#I should get back to this one at some stage...

[ozzgin]

How would the yokai harem react to you talking about a manipulative ex? content: gender neutral reader x various demons

Murasaki will silently listen to your rant with the same flat expression he always wears. Or was that a grimace you just spotted? Upon further inspection, he does seem more annoyed than usual. “At least you had the brain to walk away, I suppose,” he says with a huff. It doesn’t surprise him much, in all honesty; humans aren’t exactly known for their awareness, and you’re a particularly naïve one. He places a hand on your head and gives you a swift ruffle. Christ, you’re hopeless. Thankfully you won’t have to deal with that anymore, not under his watch. Had this happened in his presence, the offender would’ve been sliced in half.

Kiritsubo is very vocal throughout your retelling. They did what?! He’s so upset on your behalf, cheeks flushed and puffed up with indignance. After clarifying some details to him, you discover that the yokai is rather...oblivious himself. Good Lord, he would’ve fallen for it even harder. He pats his sword and declares he won’t ever allow it to happen again. You can’t help but chuckle at his confidence. Indeed, you might have to help him a little in recognizing the danger. You appreciate his good intentions, nonetheless.

Suma approaches your story with a very positive outlook, which is very much like him. With a laugh, he pats your back and praises you. “It’s a hard lesson, but a lesson still. Humans and demons are difficult creatures, eh? You can’t always read them, nor can you tell their intentions. To be aware of this and continue living with an open heart means you’re brave, not gullible.” That’s just the way things are. We get hurt and we learn from it. He’s proud of you for being here despite everything. “That’s not to say you have to deal with it alone,” he adds with a cheeky smile. “Let me know about it next time it happens, alright?”

Yuugiri is very unbothered, nodding along with a smile. Oh, you recognize that grin. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. The serpent yokai is exceptionally vengeful, especially when it comes to you. Your ex-partner has now become a target for unknown terrors. Somewhere, sometime in the future, they will suffer. Yuugiri will make sure of it. No one messes with his precious little human and comes out unscathed. Oh, to think they took advantage of your innocence! Of course you’re easily manipulated, but it’s a gift that must be appreciated, not abused. He should be the only one with the privilege of...influencing you every now and then.

Sakaki scribbles in his sketchbook while listening to your rant. Truth be told, you’re not expecting much from him. He’ll probably tell you that it is indeed in the nature of most humans to be this devious, and misery is inescapable. Suffering is but an eternal part of life, from which only Death can free us. Gosh, you’ve been hanging out way too much with this gloom-ridden artist. You finally glance over his shoulder and notice the intricate pentagram. “It’s a curse,” he says with a flat smile. “I just need to find the guy, and then...heh. It’s not the poetic kind of agony, that’s for sure.” You’re his only source of happiness and hope, after all. There’s no way in Hell he’d ever allow anyone to interfere with it.

Sekiya is very similar to Kiritsubo in his reaction. His face begins to twist through a range of emotions. You know him so well, at this point, that you can already guess the stages of grief crossing his mind: he’d never treat you that way, and if someone else was to dare, he’d...he’d deal with them, right? Could a weakling like him even manage? Come, now, he’s still a yokai several ranks above the regular demons. Can he prove it to you, however? You stop his thoughts before they go any further, taking his hand in yours. “You’ll take care of me, right,” you ask. His eyes widen and his chest involuntarily swells up with pride. “Of course,” he barks loudly. Oh, to think you’d put your faith in him like that! He’s drunk with delight.

[lexalith]

HIDDEN pt.2 || Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)

summary: this is part 2 of my original fic HIDDEN. you should read that one first or you’re gonna be very confused!

warnings/this story contains: female reader, age gap (reader is 24 now, seunghyun’s 37) unresolved tension, mutual pining and emotional damage, reader’s life being absolute trash (?), seunghyun and the reader being very anxious people. angst (jealousy, heartbreak, guilt, shame, regret, self loathing, not being able to let go but also not being able to stay. timing never being right and love not being enough like alwayssss, i’m sorry) personal growth, forgiveness, closure, and a tiny little bitty bit of fluff if you squint your eyes very, very hard (lmao).

a/n: i never planned on writing a part two, but here we are! thank you so much for the endless support and for looking forward to this <3 as always, english isn’t my first language! seunghyun’s texts are in blue, reader’s texts are in orange. reader’s dialogue is in bold.

songs: champagne coast — blood orange (yes, again, because this is their song. i’m making it canon) ll all i wanted — paramore || lovers — anna of the north || all too well (10 minute version) — taylor swift

it’s been nine months since the breakup, and your life couldn’t be more different than it was—if someone took a polaroid of you now and held it next to the girl who packed her bags for seoul with stars in her eyes, you’re not sure you’d even recognize her. you’re back in brownsville, no longer coordinating payload systems at starbase—because, well, turns out when your year-long secret relationship becomes very suddenly not so secret, someone decided having you around was more trouble than it was worth. after they cut you off—citing professionalism and image and propriety—you didn’t really have a plan.

you spent a month unemployed, half-heartedly scrolling through job listings you didn’t want while lying facedown on the couch, alternating between waves of quiet panic and nausea that came every time you accidentally thought about seunghyun for more than five seconds. it was still raw then—the kind of heartbreak that didn’t just ache but physically made you feel sick, like your body was rejecting the entire experience. everything reminded you of him, and you hated it—how you could go from brushing your teeth to fully sobbing in the span of a minute because some memory had snuck in through the cracks, as if your own mind was determined to torture you for ever letting someone get that close.

and eventually, when your savings account started looking like a damn joke, you took the first job you could find—bartending at a small spot downtown. it’s not what you studied for. it’s not even remotely what you imagined doing when you walked across that graduation stage in your too-tight heels and got your aerospace degree handed to you… but it’s steady. you’ve memorized the orders of the regulars, learned how to hold your tongue when men call you sweetheart like it’s your god-given name or snap their fingers and whistle like you’re a fucking dog, and you’ve gotten really good at pretending you’re okay—smiling through it. your shoes are always sticky by the end of the night, your clothes reek of grease and cheap vodka no matter how many times you wash them, and there’s a tiny scar on your wrist from a shattered pint glass that slipped mid-shift during a friday rush. but hey… at least the tips are decent.

you’ve also been… seeing someone. the guy your friends had been annoyingly pushing for months (back when you were still secretly dating seunghyun and pretending to consider it just to shut them up). he’s your age, works in construction and is very nice, which sounds like a shitty compliment, but it’s not. you’ve been seeing him for about two months now—hanging out and hooking up. you like him. really, you do… a little bit. but every now and then you catch yourself comparing the way he holds your face to the way someone else used to, and you have to blink it away before it sinks too deep. he doesn’t know about seunghyun, of course. not the real version of it, anyway. just that there was someone before, someone who hurt you. and you appreciate his patience—he gives you space when you need it and doesn’t ask too many questions. and, well, he eats your pussy good, so. there’s that too. sometimes that’s enough to shut your brain up for a bit, enough to make you forget the ache that still sits in your chest like a bruise that never really healed. even though you know it’s not fair. and you wonder, sometimes, if this guy’s waiting for you to fall in love with him and has no idea that you’re still scraping someone else’s fingerprints off your skin.

but the most significant thing—the one that still sits in your stomach like a rock you can’t digest—is that you found out. you finally know. it was her. your mother. you didn’t even get it from her directly. you found it by accident—buried in an old email. you weren’t snooping—just printing a return label for something, waiting for the slow-ass printer to wake up—when your eyes caught the subject line: re: media contact – confidential inquiry. and you clicked it. you scrolled through every line with a growing sense of horror. you confronted her that same night. you didn’t plan it, didn’t rehearse what you were going to say—you just walked into the kitchen, heart pounding, and said, “how long were you planning on hiding the fact that you’re the one who leaked it?” she didn’t even deny it. just looked at you, quiet for a second, then said, “i did what i had to do.” “you had to?!” your voice broke, equal parts disbelief and fury. “you had to sabotage my entire fucking relationship?!” “he was taking advantage of you,” she said flatly. “what the fuck? what the—what the fuck is wrong with you?! you had no right to interfere like that! none!” “you think i didn’t see what he was doing? he was grooming you—” “don’t you dare use that word,” you spat, stepping forward. “don’t you fucking dare put it like that just because you needed a reason to feel better about what you did! i was twenty-two, not sixteen!” “i don’t care! he’s thirteen years older than you, and you—” “he wasn’t using me! i knew what i was doing—” “no!” she pointed at you, jabbing the air, furious and breathless, “you were just following him around like some starstruck idiot, lying to me, running away from your job, from your family—” “oh my god, shut the fuck up!” you snapped, tears hot in your eyes. “shut the fuck up! i was in love! and you fucking ruined it!”

you don’t remember much after that—just fragments. you remember your mother shouting something about protection, about how she couldn’t stand by and watch you throw your future away over a man who was never going to give you anything real. you remember knocking over a stack of books, slamming a drawer so hard it bounced back open, dragging your suitcase out of the closet with shaking hands and yanking things off hangers without looking. she cried, kept repeating that she didn’t mean to hurt you, that she was scared, that she thought she was doing what was best. but you didn’t care. you were too angry and too fucking tired of being treated like you didn’t know your own mind. you haven’t spoken to her since. you don’t know if you ever will. because it turns out there’s heartbreak that comes from losing a lover, and then there’s heartbreak that comes from realizing the person who raised you is the reason you lost them. and now it’s too late to take any of it back.

you’ve been crashing with one of your friends for the past three weeks—sleeping on a futon that creaks every time you turn over and makes your back ache by morning. you didn’t really know where else to go. your job barely covers groceries—forget rent, forget deposits, forget the fantasy of having a space that’s actually yours. so now you’re here, trying not to be a burden, trying not to cry into your friend’s couch cushions at night because she’s doing you a favor, and you already feel like a walking pity case. sometimes you lie there and think about how you used to fall asleep in a king-sized bed with high thread count sheets and a man who kissed your shoulders before falling asleep with his hand in yours, and now you’re in someone else’s place, listening to the hum of a fridge that never stops running—feeling lonelier than you ever have in your entire life.

you thought life would’ve gotten better by now, but you spend the nights crying instead—staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. you cry because nothing feels right, because everything feels too hard, because you lost your job, your relationship, your home, your sense of direction—and even though you keep telling yourself you’re only twenty-four, that there’s time to figure it out, some nights it just feels like you’re stuck in and endless pain loop. no one warned you adulthood would feel like this.

you’re alone that night. your friend’s covering a night shift, the apartment is quiet, and your body feels like it’s made of wet tissue—fragile and bloated and cursed with every symptom imaginable, because the universe decided you needed your period on top of everything else. the cramps are brutal, your back hurts, your tits ache, and the fucking futon now has a suspicious little stain that you know you’ll have to scrub later. you’ve been crying (again!) and your throat is raw from it, your eyes puffy, your nose sore from wiping it too hard with paper towels. you feel pathetic. like genuinely, award-winning levels of pathetic. and maybe that’s what finally does it. you reach for your phone with hands that are slightly shaky, not because you’re nervous, but because you’re just so damn tired. of yourself, mostly. and maybe the universe too. your fingers open his old messages. you used to do this sometimes—type things you needed to get off your chest. but you never sent them because seeing your words in that annoying green bubble would be worse than anything else. it would remind you that yes, he blocked you. yes, he’s still gone. yes, this is over, and it’s been over. move the fuck on already, girl. so, following your little tradition, you type:

it was my fucking mom this whole time. she’s the one who leaked everything. i found out like three weeks ago, and i still haven’t processed it. i wish you knew. i wish i could make you know so you wouldn’t go on living your life thinking i betrayed you or whatever tf you decided to believe instead of trusting me. but anyway. talk about trust issues now, bc honestly, idk how i’m ever supposed to trust anyone again!🥰 love this for meeeee omg!😍😍 i shouldn’t have told her i was moving to seoul. i should’ve just disappeared from her fucking life and been happy with you and what we had. but no. because life can’t be that easy for me, right? no. life has to be a fucking bitch in every possible way. i’m so fucking tired.

your fingers hover over the delete button as you cry profusely after typing that paragraph—eyes blurry, throat tight, the screen glowing too bright in the dark room. and maybe it’s the hormones, or the sleep deprivation, but something inside you hits send. because why the fuck does it matter? he’s not gonna read it, he’s got you blocked. but the second you see the message go blue—you freeze. your stomach drops and you stare at your phone like it’s just slapped you across the face. he unblocked you. wait—what? since when? you shoot up like you’ve just been electrocuted, eyes wide as the full horror of what just happened sinks in. “what the fuck! what the fuck! shit, shit, shit—” you whisper to no one, pacing the tiny apartment. so much for crying in your period-stained pajamas—turns out all it takes to yank you out of a full-blown breakdown is the absolute fucking horror of realizing you just sent a long-ass vent session straight to the one person on this planet you were least fucking ready to talk to. congrats, girl! you keep outdoing yourself! “oh my—fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck! oh, god. oh my god,” you keep mumbling. when the fuck did he unblock you?! and why the hell didn’t you check?! your heart is in your throat, pulse hammering so fast it makes your vision blur for a second. you swipe back to the chat like maybe you hallucinated the whole thing. maybe the app glitched. but no. and before you can delete it, there it is—read. “huh?!” you stop in your tracks, frozen in the middle of the room. your mouth falls open. your lungs forget how to work. your entire body goes cold and then hot, and then cold again. “no. no no no no no no—fuck!”

you groan into your hands and sink down onto the futon. your palms are damp with sweat and your brain’s screaming. the message is sent. he’s seen it. and no matter how much you want to crawl inside your phone and delete it—there’s nothing left to do but sit in the aftermath. so you do. you sit, legs curled beneath you, staring at your phone screen. you check the time—3:41 a.m. in texas. in seoul, it’s late afternoon. you decide to leave your phone face up on the floor next to you and try to pretend you’re not watching it from the corner of your eye like it’s about to perform a fucking magic trick. every time it lights up, your heart jumps—once it’s duolingo, passive-aggressively reminding you for the hundredth time that you haven’t finished your korean lessons (well… thank you for the reminder, motherfucker!). and another time it’s your period tracker app asking if you’re feeling moody lately. no shit! you lurch forward every time, breath catching in your throat, only to get sucker-punched by disappointment again and again. and still, no reply. you try to sleep, not because you think it’ll work, but because it’s the only other option. but lying down just makes it worse—your thoughts are louder. you flip your pillow, then flip it again. the sheets are damp with sweat, your legs restless, your hands twitching toward your phone like it’s calling to you. you wait for hours… he never replies.

and by the time the sun comes up, you’ve barely slept at all. your eyes sting, your mouth is dry, and you’ve gone full zombie-mode by the time your shift rolls around. you survive your shift at the bar by sheer muscle memory, making drinks, taking orders and smiling through clenched teeth. and when it ends, your body aches like it’s been rolled through the pavement. you go home—your friend’s home—after midnight, feet aching, back sore, and stomach hollow from skipping dinner because the thought of eating made you feel sick. the place is dark when you walk in. she’s probably already asleep, and you tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before collapsing on the futon. you check your phone—still nothing. and that’s it. that’s the end of the story. why would it end any other way? of course he’s not going to reply. you should’ve never sent that fucking text. you should’ve stuck to your sad little ritual of typing and deleting and pretending you had closure. because this? this is embarrassing.

you toss your phone onto the floor like maybe breaking it will break the shame too, and flop onto your side dramatically… and then it buzzes. you’ve never gotten up so fast—hands scrambling for the phone. you swipe, thumbs clumsy with nerves because holy shit, there’s a notification from him. but somehow you manage to open the message.

Can I call you?

you stare at the screen. your pulse is pounding loud in your ears, and for a second you’re genuinely not sure if you’re going to throw up or pass out. your entire body is shaking and your blood has drained out of your face. you can feel it. you’re cold and clammy all over, heart thudding like it’s trying to punch its way out of your chest. you try to breathe—in through your nose, out through your mouth—before typing:

yeah, okay

your phone starts ringing a second later—like he’d been waiting. and the sound of it, his name lighting up your screen again after all these months, knocks something loose in your chest. the apartment is quiet—just the creak of the floor beneath your feet as you cross over to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. you slide it open as quietly as you can, since you don’t want to wake your friend, and step outside. it’s darker than you expected, the only light coming from the streetlamps below and the faint orange glow of someone’s window across the way. the balcony chair creaks under your weight as you sink into it, the metal cold against your bare thighs. your breathing’s all uneven now—short little gasps like you just finished running, though you haven’t moved more than ten feet—and you can’t stop staring at the screen. you swipe to answer. for a few seconds, there’s nothing. only silence. then, finally, a voice. “hi.” you grip the phone tighter, trying to stop your hands from shaking. “hi,” you say back. and then silence again. you can’t tell if it’s awkward or loaded or both.

you shift in the chair, curling one leg up underneath you. “how are you?” he asks. oh lord. he was literally fucking you raw less than a year ago… and now he’s making small talk. stop this madness. “i—i’m good,” you say, lying through your teeth, obviously. you clear your throat. “you?” “fine,” he says after a beat, but he sounds anything but—tired, like something in his chest’s been weighing him down. and then another pause, before he finally says, “i read your message.” “yeah… i know. i mean—i saw.” you chew the inside of your cheek, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve. “was it really her?” you nod before realizing he can’t see you. “yeah. it was.” he doesn’t say anything, so you keep going, just to fill the space. “i saw… an email she sent. and we—we fought. bad. i left the same day and i… i haven’t been back since.” “you—where are you staying?” he asks, and you hear something in his voice, concern. “friend’s house.” you try to make it sound casual. he goes quiet again, and for a second, all you can hear is the low static hum of the call. you bite your bottom lip before blurting, “i didn’t know you’d unblocked me.” “yeah. i did like a month ago, i think.” you hum. you want to ask why, but you don’t. because the call already feels like a glass balancing on the edge of a table, and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. and besides, you know you wouldn’t get the answer you want. if he wanted to talk, he would’ve. if he missed you, if he regretted it, if any part of him wanted to reach out… he would’ve. and he didn’t. so you swallow that sharp little ache, ignore the part of you that still wants to believe in something softer, and you say, “i’m sorry for sending that, by the way. i was… i don’t know. not in a great headspace yesterday.” “don’t apologize,” he says. “i’m glad you told me.” “you deserved to know.” “mmh.” the silence stretches for another second before he says, “thank you.”

the quiet that follows is soft, almost gentle. for a second you think that’s it—you can almost feel one of you hovering over the red button, and you know you should probably let it happen, let it end on something simple and clean. but you don’t want to hang up yet. so, instead, you do what you always do when your nerves start to buzz—you talk. “i’ve typed stuff before. like—messages. to you.” oh my god… shut up! shut up! why the fuck are you saying this? you want to swallow the words back down immediately but nope—your mouth keeps going. “i never sent them but… i don’t know. i wasn’t even supposed to send you that one last night—i don’t know why i did.” you press a hand to your forehead, silently screaming. “anyway i—yeah. sorry. i should just… shut up.” there’s a pause on the other end, heavy enough to make your fingers twitch against your leg. you expect him to change the subject or maybe just hang up altogether, and for a second you even brace yourself for the sound of the line going dead. but then he says, “what kind of stuff?” you blink, eyes still fixed on the quiet street below, unsure you heard him right. “what?” “the messages,” he answers, and his voice is a little quieter now, like he’s not sure if he should be asking. “what were they about?” you’re caught so off guard that you let out this small, breathless laugh that doesn’t hold any humor at all. “seriously?” you ask, more to yourself than to him. you rub a hand over your face. “i don’t know, just… random things about my life. like my day, what i was doing… sometimes just things i wish i could say to you but knew i couldn’t. i don’t know.” you trail off, embarrassed, already regretting every word spilling out of your mouth. “you can tell me now,” he says. you blink, heart stumbling a little in your chest, because you don’t know what you were expecting him to say—but it definitely wasn’t that. your fingers tighten around the phone again. “you… want me to tell you?” “i do.” you hesitate. not because you don’t have things to say—god, you’ve got too many—but because you don’t know what version of your life he’s expecting. probably not the one you’re living. “i didn’t think you’d care,” you admit quietly. “i care—of course i care.” oh… you close your eyes, press your palm to your chest and you can feel how fast your heart is beating. you force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “i’m bartending now.” you immediately want to cringe, because wow, what an opener. “they fired me from starbase. so… yeah. but it’s okay, this job isn’t so bad… i mean—it’s not good either, but it pays.” he hums, a soft sound of acknowledgement, like he’s listening. “and, like i told you, i’m living with a friend. after—after everything that happened with my mom… i couldn’t stay. so, yeah.”

something about saying all of that out loud—narrating your life to someone who once knew it better than anyone else—makes your bottom lip tremble before you can stop it. this tiny traitorous movement that you feel more than see, like the last thread of control slipping quietly from your hands. you swallow hard. try to hold it together and sound normal. “but i’m, um… i’m looking for a place,” you add, voice higher now, too fast. “something small for myself.” you don’t mention that your bank account laughs at you every time you open the app, or that you fall asleep on a futon in the corner of your friend’s tiny apartment, feeling like a burden. you don’t say any of that, because it’s pathetic. but the tears come anyway, completely against your will. not just because of your mom or your job or your life crumbling in pieces so small you can’t even name them—but because you’re talking to him. and everything about this feels so impossibly far from what you used to be. the way you speak to each other now, like strangers, it’s breaking you open in places you didn’t know were still sore. you try to sniff it away, wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but it’s useless. “are you…” his voice cuts through the line. “are you crying?” “no.” you suck in a breath. “i mean—yes. yes, i am. it’s just—i don’t know.” the tears are falling faster now, and your throat is thick with everything you’ve been trying so hard not to feel for the last nine months. you sniff, drag the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your nose, and bite out, “why’d you even call me, seunghyun? seriously. what was the point?” “i wanted to apologize.” he pauses. “i—i’m sorry. i should’ve trusted you, i should’ve listened. i was just… angry. and scared.” you exhale through your nose, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. “it’s okay,” you say quietly, even though part of you wants to tell him it’s not.

he doesn’t reply right away, and for a second you think the call might be really ending this time—that this was all he needed to say, a final stitch to close the wound and move on. but then—“i missed your voice.” your breath catches, and you don’t know what to say to that. because it hurts. it hurts so fucking much to hear it. “you hurt me, seunghyun,” you whisper. “i know,” he says, voice breaking. “i know i did, baby—shit. sorry. fuck, i—i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to call you that.” you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your knuckles to your lips like it’ll stop the sting. “don’t. don’t do that.” “i didn’t mean to—” “no, you don’t get to do that,” you cut in, sharper this time, words tumbling out fast. “this isn’t fair,” you say, and now your voice really starts to shake. “you’re not—you’re not being fair, seunghyun.” “listen—“ “no, i don’t wanna fucking listen!” you raise your voice, frustration spilling out faster than you can rein it in. “sorry,” you say quietly. “sorry. i—i didn’t mean to speak to you like that.” “i know,” he whispers. “but i understand. i deserve it.” “no, you—i just… it’s a lot. and hearing your voice like this again—fuck, i don’t know.” he doesn’t say anything, and you’re not even sure if that’s a good or bad thing, so you keep going before you lose your nerve. “you shouldn’t have unblocked me. you should’ve just left it the way it was,” you continue, sobbing between words. “what—” “i was doing okay,” you lie, even though you both know you weren’t. “or at least, i was trying. and then you—you do this, and now i feel like—i feel like i’m right back where i started.” he’s silent again, and it drives you fucking insane—how he always does this, lets the silence do the work for him, like it’s your job to fill in the blanks. “you can’t just show up in my life when you feel like it. that’s not how this works. you don’t get to block me, forget about me, go on with your life, and then crawl back into mine just because you’re curious or lonely or whatever the fuck this is.” your breath is shallow now, chest rising and falling fast. “i can’t do this, seunghyun. i can’t—” you cry. “so do it again. block me. because if you don’t… i will.”

you wait a second—two, maybe three—before you hang up. you stare at the screen for a beat too long after the line goes dead, your own reflection faint in the glass. your limbs feel shaky as you drag yourself up from the chair with the kind of stiffness that makes you wonder if heartbreak settles in your bones like lead. the apartment is quiet when you slip back inside. you don’t even bother changing. and when you fall onto the futon, you collapse. your chest hurts, in the literal, physical way—like there’s something pressing down on it, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. you’re still crying, face crumpling into the crook of your elbow. and even though you try to keep it quiet because your friend is asleep in the next room, your body has other plans. the sobs come in waves, ugly and loud and gasping, and there’s no one to stop them, no one to shush you or hold you or say it’s going to be okay. you press your face into the pillow and scream once, like it might help get it out, but it doesn’t. you cry until you’re too tired to cry anymore, until your body feels wrung out and empty. until your eyelids are heavy, your head pounds and the ache in your chest starts to dull—because, yes, even pain has its limits. and when sleep finally takes you, it feels like relief.

you don’t even hear her come in. it takes a few tries before your friend gets through to you, nudging your foot, then your shoulder, then finally your name, said a little too loudly for how early it is. “hey! you’ve gotta get up. don’t you have work?” you jolt upright like you’re coming up for air, groggy and disoriented, face crusted with dried tears. you mutter something like “shit, what time is it?” before fumbling for your phone. and that’s when you see it. seunghyun texted you while you were asleep.

Hi. I just booked a flight to Texas.

I’ll be in Brownsville for a few days, and I really, really want to see you.

I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me.

But if you do, I’ll be here next Sunday at 4 P.M.

he had sent a location.

We have a lot to talk about.

I didn’t want our call to end like that.

You don’t have to reply, just know I’ll be there, waiting.

And if you don’t show up, that’s okay too.

I hope you have a good day. 🫰🏼

your first thought is no. not even a soft, hesitant kind of no—just a loud, stubborn one that echoes straight through your head. NO. you don’t want to see him. you don’t want to talk. you don’t want to sit across from him pretending like the last nine months haven’t been eating you alive. you lock your phone, toss it somewhere near the futon, and move through your morning like you’re not actively dissociating—getting dressed and slapping on mascara with a shaky hand. you go to work, surprisingly making it on time. and when your shift ends, you go home. you eat leftovers straight from the container, ignore the ache behind your eyes, and tell yourself you’ve made a decision. you’re not going. simple as that.

but as the days creep forward and that sunday inches closer, your initial no—the one that came so fast and full of conviction it practically shouted over your entire body—starts to feel less like a boundary and more like a bluff you’re trying to convince yourself to believe. you find yourself rereading his texts on the bus ride home, or glancing at the clock and thinking about time zones again, something you swore you’d broken the habit of months ago. it’s not that you want to see him (girl… you do, you aren’t fooling anyone) it’s just that you’re curious. and a little bit stupid, apparently. and then, like your brain didn’t already have enough to chew on, instagram decides to kick you while you’re down. you get the notification late at night: TOP 최승현🌙 posted for the first time in a while. you stare at the alert, blinking. no way. how fucking convenient. you open the app before you can stop yourself, and there it is—proof that he unblocked you on your private insta, because you’re staring right at his profile. oh my… you’re a slut in mourning. it’s a selfie. he’s staring straight at the camera, head tilted slightly to the side to flex that stupid jawline, jesus christ... he’s wearing a black hoodie—the same one you used to borrow when you were together. more specifically, the one you were wearing the first time you let him fuck you raw. is he doing it on purpose? is this his way of getting your attention? trying to say he misses you? that he’s thinking about you too? or maybe you’re just being delusional and he’s literally just wearing his fucking hoodie like any normal person would… not everything is about you. right? you zoom in without shame, you stare, you squint and you hate yourself a little. you flip your phone face down and mutter, “fuck off,” like that’s going to do anything—like you’re not already replaying every time you tugged his hair while he was between your thighs, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue circled your clit.

sunday. 3 p.m. comes and you’re still telling yourself no, still convincing yourself with weak half-arguments and imaginary moral high ground, still walking around the room like you’re above it, like you’ve evolved past the the version of yourself who would show up for him no matter what. you’re not going. you’ve already made that decision—made it days ago. in fact, you’ve been repeating it like a fucking mantra: i’m not going, i’m not going, i’m not going. it’s the one thing you’ve been stubbornly sure of. and yet, by 3:07, you’re in front the drawer your friend let you use. you’re not sure when you stood up or how you ended up yanking it open, but suddenly you’re staring at your clothes like any of them will know what the fuck you’re doing. and you tell yourself: what harm could there be in just… seeing? just showing up, looking hot, and reminding him what he lost? right? what could go wrong? you drag yourself into the shower, rinse off the sweat and anxiety, and talk yourself out of having a panic attack while shaving your legs. you towel off, throw on something decent and slap on a bit of makeup as you wonder why the fuck are you wasting your free day on this, when you could’ve been watching reruns of some trashy dating show or doom-scrolling in peace. and before you can rethink your decision again, you’re on the bus, heart pounding harder with every stop.

you show up an hour late—closer to five-thirty than four—but you don’t feel bad about it. if anything, it makes you feel a little less like you’re crawling back and a little more like you’re arriving on your own terms. the place he chose to meet you is a rooftop wine bar in downtown brownsville with thick wooden beams stretched overhead to break the light. string lights hang loosely between them and the tables are spaced out, some close to the railing with a quiet view of the city below. he’s already there, of course, seated near the far edge of the terrace, next to the railing, with a half-finished glass of wine in front of him. you spot him instantly. he’s in a long-sleeved maroon sweater, and you don’t know why the fuck he’s wearing sleeves in this heat. his trousers are loose and slouchy, and his boots—yes, boots, in thirty-degree texas weather—are polished to hell, the soles thick and clunky. his cap sits on the table beside his wineglass, and he’s wearing his glasses—the ones that make him look so gentle. you used to love it when he wore them around you. he doesn’t see you right away—he’s looking out over the terrace, lips pursed like he’s deep in thought—but your stomach still drops like it’s the first time all over again.

you take a slow breath, then start walking. the heels of your shoes click against the tile, and the closer you get, the more surreal it feels—seeing him again. and then he looks up. you don’t know what you expected, but the way his whole face shifts when his eyes land on you catches you off guard. his brows lift just a little, like he’s not sure he’s seeing you right, and then there’s this soft pull at the corners of his mouth, the kind of expression people only ever give to people they’ve missed. he moves quickly after that, chair scraping back as he stands up too fast, brushing his palms down the sides of his pants like he’s suddenly unsure of himself. your heart thuds a little too hard as you close the last few steps between you, nerves spiking even though there’s no reason to be this tense—you’ve seen him like this before, touched him, kissed him, loved him. but now it feels like starting from scratch. “hey,” you say first, because someone has to break the tension. your voice comes out quiet, breathier than you meant. he clears his throat, shifting his weight. “hi.”

he stands there, hovering beside the table, and for a second it’s like neither of you knows how to move—do you shake hands? do you hug? his gaze flickers down to your hands, like he’s expecting you to offer one to shake, and then back up to your face. it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do, and god, neither do you. a hug feels too intimate, but standing here in this weird, polite standoff feels worse. so you do it—you step forward, close the space, and wrap your arms around him quickly, not giving yourself enough time to regret it. he’s surprised, you can tell by the way his arms come around you just a second too late. you pull away before it can get weird, and he lets you, hands immediately dropping to his sides like he’s scared to overstep. you glance at the wine glass, then back at him. “sorry i’m late.” seunghyun shakes his head, quick. “no, it’s fine. i—” he exhales. “i didn’t think you were coming.” you nod, slow and awkward, arms crossed tight over your chest for a second before you remember how that looks and force yourself to let them fall to your sides. “yeah. me neither.” he huffs a tiny laugh, almost embarrassed, and gestures toward the seat across from his. “do you wanna sit?” you nod, murmuring a soft “yeah,” as you move toward the chair. you sit, legs crossed, back too straight, and he mirrors you, settling across from you. the table feels huge between you. ridiculous, really—after everything you’ve done together, everything you’ve been to each other, now you’re playing pretend like two people on a first date who forgot how to talk.

he reaches for his wine glass, turns it slowly between his fingers without drinking. “you look good,” he says, eventually. “i mean… really good.” you meet his eyes, and then, because you can’t help it, “so do you.” he smiles at that, soft, almost sheepish, and then glances down at the wine list sitting neatly on the table between you. “you want anything?” he asks, tapping the edge of the menu lightly. “they’ve got a good selection.” you shake your head, giving a small, polite smile. “just water’s fine.” “water, then,” he says, and signals to the server passing by to order you a glass. there’s a beat of silence after the server leaves, just the soft clink of his glass when he shifts it on the table. he doesn’t look at you—just studies the red swirl of wine for a second like it’s got the right words floating in it somewhere—then finally says, “i’m glad you came.” you nod once, unsure what to say to that, fingers twitching in your lap. “and… i’m sorry,” he adds quietly. “about the phone call. the way it ended… that wasn’t how i wanted it to go.” “i know.” “i didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he says. “or backed into a corner. i just—my head was a mess, and i handled it wrong. i’m sorry.” “it’s fine. thank you—thanks for the apology.” and you mean it. he leans back slightly in his chair, exhales through his nose. his fingers trace the rim of his wine glass like he’s trying to occupy them. “i didn’t know if you’d ever want to see me again. after everything.” “i didn’t know either. up until like… three o’clock.” his mouth twitches into something that’s almost a smile. “last-minute decision?” “very,” you say. “bad one, maybe. not sure yet.” “i get it. i wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t shown up.” “i almost didn’t,” you admit. “but then i thought—i don’t know. if i didn’t come, i’d just keep wondering what you wanted to say.” he nods, finally meeting your eyes again. “i wanted to say a lot of things.” “like what?” he hesitates, jaw tightening slightly, like the words are caught somewhere behind his teeth. he exhales, slow and heavy, and leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “i wanted to apologize,” he says. “for how things ended. for—for what i said. for not listening.” “seunghyun—” you start, but he shakes his head. “i didn’t believe you,” he goes on. “and i should have. i should’ve known better—i did know better. but it was easier to be angry than to be scared, and i was so, so fucking scared. scared of being exposed again, of people dragging my name through the mud all over, of losing everything i’d tried to build back up—” “i know. i know, hyun. i understand you. it’s… it’s okay.” it isn’t, though. “and instead of trusting you,” he says, like he didn’t hear you at all, “i panicked. i pushed you away. and i hate myself for it.” you shift in your seat, hands gripping the sides of the chair, aching with the weight of all the things you wish could make this easier. “hyun,” you murmur again, softer now, like saying his name might take the edge off his pain or yours. “you don’t have to—” “i do,” he says. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it… about how fast i let it all go. how fast i let you go. and the worst part is…” he stops, biting down on the inside of his cheek. “the worst part is that i made you think you didn’t matter to me. like it was easy for me to—to cut you off. and it wasn’t. it’s never been easy. it still fucking haunts me.” he pauses. “i just needed you to know that. i needed—i needed to say it to your face.” he exhales shakily, like just getting the words out took something out of him. his eyes stay fixed somewhere past your shoulder, like he’s afraid that meeting yours will make it harder. “and i missed you,” he says quietly. “fuck, i missed you so much.”

the words land somewhere low in your gut, like they’ve been thrown instead of spoken. and for a second, it stings in a sweet way, that traitorous part of your chest aching at the sound of his voice wrapped around something soft again, something that once made you feel safe. but the sweetness evaporates almost instantly, replaced by a sharp kind of heat under your skin, the kind that flares when something touches a bruise you thought had already faded. because you don’t get to miss someone and do nothing about it. not when you’re the one who made it clear, so fucking clear, that it was over. your jaw tightens. because no. no, he doesn’t get to say that. your eyes start to sting, the burn rising fast and sudden behind your lashes. and then, without warning, a single tear slips down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly with the back of your hand. “why didn’t you reach out, then?” he blinks, startled, like he hadn’t expected the question. you sniff once, wipe at your cheek again even though the tear’s already gone. “i waited, you know. for so fucking long. every day, i thought maybe today you’d say something.” you scoff. “but you didn’t. not a word—not until i told you the one thing that finally cleared me.” his lips part like he wants to speak, but you don’t let him. “and now you’re here,” you go on, voice shaking. “saying all the things i used to fantasize about hearing. and don’t get me wrong—it’s nice. it’s—it’s really fucking nice, i needed to hear it. but if i hadn’t sent that message, if i hadn’t broken down and hit send for once instead of just typing and deleting like i always did… would we even be here right now?” you’re not sure what answer you’re hoping for. but you needed to let him know how much it sucked to feel like the only one who kept looking back.

he exhales slowly, eyes falling from yours to the table, like he can’t bear the weight of them. because what you’re saying isn’t just true, but something he’s thought about too, something he’s afraid to admit out loud. “you’re right,” he says, voice low and tight. “you’re right. but i—i wanted to. so many times. but when i thought about saying something, i’d convince myself it would only make it worse. that you didn’t want to hear from me. that you were happier without me.” you stare at him. “you thought i was happy?” “i hoped. because the alternative fucking hurt.” “but you still let me think it was my fault,” you say, voice sharp with disbelief. “you let me sit in that, seunghyun. for months. do you even understand what that did to me?” he doesn’t speak right away—just drags a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to rub the shame off his face. “i know. i know i fucked up.” “you didn’t just fuck up,” you snap. “you abandoned me. you—you went on with your life while i… i lost everything. and all because you couldn’t bring yourself to believe me.” “i wanted to believe you,” he says, a little too desperate now. “i swear to god, i did.” “then why didn’t you?” he looks at you like that question physically hurts him. “you already know. i told you—i told you about han seohee. i’ve been betrayed before, and i just—it felt safer to assume the worst than risk getting hurt again.” “yeah?” you say, and your voice comes out rough, almost trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been trying to swallow. “well guess what, seunghyun—i wasn’t han fucking seohee. i wasn’t anyone but me. your… your girlfriend. and you didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. not even for a fucking second.” his jaw tenses, lips pressing into a thin line like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to speak. “i didn’t ask you to be perfect,” you continue, voice softer now. “i never did. all i wanted was for you to believe me—and you couldn’t do that.” he shakes his head, pained. “it wasn’t about you,” he mutters. “it was about me. my past. my shit. it twisted everything.” you shake your head, the frustration rising even though you don’t want it to. “yeah! and you let it win!” you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly through your nose, trying to collect yourself.

this wasn’t what you intended when you showed up. you really don’t want to raise your voice at him—shit, you weren’t even supposed to get this upset. the last thing you want to do is hurt him. “i moved across the world for you, seunghyun,” you continue, calmer. “i put everything on the line. and the second things got hard, you chose to believe the version of me that fit your fears.” his face falls. “i know,” he whispers. “i know. i thought i was protecting myself—but i should’ve protected you too. i should’ve protected us. all i ever wanted was to keep this thing—what we had—safe.” he sighs. “i’m really, really sorry. for everything.” the interruption comes at just the right time—the server appears, setting down the glass of water with a soft clink. you thank him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and seunghyun gives a nod before the server leaves, the space around you settling into silence again.

you take a sip, the cold water almost jarring against the heat crawling up your throat. the moment stretches, and you know there’s more to say. the conversation isn’t finished—not even close—but your chest already feels too full. it’s too much all at once, and you feel the weight of it pressing down behind your eyes. so, you set the glass back down and glance up at him, forcing your voice to steady and offering the smallest smile you can manage. “i watched squid game,” you say. “you were amazing in it.” his face softens and he lets out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah?” you nod. “yeah. like… really good. i wanted to text you when it dropped but… you know.” yeah, he knows… he had you fucking blocked. seunghyun nods once. “i appreciate that,” he says, voice a little quieter now, like he’s not sure what to do with the softness in your tone. “wasn’t expecting it to do that well, to be honest.” you hum, tracing the rim of your glass with the pad of your finger. “well, people love a villain. especially when he’s funny… and hot.” that pulls a small, surprised laugh out of him, and his cheeks turn red. “well, thank you.” you smile, gaze softening. “i read the interview you made back in january too, by the way.” “oh. did you?” you nod. “yeah.” “you know, i kept wondering what you’d think if you read it. part of me hoped you wouldn’t. the other part hoped you would.” “i did. twice, actually.” you smile faintly. “once when it came out, and again when i was mad at you. to remind myself you were still in there somewhere.” that seems to knock the wind out of him a little. you continue, “i think… i didn’t expect you to be that honest.” “i wasn’t planning to do it, you know,” he says after a pause. “the interview. for years, i thought if i just stayed silent, eventually everyone would forget. but i didn’t forget. i couldn’t.” you study him. “it read like someone who’s been carrying a lot. for a long time.” and you know that better than anyone—because you were there, in the thick of it, helping him through his worst days. his mouth curves, but it isn’t a smile. “yeah.” you let the silence sit for a beat before speaking. “i thought… i thought it was brave. i actually—i felt proud,” you confess. and there it is. the thing you’ve been meaning to tell him ever since everything ended, but couldn’t bring yourself to say until now. “i’m proud of you, hyun.” he feels it—that familiar, overwhelming tightness in his throat. he swallows hard, eyes watering slightly. he nods once. then, he opens his mouth, tries to speak, to say thank you, but his lower lip trembles before the words can form… so he closes it again. and hopes the nod is enough.

his family never said that to him. at least not after his mistakes were exposed. so this—this thing you just gave him, so casually and so fucking sincerely—it hits like a punch to the ribs. and it comes from you. you, who he’d hurt more than anyone else. it comes from someone who knows. someone who was there when he was a shell of himself, someone who saw the worst parts of him and stayed, until he made it impossible for you to do so. his eyes hurt and his throat burns and there’s a tremble in his jaw he can’t quite stop, and still he says nothing, because there’s nothing that would be enough to meet the weight of what you just gave him. “that part you said about the group,” you murmur after a moment, voice a little hesitant now, “how seeing them felt like looking at a photo of a family you’d been separated from…” “that’s exactly what it feels like.” “i know,” you nod, gently. “i’m sure they miss you too. i don’t know if you’ve been in touch with them or—” “i haven’t.” he cuts in quickly, and there’s a finality to it. you don’t push, but you notice the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tenses. there’s even a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face. “sorry. i didn’t mean to bring up something that—i mean, i wasn’t trying to pry. i just thought… maybe after everything, after all these months, it might’ve felt possible. or… i don’t know.” you trail off, suddenly unsure of what you’re even trying to say. maybe part of you just wanted to believe he wasn’t as alone as he used to be. he hums. then, after a moment: “you were the one thing that made that time bearable. everything else was a mess, but with you, it was—” he stops himself, mouth twitching, like the rest of the sentence is too fragile to say out loud. “you didn’t fix it. but you made it hurt less. and i’ve never—i’ve never thanked you for that.” “you didn’t need to. i knew you were thankful.” you pause. “and… i’m not saying the article fixed anything, but it made sense. why you pulled away. i get it more now.” “that doesn’t make it okay.” “no,” you agree, “it doesn’t. but it helps.”

after that, things start to loosen—the conversation shifts slowly, and the air between you starts to feel less dense, less charged with the tension that had been building since the moment you sat down. the heaviness doesn’t vanish, it’s still there but easier to ignore when you’re focused on something else, like the way seunghyun starts tapping his fingers against his glass, or how your knee keeps bouncing under the table because your body hasn’t quite figured out what to do with the weird, awkward comfort of being near him again. it’s not like either of you suddenly forget the months of silence, or the way things ended, or all the shit that never really got said… but eventually, the edge softens, and your mouths start moving for other reasons—comments that aren’t weighed down by anger or guilt, memories that aren’t necessarily painful, and a rhythm that, while still tentative, starts to resemble the way things used to be between you, back before everything got ruined. because at first, you’re both careful—testing the boundaries of what’s okay to say, what’s still too raw to touch—but as time passes and the conversation wanders into safer ground, you find yourself laughing. which then makes him start laughing too, and it feels bizarre and comforting all at once—like your body forgot how easy it used to be to laugh with him, how that sound had once been a constant part of your days. and when he leans back in his chair, a little more at ease, you realize it’s been a long time since you’ve seen seunghyun look like that. it’s still weird. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. it’s weird to be sitting across from him, in real life, hearing his voice without a screen in between, seeing the way he moves and talks and exists like a real fucking person again. there are still moments where it catches you off guard—how familiar this all is, and also how far away it feels from who you were the last time you looked at him like this.

and when he asks, “do you want to go for a walk? brownsville’s botanical garden isn’t far from here. and it’s still open for another hour and a half,” you don’t even pretend to think about it. you just nod, and the look on his face, that flicker of relief, tells you he didn’t expect a yes. his driver’s already waiting outside, like always, and neither of you says much on the way. the ride is short, ten minutes, maybe fifteen. you watch the town pass through the tinted window, and beside you, he’s silent, but not in the closed-off way he used to be when things were bad. it’s a softer kind of silence now, where he’s letting himself be here, in this moment, with you. the botanical garden is smaller than you remember, and it’s mostly empty by the time you get there. as you walk, side by side but not too close—under a pink sky that’s starting to fade into something darker—there’s still a nervous flutter in your stomach, still that ridiculous awareness of where his hand is, of how close it would be if you reached out, but you don’t. because you remember—you remember how fucking much it hurt to lose him, how badly it ended and how long you waited for an apology that never came, until today. and as you both slow near a bench surrounded by wildflowers and a few trees that creak lazily in the warm breeze, he gestures toward it with a quiet nod, and you both sink down into the wooden slats. there’s a few inches between you, enough space to feel the gap and remind you both that no matter how easy the conversation’s been, there’s still a line neither of you has crossed yet. for a moment, you both just sit there, watching the wind tug lazily at the branches, listening to the low hum of cicadas starting up somewhere in the distance. and then, very casually, he asks, “so… is there someone in your life these days?” god—he hates how obvious it probably sounded the second it left his mouth. he doesn’t look at you when he asks, just keeps his gaze forward, like he’s talking to the horizon instead of you, like the question is just curiosity and not the thing he’s been thinking about since the second he saw you again. you glance at him. “yeah,” you say softly, honest because there’s no point in pretending. “i’ve been seeing someone.” oh… it hits him harder than he wants it to. not because he thought you’d been waiting around for him. of course not. he knows better than that. knows he doesn’t have that right. but something about hearing it out loud, from your mouth, in that voice he used to fall asleep to—it makes his stomach twist. you can see it in the way his jaw tightens slightly, and in the way his hands suddenly find his lap, like his body doesn’t quite believe the version of calm he’s trying to sell.

a long silence settles in, and he tells himself not to ask the next question, the one that’s pushing at his throat, but it slips out anyway, “does he know you’re here?” you shake your head. “no.” he turns slightly toward you, brows pulling in just a little. “i never told him,” you add. “about us.” and that fucking stings. “i just said there was someone once. but not who. i wanted to respect your choice, you know… you didn’t want it out there, you wanted to keep it private. and i… i guess i got used to it, too. so… i kept that, even after it ended.” he swallows hard, but doesn’t speak. because what is there to say, really? he sits there, listening to your words settle into the space between you, feeling it again—the shame. seunghyun stares out into the garden with a tight jaw, wondering when exactly he stopped deserving that kind of grace from you—and why you’re still giving it anyway. he stays quiet longer than he should, but he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack under the weight of everything he isn’t saying. and maybe he should let it go—but he can’t. “is he good to you?” he asks. he hates how much he wants to know. hates how pathetic it makes him feel to sit here, asking about a man who has what he used to. what he walked away from. “yeah,” you reply, and your voice is careful. “he’s… he’s kind. he works in construction with his dad—they run their own small company, mostly residential stuff. but we don’t see each other a lot… he’s the kind of guy who’s in bed by ten and up by five, and my schedule’s kind of all over the place too, so… yeah. but it works. things with him are—they’re simple… easy.” you don’t mean it as an insult, but fuck, it lands like one. “that’s good,” he says, and the words feel like gravel in his mouth. he forces them out anyway, and forces himself to nod, like that makes it more believable. “you deserve that.”

seunghyun wonders if this guy knows how you like your coffee, if he knows how you get when you’re overwhelmed—how you play with the hem of your shirt, how your voice gets sharp when you’re scared and how underneath that, you’re just trying not to break into a million pieces. he wonders if this new guy has ever seen you cry, and if he did, whether he knew what the fuck to do with it. if he sat with you in it, or tried to fix it, or made it worse by telling you everything would be okay when he didn’t know shit about what was actually going on inside your head. he wonders if this guy knows how you ramble when you’re tired. if he’s heard the stories you only tell when you’ve had one glass of wine too many, the ones that make you laugh even as you wipe your eyes. if he knows the things you’re afraid of. he wonders if this guy’s ever traced the line of your spine with his fingers just to feel you shiver under him, if he knows how your breath catches before you ever make a sound, how your thighs tense when you’re trying not to beg. does he know how to touch you the way you like? and fuck—does he get to hear you like that? whispering his name, nails in his back, legs shaking, voice breaking around the kind of moan that used to make seunghyun lose his goddamn mind? and then, in the middle of all that wondering, he hates himself a little—for being so fucking jealous.

you must feel the shift in the air too, the way his silence has gone from thoughtful to tense, like he’s holding something back. so you add, “we’re not… dating.” his head turns a little at that, eyes flicking over to you for the first time in minutes. “no?” you shake your head. “i’m not ready for that. not again. it’s been—i’ve been figuring shit out. still am.” he nods slowly. you glance at him, like maybe you’re trying to gauge his reaction, but he gives you nothing. “what about you?” you ask after a moment. “you seeing anyone?” “no.” it comes out fast and flat, like the idea pisses him off. you wait, maybe expecting him to explain, but he doesn’t. so you press, “not even casually?” seunghyun lets out a short, humorless laugh. “what would be the point?” your brows pull together, but you don’t answer. “i’m not exactly great company,” he adds, almost bitter. “and i’m not trying to let anyone close just so they can realize it for themselves.” “you are great company, hyun. don’t say that.” he just scoffs under his breath and shifts on the bench like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin. “yeah, well,” he mutters, “guess that’s not enough anymore.” you turn to look at him. “what?” “nothing.” “no—say it.” you’re watching him now, fully turned toward him, and he can feel it—the weight of your stare, the tension in your voice. he shakes his head. “you’re here, telling me you’ve got someone, and—i don’t know, it’s just… i don’t know.” “you asked, seunghyun.” “i know. i just—i wasn’t expecting that answer.” you blink at him. “so what? you ask me if i’m seeing someone, and now you’re pissed that i answered you honestly?” “i’m not pissed,” he lies, and you both know it. “don’t lie to me. i know you better than anyone—” “do you love him?” he asks, and the question comes out so suddenly, so bluntly, it knocks the air out of your lungs. “no,” you say, after a beat. “i don’t love him. if i did, i wouldn’t be here.” he nods, like that’s what he wanted to hear, but the tightness in his mouth doesn’t ease. “okay.” “what do you want me to say, seunghyun?” you ask, keeping your voice even, though it’s getting harder. “that i waited around? that i haven’t touched anyone since you left? is that what you were hoping for?” “i wasn’t hoping for anything,” he snaps. you raise an eyebrow. “sure.”

he exhales, a short, frustrated breath, and leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirt path between his shoes. because the truth is—he was hoping for that. he was hoping you’d tell him that, even after all this time, you were still a little bit his. and hearing otherwise—he doesn’t know what to do with that. doesn’t know how to sit across from you like it doesn’t matter when it feels like it’s fucking tearing him apart—sitting here, stewing in his own mess, wanting things he let go of, wishing you’d stayed stuck when all you ever did was survive the damage he left behind. every twisted part of him that wants you to be okay, also wants you to still need him. he’s so, so fucking selfish. and you’re right, of course. every word. his hands curl into fists. his vision blurs. he doesn’t mean to start crying, but it happens anyway. fuck. he takes his glasses off and drags a hand over his face, hoping you won’t say anything, hoping maybe you’ll look away long enough for him to get it under control. but he can’t. “i’m sorry,” he chokes out. “i’m sorry i’m acting like this. i just—i didn’t think it would feel like this. seeing you. i thought i could handle it, and i can’t.” his throat aches. he wipes at his face again, furious at himself for crying, for falling apart in front of you, for being nine months too late. “seunghyun—“

his name barely leaves your mouth before he’s crumbling again, shoulders shaking. you slide across the bench, closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around him, firmly. he tenses at first, like he doesn’t know what to do with the comfort, and then he just folds into you. his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears, breath shuddering against your skin, and your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head instinctively. “i’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over again. “fuck, i’m so sorry. i fucked everything up.” you close your eyes, heart aching with the weight of it. “i ruined it,” he says again, voice cracking. “i ruined us.” “it’s not your fault.” “it is.” “no—you were just scared. my mom’s the one who put us in this situation. and yeah, you hurt me but i—i forgive you, hyun. you’re forgiven, okay?” you hold him tighter, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady because maybe if you stay calm, he’ll remember how to do the same. and for a while, he just cries. you haven’t seen him like this in a long time—haven’t seen him break this hard, this openly, not since the first time he told you he didn’t know how to live with himself. or the nights he’d curl into you, silent and shaking, too proud to sob until his body gave him no other choice.

when the worst of it passes—when the sobs begin to slow and his breathing evens out—he leans back and sniffles, avoiding your eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black cloth—one of those soft ones he always carried for his glasses, or for sweat when he was anxious. he dabs at his face, wiping away the tears first, then pressing it against his temples and the back of his neck. he’s sweating like hell, his hair damp, the collar of his sweater sticking slightly to his skin. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse. “i’m a mess.” you reach for the cloth gently, fingers brushing his as you take it from him, and he doesn’t resist. “let me.” you wipe the tears from under his eyes first, careful and slow, then run the cloth lightly across his forehead, down to his cheeks, around the curve of his jaw. your other hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him. “you’re okay,” you murmur. “just breathe.” he nods, throat moving as he swallows hard. and then, after a long pause, with a voice that’s barely there he says, “i… i still love you.” you freeze, the cloth limp in your hand, your breath catching mid-air. did you hear that right? and then, quieter, he adds, “i don’t think i’ve ever loved someone as much.” yeah, you heard that right. your heart stumbles in your chest and you sit there, watching him. he won’t meet your eyes now, like saying it took the last of whatever strength he had left. his shoulders are hunched, jaw tight like he’s bracing for rejection even before it comes. he looks younger like this, and older too, worn down by months of pretending he was okay, of convincing himself he didn’t still ache for you every fucking day. and you love him. oh, you love this man so fucking much… you wish you didn’t sometimes, wish it didn’t still hurt. you place the cloth down carefully in your lap and reach out without thinking, your hand brushing the side of his face, fingers sliding into his hair like muscle memory. and he leans into it. you let your hand fall to his jaw, thumb gently swiping along the damp edge of it. “i love you too, hyun,” you say. “i never stopped.”

his shoulders shake, and you can tell he’s holding back again, trying not to fall apart a second time. you take his hand in yours. “you said… you said that you missed me. earlier. and the truth is… i missed you too,” you whisper, voice low and breaking now. “i missed everything—us. i tried to forget all of it and i couldn’t. i didn’t want to.” his fingers twitch under yours and he grips your hand tighter. you can feel how warm his skin is, how clammy his palm’s gone from the crying and the heat and all the fucking emotion, but you don’t let go. you just hold on, because this is the first time in months you’ve both said the truth out loud, and if it’s going to hurt, you’d rather it hurt with him right there beside you. his eyes are glassy, and you can tell he’s struggling to find the words. “i used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking you were still next to me,” he says. “and every single time it hit me that you weren’t, it felt—” he stops himself, rubbing a hand over his chest to stop it from aching. “i missed you so much it made me sick sometimes.” and you believe him. because you know that feeling. you remember what it felt like to lie awake with your back to the wall, trying to sleep in a bed that felt too big and too cold, your hand unconsciously reaching for a body that wasn’t there anymore. you remember the mornings you’d open your eyes and forget, just for a second, that he was gone—and how that second was always worse than the rest of the day combined. but sitting here now, his hand still trembling slightly in yours, all you can think is: we can’t go back. “i love you,” you say. “and i want to be with you, seunghyun. i want—hell, i’d spend the rest of my life with you.” your voice cracks on the last word, and your chest pulls tight as the tears finally spill over. “and i mean it. but… what would change?”

he’s silent. not because he doesn’t know what to say—but because he knows exactly what he’d like to say, and none of it would be true. “i can’t go back to hiding,” you continue before he can speak. “i can’t—i don’t want to be that girl again.” he closes his eyes for a second, then nods. “i know.” “but i also know…” you exhale, voice shaking, “i know that’s all you can offer me right now.” he shifts slightly, like he wants to argue. “that’s not—” “there’s no point in lying, seunghyun.” he runs a hand over his mouth, pained. “i could—maybe, in a few months, if things calm down—” “you and i both know that’s not how it works,” you say, cutting him off gently. “a few months won’t change the industry. or the people watching you. it won’t suddenly make us easy. and you know, seunghyun… you know a few months is unrealistic. and i don’t wanna—i don’t wanna wait in the shadows anymore. i won’t do it. i promised that to myself.” he sighs, long and defeated. “yeah. i know—i’m sorry. i just… i didn’t think i’d be getting this much attention again. after everything. the interviews, the show… it’s all been more than i expected. and it could get to you too, for the wrong reasons—” “i know,” you nod. “i know. and i get it, i really do. i’ve already deleted half my socials because of the harassment i got when it was just a rumor, and that wasn’t even real to them.” his face falls, shame coloring every line of it. “i’m sorry about that, too.” “yeah,” you murmur. “it’s fine. or—it’s not, but… it happened. those months were awful. but they’re behind me now.” he watches you for a long second, then says, “if we’d been closer in age, maybe it wouldn’t have been so complicated.” you smile, even though your lower lip is trembling slightly. “yeah. maybe it would’ve been easier.” the world outside won’t stop pressing in, and the timing keeps pulling you apart before you even get the chance to hold each other properly. “i hate this,” he whispers. “i hate that we finally said everything and it still isn’t enough.” “me too,” you say, sniffing. “but love isn’t the problem. it never was.” he nods slowly, and you know he’s holding back more tears.

you look at him—his swollen eyes, the slight tremble in his mouth that mirrors your own—and for a moment, you wish you could be selfish. you wish you could say fuck it, go back with him, crawl into the warmth of what could’ve been, and pretend that love alone is enough. but you can’t. “maybe you were right,” you say, trying to laugh through the tears, your voice catching halfway through. “maybe breaking up was the right thing to do. for both of us.” oh… the way his heart drops when he hears that—how much he wishes he could take those words back. how much he regrets ever saying them in the first place. how much he’s begged time, in every quiet moment since, to let him go back and rewrite your story. but it’s useless. it didn’t feel right then, and it sure as hell doesn’t now. you’re all he ever wanted. you’re all he wants. and deep down, he knows—you always will be. and it fucking kills him. it kills him to know that loving you isn’t the question—he does. with everything. the question is what to do with that love, now that it can’t go anywhere. because if you tried again… if you gave in to the ache and the want and the desperation—nothing would really change. you’d end up right back here. except next time, you’d be even more broken. “if i were braver,” he starts, “if i was different—” “don’t,” you cut in. “don’t do that. you don’t need to be a different person, hyun,” you say softly. “you just need a different life. and you don’t have that right now—and maybe you never will. but it’s okay.” “how can it be?” he says, and there’s a crack in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “how the fuck is it okay to want something this badly and still have to let it go?” you let out a shaky breath and look down at your lap. “we can’t change it. this. it’s… it’s not okay—fuck, i know it’s not. but it’s what we have.”

he goes quiet again, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, tears still hanging in his lashes. you both sit in it. the sadness. the weight of every missed chance, every wrong timing, every choice that brought you to this bench. “if there’s another life,” you murmur, “maybe we find our way back to each other there.” he nods. “maybe,” he says, and you know he’s picturing it too. the could-have-beens. the should-haves. the soft life you never got to live. but not this one. he’s quiet for a while after that, like he’s still standing in that other life you just painted with your words—still walking through it in his mind, holding your hand in a version of the world where things were easier. and then his voice cuts through the silence, “but i don’t want to lose you in this life, either.” and before you can say anything, he adds, “do you think we could… i don’t know—be friends?” you turn to look at him, and he’s watching you carefully, not with expectation but with something closer to fear. he’s afraid you’ll say no, afraid you’ll cut the thread that still tethers you to him, even if it’s frayed and worn and barely holding. but you smile a little. it’s small and sad, but a smile after all. “yeah. i think we could.” he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “maybe not right now,” you add gently. “maybe we give it some time. let it stop hurting so much. but yeah… eventually, i’d like that.” he nods again, eyes flicking toward you like he’s trying to memorize your face in this exact light, with this exact expression—still full of love. “i just don’t want to lose you completely.” “you won’t,” you say. and it’s the one thing you can promise. “you’re too much a part of me now, hyun, you always will be. we’ll figure it out.”

the gravel crunches quietly under your shoes. the path back through the garden is dim now, the sun completely dipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky painted in that deep, rich blue, settling into dusk. every now and then, you glance at seunghyun in your periphery—his hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, like he’s trying to hold on to every last moment of this without showing it. you walk without touching, without speaking, but everything between you is loud. and then, just before the path curves toward the iron gate that separates the quiet of this place from the rest of the world, you stop. “seunghyun,” you say, his name barely above a whisper. he turns to you slowly, like he already knows what’s coming, like he’s been waiting for it without letting himself hope. you reach up with both hands and cradle his face—thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones, your fingers slipping into the soft, familiar edges of his hair. his breath catches, his eyes flicker, and then they fall shut just as your mouth finds his. his hands are on you within seconds—your waist, your back, the side of your neck, fucking everywhere. he kisses you back hard, full of need and every word he didn’t know how to say earlier. you make a soft sound against his mouth, one he swallows greedily, pulling you closer, gripping the fabric at your back like he doesn’t trust the world not to rip you away. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan, and when he groans against your mouth, his tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss. he kisses you hungrily. because he knows this is the last moment he’ll get to remember what it feels like to be wanted by you. his hands slide up your sides, and then one of them cups your face, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. your heart stutters in your chest at how tender it is—how fucking unfair it is that someone can love you this gently and still not be yours. you kiss him deeper, your tongue meeting his, your mouth opening wider like maybe if you just give enough of yourself, it’ll keep him for a little longer. but eventually, it has to stop. your hands loosen in his hair, and his grip on you falters. you pull away first, even though it feels like tearing something out of your own chest. you’re both panting, and your lips are swollen. “sorry,” you whisper. “i just… i needed to do that one last time.” you close your eyes and let your hand rest over his chest, right where his heart is pounding beneath your palm—fast and uneven, like yours. “i needed it too,” he says quietly. you both feel it settle deep in your bones—that quiet, devastating truth: the kiss was goodbye. to everything you were and everything you’ll never be again.

by the time you make it back to your friend’s apartment, the sky has already folded into itself, navy and thick. you step inside, the house dim and quiet, the hallway lit only by the warm spill of light coming from the kitchen where your friend’s probably left a candle burning. you move through the space like you’re not really there. your shoes come off, your jacket lands somewhere near a chair you don’t look at, and you’re halfway down the hall toward the living room with that hollow, buzzing emptiness ringing in your ears—when your phone vibrates once. and you think, for a stupid second, that maybe it’s him. but no. instead, it’s your banking app, and there on your screen, as casual as if someone had just venmoed you for last week’s pizza, is a deposit—an absurd amount of money, like… frankly ridiculous amount—and next to it, the name. choi seunghyun. you stare at it for a second, not really processing it, your brain taking its sweet time catching up, and when it finally does, you quickly message him.

seunghyun

WHAT THE FUCK

what

why

wtf

what the actual fuck

You told me you were staying with your friend while looking for a place.

I thought it might help.

are you crazy?

wtf

this is insane, hyun

It’s nothing🙂

it’s NOT nothing wtf

you wired me enough to pay rent for a year

maybe more

no, no, definitely more

way more

what part of that feels normal to you

this is so much money, what were you thinking

I was thinking you deserved it.

i don’t need you to take care of me like that

i’m not your responsibility

You’re not.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you however I can.

it’s too much, hyun

So is everything I feel for you.

i don’t know if i can accept it

Please do.

Friends help each other, don’t they?

i’m being so frl rn old man

Me too, princess.

are u trying to make me cry?💔 be honest

We’ve cried enough today.

I want you to be happy, so please let me do this for you.

thank you seunhyun, really

Of course🫰🏼

i love you

I love you too.

Take care❤️

you too :)

you press the phone to your chest, close your eyes, and sigh. and maybe it’s dramatic to cry over a money transfer, but here you are. not because you need the money, but because you know, this is the only way he knows how to take care of you now—by giving you something tangible and useful in his absence. and that hurts.

it’s been two years since that last conversation with seunghyun—two whole years since that kiss in the garden, since the deposit, since his last message sat in your phone. life didn’t stop after him. it moved forward the way time always does—slow. and eventually, you did too. you moved out of your friend’s place not long after meeting seunghyun—gave yourself permission to look at listings just slightly outside your price range, to stop filtering by ‘cheapest first,’ to imagine something more. and when you found it—a corner apartment on the top floor of a building, all warm wood and tall windows and soft morning light—you said yes. it’s not huge, but it’s beautiful. clean lines, a little balcony that overlooks the street, a kitchen that makes you want to cook even when all you know how to make is pasta… it’s the first place you’ve ever lived that feels like it was meant for you. and yeah, sometimes you think about seunghyun—you think about how he gave this to you. but mostly, you think about how you made it into something your own.

you also dropped the guy you’d been seeing back then and focused on yourself. let yourself learn how to be alone. you got a new job too—something better, something steadier. it pays well, and you don’t come home every night feeling like you’ve been scraped raw, which is more than you used to ask for. things with your mom are better now, or at least better than they used to be. she calls every week, asks about work (because that’s her favorite topic), sometimes even about your mood, and it’s clear she’s trying. but the thing that still sticks in your throat, the thing you can’t seem to move past, is that she’s never actually said she was sorry. she speaks like it was a necessary evil, like leaking your relationship to the press was some calculated decision made for your protection, not a betrayal that burned through your entire life. and maybe if she showed even a flicker of regret—real regret—you’d be able to meet her halfway. but without that, there’s only so far you can go.

you’re not healed. but you’re okay. you wake up most mornings without feeling like you’re drowning, you go to work, make dinner, fold laundry while music plays in the background. you laugh with friends and sleep through the night more often than not. and your screen time is down 12% this week—so, progress. that has to count for something. but some nights, when it’s quiet in your apartment and the city hums softly outside your window, you think of seunghyun. you wonder where he is, if he’s okay, if he ever sees something and thinks of you. you wonder if he’s happy, if he’s sleeping well, if his hands still tremble when he’s anxious or if someone else has learned how to hold them steady. and sometimes, you stare at the ceiling too long, or catch yourself holding your breath when a memory slips through—and it still surprises you, how much he lives in the smallest, stupidest things. because no matter how much distance time gives you, there are people who never really leave. and seunghyun, no matter how far away he is now—he’s one of them.

so when his name lights up your phone one random thursday evening two years later—you almost fall off your bed.

Hi.

Sorry if this is weird.

I was looking through my gallery and I found this.

it’s a photo taken from above—his arm stretched out enough to fit both of you into the frame, the angle slightly off-center. you’re completely out, fast asleep on top of him, arms loosely wrapped around his waist like you were trying to merge with him in your sleep. your cheek is smushed against the ridiculous pajama top—the one he bought for himself first, then ordered a second one for you when he realized how cute you’d look matching. yes, the infamous pajama set that everyone and their mother saw after your mom leaked everything. his hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, but his face is soft—eyes shining even in the low light of the room, a sleepy grin on his face.

Turns out, the picture those fans took of us wasn’t the only one we had.

I hope life’s treating you nicely🫰🏼

and something about it—about him still having that photo, still thinking of you enough to send it—makes you smile. you write back faster than you thought you would.

omg seunhyun!!! hii!!

when did you take that photo? and why didn’t u tell me about it?😭

I took it when you came to Seoul for my birthday.

I forgot I took it.

You woke up right after hahah😴😄

it’s sooo sooo cute🥹

It is😊

How are you?

i’m good :)) but a bit tired because i’ve been helping my friend paint her house and it’s been a lot of work

my arms are so sore😭

what about you?

you doing okay?

Yes! I’m good.

I missed talking to you.

me too :)) and i’m glad to know you’re doing well!

I also wanted to know if you’d like to go for a coffee next week?

I wanted to fly to Texas to see you.

We could catch up.

If you want to, of course🙂

yesss ofc, i’d love to :)🩷

i’m really happy you reached out

been thinking about you a lot, honestly

You have?

more than i’d like to admit hahah

i was wondering how you were doing :)

I’ve thought about you too.

And I’m really looking forward to seeing you😊

me too🙂‍↕️

I’ll send you the details once everything’s booked, is that okay?

yeah, sure, that sounds perfect :)

See you soon🫰🏼

when the day finally comes, there’s a quiet nervousness in your chest—not the kind that makes your hands shake, but the kind that hums beneath your skin. you don’t know what to expect. it’s been two years. whole seasons, whole versions of yourself have passed since you last stood in front of him. you’ve changed. you’ve grown. but some things stay. he’s waiting outside the café when you arrive—hands in his coat pockets, hair a little longer. and the second your eyes meet, he smiles. and you smile back, like no time has passed at all. the conversation flows without effort. you don’t even notice your coffee going cold—you’re too busy talking and laughing like it hasn’t been two years. and you don’t try to stop the feeling that rushes in, that warm, aching knowing in your chest that says, yeah. it’s still him. even after everything. it’s still seunghyun. you don’t know what’s going to happen next, and for once, that doesn’t scare you. you just let the moment be what it is, suspended in something that feels a lot like peace. because maybe this is it. maybe you don’t need another life to find your way back to each other—you already do in this one.

i hope this lived up to your expectations for part 2 :) i genuinely did the best i could. i’ve spent so much time on this fic and gotten so attached to everything about it that it doesn’t even feel like something i made up anymore?? like someone out there is living through it and suffering bc of seunghyun fr… my brain fully believes it atp😭

thank you so much for all the support you’ve shown to this fic, and for all the kind messages i’ve been getting because of it—i seriously wasn’t expecting it at all 🥹💗

regular taglist: @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @infinetlyforgotten @bettelaboure @scream-queen-25 @flwerangii

hidden pt.2 taglist: @ulquiorraswife @rubyylovestoread @youlikeex @liv2cool

[hockeyfantasies]

where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me

Summary | Although you and Quinn aren't together anymore, that doesn't mean you two miss each other.

Warnings | none

Author's Note | This can be read as a part 2 from this imagine.

Being a famous actress has made you well known throughout the world. When you dated Quinn Hughes for two years, you were well known in the hockey world. However, due to complicated schedules, you two decided to take a break. That was until you were asked to give the James Norris Memorial Trophy at the NHL Awards in Vegas.

“Are you nervous to see Quinn again?” Your best friend asked you.

“A little.”

“Have you talked to him since you were asked to present?” She asked you.

“Quinn actually reached out to me first.”

“Oooh! What did he say?” Your best friend asked.

“He asked to meet me a day before the show.”

“Then you better look hot if you’re gonna see him again.”

“I know! I’m hoping everything goes well.”

You landed in Vegas a day before the show so you can practice what you were going to say and to see Quinn. Luckily for the both of you, you two were at the same hotel. You had texted Quinn your room number so he could visit you.

There was a knock on your door making you walk over to open it. You smiled softly as Quinn stood in front of you.

"Hey," Quinn smiled softly at you.

"Hi."

"Do you want to get some food and talk?" Quinn asked.

"I'd like that," you say. "Just let me grab my purse."

The restaurant downstairs wasn't too crowded so you two were able to get a booth and talk alone.

"How have you been?" Quinn asked.

"I've been good. I finished filming Outer Banks and my new movie," you tell him.

"That's good."

"How are you? I've seen some games when I have time but other than that, how are you?" You asked him.

"I'm doing good as well."

"Are you nervous for tomorrow?" You asked.

"A little."

"You'll be fine," you smile at him.

"I want to apologize for what happened."

"Quinn. We both agreed to take a break," you tell him.

"I know. But I should've fought for us. I didn't want us to break up," Quinn said.

"I think it was for the best. We were busy and I'm not mad at you. I still love you."

"I still love you too,” Quinn says. “Should we talk about getting back together?”

“Why don’t we wait until after you get your award.”

“What makes you think that I’m gonna win?”

“I have a very strong feeling.”

To no surprise, the media found out about your little outing was was spreading the rumor that you and Quinn could potentially get back together. However, it was quickly shut down by your team to avoid any controversy if Quinn were to win after you presented the award.

The day of the award ceremony, you took a couple of pictures on the carpet before meeting with Quinn.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“Hey.”

“You look nice,” you complimented.

“You look better than me,” Quinn complimented back.

“Ms. L/n. You’re needed backstage,” one of the show runners tells you.

“I have to go. But I’ll be secretly rooting for you,” you tell him with a smile.

“Thanks.”

Quinn watched with his brothers and parents from the seats as the show went on. Then came you to present the James Norris Award.

Quinn smiled happily as he watched you on stage. You introduced Lindsey Null who donated her kidney to Aaron Portzline, a sports writer. You stepped to the side for her to let her speak. Then it was time to introduce the nominees for the James Norris trophy.

You watched the nominee video, feeling giddy the moment you saw Quinn's introduction. You took the envelope with the winner's name while Lindsey took the trophy.

“The James Norris goes to...” you say before opening the envelope to read the name. Your eyes lit up in surprise as you saw the winner. “Quinn Hughes!”

You watched as Quinn hugged his family and friends before coming up on stage to you. Instead of shaking your hand, he pulls you into a hug before giving you a quick kiss.

“Meet me afterwards?” He asked quickly.

“Yeah,” you smile and nod. He shook Lindsey's hand before coming to the microphone to give his speech.

“I wish I got a kiss too,” Lindsey joked. You giggled before hiding your blushing face.

After Quinn's speech, he took a step away from the microphone to look at you. You smiled at him as he waited for you as you walked towards him to head backstage. He held his hand out for you which you gladly took.

"I'm so proud of you," you tell him.

"Thank you. I'm really glad you're here with me for this," Quinn tells you.

"Me too. You go do what you need to do and I will be waiting for you at the after party," you tell him, kissing his cheek.

Twitter and media outlets had blown up about you two when they saw Quinn kiss you live at the show.

Twitter user: omg! are they back together again?!

l/nstanforever: love is real again!!!!!

hockeyluver: Quinn Hughes running up to kiss Y/N L/N are goals!!!

hockeyswiftie: WHERE'S THE TROPHY, HE JUST COMES RUNNING OVER TO ME IS LITERALLY Y/N AND QUINN HUGHES RN

During Quinn’s interviews, he was hit with the question that everyone was asking.

“Are you and actress Y/n L/n back together based on the kiss you gave her on stage?” The interviewer asked. Quinn let out a chuckle.

“I’m not gonna say anything about that just yet,” Quinn said, avoiding the question so he could have a chance to talk to you about what you both were.

“Do you still have feelings for her?”

“Of course I do. She’s an amazing person. But like I said, I don’t want to say anything about that just yet.”

At the after party, you caught up with Jack and Luke before Quinn pulled you away to talk privately.

“So I’m guessing you want to get back together now?” You joked to Quinn as you sat on a couch.

“I want us to be. I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Now that I’ve finished with filming, I can be with you more and hopefully I can film more in Vancouver,” you tell Quinn.

“I’d like that.”

“So, you wanna party since you won?” You asked, standing up.

"Yeah. Do you want to go on a date with me once we leave Vegas?" Quinn asked you.

"I'd like that. But for now, let's celebrate your win," you smiled as you pulled him back to the party.

[bigbigpushes]

Dream a Little Dream…

She had never felt as beautiful as she did now, Eve was thirty nine weeks and four days pregnant, her belly large and low, awaiting the arrival of her baby. The early stages of labour had begun early that morning, and while she was still in for quite the wait, Eve was excited, knowing the time was coming.

“Stars shining bright above you, Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"” She sang beneath her breath, pacing slowly around her bedroom. She looked over and saw Jesse, smiling at her from the bed. The two of them had started off as friends with benefits, vowing for some fun, sex without any strings, but a broken condom had left them with the biggest string of all. Discovering she was pregnant, Eve had known right away that she would be keeping the baby, she has always wanted kids, as had Jesse so him wanting to be involved hadn’t ever been in question. Over the months, as Eve’s belly grew, as did their relationship, turning into true, genuine love.

“I love when you sing.” Eve smiled over at Jesse, holding out her hand to him as her muscles began to squeeze at her uterus, the second he was close enough, her arms were wrapping around him, as his were her. They rocked together, like a slow dance as Eve breathed through the contraction. “Six minutes, honey.” He whispered in her ear and she pressed her face into his chest with a sigh. “We should call the midwife.” She told him, knowing it was time.

As Jesse moved off to make the call, Eve took the chance to strip down, feeling far too warm, the evening spring breeze coming in from the open window helping slightly. Leaving her clothing in a pile by the end of the bed, she walked towards the mirror, wanting to take in the sight of her pregnant body once last time. “Birds singing in a sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me.” She sung a little more as her hands moved over her belly up to her breasts and back again, dancing over each stretch mark before coming to rest against the underside of her bump. Her body had changed so much in the last thirty nine weeks, something she was still in awe of.

Hands wrapped around her, resting atop of her own as Jesse stepped behind her, pressing kisses to her neck. “She’s on her way.” He whispered into her ear as she turned around to kiss him. “This is the last time it’ll just be the two of us.” Her voice was full of excitement, she was more than ready to meet their child.

Time passed, the last bit of daylight left now turned to night as Eve paced the hallway of their townhouse. Contractions were four minutes apart now and getting stronger. “Hmmmmmmngh!” Eve braced herself with her hands against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain. “Feels like he’s going to fall out of me!” She shouted, there was a bulging pressure between her legs, one that kept growing with each squeeze. She heard her midwife, Maggie chuckle quietly as she looked between her legs. “That’ll be your waters, love.” Eve laughed at herself, trying to catch her breath as the pain passed. “It’ll likely break within the next few contractions.”

Humming to herself, Eve was in her own world leaving Maggie and Jesse to watch her as she paced some more, unable to stay still for too long as her body worked. “I need to get into the shower.” She said suddenly, moving towards the bathroom to get the water going. Her birthing partners followed behind her, Jesse coming to stand beside her as a comical splash was heard. They all laughed while Eve let out a sigh of relief, her waters breaking giving her some momentary relief from the pressure.

Stepping under the spray of the water, she let it hit her aching back for some time before she shifted down into a squat. “Ohhh, he’s close.” She groaned, the tightening building once more. Before she had managed to get through the contraction just by breathing, or moaning quietly, now the pain was building in intensity, along with each groan and grumble.

She stayed in the shower until the water began to cool, getting out and moving straight into Jesses waiting arms. Eve let him run a soft towel over her skin, removing the moisture before he lead her into the bedroom, it had been planned for months that that would be where she delivered.

Before Eve knew it, contractions felt as if they were coming without a second between them. Kneeling on some pillows beside the bed, her knuckles were turning white from how tight her grip was on the blanket. “Hnnnnnngh! I have to push. Oh, god, he’s coming!” She couldn’t resist, the urge far too strong as she bared down, her body knowing it was time.

“You’re doing do good, honey.” Jesse was sat to her side, rubbing her back and brushing her hair from her face. The contraction passed and without a word, Eve tugged on his hand, pulling him behind her as Maggie checked her dilation. “Head is moving down nicely, you’ll be drowning before you know it.”

With a nod of her head, Eve shifted into a squat once more, Jesse moving quickly to help support her. “I want to catch the baby.” She insisted, another contraction building. “I’m catching… nggghhhhhhh!” She was cut off as the pain grew, the pressure taking over as she pushed. “Ohh, fuck!” She cried out, feeling her labia stretch against the head.

The contraction ended and the head slipped back, Eve letting out a whimper. “It’s okay, love. You’re making wonderful progress.” Maggie assured her. She took the short amount of time she had to catch her breath and have a few sips of water before she was going again through the next few contractions.

Eve had heard and read about the ring of fire, but never could she have expected exactly how it would feel as she panted, allowing herself to stretch some more. It felt like an eternity before she could push again, watching as the head slowly came out. Her hands were guided between her legs to support it, Maggie just there to help so that Eve could have the delivery she wanted. “Look at all that hair.” Jesse whispered behind her, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead.

“Almost here.” She felt energised, determined in a way she never had as her body squeezed and she let out a loud roar as she pushed the shoulders out, breathing heavily before she gave one last push, delivering their baby into her waiting hands and bringing him up to her bare chest.

With shaky legs, she let Jesse help move her to the bed as he sat behind her and pulled her to his chest. “It’s a boy.” Eve whispered, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as they took in the sight of their son, Eve quietly singing to him, knowing that he was finally here. “In your dreams whatever they be, Dream a little dream of me.”

[tenderbeck]

You suffer, too (and it’s all my fault)

── ❦・⸝⸝ pairing: fiend!sylus x sorceress!mc

── ❦・⸝⸝ genre: angst, nsfw for gore thematics, MDNI

── ❦・⸝⸝ word count: 1.7k

── ❦・⸝⸝ tags: hanahaki disease, not really the same just inspired by it so it's my own version, blood and gore, it's not the main focus but it's there, angst with an happy ending, i mean it's inspired by sylus' myth so do the math for the after ending :"), implied future character death

── ❦・⸝⸝ links: ao3, x thread

── ❦・⸝⸝ summary: Sylus is sick. He doesn't need a diagnosis, he already knows what he has. This curse is present in his kin's blood since the beginning of time. He is cursed with love, and love is going to get him killed. Two bloodied hands engulf his heart, squeeze it and then throw it on the ground to let it rot there. Even if his heart is all cut and bruised, it faintly follows the beat of hers. But oh, isn't death sweet when it comes from the tenderest touch?

this is my only lads account, i'll only post my writings here, on ao3 and x NOT IN ANY OTHER BLOGS / ACCOUNTS

── ❦・⸝⸝ author's note: hi baby bats!! this is the first fic i've written in the LaDS' fandom (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) the glasses with the rose in promise inspired me so much i had to write something about it, so here we are with my own version of hanahaki disease. english is not my first language so please bear with the eventual mistakes.

In a world where the one who loves coughs petals, the beloved suffers too.

He discovered his disease just like that. One day he was fine, or, at least, as fine as someone chained up for eternity could be, then she came into the picture. First, she unchained him, then she gave him a name. His name. She occupied every corner of his den with her scent. A glimpse of her shadow alone could make him feel like he found the most precious jewel in the world and he wanted to add her to his collection, whom he guarded jealously.

Then he discovered the first sign. He felt something stuck in his throat and, when he coughed, a red petal came out of his mouth. He was confused but decided to disregard it: he hoped it was a coincidence.

Then it became a daily occurrence, coughing petals whenever he thought of her. It was becoming so evident that now even she knew something was wrong. “We should look this up” she said one day. When she sang for him, they remained out to observe the stars together but his coughing became unbearable. “I can search some sorcery books about this, it seems like some type of enchantment is involved”. “You don’t have to worry your pretty head about this kitten, I’ve got it under control” replied Sylus. He knew exactly what it was but it couldn’t be possible. He wasn’t capable of feeling human emotions.

Right?

Then, one day, when he was checking his treasures, he heard it. “Sylus?” there was confusion in her voice, but the first thing he noticed was hurt. She was hurting. He whipped his head around and paled when he saw her: tears were streaming down her face from one eye, and the other… “Please Sylus, tell me I’m dreaming”. A rose stemmed from her left eye and it was dripping blood. It looked painful and it was all his fault. He rushed to her side and cupped her face to inspect her eye: the illness was at the last stage, but how? It couldn’t be possible, unless…

“Sylus please tell me what’s happening to me” she said while sniffling. “First you coughing petals, now this” she put a hand over his arm “I– I cant see from my left eye”. She looked up at him, her expression was distraught “it hurts so much”. “Sweetie, I–“ he sighed, almost trembling, then took her hand and guided her to his bedding to sit down and she followed him like a lost puppy.

Oh, who has his fierce sorceress become? First a lioness, now a scared house cat. He needed to fix this as soon as possible. He needed to have her back.

As they sat, he began to speak “kitten, I know you’re hurting” he gently stoked her right cheek “but now listen to my story, it’s important that you understand what it’s going to happen and why”. She nodded, tears and blood still streaming down her face. “In my kin there’s a curse as old as time” he started, looking at her “to deter us from becoming weak, we are born with this illness, which consists in coughing rose petals when…” he averted his gaze, he couldn’t muster to say it. How could he say that to her? But looking at her expectant face, where he found so much hope, he had to find the courage to say it. To admit it.

“When?” she asked, drying a bloody tear fallen from the rose nestled in her eye. He took a deep breath, coughed some petals again, and then answered “when one of my kin is feeling emotions. Human emotions”. “Which emotions are you feeling that make you so sick? Your coughing is getting worse” she said preoccupied.

Even in a situation like this, she could find the strength to worry for him.

“And what that has to do with my eye?” she said, confusion evident on her features. Sylus gently stroked her face and continued “that’s the other part, this illness also infects the person to whom these emotions are directed”. It was hard to admit it, but if he wanted to save himself (her) he had to say it all. Even if it meant admitting he was feeling something that his kind never even once felt.

“And which is the emotion that you’re directing to me?” she took his hand and waited, tears and blood still evident on her ethereal face.

“It’s love, kitten” Sylus finally had the courage to say. To admit to himself. “It’s love that I’m feeling”. She looked at him as if he grew two heads, and he might as well have given the way he was feeling.

Feeling, such a strange thing for a fiend.

“What? Love?” by her tone, he feared she was scared or worse, repulsed by him. But she tightened her grip on his hand, as if she was scared he’d let her go.

He could never.

“Yes sweetie. I fear my love for you has led to our demise.”

“But how could it happen in one night?” she asked again, ever the curious kitten. “I mean… you started to cough several weeks ago, why has the rose appeared now?”. Sylus thought for a bit, and then answered “the only explanation I can give you is that, given its sudden appearance and the stage of the illness,” he stroked the rose’s petals as he spoke “you’re in love with me too”. She was astonished, but he caught some red tinting her cheeks. He smirked, figuring that some playfulness could sweeten the thing he had to say later. “I am right, aren’t I, kitten?”. She looked at his face, then at their intertwined hands, and then at him again “I think you’ve carved a spot in my heart that has become too big to ignore”.

He gently smiled at her, knowing how this will turn out in the end. But he didn’t care now. As he looked at her face, the first thing he wanted to do was to get rid of this rose. As he finished this thought, she grimaced and the rose started dripping bloody tears again. She tried to dry them with her hand, but the result was only blood smearing on her face. He must admit that, even in this state, all covered in blood and hurting, she still looked fierce. She still looked as beautiful as a ruby.

“Please, tell me you know how you get rid of this rose” she tried to touch it but then retracted her hand as soon as the fingers graced the flower “it hurts Sylus, so much”. The pain in her voice made him restless, he wanted to do it quickly but he knew he couldn’t. “Kitten, now you have to do as i say, but please rest assured that I’ll handle this with the outmost care”. She slowly nodded, so he took her and placed her in his lap, back to chest. He placed her head on his gem and entangled her waist with his tail, to keep her from moving. “Sweetie, now I have to manually remove the rose”. She gasped in the middle of hiccups: she was crying a lot and he couldn’t bear this sight. He couldn’t bear to be the one to have reduced her to this.

“Why?”.

Sylus almost couldn’t hear her whisper. “Why what?”

“Why is this curse so cruel. To you. To me” she said, still crying. “Just, why would someone treat your kin and the ones they loved like this”. He sighed. As always, her way of thinking mesmerised him. “It’s a test”. “A test for what?”. “Loyalty”. He couldn’t phrase it any better, it was as simple as that: loyalty. “The pain you’re going to endure now will be so unbearable to most humans that, in the end, you’ll curse me and I’ll end up dying by your hand”.

“Never” she was so quick to reply. “I’ll never curse you” she held his hand. “I’ll never kill you” she took it near her mouth. “Do what you have to do, i can handle it. I’m not like any human” she spoke against it and then kissed it. Sylus nodded, then he tightened his tail around her waist while wiith one hand he held still her head, and with the other he took the rose.

“It’s going to hurt, kitten”.

“I’m ready”.

He held the rose firmly and started to pull. Blood started dripping from her eye socket and she moaned in pain. The more he pulled, the more the flower tried to resist and the more blood dripped in her face. And the more she hurt.  He noticed that she was gritting her teeth trying not to scream. “Here, sweetie” he said, as he placed his hand in her mouth and she immediately bit down hard.

“Good girl”.

He continued to pull, now only the rose’s stem was remaining. It was full of thorns and she was screaming while biting his hand. He couldn’t bear this sight, he had to finish this soon. “Kitten we’re almost done”. He placed a kiss on her head and finished to pull the rose out: now her eye was at its place, but with a stem attached to its pupil. He made a quick downward movement and the stem detached itself from the eye, freeing her from her agony. He looked down and noticed that her dress was covered in blood, as were her face, neck and chest. 

She was quiet for a moment, breathing heavily. Then she turned and straddled on his lap. Her face as of now was the most beautiful thing Sylus ever saw. Maybe because she was looking at him with nothing but love. How much violence did it take to have that look on one’s features?

But in the end, violence was the only thing his kin knew.

She put her bloodied hands on his cheeks, dirtying his face, then placed her forehead on his and spoke “I told you i could take it”. He had closed his eyes but swore she was smiling. She then did something unexpected: she kissed him. He was almost taken aback.

Almost.

He held her tight against his chest and gently kissed her back, tasting something that was a mix of iron and flowers and everything her.

Maybe his kin didn’t only know violence.

Maybe they knew love, too.

“My fiend” she whispered against his lips.

Maybe he liked this.

Maybe he liked the idea that these bloodied hands, that held him so tenderly now, would be the very same hands that would bring him death.

── ❦・⸝⸝ author's note: please let me know what do you think, kind feedback is really appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

p.s.: you can find me on twitter @/tenderbeck where i post lads related stuff!! love you all ♡

── ❦・⸝⸝ click to find my masterlist

[kpopbestie96]

Jealous best friend

Paring: you × Jeongin, reader × Jeongin

Warnings: some cussing

The Kids all gathered in the room karaoke room, Han and Changbin quickly grabbing the mics, singing into them without turning the music on yet. Chan and Lee Know were trying their best to read the menu, seeing what to order as they hear Hyunjin, Seungmin and Felix make fun of the two singers.

"You can't sing, booo," Seungmin held his thumbs down, joking- playing with his elder friends.

"Booo!" Felix giggled while joining along with Seungmin in booing.

"Give me the mic, I'll take over," Hyunjin laughed when holding out his hand, hoping one of them hands it over.

Chan was going over food options when he realized he could hear all of his kids except for one. He quickly titled his head up and saw Innie sitting by himself, quietly looking over the alcohol menu.

Wow, he's really not looking forward to Y/n coming... "You good IN?" He asked with a heavy heart, seeing him so distraught.

His thoughts were all over the place, not hearing Chan or really anyone in the room, even thought the others were their typical loud.

I should have said something sooner, why did I keep this to myself? This is all my fucking fault.

"Innie, you okay?" He looked up and turned to his left to see Chan sitting by him, wondering when he moved over.

"Oh..." he cleared his throat before putting his head down, looking back at the alcohol menu, turning the page. What alcohol can help me most with my sorrow? "I'm fine," he said it kind of low but Chan was able to pick up on it.

He stared at his friend who's shoulders were slumped low and his back was hunched. He placed his hand on his roommates shoulder, "I know what you're nervous about, it will be okay."

Jeongin turned to him, Chan seeing how heavy his eyes where, "Maybe he won't even come," Chan tried to sound optimistic, displaying a soft smile but Innie knew you would bring your new boyfriend that he's been trying so desperately to avoid.

"But-" he didn't get to finish his sentence because the door opened and in walked, what they thought was the waiter, but it was you.

Felix was the first one to rush over, the Kids forming a circle around you, all hugging you tightly. Even though Innie was nervous if you brought your new guy, it went away when you entered the room. His heart began to beat faster while a smile spread across his face.

Oh, she didn't bring him! His smile grew but instantly disappeared when he saw him. "Guys, you remember my boyfriend, Ray. Ray, you remember everyone."

His heart -- that was once beating with happiness -- cracked and dropped to the pit of his stomach, feeling as if someone ran up and kicked his chest as hard as they could.

"Innie!" You were happy to see him, haven't in a while because the last time you did, you were in the talking stages with Ray; he was kind of hoping it died out.

"Hi, Y/n," he hugged you tightly, feeling his strong arms tighten around your torso, feeling the butterflies float around in your stomach. You could feel your cheeks heating up, your crush for Innie still there but tried to forget it existed.

You pulled back, seeing his smile that was cute, so innocent until you felt like a thousand eyes were on you. Clearing your throat, you stepped aside to introduce your new boyfriend to him. "Ray, this is the only one you haven't met, this is Jeongin, IN or Innie."

"Nice to meet you," he shook his hand strongly, while staring Innie in the eyes. What the fuck is his problem? Innie thought before pulling away.

The rest of the night was fun, laughing and joking with the guys but it bothered you your boyfriend wasn't much talkative, even when the guys were trying to talk to him. You noticed it last time but thought he was nervous. He's met Chan a few times now, I wonder if he's okay.

"Lets sing a song," you sat next to Ray, bringing over the book to choose one with him.

He looked at you, then down at the book, uninterested but knew it would make you happy so he rolled his eyes while saying fine.

You side eyed him, while flipping through the pages. "I'll choose it," he took the book out of your hands, making you sit there in shock, hoping no one saw it. But, Jeongin was sitting at the end of the long booth with Felix, who was talking to him, but wasn't listening to a word he was saying, I'm gonna fucking fight him, IN thought to himself, tighten his jaw, his hands curling up into a fist.

Felix kept talking but quickly realized Jeongin wasn't listening, turning to him to follow his gave over to you and your new boyfriend.

Everyone knew, except you, on the crush that Innie had. Everyone kept telling him to tell you but by the time he was done weighing the options, you found Ray.

"Inne..." Felix touched his shoulder, starling him.

"That fucking asshole," he murdered when grabbing his drink and downing it, wanting the waiter to come back so he can order another and maybe a shot to go along with it.

Hyunjin and Chan finished up their song, handing the mics over to you and Ray, making Innie roll his eyes. "Relax IN," Felix tried to calm him down but seeing his words were doing no good.

"It's kind of hard to..."

Ray and you sang a song by Elton John and Kiki Dee, Don't go Breaking My Heart. You were dancing, hoping Ray joined but he didn't, making you feel embarrassed. You stopped and tried to finish out the song without sounding upset.

But you weren't the only one upset, IN was death staring Ray, what is this guys' problem??

And when Ray turned his head he saw the way Jeongin was looking at you, thinking back to when you and him walked into the room -- the way he hugged you. Watch even more, Ray grabbed your hand twirled you around, shocking you he would but went along with it.

He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you in close to him, while everyone's eyes darted between Jeongin and the scene with you and Ray.

Jeongin could feel his blood boil, there was fire in his eyes. I can't stay here anymore. He quickly got up, walking past you and Ray, out the door towards the restroom.

You saw him walk by, wondering where he was going and why he's been acting so strange since you arrived.

The song ended and the Kids didn't know what to do until Chan cleared his throat, started clapping while the others followed along.

"Wonderful!" Chan said trying to break up the awkward tension Jeongin created.

"Great job!" Hyunjin caught on, trying to help the situation.

"So beautiful," Han faked a smile that you caught on since you've been friends with them for years now. Why is he and the guys lying?

"Thanks for singing with me," you told Ray after handing the microphone to Seungmin and Lee Know.

"Of course," he said but all you could think about was Innie abruptly leaving.

"I'm going to go to the restroom, I'll be back." But you really wanted to find Innie and ask what his exit was about.

"Okay, hurry back."

You left and the guys saw, all thinking you were going after Innie. I should beat this guy up since she's gone, Lee Know thought when singing a song with Seungmin.

You were walking towards the restroom when you saw Innie walk out of the men's. Perfect, "IN."

He picked his head up, stopping in his tracks to lock eyes with you. "Why did you leave like that?" You began your questioning.

"I had to use the restroom," he lied, keeping a poker face, didn't think his leaving was that noticeable.

"Really? Because you've been acting strange since I got here."

"I have not," he said a little too defensively, that he immediately realized. "I'm just tired, that's all," he tried to scale it back to make it sell even better. I don't think that worked....

"Really?? Why are you lying to me now? What's going on??"

"Nothing, Y/n." He tried to walk past you but you stood in his way, not letting this go because you feel as if he's holding something back.

"Jeongin, tell me."

"No, please move."

"Jeongin!" Your voice raised a little bit louder now as you and Innie stared deeply at each other.

"What!?" He yelled back, taking you off guard a bit, "Do you really want me to tell you it's not easy seeing you with him!? Hm?" He accidentally let out, blaming the alcohol for taking the truth out of him. Fuck, why did I say that??

Your eyes relaxed while trying to understand his confession that you really weren't expecting him to say. "What are you talking about?"

I guess there's no going back now...wait no just lie to her. "Nothing, Y/n...I'm sorry I said anything. Let's go back to the room." He tried to walk past but you grabbed his hand, turning him turn around to face you again.

"Really IN, we've been friends for years now and tell each other everything. Why can't you tell me this?? You've been distant with me and I don't know why. Every time I ask to hang out, you say your busy, which I understand but we always found a way to hangout. Are you mad at me? And if you are, you usually tell me, so what's going on??"

He looked down at the ground while letting out a heavy sigh, knowing you were right. "It's just..." he scanned around, seeing people passing by, realzing this is not a great spot to have this conversation.

"Follow me," he grabbed your hand and pulled you along into the single-family bathroom where he quickly closed the door.

"Innie, what the hell, why are you acting strange?? Do you not like my boyfriend?? Are you jealous or something??"

He turned around and decided to not keep it locked up much longer. "Have you thought because I care for you and think you deserve better!"

"I deserve better?"

"Yes! Any man would be luck to have you in their life and this guy doesn't even seem like it. There are better men out there for you!"

"Like who??"

"Me!" There was a pause in between you two while Jeongin's chest was raising up and down, feeling frustrated at himself for not keeping his words locked in.

You started at him blankly, taking a step back, what did he just say?? "y-you?" You stuttered, couldn't believe if you heard him right. "What do you mean you?"

"Y/n," he took a step towards you, grabbing your hands and looking deep into your eyes. His soft, gentle touch made goosebumps rise on your arms, feeling your cheeks become warm. "I've had a crush on you for so long, I'm sorry that I waited to tell you this, especially now that you're with someone."

You could only blankly stare at him while your mind was racing, thinking over everything. Why couldn't he have said something sooner??

"I'm sorry for acting like a jealous mess tonight, I really tried to hide it but it's hard when seeing you all over him, wishing it was me."

"Innie, I-" you were about to confess your own feelings for him when the door swung open, turning your heads to see Ray standing in the door way.

"Whats going on here?" His jaw was locked when he moved his arms up, tightly crossing them in front of his chest.

You looked at Ray, Innie, then down at your hands still in your best friend's. Fuck.

"He was just telling me something and I was consoling him," you quickly explained while taking a few steps back away from IN.

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ray took a step into the bathroom, sizing up to IN who was not backing down.

"Who cares what we were talking about, it's none of your business," IN shot back, shocking you of him being confrontational.

"Whatever dude, Y/n let's get going," he grabbed your hand, tugging at your arm to pull you away. "Y/n," he demanded while you stood in your spot looking at Jeongin.

You looked back at him while your feet slowly made it's way towards the exit while you saw Innie hold his head low. You wanted to sprint out of Ray's grip but it was too strong, I'm sorry Innie, you thought as you were being pulled away.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*

Thank you all for reading this short little drama story! Love you all so much!

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[luckyroll3]

Down Puppy Chapter 1: Burnout

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 9,311

You’re teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown, your eyes darting between the table of stone-faced executives and the power-tripping projector that refuses to focus. Chris’ calm voice anchors you, dissecting the project's progress with surgical precision. You try to keep your cool, but the deadlines are closing in like a SWAT team, ready to take you hostage.

"This AI model should outperform our Q2 projections if we get the algorithms right," Chris says, like he’s discussing dinner plans. You envy his composure. His voice has that confidence-oozing quality that makes investors open their wallets and your heart occasionally falter. He's got a commanding presence, one you wish you could fully lean on right now.

"We need those ‘right’ yesterday," you counter, feeling the words churn in your gut. You're both standing, pacing like caged animals, while the others stare and type and frown.

Chris glances at you, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. "I can work miracles, but even I need a full day, baby."

The executives chuckle, and the tension temporarily thaws. You're grateful Chris knows when to diffuse tension in a room, but the clock ticks so loudly in your head it's a wonder you're not bleeding from your ears.

You stab the projector button again, and the graphs flicker, graphs that show everything you’re trying to achieve and everything that could go wrong. The room buzzes with potential and risk, and your usual cocktail of anxiety and adrenaline. You gulp it down, eyes on Chris as he holds the reins and hands you just enough slack to stay upright.

"What if we bring in more people on this? Reassign resources from the lesser projects?" one of the men asks, probably hoping for a gold star in his performance review.

You sigh, long and deep. "Yes, we could. But… We’d need more capital, more time. If we don’t—"

"—burn out," Chris finishes, pragmatic as always. He's right, of course, and that irks you.

The idea of burning out sounds delightful compared to another disaster at this stage. You run a hand through your hair; you’d given up on the bun hours ago, frustrated that this meeting was still going, and it was now a tangled mess of curls.

"Or maybe just more coffee," you mutter, collapsing into a chair and letting the leather swallow you.

Chris watches you sink into the chair. “Let’s take a break,” He calls out to the room. “We’ll regroup in ten.”

You mouth a thank you in his direction. You don’t know what you would do without this man.

Before you can catch your breath, the door bursts open with Felix, arms crammed with files and his iPad, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, and a fierce glare for anyone thinking of getting in his way. For such a small man, people were terrified when he had that look in his eye.

"Thought I was going to have to send in a rescue team," he quips, blonde hair falling into his eyes like a rom-com lead who got lost on the way to a photoshoot.

You barely suppress a grin. "Can that still be arranged?"

He dumps the paperwork in front of you like a delivery boy dropping off a stack of unwanted pizzas. "For when you come up for air," he says, then hands Chris another stack, though half the size, a fact you don’t miss.

Chris raises an eyebrow. "And the prize for most overworked goes to?"

"The CEO’s right-hand man," Felix retorts. “What she doesn’t take care of, you do. You know how this works Christopher,” Felix says dramatically, causing Chris to smirk. Felix turns back to you. "Since this project meeting is running long, I pushed your afternoon meetings. Again."

"And if I were to combust?" you ask, trying to make sense of the papers without actually looking at them.

Felix doesn't miss a beat. "Then I inherit the company, your penthouse, and all your savings. Remember, I had you sign all those contracts turning everything over to me?"

“Is that what those were?” you ask with a chuckle. At this rate, you’d give him everything right now so that you could get a full night’s rest.

Laughter ripples through the room, and even the tight-asses look human for a second. But the chaos has stirred the stress pot, and it starts to boil over. Messages, emails, notifications—your life reduced to a never-ending to-do list managed by a clipboard with legs.

The walls close in again. "What’s next?" you demand, desperate to rip the band-aid off.

"For today? Partner call with Japan at three. Market briefing at four. Media strategy five to six-thirty," Felix lists, each word a dagger to your soul. His deep voice is impressive when he's rattling off death sentences.

Chris stands, arms crossed, exuding relaxed authority. "And at six-thirty?"

"You drop dead," Felix deadpans, without a hint of remorse.

The building chaos presses down, thick and suffocating. Chris looks at you, a knowing glint in his eyes, the look he gives when he knows you've reached your breaking point.

You massage your temples, feeling the burn of expectation in every bone. "And I thought this meeting would be the death of me," you sigh.

Chris chuckles, his steady gaze a lifeline. He always seems to find the humor in these moments, even when you can't. The world feels just a little less daunting with him by your side, even if he is annoying as hell sometimes.

Felix snaps a picture of your tormented expression. "For the memorial," he says with a grin.

You shoot him a look that says you'd like to throttle him. "Can we get back to work now?"

"Can you?" Felix asks, and Chris joins him in a conspiratorial glance. Felix jumps back on his phone and heads out of the room.

You roll your eyes but feel a small sense of relief. Whatever happens, you'll get through it. With the help of these two. Probably.

****

The room empties like the final scene of a disaster movie, leaving you and Chris in the wreckage of charts and schedules. You exhale for the first time in what feels like years, sinking into the nearest chair and letting the tension dissolve. Chris lounges across from you, cool and collected, as if he didn’t just save your ass in front of half the company.

"Thought they’d never leave," he says, feet propped on the table, turning executive elegance into boyish charm. You remember why you keep him around—it’s not just his mind that’s sharp.

"And here I thought you were their favorite," you shoot back, but it's half-hearted, lazy. You let your eyes close, savoring the silence.

Chris’ voice cuts through, gentle but teasing. "You’re wound tighter than a cheap watch. More than usual."

You groan, knowing where this is going. He’s been hinting for weeks. "Not you too. Felix has already given me an earful."

"Maybe you should listen," he says, spinning a pen like a mini-baton. "He's not wrong, you know," Chris says, leaning forward. "You can’t keep running on fumes forever."

You open one eye, peering at him through a curtain of disheveled curls. "I’m fine. Just a rough patch."

"You used to be a better liar. A rough patch that’s lasted how long now?" He cocks his head, genuinely concerned. You hate that he can read you this well. "You’re exhausted. It’s okay to admit that."

I’m fine, you want to say, but you both know that's bullshit. Instead, you sit up, reluctantly, and run a hand through your hair again, trying to tame the curls back into something approximating professional. "I just need to get through this quarter. Then maybe I’ll take a long weekend."

Chris laughs, a single bark that sounds almost painful. "A long weekend? You need more than sixty hours of R&R, babe. When was the last time you took a real break?"

"Chris—"

He rises from his chair, the leather creaking softly, and moves behind you. His hands, warm and firm, settle on your tense shoulders, kneading gently at first. A wave of relief washes over you as he begins the massage, releasing some of the stress you’ve been carrying. You feel gratitude for his magic fingers.

“When was the last time?” he murmurs, his thumbs pressing expertly into a particularly stubborn knot just below your shoulder blade. You wince slightly before the pain morphs into soothing comfort.

Your mind drifts back, sifting through memories like flipping through old photographs. Vacations had blurred into work trips, which had morphed into staycations where you’d inevitably end up back at your desk. The last non-working holiday you can remember is…

"Don't say it," Chris warns, reading your mind with uncanny accuracy. "If you say Cabo, I'm going to throw something."

"Fine, I won’t say it." You’d all taken a trip to Cabo to celebrate when your company, NextGen, received its first big investor. Eight years ago. After which the company took off.

NextGen exploded from a tiny startup into an industry titan, launching several products, like your AI-driven Personal Assistant app, each one a bigger hit than the last. Investors couldn't throw money at you fast enough, and growth came with a price. Your life became a relentless cycle of meetings, tech summits, and all-nighters fueled by adrenaline and caffeine. You were living the dream you’d envisioned, and it was a nightmare of your own making. Work was no longer a part of your life; it had swallowed it whole. The idea of a real vacation had turned into a fantasy as distant as a shooting star, impossibly bright yet unattainable.

You continue to think, delving deeper into your memories. “I had the weekend in Tahoe.”

"That was three years ago," he counters, immediate and precise. Of course he remembers; he probably has a timeline of your life stored away in that annoyingly efficient, competent, lockbox brain of his.

"Tahoe sucked anyway," you mutter under your breath. It had been a disaster of constant phone calls and emergency Zoom meetings. And the sex with your then boyfriend had been shit. You’d come back more tired and drained than when you left. “Mmmph,” you groan as Chris’ fingers locate another tight spot. “Stay right there,” you whisper and he obliges, his hands working wonders on the strained muscles of your neck and shoulders.

“Listen, I’m serious. Take tonight off,” he insists, his voice steady and sincere. “Go home, relax, pour yourself some scotch, and do absolutely nothing."

You let his words linger like the last sip of wine, savoring their potential. "Did you not see the stack of papers that gorgeous freckled blonde man handed me? There’s too much to do," you say, but even to your own ears it sounds like an excuse.

Chris sighs, deep and parental. "Look, all I’m saying is that you need to take care of yourself. The company will survive if you take one night off."

You chew on this, imagining a night where you could just breathe. One night does sound heavenly. "Maybe," you concede, already half-dreaming of your couch and a mindless TV show.

"And tomorrow," he adds, not missing a beat. His fingers move to your head, and he starts to give you a scalp massage. You melt under his touch, a puddle of overworked CEO in a too-large chair. “And while you’re at it, go get laid for Christ’s sake.”

You laugh, a soft, disbelieving sound. "Oh, is that all? Just take two to three days off and find someone to fuck? Easy peasy."

"I’m serious," he says, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. "You’re like a pressure cooker about to explode. You need a release."

The massage is doing dangerous things to your resolve. You’re too relaxed to fight him, too comfortable to argue. He’s not wrong; the tension in your body has been a constant companion, tight as a noose. Your mind drifts to the last time you were with someone, the awkward tangle of limbs and the unsatisfying finish. It’s been six months, probably more.

"You make it sound so simple," you say, closing your eyes again.

His fingers weave through your hair, kneading your scalp with expert precision. It’s very intimate, the way he’s touching you. If anyone were to walk by the conference room right now, they’d assume you were more than just friends. Most people who meet the two of you for the first time often think you are more than just friends and business partners.

"It is simple," he says, whispering in your ear. "Take a break. Have a fling."

You roll your head to glance up at him. "I thought that’s why I have you," you say, your tone a mix of teasing and something more suggestive.

He laughs, a rich, warm sound that melts a fraction of your stress. "That was one time. Six years ago. And I distinctly remember you firing me the next morning."

"That’s only because you’re impossible to work with. And it was eight times.” You remember the chaos of the morning after the first time you’d fucked, the hurried dressing, and the too-honest confessions between two people who had been each other’s best friends and confidentes since you were 17. “And obviously your firing didn’t stick."

"I’m impossible to resist," he counters, that familiar flirtation flickering between you. “And it was eleven times. Twelve if you count the…”

“I don’t!” you say interrupting him. Of course he would remember the exact amount of times the two of you fucked. Because he remembers everything and never lets you forget. That month had been a whirlwind. The sexual tension between the two of you had been at its peak and you both recklessly gave in to it after being platonic for over six years. Eleven times. And that one time that he— you shake the memory away. “You’re not that irresistible,” you say, barely convincing yourself.

“Oh, I am.” He throws his arm around your shoulder, that dimpled smile of his on display. The smile is disarmingly genuine, the kind that used to make your heart do stupid things. "Which is why you keep me so busy I can't get into trouble." His breath is warm against your cheek.

"You still manage to get in lots of trouble," you say softly, hyper-aware of how close he's leaned in, his eyes locked on yours with that unwavering focus that could buckle knees. Just not yours. Not anymore.

You think about the times you've seen him out, always with someone new, never alone for long. The way he balances his life with an ease you envy. The way he can switch from playful to serious in an instant, like now, where beneath the banter you can sense his true worry for you.

He plops in the chair next to yours, breaking the charged moment. He shrugs, the motion making the muscle beneath his shirt ripple. "Honestly, I'd offer, but I don't know if you could still handle me."

You smack him with a folder, and he’s all mock offense. But under the familiar push and pull, you hear his genuine concern.

"Handle you?" you scoff, but your mind flashes to that first night, to the surprising tenderness he’d shown, mixed with the unrestrained passion. You’d been curious what it would be like with someone you trusted so completely, and he’d exceeded every expectation. "I handled you just fine, as I recall."

"You did. But that was then. Now you’re all knotted up and exhausted. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage."

You study him, wondering if he’s serious. Would you take him up on it if he were? But you know he’s not serious. That month together had been a fucking disaster. The two of you were great together, just not when sex was involved. Lots of fights had erupted that month, and despite how good the sex was, you both decided that you were better off as friends and business partners, nothing else. Yet, the thought tempts you more than it should.

You realize he’s right, and that annoys you almost as much as how much you don’t want him to be; you’re a fucking mess right now, and ready to burst. But could you really find the release you need with him, without complicating everything else? The idea is tempting, a whispering little devil that’s growing louder. But you know the answer is no.

"You’re very noble," you say, perhaps more cuttingly than you intend. "Don’t worry, I’m not looking for charity."

"I know," he says, his tone softening. "I’m just saying you have options. That’s all."

You let that hang in the air, the unspoken offer, the history between you, the possible futures. He’s always been a constant, a rock, even when you didn’t deserve it.

He leans back, fingers interlacing behind his head. "I hear there’s a whole world outside the office, you know. Full of interesting people. You might like it."

When you don’t respond he continues.

"It’s been a while since you’ve had sex, huh?" His tone is softer now, slipping past your defenses. “Almost eight months? The conference in Boston? Dude from SpaceX?”

He knows you better than you know yourself. So it’s definitely been more than 6 months. “Do you just have every detail of my life recorded somewhere?” you ask incredulously. He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t need to look at him beside you to know that he’s smirking.

"Come on, you know I only keep track because I care," he says, and you can almost believe the innocent tone he’s trying to sell. Almost.

"It’s been an eternity," you finally admit, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers to your life choices. Or lack thereof. “I haven’t even been able to get an orgasm from masturbation.”

His lips twitch. "Thought so. You poor thing."

You shake your head, almost laughing, almost crying. "Is it that obvious?"

"To me? Always."

"Great," you mutter. "So everyone else can tell too?"

"Everyone else isn’t me," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "But yeah, you’re walking around like a zombie. A very sexy, high-functioning, super tense zombie, but a zombie nonetheless."

"Thanks," you say, rolling your eyes. "That makes me feel so much better."

"I’m just saying," he continues, undeterred. "It’s not just the lack of sleep or the constant stress. You’re missing something essential. Something that used to make you… you."

You bite your lip, not wanting to go down this path but knowing he’s already dragged you there. "People change, Chris. I’ve got more responsibilities now. It’s not as simple as just—"

"Fucking someone and getting it over with? Letting loose every once in a while?" he interrupts. "I know. But it would help, is all I’m saying. It’s not healthy to keep all that stress and tension in your body. Working out and yoga helps, but they can’t get at everything. Balance, remember? You taught me that."

You sigh, a long, drawn-out release of air that takes a bit of your remaining willpower with it. "I miss it, you know. The balance. The fun."

"I know you do," he says, softer now, almost tender. "And I miss seeing you happy."

You let that hang in the air, heavy and fraught with more than just the current conversation. He’s always had a way of getting under your skin, of making you confront things you’d rather ignore.

"It’s not just the sex," you say quietly. "It’s everything. I don’t even know what makes me happy anymore."

You sit in the silence that follows, heavy with unspoken truths. Chris has been with you from the beginning, through the late nights and early mornings, the triumphs and the fuck-ups. He’s seen you at your best and your absolute worst, and still he stays. That kind of loyalty is rare, and you’re not sure you deserve it.

"You know," he starts, hesitating for once. "You don’t have to do this alone."

"Do what?" you ask, though you already know what he means. The company, the stress, the life you’ve built that’s slowly crushing you.

"Everything," he says simply. "We’re a team, remember?"

A team. The words should be comforting, but they prick at you like tiny needles. You’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on shouldering the load and pushing through no matter what. Admitting that you need help, that you’re struggling, feels like a defeat.

"I don’t want to put more on you," you say, and you mean it. Chris is already running the show most days while you drown in a sea of other obligations. If he left, you’d be well and truly fucked.

He shrugs, the motion making his shirt stretch across his chest. "I can handle it. You know I can."

Of course he can. Chris is capable of anything, and that’s part of the problem. If he took over, the company might run even better than it does now. Where would that leave you?

"I just…" you trail off, not sure how to voice the fear that’s gnawing at your insides. That if you step away, even for a little while, you’ll realize that you’re not as indispensable as you thought. That they don’t need you. That he doesn’t need you.

"... need to trust us," he finishes for you. "To trust me."

You bite your lip, weighing his words. Trust has never come easy for you, but if there’s anyone in this world you do trust, it’s Chris. He’s never let you down, even when you’ve been an absolute tyrant.

"You know I trust you," you say quietly. "It’s me I’m not so sure about."

He reaches for your chair and rolls it closer to his. Then he swivels it until you’re facing him, your knees in between each other’s, alternating. He leans in closer to you, placing his hands on your thighs and squeezing, his presence warm and solid. "You built this company from the ground up. No one is going to forget that, least of all me. And I won’t let anyone take it from you."

You want to believe him, to take comfort in his assurances, but the doubt lingers. Still, you’re exhausted enough to give in, just this once.

He takes your hands in his. "What do you say? The company's in good hands. Take a chance for once. Or at least tonight."

You look up at him, at the certainty in his gaze. The room feels alive with possibilities, some you’ve been avoiding for too long.

"Fine," you say, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I’ll take tonight off. Maybe."

A slow smile spreads across his face, victorious but not gloating. "And tomorrow?"

"We’ll see."

“You want me to hook you up with someone? I can think of at least three guys who have asked about you recently.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You wrinkle your nose in mock disgust. “Eew, gross. Like I’d fuck any of your friends… again.” Chris laughs. “Besides, I’m a big girl. I have apps. I can find someone without the help of my COO.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it, big girl,” he says with a smirk. “But I want all the details… and your location before you go off alone with some strange man.” He stares deeply in your eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know. I love you, too Chris.” He nods before kissing the tip of your nose, the gesture soft and affectionate.

Chris stands, and lets go of your hand slowly, like he's reluctant to leave you to your thoughts. But he does. He walks away and closes the door behind him. You watch through the glass windows as he walks down the hallway and disappears into his office.

Alone in the conference room, the silence hums with all the things you’ve yet to do, both in and out of the office. But for once, it doesn't feel like pressure. It feels like a promise.

****

You're on your couch, phone in hand, heart trying to escape your chest like it's auditioning for a horror movie. Chris' words loop in your mind, a dare you're almost brave enough to accept. You hover over the dating app, paralyzed by uncertainty and too much caffeine.

The app stares back at you, a gateway to questionable decisions and maybe something you desperately need. You inhale, summon your courage, and tap the icon. The screen lights up with possibilities, each profile a Pandora's box of expectations and potential disasters.

With a finger poised for rejection, you start scrolling. An onslaught of names, faces, bios. Each one demands you to make a snap judgment—dating as an Olympic sport, and you're hopelessly out of shape.

"Ski bum looking for love," says one profile. Too outdoorsy.

"Cat dad," says another. Too boring.

"Financial analyst, world traveler." Too much like the guys you spend 80 hours a week with.

You swipe left with gusto, the action becoming both easier and harder as you go. Why does this feel like choosing your own adventure, where every choice leads to self-doubt and maybe a painful death?

You pause on a model-esque twenty-something with a man bun and piercings. Probably too young. Probably trouble. Definitely the kind of guy you’d have gone for ten years ago. Another swipe. Another internal groan.

"What the hell am I doing?" you mutter, the anxiety piling up with each profile you reject. But there's a thrill there too, buried under layers of insecurity and longing.

You think of Chris's knowing smile, his words like a match to kindling. Could you actually follow through this time? Before you lose nerve, you push on, determined to make a reckless choice for once in your too-careful life.

A profile stops you dead. He's magnetic, a live wire through the screen. Long dark hair, playful smile, and eyes that say too much and not enough all at once. The bio is simple, confident, with a wicked twist of humor: "I don’t bite; unless you’re into that sort of thing."

You blink, unsure whether to run or leap.

Hyunjin.

Even his name feels electric.

You hover over the heart icon, your own doing somersaults. The internal dialogue wages war. You're crazy. You're desperate. You're... excited?

Fuck it.

You swipe right, and the screen flashes a match so fast it takes your breath and the last ounce of doubt away.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, a feeling you've been chasing longer than you realized. A message pops up instantly—he's smooth, charming, and God help you, interested.

You stare at the phone, knowing Chris would call you a chicken if you backed out now. You know he's right, and with renewed thrill, you dive into the conversation with Hyunjin. An hour later, you’re heading out the door to meet him.

You almost back out three times before you make it through the bar's entrance, each step a testament to your resolve and the power of good wine. The place is loud and buzzing, the music a heartbeat matching your own. You spot Hyunjin, magnetic as ever, leaning against the bar with a confident grin that makes you forget how terrified you are.

He's impossibly good-looking, but not in the soulless way you worried about. No, there's life and humor and intrigue in his face. And you, caught in the aftermath of your own recklessness, are undeniably drawn to it.

"You're even more gorgeous in person," he says, his deep voice smooth over the music.

You laugh, nerves bubbling to the surface. "You must be Hyunjin. Or are you his better-looking stunt double?"

He smirks, that playful edge you liked in his messages even sharper now. "Depends. Would that get me a drink?"

"A drink, yes. Anything more and I'll need credentials," you shoot back.

He gestures for you to sit, and you do, slipping onto the barstool beside him. The close proximity sends a jolt of adrenaline down your spine, the kind that comes with skydiving, or possibly jumping into bed with a near-stranger.

You order, hands barely shaking, and the conversation flows as easily as the drinks. You talk about nothing and everything, the banter a seductive dance that leaves you breathless. He's quick-witted, daring, like a live wire waiting for you to touch it.

"So, are you always this straightforward, or am I just special?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you down another sip of liquid courage.

"You're special," he says, the sincerity in his tone both reassuring and dangerous. His eyes lock onto yours, daring you to make the next move.

"You barely know me," you say, but it comes out more like a challenge than a warning.

He leans in, the faintest scent of cologne—no, pheromones—enveloping you. "Then maybe we should fix that." His lips press lightly against yours before you feel his tongue push gently into your mouth.

Your heart skids into high gear as you kiss him back, and you realize you haven't felt this alive in longer than you want to admit. The tension is thick, electric, impossible to ignore.

You pull away. "This is crazy," you murmur, half to yourself, half to him, knowing full well you're not going to back out now. Not after coming this far. Not after finally allowing yourself the thrill of something so deliciously unpredictable.

"But in a good way?" he asks, brushing his hand against yours before popping a quick kiss on your lips. The contact is fleeting but charged, a spark that ignites everything else inside you.

You grin, reckless and free. "Yeah. In a good way."

It's not a question of if you'll go home with him, but how fast you can get there. The world shrinks down to the space between you and him and a hundred filthy possibilities.

You leave the bar together, his hand confidently on the small of your back as if claiming you already. He leans in to suck on your neck gently as you walk. You’ve never been one for public displays, but right now you can't get enough of it. You don’t want to get enough of it.

You send Chris a quick message, letting him know you’re leaving the bar. He sends back a thumbs up and a reminder to ping him your final location.

The taxi ride blurs by in heated kisses and roaming hands, each second a ticking bomb of anticipation. His lips on your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, breathing the same charged air and wanting, wanting, wanting.

His place is modern, sleek, not that you care or even notice beyond the front door. You've never moved so fast in your life, the urgency a tidal wave that sweeps you both under. Shoes, bags, jackets—it's a breadcrumb trail of restraint you can no longer pretend to have.

The apartment spins around you as you crash against the wall, his body hard and hot against yours. He's relentless, mouth claiming yours, hands mapping every inch of you as you moan into his kiss. You haven’t been with someone like him in a long time, someone who knows exactly what he's doing and does it so well you forget your own name.

"Are you always like this?" you gasp, fingers clawing at his shirt, needing him closer, needing him now.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, to ruin you with his cocky grin. "Only when it counts."

You laugh, wild and unhinged, yanking him back to you, devouring him in return. You thought you'd feel nervous, out of your depth, but instead you’re just desperate. Starving. Greedy for everything he wants to give.

Hyunjin lifts you like you weigh nothing, like the force of your bodies against each other is the only gravity he's concerned with. You wrap your legs around him, feeling his arousal hard against you, feeling your own ramp up with every second.

The room spins again, and this time it's the bed catching you, bouncing beneath your back as he climbs over you. He’s tearing at your clothes, your shirt sliding off, his touch like fire trailing over bare skin. Then his mouth is on you, sucking a nipple until you’re seeing stars.

You arch into him, cry out, not caring how you sound or who hears. You're soaked, aching, grinding up against his leg to relieve the pressure building between yours. He's merciless, teeth grazing your breast, a wicked look in his eyes that says you're in for it.

"Hyunjin," you gasp, a plea and a promise and all the things you don't have time to articulate.

His hands slide to your jeans, ripping them down, leaving you in nothing but skin and want and pure, throbbing need. His own clothes join yours in a heap on the floor. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, convincing yourself to wait patiently as he rolls a condom on. Then, finally, finally, you feel him against you.

The length of him, hard and smooth and tantalizingly close, pressed between your legs, teasing and torturous. He's on top of you, hair falling into his eyes, a look of pure, raw hunger as he lines himself up.

You're so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except the way he groans when he feels you makes it anything but. He thrusts in, deep and relentless, and you both suck in a breath that’s more like a shout. He doesn't wait, doesn't give you time to think or catch up; he just takes you, fucks you hard and fast and without mercy.

It's intense, blinding, the kind of pleasure that drowns out the world until there's nothing but him and the way he's splitting you open. You claw at his back, pulling him closer, meeting each thrust like it might be the one to finish you.

"Fuck," you moan, half in shock that it's happening, half in ecstasy because it is.

He keeps up the pace, sweat-slick and panting, the rhythm driving you closer to something wild and uncontainable. You're gasping his name, begging him not to stop, and his low, sexy grunts tell you he's not about to.

You’re close, so close, and you can tell he is too, the way he's pounding into you now, faster, deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes you lose your mind. Your nails dig in, your body tenses, and everything goes white-hot as you come around him, shuddering and screaming and feeling more alive than you ever thought possible.

He’s right there with you, spilling into you with one final, ragged groan, collapsing against you, sweaty and breathless and satisfied as hell.

You lie there, tangled up and utterly spent, listening to the sound of each other's gasping breaths, hearts pounding out a messy duet.

He rolls off, pulling you into the crook of his arm, and you feel... good. Better than you have in forever.

He kisses your forehead, and it’s surprisingly sweet. "Crazy," he murmurs, voice a soft rumble.

"In a good way," you whisper back, smiling as you let sleep take you.

****

You wake up slowly, sensations filtering in one by one like they’re afraid of disturbing you. Hyunjin’s arm is draped across your chest, heavy and warm.

You hear your phone beep. You reach over and see it’s a message from Chris. He’s sent three in the past hour.

CB: Checking in. You good? Message me back please. You know that I will come find you if I don’t hear back, right??? I will kick this dude’s door in… and probably get arrested.

You: Relax. I’m fine, dad. More than fine. 😉

CB: I told you, it’s ‘daddy’, not ‘dad’, baby girl. 😏

You: Lol! Oh, fuck off! And I told you to stop calling me that

CB: Are you home?

You: No. I fell asleep.

CG: You’re sleeping over?!?!?

You: More like a quick nap. I’m heading out in a few minutes. Wasn’t this your idea?

CB: Just making sure you’re safe. You know I worry. Call me when you get home.

You: Okay. Okay. Now leave me alone.

You look over at Hyunjin. He’s so beautiful, even as he sleeps. It would be easy—so easy—to stay. But the part of you that doesn’t linger gets you out of bed and into your jeans before you can think too hard about it.

His apartment is silent, still wrapped in shadows. You dress, clumsily and hurried, pulling on last night’s mismatched fragments of yourself. He doesn’t stir as you gather your things, heart racing with the thrill of getting away with something dangerous.

You pause at the door, look back at the outline of him in the sheets, and feel an unexpected tug. You ignore it and head out into the early morning air, into a world that feels bright and raw and new.

You feel... liberated. Like you've shed not just clothing, but a whole layer of propriety and inhibition. The sidewalk stretches out like a yellow brick road, leading away from the most recklessly satisfying night of your life, at least in recent years. You're high on something no drug could ever replicate—freedom.

A taxi takes you from one kind of chaos to another. You think of Chris. Of how smug he'll be when you tell him it worked. Of how you can’t wait to tell him everything, despite yourself.

The cab is cold and sharp with the smell of pine air freshener. You roll down a window, stick your head into the wind, and let it clear your mind of everything but your next destination. It's ridiculous and entirely unexpected that you'd go straight there now, after last night’s escapades. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe it’s something you don't have a name for yet.

The shelter rises up like an old friend, and you walk in with the sense that you're where you're supposed to be.

Patty, the owner of the dog shelter, spots you immediately, eyebrows raising above kind, incredulous eyes. She stands among a sea of barking and clanging gates, dogs in various states of chaos as they demand her attention.

"Thought you were a ghost," she hollers over the din, "or the last person I’d expect to see this early!"

You shrug, sheepish and not at all apologetic. "Couldn't sleep," you shout back, though the real truth is far more complicated.

Patty meets you halfway, hair tied back and already frizzing free, as if in direct rebellion against any sense of order. "You know the rules," she says, "You come in, you work."

"That's why I'm here," you reply, and there's a calm certainty in the words.

She laughs, full and rich. "Where's that fancy man of yours? The hot one you’re always with."

"Oh, Chris?" You sidestep the mention of him and wonder what she'd say if she knew about your latest conquest. "Thought I'd manage without him today. I do that sometimes. And I’ve told you, Patty, he’s not my man."

“Sure.” Patty gives you a look that’s all mischief and mothering. "You clean up better than you used to," she says, "but you're still a mess."

You chuckle. Her words are spot on, and you wouldn’t have them any other way.

Together, you weave through the shelter, the noise and smell of dogs an oddly soothing balm after the sensory onslaught of a few hours ago. It's a wonder you find peace here amid the bedlam, but you do. It's a different kind of freedom, one you've rarely allowed yourself.

You help with the feeding, the water, the never-ending demands of creatures who need you in a way no one else does. They ground you, these ragtag bundles of fur and slobber, and you realize just how much you've missed it.

You crouch next to a new litter of puppies, their eyes barely open, their bodies warm and wriggling against you. You scoop one up, let it lick your face, let it remind you that there's more to life than late nights and deadlines and board meetings.

Patty watches you, leaning against the wall, her expression softer now. "You look good," she says, and you know she means more than your improvised morning-after wardrobe. “You’re glowing.”

“Thanks.” You nod, unable to voice the sense of relief and rightness you feel. How this little break from yourself seems to be what you needed most.

For the first time in forever, you're not just keeping up. You're actually ahead.

“So Patty,” you say as you cuddle the puppy, “I have an idea…”

****

Olivia opens the door to her new loft, a glass of wine already in hand. "Well, if it isn't the corporate sellout," she teases, pulling you into a one-armed hug.

"Nice to see you too, Liv," you say, taking in the space. Olivia’s new loft is exactly what you’d expect from her—a riot of color and texture, every inch of it screaming her eclectic taste. You’ve always loved how unreservedly herself she is.

She shoves the glass into your hand. "Drink. You look like you need it."

You take a grateful sip, the red warmth spreading through your chest. "I thought this was an intervention," you say. "Aren't I supposed to be sober for those?"

“You think I’d be the one to host your intervention? I drink as much as you do, bitch!”

Olivia flounces onto her couch, tucking her legs beneath her. She's wearing some kind of flowy, bohemian dress that looks like it was made from a dozen different scarves. On anyone else, it would be a disaster. On Olivia, it's perfection.

You sit on the couch next to her, and she proceeds to tell you everything you’ve missed since you last saw each other two weeks ago.

By the second bottle of wine, you’ve relocated to the beanbag across from the couch. It’s a ridiculous contraption that looks like a giant avocado. Olivia lounges on her couch now that she has the extra room.

“Jesus, Liv, where do you even find this stuff?” you ask, gesturing with your wine glass toward the avocado beanbag.

She smirks, taking a long sip from her glass. “I have my sources. You like it?”

“It’s fucking absurd,” you say, laughing. “I love it.”

The warm haze of alcohol makes Olivia’s company even more comforting. She’s been your ride-or-die since high school, through bad breakups and worse hairstyles. Where Chris is your steady rock, Olivia is the unpredictable lightning bolt that keeps life interesting.

“Sooooooo,” she says, drawing out the word in that way she does when she’s about to pry something juicy from you. “How was he?” She’s desperate to get you back on topic, talking about your date with Hyunjin.

You bite your lip, trying to contain the grin that’s been threatening to split your face all night. “Which part do you want to hear first? The fact that he’s even hotter in person, or that he has one of the prettiest dicks I’ve ever seen in my life.

Olivia leans forward, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Tell me everything, bitch! Start from the beginning. Was he a douche? Please tell me he wasn't a douche."

You swirl the wine in your glass, letting the memories of your time with Hyunjin wash over you. “He wasn’t a douche. He was nice, funny, very direct. Just the way I like ‘em.”

“And? You still haven't told me the most important part."

You raise an eyebrow, playing dumb. "Oh? And what part is that?"

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. "The sex, the pretty dick! Was he as good as he looks?"

“Good?” A wicked smile spreads across your face. "Let's just say he more than lived up to the hype. We're talking Olympic-level performance. He was fucking phenomenal. I couldn’t tell you the last time I came that hard.” You took another sip of your wine.

“Really?”

“Really. Granted it’s been almost a year since I last had sex and longer since I’ve had a real, honest to god, orgasm from sex, so it may just be the excitement of finally getting a good lay.”

“Like I’ve always said, a good dicking down will get you right every time! Am I right?” She reaches over to clink her glass against yours.

“You’re so right.”

“So one of the best you’ve ever had?”

You think for a second. “Definitely top 5.”

“Better than Christopher?” she says with a sly smirk.

Here she goes again, you think to yourself. Liv was one of the biggest cheerleaders for you and Chris becoming a thing. And she has tried, on multiple occasions, to arrange for you and him to rekindle what you had, despite the protests from both of you.

“You know with Chris it was different.”

“Different because of all the emotions?”

Yes. “No. Different because we were friends and I trusted him in a way I don’t trust most men. So there was none of the bullshit to navigate like there usually is with guys.” She’s skeptical, like she always is, but she doesn’t push. “Anyway, this was all Chris’ idea.”

“It was?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. He said I needed a break and to get fucked. He’s always right.”

“Mmmm. Are you going to see Hyunjin again?”

You pause, thinking about Hyunjin's sleeping form and how you'd slipped away. "Maybe. Maybe not. We were both upfront about not wanting anything serious."

“And you’re serious about taking a leave of absence from work?”

“Yeah girl. I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. It causing me to struggle. I’d rather take a self-imposed break than have a breakdown and be forcibly removed by the board.”

“That’s never a good look,” she agrees. “And can the company operate without you?”

“Yes. I mean, I’m not doing much these days except meetings after meetings after meetings and placing my signature on things. I just haven’t had the mental capacity for much else. That’s why this recharge is necessary.”

Olivia takes a long drink, finishing the last of her wine. She sets the glass down on the coffee table, a makeshift creation of reclaimed wood and sea glass, and stretches out like a cat. There's a moment of silence, heavy but not uncomfortable. You know her well enough to recognize when she's gearing up to say something important.

"I'm really glad you're taking this break," she says at last, her tone more serious now. "You know I love giving you shit, but... I'm worried about you. Chris and I have both been worried."

You shift in the avocado beanbag, its plush innards making you feel like you're sinking deeper into a hole. You finish your wine in a long, last gulp and set the glass on the floor. The room tilts ever so slightly as you lean back into the beanbag. "I think I liked it better when the two of you didn’t talk,” you mutter to yourself. “There’s no need to worry. I'm fine, Liv. Just tired."

"You're more than just tired," she says, swinging her legs around to sit cross-legged. "Babe, we’re not blind. You've been running on empty for years now. This isn’t just about being exhausted from work. We see how drained you are. How checked out you’ve been.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand to stop you.

“Hear me out,” she says. “Remember when we used to have fun? Like real, stupid fun? Late-night drives to the lake, spontaneous road trips, even just fucking around in your mom’s basement playing video games?”

“Liv…”

“I’m serious. When was the last time you did anything like that? When was the last time you did something just to laugh and be happy? It’s more than just being tired. You’ve lost something. You’ve been different”

"Different how?" you ask, though a part of you already knows what she's going to say.

"Sadder," she says softly. "More distant. Less... alive."

The words hit you harder than you expect. Olivia is never one to sugarcoat things, but hearing her say this cuts deep.

"I'm just tired, Liv," you say, trying to explain away her concerns. "Once I get some rest—"

"It’s more than that," she interrupts. "You’ve lost your spark. The way you used to light up when talking about new ideas, new projects, shit, new music or TV—it's all gone. You’re going through the motions at work and in your life and it's killing me to watch."

You sink deeper into the avocado beanbag, the ridiculous thing swallowing you up like quicksand. Is this how they all see you? Just a hollow, robotic version of your former self? The thought gnaws at you, more painful than you want to admit.

"Liv, I—" you start, but the words tangle in your throat. What can you say that won't sound like a lame excuse? That won't make you seem even more pathetic?

She softens, her usual brashness tempered by genuine concern. "Babe, we just want you to be happy.” She joins you on the beanbag, sitting on your lap and throwing her arms around your neck. “You deserve that, you know?" You wrap your arms around her torso squeezing her tight.

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken fears and hopes. You know she's right, that they're all right. But knowing and accepting are two different beasts.

****

The boardroom buzzes like an over-caffeinated hive, each member buzzing with anticipation and dread. They glance at each other, trading nervous theories about why you’ve called them in on zero notice. You watch the clock and your pulse with matching impatience, fingers drumming the table as you wait for everyone to take their places.

Anxious faces, expectant eyes, tension you could cut with a dull knife. They fear the worst: a merger gone wrong, the company in flames, the CEO resigning. They aren’t wrong on that last count—not really—but you’ll never admit it.

"As you all know," you begin, the calm before the corporate storm, "I’ve been running myself ragged. I need time to recharge. Time to focus on other priorities."

Eyes widen, darting from you to each other. Whispers spread like a virus. They didn’t see this coming, and that’s almost reason enough to do it.

"I’m taking a six-month sabbatical."

Silence, then an explosion of chaos. Questions over questions, demands for clarification, for reassurance, for you to change your damn mind. The one time they need you to be unpredictable, and they can’t handle it.

You stand your ground, unwavering. "Chris will handle day-to-day operations. I trust him, and so should all of you."

Chris nods, arms folded, the pillar of strength they can’t ignore. "I’ve got it covered," he says, and his words are an anchor in their sea of panic. "The company will survive without her for a few months."

"Not without heavy casualties," Felix mutters, flipping through your calendar on his ipad like it's a sacred text. "Half these meetings will have to be rescheduled. The other half will have to be burned in effigy."

The room doesn’t quite calm down, but the volume drops. They trust Chris—hell, maybe more than they trust you—and his confidence bleeds into theirs.

"We should discuss interim strategy," suggests a suit who’s always angling for more power. "Marketing. Finance. How will—"

Chris holds up a hand, stopping the flow before it turns into a flood. "We’ve already got a plan. I will provide full details after lunch."

Everyone stares at you like you've grown another head, but none of them dare to object. They nod, murmuring assent, no one willing to be the first to say they're terrified.

You can't help but smile, an unexpected lightness in your chest. They're in good hands—your best. You wouldn't leave them in any others.

Felix drops his ipad, and the sound is almost as dramatic as his expression. "You’re serious," he says, more accusation than question.

"As a heart attack," you reply, and there's a wicked delight in Felix's theatrical distress.

“I can’t believe you didn’t prepare me for this!” He sits heavily in the chair, looking overworked and underpaid and maybe a little bit proud. "I guess I’ll survive," he says, resigned to his fate as caretaker of the company—and of you—from afar.

"Don’t worry. You can now harass Chris with the same love and care you do me," you declare, turning to leave before anyone can rope you back in.

“But I can’t stand him,” Felix says with a pout. That’s a lie. You know that Felix has had a huge crush on Chris for years now. And Chris being a huge fucking flirt doesn’t help.

“You love me,” Chris replies teasingly as he reaches over to tickle Felix’s torso. Felix grunts, sounding disgusted as he shoves Chris away from him. Chris just laughs.

Chris catches your eye, and you share a look, a moment, a promise that this will be good for you both. His support is like always: unwavering and damn near insufferable in its accuracy.

As you walk out, the chaos erupts anew as board members attack Chris with questions and concerns, but it's a distant echo, already fading from your mind. The world is wide open, and for the first time in forever, you’re free to explore it.

****

The hallways are quieter than usual, a side effect of your bombshell dropping the staff into hushed speculation. You make your way through the building, each step a strange mixture of light and heavy. Six months away. Half a year of not being yourself—or maybe finally being who you really are.

Your phone pings as you enter your office.

Hyunjin: You snuck out the other day. I was really looking forward to waking up next to you.

You: I didn’t really sneak out. You just didn’t wake up. Sorry, I had some work stuff to take care of.

Hyunjin: Hmmmm. I love workaholics. So many kinks to work out.

You smile at his words. Even through the phone his flirting is hot.

Hyunjin: I had fun. I’d love to see you again. Would that be okay, beautiful?

You: I guess that could be arranged.

Hyunjin: Perfect. Give me a call whenever.

You put your phone away and start to gather your things, the essentials for an indefinite leave, the parts of you you're willing to take on this adventure. The decision hangs around you like a new coat, awkward but full of promise. There’s a fear that clutches at your gut, the fear of letting go and everything that comes with it.

Then excitement comes rushing in, and suddenly you can't remember why you didn't do this sooner.

Chris finds you as you’re about to leave. Of course he does. He’s a mind-reader, and you're convinced he’s part bloodhound too.

"Still in one piece?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe with casual authority.

"Mostly," you reply, but the word sounds less uncertain than you expect.

He gives you a long look, one that sees past the bravado to the eagerness beneath. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he says, which means he expects you to do everything he would.

You laugh, more genuine than it’s been in weeks. "Planning on it."

His expression softens, all teasing aside. "You’ll be fine," he says, and it’s the final nudge you need.

"You too," you answer, and you both know it’s not just the company you're talking about. “Dinner on Thursday?”

“Sure. Your place this time?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Bye.”

He watches as you walk away, and you feel the pull to turn back, to stay in the safety of the life you know. But you don't. You can't. This is the new you—reckless and hopeful and stepping into the unknown with both eyes wide open.

[casinorabbit]

"The guys in Management are greedy as fuck. They can smell the money that drama can give the casino, so of course they would accept to have you perform...what they didn't expect was for Miku to be there...and hun, that was the real reason they would want to put a collar around your neck now, if they didn't want to do that before already."

How many fallen or retired idols ended up in businesses like these? Too many. And while some of them would be forgotten by the world in time, Megurine Luka wasn't exactly a name that people would forget anytime soon, not when she was involved with one of the most famous idols of the world.

That partially sucked, but Yuuna continued walking and looked to the sides once they were outside the alley of the casino's back entrance.

"I know that ya know how to defend yourself, but if ya ever need me to lend a hand with anything, just tell me." Ugh, she just finished rushing a third cigarette and it felt like she needed a fourth one. "I think it's wise if ya don't wanna get on stage there. More trouble than it's worth."

After making a pause and stopping near a traffic light, waiting to cross, Yuuna bit her tongue but managed to keep her composure.

"And about Miku...do ya really want to let her go?" She would start, this time turning around slightly so she could look at the bartender better. "I'm sure ya aren't stupid. Ya know that girl wasn't lying or trying to trick ya...do ya know how difficult it is to find someone like that nowadays? Willing to come back after what happened?...if it wasn't because you fucked me stupid when I insulted her name, I would confirm you're insane."

But Sanae was probably stubborn, Yuuna thought. Maybe she was trying to mask her true feelings in an attempt to look tough, and mature.

...or maybe she hated herself enough for what happened that she felt she didn't deserve her.

For some reason, if the bunny girl's mind was filled with thoughts and possibilities, it was because...she herself has had experiences before that could get to sound as stupid as this situation.

"I'm envious, you know? I'm envious you have someone that loves you that much."

And admitting that out loud made her look away, as if something that she's been trying to bury for so many years just came back to bite her in the ass.

"Ya should...take those chances that life throws at ya...because ya never know when everything could get even more miserable..."

If there were any doubts that Yuuna was being serious, they were all but dispeled upon noticing the smaller details. More covering underneath the hood, and throwing away her third smoke earns a brief, blank blink from the bartender.

At Yuuna's invitation, they give a low hum of agreement, not saying anything more until they start walking together. She's not the type to pry into matters like these, loathing intrusions on her own personal problems, but it suspects Yuuna's had a grueling week of her own.

Pulling up her own hoodie, and donning a black face mask, it has no trouble keeping up with the shorter girl.

It's when Yuuna brings up the reunion that Sanae tenses, her brows furrowing at the reminder that the people swarming her by the bar was just the beginning. No, now that people know just who it is, she's never going to know peace.

"She learns from the best, I suppose," their tone is laced with bitter sarcasm, but it barely masks the undercurrent of remorse. "Here I thought Management wouldn't take the chance to let me perform tonight, but... now I wish they turned me down, after all. What a mess."

She's built these walls for a reason, knowing full well that any attempt to explain herself would be pointless. No matter how sincere she could be in her sentiments, people will always misinterpret her words to their will.

Preconceived notions based on her appearance, voice, behavior, maybe even her style of singing, all but seemingly proven in one situation.

Confirmation bias was a curse. More than that— a cage that her hand was forced to build, in order to keep herself free from people and their perceptions. What point was there in trying to justify herself when people were just going to close their ears?

It's not like there weren't any advantages, such a reputation lends well to intimidating troublesome customers on her shift, her stern stare scaring away any pests. But, even that benefit is only circumstantial.

She likes listening better than she likes to talk, anyhow. Better to be the observer than the observed.

She doesn't meet Yuuna's eyes, only clenching her fists. "Remind me to never get on that stage again."

[aquadestinyswriting]

Another writing snippet

I've been looking through my WIP folders to check in on my backlog and came across this hilarious story that I started about two years ago. This section of it is what happens when you give a European magpie even more intelligence and the ability to use and cast magic.

There was nothing quite like the sensation of fresh, cool air between one’s feathers, Chrackle thought to himself as he soared high above Toreguarde’s central plaza. The magpie swooped down and landed on top of the head of the statue of his mistress and cleaned his pinion feathers. Spring was almost here and he had to look his best if he wanted to attract a decent mate. Not that his previous dalliances weren’t decent, but the previous year’s had been a little too air-headed for his tastes. Chrackle chuckled quietly to himself, ideally he would find another wizard’s familiar to settle down with, but apparently the only one to appreciate his clearly superior kind was his own mistress. Something to do with being seen as ‘common thieves’ and ‘bad luck’ or some such tripe and nonsense.

The bird cocked his head and looked down at the various people going about their daily business. A group of three noblemen passed by, chattering about the latest news that had filtered in from the western coast. Apparently Port Blacksand was getting uppity and placing import taxes on pretty much anything coming through their port, which was beginning to irritate the nearby Bleak Academy. Chrackle stored the information away for later, no doubt his mistress was going to be quite interested in that particular turn of events...

A glint on the ground caught his attention almost immediately after, causing the magpie’s head to snap around in the direction the glint had come from. Chrackle’s eyes pinned as he focused on the object more closely, recognising it as some sort of bracelet. The corvid blinked as he lifted his head and looked at the humanoids passing by beneath him. None were paying any attention to the ground, and no one seemed to be frantically looking around for a missing item…

Chrackle croaked as he fluttered to the ground to take a closer look at the bracelet. It was made of finely wrought mythril and studded with diamonds, real ones if the way the sun shone through them was any indication. Chrackle cocked his head and tugged on the faint connection to his mistress. While he was nowhere near close enough to properly cast anything, he could still use it to check if the item he was looking at was magical. He blinked again as his eyes lit up with a faint blue-purple glow, studying the lazy drift of the currents of magic around the bracelet. The item lit up in a blaze of bright blue almost immediately, causing Chrackle to squawk and turn off the ability almost as quickly as he had turned it on. Alright, so the bracelet was definitely enchanted. Chrackle hopped back up onto the dais of the closest statue, and looked intently around at the people passing by. Once more, no one seemed to be frantically looking around for the item and no one else appeared to have noticed it. Surely if the owner really wanted their item back, they would have noticed it was gone, especially since the enchantment upon it seemed to be incredibly powerful, right?

The magpie looked back down at the bracelet. On the one hand, he was constantly being told off for bringing back abandoned items to the tower. On the other, he needed to get a wing up on the uppity young male that had picked out Chrackle’s original choice for a mate the previous year. If this didn’t get the attention of all the females in the city, then nothing would. 

His mind made up, Chrackle fluttered back down to the ground and picked up the bracelet in his beak and immediately flew back up into the air and shot towards the Garden of Galana to the southwest. He never noticed the young elven woman being accompanied by two officers from watchhouse one walking towards the statue whose dais he had been perching on.

[bamtwozled]

I just think it’s interesting how dan quite literally playing the heel in a wrestling context kind of pulls back the curtain on how often that’s been his role within Dan and Phil™️. probably the most obvious example was him pretending to be a hater about the tatinof song even though he wrote it into the show because being the hater was his role and his persona, but I also think it’s been kind of a throughline in things like dan vs phil (particularly in the original iteration, when phil was still boxed into the, for lack of a more accurate term, smol bean persona). and I don’t think it’s all an act by any means. disclaimer that I don’t know him personally and literally everything could be an act, etc etc, but I do think that’s really just his personality plenty of times. but there are aspects of that personality that get ramped up for the bit, and at its peak we get heel dan.

like, the routine has always been there if you’re looking for it. this isn’t truly new information. but there’s something about it staring you in the face like this that provides a different perspective on the performance of it all

[abirddogmoment]

We took our steadiness training out into the wild last night!

[personinthepalace]

Pretty U - SEVENTEEN WORLD TOUR [ODE TO YOU] IN SEOUL

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid I definitely didn't edit and cut this comp up myself I definitely didn't add the stupid ass music myself stupid stupid stupid I definitely found this online and just took it from there dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb I want to banish him to sitting in a corner permenatly he doesn't. Shouldn't. Get. Take him OUT of the driver seat of my brain he doesn't need to be there he d9esnt get a say in this take away his seat at the table gone removed out of this he doesn't get rent free, in fact he has to pay the most massive fee conceivable and I know that if I said this out loud I'd probably sound exasperated and a little breathless and fumble my words and groan and sigh and huff and make incoherent things to where I almost sounded upset but really with each muttering and long sigh there'd be a hint of .nof. of ....mfif8fifuidis soossssssssom.ssson.mthibg. something.mor.e.more. something more. Than that. The way someone sighs when walking past the bakery section of the grocery store and trying to pretend and act like they don't want it. They sigh and mutter that they don't need it but you can hear it and see it in their expression. Alas. This is over TEXT. And clearly I. Have been nothing but oh so the upmost convincing in my endeavors that. Scrolls back up. Scrolls back down quickly. Blankley stares at my keyboard. I want to slam a plank of wood sideways horizontal-motion across the back of his head.

[az-is-back]

sometimes you see a project to adapt the mysterious cities of gold, and it never takes off (i think partly because no producer truly believes this could work and partly because the original is too iconic), but honestly? if the movie industry cared more about historical action / adventure plots, there would totally be a way to make a good old swashbuckler / quest for gold / sailor-turned-pirate movie that progressively reveals its status as a Mendoza-centric prequel.

[firelise]

I"M HAVING A TIME

Tongrak THEE Stallion

[javierduffy]

kieran and javier finding moments or even seconds of domestic bliss in canon pls

my friend i have scoured, deep sea dived, deep cleaned, poker all-inned and i have never once in my rdr2 career ever been able to find a positive interaction between them in canon. i didn’t think they even had ANY for the longest time until someone found one and its literally javier threatening kieran … which i would personally not categorize as “domestic bliss”. i think our best bet for canon content is crossing our fingers and praying that the ai for them in camp has them sit next to each other momentarily