning your gaze upwards, and by now, he knew you well enough to take that for a yes.

"I don’t reckon I’ve slept properly in weeks," he murmured after a moment, as though he didn’t expect an answer, and perhaps didn’t even want one.

You wanted to respond — your nights hadn’t been restful either, not for years now — but instead you stayed still, allowing him to continue.

"There’s always something more to revise, more to commit to memory, more to get just right. If I’m not top of the class, it’s like I’ve failed — like I’m squandering the whole bloody point of it, whatever 'it' is meant to be."

There was a note of distance in his voice now, like he was repeating something someone else had once said to him, or perhaps something he’d told himself so often it had begun to lose all meaning. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but they weren’t really seeing it, and when his hand came up to drag across his face, it was with a weariness that seemed to sit in his bones.

"I don’t even know what I’m chasing any longer," he said, pressing his fingertips beneath his eyes, as if he could force back the shadows clinging to them. His voice had lowered further still. He took in a breath, one that hitched slightly at the end. "I reckon most people think I enjoy it — the marks, the badges, the praise. That I live for it. I’ve never said otherwise, have I? That’s probably my own fault." He gave a shrug then, though it looked rather more like his shoulders were folding in on themselves than offering any real dismissal.

Maybe no one had ever asked. You didn’t reply, but you did shift slightly, sock-covered toes flexing beneath your robe as your thumb found the edge of a loose thread at your knee. You rolled it between your fingers, not to fidget, but to keep your hands occupied while your thoughts tangled around his words.

They weren’t revelations, not really — not anymore. Over the course of these late nights, in snatched looks and half-conversations, you had begun to fully piece together a version of Soobin that didn’t match the one paraded around the castle like some living trophy. He’d carried the image so well, you supposed people had stopped asking what lay beneath it. You weren’t even sure if he could see over it himself anymore.

You’d suspected as much weeks ago. Merlin, you’d known from the moment you found him in that cramped storage room, folded in on himself with tears slipping down his face like he was trying to shed everything that made him human.

He wasn’t held together by certainty or pride, but by the sheer pressure of never being allowed to fall behind. He lived in a world of ‘musts’ and ‘shoulds,’ where stepping out of line meant failing entirely. And you — well, you had come to see it far more clearly than you’d intended.

"If I stop," he said, voice thinner now, barely carrying across the distance between you, "it’ll look like I’ve given up. But if I keep going like this, I’ll fall apart." He said it as a truth he'd long since resigned himself to.

So you picked the option where no one notices. You didn’t say it out loud, but the thought crossed your mind anyway, bitter still not untrue.

You glanced at him though all you could really look at were his hands. One brushed a loose string on his sleeve, then curled into a fist. They were restless. He hadn’t looked your way once.

“You’re not very good at taking your own side,” you said eventually. Your voice wasn’t cruel. 

He gave a brief snort, as though the truth of it didn’t surprise him. “I’ve not the faintest clue how,” he said, voice dry. “I think — I think I’ve only ever been taught how to win. No one ever mentioned what to do if I decided to lose on purpose. Or if I just lost.”

You shifted again, rolling your head to the side to look at him, your cheek pressed to your forearm, eyes sharp in the shadows. The air was beginning to bite more now somehow, the stone floor colder beneath your robes, but you didn’t move beyond that small adjustment.

"That sounds like a miserable way to live."

He remained silent, then softly, "It is."

No words were shared for a few minutes. You sat with everything he said, not sure whether to add anything, or whether adding anything would cheapen it. It felt like he took a part of his heart out and forced you to hold the bleeding piece. And now it sat in your hands, raw and uncomfortable, a truth so vulnerable you didn’t know if you had the right to hold it. Your hands were now tainted. 

His titles and image walked into rooms before he did. His perfection gave people something to admire, but it never gave them a reason to look closer.

“I’ve got people saying they admire me,” he added eventually, the words shaped around a humourless laugh, “saying they’d always be there if I needed. But do I really have anyone I can rely on?” 

He said it like a question, but you weren’t sure he wanted an answer. He was lonely. Far lonelier than you’d guessed.

“Is that why you were crying that day?” you asked carefully. 

He smiled, if only faintly. “Had no one to talk to. So I tucked myself away till I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He turned then, rolling onto his side to face you properly, one hand folded beneath his head. That smile remained, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “What about you?”

You frowned. “What about me?”

“Why do you always seek control?”

“To survive,” you answered plainly.

But it was enough for soobin. Because he wasn’t a fool, and the truth had been clear to him for a while now. Ever since those strange, shared hours in the storage room brought your paths colliding, he’d had to confront a version of you that defied every assumption he’d once held. You, who always seemed self-possessed and untouched by opinion, had wormed your way into his orbit without propriety, and now, there you remained: fixed and constant and increasingly difficult to ignore. You were in his periphery in ways you hadn’t been before, cropping up in spaces he’d never registered you in, though now, he wondered how he could’ve possibly missed you.

His gaze had become trained on the people around you — he observed the way others spoke to you, the glances exchanged in corridors, the narrowed eyes in classrooms and he noted the subtleties most others overlooked. The treatment wasn’t always cruel, but it was pointed, and it was frequent. Soobin, who had lived much of his life under the soft glow of admiration and expectation, found it easy to see the difference. And in those differences, he understood you better than he expected to.

And you, though less willing to admit it, had started seeing him too. Not just in this shared nightly hour you had, but in your own time, when you caught yourself glancing up in the corridors to find him already there, or letting your gaze pause just a fraction too long when he passed by your table in the Great Hall. He seemed more present now than before, more noticeable, though you weren’t sure whether it was him changing or you. Your eyes knew to find him. And perhaps his had done the same.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it all. The change wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but it made you wary. That was a more simple way to put it. You, who had learnt better than to give in to soft comforts, couldn’t help but question it. After years of distrust, of guarding yourself against shallow kindness and false smiles, how could you begin to allow anyone in? Even someone who had, bit by bit, begun to pull away at your corners without trying.

For Soobin, it was different. The change felt like breathing for the first time in too long. It confused him, yes, left him reeling in the early days, but it also peeled back that internal tautness he never quite realised he lived with. You with all your blunt remarks and unreadable silences had given him a kind of space he didn’t know he needed. You saw him when he didn’t have anything to offer. You didn’t praise him, didn’t expect him to prove himself, and didn’t look away when the cracks showed. And that had shaken him. Because it meant, for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t terrified of not being enough.

You were always being watched before you were known.

And he was always being looked at, but never really seen.

There was a sharp clarity in it now, the way you mirrored one another in temperament, in guardedness, in how you both wore your defence mechanisms like second skin. He had begun to see through yours, just as you had peeled back his. He knew you kept your heart barricaded not because there was nothing within, but because you had been given far too many reasons to lock it away. And yet, there it was, beating still.

He thought, perhaps selfishly, that if you'd let him, he could be someone you could rely on — just as he had slowly come to rely on you.

“Thank you for listening to me,” he said at length, and though his tone lacked embellishment, there was a sincerity to it that caught you off guard, not because you doubted its truth but because you rarely knew what to do with such honesty when it landed so plainly.

Your eyes snapped toward him, but by then he had turned away, flat on his back again, his face tilted towards the terrace and eyes closed as if he’d already begun to retreat from the moment. Your chest tightened, a discomfort blooming somewhere near your ribs. It wasn’t just his gratitude that disarmed you, but the fact that he meant it and it wasn’t something you were used to.

The air around you tightened. Though you rarely backed down from anything, your mind recoiled before you could think better of it.

“I’m heading back early tonight,” you said briskly, already rising on your feet. There was no sharpness to it, just a faint breathlessness. “Goodnight, Soobin.”

Soobin didn’t question it. He merely nodded once, eyes still closed, and let you go. Maybe he understood. Or maybe he didn’t care. You weren’t sure which would’ve unsettled you more.

Your steps echoed slightly as you made your way down the spiraling stairs, one hand pressed to the stone wall to keep balance, not that it mattered — it was your breath that threatened to slip, your thoughts that began to fray at the edges. You didn’t know what this meant or what tonight would become, if it became anything at all — but as you slipped down into the darkness, one thing had been made clear. Whatever had passed between you tonight, it was not the sort of thing that vanished come morning.

Whether you spoke of it again or not, you’d both remember.

To be continued.

Taglist; @xylatox @hyukascampfire @starrynightgyu @i-am-not-dal @dawngyu @taebatu @boba-beom @lovesickchoi @wonderstrucktae @lilbrorufr @hyukalovie @xodidarks @lun4mizuka @babigriin @beomgyusluver @cheekycountesschoi @marissariveraaaa @soobinz-wife @ros1eluvsbinnie @yourenzoo @sspidermanss @asterizee @bunnychui @bunnisoobin @dalnimmie @fluffbun001 @soobinieswife @hoefororeo @caratcakemoa @heesmiles @reep04 @1-800-jewon @bunniwords @cardiaccannibalism @yeonjunnnielover @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @angelz-howl @gyudollies @yystarz

[comehereoohlala]

vocal rest

summary: in sickness and in health.

rating: mature (16+)

tags: established relationship, fem!reader, anxiety, sickness (flu/cold), references to chronic illness/pain

words: 1,550

note: sickfic requested by @cervidaewasteland <3 but i feel like i kinda trailed off. there's quite a bit of other stuff in here. writing is my diary i can't help it once i start i can't stop, sorry. i also don't beta any of my work cause i'm too embarrassed about my writing so if it reads terribly just pretend you don't see. or read actually lol.

fic under the cut ❊

"I'm so sorry I gave you this," he says, placing his head over your forehead.

"Apologise one more time and I'll cough in your face and give it back to you," you grumble sarcastically.

He laughs, "there's my girl."

You spent all last week caring for him through a terrible flu, which has now kindly made it's way to you. But it had somehow knocked you out more than it had for him. You were in a bad mood, Andrew had let you sleep in and contacted your work for you to tell them that you wouldn't be able to work for the rest of the week, despite the fact you had insisted that you were fine.

"Please just try and relax a little," he says, combing his hands through your sweaty hair.

"I can't relax," you croak out, "how can I relax when I'm letting everyone down and, and-" you cut yourself with another coughing fit. So intense that you have to sit up and you can feel your chest aching. The world is spinning, your hand grips his arm.

"You really think you could have worked today?" He rubs his hand down your back slowly, gently, so caring and loving.

"You know what it's like. Look at those shows you had to cancel. How bad you felt," you struggle out, your breathing ragged.

He nods, "I know, I get it. Just breathe baby. Everything will be okay, I promise no one is mad at you."

"What if they are?" You struggle out, trying not to cough again and he gets you to lay down, head resting in his lap.

"I promise they aren't. You're only meant to be helping with stuff here and there and working a few hours every now and then. And if they are mad at you, I'll deal with them."

"Cause you're so scary," you say quietly as your arm slinks around his leg, holding onto him tightly.

"Are you saying I'm not scary?"

"Shh," you manage, closing your eyes, "I'm resting. Like you wanted."

He shakes his head.

You are the most stubborn person he's ever met, on par only with himself, which he personally thinks makes you his perfect match. You were the only person last week that could convince him to make the call to cancel the shows, the only person that knows how to challenge all those thoughts, because you know what it's like to live with them too. All that pressure all the time, all that expectation that only is ever really coming from inside you, all that bubbling away beneath the surface for no one to notice until the heat is too much and it spills out. Neither of you can seem to calm it down for yourselves, only for each other.

You two couldn't be more different, but you also couldn't be more similar. It's oddly perfect he thinks, as he runs his hands through your hair as you drift into sleep on his lap. You are his antithesis and his mirror all at once.

Before he knows it in his changing room, that is missing your warm calming presence he's grown so used to before shows. You should be sprawled out on this couch, fixing his hair and adding unnecessary comments just to see how much you can turn him on.

He's prepping to go on stage but all he can think about is the feeling of your warm fevered body. All he wanted was to turn and run back to the bus where he knew you were waiting for him. He hated leaving you sick, he always hates leaving you when you're not well. Which happens more times than he likes -- every few weeks.

"It's just the way it is", you told him when you first met him. And now he's started saying it too to people who ask, because it's just too hard to explain.

Last time he had to leave you in a hotel room, at least the bus is always closer to where he is. It was so bad, so bad, last time. He came back to find you lying on the bathroom floor, tear streaked and in agony. He thinks about that night a lot. About how he sped to the hotel to check on you as soon as the show ended, how he scooped you up and how he had held you in his arms on the cold tiled floor till the sunlight crept through the windows. You barely remember that night, but he remembers it so well. That and so many other nights like it.

He knows you're not weak, you couldn't be further from it. You're the strongest person he's ever met. But he worries. And just because he knows you'll be okay doesn't make the tightness in his chest any better.

But he has to push it down, get on stage and put on a good show.

His voice is still coming back to him, it breaks on a couple notes, he curses himself. Not good enough Andrew.

He walks off the stage frustrated at himself, embarrassed and overstimulated; wanting nothing more but to feel your body weight resting on his.

He makes his way back to the bus as soon as he can, and crawls onto the bed where you lay propped against pillows, book in hand.

"Hey my rock star," your voice nearly completely gone now, and your hand runs through his messy post-show curls.

"How are you feeling," he says, sitting up and pressing a hand to your forehead.

You shrug, "the same. Tired."

He nods, "can I get you anything? Tea? Are you hungry? Water? I'll get you some more water."

He moves to get off the bed but you grab his arm.

"Andrew, I don't need anything. Just stay here with me."

He takes a quick shower, changes into tracksuit pants and a t-shirt and now you're laying in his arms, playing with his hands mindlessly.

"Hurts to talk," you say when he asks you a question about the book you've started reading.

"Yeah, I think I'm meant to be on vocal rest too. I thought it was better. But I fucked it tonight…"

He trails off, you turn to face him and see his eyes staring off into the distance. He's so hard on himself, and it breaks your heart every time.

"I'm sure you were great. You always are," you offer with a squeeze of his hand.

He doesn't say anything and continues to stare at the blank wall. You sit up and reach for your open notebook sprawled on the bed and scribble onto the page, handing it over to him.

We can vocal rest together if you want?

He smiles when he reads it. "Really? You want to vocal rest? It's not fun."

You dramatically motion at your aching throat, before taking the book back from him.

Please, did you not hear me before? I'm a sentence away from losing my voice for the next week. You scribble before passing it back to him.

"Okay," he smiles and nods, "you're going to get so sick of this so quickly. I always do."

You shush him, and he just shakes his head, standing up and digging through his draw for his notebook and pen. He sits across from you, legs crossed and starts to write.

You even look beautiful when you're coughing and sniffling all of over me. He holds it up, his big brown eyes staring right into you and you just shake your head, but your heart flutters a little. It's nice to have the reassurance that he's not completely turned off by you're disgusting state.

You're cute. How was your show? :) You hold up your page to him.

Aside from my mediocre vocals? Amazing crowd. SO LOUD!!!!

I heard them from here! Wish I could have been there. And from what I heard I thought you sounded beautiful as always. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're still getting better.

I love you. He writes back. Complete with a slightly lopsided love heart. He reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to your palm.

You talk in notes all night. You play card games on the floor, and you continue to beat him every time despite your illness. He wraps you in blankets and holds your water for you while you drink.

Goodnight Andy. You quickly write and hold up to him before he flicks the lights off, and you wrap yourself into his arms. His fingers brush over your back and twirl the ends of your hair, he presses a kiss onto your forehead.

As you fall asleep, he decides this is where he would like to spend all of his days, with you in his arms. In silence and laughter. In sickness and in health. In a tour bus and at home. As long as every night ends with you pressed against him. As long as you're by his side.

Even if your currently coughing into his chest (completely unbeknownst to you in your state of half consciousness). He wants it. The countless nights he has spent, and will spend, holding you on the bathroom floor. Your sometimes painfully infuriating stubbornness. He wants everything; everything you spent years thinking no one would ever want.

[luvs4haechan]

mutual pining with jisung where everyone sees that youre inlove EXCEPT yourselves🙏🙏

blindly in love

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: shy!jisung x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: college au, use of y/n, no warnings i think ?? hinted alcohol consumption

𝘸𝘤: 4.1k WOW

masterlist

the day started off like usual: coffee in the morning with your friends, a few classes, studying inbetween. you had been assigned a new project in your programming class, which would've been fine had it not been for your professor declaring it be done in pairs. as your luck would have it, all of your friends got paired together and you got...park jisung? the quiet boy that sits at the back of the classroom, never asks questions, and never really engages in conversation. despite all this, you have heard that he gets exceptionally good grades in most of his classes, so you couldn't complain as much as you would like. the two of you briefly exchanged numbers before he hurried off, seeming intimidated by you. leaving the classroom, you breathed a sigh, preparing for what was to come.

later in the evening, you messaged jisung about meeting to work on the assigned project. it shocked you that he replied just seconds after you sent your message. the two of you agreed to meet after your last class, and work on the project in the library. locking your phone, you actually found yourself feeling a little excited to get to know the quiet and shy boy from your class.

the next day rolled around, keeping you a little nervous but more curious to see how your pair project would come about. before you knew it, you were almost sprinting to the library, your last class keeping you behind a little. as you opened the door, you found jisung sitting at one of the far away tables, almost secluded from the rest. you calmed your ragged breathing and walked over to him. "hi, i'm so sorry i'm late. my professor kept us behind and..." you looked at him to see an expressionless face staring back at you, "you don't care. anyway, the project," you got your laptop out and sat opposite jisung at the table he chose. "did you have any ideas? i know the prompt is kind of wide, so we have a few directions we could go in," you realised you'd started rambling, startling the quiet boy in front of you.

"yeah, whatever you want to do is fine," jisung replied without looking up from his open laptop. the pair of you worked in mostly silence, you often stealing glances as he was focused on perfecting the code. you tried to make some conversation, mostly about the project and the class, however he seemed to only want to get the work done and leave as soon as he could. after about an hour and a half both of you decided you'd had enough and packed up your things.

"okay, so maybe we should get together on saturda-" you said as you zipped your backpack shut.

"works for me," jisung interrupted you and quickly walked out the library. you stood in shock, trying to blame his standoffish nature on him just being shy, yet you couldn't help but feel like he simply didn't like you. it bothered you, because you had been nothing but nice to him, and you had to admit - he was really nice on the eyes.

a couple of weeks passed, and your sessions working on the project hadn't changed much. jisung was still quiet, shy, and only spoke when he absolutely had to; you still kept stealing glances when he wasn't looking, and were secretly hoping he'd catch you. you had to admit, over the course of this project, despite his unapproachable nature, you have grown fonder of the tall boy that typed quietly on his laptop. maybe it was his eyes, or the way he would muster a tiny smile when his code worked just the way he intended. despite all this, you couldn't shake the inevitable feeling that he simply didn't like you. not even in the way you wanted him to, you were sure he wouldn't even consider you a mere acquaintance. oh how wrong you were...

jisung was sitting in the college cafeteria with the few friends he managed to accumulate over the last year. his group was small, albeit close. he met chenle at basketball club, mark in his maths class when the older boy couldn't figure out a simple equation, and donghyuck came as a package deal with mark - the two were inseparable.

"there goes your pretty coding girlfriend," donghyuck quipped in a sing song voice. all four of the guys turned around to see you walk in, alongside your best friend renjun.

"don't call her that," jisung muttered, bowing his head down as his ears suddenly turned beet red.

"why not? you see each other all the time. why haven't you asked her out?" chenle said, unfazed by his shyness as he continued eating his lunch.

"because," the youngest of the group heaved a sigh "she doesn't like me like that. i'm not sure if she even likes me as a friend," he paused to look at you and renjun in the line for the lunches "plus, i'm pretty sure that's her boyfriend," this promped surprised looks from all of jisung's friends.

"renjun?" mark questioned, eyebrows almost touching his hairline "he's in my music club, and he's about as straight as a circle," the oldest at the table said.

"dude, you have a clear shot, just take it. you've had a crush on y/n for long enough," donghyuck said, glancing between you and his quiet friend. jisung simply shook his head, not wanting to carry the conversation on.

across the cafeteria, you and renjun stood in line for your lunches. "no junnie, i'm like 100% sure he wants nothing to do with me. in the last three weeks, he's barely said two words to me," you said, moving up the line.

"he's just shy, y/n. i'm sure he doesn't mean anything bad by it, not everyone is as outspoken as you are," your best friend rolled his eyes grabbing a lunch tray, as the line moved up again.

"i know that, but this is borderline rude. i know not everyone has to like me, but he's just so..." you trailed off, as you caught view of him sitting at a table surrounded by three of - what you persumed were - his friends.

"hot? i know, if he swung the other way i'd go for him myself," renjun said, urging you to grab your lunch as you were holding the line up.

"how do you know he doesn't," you chuckled.

"because the whole time we've stood here, he's looked at you at least 8 times," the blonde said, sitting down at one of the empty tables. his words caused you to furrow your eyebrows.

"what are you even talking about? why would he be looking at me, if he doesn't even want to talk to me?" you said, looking down and moving the food about on your plate.

renjun shrugged at your words, "because he's nervous y/n, when you like someone you get nervous around them," your friend kept looking at you, hoping you'd admit that he was right.

you sighed, finally looking up at the blonde boy in front of you. "i just don't know what to do to get him to talk to me," you shook your head slightly, and renjun could practically see the wheels turning in your head.

"start off small, don't bombard him with questions and don't start yapping uncontrollably like i know you do," it was your turn to roll your eyes, "ask him about his interests, but don't overwhelm him. i'm sure when he's ready, he'll open up," renjun advised you, finishing his lunch. you nodded, taking a last glance at the far off table that sat four boys - one of which, you were almost sure you were catching feelings for.

the next time you and jisung met to work on the project, you decided to at least get him to open up slightly. having been persuaded by his own friends, jisung decided to also try his best and finally talk to you. although they encouraged him to ask you out, he was certain you would never feel that way about him. but a little conversation couldn't hurt anyone...right?

"hi," you said, setting your things down at the usual table the two of you work at. as always, jisung didn't reply, just gave you a tight lipped smile. the boy mentally scolded himself for not even being able to muster a small greeting - he blamed his nerves, you made him incredibly nervous. you sighed as you sat down, however you didn't let his silence deter you. "have you finished the code we talked about last time?" you asked, almost offhandedly, not really bothered if he had or hadn't knowing you were ahead of schedule anyway.

"uhh," jisung managed to start, "i had basketball practice," he looked at you, but moved his eyes back to his laptop just as quickly "sorry," jisung breathed. you blinked at the boy in front of you, not having expected a response from him.

"it's no problem, let's do it today," you said, finally coming to and moving your eyes to your own laptop. the whole moment reeked of awkwardness, you felt your cheeks turn red in slight embarrassment, not having expected the situation. jisung took one last glance your way, quietly admiring the way your hair fell slightly into your eyes and how small dimples seemed to appear when you concentrated, and began working on the project.

a short while passed without much necessary conversation, quick questions here and there but never straying from the topic of your project. you decided to change that. "so you play basketball?" you asked, looking up at him from your computer. it actually made sense, he was pretty tall, however you didn't expect it from a shy guy like jisung.

taken aback, jisung made fleeting eye contact with you for a few seconds before quickly looking away. "yeah," he cleared his throat "i joined the team last semester," jisung felt as if the room was getting smaller and he was shrinking into his seat. any conversation was nerve-wracking for him, but with a girl this pretty and one that he seemed to like a little more than a typical friend, sent him into a frenzy.

"that's so cool," you replied, a small smile on your face. "i'm on the volleyball team," you quickly added, hoping to carry on the conversation. jisung looked up at you again, seeing your smile he relaxed slightly. however, he wasn't sure how to reply to your words, just giving you a tight lipped smile again. "i'll have to come see one of your games," you added, hoping to prompt a response from the boy sitting across from you.

"oh," he looked nervous once again "i'm not that good, honestly," jisung spoke quietly, but loud enough for you to hear the slight tremble in his voice.

you shook your head at his words, "i'm sure that's not true," you gave him an encouraging smile, to which he returned a more natural looking one (compared to his earlier attempts...).

the rest of your time was spent in mostly silence, however you felt a lot better about a hopeful friendship blooming between the two of you. staying true to your word, the following week you were sat amongst most of your college classmates in the packed sports hall, waiting for the game to start.

"i can't believe you dragged me to this," renjun rolled his eyes as he took the empty seat next to you.

"come on, it won't be that bad. plus i finally got jisung to talk about himself a little. this is me showing support for my..." you paused "my friend," you weren't sure jisung was your friend, although you certainly were hopeful.

"yes, but why am i here?" your best friend asked almost sarcastically, in a begrudging tone.

"to support me supporting my friend," you gave him a smile, to which he raised an eyebrow. "okay, i just didn't want to come alone," you sighed, earning a triumphant grin from renjun.

on the court, jisung was surrounded by his friends as they chatted before the game began. "guess who i saw sitting in the fourth row," donghyuck said, scanning his eyes over the now full bleachers. all three of the boys turned to see where he was looking, although they already knew the answer. jisung finally spotted you, sitting with renjun engrossed in conversation. you caught his eye, and just as he was about to look away you sent him a smile and waved. the boy blushed and returned your wave, his friends sporting wide grins.

"oh she's totally into you," mark said, eyeing the brief interaction. the blushing boy looked down and shook his head.

"i didn't think she would actually come," he muttered quietly, galncing your way again.

"i've never had a girl come to one of my games," chenle said, making jisung's ears turn an even deeper shade of red.

"we're just..." the youngest paused, thinking for a second "friends, although she probably doesn't even consider me that," this caused all three of his friends to profusely roll their eyes.

"you are hopeless, jisung," donghyuck said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

the game seemed to finish as quickly as it started and before you knew it, your college team were winning 94 to 62. jisung had scored at least 20 points, and you cheered for each one. out of the corner of his eye, each time he took a shot he saw you wait with baited breath, hoping the ball would make it through the net. although he didn't realise it, your presence made him want to do better - maybe to impress you even.

you and renjun began to gather your things and stand up, when suddenly a brunette boy approached you. "hey i'm donghyuck," he said, standing in front of the two of you with a smile. seeing your confused expressions he added, "jisung's friend."

"oh, nice to meet you," you said, sending him a polite smile. renjun narrowed his eyes sceptically, wondering where this conversation was going.

"jisung and some of our friends were planning on going out to celebrate the win," donghyuck mentioned, looking between the two of you. "he was wondering if you wanted to join?"

"really?" you questioned, your eyebrows raised and expression full of shock. "i'd love to, actually. can renjun come too?" you replied, looking hopefully at your best friend who looked rather unamused.

"yeah, of course," donghyuck smiled "the bar just off campus at 8, see you there," the charming brunette smiled and bid the two of you goodbye. you turned to renjun who looked less than happy to be dragged along to this outing.

"oh come on junnie, it will be fun," you pleaded with him "this means jisung might actually think of me as a friend," you couldn't help the wide grin that began spreading on your face.

renjun couldn't help but return your smile, "alright, we'll go," he said, keeping in mind the way he saw jisung glance your way whenever he could during the game. his words caused you to smile even wider, and loop your arm through his as you walked out of the sports hall.

8 o'clock rolled around sooner than you expected. "just five more minutes, jun," you shouted from your bathroom to renjun, who was sat on your bed for the last 15 minutes.

"you said that 10 minutes ago, y/n," he shouted back, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. he could hear a few things clatter to the floor as you finally opened the door. "jisung might actually die when he sees you," your best friend commented as you walked out the bathroom. you decided to blow out your hair and do a touch more make up than you usually do.

"it's not too much?" you asked rhetorically, looking yourself over in the mirror. "also why would jisung die?" you asked, to which renjun simply shook his head in defeat.

"let's go, before fashionably late becomes plain rude," he said as he urged you towards the door of your apartment.

the bar was quite busy, you blamed it on the victory of the basketball team and simply the fact that it was a friday night. walking in, you scanned the place, hoping to see a familiar face.

at a table near the back, four boys sat celebrating the win of jisung and chelne's basketball team. donghyuck kept looking around the bar, hoping to spot you before the rest of the group. he hadn't told anyone that he invited you in jisung's name, not even mark. donghyuck just hoped that his plan wouldn't backfire.

you finally caught sight of jisung's tall figure. smiling, you grabbed renjun's arm and began approaching their table. jisung saw you first, to donghyuck's dismay, his eyes widened and ears turned suddenly red. the rest of his friends saw his reaction and quickly turned to the cause. donghyuck winced when he saw you, already seeing his brilliant plan fall through.

"hey guys," you said, having to shout over all the chatter at the bar. "we've not met, i'm y/n," you introduced yourself to the two boys you had yet to meet, and they told you their names in exchange. you then moved your eyes to jisung, giving him a softer more comfortable smile, "hi,".

"hi," he replied, unable to move his eyes from you. you held eye contact for a little too long, however someone clearing their throat broke you out of the trance.

"oh, i'm so sorry," you mentally slapped yourself on the wrist, "this is renjun, my best friend," you quickly introduced the blonde standing slightly behind you. after all the introductions were had, mark offered to get everyone drinks and you sat down between donghyuck and jisung, renjun sitting opposite you after giving you a subtle wink. in a group setting, around people he was mostly comfortable with, jisung seemed to be more outgoing - joining into the conversation and even bringing up topics on his own. you managed to see a different side to him, one that you grew to like more and more.

the six of you talked, laughed, and told stories until it was almost 1am and the bar was soon to close. all through the night, all four boys gave each other knowing looks and sent each other smiles, while you and jisung were engrossed in conversation. finally mark, renjun, and donghyuck decided to share a cab home since they all live close to each other. while saying your goodbyes, renjun admitted to having a good time and you gave him a winning smile. chenle headed off on his own, leaving you and jisung standing in front of the bar.

"i live quite close, so i'm going to walk," you said, shuffling on your feet and pointing in the general direction of your apartment. jisung's heartbeat picked up at the realisation of the imminent goodbye.

"i'll walk you," he said quietly, although you heard him perfectly despite the rowdy crowd inside. you gave the taller boy a small, appreciative smile and nodded. the two of you headed towards your apartment, and although summer was just around the corner you couldn't help the shiver that ran up your spine, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket. jisung started light conversation, talking about his basketball game.

"i'm glad you came," he said, glancing at you in passing, trying not to linger too long. the pace you set was comfortable, almost a stroll towards your home.

"i'm glad too," you smiled at him "you played really well, you know. 20 points in one game isn't easy," you looked up at him to see a blush spread across his cheeks, causing your smile to widen.

"thank you," jisung muttered, not used to such compliments. "i'll have to come to one of your volleyball games," he said, offering you a small smile in return.

"you're always invited," you didn't think it was possible to smile wider than in that moment. before you knew it, the pair of you were stood in front of your apartment building. coming to a stop, you turned to face jisung, having to look up since he was quite taller than you.

"thank you for walking me home," you said, "and for inviting me tonight, i had a really great time," you saw a confused look pass over his features, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"no problem, i'm glad you decided to come. i know my friends can be a bit much," he scratched the back of his neck, looking down.

you chuckled at his words, "they're great, i'm just glad they got along with renjun. he can be quite..."

"intimidating?" jisung finished your sentence, causing a laugh to bubble from you.

"yes, intimidating," you confirmed, smiling at the boy who returned your grin. "will you be okay getting home? i don't want to put you out," you said.

"don't worry, i'll be okay," jisung reassured you, not wanting you to worry about him. you nodded at his words, smiling ernestly.

"well," you started "i better head up, it's getting late. but i'll see you to work on the project?" you asked, hoping to see him sooner rather than later.

"yeah, i'll text you," he said, nodding along with his words.

"great, i'll be waiting," you said, looking into his eyes with a smile. neither of you were sure how to say goodbye, and the tension was palpable. finally, you leaned up, bracing yourself on his arm and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. "i'll see you soon," you said, with a smile and headed for the door to your apartment building. jisung stood almost frozen to the ground, his brain not quite registering what had happened. only when he heard the door shut, he winced and started cursing himself for not even saying goodbye. the whole way home his heartbeat didn't slow down once, the moment replaying in his head on a loop. could this mean something more?

the following week you arranged to meet with jisung for the last time, having almost finished the project. as always, he was sat at the usual table in the back of the library when you walked through the doors. having spotted him, a wide smile immediately spread on your face. "hi," you simply greeted the boy, approaching the table.

"hi y/n," jisung replied, giving you a warm smile of his own. as you unzipped your bag and sat down you thought back to the first time you sat in this exact same seat with the exact same boy in front of you. actually, the boy had changed - quite significantly at that. at first he would barely look at you, now you considered him a great friend, not counting the feelings you had secretly developed for him. his barely there awkward smile transformed into a wide grin, and his shyness seemed to fade away - not entirely, he was still incredibly nervous just by looking at you.

this time, while working on the last part of your assignment, you engaged in comfortable conversation, often looking away from your computers entirely just to carry on talking. you spent a few hours in the library, your work pace hindered by the smiles and laughs you had. finally, the two of you managed to write the final parts and send off the project, more than satisfied with your results. you and jisung packed your things and walked out of the library together. you stopped in front of the doors, having to go separate ways. you took your time to look over his features, hoping to see more of them but also knowing you may not.

"i'm really happy we got paired together, jisung," you admitted honestly, your heartbeat increasing at the imminent goodbye. giving him an ernest smile, you were ready to go when he suddenly called your name.

"y/n wait," jisung said urgently "would you," he took a deep breath, scratching the back of his neck. "would you like to maybe go out some time?" the shy boy finally managed to get out, but seeing your shocked expression he panicked. "not that you have to. you can totally say no and i'll-"

"jisung, i'd love to," you cut off this rambling, smiling wider than you thought was possible. it was his turn to have a shocked expression but he composed himself as quickly as he could.

jisung nodded, a wide grin spreading on his own face. "great, i'll call you," he said.

"i'll be waiting."

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

what the helly... how can i not write for MONTHSSS then suddenly produce 4k words in three days 😭 anon you absolutely COOKED with this i had a great time writing it. i also didn't want to do friends to lovers again bc i feel like all my fics are like that and jisung is so awkward so i thought this was fitting lmk what you think plspls 🙏🏻🙏🏻 holy yap just wanted to say THIS IS THE BIG COMEBACK I SPOKE OF luvs4haechan out 🤗🤗

[doiliedaze]

your writing is sooo good!!! i loved your vamp sev!!!(⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠) can you write reader coming home horny af and finding sevika taking a fat nap so they borrow her prosthetic to use it as a sex toy, sev wake up to her moaning and whimpering like a bitch in heat ☺️ (i've seen this ideia around but not a single fic about it.)

Freak Hoe

Warnings: somno, dub-con, established relationship, using Sevikas arm, reader has back dermals, reader going through extra miles with these positions lol, desperate reader, mean! sev, Sevika instructs reader, mutual masturbation, tribbing, tongue sucking, spit swapping, reader begging, choking (s! receiving), degradation, impact play, praise

Genre: smut

A/n: Marking as a dark fic just in case!! I literally saw this and went y’know what hell yeah LMAOOOO but thank you so much for the compliment anon it’s deeply appreciated ٩( ᐛ )و I’m excited to bring this fantasy to life! After seeing a comment on me using this song I had to use it as the title lol! I CANT BELIEVE THERES 501 OF YOU ALL OMG HUGS ALL AROUND WHAT A WAY TO CLOSE OUT PRIDE🫶🏿🩷

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The whole day your clit was throbbing. Didn’t matter how you walked or sat, nothing slightly eased it…even masturbating a bit in the bathroom at your job.

All you had in mind was your girlfriend, how she could take care of the ache!

You damn near swing the door open and call out to her, only to be met with silence. Is she not here?

Solemnly you walk into the shared bedroom until you were met with the soft snores of your girlfriend. You almost jump up and click your heels because today is the day you need some!

You place your stuff down and change into some pj’s.

“Sev wake up!” You pout as you shake your girlfriend to no avail. To see if she was fucking with you, you flash her…nothing

“That usually works…fuck!” You fall to her side all hope lost till you feel something cold, hard, sturdy…

Just one of her prosthetic fingers twitching as it does when she sleeps. A little lightbulb shines over your head as you peer over to see how asleep she really is.

“She wouldn’t mind…I mean she always says, “I’m always of use if you need me baby” or something like that.” You mutter to yourself.

You don’t know why you’re pretending to have some composure. With a quickness you strip bare and position your pulsating hole over the propped hand.

At first you had a hard time getting her fingers in so you just humped her palm. It was some good stimulation but it wasn’t good enough! Irritated you pick up the hand and grasp her middle and ring finger and fuck yourself back on it.

You feel a sense of relief wash through you as her thick fingers stretch you out. Your body is shaking especially your ass and hips and you’re panting out her name tongue lolled. Drool coats the sheets as you reach your free hand back to play with your neglected clit. You feel close just off this alone but you crave more! So you fumble around stretching your arms back to get another finger in.

The scene is pathetic, face down ass up fucking yourself back on your sleeping girlfriends fingers until you feel her curl them. All movements stop, not knowing if the sleep is causing the movement or she woke up.

“Don’t stop ‘m tryna watch doll” she rasp sleep sewn into her voice. Slowly you get back to the groove of things but a shyness hits your chest. “C’mon you can be louder than that? You didn’t think about your volume when I was fucking sleeping so don’t think ‘bout it now.” She states with sims bass in her tone.

You let out a shaky sorry and she sighs, “let go of my fingers” she says softly and you do. She re-positions the both of you where you’re on your back and she’s above you.

“Gonna listen to me right?” Desperately you nod ready for her to take you!

“Wanna see you fuck yourself, don’t stop till you cum.”

Disappointment fills your voice, “but-”

“But nothing bitch you’re lucky I’m staying awake right now c’mon”

“Sev please touch me, this isn’t gonna do anything for me please!” You damn near cry wanting her to just give you what you’ve been craving.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself” she says slowly.

With that you sink three fingers deep inside yourself and start off on a fast pace. It didn’t take you long to cum already having some buildup.

Before you can come down from your high she slaps you with her prosthetic hand.

“Again” she orders having little regard for how you feel. Which breeds lust into your stomach.

This time her prosthetic hand slips into her hand and rubs her fat clit. Her cunt getting wet watching you touch yourself. Her grey eyes studied your body as your free hand plays with your nipple, irises blown, drool on your chin. So perfect for her.

As Sevika feels her orgasm building she pauses to strip her lower half, string of wetness attached to her boxers.

“Move” she mutters as she takes out your fingers. Placing her warm clit against yours the feeling enough to drawl a moan outta the both of you.

Her thrust were fast and sloppy, cunts sliding against each other. You pull her in close for a kiss, shoving your tongue down her throat. Causing her to choke and gargle on it.

To catch her breathe she pulls away a bit and you whisper suck it and stick out your tongue. The grinding almost gets slower to match the pace of Sevika bobbing her head on your tongue, saliva dropping in-between y’all.

A whimper came from her throat as you choke her, digging your nails in to add some pressure. You pull back to whisper, “fuck me faster.”

Her hips catch up in speed, aiming to please you. Sevika moans as you add more pressure to her neck.

Her hips stutter as she stuffs her face in the crook of her neck and bites down to alleviate pressure.

You moan out her name and buck your hips up as they stutter against hers, finally getting the orgasm you’ve been craving all day.

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Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos @artemisdreamfairie @ellabswife

Dividers- @dollywons

[colinmorgan-beautifulsmile]

Long Day’s Journey Into Night Review

(mostly spoiler-free and focused on colin)

colin morgan as edmund tyrone in long day’s journey into night

firstly, i just want to acknowledge that it was such a privilege to be able to have the chance to see this film, especially after the news that it was dropped by its original distributor. i know how hard it usually is to be able to see colin’s films and shows as he chooses more independent projects. so i just wanted to share my thoughts for everyone who hasn’t been able to see it yet and may not for quite some time now

the film starts off with colin’s character, edmund tyrone, narrating the setting of the story, leading up to seeing him laying in bed - a nice close up of colin’s face to start things off. i thought it was a nice allude to his prolific narrating skills and how much emotional range and character depth he is able to convey with just his voice.

this initial scene is quite dark and foreboding but then you’re immediately taken to the morning, where you see just how bright and colorful and vivid the house is. vibrant yellows and greens really give the scene such a quaint feel, but as the story goes on, and if you know what entails, this slowly seems to be an allusion of pretense - a facade of beauty and perfection covering what truly lies beneath. as the story unfolds, the scenery gets darker and more intense, the weather rougher, the waves more violent. these initial vibrant colors were incredibly picturesque though - there’s a wonderfully stunning shot a few moments later of edmund sitting beneath a tree with vibrant yellow leaves. can’t wait to see shots and gifs of that in hd 💛

at this point, some latecomers arrived and i had to miss a lot of dialogue for a minute as we stood up to let them pass. but this initial scene sets up the dynamics of the family relationships between all four characters; something i really enjoyed in this film was that edmund has lengthy important one-on-one scenes with all of the other members of the family - mary (jessica lange), james (ed harris) and jamie (ben foster) - and colin has fantastic chemistry with each of them, but especially jessica, with whom we see him have a multitude of tender, emotional mother-son scenes together. for me, the two of them were the standouts in the film and i believe will be strong oscars contenders if it gets released before the cut off date. the film itself is a shoe-in for an oscar nomination, in best film and best production design, in my opinion

and while i’m here i just want to gush over colin’s talent. his trademark microexpressions were off the charts in this film. one scene in particular stood out to me, where we see edmund’s change of expression so slight but so defined and sudden, when confronted with the truth of his father by his mother. i also think of this quote from one review - “the subtle ways in which mr. morgan indicates how he has heard their songs before and loves them regardless of the pain they cause is really very special”. his accent was also decent - i’m not familiar with a connecticut accent but he matched ben’s pretty well. and colin just looked so. good. especially if you know about his [major spoiler - revealed below the break]… he looks incredibly fresh and pretty - a combination of john armstrong and chris keller. a few scenes in particular i can’t wait to see gif’d - 1) a moment where he’s in black, next to james, in the dark and only lit by a desk lamp, 2) the cutest smile he gives to jamie during their one-on-one scene in the fields and 3) a tender moment between jamie and edmund, where jamie kisses the top of his head, seeking forgiveness for hurtful words spoken. and honestly… all of the edmund/mary scenes

the humor in this film was quite funny too and kept the audience engaged and interactive. there was a lot of initial talk about the length of the film and how short it is compared to the play. i felt like it worked just fine, honestly - but i’d only watched the original film prior. this version also had a few additional background characters

the rest of the film is a turmoil of suppressed feelings and thoughts rising to the surface, suspicions confirmed, and the anxiety that seeps through everyone’s minds - the loom of death, of relapse, of loss. there were definitely some lull moments where dialogue and quiet scenes dragged on too long - you could see the audience losing focus at points. i think we could’ve seen more of jamie and mary’s relationship in exchange for less of these low points. maybe even some private moments of edmund dealing with his [major spoiler]. overall, i really enjoyed it though. it was such a nice treat to be able to see colin in such a considerable and meaty film role after so long and i hope everyone else can soon

so here’s hoping they find distributors soon! at this point, a trailer even…it will give colin so many more opportunities as well in the industry, and this film owes him that, if it is in fact true that mgm studios hid a clause in his contract that prevented him from taking other major roles (i’m starting to believe it was true as all his film roles since then have been incredibly minor, requiring no promo.. but we may never know for sure). this film has had a few major setbacks from losing funding as filming started to now being dropped by distributors. i hope its luck turns around very quickly 🤍🤍🤍

here are some photos of the theatre where the film had its north american premiere

Dreamland Studio - July 25th, 2025 1pm

Nantucket Performing Arts Center - July 28th, 2025 7pm

—————————————————————————

SPOILERS:

edmund suffers from an ailment the entirety of the film, spends several moments throughout the film coughing rather violently. he gets diagnosed with consumption halfway through the film and there is the high possibility of him dying. colin’s role of edmund is a portrayal of the playwright himself, eugene o’neill. another reviewer’s thoughts really resonated in these scenes - “morgan’s edmund, poised on the brink of consumption, articulated the fear of mortality with reluctant grace”

[big-ooof]

When the World is Loud

Jake x f!reader

note: sorry, suddenly I'm in a sad mood (cue Jake's cover of "I don't think I'm okay"). this one might hit a soft spot for the sad girlies.

I'm working on other stories— I know this won't get the same traction as the other filthy shit I like to write but it's a change of pace if you're up for it.

You didn't notice when things got worse—only that the quiet started feeling more comfortable than anything else. At first, it was skipping the call. Then not texting back right away. Then not showing up. You didn’t mean to isolate yourself. But between the draining conversations that went nowhere, the flings that fizzled out once your needs weren’t cute anymore, and the gnawing guilt of feeling too much and not enough all at once, you stopped trying.

You stopped hoping anyone would stay when it got hard. So when Jake texted: You disappeared on me. Still thinking about you. You stared at it for hours. He didn’t follow it with a sad-face emoji or a guilt trip or a passive-aggressive jab. He didn’t double-text. Just… a gentle reminder that you were still someone to him.

You didn’t reply that day. Or the next.

But he still sent a photo of Layla sitting like a loaf on the couch, eyes sleepy, tongue peeking out. “She misses you. I told her you’re just recharging.”

That made your chest ache a little. In a good way. Or maybe a bad one. It was hard to tell anymore.

You met Jake through friends, back when your spark still reached the surface. He noticed you the way others didn’t— not just when you laughed or lit up, but when you checked out mid-conversation, when your gaze flickered to the floor, when you nodded instead of saying how you really felt.

He listened to what you didn’t say. And now, months later, he was still listening.

The third week you went quiet, you expected him to stop checking in. But one night, he sent a voice note. Just thirty seconds. His voice, a little tired but warm. “No pressure to reply. Just figured I’d talk to you anyway. I passed that noodle place you love. Made me think about the time you said dumplings fix 70% of emotional crises. You were wrong, by the way. It’s more like 62%. Maybe 63. I’m running tests.”

You listened to it three times. You didn’t reply. But you cried.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you woke up to knocking. Gentle. A little hesitant. You sat up in bed, heart crawling up your throat. You weren’t ready to see anyone. But something in you knew it was him. You dragged yourself to the door. Slowly. Cautiously.

And there he was. Baseball cap pulled low. Hoodie zipped to his chin. Two iced coffees in hand. He looked at you like you were sunlight after a storm he was willing to stand in.

“Hi,” he said, soft. “Didn’t want to call in case you were sleeping. Or hibernating.”

You blinked at him. Your throat tightened. You couldn’t make words come out. So you stepped aside. And he walked in like he already knew how to make space without taking it.

You didn’t talk much that first hour. You curled into the corner of the couch while he sat beside you, close enough to reach but not touching unless you did. The TV played quietly. Layla sniffed at your leg before curling up between you like she knew this was a sacred, fragile moment.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said eventually, passing you the coffee. “I just didn’t want you to be alone today.”

You stared into the drink. “I’m always alone on days like this.”

Jake’s voice stayed steady. “You don’t have to be.”

You shook your head, throat thick. “Most people leave when it gets like this. When I get like this.”

His jaw ticked. But his voice was still warm when he answered. “I’m not most people.”

And it wasn’t said with a smirk or some rehearsed line. It wasn’t followed by promises he wouldn’t keep. It was a quiet truth. A commitment, not a performance.

You fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, sometime past midnight. You don’t remember how the blanket ended up over you both, or how your hand ended up loosely holding his. But in the morning, you woke up to sunlight sneaking through the blinds. Layla was snoring. The room was still. Safe. Jake was still there.

His eyes met yours before you could pretend you were asleep again. “Hey,” he said, voice rough from sleep. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t fully true.

He nodded anyway. “Wanna go sit outside? Get some air?”

You shrugged. “Maybe in a bit.”

“Okay. No rush. I’ll be here.” And that was the difference. Others wanted to pull you out of the dark so you’d be easier to love. Jake just sat with you until you felt safe enough to stand.

Weeks passed. You didn’t get better overnight. But on the hard days, he brought food and let you eat in silence. On the numbing ones, he took you on walks and made terrible puns until you smiled. And on the good ones—those rare, golden hours where everything didn’t feel so heavy—he let you shine and never tried to claim it.

He never asked for more than you could give.But you found yourself wanting to give it anyway.

One night, as he handed you his hoodie before you even asked, you looked at him and said: “I don’t know why you stayed.”

Jake tilted his head, his expression soft but certain. “Because you’re not just worth the easy parts.”

And when you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his for the first time, you realized— Love wasn’t always loud. It wasn’t declarations or fireworks or grand, sweeping moments. Sometimes, it was showing up. Sitting beside someone while the world roared outside. And staying.

Bonus: Jake’s POV

He knew you were pulling away before you did. It started with the shorter texts. Then none at all. The way your laugh got quieter over the phone, like you didn’t have the energy to mean it anymore. The way you said “I’m okay” like you were apologizing for lying.

Jake didn’t push. Didn’t ask where you went.

Because you hadn’t gone anywhere. You were just sinking again. Quietly. The same way you always did when life turned heavy and no one stayed to help carry it.

He hated how familiar it looked on you. Like you were already used to being left behind. So he made a choice. Not to save you. Not to fix you. Just… to stay.

He sent things. Little things. Photos of Layla looking like a sleepy worm under the blanket. A clip of a new song with no caption. Voice notes where he told dumb stories and let you hear what his days sounded like, even if you couldn’t respond.

He never expected a reply. He just didn’t want you to think the world forgot you.

When two weeks passed and nothing came back, he drove to the 24-hour mart, bought your favorite iced coffee and a bag of dumplings, and stood outside your building, staring at your door like it might open on its own.

He knocked. Once. Then again. You opened it slowly. Eyes puffy. Hoodie swallowing you whole. You looked like you hadn’t slept. Like maybe you’d been floating through the past few days, and this was the first time you stood still.

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need you to.

“Hi,” he said, gently. “Didn’t want to text in case you were sleeping.” He offered the coffee. “Figured you might want this.”

You blinked, like you couldn’t figure out why he was still there. Why he wasn’t already walking away like the others had. Jake’s heart broke in a small, quiet way. Because you still didn’t expect someone to stay.

Inside you apartment, it was dim. Lived-in. Quiet. He didn’t fill the silence. You both sat on the couch. Layla immediately hopped up and wedged herself between you, tail wagging like she understood how heavy the room felt. Jake rested his coffee on his knee and watched the TV flicker wordlessly across the screen.

He could feel how far you’d retreated inside yourself. Like you were trying not to take up space even in your own home.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said after a while, voice soft. “I didn’t come here for answers. I just didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”

Your voice cracked when you finally answered. “I usually am.”

His heart ached. Not with pity, but with something more dangerous. A kind of helpless love. “You don’t have to be,” he said.

You didn’t believe him. He could tell. You didn’t say it, but it was in the way you looked down. The way your shoulders curled in, like you were bracing for the moment he’d realize you weren’t worth the effort.

So he stayed. For hours. Talking about nothing. Watching a movie neither of you cared about. Sitting so still, the world outside felt like it was in a different universe.

At some point, your head dipped onto his shoulder. Tentative. Like you were waiting to see if he’d flinch. Jake didn’t move. Except to angle himself closer. Like gravity pulled him into you.

You fell asleep before midnight. Curled into him like a breath you didn’t mean to take. Jake stared at the soft line of your face for too long, afraid to blink and miss the moment you let yourself rest. He pulled the blanket over both of you, slow and quiet. Let your fingers slip into his like they belonged there. It hit him all at once—how much he loved you. Not in a way that demanded anything. Not with urgency or hunger. But with peace.

Because being with you, even on the hard days, even when you had nothing to give… never felt like a burden. It felt like choosing the truth.

The next morning, when your eyes met his, something in you had changed. Not fully. Not yet. But you let him stay a little longer. And when you whispered, “I don’t know why you stayed,” Jake had to bite the inside of his cheek not to answer with because I love you.

Instead, he said: “Because you’re not just worth the easy parts.”

And it was true. You were not a project. Not something to fix. You were someone you sat beside in the quiet. Someone you waited for, without hurrying them. Someone you chose. Every single day.