#I will start using these out of spite (I already do)

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜��𝓈𝒾𝓈: It started as a joke—a casual tease whispered into the ears of your closest friends, never meant to go beyond harmless daydreams. You had once donned a bunny suit for them, after all. In my opinion, it was only fair that they returned the favor, right?

What? You didn’t expect them to actually do this right?

Now, one by one, your choice, the men of TKATB + Special Guest ! ! stand before you, ears twitching, tails bouncing, and suits hugging them in ways that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

My dearest readers, I absolutely adore the artist alyysahh, or what many of us know as Waza on [ TikTok ] and [ Twitter ]. Her art inspires me so much—she even sparked the idea for part two—this from this fanfic [ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 ] I’m so excited, omg!

The rules are simple: look, but don’t touch... unless, as always you dare to find out just how far the bunny boys are willing to go for your approval.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Such Mister Bunny Blues.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then you stare, because what else are you supposed to do when Crowe—the ever-composed, polished, practically dream-worthy Crowe—is standing in your living room wearing a dark blue bunny suit?

It fits him too well. Hugging every sculpted line of his body, the matching floppy ears drooping pitifully over his brow, and a tiny, ridiculous puff of a tail perched right above... Places you should definitely not be looking at—You look anyway. You’re only human.

His face is already red, a deep, molten flush darkening his beautiful skin, but he holds his ground like a man about to face a firing squad. Or a firing squad armed with bad pickup lines and worse intentions — yours included.

"You're—" you sputter, laughter clawing its way up your throat, "Crowe, what the hell are you doing? Well, wearing, dear?”

He shifts awkwardly, and the tiny bunny tail wiggles.

You might actually die right then and there, your soul floating out of your body in sheer blissful absurdity.

"I noticed," he says, voice low and steady — the kind of tone he usually reserves for comforting small animals and broken hearts — "you seemed... off lately. Sad." He tugs gently at the loose braid hanging off his shoulder, a nervous habit you know better than you should. "I thought... maybe this would help."

You blink again, your heart doing something catastrophically stupid inside your chest.

He did this—this—for you?

Crowe, the walking embodiment of poise and calm, decided to prance around in a bunny suit because you were a little gloomy?

God, you were going to marry him out of spite.

"You thought dressing up like the world's most handsome Easter reject would cheer me up?" you tease, stalking closer like a predator that's just spotted very, very vulnerable prey.

You reach up and flick one of the floppy ears. It bounces.

Crowe flinches like you just electrocuted him.

"I don't regret it," he mutters, eyes locked on your —deep blue, steady, dangerous in a way that ties knots in your stomach. "If it makes you smile... I'll do a lot worse."

You bite your lip, feeling heat bloom deliciously up your spine. It’s criminal, truly criminal, how he manages to look so devastatingly good even while trying very hard to pretend he isn't internally combusting. Shiiii really and vice versa. YOU tried so hard not to combust. 

His long fingers—those beautiful hands you’ve absolutely not thought about at night, nope, not once—clench and unclench at his sides. His nails, well-kept and gleaming, catch the golden glow of the living room light.

Strands of dark hair have slipped free from his braid, falling across his cheek in a way that demands your attention, demands your touch. The temptation to grab him by the ears—to tug, to pull, to ruin him—is almost overwhelming.

"You're a menace," you whisper, smirking wickedly.

"And you're worth it," he murmurs back, voice low, rough, wrecked.

The room feels too small now. Too hot. The air crackles between you, so thick and heavy you could wrap your fingers around it. You take one daring step closer, close enough to smell him — warm and clean, with the faintest hint of something woodsy and natural underneath, like he’s just come in from standing in the spring rain.

You trail a single finger down his chest, slow enough that Crowe visibly shudders. Poor thing—still trying so hard to stay composed, to stay gentlemanly, even while dressed like a snack-shaped bunny.

You are a cruel, cruel person.

"You know," you muse aloud, drawing innocent little circles against the silk of his costume, feeling the thundering beat of his heart beneath your fingertip, "you didn't have to go this far, Crowe. I mean, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just, oh, I don’t know..."

You grin up at him, flashing teeth. "Kissed me."

Crowe makes a noise. 

A soft, panicked sound, half-choked at the back of his throat. "I—" He freezes. "I wouldn't... presume—"

You reach up, grab the floppy ears between your hands, and tug him down.

There’s the faintest split-second where he realizes what’s happening—where you see the panic flare bright in those beautiful blue eyes—before you crash your mouth against his.

Crowe melts. Absolutely, spectacularly melts.

One of his arms locks around your waist on instinct, hauling you up against him—so much strength, so much quiet, hidden power—and his other hand fists into your hair like he’s drowning and you’re the only solid thing left in the world.

His mouth is soft and reverent against yours, as if he's memorizing you, as if he's scared to take too much, even when you’re the one who started it.

You smile into the kiss—a little smug, a lot victorious— and nip playfully at his bottom lip.

That does it.

Crowe makes a small, desperate sound, deep in his chest, and kisses you harder. It's not perfect. He's a little clumsy, a little frantic, as if he's scared you'll pull away, laugh at him, regret it—but it's real, and it's messy, and it's him, and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

When you finally break apart for air, Crowe looks wrecked. Flushed, panting, wide-eyed and disheveled, his bunny ears flopping pitifully to one side.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

"You’re... evil," he breathes, voice hoarse.

"And you," you say, cupping his face between your hands, "are mine, mister bunny."

Crowe groans, low and helpless, and buries his face against your shoulder — probably to hide how violently he’s blushing. You pat the fluffy bunny tail mockingly. It wiggles again.

Crowe stands there, his back rigid, the dark blue bunny suit clinging to every inch of his body like it’s made specifically to torture you. You can’t help but let your gaze drop, catching that tiny tail wiggling as he shifts, trying — failing — to act like he’s still the composed, collected man you know.

His breath is still uneven, a bit of flush lingering on his cheeks, and his posture is so stiff it might as well be a marble statue. But there’s something else. Something in his eyes.

That dangerous glint.

And the way his gaze flicks to your lips every few seconds is enough to set your pulse pounding again.

You lean against the couch, arms crossed casually—too casually, almost—watching him with a smirk. "You know," you tease, your voice dripping with sweet venom, "You look a little... flustered there, Crowe. I thought you were the composed one?"

Crowe shoots you a side glance, and you can see the way his hands twitch, like he wants to grab you—or possibly strangle you—but instead, he just exhales sharply and straightens his back even more. His voice is a little tight.

“I’m fine. Just... fine.”

You hum, a sly smile playing at the corners of your lips as you walk toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, each one bringing you closer to his tense form. "I didn’t know bunnies got so... embarrassed. So cute, though. You should try wearing that more often. You know, maybe every day, just to brighten my mood."

His gaze snaps to yours, a brief flicker of guilt passing through those deep blue eyes—or is it resentment? Either way, you can see the crack in his armor. He’s pretending he’s unaffected, but it’s obvious. 

He’s dying inside.

"You're... really pushing it." His voice is soft, but the way his jaw clenches as he grinds out the words says otherwise.

You smirk, and without warning, you slap his ass. Hard.

The sound rings through the room, and his entire body tenses. His head jerks back, and he makes a sharp, strangled noise that, frankly, you didn’t expect.

The fabric of his bunny suit pulls taut against his body as you let your hand rest there for just a moment too long, watching the play of muscles under his skin flex, feeling the warmth of his body.

"Oh, come on," you tease, your fingers trailing dangerously close to where the curve of his ass meets his thighs. "That bubble is so much bigger than mine. Who would've thought, huh?"

Crowe’s eyes flash with something darker—defiant. Before you can blink, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around with effortless strength. You stumble, caught off guard, and end up pressed against the nearest wall.

Your breath hitches.

Crowe stands there, inches away, his chest rising and falling, his breath heavy against your neck. His hand still holds your wrist, but the grip is no longer tight.

It’s more... possessive now.

“You think I’m embarrassed?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "I’m not the one who needs to be embarrassed right now, are we?"

You feel his free hand glide over your body, skimming your waist, your ribs, before settling dangerously close to your hips. He’s leaning into you, his breath hot on your skin, sending a shiver straight through you.

"Don't act like you're not enjoying this." His voice is low, almost a growl, but there’s a smirk in it. He’s not quite teasing anymore. He’s all in control now, leaning into the teasing game in a way you didn’t expect.

And then, like a switch flipping, he presses his lips to your neck—soft, slow kisses at first. But as your breath catches, he intensifies them, biting gently, nipping at the sensitive skin right beneath your ear.

You’re trapped. Not physically, but emotionally. 

He’s got you exactly where he wants you.

You can’t help the way your pulse picks up. You grab the front of his suit, pulling him closer as if you need him to prove that you’re right, that he's just as tangled in this as you are. "Crowe..." you whisper, a mixture of longing and challenge.

Before you can say anything else, his hand slides up your side, cupping your jaw gently but firmly. His thumb brushes your lower lip, a simple, intimate gesture that sends a wave of heat rushing to your core.

"You like me dress up as a bunny, don't you?" His voice is rougher now, darker. 

You open your mouth to respond, to fire back another snarky comment, but you don't get the chance. Crowe closes the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so deep, so heated, that it almost knocks the air from your lungs. His kiss is demanding, but there's also a tenderness to it, as if he's trying to show you exactly how much he's willing to do for you. How far he'll go.

And maybe it's the way he presses against you, pinning you into the wall with his weight. Or maybe it's the sudden surge of need between you two—but when he pulls back, there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Now," he breathes against your lips, "I think this mister bunny should teach you a lesson."

Before you can even brace yourself, Crowe’s hands are on your hips, lifting you off the ground and pinning you up and against the wall, holding you there as his lips return to your neck, kissing and biting with a growing hunger. He’s marking you now—staking his claim.

“Now tell me where I should start first…” he murmurs, his voice breathless, as his lips trail down your collarbone. “…my beautiful starlight.”

He kisses his way back up to your ear, biting down softly as you gasp. “I-I don’t know!!"

"Mhm, nothing? Fine I’ll choose for you ."

 Yep. Fucking. Best. Day. Ever.

no words, like no words, dearest readers, AHHHHHHH.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Emo Bunny Attention Seeker.

You’re just sitting there. Minding your business.

Or at least, pretending to, stretched lazily across Sol’s bed like you owned it—because let’s be honest, you kinda did. One leg crossed over the other, twirling your phone between your fingers, content to simply exist in the familiar comfort of his room.

His soft scent wrapped around you like a warm blanket—a mix of cedarwood, something sweet and sharp underneath, and whatever shampoo he used that made you want to bury your face in his hair and never come out again.

You hear the telltale creak of the closet door opening. 

Sol’s quiet, almost suspiciously so, and then you hear it: a small, nervous huff, like he’s working up the courage to face down a firing squad. You glance up casually. And promptly choke on air.

Standing there, awkward and stiff, cheeks burning brighter than a dying sun, is Sol — your sweet, bashful, absolutely doomed Sol — wearing a dark green bunny suit.

And not just any bunny suit.

This thing clings to every muscle, every dip and flex of his body like it was stitched directly onto his skin. His black-and-green streaked hair falls messily around his shoulders, those crimson-orange eyes wide and pleading under the weight of the matching floppy ears drooping pathetically over his forehead.

Fishnet tights hug his long legs, and bruises — old, new, kissed purple and yellow — scatter across his arms and thighs, peeking through the mesh.

You don’t even get the chance to fully process it before — plop — the breast flap of the bunny suit flips down, casually revealing one of his nipple piercings, the little silver barbell gleaming like a beacon in the dim light.

You stare. He stares back. Time stops.

You bite your lip—hard—to keep the howl of laughter that bubbles up from ripping out of your throat. “Oh. My. God," you manage, grinning wide enough to hurt. You sit up on your knees, predatory now, delight buzzing in your veins.

Sol immediately flinches like you physically touched him, his hands scrambling to cover the exposed skin, bunny tail wiggling frantically behind him.

"I—! I d-didn't mean for that to—!" he stammers, voice cracking halfway through, as red floods all the way down his throat, painting him guilty and so, so deliciously adorable.

You lick your lips, slow and deliberate, dragging your gaze up and down his body like you’re memorizing every sinful inch. “Sol, sweetheart,” you purr, tilting your head. “You sure you’re not trying to seduce me?"

His knees buckle. Actually, buckle. The poor thing grips the edge of his desk like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

"I—I just—!" he blurts, eyes wide and glassy, red face, the fishnets squeaking slightly as he shifts his weight. "I just wanted you to— to look at me, and maybe— maybe you’d—"

“Maybe I’d what?" you coax, crawling forward across the bed like a slow, lazy predator, letting him watch you stalk him.

He swallows audibly, throat bobbing.

"Maybe y-you’d touch me," he whispers, so soft you almost don't catch it. His fists tighten, knuckles white. "Y-You always look so good on my bed, and I— I just wanted to—"

You practically purr with amusement, stopping at the edge of the mattress, sitting back on your heels, crossing your arms. "Come here, Emo Bunny," you say, voice like velvet wrapping around a knife.

He doesn't even hesitate—he stumbles forward, bunny tail bouncing, cheeks burning, until he’s standing right in front of you, trembling like a leaf.

You trail a finger up his fishnet-clad thigh, slow and teasing, until you can feel the muscle jump beneath your touch.

He shudders. Whimpers.

"Please," he gasps out, desperate now, the word ripped straight from his soul. His hands flex uselessly at his sides, like he’s aching to grab you but too scared to move without permission.

You smirk. Wicked.

"Please what, bunny?" you ask, tipping your chin up, making him look down into your eyes. "Use your words, pretty boy."

His face crumples, overwhelmed with how much he wants, how much he needs you—it’s almost tragic, really. "I—!" He bites his lip, shaking his head, shame and need warring inside his body. "Please... touch me... please just—!"

You let your hands roam, slow and deliberate, trailing up over his hips, feeling the tremble of his thighs, the heat radiating from his skin under the thin, humiliating fabric. You tug gently at the strap dangling from where the top had flopped down, snapping it lightly against his chest.

He whines. A sound so pathetic, so gorgeous, you could’ve melted into the mattress right then and there.

"You're lucky you're cute," you murmur, thumb brushing teasingly close to his exposed nipple, feeling him jerk under the lightest touch. His hands finally move — only to grip your shoulders, grounding himself like he might float away otherwise.

"Please," he repeats, broken now, voice hoarse, wrecked. "I’m yours—please just—anything you want, I’ll—"

You smile—wide, dangerous, cruel in your affection. "Anything, huh?" you hum, dragging your nails lightly down his sides, watching him physically twitch under the featherlight sensation.

He nods frantically, the floppy bunny ears bouncing with the motion. "Anything," he breathes, reverent. Worshipful.

Fuck, he’s beautiful like this—flushed and trembling and ready to fall apart just because you looked at him like you wanted to eat him alive.

You hook a finger through the key necklace dangling against his chest, tugging him down so he’s eye-level with you.

His breath stutters. His eyes are huge, wide and glassy and so, so ready. "Good boy," you whisper against his lips, just barely brushing, not kissing — no, you control this.

"Now, beg a little prettier for me, Emo Bunny."

You watch him closely, eyes narrowing with that playful, teasing gleam as Sol stands there, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. His wide, uncertain eyes never leave yours, but there's something else there now—need. A desperate, aching need that you've ignited with just a few words, a flick of your wrist.

“Good boy,” you whisper again, your voice dripping with affection and cruelty in equal measure. You reach up, fingers curling into the strands of his messy hair, tugging him closer. Sol doesn’t resist — hell, his breath catches when you pull on it, his body leaning forward instinctively, as if to be closer to you is the only thing that matters.

He’s so helpless under your touch.

“You want this, don’t you?” you murmur, just a breath away from his lips, savoring the scent of his skin, the electricity between you. Sol nods eagerly, a small sound—something between a moan and a whimper—escaping his throat. His breath is shallow, every word a struggle as he fights to hold himself together.

“Please,” he gasps again, his voice strained with need, “I need you. I’ll do anything. Just please—” His hips shift, like he’s trying to find some kind of release, but you stop him, pressing your palm flat against his chest.

“Down boy,” you command, just one word, but it has all the power.

Sol obeys instantly, his knees buckling as he lowers himself in front of you, the fabric of his bunny suit shifting with every motion. His lips are parted, face flushed with a mix of desire and humiliation, and the sight of him like this—so willing—makes your pulse race.

“On your knees,” you coax, your voice thick with authority, “You want to beg for it? Beg for me. Show me how desperate you really are.”

He obeys again, slower this time, hands trembling as he presses them to the floor. You can feel the tension building in him, his body coiled tight as a spring, ready to break.

Your foot slides out from beneath you, placing it gently—but with intent—on his bulge. The pressure is subtle at first, but you start to push down, slowly, deliberately. Sol gasps sharply, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, looking at you like you’ve just commanded the stars to fall from the sky.

His entire body jerks under the weight of your foot. “Please,” he whispers, voice barely audible, but the word is there, dripping with need. “Please, don’t—don’t tease me anymore.”

You increase the pressure, your foot pushing further against his thigh. Sol’s breath hitches, his entire body trembling like a leaf caught in the wind. His hands shake on the floor, fingers gripping the carpet as if that will ground him.

“Tell me what you want, Emo Bunny,” you say softly, knowing full well what it’ll do to him. His body shudders in response, and he lets out a soft whine, lips trembling.

“I—I want you,” he gasps, his voice cracking as he struggles to speak through the overwhelming wave of emotion and desperation. “Please... I’ll do anything, just please—”

You press down harder, making him gasp, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel his whole body shaking beneath your foot, a soft, almost pitiful sound escaping his lips as he tries to hold back. His breath is ragged now, and his eyes—those fiery orange and crimson eyes—are filled with so much need it’s almost too much to look at.

“You sound so pathetic, Bunny,” you tease, your voice laced with dark amusement. 

“Begging for me like this. You really can’t take much, can you?”

Sol’s entire body shudders, and you watch his face twist with pleasure and frustration. He’s so far gone, he can’t even formulate a proper sentence anymore, just a jumble of desperate pleas.

“Please, please—” he whimpers, his voice breaking as he drags his hands to your legs, clutching at them, trying to pull you closer. His body is taut with tension, and you can see how badly he wants more. 

“I need— please—”

You laugh softly, one hand tracing down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melts into your touch. You can’t help but marvel at how good he looks on his knees for you — how easy it is to make him beg.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” you murmur, a dark promise in your tone. “I’m not going to leave you hanging. You’ve been so good for me.”

With a swift motion, you shift your foot to the side, and before he can even react, you grab his hair again, forcing his head back, exposing the delicate line of his throat. He lets out a soft gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you pull his head back to give you full access.

“Look at me,” you order, your voice firm, and Sol complies instantly, his eyes locking with yours. They’re full of pleading, full of fire. 

He’s barely holding himself together.

“I want you to beg for it, Sol,” you whisper, pulling harder on his hair until his neck arches. His lips part, but no words come out—just a broken, frustrated moan. His hands scrabble at your sides, gripping your thighs as you shift forward, pressing your leg against his chest.

You smirk, dragging your thigh up until it brushes his lips. “Kiss.”

A shudder wracks through him, but he obeys, pressing his mouth to your skin in a feverish, open-mouthed kiss. His breath is ragged, his lips trembling as you rock against him, teasing the friction he so desperately craves.

“Beg me, Bunny,” you murmur, grinding down just enough to make him whimper. “Beg like you mean it.”

Sol gasps, his hands clutching your hips as he tears his mouth away just to plead, “Please—fuck, please—I can’t—I need—” His voice cracks, his body arching up against yours, seeking more.

You tug his hair again, forcing his head back. His gaze is wild, pupils blown, lips wet from kissing your skin. “Well, then,” you tease, rolling your hips slowly, watching him unravel, “you’ll just have to beg a little more prettily for me, won’t you?”

He chokes out a sob, fingers digging into your flesh. “Please—I need you so much, just—please—anything, I’ll do anything—”

You smile, wicked and satisfied, finally relenting. “Good boy.” You release him, smoothing a hand down his chest, feeling the rapid hammer of his heartbeat. Leaning down, you press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re so good for me, Bunny.” Your lips brush his ear as you whisper, “You’ve earned this.”

Sol shatters for you, right there—whispering desperate, frantic pleas against your skin, hands trembling, body tense and burning and begging you to ruin him in that stupid, adorable, obscenely hot bunny suit.

The tension between you two is electric, your breaths mingling as you press closer. His bunny ears—soft, slightly askew—tilt forward as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a teasing promise.

"You’re keeping those on," you murmur against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair just beneath the fuzzy headband. He lets out a low chuckle, warm and wicked, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Every touch burns—his hands gripping your hips, your nails dragging down his back—but it’s the sight of those damn bunny ears that undoes you.

And when he finally loses control, his head tipping back with a groan, those ears flop adorably to the side—just before you yank him back down to you, claiming his mouth again.

"Good boy."

ayyyyy, I’ve might got carried away, what?? I’m a big bully.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Mr. Grumpy Bunny

You didn't think the day would ever actually come.

Two months. Two entire months of coaxing, pleading, bargaining—bribing, even. You had tried everything short of selling your soul just to see Geo, the ever-serious, ever-stubborn Geo, in a bunny suit.

And now, here you were, casually sitting on the tatami floor mats, mindlessly dangling a feather toy above his black cat’s head. The little creature—sleek, yellow-eyed, and infinitely more willing to entertain you than his master—batted lazily at the feathers. You were completely engrossed, giggling under your breath, your knees tucked neatly beneath you on the smooth straw flooring.

You didn’t even hear him coming.

Only when a pair of feet entered your peripheral vision did you pause, the toy mid-sway in your hand.

You blinked slowly. 

Sheer black tights. Shiny, bluish-purple bunny suit that hugged his lean figure like sin itself.

Matching gloves. Long, upright bunny ears perched atop his dark, bluish-purple hair, tied back neatly into that stubborn low ponytail you always teased him about.

His usual teal-and-white block earrings swayed slightly, catching the light, and that damn septum piercing glinted mischievously, almost like it was in on it.

You swallowed hard, your eyes dragging up his body like you were trying not to crash a car, until they finally met his aquamarine ones—irritated, narrowed, unmistakably Geo eyes. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, as though holding onto the last shred of his dignity.

"Tsk," he clicked his tongue at you sharply, standing over you like a judge sentencing you to death.

You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth, your cheeks puffing out with the effort to hold in your laughter. Oh, you would not survive this. You would not survive this and you knew it.

Turning away dramatically, you hunched your shoulders to further hide your hysterics, feeling your entire body shake with the sheer force of your suppressed snickers.

"You wanted this," Geo growled lowly, an irritated edge undercutting his words. "Look at me."

You shook your head frantically, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from the strain of holding it all in. The little kitten, sensing the rising chaos, skittered off into another room with an indignant chirp, abandoning you to your fate.

Strong hands gripped your shoulders, not rough but firm, trying to turn you back toward him. "Look," he demanded again, exasperated, and your traitorous body gave in with a helpless, shaky breath.

You turned, finally, and instantly collapsed into giggles, your forehead pressing to his hip in a desperate attempt to smother the sound.

Geo huffed above you, and when you dared glance up again, his flush had traveled all the way to his ears, a pretty dusting of pink that stood out against his normally pale complexion. His expression was murderously unimpressed.

Before he could scold you again, you took your moment. 

Leaping up with a playful tackle, you pushed him backward. Geo let out a startled grunt as he stumbled, catching himself awkwardly with one knee bent, but you used your weight—and frankly, his momentary stunned brain lag—to push him down fully onto the tatami mats, landing squarely on top of him.

His arms instinctively tried to push you away, grabbing at your wrists; however, you were quicker. 

You wriggled your hands free and immediately went for the kill: tugging one floppy bunny ear and cooing dramatically, "Who's the cutest little bunny? Mr. Grumpy Bunny! It's you, Geo! Yes, you are~!"

The noise he made was somewhere between a pained groan and an indignant snarl, eyes squeezing shut like if he didn't see you, you wouldn't exist. "Stop," he gritted out, trying to push your hands away again.

You only laughed harder, dropping your forehead onto his chest briefly to muffle your cackles. His chest rose and fell heavily beneath you, the bunny suit’s material sliding against your clothes, slick and warm.

Before he could mount another defense, you leaned up just enough to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, grinning wickedly.

"Thank you," you whispered, saccharine sweet and deliberately close, your breath fanning across his ear. "You’re the sweetest Grumpy bunny ever."

Geo stiffened underneath you, his entire face exploding into an aggressive, furious red. He jerked his head to the side, refusing to meet your gaze, mumbling curses under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

Before you could gloat too much, he moved fast—pressing his face right into your chest with a strangled noise, his hands locking tightly around your sides.

"Shut up," he muttered, voice muffled and embarrassingly high-pitched, sounding more like a pouty child than the usually icy and unbothered Geo you knew.

You blinked down at him, absolutely flabbergasted... then, seeing an opportunity for even more chaos, you shifted slightly, pressing closer, your hand idly stroking his bunny ear again.

"You know," you said slyly, your voice dripping with mischief, "if you keep holding me like this, I’ll start to think you actually like this silly crap."

Geo’s arms tightened briefly around your waist before he gave you a sharp, warning tug downward—yanking you off balance so your whole body collapsed against his, nose brushing his flushed cheek.

"I don't care," he growled quietly, aquamarine eyes flashing dangerously up at you. His voice was low, raw with some emotion you couldn’t immediately place—somewhere between mortification and... maybe a stubborn, reluctant affection he hadn't figured out how to voice yet.

You let out a low whistle, unable to stop yourself.

"Damn, Mr. Grumpy Bunny’s getting bold now," you teased, tapping your finger against the tip of his red nose playfully.

He groaned again, this time with pure suffering, and thumped his forehead lightly against your shoulder as if hoping he could simply phase out of existence.

At this rate, you were starting to think you might actually kill Geo with secondhand embarrassment.

You’d mourn him properly.

But first... you were absolutely getting a picture.

You felt unstoppable now, grinning like you’d just won a gold medal in teasing, ready to pull out your phone and immortalize this rare, once-in-a-lifetime moment of Geo in his bunny suit.

You were this close to snapping the perfect picture of his mortified face, maybe even showing off the ridiculous bunny ears that made it look like he belonged in a very different kind of scene.

However as you reached for your phone, you felt Geo's body tense underneath you, his grip tightening around your waist. "No."

His voice was quiet but low—dangerously so. You immediately knew something had shifted, his stubbornness turning into full-blown defiance as you tried to reach for your phone again.

Without warning, he moved fast—quicker than you expected—and suddenly, your world flipped. You were pinned to the tatami mats in a breath-stealing instant.

Geo’s body was above you now, a solid weight pressing into your back, his arms locked firmly around your wrists, securing them against your back. His movements were fast, precise, like a well-trained assassin.

"Not... not this time," he muttered darkly, his breath hot against the back of your neck, his body straddling your hips to keep you firmly in place. He was like a weight on top of you, his arms crossed over your hands as he gripped you with surprising strength.

The sensation of being held down, restrained—pinned—only served to make the situation even more charged. Your heart skipped a beat as his presence loomed over you, his soft groan against your skin making it all feel way too intimate.

Geo’s voice was rougher now, almost strained.

“You think you can mess with me like that?” he murmured, the words lost in a strange mixture of embarrassment and something darker you couldn’t quite place.

You could feel his chest pressing into your back, the heat of his body seeping through the bunny suit. The fabric, snug and form-fitting, felt like a whisper against your skin, and you were suddenly hyperaware of every inch of him—his body on top of yours, his breath hot on your neck.

The smile never left your face, even as you shifted beneath him, trying to squirm free. The playful tone you’d maintained before had shifted into something more dangerous, a fire in your stomach that matched the heat of the moment. 

"You think you can stop me?" you teased, your voice breathless, barely holding back the excitement in your chest. “You’ve got a lot of nerve for someone in a bunny suit, Geo.”

His grip tightened further, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he leaned down, his voice now barely a whisper. “Shut up,” he growled.

You couldn’t help it—your body, pressed into the floor, was pulsing with heat, but you couldn’t let up. You twisted your hips to rub against him playfully, laughing when he let out a choked sound, clearly caught off guard.

But before you could escalate it further, Geo did something unexpected—something that made your breath catch in your throat.

In one smooth motion, he shifted his weight, making sure to keep you pinned down, but his face was suddenly right next to yours. You could feel the tension in his body, his breath shallow against your cheek, his soft, furious whisper carrying through the air.

“If you don’t stop this,” he warned, “I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

For a moment, you felt a sudden shift. The teasing energy you’d been enjoying slowly turned into something much more intense, much more loaded with heat and raw emotion. 

You were really pinned now—both physically and emotionally.

Then, something clicked. Geo’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he adjusted his position, bringing his body even closer to yours, until you could feel every inch of him against your back. His grip on your wrists slackened, just a little, but his weight remained firmly above you, locking you in place.

His voice was quieter now, a small thread of uncertainty threading through the harshness. “I’m serious,” he muttered. “This is… this is too much for me. I can’t... you’re—”

You shifted, just enough to meet his gaze, your chest still heaving from the struggle. “You’re what? Not enjoying this?” You knew that tone—teasing, poking, drawing out whatever was left of his already rattled composure.

Geo’s flush deepened. It was almost enough to rival the red of the bunny suit. His eyes closed, and his breath quickened, his voice betraying him. “I’m not… I don’t… You make me feel ridiculous,” he admitted softly, almost too quietly for you to hear.

You smirked at the vulnerability in his voice, and despite the intense physicality of the moment, you realized something—a secoud of warmth spread in your chest. His words had an unexpected effect on you.

But before you could tease him further, Geo seemed to sense the opening he’d given you, and he took the opportunity to shift again. His face—barely inches from yours—turned slightly, but this time, he kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t sweet or apologetic. Instead, it was desperate to shut you up, and for once, his urgency made it feel a little less like a game. His lips were pressed hard against yours, his breath mingling with yours as his hands slid from your wrists to grip your shoulders, forcing you to stay still.

The kiss wasn’t long, but, it was enough to stop you.

Geo pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if trying to calm himself.

He closed his eyes, his voice quieter now but still carrying the weight of his emotions. “There. That should stop you. You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

You chuckled softly, savoring the rare moment of intimacy before you responded. “Maybe,” you teased, “but you still kissed me. Guess I’m winning, Bunny Boy.”

Geo made a noise in his throat—part exasperation, part something else entirely. His arms released you, but you didn’t move immediately.

You didn’t need to.

The game had changed. And while he might’ve quieted you in the heat of the moment, there was still that unspoken tension between you two that would be far from settled. You might’ve won this round, but you knew—Geo wouldn’t let you off that easily.

Not by a long shot.

I didn't want to mess with my husband any longer, I felt bad T-T

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Bunny Boy orrrr Chaotic Bunny?

The hotel room smelled faintly of cheap vanilla candles and plastic packaging from the costume bags scattered everywhere, a chaotic battlefield of fabric and makeup brushes.

You were perched on a chair by the little vanity, balancing a handheld mirror in one hand, carefully working on your eyeliner with the precision of a bomb technician.

Your costume was already half on—something dangerously cute and teasing, something that would probably get you mobbed at the con, but that didn’t matter right now. Right now, you were focused on getting the stupid eyeliner wing even. The dull hum of the bathroom fan filled the background, paired with the occasional squeak of shoes slipping against tile.

You were so engrossed in not stabbing your eye out that you almost missed the bathroom door creaking open.

Almost.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement—and then you heard it. The sharp click-clack of cheap platform heels strutting across the hotel carpet, like a model on the world’s most cursed runway.

You slowly lowered your mirror, blinked, and there he was.

Hyugo. In all his radiant, chaotic, bunny-suited glory.

He struck a ridiculous pose, one hand on his narrow hip, the other thrown into a peace sign near his face like some sparkly anime idol. His bunny suit was baby blue, hugging his lean, youthful frame a little too perfectly, highlighting his long legs wrapped tightly in black fishnet tights. Matching satin gloves covered his hands up to the elbows, and those platform heels? Oh, he was walking in them, strutting, like he’d been born in stilettos.

His teal hair was a chaotic mess of shaggy layers, the thick rat tail behind him bobbing slightly with every exaggerated move. The thick middle strand of his bangs flopped into his forehead while his long side pieces framed his baby-faced grin, the sparkle in his soft, sky-blue eyes practically weaponized.

You just... stared. Blinking slowly. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“TA-DAAA!” he sang out, twirling dramatically.

He finished the spin with a high kick that he almost nailed—his heel skidding a bit on the carpet—but he recovered with a flourish so fast you wondered if he'd practiced that in secret.

"Hyugo..." you said slowly, voice dangerously neutral, setting the mirror down onto the cluttered vanity. "What... the hell... are you doing?"

"Living my best life," he declared, teeth flashing in a too-wide, shit-eating grin. The baby blue bunny ears attached to his headband flopped a little when he gave a dramatic hair flip, like he was on the cover of a 2007 fashion magazine. 

And then—without warning, he strutted over to you. 

You backed up an inch in your chair, instinctively wary, sensing his chaotic energy building like a storm front. You didn't even have time to stand before he spun around, back facing you—and plopped himself right down onto your lap. Full weight.

"Lap dance timeeeee~!" Hyugo chirped.

You choked on your own spit.

The little shit started grinding like he was on a pole, wagging his bunny tail-covered ass side to side with such exaggerated, silly movements that you almost cried. 

He leaned back, resting his head against your shoulder, batting his stupid, gorgeous baby blue eyes up at you. "You like what you see, babe~?" he teased, voice pitching into a playful, breathy whine.

You spluttered, hands frozen in midair, not sure where the hell to even put them.

On his hips? On his waist? Anywhere?!

There was literally no safe place.

Meanwhile, Hyugo was feeling himself, wiggling his hips with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing—and exactly how much it was breaking you.

You could feel the way the fishnet texture rubbed against your thighs through his movements, could smell the faint sugary cologne he’d spritzed on earlier, could hear the soft, breathy mmms he added for dramatic effect, absolutely laying it on thick.

"You gonna tip me?" he whispered, his voice hot against your ear, grinning like the devil himself. "I take cash, kisses, or compliments~."

You made a small, strangled noise in your throat that sounded vaguely like the death cry of a Victorian maiden. Your face was burning, hotter than a bonfire.

The worst part? He knew it.

You could see it in the tiny, satisfied smirk curling his thin lips. "God, you're—!" you managed to blurt, struggling for words. "You're such a little—!"

"Baby boy?" he offered sweetly, batting his lashes again.

You gripped the edge of the chair so hard your knuckles turned white, breathing heavily through your nose like an angry bull. He was deliberately arching his back now, adding an extra little bounce to his movements, the little rat tail flopping around like a cheerful party favor.

You were going to die.

"You better not do this at the convention," you hissed, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

"Aww, you don't want me giving everyone else a show too~?" Hyugo cooed, nuzzling your cheek with fake innocence. "You're so possessive, cutie."

He had the audacity to boop your nose with his gloved finger before pulling back with a scandalized gasp.

"Unless..." he mused aloud, a wicked little smile playing on his lips, "...you want a private encore later?"

You shoved him off your lap with a growl, but Hyugo just rolled onto the carpet, kicking his legs in the air like an overexcited puppy, laughing so hard tears were forming in the corners of his glittering eyes.

"You’re insane!" you accused.

"And fabulous!" he shot back, striking another ridiculous pose on the ground like a fallen Broadway star.

You buried your burning face in your hands, muttering curses under your breath. 

The bunny suit squeaked when Hyugo eventually got up again, heels click-clacking as he walked over to the mirror to admire himself—his little blue bunny tail bouncing with every step. "Admit it," he teased, glancing at you through the mirror. "You loved it."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

The fact that you were still a blushing, frazzled mess was answer enough.

And Hyugo? He knew he’d won this round.

The smug, victorious grin he shot you was just the cherry on top of your slow, inevitable descent into hell. By the time you both actually made it to the convention, you were already emotionally exhausted.

Mostly from fighting the overwhelming urge to throttle Hyugo in his ridiculous, obscenely cute bunny suit every five minutes.

You should’ve known better than to think he would behave.

You should’ve known.

The crowded halls buzzed with energy—people in elaborate cosplays, music thumping from different booths, the smell of popcorn and cheap hot dogs hanging heavy in the air. It was loud, chaotic, and absolutely not a place where you could hide from Hyugo's brand of public humiliation.

You were just trying to mind your own business, flipping through some artist alley prints, when you felt a familiar click-click-click of heels behind you.

You froze. 

"Heeeey, sexy~!" Hyugo’s voice rang out—way too loud.

You turned just in time to see him strutting down the aisle towards you like he was walking a goddamn Victoria's Secret runway.

Heads turned. People stared. Phones came out.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

"Stop. Stop it," you hissed under your breath, waving frantically at him, as if sheer force of will could make him disappear. Hyugo, of course, only sped up, heels tapping the floor in a chaotic rhythm as he leaped the last two feet—and latched onto you. Short, gloved arms wrapping dramatically around your shoulders, bunny ears flopping into your face.

"You left me alooooneee," he whined, giving a fake sob loud enough to turn even more heads.

"I'm literally right here," you muttered, mortified beyond words.

But Hyugo wasn't done. Oh no.

This little menace was just getting started.

He turned to a random group of onlookers, smiling sickeningly sweet.

"Isn’t my partner just the cutest?" he gushed, squeezing your cheeks between his gloved hands like a grandma at Thanksgiving.

The group awwed. Someone even snapped a picture.

You were going to kill him. You were going to murder Hyugo in this convention center and use his rat tail to hide the body. "You’re dead," you whispered to him under your breath, seething.

Hyugo just beamed, not at all intimidated, and whispered back: "Bet you'll miss me when I’m a sexy little ghost haunting your bedroom later~."

You very seriously considered whether jail time would be worth it.

But Hyugo, smug and absolutely thriving on your suffering, linked his arm through yours with a little bounce, dragging you deeper into the con floor.

It only got worse.

Every chance he got, he posed for pictures—always dragging you into them like some chaotic little gremlin. Every time someone complimented his costume, he’d spin dramatically and blow you a kiss. Every time someone pointed at his heels and said "wow, you can actually walk in those??" he'd say, "My partner trained me well~!" with an absolutely filthy wink.

You wanted to crawl under a table and die. But...

When you caught a glimpse of him laughing—really laughing, with that genuine, youthful spark in his sky-blue eyes, his cheeks flushed slightly from excitement—you found yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

Maybe you were doomed. Maybe you were already too far gone. Because even though he was an absolute menace...

Even though he was teasing you to death... 

You wouldn't trade this chaotic, bunny-suited, rat-tailed little disaster of a boy for anything in the world. And you knew—even as he blew you another obnoxious kiss from across the convention floor, making you flip him off while your face burned red—that you were utterly, hopelessly, completely stuck with him. 

And somehow? You didn’t really mind.

Not even a little. "ACK—Hyugo!" You take it back...

Back at the hotel room, you barely managed to throw your bag onto the floor before you heard the door click shut behind you—and felt a sudden, heavy weight slam into your back. You stumbled forward, hands bracing against the bed, as Hyugo cackled in your ear.

"You promised me a reward," he sang, arms snaking around your waist, his baby blue bunny suit pressing tight against your back.

"I didn't promise shit—"

"I heard 'good bunny boys get treats~'," he interrupted sweetly, nuzzling into your neck like some needy, chaotic little demon.

You twisted around, trying to shove him off—but Hyugo was relentless. With a gleeful grin, he gave your hips a firm shove, sending you sprawling face-first onto the bed.

You groaned. "You’re heavy, you little—"

Before you could finish, Hyugo climbed on top of you, straddling your hips with those dangerously smooth legs, heels kicked off somewhere across the room. The soft mesh of his fishnet tights brushed your lower back as he adjusted his seat like he owned you.

You sucked in a breath.

He was wayyyyyy too comfortable with this.

He smirked down at you, cheeks flushed pink from excitement, messy teal bangs falling into his mischievous baby blue eyes. "You know," he drawled, voice dropping lower as he leaned down, ghosting his lips near your ear, "you could just surrender now..."

You shivered involuntarily. "And miss out on the fun of making you work for it?" you shot back, smirking into the blanket.

Hyugo made a delighted noise, like you had just personally delivered him a five-course meal. "Oh, we're playing dirty now?" He shifted, grinding his hips down in an exaggerated roll that made you jolt.

"H-Hyugo—!"

He laughed, giddy, before straightening up again, proudly sitting on your lower back like some smug little king.

Then, he started to move.

Slow, deliberate little rolls of his hips—giving you a literal lap dance, but in reverse, you still pinned under him, helpless to escape. The absurdity of it should've made you laugh, but the heat creeping up your spine was making it very hard to focus.

"Mm... look at you," he teased, dragging his gloved hands up your sides, over your ribs, the light friction of the gloves making you squirm. "Getting all flustered from a little grinding? And you call yourself tough..."

You reached back blindly, trying to grab him.

Hyugo caught your wrists with ease, pinning them down against the bed, his grip surprisingly strong for someone in a damn bunny costume. He leaned in again, noses almost brushing, his voice low and sweet, and dangerous.

"Beg," he whispered, lips ghosting over your ear.

You bit your lip hard enough to see stars. This little shit was serious.

"Hyugo..." you warned, your voice barely holding steady.

"Beg," he repeated, more smug now, dragging his fingers agonizingly slow up your arms, over your shoulders, down your chest—never quite touching where you wanted.

It was maddening.

You glared up at him over your shoulder, breathing heavily.

"You’re gonna regret this," you growled.

Hyugo’s grin widened into something absolutely feral.

"Worth it~."

And with that, he shifted his weight again, fully settling his hips against yours, giving one long, slow, grinding roll that made your mind blank completely for a second. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stay composed. "Ngh—fuck—Hyugo—"

"Language!" he teased brightly, tapping your nose playfully with one gloved finger.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to kiss him or throw him across the room. Probably both. Definitely both. He loosened his hold just slightly, giving you just enough freedom to flip around beneath him. You caught him by the waist, slamming him down onto the bed with a yelp.

Now you were the one straddling him.

His eyes widened, a little gasp escaping those thin lips—and god, he was so red already, his cheeks burning up to the tips of his ears.

"Who's flustered now, huh?" you smirked, leaning down until your noses brushed.

Hyugo just laughed, breathless, beautiful.

"Still you," he whispered, hands sliding up your thighs, teasing the hem of your costume.

And honestly?

You couldn't even argue.

YESS, I KNOW HOW TO WRITE FOR THIS SWEET BABY BOY, so he's is longer for all the hyugo lovers out there.

✑ 𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓁

Buff Bunny—that can dance like a man.

You honestly weren’t expecting the evening to spiral into madness. The plan was simple—or at least, it should've been. Just you and Deryl, chilling at his place, knocking out the group project that was already eating your sanity alive.

No chaos. No disasters. No getting sidetracked.

You had even come prepared: laptop, notebooks, highlighters, a giant ass coffee.

Fool. You foolish, foolish soul.

Because this was Deryl.

And Deryl plus "normal" was like... lighter fluid plus a bonfire.

You were sprawled out across the living room floor, papers and pens scattered around you in what could only be described as a beautiful mind collapse, lazily scribbling notes while the TV played some random sports rerun in the background. Deryl, ever the energetic host, had promised to grab food while you worked.

"I'll be back in a sec, I swear!" he'd yelled over his shoulder, vanishing into the kitchen like a golden retriever chasing a stick.

You half-listened to the sounds of him clattering around. There was some humming. Some cabinet doors slamming. A loud whoop that rattled the walls. You sighed, underlining your notes for the third time, trying to focus.

Then—"FOOD’S HERE!!" The words echoed through the house like a goddamn battle cry.

You perked up immediately, like Pavlov's dog.

Food. Real food. Greasy, heavenly food from your shared favorite burger spot—the only thing you were living for at this point.

You pushed yourself up with a groan, knees cracking, and padded toward the kitchen. "Better be my double cheeseburger, Deryl," you called, rounding the corner—

—and immediately lost all ability to form coherent thought. Because standing there, bright as a goddamn traffic cone, was Deryl. In a bright orange bunny suit.

Deryl. In a BRIGHT ORANGE BUNNY SUIT. 

Bright. Orange. Bunny suit.

Not just a hoodie with ears, no — the full-body furry monstrosity, complete with a little cotton tail bouncing when he moves. Matching floppy ears bobbing on his head. Furiously orange polyester clinging to every inch of that massive, buff-as-fuck body—hairy legs and muscular thighs on full display beneath the ridiculous shorts.

Both hands were proudly perched on his hips, like he was posing for a magazine spread titled "DISASTERS MONTHLY."

And to top it all off—

The biggest, brightest, shit-eating grin you had ever seen split his face from ear to ear, green eyes glittering with mischief, tears of laughter already brimming at the corners. He had a burger in one hand, a stupidly wide grin on his face, and you—

—You stood there. Frozen. Absolutely brain-melted.

Not a single logical thought survived the apocalypse happening inside your head. You blinked once. Twice. The bunny ears flopped. "...what," you croaked out, your voice cracking like a dying engine.

Deryl’s laughter exploded, loud and contagious, as he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, trying and failing to catch his breath.

"Y-you—the look—ON YOUR FACE—!!" He doubled over, wheezing like he'd run a marathon, one hand slapping the counter for balance.

You just stared.

You stared at the fluffy white tail attached to his ass.

You stared at the fact that his thighs looked like they could crush a watermelon. You stared at the unholy union of pure chaos and sex appeal standing proudly before you, like this was the most normal Saturday activity.

Finally, after a solid thirty seconds of internal screaming, you managed to force oxygen back into your lungs. "Deryl..." you started slowly, voice deadpan. "...did you answer the door like that?"

He gasped between bouts of laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. "Hell yeah, I did!!"

Another uncontrollable fit of cackling. 

You dragged a hand down your face, reeling. "The delivery guy—"

"Bro fistbumped me!" he interrupted proudly. "Said I had 'mad drip.'" He mimed the fistbump like it was some sacred ritual, bunny ears flopping with every exaggerated motion.

You were going to die. Right here. 

Buried under the weight of this absurdity.

"Why—" you tried again, your voice halfway between a sob and a laugh, "would you even—when—where did you even GET that—?!"

Deryl straightened up, looking offended at your lack of appreciation.

"Preparedness," he said solemnly, puffing his chest out. "You never know when life’s gonna call for drip." He struck a dramatic pose, flexing one bicep with the bunny paw glove on.

You physically staggered backward, clutching the doorframe.

He looked so goddamn ridiculous. So stupidly hot. So perfect. You covered your mouth to stifle the completely unhinged giggles bubbling up from your chest.

Deryl noticed immediately.

"OHHHH YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY NOW, HUH?!" He charged at you, arms outstretched like a wild animal.

"Deryl—Deryl don't you fucking DARE—" You tried to retreat but there was no escape. He grabbed you in a massive bear hug, lifting you clear off the ground like you weighed nothing, the absurdly soft fur of the bunny suit brushing against your skin. You shrieked, kicking your feet helplessly as he spun you around the kitchen.

"WHO'S LAUGHIN’ NOW, HUH?!" His laugh was pure evil joy, bright and golden and impossibly loud.

You pounded weakly on his shoulder, half-dying from laughter yourself. "PUT ME DOWN YOU GIANT LUNATIC!!"

"No can do!!" he sang, bunny ears bouncing. "Buff Bunny rights!!"

By the time he finally set you down, you were both breathless, faces flushed, grins splitting your cheeks.

You stumbled back, barely keeping your balance. 

He held you steady, hands massive and warm on your arms, that damn playful smirk still on his lips. You looked up at him, chest heaving, trying to find some shred of dignity.

Deryl just winked, tilting his head so the bunny ears flopped cutely to one side. "So..." he said, voice low and teasing, "what's the verdict?"

You swallowed thickly, the sheer ridiculousness and ridiculous hotness of it all frying every neuron in your brain.

"...You're never taking that off, are you?"

He grinned, impossibly wide. "Only if you say please," he purred.

You opened your mouth to respond—and immediately shut it again, defeated, face burning so hard it might've caught fire. You turned sharply on your heel and stomped back toward the living room, muttering curses under your breath.

Behind you, Deryl burst into another fit of hysterical laughter. 

"HEY!" he called after you, voice full of teasing sunshine. "DON'T ACT LIKE YOU DIDN'T LIKE THE VIEW!!"

You flipped him off without turning around, biting your lip to hold back the giddy laugh threatening to spill out. Because... damn it. He was right. Before you can escape fully, you hear Deryl lunging for you. "AHT— NO—" you shriek, trying to dodge, but he's faster—because of course he is, the bastard.

Big hands clamp around your waist, lifting you clean off the floor like you weighed nothing.

"DERYL! Please, not again.” You beat your fists against his shoulders, but he only laughs — that big, rumbly, dangerous laugh — and deposits you right onto the kitchen counter like you were some kind of misbehaving cat. He moves in close, trapping you there, his arms caging you in as his thick thighs press against your legs.

You glare at him.

He grins wider, leaning his face dangerously close to yours.

"You look sooo cute when you're mad," he coos mockingly, poking your cheek.

"Let me go! I'm hungry!" you snap, trying to shove at his chest, but it's like trying to push a wall. A big, hot, stubborn wall.

"Man," Deryl says, tilting his head thoughtfully, the teasing note in his voice dropping an octave lower, making your skin prickle. "I'm so hungry... I could eat you."

Your breath catches.

He’s still smiling, but there’s a flicker in his eyes now—something sharp, focused. Something that makes your stomach flip upside down. His hands flex on the counter, muscles shifting under his skin.

You meet his eyes fully—and realize—

He’s not entirely joking.

You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way he’s crowding you, not even bothering to hide the way he’s looking at you now. Not just playful, but heavy, molten—like he's seriously considering it.

Your mouth goes dry.

A shiver dances down your spine, and you suddenly forget what air is.

Deryl laughs, low and wicked, close enough that you can feel his breath ghost over your lips. He leans in even closer, until your noses almost brush. "You gonna let me?" he murmurs, voice like a slow burn against your skin.

You swallow. Hard.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him—at the wild curls spilling messily under the bunny ears, the way his stubble roughens his jaw, the sharp green of his eyes glowing like mischief and hunger tangled together.

You should say something. You should shove him away.

Instead, you just breathe, heart hammering, caught — pinned between his arms, his thighs, and his devastating grin. And Deryl? He knows it. Oh, he knows it. He taps your nose with one finger, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "What’s the matter, little bunny? Cat got your tongue?"

You almost punched him. Almost.

But when he leans back with a victorious laugh, grabbing your burger from the counter and offering it to you with a wink, you take it from his hands with a shaky glare, ears burning, knowing full well he won this round.

The worst part?

You kinda didn’t mind losing to him.

now writing him, I was a little lost because I don't recall much of his personality, but I tried—not sure if i'll be writing him as sadly no one talks about him...

[star-liit]

I'm almost afraid to ask, but... when are we going to acknowledge that there’s no actual evidence Sirius Black was physically abused in canon?

It’s become so common in fan spaces to treat it like an indisputable fact that Walburga and Orion were regularly using Crucio on their teenage son - as if that wouldn’t have literally landed them both in Azkaban for life.

Yes, I understand that abusive people don’t care about legality - but the level of violence some fanon depictions of the Blacks reach is so extreme, it starts to feel disconnected from the characters entirely. We're not just talking about toxic parenting anymore - we’re talking about full-blown war crimes happening in a family home.

It doesn’t always sit right with me as a survivor of abuse myself - this unspoken implication that the only kind of abuse that really "counts" is physical abuse. That unless Sirius was tortured to the brink of death, the trauma he endured doesn’t feel valid enough to explore. As if emotional abuse isn’t already damaging, isolating, and deeply formative.

Canon gives us plenty to work with.

Sirius calls his family unpleasant and describes being seen as the "bad" son for rejecting their ideals, while Regulus was the "perfect" one - classic emotional abuse: scapegoat vs golden child. He talks about his home as being dark and miserable, and he actively rebelled against his parent's pureblood beliefs just to spite them.

This all clearly points to psychological abuse, emotional abuse, and neglect - but there’s no mention of physical abuse, and there doesn't need to be.

Walburga, especially, is a textbook example of a verbally and psychologically abusive parent - the way her portrait rages with such intensity, the language she uses, the way she made Sirius feel othered and lesser. That’s already serious trauma.

If the physical abuse is part of your headcanon - go for it.

Ultimately, this is fiction - it’s a sandbox, and everyone should feel free to build the version of the story that speaks to them. Honestly, I think it’s totally plausible that there was some element of physical abuse involved, and I’ve written Sirius that way myself, more than once. I will again - I completely understand why some people love the idea of Sirius falling out of the Potters' fireplace half-dead.

But that's just one possibility.

When that headcanon becomes so dominant in fandom spaces that any deviation from it is met with resistance - that's when it becomes slightly frustrating. Especially in roleplay, where that collaborative, "yes, and…" approach is key to keeping a scene alive. If tortured!Sirius is the only headcanon people are willing to engage with, it makes it nearly impossible to explore different dynamics, motivations, or emotional arcs.

The dominance of that headcanon doesn’t just flatten his story - it shuts down the nuance of the entire Black family dynamic. If we take it as given that Walburga and Orion were literally torturing their son, then how do we make sense of Regulus staying? How do we explore complex family loyalties, internalised ideology, or the slow erosion of self that happens in environments like that? It reduces the entire family to caricature, and removes any space to write meaningful conflict, guilt, or generational trauma.

The truth is, the Blacks were awful - but they were also interesting. Shades of grey exist, and fiction is a perfectly safe place to explore that. Sirius himself summed this up with "...the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters..." and it would be incredibly dull if things were so black and white.

Sirius, canonically, pushed back. He rebelled. He resisted. His bedroom alone tells you everything you need to know about who he was and what he was up against. That kind of defiance in the face of psychological control, suffocating expectations, and constant verbal degradation is real. It is damaging. It is abuse.

We don’t need to crank it up to cartoon villain levels of torture to take it seriously.

I think it’s important to remember that the Blacks were oppressive bigots hiding behind respectability - not open criminals. Walburga and Orion didn’t join the Death Eaters; they just quietly subscribed to the same hateful ideology. And honestly, that’s what makes them so terrifying. It’s also part of what cost them Regulus - but that’s a rant for another day.

They weren’t the type to take bold, visible action, even in support of the cause they believed in. So the idea that they were secretly committing acts of illegal, mind-destroying torture on their own children should be a huge leap - a leap which, in my opinion, should be considered an AU, rather a widely accepted fact.

Anyway - live and let live, it's fiction, none of it really matters anyway.

[randomness-in-motion]

Mixed Signals

Meant to post this one before the Together post, but gaffed up the order because life is being ridiculous rn. 🙆

9:52 Dragon - Justinian 

Neve looked up as Lucanis set the cup of coffee on her desk, brow arched in confusion "What's this for?" as he gave her a half-smile and stepped back "You need to be saved from that stuff you make, remember?" Neve chuckled as she reached for the cup "Rook said the same thing when he stopped in this morning. Thank you, Lucanis."

Lucanis' head tilted as he watched her take a sip "Rook doesn't like coffee.. he made you coffee?" and she nodded absently as she stared at the papers that she'd been going over "Mhmm. He called it café de olla, he also brought fresh made croissants." 

He'd noticed that Neve had steadily stopped avoiding Asrani, at one point just after that business with Damas she'd even started staring at Asrani with what seemed to be longing.

Then when he'd walked away from Asrani and left him standing in the pantry... he'd walked back into the dining room later that day and found them together, arms wrapped around each other in front of the fireplace. The amount of fighting he had to do with Spite to keep control in that moment... 

Asrani's face had been buried into the curve of her neck as her hand smoothed his hair, until Lucanis had cleared his throat awkwardly and Asrani had jerked away from her. His voice strained as he'd tilted his head to her and mumbled that he'd talk to her later, then he'd rushed out, head down so that his face was hidden as he passed Lucanis and pushed the door open. The sound of running beginning just before the door fully closed.

Lucanis hadn't said anything, he'd just gone to his room, his door closing harder than he'd meant it to. In his mind, that moment explained why she'd stopped flirting with him, but it left him at a loss as to why Asrani had been willing to kiss him. He looked down for a moment and then sucked in a breath as he asked "So.. you and Rook are together?" 

The sound of her coughing coffee back into the cup had him looking up as she sputtered "Everything that's happened, and that's what you think?"

One shoulder rose and then fell "In the dining room.."

He didn't even get to finish before Neve interrupted as she set the cup down "He needed someone to talk to, Lucanis. He barely talked before, now he never talks, he just bottles everything and pushes through. But he's reaching.. has reached points where that isn't working."

Lucanis shifted uncomfortably as he ran his hand through his hair "Do you know what caused it that day?" and internally berated himself for asking such a dumb question.

Neve's expression remained neutral for a moment as she contemplated and then she shrugged "I won't repeat anything Rook said that day. I will say that when I saw him reach that point, he was in the Lighthouse holding a missive that he'd just received. Beyond that, you'd have to ask him yourself. He seems to talk to you the most, so maybe you'll have better luck than the rest of us."

As Lucanis went to say something Neve looked down at the papers "Thank you for the coffee, Lucanis." 

=================================================

Asrani stared blankly for a moment, the last few weeks had been a confusing mess. He wasn't even sure what had happened to cause it all... he grimaced as the image of Bellara's face when he said he hadn't meant to lead her on formed. As he poured himself another cup of tea he kept going over all of their interactions trying to figure out what he'd done to miscommunicate that badly, but nothing stood out.

He'd thought the confusion with Taash had just been Taash not really having the best people skills, but after the mix-up with Bellara, maybe he needed to be more careful with how he spoke around everyone. Talk even less than he already did... 

After taking a drink, he set the cup aside so he could roll out the last bit of pastry dough and his mind found itself stuck in a stress-inducing loop as he went through as many interactions with everyone that he could recall.

The next thing he knew, Harding was standing in front of him "Rook? Thedas to Rook? Hey, wake up!" 

Shit, now he was wondering about every interaction with Harding... "Ah, sorry. Did you need something?"

She motioned to the pastry dough "I asked what you were making. Are you okay? You were really off in another realm there."

Asrani shook his head "I'm fine, was just really focused I guess. I'm making Antivan apple grenades. I have a batch that I'm about to pull out if you'd like to try one, they're best warm." 

Harding laughed "That depends. They don't actually explode, do they?"

Asrani shook his head as he smiled and moved to the oven "No, but you do have to like spicy sweet. If you take two they should be the perfect temperature by the time you get to Taash's room."

Harding's cheeks went red as she watched him set the pan down and move two of the pastries to a plate "Heyyyy, how did you know I was going to see them?"

His head tilted as he handed her the plate and then smiled "Lucky guess. If Taash decides theirs isn't spicy enough I can make a spicier batch just for them next time, or give you the recipe so you can. You two have fun."

=================================================

Just over an hour later and Lucanis was still sitting at the bottom of Neve's steps, her words playing in his head "He seems to talk to you the most.." Asrani used to talk to him, spar with him.. wander the markets with him. Then that day in the pantry happened and Asrani distanced himself, then everything since... 

He didn't fault Asrani for anything, and talking with Teia and Viago had helped Lucanis clear any confusion. But Asrani had shut down, started avoiding him entirely.. He'd even stopped talking to the others unless he absolutely had to. When any of them pushed too much, Asrani had taken to completely disappearing. The last time Lucanis had gotten to talk to him had been at the manor in Hossberg when Asrani was too sleep deprived to know what was going on.

Lucanis shifted when the sound of the dining room door opening pulled his eyes up as Harding walked back out, hands carefully holding a plate with what looked to be a dessert on it. 

Harding stopped for a moment as she adjusted her hold on the plate just as she made it to the same point in their paths and Lucanis' curiosity got the better of him "One of your special recipes?"

She smiled as she looked up "No, Rook called them Antivan apple grenades. You've had them before, right?"

Lucanis looked to the dining room as he nodded "Yes, but not in a long time. I think you'll like them. I'll let you get back on your way, you have a nice day, Harding." 

Asrani's ears twitched as the door opened, but he didn't move. The sound of those boots kept him locked in place, his back to the door as he watched the fire and drank his tea.

He'd expected Lucanis to go straight to his room, had hoped that he would, but he stopped a few feet away from it and then turned towards Asrani instead. Umber eyes going to the table, ingredients spread out neatly across it and a half eaten dessert just behind Asrani. Lucanis took a few steps towards him "I didn't know you baked.."

Asrani looked down into his cup "It usually helps me destress.. There's extra if you'd like some. I'd avoid the coffee, it's been sitting too long."

Lucanis watched as Asrani finished his tea and went to pour another cup. Several different scents reaching out to him.. blood orange, rosehips, lemon verbena, and a couple of others. Sweetened with both sugar and a little honey. Complicated tea... "You don't like coffee, but you make it?"

Asrani shrugged "I might not like it, but others do. It would be a crime to have them drinking absolute sludge when they don't have to." a smile tugged at Lucanis' lips.

Asrani moved to the table, cup set to the side as he started cleaning up under the assumption that Lucanis needed the table "I apologise for the mess. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes." 

His head shaking as he watched Asrani "You aren't in the way? And that's not a mess, you should see the table when Harding is cooking." 

When Asrani kept cleaning rather than respond Lucanis closed the distance between them, his arm moving towards the table just in front of Asrani "You're not in the way, Asrani." only for Asrani to continue cleaning around it, words stuck in a loop as he shook his head "Ir abelas. I'll be done in a few moments.." 

Lucanis took hold of Asrani's shoulder and turned him to face him "Asra, stop. You're not in the way." 

The lack of space between them caused Asrani's eyes to widen as he tried to step away, the scent of blade oil and coffee, comfort and confusion... Lucanis' eyes going to Asrani's lips for just a second and his hand dropped as they both stepped back, only for Spite to take over as he grabbed Asrani, dragging him forward and into a bruising kiss, trying to imitate what thoughts played through Lucanis' mind at the mere mention of Asrani.

Asrani's hands came up as he pulled back, his head shaking as he touched his lip and winced "Spite, you can't do that!"

Spite's voice frustrated as he inhaled and then growled "But Lucanis. Wants. And You want."

Asrani couldn't help the pained snort that escaped him as he tried to pull away "Spite, no. He doesn't." he refused to acknowledge the rest, he couldn't. 

Spite's grip tightened, fingers digging in painfully as he hissed "Both.." only for whatever he was going to say to cut off as Asrani grimaced and exhaled through clenched teeth.

The glow in Lucanis' eyes flickering out as Lucanis reasserted immediately into an apology as he released Asrani "I'm sorry, I didn't know he would do that. Are.. are you okay?" 

Asrani looked down as he rubbed the sore spots on his arm "I'm fine, and you don't need to apologise, it's not your fault. It's just my luck that the second person to kiss me in four years was a demon." ear tips going slightly pink as Asrani looked everywhere but Lucanis he turned back to the table and grabbed his tea then took a drink before continuing "I doubt he meant to hurt me, I don't think he realizes his strength.. I'll try to explain that he shouldn't do things that you don't want next time he's out."

The air shifted and Asrani flinched as Spite hissed at Lucanis "You. WANT." 

Asrani sighed as he set the cup down and began cleaning again "Spite, please stop."

And Lucanis groaned "I'm sorry, Asra."

Only for Asrani to half turn towards him "Stop apologising. Like I said before, it's not your fault, and again, I don't mind Spite. Never expected him to force you to kiss me though." 

His brow furrowed as he looked at Asrani "You think he forced me?"

Who responded with a noise of incredulousness "It was kind of made pretty clear that day that you didn't want to and then everything since..."

The next thing both of them knew was that Lucanis' hands were holding Asrani's face and his lips were pressed against his. When Asrani struggled to pull back thinking it was Spite again, Lucanis stopped just long enough to look him in the eyes, a hasty "Not Spite." uttered before their lips reconnected.

Lips parting in surprise, Asrani's eyes almost rolled closed as Lucanis took that opportunity to explore Asrani's mouth, spice and honey. Asrani's knees nearly buckling, his arms wrapped around Lucanis' waist as the kiss deepened, becoming chaotic and feverish before Lucanis finally broke away so they could both catch their breath.

Lucanis' hands still framing Asrani's face as he pressed his forehead to Asrani's, and Asrani almost swayed, dizzy and confused as he tried to steady his breathing "I.. I don't understand.. you didn't.. I thought..." 

Lucanis' eyes opened as he tilted his head back so he could look at Asrani "I've wanted to for a while... I didn't because I worry about Spite, especially after Zara. Illario.."

Asrani shook his head, still confused "I'd never be dumb enough to take Spites target, and Illario is a fucking asshole. After finding out... you don't hate me?" 

Spite looked at Lucanis with a grin "I like Rook." and Lucanis ignored him "Why would I hate you? It's not your fault that you were deceived. And it's not just what happened with Zara. I had to fight him that day... when you and Neve were talking. What if he hurts you because he doesn't understand?" 

Asrani nearly grimaced as the air shifted "I don't think he would."

Lucanis stepped back, frustration edging into his voice as he motioned to Asrani's arms "Even after that? Why are you so sure he wouldn't do something worse?"

Asrani shrugged as he moved to pull out the last batch from the oven, the words feeling strange as they left him "Because I trust both of you."

Now it was Lucanis growling "Do you have any idea how frustrating you are?"

Asrani sighed as he plated one of the pastries, resigning himself to having messed up yet again "Apparently very. I uh, I need to go. I have to apologise to someone. I don't have the ingredients needed to apologise to you again, so I'll have to apologise later."

Lucanis' head tilted as Asrani headed for the door "Again?" and Asrani looked back at him, eyebrow quirked up as he looked at Lucanis "In the meantime, help yourself to a pastry." 

Spite inhaling again and muttering "Honey. and Ash." as the door closed behind Asrani. Lucanis shook his head as he went back to his room, confused "What? You said coconut and blood orange before."

Spite narrowed his eyes and hissed "Both frustrating. and confusing.." before wandering off and leaving Lucanis to a rare bit of quiet.

[jacarandaaaas]

this is my formal plea to reclaim the following emojis 🦋⏳🦎🌸🎀💪 from proshippers

I refuse to let these cute emojis symbolize that disgusting shit! look how cute the lil butterfly is!! mirabel should be associated with that for all the right reasons. anyways I vote we all mass block proshippers and take back these cute emojis 💘

[gibbearish]

btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

imo everyone on earth should be talking about Him (don't want this showing up in the tag even though it's not a diss) but everytime i go to the tag and there's only like 3 new posts i'm like. oh yeah almost no one cares except me and like 5 other ppl on here

i ran out of tags KFHSJENNXN i don't think that's literally ever happened to me before anyways don't read them because it's just me being insane as per usual

[awkward-teabag]

Pretty much. It's unchecked in the states and barns can contain millions of hens so if the avian flu gets in, that's millions of birds that die or have to be culled.

Compare that to other countries like Canada or Denmark where the number of birds in a barn is in the tens of thousand tops. Even if an entire barn is lost, that's not enough to impact the rest of them because the supply chain is tightly regulated in part to minimize the impact of something like the avian flu.

Even millions of hens being killed when the Fraser river flooded in BC, Canada, a few years back didn't impact egg prices because of how it's regulated. Last I heard, the US lost 20 million hens to the avian flu alone in a three month span.

Relatedly, Americans getting caught trying to smuggle eggs into the US has skyrocketed and in a number that surpasses fentanyl but guess which one is treated like a national emergency.

Keen to understand how fucked the egg situation is in the US. I’m guessing the avian flu has led to a shortage?

Like threatening to annex Greenland and begging Denmark for eggs is a choice, so how desperate is everyone for eggs?

[roboticchibitan]

Today I had the spoons to hunt down my neighborhood council's email and send them an email that basically said "I would like to be able to leave my house but my neighborhood is not wheelchair accessible. Who do I talk to in order to get this fixed?" And I am planning on hunting down whoever is in charge of sidewalks in my neighborhood and getting real annoying about it.

My plan is to email them every time I want to go somewhere but can't.

Email 1: hello, please fix sidewalks so I can ride the bus places I am very passionate about public transportation and also being able to leave my house.

Email 200: This morning I woke up and wanted some delicious coffee to start my day, but upon getting out of bed I discovered we were out of coffee. I would've liked to take advantage of the city's public transportation system in order to support a local business like [examples of local coffee shops] but alas I cannot because I am a wheelchair user and my neighborhood is not wheelchair accessible. [Insert rest of arguement RE accessibility]. In conclusion I don't work I can keep these emails coming until I die please just fix my sidewalks.

This is going to be my new spite hobby. I was already mad about the abuse and general shit hand the disabled get dealt in our culture but then I started using a wheelchair and places like doctor's offices have been inaccessible to me so now I am filled with rage. So I am going to take that rage and do something with it. Like emailing my city counsel representatives at 2 am like "I crave a moonlight walk fix my sidewalks please."

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sleepwalking

How I imagine the lads men handle a partner that sleepwalks. [requested by: anon & @nocturnaoasis]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calmly watches you as you move around the house

knows not to wake you up ; tries to guide you back to bed without waking you

cleans up your messes behind you ; taking socks into the bathroom? he’s putting them away ; you left the fridge door open? don’t worry he's closing it ; opening the windows? he’s already on it

you tried to use a knife for something one time while you were asleep so now Zayne locks up any sharp utensils before bed

tells you in detail exactly what you did while you were sleepwalking

makes you whatever it was that you were trying to make while asleep “how did you know I wanted sliced fruit this morning?” “You took out all the fruit last night and stood in the kitchen saying ‘knives I need knives’ for ten minutes”

teases you sometimes ; he finds your antics cute

will hold anything you hand him

forbids you from eating foods that will trigger your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you do it out of spite

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

the first thing he does is wake you up ; rookie mistake

won’t let you live down the fact that you made the funniest face when you were confused

baby proofs the house “why are all the outlets covered?!” “you can’t be trusted”

screamed bloody murder when he woke up one night and you were standing over him

you got outside once and he about had a heart attack

tries singing to you so you follow his voice ; it worked now this is how he gets you back in bed every time he catches you sleepwalking

asks if you’re awake and wholeheartedly believes you when you say yea even though you’re 1000% not awake

doesn’t mind when you indulge on foods that trigger your sleepwalking ; he knows he’ll keep you safe

if you ever say something unsettling he acts like it didnt scare him ; he’s scared af

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

wakes up when he feels you getting out of bed ; groggily follows you around at a distance to make sure you don’t hurt yourself

gently takes objects out of your hands

tries to block your paths in attempts to guide you back to bed

responds to your rambling as if you’re actually having a conversation

tuck you into bed and stays up for a while watching you sleep

wraps his arms around you so he can feel you get up

would follow you down the road if you decided to go for a walk outside

keeps his distance so you can get your bearings I you start to wake up “Hi starlight lets go to bed”

tries to get you to not eat foods that will trigger your sleepwalking, but one look of those puppy dog eyes and he’s folding

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

Sylus is probably the perfect man to sleepwalk with considering he sleeps during the day and you sleep at night.

advises you to not eat anything that will trigger it close to bed, but won’t stop you if you’re really craving it

he would already be up and about when he sees you walking to the bathroom with socks in hand ; he would use his evol to catch the socks when you try to drop them in the toilet

Meticulously guides you away from anything that you might walk into

knows better than to try and wake you up

finds your sleepwalking kind of amusing except when you stand over him and stare with dead eyes

first instinct is to guide you back to bed and he’d use his evol to do this and the second you become difficult he’d keep a close eye on you; has Mephisto follow you as well

Sylus has to hold the twins back from waking you up “She’s gonna get hurt!” “She’s fine” “What if she goes over the balcony?!” “She’s fine”

will always protect you and get you back in bed with no harm

from time to time will indulge in your sleep conversations “I only have five left” “but I need six sweetie” “I have five take it or leave it” ; he’s trying so hard not to die of laughter

the twins once left the kitchen a mess and tried to blame it on your sleepwalking ; he wasn't happy

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

records the whole thing ; shows you the videos and teases you “look even in your sleep you try to reach the top shelf” “delete it” “luckily for you I caught every dish in time” “shut up”

compiles the videos together and even has favorites

it was all fun and games until you got outside one night and he about lost his damn mind

baby proofs the house every night ; locks up sharp utensils ; deadbolt on the front door

holds you tight every night so he can feel you get up

cleans up behind you when/if you take anything out

shifts furniture slightly if you run into it so your mental map doesn’t get you hurt ; uses his hands or body as a barrier to keep you from running into walls or hitting your head on anything

has considered waking you up, but will never do it

sometimes responds to your sleep rambling “Pears are better than apples” “I like apples better” “……NO!”

forbids you from eating anything that triggers your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you still eat it anyway

[ham1lton]

I’LL BE THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS (MAYBE??)

pairings: oscar piastri x stan account!reader

warnings: none?

faceclaim: pam hughes / pamalaaam on ig.

summary: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a fast driver must be in want of a girlfriend—oscar piastri just didn’t expect his to be a twitter menace.

author’s note: jam is just a nickname that yn goes by online, which is good for security on the internet. stay safe kids !

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────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 20,838 others.

yourusername: girl date w/ bffname. jam, books and the winter air. what could be better?

view all comments

user1: WAHT?!

— user2: omg she wasn’t joking she’s actually that gorgeous.

user3: sorry you’re so pretty i’m taken aback. i assume that all ppl who argue online r hideous trolls but you’re clearly not. sorry. i apologise.

user4: did u buy your namesake?

— yourusername: ofc!! spent my paycheck on new ones. i’m the proud mama of two strawberry jams 😽

user5: LANDO LIKED YOUR POST

user6: literally drop the skincare routine rn or i’m calling the authorities.

– yoursername: genetics + water + spite <3

user7: girl what books did u get i need the haul

– yoursername: east of eden, the glass castle and some other classics!! i’ll post a proper vid later if you’d like <3

user8: lando liked… HE’S WATCHING.

– user9: he’s been watching. oscar is shaking.

user10: okay but imagine arguing with someone online and then finding out they look like this. i’d delete my account.

– user11: user3 already went through all five stages of grief in these comments.

user12: winter air is nice and all but i feel like oscar should be here warming you up just saying!!

friend: girl date and no invite?! feeling betrayed rn …. 😓

— yourusername: ur in australia but i apologise. we should have walked through land and sea. next time i see u i owe u a matcha for the trauma babe 😞

— friend: a decent apology. i accept it 😽

user13: she fights, she reads, she stuns… what CAN’T she do?

– yoursername: parallel park.

user14: not me zooming in to confirm this isn’t an ai-generated model.

– yoursername: sorry to disappoint, i’m very real and very chronically online.

user15: OSCAR GIRLIES R HOT WBK <3

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from: mclaren racing team@mclaren.com

to: jam jamdoesf1@gmail.com

subject: you’re invited – race weekend with mclaren

hi jam,

we hope you’re well. we’ve been following your incredible f1 content and couldn’t help but notice your… passionate defence of a certain quiet australian. it’s safe to say the team (and the driver in question) are fans.

we’d love to invite you to join us for the upcoming grand prix weekend as our guest. paddock access, behind-the-scenes moments, and yes – proper tea and snacks included.

let us know if you’re available and we’ll sort everything on our end, including travel and accommodation. we think you’ll have a lot of fun.

looking forward to hearing from you.

cheers,

the mclaren team.

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 45,838 others.

yourusername: hotties make some noise! (all u haters that say matcha tastes like grass r BABIES!!!)

view all comments

user1: i would recognise my goat’s hand anywhere… by touch alone, by smell; i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— user1: my boo bear. my king. my reason. my oscar.

— user2: lando get off ur burner.

— user3: ICB LMFOAJDHEISJDN ?!38393&:

user4: jam ily. u taste good in matcha too. multi-use queen <3

*liked by yourusername.*

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl 🤍 lovely meeting u!!!

— yourusername: says the most gorgeous girl in recorded human history. omg blushing rn 😝

user5: u could say cement tastes good and i’d try it.

user6: jam you’re so fine it’s honestly starting to feel like a personal attack

user7: OSCAR DATING AN F1 OBSESSED GIRL YASSSSS

— user8: me and jam as the mclaren wags. i can see it now.

user9: the middle pic is giving “soft launch” and i’m spiraling

— yourusername: it’s giving “he paid for the matcha so i had to post him”

user10: is ur name really jam?

— yourusername: not legally or professionally or personally but yea :)

user11: the way jam is so unhinged on twt but is the sweetest ever on ig needs to be studied….

— user12: like on twt when she threatened to pull up on that guy who was saying awful things about oscar and he deactivated all his socials??? vs on ig where she goes to farmers’ markets like a granny 😭

user20: if oscar doesn’t soft launch you back i’m rioting

— yourusername: pls i’d settle for him texting back within 3-5 business days

— user21: NOT OSCAR FUMBLING BAD BITCHES NOOOO

— user22: @/oscar GET UPPPPPP!!!!!

— user23: WTFFFFFFFFF STOP THIS MADNESS @/oscar

— user24: if i had a baddie like this i would do anything she asks… jam says jump? i say how high… oscar u need that energy NOW!!!!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

[hope-for-the-planet]

Trans person in the US. Bust some of the doomerism for me? Tell me it's going to be okay?

Hi Anon

Usually, I have boundaries for myself about keeping this blog focused on environment-related issues, because there are limits to what I can speak knowledgeably about. But now doesn’t feel like the time for that.

Anon, I will tell you that I live in the US, I am queer, my spouse is trans, and we have two young children. I am sitting right there with you in the fear and grief and every day when I ask myself “is there still hope” I find reasons to say “yes”.

They want us—all of us, not just queer folks—to feel overwhelmed and hopeless, because despair is a tool that keeps people from realizing their power and taking action.

They want us to feel so afraid that we lose our faith in other people and withdraw from our communities, because we are easier to conquer alone.

Do not give them what they want.

Hope is most necessary in the bad times. The ability to imagine a future that is better than things are now is exactly what gives us the power to begin making things better. Our community has been through terrible things before, and they did not lose hope or give up—otherwise we would not be where we are today.

When you start to feel like all the light is being blotted out, turn off the news, put away your phone, and go get in touch with something you love. Go outside and look at the sky, talk to a friend, listen to music, do some small thing to make something better even if it’s just cleaning your kitchen or picking up some litter around the block or returning an extra stranded cart in the grocery store parking lot. Remind your brain that you have agency to make positive change in the world through your actions.

I know it is really hard to pull out of the darkness sometimes. I know there will be days that hope seems like a foolish, naive thing, that despair and distrust seem like the only rational options. But hope is what keeps us alive. Hope is what allows us to save each other.

I wish I could give you a specific article or other source to reassure you that everything is going to be ok, but things are still too in flux day by day. I can tell you that people are already fighting back, in big and little ways, all over this country and the world. These orders and bills are being pushed by a loud but small minority—this is not how the majority of the country feels about trans rights.

Make a plan for staying safe. Reach out to your community. Find music, activities, podcasts, movies, whatever helps you feel uplifted and take mental breaks from dwelling on the news. If you can, find ways to get involved in making things better in whatever big or small way feels doable for you--it may help push back on the doomerism more than you think. And my inbox is open if you need to talk.

I wish I could invite you over for dinner. I wish I could look into your eyes and tell you that things may get hard for the next few years but that does not mean that your life can't still be full of joy and beauty and fulfillment in spite of that.

I’m right there with you. Let’s make it through this together <3

[stunie]

“OH? NEED SOME HELP?”

WIND BREAKER + “HELPING” YOU OUT. ft. choji tomiyama, hayato suo, kaji ren, kiryu mitsuki, sakura haruka, togame jo, umemiya hajime, & sugishita kyotaro x f!reader

filled request: “Bofurin + Shishitoren guys with a gf who has a minor temporary injury that leaves her a little helpless and them realizing they find her helplessness kinda hot.”

mdni - suggestive; 3.1K wc. thank you for sending this in :> it’s been a while since i did lil hcs like this !! hope u enjoy nonnie <3

TOGAME JO.

Togame’s eyes are locked on your mouth.

Or more specifically, the way your pretty lips are currently wrapped around his ramune bottle, throat moving up and down with each gulp of soda that you swallow. It had been your idea to have him feed it to you like this, hold the bottle up to your lips as you sip, eyes gently fluttering shut to better savor the taste.

“I can’t really do anything with my hands in my current state.” He remembers you giggling before gesturing to his unopened ramune bottle. It was only 2 PM when you had asked this, but his entire day has been… challenging, to say the least. He’s spent nearly every minute helping you like this, never really realizing just how much you need your hands until you were back at his side every five minutes to ask for another favor.

And as if the world wanted to spite him, it started off with you asking him to brush your teeth. He had you seated on a stool, your mouth falling open in a lewd ‘o’ as he tilted your head and brushed them for you, but the thought of prying around inside your mouth already had him breathing hot and heavy. Not to the mention you had asked him to brush your tongue only a moment after, lolling it out with an ‘ahhh’ so he could apparently “reach it better.”

The ramune bottle was just the incident that happened to tip him right over the edge.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware of just how nice your lips look when they're pressed against the glass, and as soon you swallowed your first sip— confused and clueless eyes flickering to him when you noticed him staring— he felt himself gulp as well.

It doesn’t take him much longer to get carried away, his mind racing with all kinds of.. thoughts. He wonders if your lips would look any different if they were pressed against his dick instead of the glass. Or how’d your mouth would feel around him if he shot a load down your throat with your head hanging off the edge of the bed.

And you can’t use your hands…. so what’ll you do if he takes you against the wall? Would you just drape your arms over his shoulder and let him bully his cock into you over and over? You wouldn’t be able to clench your fists or even claw at his back. You’d just have to hang on and take it, wouldn’t you?

Choji’s words finally start to make sense to him.

It’s been nagging at him for a while now. He’d always get pulled out of his trance with a rough jab to his cheek, followed by Choji’s face emerging in front of him, grumbling something about “the way you look at her! You’re such a weirdo.”

He hadn’t really understood what he meant by that at first. He was just looking at his girl, wasn’t he? But when he’s watching the way you’re licking at the corners of your lips, whining about how some soda has started to drip down your chin, he thinks he gets what Choji meant now.

SAKURA HARUKA. cw food

“Thanks for helping me, Haru.”

You’re leaning forward with a little smile before your mouth parts open in a cheerful “ahhh,” watching the way Sakura’s shaky hand comes to feed you another spoonful of Lucky Charms. “O-of course. I said it was no problem.” He scoffs, a light dusting of red across his cheeks as soon as you’re taking a bite with a hum.

A part of him feels guilty for having these types of thoughts when he’s only feeding you some cereal. He’s been trying to get it all out of his head, trying to think of everything and anything that’ll get him soft, but it’s not working. It’s not leaving his mind. And as if his luck couldn’t get any worse, a bit of milk dribbles from the side of your mouth and you gasp loudly.

“Ah! Can you get that?”

You’re leaning in closer, and wait- was it even possible for you to be any closer? Your face is just a couple inches in front of his as you angle your head, gesturing for him to help. You’re way too close, way way too close for comfort, and oh- fuck.

There’s no napkin.

His thumb comes to swipe at your mouth before his mind even processes what he’s doing, finger pressing into your lip as you stare up at him with an unfamiliar look in your eyes. And oh… suddenly he’s keenly aware of how how you feel under his fingertip, how soft your lips feel against him, and the way you’re practically on your knees peering up at him like this..

It has his mind racing.

This sight of you— all helpless and confused, not a clue in the world about what he’s thinking about is just too much for him to handle. The thoughts he was so desperately trying to get rid of are storming back in his head with a newfound intensity the next second, and he knows it’s all over for him.

CHOJI TOMIYAMA.

“This is easy.” Choji smiles, bumping his back up into you with a huff to get a better grip on your thighs as he carries you home. He has you draped over his back, your arms wrapped around his neck as you try to hold back your sniffles. Probably twisted it, he had said, but he wasn’t gonna let something like this ruin your date night. He’s got your shoes in his bag, and.. it’s actually quite nice to have you this close to him.

It’s only about halfway home when he starts to notice it. particularly, the sound of your breathing against his ear.

Very sharp inhales and very shaky exhales.

It hurts, doesn’t it? he can tell just with one look at you. You’ve been biting your lip, tears brimming along your lashes as you try to ignore the pain. It’s a little hard for him to think of anything else with the way this feeling’s bubbling up inside him each time your breath fans right against the outer shell of his ear.

They sound so familiar, and he’s thinking hard. What was it again?

Was this how you sounded when he forces one last orgasm out of you? It’s close, he thinks, but not quite. Your chest is heaving up and down by that point. So maybe it’s when he teases you a little too much? Slowing down right before you reach your high? Yeah, that’s better. That’s when you start sniffling like this.

Choji’s suddenly much more aware of your presence- your body— he can vividly feel the way your tits are pressing up against his back, and he knows exactly how’d they look right now. Just this feeling against his back is enough to have him squeezing your thigh a little harder, jaw clenching just enough for you to not notice a thing.

Such a pretty girl can only rely on him to take you home, right? No one else?

He’s absolutely ecstatic at the fact.

HAYATO SUO.

You haven’t noticed him just yet.

Suo keeps his distance, watching the way you struggle to reach into your cabinet, groaning as you try and stretch just a couple more inches to grab that bowl. On a normal day, you could just go onto the tips of your toes and reach them, but with the way your right foot is all wrapped up, you can’t go much further than this.

He has to stifle a laugh when he hears a dramatic sigh followed a muttered curse under your breath, and he watches in amusement as you take a step back to just glare at the assortment of bowls lining your cabinet, hand coming to angrily rest on your hip as you shift your weight back on your good foot.

“So fuckin’ annoying,” he hears you grumble. “Why’s it so high in the first place?”

This would probably be a good time to help, suo thinks.

“You know, you could have asked me for help, love.” He whispers straight into your ear, hovering over your shoulder as his tassel earrings tickle the skin, and you violently jolt forward at the presence, head whipping around in a flash. “Hayato!? Y-you scared me..!”

He takes a step forward with a lighthearted chuckle, observant eyes immediately noticing the way your lips press into a nervous line when his arms fall beside you, caging you flush against the counter as you stumble backwards on your good foot. “You didn’t tell me you got hurt. What happened?”

You’re not looking at him anymore.

“Oh..” you mumble. “It’s kinda embarrassing, so I didn’t tell you.”

He’s silent, but his eyes are glued to your foot until you finally continue, voice coming out unsteady with how intense his gaze feels. “But since you’re here… that bowl,” you shyly point above you. “Can you get it? … Please?”

The silence has your heart racing. He has you pressed up close against the counter with nowhere to go, and he’s so awfully close. Staring too, and you can’t quite pinpoint the emotion in his eyes. Or eye.

It makes it even harder to tell what he’s thinking.

“Course I can help,” and you’re narrowing your eyes at the all too innocent smile that’s coming back to his face a second after, as if he didn’t just spent a good ten seconds staring at your foot with a weirdly stern look on his face.

You know Suo better than this, though. There’s usually a ‘but’ that’ll follow.

“But…” and there it is. “I’m a little curious. Let me take a look first.”

“You don’t need t—ah! Hayato?!” You squeal when he’s hooking his hand under your knee, your arms immediately slamming onto the countertop to catch yourself as he lifts your leg up. “—The hell are you doing?”

Suo kneels down with a soft smile, a stark contrast to the firm grip he’s got around your leg as he lifts it up even higher, content with the way the back of your hand has come to nervously cover your mouth.

“Just taking a look at your injury, love.” He peers up at you through half lidded eyes, watching your every reaction— and the way you’re looking at him with those shocked eyes is just endearing.

“Why? Are you having other ideas?”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. reader described as having soft skin, also asks ume once if you’re heavy (you’re not).

“Carry you? Of course I can! How do you want it?”

Umemiya’s practically bouncing up and down at the request, eager to hear that you’re finally ready to be moving around the house again. You’ve barely been up since your injury, only movement being the occasional stumble to use the restroom, and he’s been worried sick over it.

“Um...” your voice trails off a bit, eyebrows deeply furrowed in embarrassment. “You have to carry me over your shoulder. It’ll put less strain on it.”

He’s nodding right away, leaning down with an enthusiastic smile as he hoists you over his shoulder the next instant— laughter erupting from his chest when he hears you gasp, but he doesn't miss the way your ass jiggles a bit when you wiggle in his hold.

Actually...his eyes widen a bit. Are those shorts new? He’s never seen them before. They’re really.. short.

So short that he can see about a quarter of your ass like this, the skin peeking out from underneath the fabric, even more so because they’ve hiked further up when he tossed you over his shoulder.

His gaze shifts down a bit, and he starts to notice how good your thighs look when they’re flush against his chest like this. He can tell they're soft, but that’s not really a surprise to him. Your skin has always always soft— he knows this because he's used your lotions now and then. They always make him feel ten times softer himself.

Not that you need to know.

“A-am i heavy? Why aren't you moving?” The unsteadiness in your voice doesn't help his situation much. There’s a little noise of exertion, one too close to a moan that slips from your mouth when you try to push at his shoulders to crane your neck and see what's wrong. “..Haji?”

“You’re not heavy at all, silly.” He laughs, ignoring the way his pants suddenly feel tight. “Don’t worry about it.”

SUGISHITA KYOTARO.

“Glaring at it won’t make it go away, Kyo.” You giggle, hands coming to gently pat at Sugishita’s head. He’s got you propped up on your bathroom counter, one of his knees on the floor as he rests your injured ankle on top of it.

There’s a huff from your boyfriend, scowl deeper than ever as he focuses on squeezing some of your cooling gel onto his finger, making undoubtedly sure he’s only squeezing the exact amount you needed. “Stay still.”

He’s gentle when he applies the gel, scowl contorting to display a hint of sadness and worry when you flinch at the contact, but you’re relaxing into his touch as soon as the gel starts to numb your skin, sighing at the feather-light touches running up and down your ankle.

Sugishita’s gaze flickers to you as soon as he sees that your eyes have flutter shut, head tilting back to sigh at his touch. It makes him think. he’s rubbing at your skin, situated right between your legs, and you’re…breathing loudly. Very loudly. With your head tilted back.

And if you just glanced back down at him… your mouth would be parted in a little ‘o’ right? The same way you look at him just before he’s about to eat you out?

Oh.

“…Kyo?” the sound soft of your voice pulls him right out of his thoughts, and his head is jerking back to you. You are, as a matter of fact, glancing right down at him with those innocent eyes of yours. He can tell you don’t have a single clue about the thoughts whirling around in his head, even though you’ve got a 6’3 man sitting right between your legs staring at you with the hungriest look you’ve ever seen in your life.

KIRYU MITSUKI.

“Suki..?” Your voice comes out as a shaky whisper, and your boyfriend stirs a bit from where he’s seated on his bed, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as you rest your head on his shoulder. “Mm….yes, pretty?”

“‘M scared.” You tighten your embrace around him. “I don’t wanna fall asleep and move … and accidentally fuck up my back even more. It hurts.”

You exhale shakily when his hand comes to massage gentle circles along your back, skipping over the area you’ve strained earlier that week. “Aww,” he coos, tired eyes locking with yours before he’s leaning forward to pepper kisses along your shoulder. “Hmmm…”

“Let’s see….” he humming in thought, gentle vibrations of his voice soothing your nerves a bit. “Then let’s do this. Don’t make any sudden movements, ‘kay?”

You nod.

He’s shifting the next second, laying his head on his pillow with a soft grunt as he pulls you on top of him, your thighs straddling his hips as you move to hug him again. Kiryu’s careful, gentle when he adjusts a bit so you can better wrap your arms around his body and get comfortable without your back flaring up again.

“Better? Hug me just like this.” His arms wrap around your waist, cautious of the area you’ve hurt. “And you won’t be budging in your sleep. Right? We’re stuck together.”

“Now close your eyes, love. I’m right here.”

KAJI REN.

“S-sorry for making you carry me back,” you stammer, both hands holding a fistful of kaji’s shirt as he carries you bridal style. You can hear his teeth nervously biting down on the hard candy, and you can hear the sound of his music blasting in his ears even clearer.

He seems to have noticed you speaking regardless, eyebrows furrowing a bit as he tries to read your lips. It was something he’s improved on since meeting you, but he can only read your lips. He’s only tried reading yours, anyways. There would be no point in his headphones if he could understand other people’s words.

You were the sole exception.

There’s no response from him, but you’re not surprised, because Kaji never talks to you when his headphones are in. Not again, never again after Kusumi showed him a video of just how loud his voice gets when he yells over his music.

he wouldn’t want to risk scaring you with the sound.

A quick nod is all he gives you, eyes shifting to the side to mask the heat spreading up his cheeks. You’re already too damn cute for your own good, and it’s not helping with the way you’re not looking away from him.

Why are you staring so hard in the first place?

He wants to tell you to quit doing that, maybe quiet you down with a lollipop because he can still see your mouth moving in his peripheral vision… but he won’t.

Because he doesn’t have an excuse to why he’s blushing so hard. It was obvious. He has you right in his arms, completely helpless and depending on him to get you home… how else would he act in this state? Kaji wonders for a moment if you can hear the wild thumping of his heart, or maybe hear the unsteadiness in his breathing.. god, he sure hoped not.

Your eyes widen a bit when you notice his face suddenly contorting to a scowl, your words fading into a confused hum. Did you do something?

You’re immediately whipping out your phone from your front pocket, ignoring the way Kaji’s glare is still burning a hole into the street beside him, scowl worsening with each passing second.

“Kusumi…” you type out. “He looks really mad all of a sudden.”

The typing bubble under his name pops up only a second later, and you tilt your phone a bit to hide your screen in the rare chance that Kaji does finally look back at you.

your eyes scan over the text that follows.

Kusumi: He’s probably just blushing. We made him carry you for a reason. Wrap your arms around his neck and see for yourself !!

[heesmiles]

୨ৎ. INVISIBLE STRING p.sh

ᨳ ׄ ׅ ꒰ 45k ꒱⠀ ‎ູㅤ ‎ིྀ ⸺ word count.

𝓹airings 𝜗𝜚 soulmate ! sunghoon ៹ fem ! reader ᧁ ; smut ˒ supernatural? ˒ red string theory ˒ office romance

𝔀arnings ꒱ . smut angst graphic depictions of injuries grandparent/parental death death in general

𝓲n which ⑅ ㅤׄ ⠀ ‎𓈒 alexa play ❝ invisible string ❞ by taylor swift ‎ིྀ ⸺ They say when someone you love dies it takes a piece of who you were and a piece of who you were going to be. You met the love of your life the day you died; and it took something from you. It changed who you were and you don’t know if you’d ever want it back. Sunghoon was tied to you, two tangled souls connected by one invisible red string but you didn’t know it, until it was too late.

★ ! 𝓻ain's mic is on ── iykyk about this fic fr...I've been working on this bad boy since like the beginning of December...which If you know me is a while. I've stopped writing it for a while but randomly I just knew I needed too pick it back up and finish it. I'm sorry in advance for the use of y/n (i started this before i stopped using it, sorry guys). I love this story line so much and the amount of pure thought I put into is...it's a lot. I hope you all enjoy it and love it just as much as I do. thank you.

They say when someone you love dies it takes a piece of who you were and a piece of who you were going to be. Lying on her deathbed your grandmother hands you a small red bracelet, one so flimsy you felt as if it could snap between your fingertips. Dainty like a small red string. And with the last few breaths that she had left in her she told you something you would never forget. “This bracelet is a representation of what I'm about to take from you.” She took a deep agonizing breath before continuing. “When I die, I will take some of your joy, some of your light. I Don't want to but I will. This red string here represents what is to come, who is to come and when it becomes important to you, because it will. Think of me and what I've always told you about your very own red string of fate.” 

The words left her mouth in a sigh. Her eyes closed peacefully as your heart shattered. Taking the string you wrapped it around your wrist vowing to never let it go. 

5 years later. 

You were going to be late.The rain served as a catalyst to your anger and resentment of this day. Looking outside of your cramped apartment window to see it pouring rain when you have to walk to work has put a severe damper on your already more than pissy mood. Not including the fact that you were up at all hours of the night because the thin material of your walls in this run down apartment building left very little to be desired, especially when it came to your neighbors very active love life. 

Pounding on the wall had been no help as the screams of their pleasure just grew, almost as if they were trying to spite you. Spite you because it was four in the morning and you had to be up in three hours and spite you because a very small part of you was jealous that your neighbor was getting laid and you weren’t and hadn’t for well over a year now. So, in turn, waking up when the sun was only beginning to rise was a very new form of hell you hadn’t yet experienced. 

Rolling yourself out of bed, brushing your teeth and making yourself look somewhat presentable was the equivalent of hauling a two ton car up a flight of stairs but you did it. You walked down the sidewalk raincoat over your head as you tried your best at keeping the rain from soaking your straightened hair. Finally approaching the crosswalk you were relieved to see it had not been crowded this morning. Which was rather unusual for a monday morning in seoul but you would take your wins as they came. 

A man stood at the crosswalk, phone in hand not paying you even a single glance. He was beautiful. You could definitely admit that and his attire for the day had told you that he was dressed for a day at the office. His dark hair was a stark contrast to his very light skin. His face dotted with the cutest little moles you had ever seen. He was a sight to behold, captivatingly beautiful. 

Not wanting to seem like a creep for staring, you turned your head downwards, fiddling with the red string bracelet you had worn every second of everyday for the last five years since your grandmother died. The light had turned green finally signaling for you to walk after what seemed like forever of waiting in awkward silence next to what might be the most beautiful man you would ever live to see. The rain continued its assault on you, pelting down hard and fast. 

Your rain boots sloshed as you walked. 

But suddenly you felt the snap, very lightly you felt the singular snap of the red string on your wrist. It had come undone and like a scene in a movie it had fallen before your eyes in slow motion. Falling to the rain soaked pavement of the very busy street you were crossing. You knew it was dumb, stupid even but still you bent down reaching for the string and again, like a scene in a movie hearing the voice of the beautiful man calling out for you to watch out and the screech of the van tires hurtling towards you were heard just a second too late, it was dark. 

You were scared of death as much as the next person. More afraid of not knowing what happens after you die. If you say that death doesn’t scare you, you're lying. How can you not be afraid of what you don’t know? It was a thought you truly couldn't fathom. 

With a gasp of breath and a pound in your head you had escaped death. Opening your eyes to the sun glaring in them penetrating your closed eyelids. “Woah! Are you ok?” A voice asked you. You had finally noticed a hand tightly gripping your wrist. Opening your eyes you're met with the most beautiful man you had ever seen…again? Groggily you looked around noticing you were no longer on the street but on the sidewalk. “What happened?” You groaned holding your head. “It feels like I've been hit by a truck.” 

With his hand still on your wrist the man helped you up “You just fell over” He murmured. The tiny red string on his wrist caught you off guard. You could think of nothing else as you stared down at it. You glanced down at your own wrist only to notice that it was bare, you weren’t wearing the red bracelet your grandmother had given you. “Where did you get that?” You asked, yanking your hand from his hold. “Why do you have my bracelet?” 

“What?” He questioned with shock. “This is mine.” 

“But..” You stammered out “I had one just like it and it's missing.” Your head was pounding so hard you had begun to feel it behind your eyelids. 

“I’m sorry yours is missing but this is from my grandfather.” with your head still aching you decided to let it go. He seemed genuine and you didn’t have the vitality to argue with him any further. 

“Are you alright?” The man said once again. Nodding you dusted your clothing off noticing the now beautiful clear sky. 

“Where did the rain go?” You asked. He looked confused again, an expression you were now deeming adorable on him. You may be a little woozy but a girl would always recognize an attractive man when presented to her. 

“It hasn’t rained today” He said, you really wish you could know his name. “Are you sure you're alright?” He cautiously inquired. Nodding once again you had half a mind to look down at your watch, your mind fleeting again to the fact that your wrist was now bare. Your red missing bracelet was something you were definitely going to agonize over later but for now, you were most certainly going to be late. On your very first day of the job. 

“I’m alright!” You squeaked out. “I’ve got to go” You made your way safely across the street before deciding to make a dash for it. You had exactly four minutes to make it there in time and it was a little over six minute walk. Speeding down the sidewalk you had no time to mull over what the hell just happened. 

You could have sworn to the high heavens that it was raining and that you most definitely had your bracelet on when you left your apartment this morning and you vaguely remembered walking across the street and your bracelet breaking. Shaking the thought off you finally arrived. Only looking up at the building for a split second before rushing inside. 

“Hi” You breathed heavily to the receptionist. “I’m here for my first day in-” 

“Are you Y/n L/n” She cut you off, her voice laced with disinterest for anything you would have to say beside yes or no. 

“Yes” Deciding to be curt as to not upset her more. 

“Floor nine. Minji will see you through.” She slapped a white badge onto the countertop in front of you. “Here’s your badge, have a wonderful career at seoul inc.” Contrary to her cheery words her voice was monotonous, lacking any depth or feeling. Dumbly nodding your head you took the white badge in your hands and made your way to the elevator. 

“Floor nine, floor nine” You whispered to yourself over and over again. 

The elevator ride was short and sweet, just how you liked it. You hated when elevators took forever it gave you time to become anxious and becoming anxious was the last thing you wanted to do today. Your head still reeled for the events that took place not even twenty whole minutes ago and adding on a bout of anxiety really would do you no justice. 

In true cliche fashion you allowed yourself a small pep talk. Reassuring yourself that everything would be ok, that you had landed the job so at least someone here liked you enough to hire you. Everything would be A OK, as your grandmother always said. 

Arriving at the front desk you’re met with a lot more peppy woman. Short probably in her mid to late fifties this woman looked to have lived and loved ten times over. A small pang rang through your chest as the warmth radiating from this woman had reminded you of your grandmother. The small desk plate in front of her read ‘minji’ and right then and there you knew you were in the right place. 

“Hello” You spoke as professionally as you could. “I’m Y/n L/n and I'm here for my first day.” MInji smiled at you, the warmth once again seeping into your bones. Instantaneously your anxiety and worries almost completely dissipated. 

“Hello dear, you're just in time!” She grabbed a few papers from her pile on her desk in front of her then swung out of her chair. “Mr. Park seems to be a few minutes late so i’ll quickly introduce you to a few of your colleagues that are a part of your team.” Following closely behind her you felt a wave of giddiness overcome you. Starting anew to you, had felt like starting a new life. You were so excited to kick it into full gear. Especially with the little to no support from your family back at home. 

Knowing that you would not be coming home to help run their shop had made them make the ultimate decision of disowning you. Not that they had ever truly been proud of who you were to begin with. Being an only child of two adults that never wanted children in the first place had always left you feeling a hole in your heart with a parent's love should fill. Luckily for you, you had your grandmother who had acted as your mother and father figure all rolled into one. Your grandfather having passed away only a year after your birth and your grandmother never remarrying had made the two of you's relationship that much stronger. It had only really been the two of you together all the time. 

Especially because your parents were always away at the shop. Tending to and looking after the only thing they truly loved. Having a child was never in their plans and boy did they make that obvious. They looked at you as a legacy for their business and when you had broken the news to tell them it wouldn't happen, well they just had no use for you then. They discarded you like a broken toy in their very coveted and well respected toy shop. Ironic isn't it? 

Running a toy shop but never wanting children, neglecting your own. The irony had always been daunting. Most people around you had assumed you had the best childhood. They assumed you had a childhood full of wonderful toys and parents who cherished you and showered you with the marvelous gifts that they sold but they were wrong. Very wrong. It had made you a person who no longer judged books by their covers because after all looks can be deceiving. 

Your father had grown up with a fascination for toys and collectables and he never truly outgrew that as an adult. Instead he turned it into a hobby and then into a career dragging your mother along until she learned to love it just as much as he did. 

“Alrighty” Minji said with exhilaration. “This right here will be your cubicle.” She pointed to a reasonably sized cubicle, its contents almost completely empty save for your basic office supplies like a computer, chair and pencil holder full of pens and pencils. “Decorate it however you would like. Being the visual department we always expect you guys to have the most put together cubicles.” She smiled at you warmly. Gesturing you to follow her only a few steps further she pointed to another cubicle, this one now occupied. “This is Wonyoung, she's one of your partners.” 

“Busy.” Wonyoung said pointedly typing away at her computer. 

“She’s a sweet girl when she's caffeinated.” Minji laughed, “Hun, I have some fresh coffee brewing for you in the lounge, go grab a cup.” 

“Minji, I could kiss you, I'm exhausted.” Wonyoung rose from her seat. For a moment you were stunned by her pure beauty. She wore a knitted dress that fell to the middle of her thighs, and a long sleeve turtleneck underneath it. Her hair in two braids on either side of her head. 

“Nice to meet you by the way” a radiant smile graced her features. “Jay is that way. I’m excited to be working with another girl. I’m soooo tired of being surrounded by men, yuck.” She stuck her tongue out mockingly before be-lining for what you could only assume was the lounge. 

“Let me take you to jay.” Minji made her way down only two more cubicles before stopping in front of another one. This time occupied by a man, who you assumed was Jay. 

“Good morning Mrs. Lee” Jay chirped, his expression was radiating all things positive. You had already felt safe around him. 

“Good morning sweetheart this is Y/n the new cover designer and a part of your team. I wanted to introduce you guys before Sunghoon arrived.” 

“Hi Y/n” Jay waved “Nice to meet you.” 

You nodded at him, taking a slight bow. “Nice to meet you too.” 

“Sunghoon isnt here yet?” Jay’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion looking around the two of you probably in search of Sunghoon. 

“Not yet but I'm sure he’ll be strolling in at any minute. You all have a meeting in” Minji looked down at her watch “Three minutes. He’ll be here if he’s not already in his office getting ready.” 

“He hasn’t come down to meet Y/n yet?” 

“No, not yet. I’m sure he’s waiting until you guys meet.” Standing there dumbly as you waited for them to finish their conversation a sense of once again, anxiety hit you like a wave. You assumed the Sunghoon they were referring to was your boss but what kind of boss didn’t come down to meet their new employees? One that he would be working with closely might you add. It set a strong precedent to who this man was and truthfully that worried you a bit. You had gotten such good first impressions from Minji, Jay and Wonyoung so much so that you were beginning to become even more excited to work alongside them. But none of that really mattered if your boss was a grade A asshole. Having a shit boss made your life in the workplace hell. Something you were mature enough to admit scared the hell out of you. 

You were only hoping and praying that Sunghoon was a super perfectionist and took his time making sure that these meetings ran smoothly rather than a man who, with power, made it extremely difficult to coexist with them. 

“It’s about that time anyway” Jay rose from his seat grabbing his coffee cup in his hand. “I’ll take Y/n with me to the meeting room Minji, go sit back down and relax.” Minji smiled at Jay reaching her hand to lightly pat his cheek affectionately. 

“Thank you sweetheart.” Turning to you she handed you the papers she had brought with her. “Good luck Y/n, you let me know if you need anything ok?” tilting your head in agreement you took the papers from her outstretched hands. Thanking her quietly as she walked back down the room of cubicles. 

“Sweetest woman you'll ever meet, I swear.” Jay said. “Come on. Wonyoung is most likely already there we can mee-” 

Not being able to control your motor-like mouth you blurt out the one thing on your mind since discussing your boss, completely cutting Jay off in the process. 

“Is he mean?” You knew how childish it sounded. It was like setting up a playdate with your friends at five years old. Quizzing them to find out if their parents were ‘meanies” like yours. But honestly, you didn't care. You needed to know even if that made you sound like a kid in the process. 

“Sunghoon?” Jay’s surprise at your question did not go unnoticed but once again you couldn't find it in yourself to care. The question was a pressing matter you would argue. 

“He’s …” He took his time to find his words “He’s a bit standoffish but once you get to know him he's a really nice guy.” 

His words had not soothed your worries at all. In total honesty they had only worsened the pit of perturbation brewing in your belly. You would try everything you could at ensuring that Sunghoon liked you, or at least tolerated you enough to show you respect. It might be dumb to make all of these bold assumptions before knowing the man but you couldn't help your wondering and worrying mind. 

It was how you operated, how you got by in life. You had always been that way and you didn't see not for a second you not being that way. 

“Really” Jay assured you as the two of you began your descent towards what you were hoping was not your demise “He’s harmless. He acts more like an asshole than he is.” 

“You'd call your boss an asshole out loud?” You asked in astonishment. 

“Me and Sunghoon have been friends for as long as I can remember. There is not even an ounce of me that is intimidated by him.” Jay's ability to be calm and collected had left you a bit envious. This was the worst part about starting a new job. Adjusting. 

Getting adjusted to new people, new surroundings and new procedures was taxing, it was something you dreaded when starting a new job. 

“And you shouldn't be either.” Jay continued, but before you could respond you had arrived at the meeting room. The clear windows had allowed you to see inside. Stopping in your tracks you were sure you looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Who is that?” You asked Jay pointing to the man that stood at the head of the table sifting through papers in front of him. 

“That’s Sunghoon.”

The words had made your heart drop to your stomach. That was the beautiful man from this morning. The one who had picked you up off the ground. The one wearing your red bracelet. Well, according to him it wasn't yours but that was still to be determined. Here he was standing just inside this room, as your new boss. 

A part of you had felt slightly relieved. The sunghoon you had met this morning wasn't at all Standoffish or rude. He was kind and although being confused and then accused of taking your bracelet he still had not shown any disdain or attitude towards you.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad afterall and Jay was just exaggerating about him because they were friends. You had hope. 

Feeling a bit of whiplash from all the events that had led up to this moment. You were certain that you had woken up to the rain pelting your windows and roof but instead the air was clear and sunny. You walking out of your apartment with the red bracelet on your wrist was almost irrefutable but still your wrist is left bare. You had imagined your bracelet falling onto the floor but you hadn't even reached the street yet when you woke up on the ground, Sunghoon hovering over you. 

Opening the door to the room you stepped inside. Wonyoung sat on a chair to the right and Jay circled around sitting directly across from her, sending a shy smile her way. 

“Dude, where have you been?” Jay asked. Sunghoon hadn't looked up from his papers just yet. He blew a gush of air from his lips shaking his head almost bitterly. “I had the weirdest dream last night then this morning a woman fell-” The words died in his throat as his head rose, his eyes meeting yours. An expression similar to the one you had outside the doors of the meeting room. Like a deer in freaking headlights. The expression had only lasted a short second before he dropped it, a now stoic one taking its place. 

“Goodmorning.” You said shyly. “I’m doing fine by th-” cutting you off Sunghoon sat down in his chair, clearing his throat loudly. 

“Good Morning Ms. L/n find yourself a seat so we can get started.” 

You didn’t miss the axiomatic expressions of confusion written all over Jay’s and Wonyoung’s face. They weren't stupid. They knew without a doubt how strange this interaction was. They did the smart thing and ignored it. For now. 

A squeak of surprise left your lips, the confusion written all over your face probably very evident. 

Sitting in the nearest chair the overarching feeling of dread seeped back in. Clouding your mind. You reached down out of habit to grab your bracelet but you were met with the coldness of your bare skin. Bile rose in your throat but you did your best to suppress it. Choking it down like acid. 

Jay and Wonyoung looked uneasy in their seats but still, they decided to say nothing. For that, you were grateful. Trying to explain what had just transpired would be a dumpster fire situation that you had no knack for at the moment. 

“I’m Park Sunghoon. You can call me Sunghoon, I'm the director of the seoul magazine visual team and Jay, wonyong and yourself work directly under me. We are considered a team, so we must work as such. I expect that from you, have I been heard?” You nodded, not daring to utter a single word. 

“I understand you were hired for cover design, correct?” Sunghoon opened a manilla folder in front of him which contained only what you could assume was your previous works. He began sifting through the pages analyzing every single one with potent accuracy. 

“Y-yes” You cursed yourself for stuttering, for allowing this man to take your wits from you. He had shaken you to your core at his contrast of personality. Although you had only met Sunghoon today and knew very little of the man you had a crippling wonder of who Sunghoon really was. Was he the man you had met this morning? The one who had you picked you up when you fell, who had been kind and caring enough to ask if you were ok. Or was he this man, the cold hearted uncaring one who cut people off mid sentence. You truly didn't know, and that thought scared you. 

“Down to business” Sunghoon continued. “We have a big project coming up. We have a new girl group debuting that needs front cover coverage. We have to make them look stellar. I’m talking about bold fonts, attention to detail with colors and we have to be very careful with editing. Do you think you can make that happen?” 

“Of course” You said more confidently this time. “You can count on me.” 

“And if we can't we have a ton of other well equipped applicants chomping at the bit for your position. Do not mess this up.” Sunghoon rose from his seat, gathering all of his papers with him. “Project is due exactly three months from now.” With that Sunghoon was out the door. A silence so heavy had followed. You could hear a pin drop. It was that quiet. Wonyoung and Jay shared a glance that you couldn't quite decipher and in all honestly you weren’t up to even trying. 

All hope of Sunghoon liking you had fled, leaving a cold dead feeling in its wake. 

“What a jerk,” Wonyoung laughed awkwardly. “He’s not usually like that..” 

“Jay said he was standoffish…” You trailed off looking down at the table in front of you. “That was a little more than standoffish.” You tried your best to keep your resolve but at the end of the day you were only human and the weight of the events that took place had started to crash into you. You could feel the tiredness deep in your bones. You still had a full day ahead of you and truthfully you didn't know how it was going to go or how you were going to manage to survive it. 

“I’m sorry about him..” Jay had looked more embarrassed than anything and weirdly enough that had given you a bit of comfort, knowing that even his friends and colleagues acknowledge how much of an asshole he just was to you. 

“Don’t worry Y/n he’ll warm up to you in no time!” Wonyoung hopped over to you. 

“I’m sure he’ll get very toasty.” You cringed at your attempt at a joke but by the way Wonyoung threw her head back in laughter had left you feeling just a little bit better about what had just transpired. If Sunghoon wasn’t the type to be warm and welcoming you were glad that Jay and Wonyoung were. 

It was only lunchtime and you were beginning to rethink all of your life choices. Not only did your head still severely ache from your fall this morning, but Sunghoon hasn't even begun to let up on you. Dropping by almost every hour to check on your progress, then nit picking it until you've changed almost every single detail. It had been a day from hell and it still wasn't even over yet. 

Gathering yourself you made your way to the lounge, Wonyoung trailing beside you. “I hope Sunghoon isn't discouraging you too much. He’s very passionate about the covers we make, he just likes them to be perfect.” In all honesty her attempt at helping had only made it worse for you. You wouldn't blame her for that though. She was just trying to help you understand the way Sunghoon was. 

“He changed basically the entire layout draft.” You deadpanned, your annoyance very pellucid. Wonyoung cringed at your candor. 

“If it makes you feel any better, Jay and I think that it was a solid first attempt.” 

“That does not make me feel any better but thank you.” A laugh fell from your lips as you said it. You and wonyoung had already started getting comfortable with one another. Your cubicles were fairly close and she was definitely the yappy type, but you didn't mind. It had passed the time by more quickly, having someone to talk to about mindless stuff. “I just don't understand why Sunghoon hates me so much. I don't see what I did wrong.” Opening the door to the lounge you were met with the most delicious smells. Your stomach grumbled and for the first time all day you were realizing just how hungry you were. 

“Sunghoon doesn't hate you,” Wonyoung said quietly, presumably to make sure no one around you was listening in on your conversation. The lounge was shared with more than just your department judging by the fact that there were definitely more than twenty plus people in here. “Like I said, he's just very particular about the covers. He takes pride in his work. And him being an asshole to you, well that i don't know. You tell me considering the look you two shared when we walked into the meeting room this morning.” She snickered at you as the two of you approached the table of food. It was a big breakfast bar. Breakfast for lunch, yum. 

“Do the two of you know each other?” She asked out right. You shook your head immediately, probably looking a bit suspicious. 

“No, not at all.” The look wonyoung gave you made you feel like she didn't believe you. “I met him this morning on the way here. I had fallen and hit my head and he helped me up that's all. I didn't know the beautiful stranger helping me was going to be my boss but I guess that's just my luck.” 

“Beautiful huh?” Her lips rising in a teasing smirk. Cursing yourself for your word vomit you felt the apples of your cheeks heating up as embarrassment usurped you. 

“Well..i-i mean he- well” You stuttered like an idiot as you tried your best at regaining your pride and collecting your barings. 

“It’s ok” Wonyoung giggled, placing her hand on your bare wrist in comfort. “I understand. I’m a woman. I know that Sunghoon is an attractive man, I'm not blind. He's just not my type.” 

“What is your type?” You asked her, once again letting your intrusive thoughts win. You really had to stop doing that before you offend someone. 

“Jay” Wonyoung stated simply with a small shrug. Mid scooping up scrambled eggs you froze, turning to look at her with the goofiest smile on your face. 

“You like Jay?” You whisper shouted at her. 

“I don’t just like Jay, I'm in love with Jay.” Her frankness had amazed you. How was it so easy to just admit that she was in love with Jay, you wished that you had half as much courage as she did. 

���Why don’t you say anything?” You asked her. 

“I will, just when the time is right. We're so busy here all the time. I don't want to over complicate his work even more with having a girl two cubicles down from him fawning over him and he doesn't love her back, do you know how embarrassing that would be?” We had finally gathered all of your food making your way to an empty table. 

“I get it.” and you did get it. Although you've never really been in love before you knew how it felt to not want to inconvenience the people you loved. Although it might not be the exact same thing you had felt similar feelings when it came to telling your parents that you wouldn't be pursuing their dreams but instead you'd be pursuing your own. 

“Jay is coming.” Wonyoung announced, signaling the end of the conversation as we knew it. The both of you knew it wasn’t the true end. You would definitely be re visiting the topic soon enough. 

After a tiringly long day you were more than glad to finally be free to go home. Ssunghoon had only visited you two more times then after that you hadn’t seen him again for the rest of the day. Each conversation had been short, curt and he had never looked you in your eyes. Opting to stare at the keyboard in front of you or at the wall to the side of you. He never looked at you. It had felt degrading and dehumanizing. 

Once you arrived home taking the elevator up to your apartment had felt like the longest ride you had ever been on, and once outside of your door you glanced at your neighbors, the sight of a bright yellow slip on it catching your eye. 

‘Vacant. For rent, talk to the office for details.’ Confusion took over you for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Vacant? That couldn't be right. Your neighbor had no signs of moving at all. Hell, he had been up all night banging random girls for the past week now. How could it have been vacant so suddenly? Deciding it wasn’t worth mulling over at the moment you entered your apartment readying yourself for bed. At least you won't be bothered with his nightly hookups anymore, that was the bright side of all of this. 

The more pressing matter at hand wass finding the bracelet your grandmother gave you. You tried gaslighting yourself into believing you had taken it off sometime this morning, but that was really really not like you at all. You never took that thing off no matter what. Not to shower, not for anything. You've been wearing it for five years so there was no way it could have just slipped off could it? It's never done that before and it wasn't loose. You would have noticed if it was loose. 

Looking your apartment over top to bottom has proven no help. The fucking bracelet was nowhere to be found. Your chest started to tighten and suddenly it felt a bit harder to breathe. You knew you were having a panic attack, you could feel it. You haven't had one in a while but you could distinguish that feeling anywhere. Feeling like you were dizzy, as if you were going to throw up everywhere, or faint, or both. 

You needed that bracelet. Over the years you have become dependent on the familiarity of it. It felt like an extra layer of skin, or a tattoo forever inked into you. That bracelet was the equivalent to a child with their baby blanket or a stuffy they just had to have in order to sleep at night.  That bracelet was branded into your heart, it was the one and only thing you had left of your grandmother and it was just …gone?

It made no sense. Scouring your apartment once again, feeling as if you were going crazy. It had to be here somewhere. Or maybe you had dropped it off on the way to the crosswalk this morning? But all you could remember was the rain and how it had fallen over you like tiny little pellets. 

Sunghoon said it hadn't rained at all though. So what could you actually recall from this morning that was actually true? How hard did you hit your head? 

Deciding to calm yourself down for the night you prepared yourself a bath with extra good smelling soaps in it. You need to take a breather, you'll find the bracelet it has to be around here somewhere for sure. 

You kept repeating that phrase in your head even after you got out of the bath and while you brushed your hair and your teeth. It's here somewhere….it's here somewhere…you'll find it tomorrow. As you fell asleep for the night the phrase continued to circulate your mind. It was the only thing keeping your heart caged, helping so it wouldn't burst from your chest with nervousness. And even as you woke up in the morning you thought it over and over again. So much so that for a fleeting moment you forgot about sunghoon and how much he hated you. 

You were quickly reminded once you stepped foot into the office area the next day. 

Sunghoon stood at your desk, waiting for you. You felt like absolutely shit and knew you looked it too. Internally groaning you made your way to him. 

“Good morning Sunghoon.” You spoke quietly, almost as if you were trying to poke and prod at him like a giant angrily sleepy bear. In fear that in a fit of rage he’d explode and eat you alive. 

“Morning. We have a meeting in five minutes.” His words were short and curt as he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving you to gape at him from behind. He was talking to Jay now quietly, almost hushed like he didn't want anyone to hear them. You didn’t care what they were talking about, not really so you turned to your work trying hard to ignore the simmering feeling inside of you. 

You haven't felt like yourself since yesterday and today you felt even weirder. Deciding to ignore it you gathered your things making your way to the meeting room to ensure you were earlier than everyone else was. 

You concluded right then and there that you would no longer show Sunghoon that you feared him. This was the only way to gain his respect. Show him you're serious about the job and mean no funny business when it comes to your art. You loved cover design and you recognize just how lucky you were to get this position. You mean business, and you were damn sure going to show it. 

Wonyoung was the second person to walk through the doors. Well, more like burst through the doors. 

“I’m here! I’m here” She gasped out, carrying an insanely large stack of papers in her hand. Stopping in her tracks when she noticed it was just the two of you in there alone. 

“Those bastards.” She cursed, setting the papers down with a slam. “Fucking bastards” She continued to mutter under her breath. 

“Uhh…are you ok?” You asked with concern. 

“No!” She shouted throwing her hands up in the air, overly dramatic might you add but you were slowly learning that that was just Wonyoung’s style. “Jay and Sunghoon texted me and said I was super late! That I better run here quickly. I didn't even stop to put my stuff down.” Noticing her big fur jacket you stifled a laugh. “They're not even here yet. Oh when I see those two they're dead.” 

“Last I saw they were over by the cubicles” You giggled out. Wonyoung’s eyes turned to slits as she watched you laugh. 

“It’s not funny”  She whined, running her hands through her hair to try and fix it up “i look a mess.” 

“You don't look bad at all.” You smiled trying to offer her some resemblance of hope while in reality she looked absolutely gorgeous while also simultaneously looking like she had just rolled out of bed at the same time. 

Before she could spit a rebuttal out the sound of the door opening garnered your attention. Sunghoon and Jay sautered in with two cups of coffee in each hand. 

“Looking good Won.” Jay snickered, holding the cup of coffee up to her. “Caffeine?” 

“I’m going to strangle you both.” She spewed out, her face bright red with anger and embarrassment. 

“That's no way to talk to your boss.” You didn’t miss the way Sunghoon walked past you slowly, only bending down slightly beside you to set the warm cup of coffee he was holding down in front of you on the table. He said nothing to you. No acknowledgement besides that. You didn't know how to feel. It wasn't like he specially brought you a coffee, they also brought themselves one along with Wonyoung. Good to know he wasn't so cruel as to exclude you from something as trivial as a coffee run. At least you were thought about in some capacity. 

“Thank you” You spoke up, remembering what you had vowed to yourself earlier. Sunghoon gave no inclination that he heard you. Instead he opted for ignoring you. Once again, not meeting your eyes. 

“I’m sorry i wasn't sure if you heard me” You said a little louder “I said thank you.” Sunghoon’s face flashed with shock along with Wonyoung and Jay’s who had stopped bickering with each other once they heard you speak with deeper professionalism opposed to your usual stuttering and murmured words. 

“I heard you the first time.” Sunghoon grit his teeth. His canines now on full display. A fleeting part of your mind had thought it to be annoyingly hot. You pissed him off but you couldn’t find it in you to care. In reality you enjoyed it. Maybe too much. 

“Well I wasn't able to tell since you didn't bother to say anything back. ” 

“It wasn't important.” 

“Well it's common courtesy.” 

“I don't do common.” 

“Clearly.” LIke a scene in a movie, your constant banter had Wonyoung and Jay’s heads spinning. Whipping back and forth almost as quickly as your comebacks. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sunghoon said, his eyes narrowing in on you. 

“It means that when someone says thank you the normal response is to say you're welcome.” You weren't done and he could tell. He was becoming more and more agitated each time you spoke. You even started to worry that you were crossing a line. Taking it too far perhaps but the overachiever in you wouldn't allow you to stop. 

“For god sake sunghoon just tell her you're welcome.” Wonyoung huffed out, rolling her eyes at your admitted childish behavior. 

“You're welcome.” Sunghoon grit out. The words falling from his lips had looked like they were dipped in poison. He forced them out in one fail swoop. A part of you wanted to keep going, to tell him you knew he wasn't sincere but you refrained. 

That was enough rebelance for one day. You just hoped that Sunghoon knew you were not done. That there was more where that came from. 

“Let's begin.” Sunghoon walked to the white board at the end of the table. Like the true boss he was, Sunghoon fixed his suit jacket and cleared his throat. 

“As I said in the previous meeting, this cover is due three months from now. And for the newer people-” 

“Y/n.” You interjected, reminding him of your name out of spite. 

“And for Y/n-” Sunghoon bit out “That might seem like a long time but let me-” 

“It’s actually not long at all to me”  You interjected again. That seemed to only further Sunghoon’s anger. 

“I’d like to get through this presentation without being interrupted.” 

“I’d like to get through it without having assumptions thrown my way. If you'd like to know what I can or cannot handle just ask me. There are only four of us in here, it's not a crowded room.” A smirk made its way on your features “You know, in case you're scared of big crowds or anything.” 

Wonyoung stifled a laugh behind her closed fist. Her and Jay acting as an audience to yours and Sunghoon’s show. Jay made a show of kicking her ankle under the table but it had only furthered Wonyoung’s giggling. 

“I’m fine.” Sunghoon looked down at the table for a moment, taking the time to compose himself. You sat still. The smirk gone from your lips, a serious expression taking precedence. Although bickering at Sunghoon was funny, you didn't want to stray away from what you were really trying to achieve here. And that was to gain professional respect from Sunghoon. Ssure, this might be an immature way to go about it but you felt as if it were the only way. You had to show him that he could just yank you around with his words and you'd just stay compliant. No, you knew how to do your job and you knew how to do it well. 

“Like I was saying.” Sunghoon continued. “This cover is due in three months. So far we have images of what they're wearing but obviously they are edited.” Turning to you, Sunghoon set down a few papers. 

They were previous editions that this group haad done pre-debut. 

“This is how they like to be portrayed. Girly, sweet and innocent. So that’s how we will deal with this issue. Is that understood?” Nodding along you felt it best to keep any rebuttals at bay. 

“Don't we think it’s a little crazy that they want them to portray sweet innocent girls when in reality they’re nightmares to work with.” Wonyoung interjected. 

“What?” You asked with confusion. “Aren't they a new girl group?”

“Well, yes but we did a cover for them when they were all first announced. They came in to see it and absolutely hated it.” Wonyoung pointed at a specific cover in front of you, one you didn't recognize. “The leader ripped it to shreds. They didn't want it coming out ever. I’m surprised they are even working with us again considering how much they berated us last time.” 

“Unfortunately we can't pick who we work with so, we'll just do our best at making the cover look so good they can't hate anything about it.” Sunghoon said while putting away the pages he had set down on the table. 

“Easy for you to say Suyu loves you.” Wonyoung rolled her eyes again. 

“Yeah, didn't she ask you on a date.” Jay laughed. “Should have gone for it honestly.” 

“I don't date.” Sunghoon said with a curt nod. “I had no interest in her.” 

“Don't be so uptight hoonie maybe you just need to get laid-” 

“Excuse me, that's not an appropriate topic for work and especially not in front of a new hire.” Sunghoon hissed at Wonyoung, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “Also don't call me hoonie, I already told you that.” 

“I don't mind,” You said with a shrug. “I think it’s funny.” 

“Of course you do,” Sunghoon muttered, shaking his head bitterly. “I’ll see you guys at lunch.” Walking out the door was the last signal Wonyoung and Jay. The two burst into a fit of laughter, Wonyoung so hard tears started falling down the apples of her cheeks. “Oh god!” she wheezed “Y/n that was so funny” 

“You really pissed him off,” Jay chuckled with a shake of his head. 

“I’m just trying to show him that I'm worth respecting, that's all.” You simply said. You began to gather all of your things in your hands. The laughs of Wonyoung and Jay are still ringing in your ears. You tried your best at suppressing a smile. You should really pat yourself on the back for that one. You were one step closer to getting Sunghoon off your back. But also a part of you had enjoyed the back and forth with him. You had enjoyed just how flustered and annoyed he got. A part of you had felt hot over it. You've said it before and you could really say it a million times over. Sunghhoon was attractive, insanely so. But something that he said had caught your attention. “I don't date.” 

It left you wondering why. Asking yourself if something had happened, something like a failed relationship or daddy issues. The nosey person inside of you wanted to ask, but that was one line you knew for certain you wouldn't cross. It was one thing to banter about work and the formalities of it but you certainly did not question someone on their personal lives, especially if you hardly know them. 

That didnt mean you wouldn't wonder. You most certainly will wonder about it. But asking was 100% off the table, no matter how badly you wanted to do it. 

The rest was mostly uneventful. Sunghoon came to visit a few times but didn’t say much of anything to you. It left you feeling somewhat accomplished upon leaving the office. 

As you were half way out the building doors you heard your name being called, loudly. 

“Y/n!!” Whipping around you spot Wonyoung rushing towards you. Her coat and sunglasses on as she was also leaving for the day. 

“Hey!” She said halting in front of you, her breath was heavy from sprinting towards you. “I just wanted to ask if you would like to meet up tonight for drinks and appetizers. There is this really cute spot downtown that I go to often.” 

You had to admit that you weren't much of an outing person. Much preferring to stay indoors with a warm cup of tea and a good book. But for some odd reason Wonyoung’s invitation had excited you. You didn't know how long it's been since you've been out with a friend. A really long time you suppose. 

In truth you didn't have many friends anyways. Back home you had one singular friend who you still spoke to from time to time, Chaewon. She was your oldest friend and every time you saw her it was like you had never been apart. You also had a few friends here and there in college but nothing really stuck. You could see yourself without a doubt being good friends with wonyoung. She was funny, smart, pretty and she truly cared about you. 

She treated you with the utmost kindness upon meeting her and you had never, ever felt left out around her and Jay. That's why accepting her invitation was no trouble at all. 

“Of course.” You smiled, “i’d love to” 

“Great!” Wonyoung clapped her hands “I'll text you the address! See you at like ... .seven?” Looking at your watch you had noticed that it just turned four fifteen, giving you ample time to go home and ready yourself. 

“See you at seven.” You nodded, turning away with the biggest and cheesiest grin on your face. Racing home to get ready you had a strong urge to pass the crosswalk that you had been at the morning you met Sunghoon. The morning you had lost your red bracelet. You still found it and truthfully you were trying everything you could not to think about it much. When you thought about it you began to panic. You haven't found the courage to ask him about it again. THe man already did not like you for some unknown reason you didn't want to anger him more by accusing him of stealing…again. 

Finally getting home you once again noticed the vacant sign on your neighbor's door. You had half a mind to go around and ask when and why he had left so suddenly, and you probably would have done it if you weren't so busy with everything else going on in your life. But once again you decide to ignore it, that seems to be your motto these days. Just ignore everything until it goes away. 

It took you practically no time to get ready and out the door. You can't remember a time you had been this excited to go out with a friend. Like you mentioned earlier, going out at all just really isn't your thing, you didn't enjoy settings filled with people and the loudness of it all. You much preferred the serene silence of your home, filled with the familiarity you loved so much

You were early getting to the restaurant so you made an effort in texting Wonyoung that you were there but for her to take her time and not feel rushed. 

Entering the restaurant to the chime of the door you were greeted by a hostess. The hostess sat you down with a menu and took your drink order in no time. You took the time to look around at the little bar/restaurant you were at. It was relatively small with very little decor, the lights dimmed and the music blaring through the speakers. It seemed like a place people came to party and eat, it was cute. 

Just as you start to settle in, the door chimes again. You don’t need to look up to know—there’s a distinct, comforting energy that surrounds Wonyoung when she enters a room. You hear her laughter first, like a melody, followed by the soft swish of her coat. When you turn, your eyes meet hers, and a warm, familiar feeling spreads through your chest. "Hey!" Wonyoung greets, her voice bright with that signature cheerfulness you’ve admired. But suddenly your breath caught in your throat. Walking in behind her was none other than Sunghoon and Jay. 

Walking up to you Wonyoung’s expression held apprehensiveness. She was not sure how you were going to react to Sunghoon being here. 

Walking up to your waiting figure Wonyoung sent you a tight lipped smile, one that told you that she knew entirely what she was doing. You forced a smile, but inside, your mind was racing. The last time you’d interacted with Sunghoon had been nothing short of a nightmare. The man was insufferable. He constantly belittled your work, made sarcastic remarks, and had a way of making you feel small with just a glance. Now, here he was, casually strolling into your dinner plans, making everything feel… complicated. 

Jay’s had an amused expression on his face, one that had furthered your anger towards the pair. Deciding to not beat around the push you said “Why is he here?” You asked out right, the annoyed look on your face not going unnoticed by the three of them. 

Wonyoung chuckled, taking a seat beside you. "I thought it would be fun! You two should get to know each other better outside of work. Jay and I think it would be helpful for the team.” 

​​As Sunghoon sat down across from you, the chair scraping against the floor felt like a loud reminder of how tense the atmosphere had suddenly become. You kept your gaze steady, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how rattled you were.

But Sunghoon, ever the observant one, smirked. "Don’t look so nervous, Y/n It’s just dinner.” Rolling your eyes you picked up the menu in your hand observing the various courses the restaurant had to offer. 

“Like you could ever make me nervous” You said continuing your leisure browse of the menu, trying your hardest to alleviate at least some of the tension that was brewing between the table. “You have a smart mouth. Need I remind you that I'm your boss.” Sunghoon’s face was hard, gone was any sort of amusement. Discontent the only thing in its place. 

Scuffing at his words you put the menu down onto the table with a harsh slap, looking at Sunghoon with sharp eyes. “Trust me, I'm reminded every time I walk into the building.” 

“Well, you don’t act like it.” Sunghoon’s eyes flared with an emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on. 

“Treat me like a respectable employee and I will.” You fired back, not willing to lose this fight. 

“Be respectable.” 

“Right. Back. atcha.” 

“Alright! Alright” Wonyoung threw her hands between the two of you in a dramatic display at being a referee of sorts. “That’s enough. Let’s all get along, we're not at work.” 

“She started it-” Sunghoon began to protest. His words were cut short as Woyoung lifted a singular finger pressing them against his lips to shut him up. 

“What are you five?” She laughed. “Act like an adult.” 

“I’m your boss.” Sunghoon deadpanned. Causing you to roll your eyes at his overused excuse to be an assshole with little to no consequences. 

“Give me a break.” You muttered your breath. 

“Don't you start.” Wonyoung whipped her head in your direction “You're being just as dramatic as he is.” 

“But-” You started out. 

“Nope, zip it.” 

“OK mom.” You huffed, causing Jay to burst out laughing. Something you could clearly tell he was holding in. Sunghoon’s face was red with embarrassment as his best friend laughed at the two of you, bickering like children. 

“You guys are seriously hilarious.” Jay said in between laughs. “Why do you guys hate eachother so much anyways?” 

“I don't hate anyone.” You nonchalantly say whilst picking up the menu once again, hopefully for the last time. 

“I Don't either.” Sunghoon kicked his friend under the table harshly, annoyed with his constant laughter. “Shut the hell up.” 

“Ow, fuck!” Jay hissed. “I hate you.” 

“Yeah, yeah order your food.” Sunghoon had the ghost of a smile on his face and for a brief moment you admired him. 

You had said it time and time again that Sunghoon was a beautiful man, but staring at him your mind began to wander to unforeseen places. If only Sunghoon wasn't such an asshole, you would begin to think you could develop a superficial crush on him. Looking down at his wrist as he held the menu in his hands you one again noticed the red string he wore. The one that was almost identical to the one you were missing, the one that was currently leaving a gaping hole in your heart. Being without it had felt like being without your skin, and seeing Sunghoon sat in front of you adorning one so similar to yours had felt like pure torture. Looking away from Sunghoon your fingers played at the straw that was sitting in your glass of water. Wonyoung started up a conversation that you were only half paying attention to. Finally after what seemed like forever the waiter came to take your order. You had come in famished but for some reason your stomach was in knots, the appetite you once had now gone. 

You were positive that Sunghoon was to blame. Your spat with him only a couple of minutes ago had rendered you emotionally tired. 

“Do you want a drink?” Wonyoung asked you softly, “It’s on me.” Smiling softly you nodded not wanting to be a buzzkill with your now sour mood. “Get me whatever you're getting.” 

After getting your food and taking small bites here and there you still couldn't shift the awkwardness between you all. The conversation was flowing but still, you and Sunghoon had said nothing to each other. Floating around the conversation to avoid addressing one another. You're doing everything you can to pretend like he's not there, but every time you look up, his gaze somehow finds its way to you. The tension is palpable. You could cut it with a knife. 

Wonyoung notices your discomfort, probably sensing that you're deliberately avoiding eye contact with Sunghoon. She tries to pull you into the conversation by telling a funny story, but her voice is barely a cover for the fact that you're hyper-aware of Sunghoon's presence. Every time his voice rings out, it's like a reminder that you're stuck in this moment.

You had this sinking feeling that you were being a buzzkill, that you might be inadvertently ruining the night, you tried your hardest to participate in conversation but it seemed unnatural. You were almost ready to give up for the night. Readying yourself to go home and sink into your bed and never leave it. 

It seemed the rest of your party felt the same way. Based on the fatigue in Wonyoung’s eyes and the sluggishness of her gaze. A part of you thought it was the alcohol coursing through her. In the two very long, very agonizing hours you were here you had seen her down at least six drinks. She was sure to be stumbling out of the restaurant. 

“I will see you on Monday.” Wonyoung’s voice rang out as he leaned her entire body onto Jay’s for support. He held her upright by her waist and you were sure to catch the look of intimate concern on his face and he stared down at Wonyoung’s drunk state. 

“Be careful getting home Won.” You said to her. 

“I’ve got her.” Jay spoke softly, grabbing her purse in his hand. Sending him a small smirk you nodded. “I know you do.” 

Sunghoon was already at the door saying goodnight to his friends before you could even begin to collect your things. You knew that he didn't like you, that was for certain but him not saying goodbye to you haad stung. 

Back wass the feeling of significance because of him, and you hated it. You hated that he had such a tight hold on you. You couldn't understand why. Why did sunghoon’s feelings and opinions on you matter so much, and why did you feel such a strong pull of emotions around him. The thought had irritated you to no end. You just couldn't understand why. Gathering your things you leave the restaurant, your mind and heart a mess. 

Monday, you wake up to the sound of your alarm, a grating beep that slices through the comfortable haze of sleep. Your first instinct is to slam the snooze button and pretend for a moment that today is an illusion, that you don’t have to face Sunghoon. You groan, pulling the covers tighter around yourself as if the world outside your bed could just go away. But of course, it doesn't. The moment you even think about calling in sick, you can hear his voice in your head—cool, detached, and just a little too smug. “There are tons of other applicants that are dying to be where you are right now. In this position.”  You couldn't bear to listen to it. You hate how his words cling to you, how you can’t just ignore them. The annoying thing about Sunghoon is he’s always right, even when he’s wrong.

But no. You shake the thought away, clenching your fists. You’ve got to go in. You’ve got to deal with him. Because if you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your day spiraling in your own head, imagining every scenario where you just walk out. Still, you can't help but picture the worst-case scenario in your mind: Sunghoon, smirking as usual, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. Then he opens his mouth, and everything—your blood, your will to keep it together—starts to boil. 

Ransacking your closet has become a daily thing, trying your best to look as presentable as possible. You don't want to give Sunghoon any more ammo to shoot at you with. Plus, this was a fashion magazine job. You just had to look good, or at least look like you knew the difference between your ass and your elbow. Deciding on a simple white blouse and a pair of dark denim jeans you rushed out the door at record speed. 

After Friday's fiasco at the restaurant you had felt more nervous than usual to walk into work. You weren't ready to face Sunghoon after the argument the two of you had. You had felt so much embarrassment when you had finally gone home and mulled over exactly what had happened. Sure, Sunghoon is an entitled asshole but he’s right. He’s your boss at the end of the day and you really couldn't afford to get fired. 

There is nothing that would hurt more than calling your parents after years of not talking to tell them that you had failed at the career you gave up everything for. That wasn't a humbling experience that you wanted to face. Not now, not ever. 

Once you got into the office you flashed Minji a smile before be-lining to your desk. You were trying to go unnoticed by Sunghoon. You really didn't know how you would respond if he came to you being his usual stoic, brazen self. Setting your stuff down you noticed that you were the only one there. Both Jay and Wonyoung were late. You haven't caught a glimpse of Sunghoon yet as well. Something you were thankful for. 

You began typing away on your computer, tweaking a few things that you had missed Friday before you left. You noticed a few notes that Sunghoon had left on your doc. Asking you to change a certain color, or a font. You rolled your eyes but did as you were told. You had to admit that some of it did look better then what you originally had. The admittance had made you only slightly angry. You had to remind yourself that this was only your first time doing this professionally, as for Sunghoon who had been doing this for over two years now. 

After only a short while of working you're distracted by the sound of an all too familiar giggle. 

You catch sight of Wonyoung, and something about her today is different. She’s walking in with Jay, and there's this soft, almost too happy vibe between them. Wonyoung’s smile is a little wider than usual, and her eyes keep flicking toward Jay, as if she can’t help herself. And Jay, for

His part seems a little more careful around her, like he's trying to be sweet without being too obvious, but it’s clear they’re in sync. They’re walking close, way too close for just friends, with her shoulder occasionally brushing his, her voice softening when she speaks. And Jay? He’s laughing at something Wonyoung said, his hand resting casually, almost accidentally on her back, guiding her into the office. That tiny touch says it all. You can see it in the way Wonyoung glances up at him, almost as if she’s living in a little love bubble that no one else can quite pop. The way her eyes light up when he says something, like she’s completely smitten and not even trying to hide it.

Something had changed between the two of them, something catastrophic. The vibe between them had shifted into something more tender. They had looked well, in love. Your heart swelled for the two. You remembered the conversation you had with Wonyoung in the meeting room, how she confessed to being in love with Jay. You had settled hope that she had finally told him. Breaking away from Jay, Wonyoung made her way to her cubicle. 

“Um..” You mumbled, waiting for her to finally settle in. “Got something to tell me?” You asked cutting right to the chase. 

“No?” Wonyoung had a teasing smile on her face, one that told you she was most definitely messing with you. Dangling that carrot over your head in a mocking way to get you riled up. 

“Tell me” You whined like a toddler in no mood for silly games. 

“Fine, fine.” Wonyoung said with a smile that you had never seen her wear before. It was bright and glittery and very much dopey. Like she was sickeningly in love. You didn't know whether you wanted to puke or jump for joy. Probably both. “After we had left the restaurant I was pretty drunk. You know that.” You nodded at her, waiting for her to continue. 

“Well Jay brought me home, and like a drunk idiot I confessed but Jay knew I was drunk and didn't want to say much until I was sober. He slept over on my couch and when I woke up and saw him there I thought nothing of it, I thought maybe he was just as drunk as me and just crashed at my place instead of going home.” A big goofy grin spread across her lips once again. 

Your heart had warmed at the sight. You were over the moon to see your friend happy. “But he told me what I had said to him the night before, truthfully I was mortified. That was not at all how I wanted to tell him, you know that.” You nodded, remembering how she wanted to wait to tell him. Worried that he was way too busy to take up with a girl he considered being his friend being in love with him. She had feared he didn't feel the same but anyone with eyes could tell he did. 

“He told me he needed to hear me say it while sober, that he wouldn't believe it until I did. So I told him, I told him I loved him and that I've loved him for a while and just didn't want to inconvenience him by telling him.” Her words were dripped in honey as they fell from her lips and you felt nothing but happiness for your friend. Although you have only known Jay and Wonyoung for a short time you could truly see the care and the love the two of them shared, it was only a matter of time before their true feelings were revealed to one another. 

“And..and he loved me too.” She looked down at her hands bashfully. “He said that he has loved me longer than I even loved him. He didn't think I could ever feel the same way so he never told me.” 

“So a case of miscommunication?” You cracked, a smile now on your lips as well. 

“Yeah i guess so”

You were just about to ask her for more details when you heard the sound of someone walking down the cubicle hallway. Looking up you’re met with Sunghoon, the same sharp expression on his face. Instantly gone was your smile and bubbly attitude. In its place a more foul feeling. And a bit of worry. 

“Oh god” Wonyoung groaned, swerving around in her chair to face her computer. Sunghoon made a direct beeline for your cubicle, leaving a heavy sinking feeling in your gut. Of course he was coming to you. When was he not? 

“I have a few pointers about what you're working on.” Sunghoon said as he stood beside your desk. No good morning, no hello. Just straight to the point. 

“Of course you do.” You huffed. 

“Do you think that's a color you should be using for the title?” Sunghoon ignored your comment, instead leaning out to point at what's on your computer screen. 

“What color would you like me to use?” You quizzed to humor him. 

“Probably something that pops like green-” 

“Green?” Your disgusted expression not going unnoticed by Sunghoon. “She's wearing a pink jumpsuit. Why would I make the title green?” 

“It's for contrast Y/n” Sunghoon remarked with the roll of his eyes. 

“It's too bright-” 

Sunghoon leaned forward more, placing his coffee mug down onto your desk with a slow, deliberate motion. "Exactly. That’s the point. People will look. They'll remember it. The world doesn’t need another pastel-colored magazine that blends in. We need bold choices if we want to stand out." 

“These are young girls we are talking about. They are the epitome of a pastel-colored and girly girl, it also shows subtlety when you use more boring colors like white and beige. It shows class-” 

"Class?" he interrupted with a raised brow. "You think class comes in beige? Or grey? People don’t care about your ‘subtlety’ when they’re flipping through a hundred other magazines that all look the same. We need to be striking. Unique." 

“You’re not listening to what I'm saying Sunghoon, and you're also not giving me the creative freedoms I need to make this stand out while also not being a huge eyesore.” You exasperated, throwing your hands up in frustration. 

“Whatever.” Sunghoon muttered. “Do whatever you want.” Storming off down the corridor without uttering another word. 

You were shocked at his audacity to come in here and suggest your ideas to be weak, and not unique. It had felt like one big slap in the face. You didn't know how much more of it you could stand. You needed to hit this in the but and get this weird tension and argumentative behavior to go away. You needed it to stop if you were going to truly work to your highest capacity. 

“Screw this” You muttered, getting up from your seat. 

“Where are you going?” Wonyoung shouted after you, but you ignored her and continued your fast descent to Sunghoon’s office. A place you had not yet visited. You round the corner to be met with his semi secluded office. The what was supposed to be open windows to his office were covered in top to bottom curtains, shielding what was happening inside. 

Sunghoon was definitely the kind of man that desired privacy, even as the boss in his own workplace. That was something you could find yourself relating with. 

Knocking on the door to his office you gave him no more than a second before you were pushing the door open and walking inside. 

Sunghoon looked up at you with an expression of shock and the utmost anger at your intrusion but frankly you didn't care. You were over this back and forth with him and you were there to settle it. 

“Excuse me-” Sunghoon started. 

“What’s your issue with me?” You asked, trying to keep your composure as you stood in the middle of his office. “Why are you being so hard on me? Treating me differently than everyone else?” 

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a split second, you could almost see a flicker of something, was it surprise? Annoyance? Maybe a little of both? "You think I’m being hard on you?" His tone was quieter now, but still edged with something unyielding, like a glacier slowly shifting. "You’re not the only one who works hard, Y/N. You’re not the only one who’s been under pressure." 

You shook your head, the frustration building. "That’s not it. It’s how you treat me. You’ve always been different with me. Jay and Wonyoung? They get praise, they get leeway, they get humanity, and I know they are your friends. But when it comes to me? You always find something wrong. You never—" You stopped yourself, cutting off the words before they became too much. 

He was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now—something deep, something you hadn’t expected. He stood up from his desk, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. His smell had wafted your sense, filling you wholly. He smelt familiar, like someone you once knew but had lost. 

"You think you know me?" he asked, his voice low, dangerously calm. "You think you understand how hard it is, how much pressure I’m under? To keep this department running, to keep everything in line?" 

Your heart raced as you stepped forward, emboldened by the truth spilling from your lips. "I never said it was easy for you. But why do I always feel like I’m the one you're trying to break? Why do I feel like I’m the one who’s always under your microscope? The one you never hesitate to shy away from with your scrutiny.” 

“You're making things up in your head, allowing things to brew with your emotions-” 

“Don't you dare tell me how to feel and think, Sunghoon. That’s not for you to decide.” Your voice was stern, a tone you should not be having with your boss. He moved closer to you, impossibly close. You felt a pull between the two of you, one you couldn't explain. A pull you weren't sure was fueled by hatred or something else. The red bracelet he wore on his wrist caught the light of the office, making your heart pound in your chest. 

He didn’t even flinch. His gaze darkened, and for a moment, You thought he might actually shout at you, but instead, he did something that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in close, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Then maybe you should stop pretending and just admit you want me to notice you.” 

“Notice me?” You echoed, Your voice low and dangerous. “I’m not some damsel waiting for your approval, Sunghoon.” You couldn't believe the sheer audacity that he held. To think he had the right to insinuate you made a fuss for the end goal of catching his eye. How arrogant could he truly be? He was maddening, he was turning your mind to utter mush and still through it all he was so damn hot. It had your mind reeling and your pulse jumping. In the thick of it you couldn't help yourself. He stared at you for a long beat, his gaze softening just a fraction. His lips parted as if to say something, but before he could, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards you. The kiss was hard, urgent. More of a collision than a moment of tenderness. His lips were warm and demanding, and you couldn’t help but respond in a hushed moan, your hands threading through his hair, tugging him closer. For a moment, everything else, the frustration, the resentment, the disdain, melted away. 

Sunghoon’s hands were on your waist now, pulling you flush against him, his fingers grazing the small of your back. He kissed you with the same intensity he’d had in the argument, his mouth softening only when he pulled back for air. 

“Fuck” You cursed, as his lips found your neck sucking dark circles into the exposed skin. Keeping your hands tightly wound in his hair and lift your hips slightly, creating the tiniest bit of friction that you could muster. 

Pulling back Sughoon assessed his work on your collar bone before reattaching his lips to yours with fiver. The realisation of what the two of you were doing hit you like a freight train, but before you could pull back your mind was blank. Your vision, blurry then white as a hazy image illuminated your vision. 

It was of two figures, one a man with a familiar build and captivating smile. Sunghoon. The other person is a woman, with hair much like yours. You could assume it was you. The two of you were holding hands as you walked along a beach. The sunset behind you is a warm shade of burnt orange, so beautiful and bright as it illuminates the two of you together. Tangled in one another. Your hands were bound together, swaying back and forth in tandem. Sunghoon was smiling at you with a smile you had never seen before. He leans down to kiss your cheek. The shock of it all sends you jolting and back into reality. 

You pulled away from Sunghoon with a gasp. Your breathing heavy as your chest moves up and down trying to catch your breath. 

“This is wrong.” You whimper. Your emotions beginning to get the best of you. “We..we shouldn't have done that.”  

“No we shouldn't have.” Sunghoon’s voice was void of any real emotion, the tone had a shiver shooting up your spine. The reality of what just happened is daunting on you. You had just made out with your boss. The boss who hates you, and who you're sure you hate back. 

“You should go.” Sunghoon averts his eyes every which way as he tries his hardest to not look at you. You were grateful for it for once. Fearing if he looked you in your eye it would trigger a river of emotion to fall from you, one that you wouldn't be able to stop. 

You've had enough embarrassment for today. If Sunghoon truly thought you were attention hungry before you could only begin to wonder what he thought of you now. After having spewed your disdain to only pull him into a kiss as soon as he got too close. Your self restraint had flown straight out the window, taking your common sense with it. 

You don’t kiss your boss. That was an unspoken rule among any workplace and you had just broken it. How were you supposed to act going forward? There was no way you could look Sunghoon in the eye and not be brought back to that very moment in his office. The moment you forgot about being a decent human being, a sensible one. 

You let your emotions and the intensity of the moment speak for itself and look where it got you. You're deep into a hole you don't know how to dig yourself out of. Questioning every feeling you ever felt for Sunghoon. 

Your mind was a jumbled mess. Comparable to a jigsaw puzzle you just couldn't solve. The resentment you felt for yourself was heavy as you made the awkward trek back to your cubicle. Ignoring Wonyoung’s awakening stare, you sat down in your seat before letting your head fall down with a thump against the wood of your desk. 

You ignored the sharp pain and tried your hardest to hold back the prickling feeling of tears welling in your eyes. What could you possibly be crying about? So what? you kissed your boss, move on. That’s what you wish you could be telling yourself but instead the self loathing set it. You don’t want to tell Wonyoung in fear of running her picture perfect day with your mess of a life. One that you had created for yourself. 

You raised your head from its place on the desk before turning to look at Wonyoung with a solemn smile. “What’s going on?” She asked with confusion. 

“Nothing” You tried to be short so as to not give too much away. “I went to try and ask Sunghoon a question but he wasn’t in his office. I’ll ask him later.” Wonyoung’s eyes turned to slits. It was evident that she didn't believe a word you said, but by the very grace of god she decided to leave the subject alone. With just the nod of her head and tilted frown you knew you had upset her by not telling her the truth. A part of you wants to just blurt it, tell her what you have done. But you couldn't bear the backlash. 

Surly Wonyoung would scold you, tell you just how stupid you were for kissing Sunghoon. Who is A.) Your boss but who B.) also just said that he wasn't the dating type. Who in their right mind would kiss their emotionally unavailable boss. 

There wasn’t time to dwell much more on what you couldn't change, deciding to ignore it rather than face it. You only hoped and prayed that Sunghoon did the same. 

The next few days at work had been tense. To say the least. You had been ignoring Sunghoon like the plague. Something that hasn't gone unnoticed by Wonyoung and Jay who were still very much in love and flaunting it. It had hurt your head to watch them be all lovey dovey day in and day out. 

Jay was truly the picture perfect boyfriend and although you were very happy for your friends you couldn't help the deep seed of jealousy that reared its ugly head every time you witnessed it. Every single kiss on the cheek, hug or subtle caress had made you green with envy. You didn't enjoy feeling that way towards your friends but karma had a sick way of cutting deep when you wanted it least. 

Wonyoung asked you multiple times what had happened between you and Sunghoon the day you went to his office but each time you maintained your story that he wasn't there. She didn't believe it any time you told her and it was obvious to you that she was sick and tired of that response. 

Sunghoon must have been giving her a similar story because everytime she talked to him she was left with a somewhat sour expression as she obnoxiously stomped away from him like a child not getting her way. If you weren't so caught up in what happened recently you would have thought it to be cute. Today had been no different than the rest, you were ignoring Sunghoon, as much as you could ignore your boss. He hadn't come to your desk at all either. Something you were really thankful for. All of that still didn't stop him from leaving his obnoxious notes in your docs anytime you did something to the cover. It was infuriating, being reminded of him constantly. 

When lying awake at night you couldn't help but think of the little…vision? You had mid kiss with Sunghoon. You didn't know what to call it, or what it even was. All you knew was that it had felt, real? Too real. It made your head hurt. It was so clear yet so hazy at the same time. None of it made sense. Then you thought about the kiss, the hot hot kiss. You thought about how Sunghoon’s hands felt when he gripped your hips pulling you closer to him. You thought about his lips trailing up and down the expanse of your neck. 

Thankfully it was winter and you were able to get away with wearing turtlenecks to work as to hide the dark purple marks he left on your skin. At night you would run your fingers lightly against them and a deep dark part of you wished that you had done more in that moment. Just so you could have more to dream about, fantasize about. 

You couldn't deny that you liked it. Very much. You also couldn't deny that Sunghoon had kissed you back, desperately. It had to mean that a part of him had to be attracted to you? Does it not? 

Otherwise he surely would have pushed you away instead of pulling you in. He wasn't the one to stop the kiss at all actually, it was you who pulled away. 

You who had stated that it was wrong, that you shouldn't have done it. How much further would you have gone if your head wasn't cleared by the reality of what you were doing and who you were doing it with. 

You were hesitant to admit even to yourself that you would have gone much further, so much further. You hated yourself for the part of you that wished you had done so. He's your boss for crying out loud. How on earth were you to go back to normal after this. How were you ever going to get Sunghoon to treat you like a regular employee now. Would it ever be normal after this? 

You were at the office like you usually would be, trying your hardest to ignore the most recent buzz over an annual christmas party being held at this fancy bar downtown. You were praying Wonyoung wouldn't have the inclination to invite you to it, truthfully it was the last thing you wanted to do. But before you knew it Wonyoung was beside your desk, a big goofy smile on her face that had represented your impending doom to a T. 

"Guess what time it is, bestie?" Her voice was sing-song, cheerful, like she’d just won a prize. It had you cringing at the sound. 

You didn’t look up, not ready for whatever was coming next. "Don’t even say it." 

"I’m saying it," she chirped, drawing out the words like she had all the time in the world. "You're coming to the Christmas party, and that's final." 

You Threw your head back with a groan of protest, "Wonyoung, I really don’t feel like going, Can we just—" 

"Nope." She was already scooting her chair closer to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You’re coming to the party. I’ve already made the decision for you. You don’t get to make decisions right now." 

“I’m serious, Wonyoung.” You leaned back in your chair, trying your best to sound firm. “I can’t go. Not with him there.” You had half a mind to make up some family emergency just to avoid what you knew was your ultimate fate but you were already feeling guilty enough for not telling her that you kissed sunghoon. 

Wonyoung’s eyes widened for a split second, before narrowing suspiciously. "Who? Sunghoon?" She dropped her voice, clearly trying to be subtle but failing miserably. "Oh, come on. Stop being so dramatic. I thought this little feud between you two would be over by now. Seriously, the two of you need to kiss and makeup already.” 

You visibly cringed at her choice of words, something that didn't go unnoticed by her. “It’s not that,” you muttered, your fingers fidgeting with a pen. "It’s… complicated.” 

“What are you hiding?” She said, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Did he say something to offend you more? Cause i'll talk to him again, seriously i need this tension to go away because i'm starting to think of you as my best friend and i need all my friends to get along.” 

“Well…” You shifted in your seat, trying to avoid her piercing gaze. “It’s not just work stuff, okay? And no he didn't say anything..” 

Wonyoung leaned forward, studying you closely. She was sharp, and she wasn’t going to let this go. "Oh my god. What happened?" Her voice dropped lower, her curiosity piqued. "Did you… did you two kiss?" 

You swallowed hard. “I… We…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. How could you? It felt like everything had changed in an instant. "We kissed, okay?" Your voice came out almost in a whisper, the words heavy in the air. 

​​Wonyoung’s face lit up, her eyes wide with shock, then gleaming with amusement. "Oh my god. You kissed Sunghoon?" She leaned back in her chair like she was trying to process the sudden shift in the universe. "Wait, when? How? Why didn’t you tell me?!" 

“I didn’t tell you because it’s… awkward now, okay?” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to steady your breathing. “ Wonyoung. I don’t even know what’s going on between us. I’ve been ignoring him as much as possible. I’m trying to pretend like nothing happened but I can’t just pretend like we didn’t—" You cut yourself off, grimacing. The words felt too heavy in your mouth. "I’m just not ready to deal with it." 

Wonyoung blinked at you, and then, as if realizing the full scope of the situation, she burst into laughter. You flashed her a deadpanned look. Her laughter grew harder and louder. “I knew it!” she said, her voice full of triumph. “I knew you two had something going on. All that tension between you? It was like a rom-com waiting to happen! And now you’re telling me you kissed? Oh my god. This is so juicy.” 

You buried your face in your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. “Wonyoung, this is not funny. It’s awkward, okay? And the last thing I want to do is face him at the Christmas party.” 

Wonyoung was absolutely giddy now, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, come on. You can’t just avoid him forever. Trust me, you’ll feel so much better once you go and see him in person. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? You both just act like normal human beings and get on with your lives. It’s a Christmas party, not a battlefield." 

You shot her another deadpan look. “Wonyoung, you don’t get it. Every time I see him, all I can think about is that kiss. And I really don’t want to be around him when everything is so weird.”

She rolled her eyes, dismissing your concerns like they were nothing. “Come on. It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it. Look, you’re not just going to hide away forever. You’ll be fine, I promise. Besides, I am going, so is Jay, and we need you there to make it a proper party.” You couldn’t help but let out a resigned sigh. You were cornered. Wonyoung would never let this go. If she was determined to drag you to that party, there was no way you were getting out of it. 

"Fine," you muttered, slumping in your chair. "I’ll go. But I swear, if he so much as looks at me—" 

“Then you kiss him again,” Wonyoung said, her grin widening. “And maybe I’ll start charging for all this drama. I’ll be your manager, and we’ll make a fortune off this mess." 

“You're enjoying this way too much.” You muttered with a shake of your head. 

“That’s what friends are for” She laughed, “Also, im telling jay about this.” 

“No you're not.” You argued. “He can't know. He’ll tell Sunghoon and..and then I really could never show my face here again.” 

“He will most certainly not be telling Sunghoon, I won't allow it. I promise.” She assured you with a small pat to your head. “Plus, he’ll probably want to see this all unfold on its own. It's like a comedy show to him.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of her boyfriend's antics. Her pure happiness had brought you joy. Even though a part of you was severely jealous of their relationship, none of that jealousy stemmed from hate, only from love. You wished you had someone who looked at you the way Jay looked at Wonyoung and vice versa but seeing your friend over the moon in love and happy with a good man had made your heart soar. 

“When is this christmas party?” You asked, after the two of you had settled down a bit. 

“Saturday night.” Wonyoung responded gleefully. 

Looking down at your calendar you see that it was now thursday. Three awkward days from your kiss with Sunghoon. You knew you couldn't avoid him forever but you had at least hoped it would be longer than a work week. 

You had only hoped that magically Sunghoon wouldn't show up. These things were mandatory he could definitely skip out. You held onto that hope throughout the rest of the day. Continuing to ignore Sunghoon. 

At Lunch on friday you and Wonyoung sat in the lounge, you had been too anxious to eat so you just sat as Wonyoung and Jay yapped about what they would be wearing to the christmas party. 

Your mind elsewhere not even thinking about what you were going to wear, only thinking about how you could get out of it. Suddenly the door to the lounge opened. Your heart sinking to your stomach as the familiar tap of Sunghoon’s expensive leather shoes were heard, walking this way. Your eyes widened frantically looking over at Wonyoung with a shocked expression. 

“I didn't invite him.” She said, her eyes equally as wide as yours. SShe turned her head meeting Jay’s sheepish gaze. 

“He might have told me about your kiss, and I forced him to come meet us here for lunch as a way to alleviate the tension.” Jay’s smile was watery as Wonyoung gave him the most brutal look she could possibly muster. 

“Jay! You can't ambush a girl like that.” Wonyoung said with a hiss. 

“Sorry..” Something about Jay’s sheepish expression gave you the impression that he wasn't sorry at all, instead rather gleeful that this was happening. 

Finally Sunghoon approached your table. His eyes rapidly moved back and forth between the three of you. “Hello.” He said curtly, pulling out a chair then sitting down. 

The tension was so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife. Your lungs felt about three sizes smaller. The act of expanding them is just a bit harder than before. You knew what was happening. You were having an anxiety attack and you could do nothing but sit in silence as the sickening feeling overwhelmed you. 

You couldn't deal with this, not right now. You had prepared yourself for the christmas party but not for this. No, this felt like a surprise attack. You knew it wasn't but still the rapid beating of your heart and the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach just wouldn't go away. It was dizzying. “I-i um..” You stuttered rising from your seat at the table. “I forgot that i have some stuff i need to do i-have to go.” You forced the words out like razors caught in your throat. 

“Are you okay?” Wonyoung’s look of concern did nothing to calm the raging storm brewing inside of you, you had to get out of this lounge and fast. 

“Yes.” You nodded before turning and leaving the room as quickly as you could. You didn't care how ridiculous it might have looked running out of there. 

Sitting down at your desk a heavy breath left your lips and already your heart slowed. No longer were you dizzy with worry. At times like this you wished you had your red bracelet to help ground you, and even more so you wish your grandmother was alive. You wanted nothing more than to call her and ask for her guidance or ask for her to give it to you straight, no sugar coating it. 

She would do that for you, much like a mother would. Something you wish your own mother would do for you. You longed for a good relationship with your parents. A relationship where you could call them when you're down and ask for their advice or just their comfort. 

They were not entirely horrible growing up. Sometimes your father had acted like a real dad, very rarely but it did happen. You have very few but fond memories of your father waking you up at half past midnight to go to the toy shop with him. He would get new shipments and would be away too excited to sleep. He needed your input on them. He needed you to tell them if they were fun, if they were worth being sold there. 

You would play with the toys together really late into the night and it was the most tender you had ever seen your father act. You realize now that a lot of that was because of the shop but you didn't care, it was still a happy memory you shared with him. 

Thinking of your messy childhood has somehow helped you calm down. Your breathing was back to normal and your stomach did feel like it was turning every few seconds. You weren't angry at Jay for ambushing you with Sunghoon because you knew truthfully that wasn't his intention. You were more so embarrassed with the way you reacted to him. You must have looked so stupid, so weak. He was right to think of you that way to begin with. 

The sound of Wonyoung’s heavy footsteps had also brought you more comfort than you were willing to admit. Somewhat happy that she had come to check on you. 

“Are you alright?” Wonyoung’s voice was not a decibel above a whisper as she approached you. 

“I’m okay.” You sent her a small reassuring smile. “Let's not make a big deal out of it please.” 

“I’m going to kill Jay i swear-” Your laugh cut her off. 

“It’s ok i promise.” 

“Are you sure because I'll kill him if you ask me to.” 

“I’m sure” You said with more laughter. “Please don't kill your boyfriend.” 

“Okay..” She trailed off, flashing you a smile. “You sure you're okay?”

“I’m sure.” You reassured her with a nod of your head. You didn’t know how you would fare at this christmas party but at least you’d be ready for it. As ready as you can be anyway. 

On the night of the party you made sure to wear something…extra sexy. You wanted to feel good. Plus you were going to a bar. It was time for you to unwind after the last few weeks you've had and how stressful it's been working at a new job with an asshole boss and a huge project thrown your way. 

The party’s being held in a bar downtown, cozy and decorated with festive lights and wreaths. It’s supposed to be fun, but the moment you step inside, the last person you want to see is standing by the bar: Sunghoon. He was truly the last person you wanted to see as soon as you stepped into the door. Perched in the two seats next to sunghoon were Wonyoung and Jay, of course. 

Ever since that night in his office, the lines between you two have blurred. What started as a sharp, tense argument had escalated into something you never expected—a kiss. Not a casual peck, but a searing, desperate thing that left you breathless and confused. Then the silence. The awkwardness, and the fact that you ran out of the lounge upon seeing him yesterday. Now, here he is, looking effortlessly perfect in a tailored black suit, his hair styled just the right amount of messy. His eyes catch yours the second you step in, and you feel that familiar flutter of dread (and something else you can’t quite name). Your pulse quickens, your palms grow clammy. You think of turning around and leaving before he sees you, but it's too late. Wonyoung is calling for you, waving her hand around like a mad man. It was obvious she already had a few drinks in her. 

“Y/n!” Wonyoung giggles as soon as you walk up to them “You're finally here!” You send her a smile, hugging her awkwardly. 

“I’m here” You forced the words out. 

“Hello.” The words were tense, not sliding off the tongue easily at all. Your stature was rigid; anyone with eyes could tell you were clearly uncomfortable. 

“Hi Y/n” Sunghoon says casually, catching you completely off guard but before you could find the words to respond he's already turning to Jay starting up a conversation. And for the millionth time you notice the bracelet on his wrist. That goddamn bracelet. Looking away from it you focused your attention back to the conversation. 

“We only have two months left and we can't seem to figure out what pictures to use.” Jay was saying, they were obviously talking about the project. “If we don’t get it right they'll be pissed. You know how they were last time.” 

“I was hoping they would cut us some slack with a new hire” Sunghoon’s tone was hushed almost like he didn't want you to hear, but you did and it had pissed you off. 

“What?” You hissed out. “You guys hired me as a scapegoat?” 

Sunghoon groaned only furthering the simmering anger inside of you. Jay’s eyes widened as Wonyoung went pale beside you, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from Sunghoon. His expression remained calm, detached, like he was making a simple business statement. 

“Let’s face it,” Sunghoon continued, unbothered by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “That new project? They’re bound to hate it.  And when they do, I’ll need someone to take the heat. You’re perfect for it—you're new, trainable. This is your first time in this field” 

The words hit you like a slap, cold and hard. You blinked, momentarily lost for words, the room around you suddenly feeling too tight, the festive decorations too bright, too garish. “I’m perfect for it?” You echoed in disbelief. “So you plan on throwing me under the bus, and you think I’m okay with that?” 

“I’m not trying to throw you under the bus Y/n, but these girls, they're brutal ok?” He set his drink down on the bar table. “They hate everything, and if i say you were the one who took the reins the consequences won't be as dire. They’ll use the excuse that it's a teaching moment.” 

“Are you seriously telling me you only hired me because I’m some convenient liability?” You said, your voice rising. “Is that all I am to you, Sunghoon? A fall guy?” Jay winced, looking like he wanted to disappear, while Wonyoung stepped back, clearly unsure how to navigate the conversation. But you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Don’t think for a second that I’m just going to let you use me like that,” you spat. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re trying to play a game with me, but you’ve got it all wrong.” Tears welled up in your eyes, the frustration you felt was immense. 

Wonyoung glanced at Jay, both of them taking a step back. It was clear that this wasn’t just a disagreement—it was something much deeper, much more personal now. The air between you and Sunghoon had shifted from something casual to something sharp, dangerous even. You haad thought for a moment, just a moment that Sunghoon would treat you like an actual human being for once, but oh how fucking wrong you were. 

“There’s no game Y/n.” He spoke as if this conversation was an inconvenience, like your feelings meant nothing. “I hired you because I knew you had potential, but you came at a difficult time and we used that as an advantage.” 

“I’m not going to allow you to tarnish my name” You spat. Fresh tears falling down your face. 

For a moment, there was a silence between you two—tense, thick, and heavy. Wonyoung and Jay exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to stay or leave. The energy in the room seemed to freeze. 

Sunghoon looked visibly annoyed with even a small semblance of anger taking over his features. “It’s not like it wouldn't be your fault if they hate it. You can't even pick a proper title color.” 

His sharp words struck you like a knife. Stabbing into your chest with keen precision. 

“Fuck you Sunghoon.” You spat out. Words you were surely to regret in the future. Words you would never ordinarily say to your boss. Turning on your heel you rushed to the nearest bathroom. It was one of those family bathrooms that didn't have gender assignment, you were grateful that no one would be bothering you, going in and out of stalls. 

Slamming the bathroom door behind you, you allowed the tears to fall freely down your cheeks in what seemed like a waterfall of emotion. You were angry, so severely angry. How dare he insinuate that he was going to use you as a scapegoat. Was your work that subpar that he felt you were the easiest person to use. It had felt like a sick game, one you didn't sign up to play. 

A knock on the door sounded throughout the bathroom. “Go away Wonyoung” You sniffled not even in the mood for your fun loving, ever so perky tipsy friend. The door opened anyway, and in the reflection of the mirror you spot Sunghoon. 

“Get out.” You grit your teeth. 

“Just-just let me talk for one second before you get defensive.” He closed the door behind him with a click. 

“Defensive?” You said in shock. “You just told me im being used-”

“That's not- ok.” He took a simmering breath obviously trying to compose himself. 

“Yes, ok. I hired you so that we can use you being a new hire as back up for when we inevitably get torn to shreds by Suyu and her members but..it wasn't you specifically ok?” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better, Sunghoon? What kind of excuse is that?”

“Its not an excuse Y/n.” Sunghoon ran his hands through his hair, an action that you shamefully maade your knees wobbly at the sight. Why did this man have to be so daamn beautiful while also being so damn irritating? “It's an explanation. The only excuse would be that you're new. Not that you're not good enough. I know you're good, otherwise I wouldn't have picked you over all those applicants. At the same time I also knew that nothing would satisfy Suyu, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone.” 

You looked down at your wrist feeling the barness more than anything. “I’m not some villain Y/n i’m not trying to make you feel useless-”

“Then why do you?” You look up at him, your lashes wet from your tears. 

Sunghoon’s response is short, concise but it makes your heart beat a mile a minute. His voice was unexpectedly quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you feel small. I’m sorry.” 

You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re… apologizing?”  

Sunghoon nodded dumbly, running his hands through his hair once again. You couldn't help the heat traveling to your cheeks, blaming it on the one single drink you had before coming. Sunghoon unconsciously stepped forward, his cologne invading your senses until it drove you mad. His frame was tall, looming over you like a giant. “I am” He confirmed with his words now. 

Before you could process what was happening, Sunghoon closed the space between you. His movements were slow, deliberate, and the air in the bathroom seemed to thicken with every passing second. Your heart raced as he stopped just inches away from you, his gaze intense, searching your face. 

“I—” he started, but the words died in his throat. Instead, his hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt of electricity through you. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered out, hoping that whatever it was, it wouldn't stop. 

“I don't know” He said back, just as breathily. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Your head shook with vigor. Silently begging him to stay just where he was. 

Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed you. 

It was unexpected, and yet, it felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to implode since the last time you had kissed. His lips were warm and insistent, but not in the way you expected from someone like him. There was no arrogance in the kiss, no dominance—just raw, unfiltered emotion, something both of you had kept buried beneath layers of pride and tension.

You stood frozen for a second, your breath catching in your throat. Then, instinct took over. You kissed him back. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. His other hand slid around your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss. The world around you seemed to disappear. There was only the heat of his body, the press of his lips, and the racing pulse that had nothing to do with the party outside or the complicated mess that was your relationship with him. Everything felt raw and completely in the moment.

Sunghoon pushed you against the sink, the contrast of the cool porcelain was a godsend against the heat of your skin. With a gasp Sunghoon’s tongue was down your throat exploring the expanse of your mouth with his tongue. 

His hands pushed at you, lifting you up and onto the sink with ease you could only deem as incredibly sexy. 

“Fuck.” He breathed disconnecting his lips from yours, trailing them down your neck much like he did the day you two had kissed in his office. “Tell me to stop.” 

“No.” You gasped out “Dont..dont stop.” Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your hips raising yearning for some kind of friction. 

Sunghoon’s hand hungrily grabbed at your sides before sliding up to cup at your clothes breasts. His breath was warm against your skin, fanning over it in quick exhales. 

“Can i?” He asked, a sense of urgency in his tone as he toyed with the hem of your tights under the dress you wore. Nodding dumbly you watched as Sunghoon made quick work of pulling your tights down in one fell swoop. Your legs were bare as they hung over the side of the sink. Next to go were your panties leaving you completely out in the open for Sunghoon’s hungry eyes. He drank in the sight of you, his lips rising with a small smirk. “Can I touch you?” He asked. 

“Yes” You whimpered out. Once again raising your hips in a show of desperation. “Please” Sunghoon’s fingers ghosted your entrance, feather-like touches leaving you wanting and desperate. 

“Please..” You said pathetically, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Ok pretty..”Sunghoon cooed, running thumb over your clip, moving it in circular motions driving you absolutely mad. 

“You're so wet.” Sunghoon’s voice was ragged and hoarse almost as if he smoked a full carton of cigarettes. 

“Mhm” You moaned “Only for you.” You tried to settle your moans not wanting anyone outside the door to hear you, but the way his fingers were working you up and down had made that task nearly impossible. 

“I need to taste you.” Before you could say anything else Sunghoon dipped his head down, his hungry mouth lapping up the juices dripping from your wet cunt. 

“Oh fuck.” You hissed out arching your back off the sink in pleasure. Your hands were in Sunhoon’s hair pulling and yanking for any form of leverage. “Fuck, fuck.” 

Sunghoon’s tongue made circles on your slit, your vision blurry with tears. The overstimulation of the moment is almost too much to bear. 

“Oh my god.” You whispered looking down to watch as Sunghoon hungrily ate you out. His actions were comparable to a starving man. It was hot, almost too hot for you to handle. 

“Keep…” You breathed “Keep going.. I’m almost there.” 

“Yeah?” Sunghoon teased, lifting his mouth for just a split second. 

“Mhm” You nodded “Holy-” Your body jolted. You would have fallen right off the sink if it weren't for Sunghoon’s hand holding you in place. Your legs shook with intensity. Sunghoon sucked on your clit, the slurping sound a catalyst to your already awaiting orgasm. 

“Oh.” You squeaked “I’m cumming” Your end hit you like a train, blinding your vision with a sheen of white. Your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, it must have been the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced. Steadying your breathing, Sunghoon pulled back. A shit eating grin on his face as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 

“Holy shit” You breathed out. Holding the edge of the sink firmly in your hands. You rose your legs trembling from the mind numbing orgasm you had just had. “I’ve never come that hard in my life.” 

“That was just my tongue.” Sunghoon’s face had a smug smirk on it, one that said he was proud of the service he just provided. 

“We should talk-” 

“Please, for tonight let's just not.” His voice held desperation. You couldn't ignore how bad it seemed he didn't want to talk about the reality of what just happened. Quite frankly, neither did you. You'd rather be living in this happy little bubble you put yourself into. 

“Come back to my place?” His question caught you off guard. The look of shock not going unnoticed by Sunghoon as he smiled warmly. “If you want to, of course.” He assured you. You didn't have to think it through for very long before you found yourself nodding, agreeing that you would go back with him to his apartment where you were certain you'd be doing much more than what you did in here. But for right now you didnt care. You didn't want to think about what the repercussions of what you were doing and what you were about to do would be. 

Just for tonight you wanted to be blissfully unaware of the real world and what would happen on monday once you saw Sunghoon again. Tonight you were just a girl and Sunghoon was just a guy. Two people who wanted to have fun after a night out at the bar. A girl could pretend and that's exactly what you would be doing. 

“How are we going to get out of here without Jay and Wonyoung noticing?” You questioned. The last thing you wanted was questions from Wonyoung asking what you were just doing and also what you were about to do. You wanted to just do it. 

“Jay texted me that he took Wonyoung home. Turns out after we stormed off she down half a bottle of vodka because of the stress. She’s wasted right now.”��

You made a mental note to call Wonyoung in the morning. You worried that tonight had been too much for her. You didn't want her to think any of this was her or Jay’s fault, you didn't blame them one bit for what happened tonight, even if it was Wonyoung who forced you to come in the first place. And they for certain had to know of Sunghoon’s plan to hire someone who could be their scapegoat for the project. But that was a discussion for another day, right now all you were worried about was getting to the car unnoticed. 

“Thank god.” You sighed out. “Hopefully everyone else is too drunk to care why we're leaving together.” 

“Oh none of them really care.” Sunghoon laughed. “They're all like npc's, they just move around the office emotionless.” 

Laughing, you put your tights and panties back on before following Sunghoon out the door of the bathroom and back into the dimly lit bar. The Christmas music blaring over the loudspeakers and people laughed and joked with one another. Sunghoon latched onto your hand, dragging you outside of the bar and away from everyone. 

“My car is just down here.” He continued to pull you as you followed after him like a little duckling following their mother. 

Once you got to his car you admired the sleek black range rover for only a second before you pushed yourself in. Suddenly a giddy feeling overwhelmed your senses. You were excited to go back with Sunghoon. You weren't stupid you knew what was about to happen. Sunghoon hopped into the driver's side of the car, taking off with ease. 

“I don't live far from here.” He spoke quietly now, quieter than he was in the bar. You rolled the window down to get some air in, feeling suddenly hot. 

The night was crisp, and the hum of the car engine seemed to carry the weight of everything that had happened. Sunghoon was driving, his fingers tense on the wheel, the road ahead illuminated by the glow of streetlights that flickered past in a steady rhythm. The air between you felt heavy, thick with the tension of what had just unfolded.It seemed that both of your minds began to wander, thinking about what it was exactly the two of you were doing. 

“Are you ok with what's about to happen?” Sunghoon suddenly asked. It was a dangerous question. And you knew that the right answer was supposed to be "no," that professional boundaries were sacred, that nothing should have happened between you two. But in this moment, everything felt irrelevant. The company, the rules, the reason for you being hired. None of it seemed to matter in the wake of that moment spent in the bar bathroom. 

“Yes” I whispered hoarsely “I shouldn't be but I am..” You took a deep agonizing breath “I really am.” 

“Are you ok with what's about to happen?” You now asked him. 

“Yes.” His answer was short and straight to the put but his single word held so much power. It was all the confirmation you needed to know that tonight was a night to forget about the semantics of it all. How long has it been since you've been touched? Since you've had sex? So long you couldn't even begin to remember. 

You missed being vulnerable with someone enough to allow them to see all of you. 

Finally when Sunghoon stopped his far in front of a large apartment building you could only assume was his you had the feeling of nervousness in your belly. 

You had felt like this since walking into the bar earlier. It was a different kind of nervous though, this was an excited nervous, and when you reached his apartment and walked inside you could only describe the feeling you felt as an overwhelming sense of excitedness. 

Sunghoon took your jacket off slowly, pushing it down your body, careful to brush his fingers ever so slightly against your skin. 

“Do you want wine?” He asked you. You hummed a yes at him. You looked around his apartment admiring the beautiful art that had adorn the walls. 

He had an expensive taste you would give him. His apartment was something out of a catalog so perfectly…Sunghoon. The furniture was sleek black leather polished to perfection. The rug had a cool dark grey tone, it looked warm and fuzzy. You fantasized Sunghoon having his way with you on top of it. The thought had your cheeks warming with blush. 

“Here you go.” Sunghoon whispered from behind you. He handed you a wine glass filled ¾ the way with red wine. 

‘Thank you.” You took the glass in your hands, taking a sip moaning at the sweet taste of it. Sunghoon watched you with a look of fascination, a hint of deep and desirable lust mixed in.

“I didn't know watching someone drink wine could be so…sexy.” Sunghoon licked his lips, the action causing a shiver to run down your spine straight to your core, just where you needed him most. 

“Really?” You purred, bringing the wine glass close to your lips before taking a small sip. You made sure to look at Sunghoon through your lashes looking up at him with a pouty smile. Something that had certainly sent his mind haywire. 

“Can i fuck you?” He asked outright. Surprised by his candor you said nothing for a second, blinking at him as he awaited your answer. You nodded dumbly feeling the wetness in your panties already. 

“Use your words sweetheart.” Sunghoon took the wine glass from your hand, setting it down onto the island beside you. 

“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you muttered the words. “Please” 

Sunghoon circled you and his gaze darkened. His big hands made careful work of slowly moving your hair to the side to expose your neck. Sensually he brought his lips down kissing up with feather-like touchess, hips lips just barely touching the skin. It had you aflame, your body felt akin to his like this was something right, like the two of you were meant to be this close, to be touching one another. 

He reached your jaw in no time, then your check. He titled your head towards his, finally connecting your lips as he held onto your chin. The kiss was deep and you savored every second his mouth was attached to yours. Suddenly without warning Sunghoon’s hand left your chin and traveled down the expanse of your body all the way to your thighs where he used both hands to lift you. A yelp let your lips in surprise, then a giggle. 

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for weeks.” Sunghoon’s voice was deep, almost raspy. It had your core throbbing at the sound, your heart picking up speed in tandem. “I’ve been waiting for the day i could have you sprawled across my bed completely naked, ready and wanting, just for me.” His words had your mind reeling as he tossed you down onto his bed. His plush duvet and mattress softened the blow. 

You looked up at Sunghoon with wide eyes and puffy lips as pure arousal coursed through you, he ended up doing something, anything, and now. Your desperation for him was palpable. Your body is electrified with need for him. 

“Really?” You couldn't help but ask. Truthfully you found it hard to believe that Sunghoon had been thinking about you this way for almost the entirety of knowing you, but you'll let it slide.

“Mhm” He hummed as he pulled your tights down your legs for the second time that night. His body rose skillfully, taking off his jacket, then his dress shirt until his upper half was completely bare to your wandering eyes. 

“You're beautiful” You marveled, resting your hands on his shoulders as he came back down. His lips connected back to yours in a hungry kiss, his hands pushing your dress up just enough that your panty covered heat was exposed. Sunghoon’s fingers circling your covered core apply light pressure but not enough to satisfy the need brewing inside of you. 

“I need you.” You whimpered out raising your hips in a show of desperation. Sunghoon chuckled, a smirk on his lips. 

“How bad do you need me?” He was teasing you, playing with you and it hurt so good. 

“So bad.” You whined as you ran your hands down his shoulders to his torso then over his groin where his very prominent hard on presented itself even in the confines of his jeans. 

You began your own teasing, rubbing your hands over him causing a hiss to leave his lips in pleasure. 

“Don't tease me.” Sunghoon grit the words out as his breathing became more ragged with every movement of your hand. 

“Your first.” You shot back at him. 

Sunghoon’s hands were quick as he yanked your paanties down in one fail swoop. Then running up to the hem of your dress pulling it over your head and off your body just as quickly. 

You weren't wearing a bra, it wasn't needed for the type of dress you were wearing. You were now completely naked and ready for Sunghoon. 

Sunghoon lifted himself away from you to take off his pants and boxer shorts, the loss of warmth from his body leaving you shivering. 

You were really about to do this. You were about to have sex with your boss. The thought made you nervous all over again, but also excited? It’s been so long since you've been touched and to be touched by such a beautiful man like Sunghoon? You were heaven and there was truly no way this was real life. 

Your thoughts were pulled from you as soon as Sunghoon’s lips met the skin of your stomach trailing up until he reached your breast. Cupping the left with his big hand he attacked his mouth to the right, sucking on your nipple. 

“Oh.” You squealed, running your hands through his hair and down his neck. “Please.”

“Please what baby?” The pet name left you a puddle of yourself coupled with the pure arousal coursing through your veins at the simplest of touches he left on your heated skin. 

“Please fuck me.” You were done waiting for him. You needed him, now. The throb of your clit was overwhelming as it called for some kind of relief. 

“Since you asked so nicely..” Sunghoon readied himself at your entrance, tapping the tip against your slit a few times before finally sinking in. Slowly at first allowing you to get used to the stretch of him inside of you. 

“Is that ok?” He asked you slowly, pushing his hips back and forth. You nodded, struggling to find the words to say. 

“Fuck.” Sunghoon moaned “You’re fucking tight.” His hips gradually moved faster now smacking against yours lewdly. 

“That’s it.” You chanted “Faster please.” You pleaded with him, begging him to satisfy the craving deep inside of you. 

“You're greedy..” He tsked at you as he slowed his hips. He was teasing you again, torturing you and your need for him. Your legs trembled as you whimpered and moaned for him to move faster, harder, anything. 

“Greedy.little.thing” He punctuated each word with a slam of his hips against yours. His balls slapping against the base of your ass. “How bad do you want it?” 

“So bad.” Your hips lifted from the bed but Sunghoon made quick work of pushing them down, his grip harsh and firm, surely leaving the skin bruised but you didn't care, not one bit. “I want it so bad.” 

With a gasp, Sunghoon pulled out suddenly leaving you with an empty feeling. “Sunghoon-” 

“Turn over.” His hands grabbed at your hips roughly turning you on your stomach. “Ass up Y/n” 

Arching your back Sunghoon took your hips, lining himself up with your entrance once again before slamming himself inside of you with a rough smack of hips against yours. He began a brutal pace. 

Moans leaving your lips like a mantra as he overwhelmed your senses, captivated your body with his as he took you sharply from behind with no mercy. The sharp sound of skin against skin coupled with your moans and his groans of pleasure were the only sounds to be heard. You lost yourself in one another as you allowed Sunghoon to take your body any way he wanted. He used your hole as his own personal fleshlight fucking you with a sense of urgency you had never seen him have before. It was maddening, and it was so so fucking hot. 

Your body gave way to him as your orgasm approached you with fast speed, an impending doom that you very much welcomed. But suddenly like the time before in his office your vision blurred, turning white and hazy behind your closed eyelids. 

Another unexplainable vision passed before your vision, one that just like the other had felt very real, very familiar. You were in a house, a warm and cozy house. The sides of your vision blurry; you're only focusing on the couple that currently occupied the bed. A man, Sunghoon, hovered above a woman who looked identical to you. They were having sex. It was slow, deliberate, it was…Romantic. The kind of sex you would have when you were in love. The fact was proven to you when you distantly heard the sound of your own voice whisper “I love you Sunghoon..” 

Then nothing. Your vision cleared and you were back to where you were before. On Sunghoon’s bed in his apartment, face down ass up as he pounded into your core from behind. The vision blinded you, surprised you. It had triggered the explosion awaiting inside of you as it hurtled you towards your end. 

“I’m cumming!” You squeaked “Holy fuck i’m cumming.” Sunghoon’s pace didn't let up. Actually, it became more brutal, more intense. 

Sunghoon gasped, whacking his hips against yours a few more times before stilling, spilling his load deep inside of you with one last heavy sigh. Your mind was blank as you tried to catch your breath. You didn't even register Sunghoon slipping out of you to grab a towel, and him cleaning you up. 

After a while of sitting in silence the lines that you blurred had started to take residence in your mind. What did this mean? How would you move forward? You were not entirely sure what it is you felt for Sunghoon. You knew that he pissed you off. You knew that what happened at the bar had hurt you more than you'd like to admit, and you also knew that you felt a pull to sunghoon unlike anyone else. It also didn't explain the random flashbacks that you got every time something intimate happened between the two of you. 

Flashbacks that had felt way too real. It was unexplainable, it was jarring. You've heard about things like this happening in fiction. In things like books and movies and even the old stories your grandmother would tell when she went on and on about the red string of fate, but certainly something like that was not real. This is reality. So what was happening to you? 

The silence in the room was deafening. 

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Sunghoon finally broke the silence. With words you weren't really ready to hear. You should have known this would happen. He’s been more than clear before when you talked in a group about him getting into a relationship but still the words stung as they hung in the air around you, the silence back. 

“I-i think I should go.” You rose from your place on the bed, searching the dark floor for your things. 

“Y/n i-” You cut him off before he could get the words out. 

“It’s fine.” You pushed out. “You don't have to say anything.” 

“I think i should though, i need to explain-” Again, you cut him off. 

“You don't owe me anything, Sunghoon.” Your voice whispers. “We’re adults ok.” 

“At Least let me bring you home.” But you were already shaking your head, denying him. 

You messily put your clothes back on with only the dim lights cascading over you. 

“I’ll get an uber, really Sunghoon. It’s fine.” With that you were out the door. A fresh new set of tears falling from your eyes and onto your cheeks. You didn't even know why you were crying really. It seemed ridiculous but you were very dumb. Dumb to think even for a second there was more to this than sex. To consider him as someone who would..care for you in that way. Stupid, stupid, stupid you were. 

Did you even want that? A relationship with Sunghoon? You didn't know. But you knew that you would be open to trying. Sunghoon was a man you could see yourself falling for if given the chance, but you wouldn't be. And maybe that's for the better. 

It was late by the time you got home. Allowing yourself a bowl of ice cream before bed. You sent Wonyoung a text letting her know you got home and for her to text you when she woke up. There was no way you’d be telling Wonyoung what had happened tonight with Sughoon, not a chance. 

Over Sunday you laid in bed most of the day, your mind only on Sunghoon and what you had felt. The sex..well, the sex was phenomenal. You wouldn't deny that. You didn't want Sunghoon thinking he left you wounded though. The strong independent women in you wanted you to walk into the office with your head held high like nothing in this world bothered you. Like you knew you were hot shit and nobody could take that away from you. But unfortunately that way of thinking was unrealistic for you. You were not the confident, take charge type of woman you aspired to be. But you could be, and that would start with Sunghoon. 

You had the brilliant and not at all damaging idea to march into his office and propose something he could not turn down. An agreement of sorts. 

And on Monday you do just that as you march into the office building with faux confidence. Be-lining straight for his office you knock on the door. Opening it without another word. Seeing Sunghoon sat there at his desk, mid typing. He looks up at you with a flash of shock across his face. 

You close the door, twisting the lock behind you. 

The air between you feels electric, thick with all the things you’ve both avoided saying. It’s a strange feeling, being here, in front of him after what the two of you did Saturday night. 

“I’m not here to complicate things,” you finally say, voice a little rougher than you’d like. You glance at him, wondering if he thinks you look utterly ridiculous. “Friends with benefits. No strings. That’s the deal.” 

The look of pure shock on his face doesn't go unnoticed, his mouth opening then closing trying to find the words to say to your…proposition. 

“What?” he asks finally, standing from his desk to move closer to you. 

“You said you don't do relationships. What happened Saturday was..amazing Sunghoon. So I'm asking you. Friends with benefits?” You could feel your confident resolve fading, the embarrassment settling in at the look on Sunghoon’s face. 

“You really want to do this?” he asks, voice steady, though there’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite place, one of uncertainty. You’ve never been good at keeping things casual.  A rivalry, a competition, a good round of banter—you know the rules of that game. But this... this feels like a completely new kind of contest. And something tells you that neither of you is walking away without losing something. But there’s a part of you that can’t help but lean in closer, feel the pull of whatever this is between you. You’ve danced around it for too long.  

"Okay," He trailed off. "If we’re doing this, we need to be clear. No... misunderstandings. I know this isn't your thing, I know you're nervous. Even if you're trying to hide it." 

You’ve always been good at setting boundaries, at keeping things professional. But this? This is different. This isn’t just a professional arrangement. This is... personal, you've crossed a line. You crossed it when the two of you kissed, and even more so when you had sex. What’s one more? 

"Look, I’m not nervous," you say, your voice a little too defensive. "But if we’re doing this... if we’re going to be friends with benefits, we need to have some ground rules. Clear ones. No exceptions." 

He leans forward slightly, his eyes fixed on yours with that intensity that always makes you second-guess yourself. “Alright. I’m listening.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This is what you’ve wanted, right? This is how you wanted to proceed. This is what you convinced yourself you could handle, you've never been that type of girl before but now, you were going to try. Even if you could end up burned, your heart shattered. Was this decision all that wise? You didn't know. you feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like everything you’ve worked to protect is teetering on the edge of collapse.

“I’m not looking for anything complicated,” you start, focusing on the words to keep yourself grounded. “This is just... physical. Nothing more. No emotional baggage. No trying to change anything.” You hold his gaze, even though your palms are starting to sweat. "We’re just doing this to scratch an itch. And then we walk away, no strings attached." You're lying. Oh god, you're lying. This is a recipe for disaster. 

Sunghoon nods slowly, as if considering the terms. “Fair enough. No emotional attachment, no complications.” He smirks again, and it makes your stomach do an anxious flip. “But you’re not worried about catching feelings, are you?” His playful nature sent your stomach turning, how could he be so calm? So collected. 

You scoff, though there’s a nervous edge to it. "Please. You think I’m going to fall for you?" You try your hardest to seem composed, it was working. The words sound harsher than you mean them to, but the reality is that you do worry. A part of you fears that this could slip into something more, something deeper, despite your best efforts. And the last thing you want is to make this even messier than it already is. 

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” he says, leaning back in his chair again, his expression unreadable. “But I’ll play by the rules. No emotions. No attachments. And no... complicated goodbyes.” 

You nod, but the knot in your stomach tightens. You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you agreed to this, but now that you’re spelling everything out, it feels far more real than you’re ready for. “One more thing,” you add, your voice quieter now. “We keep this private. No one at the office knows. No one. Not even Wonyoung and Jay.” 

Sunghoon tilts his head, considering you with that sharp, calculating look that makes you feel like you’re being sized up. “Of course. You think I’m going to go around broadcasting this? We’ll never hear the end of it.” 

The way he says it so confidently, so assured only makes your anxiety spike. You can’t help but wonder if he’s done this before. How many others has he had these “arrangements” with? You push the thought aside, unwilling to give into your own insecurities. 

"Good," you say, the words coming out a little more firmly than you feel. "And lastly... no mixing business with pleasure. Work stays work." You emphasize the last word, hoping he’ll hear the seriousness in your voice. 

You see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, like he knows exactly what you’re getting at. “Of course. But if the workday does end early one day, I’m sure we can both find ways to... entertain ourselves.”

“Were not fucking at work Sunghoon.” You feel your face flush, and you hate it. You’ve spent so much time keeping it together, maintaining control. But now, with him in front of you, with this new arrangement, you’re on the edge of something that makes you feel both exhilarated and terrified. 

Sunghoon’s eyes soften just a little, and you swear you see something resembling sincerity flicker across his face. “I promise. No pressure. We keep it casual. I’m not here to complicate things... unless you want to.” He gives you a knowing look, the one that always makes your heart race, like he can read you better than you’d like to admit. 

“I don’t want to,” you reply quickly, almost too quickly. Your voice comes out more defensively than you mean it to, and you hate how transparent you feel in this moment, but you have a feeling you’d be doing a lot more than just work when you come in everyday. His hold on you terrified you just a little bit. It feels like you’ve just signed some invisible contract. The rules are clear—at least, as clear as they can be. But you know yourself better than this. You know that this isn't something you would typically do, And now you’re about to step into uncharted territory, where the stakes are higher than you ever imagined. 

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Sunghoon asks, his tone soft now, almost too casual for how serious the situation feels.

“I’m sure,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. 

He stares at you for a moment, the quiet hanging between you. It feels like he’s measuring you, weighing your words, before he finally nods. “It’s a deal, then.” 

You nod, your breath finally evening out. You’ve set the rules, and so far, they sound simple enough. “Deal.” though you’ve set the boundaries, though you’ve promised yourself this won’t get complicated, deep down, you know it already is. 

It had been a few days since the two of you made your agreement, and to say it's been a bit awkward would be an..understatement. It seemed the two of you didn't quite know how to break the ice. In the bathroom of that bar was easy, you had been heated, in an argument your emotions were running high. You both ran on pure adrenaline to get you going. 

Sunghoon still acted himself when it came to the project, but not as bad which you were grateful for. He let up a little, let you take the reins. 

Wonyoung noticed the shift in your attitude towards each other. She had asked you what seemed like a million times about what happened in the bathroom that night but all you would say is that Sunghoon apologized, that you had come to an understanding. 

She didn't buy it, of course but she decided to leave it alone for now, holding onto the fact that you would eventually spill like you did with the kiss. Little did she know that this was much more than that. 

There was no way in hell you'd be telling her that you and Sunghoon slept together and there was no way you'd be telling her that you agreed to continue. No.strings.attached. God, what were you thinking? And why did the thought of sneaking around excite you so much. You didnt realize you were your own fucking maschoist but here you were. 

Walking into the office today felt a little heavier than usual. The air is tense and stiff. Minji greeted you with a tight lipped smile void of all its usual sunshine and warmth. 

“What's going on?” You asked Wonyoung as soon as you sat down at your desk for the day. 

“The big boss is in.” She whispered to you, trying to keep her voice low. “He’s tearing Sunghoon a new one.” 

“What?” The word fell from your lips too loud it seemed based on the shush Wonyoung sent your way. “Why?” You said quieter this time. 

“Suyu hated the draft we sent. The boss is capital P pissed.” Your eyes knit in worry. You thought about the conversation at the bar. The one that fueled the big fight you and Sunghoon had. He was using you as a scapegoat, was he not? Still he is being ridiculed. How strict were these girls and why did they hate every single thing Seoul magazine did. Why even keep coming back? You just didn't understand. 

And if it were so widely known by the company, why is Sunghoon getting the brunt of it. Obviously nothing will please these girls no matter how much all of you try. 

“Why do they keep coming if they hate us so much?” 

“Suyu is like in love with Sunghoon, but he rejected her. I think it's some kind of revenge. I don't know, that girl is crazy.” Wonyoung huffed. “Great, now Sunghoon’s going to be in a shit mood all day.” 

Her words served as a catalyst to your next idea, an idea that’ll help you break the ice with Sunghoon. You told yourself you wouldn't do this at work, but you couldn't think of a better place to get Sunghoon’s mind off of his boss and Suyu. So, you waited. You waited a whole hour till the sound of Sunghoon’s office door opening was heard by the entire floor. The booming voice of what you could only assume was the big boss. He turned the corner entering the cubicles with a scowl on his face. He was an older man, balding with deep wrinkles. He definitely looked..aged. He walked down the hallway with an emotionless expression that had a shiver running down your spine in intimidation. 

You couldn't believe you ever thought Sunghoon was intimidating, this man was pure intimidation to its core. He looked angry and that was something you definitely didn't want to deal with. A part of you began to feel defensive as he walked down the hall getting closer and closer to passing by your desk. 

How dare he blame Sunghoon or anyone else for that matter for Suyu and her members not liking the cover. From what you've been hearing she didn't like anything. How could you fail your employees who were working tirelessly on a project destined for failure. The corporate word was brutal, and this right here was proof. 

It had your blood boiling. You could only imagine what Sunghoon was feeling. Luckily the man passed by your desk with ease, not stopping to check out the newcomer. And as soon as he was out of your sight and you were sure he wasn't coming back you rose from your seat with a newfound confidence. One you didn't see from yourself very often. 

It must have been your lucky day because Wonyoung was no longer at her desk, she wouldn't be able to spot you leaving in the direction of Sunghoon’s office. 

When you turned the corner coming face to face with his door your heart began to quicken in your chest as the reality of what you were about to do set in. knocking on the door you awaited for his response, it was a quick and curt “Come in.” If you weren't so insanely nervous you'd be turned on by his tone alone. 

Sunghoon didn't bother to look up from his computer as you walked into the room, closing the door behind you and locking the door with one single click. The blinds to his clear glass windows were up, allowing anyone to peak in. You thank lord himself that his office was semi closed off from the rest of the floor. You grabbed the blinds, turning them so that they would come down, shielding the two of you from wandering eyes. When you turned back around Sunghoon’s eyes were now on you. His eyes gleamed curiously but also a hint of excitement? 

“What are you doing Y/n?” He asked with a low voice. 

“You seemed stressed.” You did your best at hiding the nervousness behind your voice. Masking it to the best of your ability. A smirk formed on his lips and you were slightly surprised by how fast he allowed you to infiltrate his office. 

“Yeah?” He asked, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. “I am quite stressed.” 

“I came to help.” You sent an innocent smile as you crossed your hands behind your back swaying your body lightly. “However you need me to.’ 

You walked up to his desk as he pushed his chair back, making room for you. You stood next to his sitting figure, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. Sunghoon looked up at you with a coy, very very sexy expression. His hands sneakily circled your waist pulling you closer to his lap. 

“However I want?” He hummed. 

You gasped softly as he grabbed at the flesh of your ass roughly in his big hands. He set a small smack to the clothes skin, a laugh bubbling in his chest when a sheen blush coated your cheeks. 

“You're so cute.” He teased with a smile, turning you into a puddle of yourself with one simple upturn of his lips. “Turn around.” He demanded. 

But before he could push you around to face his desk you stood firmly in place. Using your finger to his chest to send sitting back in his chair up right. Waiting and wanting for you. You were in charge here, not him. 

“No.” Your voice was stern, no sign of the nervousness brewing inside of you. “I’m in charge here.” 

“Are you now?” He said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Mhm” You hummed, falling to your knees in front of him. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” 

You made quick work of unzipping the zipper of his dress pants and pulling his length out before he could let out so much as a breath. 

“We don't have much time, so I'll need you to be quick.” Your words were accompanied by a small lick to the side of his length. All the way from the top to the very bottom. Sunghoon’s eyes darkened as he took in your kneeling figure before him. Gone was the sexy, smug smirk. A look of pure desperation in its place. 

“Can you do that?” You were teasing him, playing with him like a cat playing with a mouse. His breath came out short, his chest heaving. 

A single nod. Was all the confirmation he gave, along with a tight lip and the tilt of his head. You decided you were done teasing him. You attached your mouth to his length. Only half of him being able to fit before your gagging. 

“Holy f-fuck.” Sunghoon stuttered as you worked your mouth along his length, using your hand to cover the rest that wouldn't fit. 

“That’s so hot.” He hissed, his words serving as a catalyst for you to keep going. Your hand circled down cupping his balls in your hands. Giving a slight squeeze. 

“Oh fuck!” Sunghoon cupped his hands over his mouth to try and silence himself. The last thing we needed was for someone to hear you. 

Moving up and down faster and faster you were left waiting and wanting for Sunghoon to cum down your throat, excited for the warmth he would provide. 

You slipped him out of your mouth with a gasp, jerking him rapidly to keep your pace. “How’s that feeling?” You asked him, sticking your tongue out. 

“Go-oh fuck-good.” Sunghoon’s words were slurred as you slipped his dick back inside of the heat of your mouth, slurping and lapping like a hungry slut. 

“I’m close” He was wheezing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You want it in your mouth baby? You want me to cum down your little throat?” You nodded along his length, excited. 

“I’m almost there.” His voice now a whisper, his eyebrows knitted holding onto the arm of the chair with white knuckles. “I’m-oh” 

His cum shot down your throat on spurts as you lapped at him like a dog in heat, moaning. Draining him until he was empty and heaving. 

Your mouth left his length, wiping the sides messily. 

“Fuck.” Sunghoon tried to regulate his breathing and looked down at you with big wide eyes.  “What the hell was that for?” 

“You were stressed.” You shrugged your shoulders in an attempt at looking nonchalant but you weren't really sure if he was buying your act. 

“Well..Thank you?” He said it as a question, causing a laugh to bubble inside of you as clarity sent in. 

“Wonyoung said the boss was in here giving you a hard time. I just wanted to help you out.” 

“You did help me out. A lot.” His smile sent a warm feeling shooting through you, falling to the pit of your stomach. The feeling embarrassed you. This was a game you had to remind yourself of, just fun. Absolutely no strings attached, so why were you feeling so warm and fuzzy? Don't be ridiculous. 

“Is everything ok?” You asked. Sunghoon nodded, his smile falling from his face. 

“Suyu hated the cover, as we all knew she would. He was chewing me out for it. Says everything about it needs to change.” 

“What?” Your shock was palpable. Your anger is even more so. “There’s only two more months left.” You couldn’t imagine why the company would allow such abuse from a client, how could they want a group of people they know i'll be dissatisfied no matter what you did. It made no sense to you, and it angered you even more. You, Wonyoung, Jay, and Sunghoon have been working tirelessly on the cover for over a month now. It was unfair for them to come in and pick it apart. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Sunghoon said with a tired expression. “The company says scrap it, so we scrap it.” 

“Are they going to give us an extra month to work on it?” You questioned, you had a feeling you knew the answer to that already but still you waited for Sunghoon to respond. 

“No.” He answered, exactly as you knew he would. For some reason being prepared for his answer didn’t lessen the blow. “That’s bullshit.” You hissed out running a hand tiredly through your hair “And not fair.” 

“I know.” He responded. It was clear to you that Sunghoon was dejected. He knew that no matter how unfair it was that the company just wouldn’t budge. This was what they wanted and now you and the rest of your team were going to have to work ten times harder to get the cover done in time. 

The next monday Sunghoon isn’t in office. He’s off on a business trip until the end of the week and you couldn’t help but curse yourself every time you started to miss him. Sunghoon wasn’t your boyfriend. He was your boss and someone you were having sex with occasionally. Someone who has made you feel things you’ve never felt before. Especially during sex, and especially almost every time you and Sunghoon kissed or had sex, or sometimes even touched you were flashed with something that feels like a memory, a vision of something that felt familiar but you had never actually done before. You couldn’t figure it out. You were beginning to believe you were going crazy, that was the only plausible explanation for all this, right? 

At night you're left mulling over the fact that after even a month you still could not find your red bracelet. It was just…gone. It was even weirder to watch Sunghoon walk around with one exactly like it on his wrist, but he had no way of getting it. You had lost it the day you met him. He was rich and very well off. There was no way a man like Park Sunghoon would go through the trouble of stealing a dingy old red string that was close to falling apart any second, it just made no sense. 

They still didn’t erase the fact that it was nowhere to be seen, if it weren’t for your very very distracting month at this new job you were certain the absence of itt would drive you absolutely mad. 

Finally on what felt like an overwhelmingly long Wednesday you were home, alone in your solitude and you figured if you couldn’t find your red string, you’d be better off looking through the journals your grandmother left you. After the month you’ve had you could use her wisdom right about now. 

Your grandmother was your rock growing up, she was basically your mother and your father all rolled into one. You found your grandmother’s journals tucked away, in a small cardboard box in your closet. You hadn’t had the gull to open them since she died. You flipped through the pages one by one, reading all the words she left behind for you. 

You hadn’t realized you were crying until a singular tear fell onto the old yellowed pages of the journal leaving a wet stain in its wake. You had missed her, everyday and you knew you would continue to miss her. 

The pages your grandmother left you - had been full of advice. Advice about mundane things, like doing laundry or cooking with the best recipes. Some of the advice was more heavy, like what to do in case of a death, or a breakup or when you got married and had children. And some of the advice was also about love, and how she believed that soulmates were real. Tied together by the red string of fate you couldn’t see. When two people were connected solely to each other in all lifetimes. It would be beautiful if it were true. That’s what you always taught yourself. That it was a made up thing that only people in love believed. 

You continued to sift through her journal, to the portion where it became a daily write down of what she started doing throughout the days. You flip through the pages, each filled with words written in rich ink, her voice murmuring between the lines. Some entries are small snippets of her days—what she made for dinner, a flower she saw blooming outside, a storm rolling in from the east. Others are longer, winding passages that carry something heavier, something deeper. You read about her dreams, her fears, the love she once had and lost.

Then, a passage catches your eye, and your breath stills. The red string of fate never breaks, it reads. Even if cut, even if frayed, it finds a way to mend itself. There is no fighting destiny when it has set its sights on you. You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the fragile edge of the paper. Your grandmother always told you about the red string, whispering its legend into your ear as she tucked you into bed. She told you that everyone had a soulmate, a person meant to be tied to them no matter the distance, no matter the circumstances. She had one, she’d said once, a man she loved but lost. But she never spoke of him much beyond that, only that he was real and that she had seen him in ways no one else could.

You continue reading, heart pounding. When you touch them, you will see. A glimpse, a flicker. The universe will reveal what you are meant to know. It will not be loud. It will not be obvious. But it will be there. Because you know exactly what she means. At least you think you did. The memories come flooding back, unbidden. The first time it happened, you were with Sunghoon, It had been fleeting, so quick you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. In his office the day the two of you kissed for the first time. Surely that is unlike what your grandmother was describing right?

But then, you remembered another time, the time you and Sunghoon had sex for the first time at his apartment, when he was deep inside of you, whispering filth into your ear, your vision blurred and overcome with a memory that had never happened before. You had seen a future that had never happened. You saw something that shouldn’t exist. You saw fragments of moments that had no place in your reality. You saw his smile beneath a different sun, heard his voice whispering your name like a prayer, felt an ache in your chest that wasn’t yours but still belonged to you.

You had written it off as nothing. A trick of the mind. The product of exhaustion. But here, in your grandmother’s journal, written in ink that had dried long before you were born, was an answer you never wanted to find. Visions come with touch. You slam the journal shut, chest rising and falling too fast. Your heartbeat roars in your ears. This is ridiculous. This is crazy. You’re not some character in a fairy tale. You don’t believe in soulmates. And even if you did - Even if you did…Sunghoon? It’s impossible. It’s just a coincidence. A trick of your mind. You refuse to entertain anything else.

Your hands tremble as you shove the journals back into the box, your grandmother’s words still lingering in the air. You try to shake them off, but they have already settled deep, weaving themselves into your bones like an undeniable truth. You take a breath and force yourself to move, to step away, to pretend that your heart isn’t beating in a rhythm that spells out a name. Sunghoon. And though you don’t want to, though you tell yourself you won’t - You start to wonder if your grandmother was right all along.

That night, your phone buzzes against the nightstand. The screen illuminates the dark room, casting a soft glow over the journals still left in disarray on the floor. It’s Sunghoon. You stare at his name, your stomach twisting in a way that feels unfamiliar. After everything you read tonight, after the storm brewing inside you, you should let it ring. Let it go to voicemail. Pretend you’re asleep, pretend you’re not affected. But you aren’t strong enough to resist him.

With a sigh, you swipe to answer. "Hey." There’s a pause, then a low chuckle on the other end. "Wow, you actually picked up. Thought I’d have to leave a dramatic voicemail about how I died of boredom without you." 

You roll your eyes, but your lips curve despite yourself. "Dramatic and pathetic. I expected nothing less." He hums, his voice warm, lazy. "Guilty. My meetings were dull as hell. Just numbers and more numbers. I was about five minutes away from faking a fire alarm to get out of there." You laugh softly, shaking your head. "You should've done it. Would’ve made the news.

"See, this is why I call you. You always encourage my worst ideas." His tone shifts, something teasing in the way he lingers over the words. A slow smile tugs at your lips before you can help it. "You must really be bored if you’re calling me instead of drinking overpriced whiskey at some networking event."

"Oh, I was bored. But now..." He exhales, slow and deliberate. "Not so much." A shiver traces your spine at the weight in his voice. He isn’t even here, and yet he still manages to reach inside you, find the parts of you that respond so easily to him. You swallow, shifting under the sheets. "Sunghoon—"

"What are you wearing?" It’s sudden, leaving your cheeks a bright red and mouth wide open in shock. 

You nearly choke. "Excuse me?" 

He laughs, unbothered. "Relax, and tell me. What are you wearing?” 

Your face burns, and you glare at the ceiling. "Oh my god." 

"What? It’s a totally normal question." He pushes, and you can see that smirk in your head. That smirk that you love so much. "It is not."

“So?” The nonchalance in his voice heats up your body, wishing he was here to satisfy the ache inside of you. You sigh, rubbing your temple. "A tank top and shorts."

There’s a hum of approval on the other end. "Cute. Wish I was there." Your breath hitches, pulse jumping in your throat. This isn’t new. The past few weeks you and Sunghoon have been pushing, teasing, toeing the line between playful and something heavier. But tonight, after everything, the weight of his words feels different. Dangerous.

"I should go to sleep," you say, though the thought of hanging up makes your chest tighten. "Yeah?" He sounds amused. "You tired? Or are you just afraid of where this conversation is going?" Your heart pounds, a war raging inside you. You should shut this down. You should keep your distance. But instead, you whisper, "I’m going to touch myself and think of you while doing it"

A sharp cough was heard over the speaker, then a hum. “You don’t have to go to do that.” He whispers, his voice now husky and low. It sends shivers down your spine and heat down your core. You really really wished he was here. “You can do it, while talking to me.” 

“W-what-” You stuttered out, your heart pounding in your chest. Was he suggesting phone sex? And were you seriously considering it? “Don’t leave.” He says and you could almost imagine the laid back smirk on his face, the shrug of his shoulders as if this was nothing, as if he did this all the time. That thought made you feel slightly queasy so you pushed far from your mind. 

“Okay..” You said softly. “What do I do?” Your voice was tight, unsure. You only hoped he didn’t notice how nervous you were. 

“Have you never done this before?” There was a hint of surprise in his tone, it made you acutely aware of just how inexperienced you are. 

“No.” You answered honestly, “Never.” 

“Fuck.” Sunghoon cursed on the other end. “That’s hot.” The words had left you dumbfounded, he thought your inexperience was…hot? “Take off your pants.” His voice lowered even more, becoming more husky and rasp. You felt the wetness in your panties already, you didn’t even have to look to know. That was the kind of effect Sunghoon had on you. You had very visceral reactions to him, you couldn’t help it. The man looked like a fucking god, and you did as he said. 

You lifted your hips slightly, sliding the pajama shorts you wore off in one fail swoop. “My panties too?-” 

“No!” Sunghoon hissed out. You jumped at the urgency in his voice. “No.” He said softer. “Just wait.” 

“Okay.” Sunghoon’s breath was a bit faster on the other end of the phone, heavier. You were no idiot, you knew his cock was in his hand, stroking up and down as he told you what to do with yourself. He was just as much a mess as you were, he was just better at hiding it. 

“Are you wearing a bra?” He asked with ragged breath. You shook your head “No.” Finding even the smallest word is hard to say. Sunghoon wasn't even here in the flesh and he still managed to take your breath away. Your own breath was ragged as his voice carried every single syllable with a rich sound. His tone captures your attention, shooting straight for your core. 

“Circle your clit over your panties, sweetheart.” Sunghoon instructed you. Your hand traveled down the expanse of your body as a small whimper escaped your lips. Your nimble fingers found your wet and waiting bud, rubbing it over your panties creating the most delicious feeling coursing through your veins. 

“Nice and slow, okay?” You nod your head even though he can’t see you. A small “uh-huh” escaping your mouth and into the receiver. 

“Good girl..keep going.” You continued your slow and torturous rhythm over your clit. It felt good but you needed …more. Your hips rise off the bed as you search for any form of release. Your body was wanting, your moans needy. You knew that Sunghoon was well aware just how badly you needed him. How badly you craved him but this was all you could get, and you’d take it for now. 

“How wet are you, baby?” Sunghoon’s breath was even more ragged than before, the tune of his chest heaving serving as a catalyst to your need for. “So wet…” You mewed out the land not on your clit stuck clutching at your bedsheets for dear life. “I need more..” 

“Okay, sweetheart..” He cooed with slight amusement. “Pull your panties to the side and stick one; just one finger in..” You hum doing as he instructed with quick precision. The slide of your finger inside of you was potent. You needed this, and although it was not as good as Sunghoon this was certainly second best given the circumstances. “Now move your fingers in and out..slow though.” 

“Fuck.” You whined, your hips leaving your bed once again. Your other hand traveled up the side of your body cupping your tit in your palm and squeezing. “I wish I could see you hoon..” You sighed out. Sunghoon’s breathed hitched a soft puff of air leaving his lips like the melody to your favorite song. You’d get drunk on the sounds of his moans if you could, bottle them up and savor every single hum, every single tune. 

“I know, baby. I wish I could see you too..” He trailed off. “I know you look so pretty with your fingers stuffed in your pretty little cunt.” His words shot shivers up your spine, your end already nearing. From the sound of his moans and groans it was obvious he was pretty close as well. 

“Add another one.” He demanded suddenly. You did as he said, adding another finger roughing moving them in and out of you. “Fucking- i can hear how wet you are from here.” 

“I’m so fucking wet-oh god.” Your legs shook your ending near dangerously close. “I’m close-” 

“Me too sweetheart keep going.” The only other sound on the other end of the phone was Sunghoon’s grunts and groans as the two of you catapulted to your end, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Pleasure washing over you and blurring your vision. 

“Oh my god.” You huffed. Sunghoon’s breathed slowed neither of you saying a word for close to five minutes, just basking in the post orgasm clarity. 

“Uh..” Sunghoon breahed over the end of the receiver, his voice back to normal now void of the lustful words he was just muttering to you. “Thanks.” He said. Thanks. “I- i should go. Meeting in the morning.” 

“S-sure.” You stuttered out awkwardly. “Goodnight, see you soon.” The two of you hung up and all that was left was the silence of your empty apartment aside from you. You could hear the beating of your own heart in your ears as slow realization started to settle in. You were starting to fall for Sunghoon, like the fool you were. 

Sunghoon comes back the next monday, and the moment you see him at the office, all the doubts that had clouded your mind dissolve under the heat of his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. but when your eyes meet across the meeting room, a slow, knowing smile curves his lips. That night, it happens again. In his office, door locked, his mouth on yours before you can even drop your bag. Later, in the backseat of his car after a late dinner with the team. Then again the next morning, in your apartment kitchen, the scent of coffee mixing with the sound of your quiet gasps.

You can’t stay away from each other. Every opportunity you have you take it. You fall back into it with him; it's reckless and urgent, as though nothing had changed. But it has. You have. You were falling from him, stupidly so and you didn't know what to do. The visions still come. Stronger now. They strike like lightning, hot and bright; brief, impossible glances into a life that feels half yours. Every time he touches you, it’s there: a home you’ve never seen, a child’s laugh echoing from another world, his hand in yours under unfamiliar stars. And worse, your heart aches for him when he isn’t near. You think about him when you shouldn’t. You crave the sound of his voice, the small way he furrows his brow when he’s deep in thought, the gentle way he tugs your wrist when he wants your attention but can’t say it aloud. 

Wonyoung notices. Just like you knew she eventually would, that girl wasn’t dumb she was bound to connect the dots. But like you and Sunghoon agreed. No one could know. Not even her and Jay, who you wanted to tell so badly. She corners you in the lounge one afternoon, her voice low but sharp. "Are you sleeping with Sunghoon?" 

You nearly drop your coffee. "What? No. That’s- why would you even ask that?” Deny. deny. deny. no matter what, you have to deny it. She folds her arms. "Because you’ve been weird. Both of you. And don’t even try to lie. You’ve got your guilty face on." 

You look away, feigning casual interest in the humming vending machine. "You’re imagining things." 

​​"Jay said Sunghoon’s been acting weird too. Moody. Distracted. Like, smiling during budget meetings." You tried to not let her words fool you. It was strictly about sex with Sunghoon that was all, nothing more nothing less. Him smiling could have been about anything. Sunghoon’s life did not revolve around you, that was for certain. You want to grin at the thought of this being something more, but you're not an idiot. So instead, You snort. "That is suspicious." 

She doesn’t laugh. "Come on. I’m not judging you. I just want to know what’s going on. Are you okay?" That question cuts deeper than you expect. Are you okay? You don’t know. Because you can’t tell your best friend that the man you’re sleeping with- the man who is your boss, your complication, is also possibly the person fate tied you to long before you were even born. The man you're falling in love with but is clearly not interested in you that way. You force a smile. "I’m fine. Really."

Wonyoung studies you for a long beat before sighing. "Just… be careful, okay? Whatever this is, don’t lose yourself in it." You nod, but the truth is, it’s already too late. You’re tangled in it. In him. And you don’t know how to find your way out. You felt like you were drowning and you had no one to shout for to help you, to throw you a raft that would save your life. 

For times like this you truly missed your grandmother. You missed her wisdom, you missed her comfort. Life truly was not fair. One could even call it cruel to take the one person in this world who understood you most. 

That night, you sit alone on your bed, the city’s glow smudged outside your window, the journals beside you once more. You open one with hesitant fingers, seeking your grandmother’s voice like a balm. She would know what to say. She’d tell you to listen to your heart, to trust the quiet truths hidden in touches and dreams. She’d tell you that the red string does not lie, and that love- true love is rarely convenient or safe.

If your heart is confused, it’s because it’s being rewritten, she once wrote. Love doesn’t always ask permission to change us. It simply does. And with Sunghoon, you are changing. Becoming someone softer, someone braver. Someone terrified. You press your fingers to the page and wonder: if she were here now, would she tell you to leap? Or would she warn you to run? You close the journal, and all you can think about is the way he looked at you today. Like he already knew. Like maybe he’s wondering the same thing too.

The call comes at 5:12 AM. Shaking you from your sleep in the dead of night. Your phone buzzes against your nightstand, the shrill sound tearing through the quiet like a blade through silk. The sky outside is still the bruised blue of predawn. You fumble for your phone, blinking blearily at the screen. Mom.

Your breath catches. You haven’t seen her name light up your phone since the day they buried your grandmother. Five years of silence stretched like frost between you, untouched and unthawed. Your thumb hovers. You think of ignoring it. But something in your chest twists; tight, sharp. You have to answer it. Your mother wouldn’t be calling you for no reason. There had to be a reason and it had to be a bad one. 

“Hello?” Your voice is husky from sleep still laced in it. Your eyes heavy lidded. There’s a beat of silence. Then her voice, thin and unfamiliar, like wind pressed through a cracked window. “Your father died.” The words hit like a slap, so sudden they leave your mind blank. No preamble. No explanation. Just a raw, stripped-bare truth. 

“What?” you whisper. Disbelief seeping into your bones, into your core and through your blood straight to your heart. Your…father…dead? She exhales; soft, almost annoyed. “He had a heart attack. A month ago.” She says it like it was an inconvenience. Like you were some passer-byer in her life. Like you meant very little, nothing. And you should be used to this feeling from her, but you werent. And you didn't think you would still be feeling it when you find out your very own father has died. 

The air in your lungs evaporates. “A-a month ago?” You stutter out because it's the only thing you can think to say at the moment. 

“We already had the funeral,” she says. “There wasn’t any reason to drag you into it. We didn’t think you’d care.” Each word was like a blow, over and over she didn't let up, didn't let you come up for air. No, she's watching you drown and she doesn't care. The words echo in your skull like a curse. 

You sit up slowly, your voice barely there. “You didn’t tell me. You didn’t even call.” There’s a pause, long and uncomfortable. “You made your choice when you left. We didn’t think you wanted anything to do with us anymore.” An unexplainable sorrow seeped into your bones. Your heart dug a grave in your chest, laying in the hollow confines of your chest unmoving, unbreathing as the breath was stolen from your lungs with every word she muttered. With every single careless word she threw at you. 

The anger comes in a slow burn, hot and low in your chest. You squeeze your eyes shut, try to breathe through it, but it festers. You had fought for your own life. For the right to step away from the toy shop that had become your parents’ shrine. For the right to be. Your grandmother had understood. She had stood in your corner when no one else would. She raised you while they drowned in their work. She held your hand through your first heartbreak. She showed you how to be soft in a world that tried to harden you. She’s the only one who ever had your back, and even in death that was apparent. And now this.

“I’m still his daughter,” you whisper. “I still had a right to know.” You didn’t know how to argue with her. How to tell her how hurt you were, you weren't even sure she would care if you did. If it was even worth the trouble. “I’m telling you now,” she says, like that counts. Like it erases the month of silence, the funeral you didn’t attend, the grave you didn’t get to stand over. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to crawl into your grandmother’s lap and let her brush the world out of your hair. But she’s gone. And now your father is, too. Your throat tightens. Your heart aches in places you thought you’d fortified long ago.

The call ends without resolution. Just the dull tone of disconnection. You sit in the dark, staring at nothing, until the light spills slowly across your floor, illuminating dust motes like falling stars. And still, the silence presses in. Not even the city outside dares to speak.

You curl into yourself, as small as you can be, and let the grief take you. Not for the man your father was, but for the chance to make it right. For the words you’ll never get to say. For the goodbye stolen from you like everything else. Somewhere, you hope your grandmother is watching. And you wonder what she would tell you now. Mourn, my love, she’d say. Even if they didn’t love you the way they should have, your heart still deserves to break. 

You don’t go to work the next day. Calling in with the guise of being sick. You don’t check your phone, don’t answer the emails stacking themselves like bricks behind the glass of your locked screen. You don’t speak. There’s a silence inside you now that stretches so wide it makes the whole world seem distant, like you're floating somewhere outside of time. Wonyoung calls, Jay calls, even Sunghoon but you don’t answer. You can’t. What would you even say? Hey, I'm mourning the loss of my father who hated me, who didn’t even want me around. My father who loved his toy shop more than his daughter. 

You sit by the window as the sun rises, too slow, too cruel. You watch it paint gold on buildings that don’t care you’re hurting. The city hums on without you, cars in motion, people in routine, everything ticking forward as if the foundation of your childhood didn’t just crack clean down the middle. A month. They buried him a month ago. Placed him into the earth like he was already forgotten. You press your forehead to the glass, eyes burning but dry. There are no tears yet. Only the weight. The kind that sits on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. 

Your father is dead. Gone in the kind of quiet your family has always been good at. No announcement, no open arms, no room left for the wreckage of feelings. They buried him like a secret. Like he hadn’t raised you, even if poorly. Like he hadn’t once lifted you onto his shoulders to reach the highest shelf of the toy shop. Like he hadn’t once smiled when you built your first little wooden horse beside him, stained your fingers with varnish and paint. You didn’t love him the way daughters are told they should love their fathers. But you tried. You tried even when he didn’t see you, when the only things that ever lit up his eyes were the shelves of handcrafted dolls and tin soldiers. 

When you left home, it wasn’t just leaving. It was betrayal in their eyes. You didn’t take over the shop, the pride and joy of your parents’ lives, the beating wooden heart of your bloodline. You chose a different kind of future. One not carved by someone else’s hands. Your own hands, for once in your life you made a decision for yourself and you paid for it. And for that, they stopped speaking to you. But this… this feels like a punishment. Like they wanted to wound you with the silence. 

A sob punches through you suddenly, sharp and guttural, like something breaking. You clutch at your chest like you can hold the grief in, but it spills through your fingers anyway, wild and merciless. He’s gone. He’s gone and you didn’t get to say goodbye. Didn’t get to stand by his casket and remember the sound of his laugh, the thunder of his anger, the way his eyes used to flick to the door whenever your grandmother walked into the room. You didn’t get to speak your pain into the air or leave a single flower on the freshly turned earth. You didn’t even get to be a daughter. Just… forgotten. Discarded.

You don’t know how long you cry. The sun shifts, shadows stretch. Somewhere far away, a neighbor plays the radio and someone slams a door. You lie down on the hardwood floor, cheek pressed to the cold wood, your body curled inwards like you’re trying to become small enough to slip into a memory. Your grandmother would’ve wrapped you in a quilt by now. She would’ve brewed you chamomile tea and said, “Let yourself grieve. He was your father, even if he was flawed.” She would’ve let you rage. Would’ve held your hand and said the things no one else dared to say. Like, “It wasn’t your fault you needed to leave.” Or maybe even, “He should’ve told you he loved you before it was too late.” You whisper to the silence around you: “Why didn’t he call me?” 

No answer. Only the echo of your breath and the trembling pulse of your heart, mourning not just him—but the version of you that still hoped he might reach out one day. That little girl who waited, and waited, and waited for him to choose her. Now she knows he never will. You reach for your grandmother’s journal again, fingers slow and reverent. You find a passage you hadn’t noticed before, dated the winter before she passed.

Loss is a winter that never fully thaws, she wrote. But love, my darling, love is what wraps the frost in color. You close your eyes. And for a moment, you can almost feel her hands on your shoulders, warm and certain. 

You don’t remember falling asleep. Only the brittle stillness of morning, cracked open by the weight behind your ribs. You don’t know how he knew. Maybe Wonyoung told him something. Maybe your absence stretched too long, and your silence- your complete vanishing sounded different than usual. Maybe he could just feel it in the marrow of his bones the way animals feel the turn of the weather. But sometime just after noon, there’s a knock at your door. Firm. Measured. Familiar. You don’t move. Not at first. You sit there on the floor, wrapped in a blanket that doesn’t warm you, your hair tangled and your body still sore from the way grief wrings a person out from the inside. The knock comes again. Then his voice- low, steady, laced with something that makes your throat tighten.

“Y/N, open the door.” Sunghoon. Of course it’s him. You stand slowly, like your body no longer belongs to you, like every movement is a question you’re not sure you want answered. You reach the door, place your hand against it, feel the hum of him on the other side like a ghost pressed to your skin. 

“Go away.” You whisper with all the strength you could muster. Which was not much, if any at all. A pause. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.” 

You laugh, sharp and small and broken. “Too late for that.” 

“Then let me in.” His voice is softer this time. It tugs at something inside you, something raw and already unraveling. But you don’t move. You can’t. Because if you see him…if you see those eyes, if he looks at you like you mean something, if he touches you- you’re afraid the dam will break. “Please,” he says. 

You open the door. And the storm begins. He steps in like he always does, like this is still whatever tangled thing you’ve been pretending it is. You hate how relieved he looks just to see you. You hate that his presence does soothe something in you, even now, when everything in your world has come undone. “What’s going on?” he asks, his brow furrowed. “You disappeared.” 

“I’m fine,” you lie. Because it’s the only thing you can do. You can’t burden him with your problems, you can't bear to bother him. “No, you’re not.” He steps closer, and that’s when you snap. 

“Don’t,” you hiss, stepping back like he burned you. “Don’t pretend to care now.” You can feel the resolve of what's left of your life snapping, like the cliff you were holding onto with the tip of your finger was finally crumbling, eventually sending you hurtling to the ground at your demise. And you welcomed it, you didn't brace for the fall. Instead you held your hands out and allowed the wind to hit you face. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s defensive, understandably so. 

Your voice rises before you can stop it, rage surging like fire through dry grass. “It means this- whatever this is, it’s not real, right? You don’t get to show up and act like I matter just because you haven’t gotten your fix in a few days.” You spit the words out with malice, ash on your tongue. 

Sunghoon blinks, taken aback. “That’s not fair.” 

“Fair?” You laugh, wild and bitter. “You think any of this is fair?” You’re crying now, tears you can’t stop, salt water spilling like grief is trying to pour out of you any way it can. You want to hurt the way you hurt, you want to destroy anything good in your life. 

“I’ve been walking around pretending I don’t feel anything. Pretending this was just sex. Just tension. Just bad timing. But I do feel something, Sunghoon. I feel everything, and I can’t- I can’t keep pretending.” He opens his mouth, but you cut him off, voice trembling like a bridge about to collapse. And collapse it does. “I love you.” 

Silence. Pure and utter silence. A silence you could go crazy in. A silence so loud you want to cup your hands over your ears and scream. You had never known a love like this. It was fierce and intense. it grabbed a hold of your heart like the constraints of a snake and never let it go. it swallowed your entire being, your entire soul. This love hurt. 

“I don’t,” he says. Two words. Clean. Precise. A scalpel to the chest. You stare at him like you don’t recognize him. Like the person who just spoke isn’t the one who touched you like you were something sacred. Who kissed you like you were air and he’d been drowning. 

“I never meant to lead you on,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “It just… got out of hand. This was a mistake. It was always going to be a mistake.” You want to scream. You want to throw something, tear the sky in half, bury yourself in the quiet dark where no one can find you again. Instead, your voice turns hollow. Cold. Like the ice seeping through your veins and freezing your heart. 

“Get out.” 

“Y/N—”

“Get out.” 

He hesitates. But then he nods. Quiet. Like the coward he suddenly is. And just like that, he leaves. The door closes behind him with a finality that feels like a tomb sealing shut. You don’t collapse this time. You stay standing. But it hurts more. Somehow, it always does.

You wander back into the room like a ghost, like someone newly haunted. You grab your grandmother’s journal again, flipping through the pages with trembling fingers, searching for the red string passage like it might come alive and wrap itself around your hand and drag you back to the truth. But all you see is ink. All you see are lies.

Soulmates are real.You’ll know when you touch them.The universe will show you.

Lies. Because you touched him. And what did the universe show you?

A fool. You saw yourself as a fool, lit up in a soft glow, believing in something that never believed in you. You close the book slowly, your hands gentle this time. Like you’re mourning something more than a love lost. Like you’re mourning magic itself. If the red string exists, it’s tangled around your neck. Tight. Suffocating. Useless. You stare at the ceiling until your vision blurs. Until the world goes quiet again. You don’t know if you’ll ever believe in soulmates. You don’t know if you’ll ever believe in anything at all. 

You don’t quit; though the thought slips across your mind like a blade held lightly between your teeth. Instead, you do what you’ve always done: you fold the pain into neat corners and tuck it behind your ribs. You wear your silence like armor, sharp and impenetrable. You show up to the office with eyes hollowed by sleepless nights and lips pressed into a line so thin it might vanish entirely. And you avoid Sunghoon like he’s the epicenter of the earthquake still rattling your bones. Because he is. 

You stop taking the elevator if you think he’s in it. You pretend to be deep in work when he walks by. You leave meetings the second they end, ducking out before his eyes can find yours. But he notices. Oh, he notices. And like a cruel twist of fate, he doesn’t leave you alone. No, instead he becomes worse. Sharper. Colder. Crueler in the way only someone who once knew your soft parts can be. 

“This is what you call a concept?” he says one morning, tossing your latest mock-up onto the conference table like it burned him to hold it. “Are you even trying?” You flinch. Wonyoung shoots you a look across the table, brows raised in alarm. Jay shifts uncomfortably, eyes flicking between you and your boss like he’s watching a scene unfold he was never meant to witness. “I thought it captured the essence of—” 

“It’s flat,” Sunghoon interrupts. “Lifeless. If this is what you think the cover should look like, then maybe you’re in the wrong department.” The words land with the precision of gunfire. You nod once, slowly. Quietly. Swallowing everything you want to scream. The meeting ends, and you make it all the way back to your desk before the tears spill. Silent, shaking, defiant. You tell yourself to hold it together. But your hands won’t stop trembling, your heart won’t stop pounding. 

Wonyoung finds you in the bathroom twenty minutes later, sitting on the tile with your knees pulled to your chest, mascara smudged like bruises beneath your eyes. “Y/N,” she breathes, crouching down beside you. “What’s going on?” You want to lie. To say it’s the pressure. That 's the deadline. That it’s anything other than what it is. But your heart’s a dam that’s already cracked open, and the truth rushes out in a flood. 

“You were right,” you whisper, your voice small and trembling. “About me and Sunghoon.” She blinks. “You mean…?” 

You nod, staring at the grout lines between the tiles like they might save you. “We’ve been sleeping together. For awhile now” She doesn’t say anything right away. Just sits beside you, quiet, letting the weight of it settle in the space between your words. “And I fell in love with him,” you choke, voice cracking like glass under pressure. “God, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. But I did. I fell in love with someone who sees me as a mistake.” 

Wonyoung’s expression softens with a tenderness that only true friendship can bring. She reaches for your hand, warm fingers wrapping around your cold ones. “I thought I could handle it,” you say. “I thought I could keep it casual. But then I started seeing him in everything. In every future I imagined. And then… he just—” 

“Shut you out,” she finishes softly. You nod. Tears fall again, heavier this time. “He told me he didn’t love me. That it was a mistake. And now he’s punishing me for feeling anything at all.” Wonyoung doesn’t speak for a long moment. She just holds your hand, grounding you. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says eventually, voice gentle but fierce. “You loved someone. You trusted him with that. That’s not weakness- that’s bravery.”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels pathetic.”

“It’s not,” she insists. “He’s the one who should feel ashamed. Not you.” The silence that follows is soft, heavy. But for the first time in days, it doesn’t feel suffocating. “I don’t think I believe in soulmates anymore,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her. “All that red string stuff my grandmother used to talk about… I thought maybe, just maybe it was real. But it’s not. It can’t be.”  

Wonyoung doesn’t argue. She just rubs slow circles into the back of your hand, her presence a balm on skin still burning. Later, when you wash your face and force yourself back into the office, the world doesn’t look different. Sunghoon is still a shadow at the edge of your vision. The emails still pile up. The coffee still tastes like nothing. But something in you has cracked open and not just in pain. In truth. In the slow, aching beginning of letting go. 

The office is quiet at night, humming only with the low whir of overhead lights and the distant tapping of your keyboard. You’ve buried yourself in work like it’s a lifeline diving into layouts, moodboards, and concept notes with the kind of intensity reserved for those desperate to feel anything but what’s clawing at their chest.

Today is a heavy day. A quietly suffocating one. Five years since your grandmother’s heart stopped beating. One month and change since your father’s did too. You didn’t tell anyone. Not Wonyoung. Not Jay. Certainly not Sunghoon. You just kept your head down and drowned in deadlines. So when the receptionist calls Sunghoon’s line to tell him there’s a flower delivery for you- late-night, unexpected; he frowns. 

“Who the hell is sending flowers to Y/N at this hour?” he mutters. And he goes down to get them himself. His jaw is tight the entire elevator ride, fury swelling like a storm behind his eyes. By the time he’s back on your floor, bouquet in hand, the smell of white lilies and soft garden roses clogs his senses like betrayal. He doesn’t knock. He slams the door open so hard the hinge screams. You jump, startled, spinning around in your chair.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you gasp. But he doesn’t answer. He throws the flowers onto your desk like they’ve poisoned him. “So that’s it?” he snaps. “You’re already moving on?” 

You stare at him, stunned. “What?” He points to the bouquet like it’s a smoking gun. “I just told you this was a mistake. That we should stop. And not even a week later, you’re already entertaining some new guy? Jesus, Y/N.” 

Your voice sharpens. “They’re from Chaewon.” 

“Who the fuck is Chaewon?” 

“My childhood friend,” you say through clenched teeth. “My best friend since I was five. She sends me flowers every year on this day.” He blinks, momentarily thrown off. You rise to your feet, slowly, deliberately, and something in your expression must shift because he goes still. “Today is the five-year anniversary of my grandmother’s death,” you say quietly. “And the one-month mark since my father died. A death I wasn’t even told about until weeks later.” His lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. 

“I’ve been holding myself together with frayed thread,” you go on, your voice trembling now. “I’ve been pushing through grief so heavy it’s crushed every part of me. And you- you come in here, spewing accusations and calling me names, because your ego can’t handle the idea that I might be wanted by someone else?”

You laugh, bitter and breathless. “I loved you, Sunghoon,” you say. “God help me, I did. I still do. Even after everything. But you humiliated me. You used me and then blamed me for having feelings. And now you have the audacity to show up here and call me a whore for getting flowers from my best friend?” 

You shove the card toward him, your fingers shaking. He reads it. And his face falls. “Y/N,” he says softly. “I didn’t—” 

“No,” you cut him off. “You don’t get to apologize now. You don’t get to regret it just because you misread the situation. You made yourself clear you don’t feel the same. You said it was a mistake. And I believed you.” He stands there, frozen, hands limp at his sides, the tension between you coiled so tightly it might snap the air in two. You stare at him for a long moment. Then your voice drops, quieter, sadder. “My grandmother used to tell me soulmates were real. She believed in fate. In red strings and destined touch. I used to believe her.” 

You pick up the flowers, holding them gently. “But now I think soulmates are a myth we tell ourselves to feel less alone. And I’m done chasing ghosts.” You turn back to your screen, the cursor blinking like a pulse, pretending your soul didn’t just crack in half in front of him. You expect the door to shut. Expect his retreat. But it doesn’t come. Instead, silence stretches behind you. Dense. Breathless. Charged. You feel Sunghoon’s eyes on you, like he doesn't know what to say but he wants, no needs to say something. 

You wished he didn’t. You wished he would walk out that door so you can continue to cry where he can’t see you. Where you can feel ashamed and embarrassed outside of his prying eyes. 

“I’m not leaving.” You freeze. Your breath catches, like the pause before a sob. “I was going to,” Sunghoon says, voice low, rough. “I was halfway out the door, but… I couldn’t do it.” You don’t turn around. Can’t. You’re too full of salt and sorrow and the ghosts of people who should still be breathing. He takes a tentative step closer. And you wince. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “That was cruel. What I said- what I called you. I didn’t mean it. I just… I panicked.” You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Panicked because someone sent me flowers?” 

“No, well-yes.” He says truthfully. “I don’t know how to handle this,” he continues. “You… you scare the shit out of me, Y/N.” You finally look at him. And what you see on his face is not arrogance. Not ego. It’s a boy standing barefoot in a storm, trying to keep the wind from pulling everything he loves out of his hands.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” he says. “Not even Jay. But my grandfather died three years ago. Right before I got hired”

You blink, caught off guard. “You never mentioned—” 

“We weren’t close. Not for most of my life,” he admits. “But toward the end, when his memory started slipping, he talked about her. This woman he met when he was young. Said she was the love of his life. But he never got the timing right. Always one step too late.”

Something in your chest goes very still.

“The day he died, he gave me this.” He pulls up the sleeve of his coat, pointing to the red bracelet, completely identical to your missing one. “He said it belonged to her. The woman he never stopped loving.” 

You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing against the red string. “My grandmother,” you whisper, heart pounding like thunder behind your ribs. “She had a story too. She used to tell me about this boy she loved in her youth. They lost each other. She never told me his name. Just that he left, and she never stopped waiting.” Sunghoon’s breath catches. “What was her name?” 

“Eunju.” His eyes close. “That’s her,” he says. “That’s the name.” 

The room shifts. Time folds inward. And suddenly, you’re not two people standing in an office under flickering fluorescent light. You’re the echo of two others who once stood on the edge of a different beginning. Souls that never found their way back- until now.  “I don’t even know what this means,” you whisper. “But it feels like something bigger than us.”

“It does,” he says, voice barely more than breath. “And it scares the hell out of me.” Your eyes sting. “Then why did you push me away?” you ask. “Why did you say it was a mistake?” His gaze drops, heavy with guilt. 

“Because I’ve never had something I didn’t know how to ruin. And you… you’re not something I could just forget after. You were never just sex, Y/N. You were the first thing that made me feel human in a long time. And I didn’t know what to do with that.” You’re quiet for a long moment.

“Say it,” you whisper. “Say how you feel. Stop hiding behind fear.” You’ve had enough of the hiding of the fear. You needed to hear him say it out loud. You weren’t asking him to shout to the rooftops or brag about to everyone he knows but you needed that confirmation, or it wouldn’t feel real. Whatever you two learned about each other wouldn't feel real until he said the one thing you needed to hear from him. “I have feelings for you,” he says, the words breaking from him like waves on rocks. “Too many. And I don’t know how to carry them without dropping them at your feet and praying you don’t run.” 

Your throat closes up. Emotion wells like a tide, like a wound too long ignored. “You think I haven’t been carrying them too?” you say, stepping closer. “You think I haven’t been trying to rip you out of my heart every time you looked at me like I was just something easy to forget?” 

He flinches. “I never looked at you like that.” 

“Then why did you pretend this meant nothing?”

“Because I’m not good at this. Because I didn’t want to break you.”

“You did anyway.” The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It hums with unfinished truths and fragile hope. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “For every time I let my fear speak louder than my heart.” As you look at the bracelet on his wrist and feel your grandmother’s love lingering like smoke around your shoulders, you can’t help but wonder if some love stories are meant to be rewritten. Not with new words- but with new hands. Hands that aren’t afraid anymore. Hands that are willing to try. 

You decide to try.

It isn’t some cinematic confession, no fireworks or strings or sweeping score. It’s quieter than that. It lives in the way he brushes your hair back from your face like you’re something fragile he’s learning how to hold. It lives in the way you don’t flinch this time when his arms wrap around you like an anchor. Neither of you says this is love - not yet. But you say: I want to try. And that is more than enough. The night unspools between you slow and warm, like honey melting down the edge of a glass. Sunghoon kisses you like he’s never tasted something real before. His touch is different now - not just hungry, but reverent, as if every inch of you holds secrets he’s finally ready to hear. He takes you to his apartment, carefully peeling away at you, layer by layer and you let him. You revel in the feeling. 

You fall into each other like waves crashing in a quiet tide. His hands roam your skin like they’re mapping a route back home. He whispers your name into your mouth like a promise, like an apology, like an offering. And when it’s over, when you’re tangled in each other’s limbs, skin still glowing from the heat of it all, he doesn't move away. Instead, he lifts you gently, carries you to the bathroom with soft steps and softer eyes. The bath is already running, steam curling up toward the ceiling like incense smoke. He lowers you into the water first, then slips in behind you, his arms coiled around your waist, his chest a steady drumbeat against your back. 

for a while, you just sit in silence, water lapping around you, time slowing to a heartbeat. Then it hits. Not like the others-  not a flicker, not a shimmer behind your eyes. This time, it’s a storm. You’re no longer in the bathtub. The warm water is gone. Sunghoon’s arms are gone. You're being wheeled through sterile hallways bathed in fluorescent white. The lights above you strobe like lightning, blinding and sharp. Your chest is tight, your vision blurry. You hear voices; clipped, urgent. “She’s crashing—get the crash cart—”

“BP dropping—move—” Hushed but urgent ringing in your ears. 

“Miss? Can you hear me?” Your body feels too heavy, your limbs suspended between planes. You're trying to speak. Your lips move but your voice is paper-thin. “Where’s… Sunghoon?” you murmur. “Please… tell him I—” And then; Darkness. Complete darkness. The memory rips away as fast as it came, and suddenly you're back in the bath, water sloshing against the sides. Your breath is caught in your throat, your heart galloping like it’s trying to outrun something it hasn’t even seen yet.

Sunghoon notices instantly. “Hey—” he sits up straighter behind you, arms tightening. “You okay?” You nod, too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… got dizzy for a second.” He doesn’t push. Just smooths his hands along your arms, grounding you. But inside, your mind is spinning. That wasn’t just a flashback. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like something you hadn’t lived yet. Like a prelude to pain. A warning sealed inside your bones. It felt so real and raw, the pain you felt lying on that bed was real, until it wasn’t. 

And it came now, when you were warm, when you were loved, when your body was finally held like a prayer and not a battlefield. The world shifts under your skin. But you swallow it down. For now, you lean back into him, trying to chase comfort, to drown out the tremble in your spine. His lips press to your shoulder, slow and unknowing. You don’t tell him what you saw. Not yet. Because the moment is still soft. The red thread is still stitching you both closer. And whatever that flash was… it can wait. The heart, after all, can only carry so much weight at once. And tonight all you wanted to be was in love. 

Something shifts after that night; gently, like the seasons turning without permission. Not a dramatic tilt, not a bolt of lightning, just a hush in the way the world begins to hold its breath when the two of you are in the same room. You and Sunghoon begin working on the project again. A visual campaign wrapped in pastel chaos and sharp, defiant edges. But this time, it’s different. The air between you hums with something alive, something unspoken, something tender. You sit beside him at the long conference table, your laptops open, coffee cups sweating, and you find yourself stealing glances when you think he won’t notice. Except… he always does. And he smiles. That smile you were beginning to love more and more everyday. 

Those soft, rare smiles that melt in the corners of his mouth like sugar. He doesn’t say much in the meetings, still the same gruff, perfectionist Sunghoon who eyes fonts like they’ve insulted him personally but now, there’s a warmth beneath it all. A hand that finds yours under the table. A look that lingers just a beat too long when you laugh. “You two,” Wonyoung says one afternoon, flicking her pen dramatically in your direction, “are not as subtle as you think.” 

You freeze. So does Sunghoon. Jay, across the room, just snorts and mutters, “Took them long enough.” But that’s it. That’s all they say. There’s no big reveal, no confrontation, just a collective decision to let it be. To let this new, fragile thing you’re growing unfold on its own.

And unfold it does. There’s a rhythm now. A cadence. Mornings that begin with Sunghoon brushing his knuckles across your cheek while you’re still half-asleep, his tie hanging loose, the scent of cinnamon toast curling in from the kitchen. Lunchtimes filled with casual touches, a hand grazing your back, fingers brushing yours as he passes you a folder. Evenings spent buried in mood boards and color palettes and sketches, your bodies leaning closer and closer until work becomes the excuse to stay near. And even longer evenings spent between the sheets wrapped up in one another. 

You catch him drawing you once. Not on purpose. It’s a rough doodle on the side of his notes, half-shadowed in graphite, your profile rendered in a way that makes your breath catch. “Is that me?” you ask, teasing. 

He doesn’t deny it. Just shrugs, eyes still on his screen. “It’s habit now.” There’s a softness to it all. A lullaby woven into the mundane. The kind of romance that grows in the quiet in the brushing of hands as you reach for the same pen, in the way he starts memorizing your coffee order without ever asking, in the long stares across the office when he thinks no one’s looking. But you’re always looking. And falling. Falling deeper every day. 

One night, you stay late, the others long gone and it’s just you and Sunghoon at the office, the windows reflecting the golden haze of the city outside. You’re both reviewing final edits, shoulders brushing every so often. He’s mid-sentence, talking about lighting contrast, when he glances over and stops. “What?” you ask, heart fluttering. He stares for a moment longer, then says, almost reverent, “You’re beautiful.” The words are simple. But the way he says them- like they’re sacred, like they’re truth — makes you feel like the whole world paused to let them echo.

You kiss him. There, in the fading light, paper scattered like fallen petals around you, hearts pressed too close to pretend you’re still pretending. And maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’s foolish. But you can’t help it. With Sunghoon, love doesn’t feel like falling. You weren’t afraid to keep falling in love. 

Soon, you were doing things outside of work and his or your apartment. Soon you were going on dates and even double dates with Wonyoung and Jay. You forgot all about the red bracelet you were still missing and the fact that the father who didn't really care for you was dead, you forgot that the project was most likely going to fail and there was nothing you could do about it. All you knew was that even if it did, you would have Sunghoon in your corner as your support, defending you and himself as he should. 

It was a Saturday night and Wonyoung and Jay wanted to go out. Bowling, you couldn’t pass it up. The bowling alley glows in soft retro neon, half bathed in violet and seafoam, the kind of lighting that feels a little bit like a dream. The air hums with pop music and the sound of pins clattering against waxed wood, laughter curling from every direction like it’s something you can breathe in. You’re leaning against the plastic bench seating in lane thirteen, watching Wonyoung do a celebratory spin after knocking down seven pins. Her oversized sweatshirt flutters like a cape behind her, and Jay’s clapping like she just won a gold medal. 

"Did you see that curve?" she gasps, strutting back like she’s on a runway. “I think I was a bowling prodigy in another life.” 

“You didn’t get a strike,” Jay deadpans, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. He kisses her cheek anyway. You’re laughing when Sunghoon comes back from the snack counter with a tray balanced in one hand;  two sodas, a tub of buttery popcorn, and a red-and-white-striped basket of chili cheese fries that smells dangerously good. “Is this a date or an artery-clogging death wish?” you tease, taking a fry and popping it into your mouth. 

He shrugs, setting the tray down beside you. “Both.” You roll your eyes but your heart flutters anyway, that strange, silly way it always does around him now. Soft and full and entirely too much. 

“Alright, your turn, lovebirds,” Wonyoung sing-songs, tossing you a ball with sparkly green nail polish. “Let’s see who’s the real athlete here.” Sunghoon stands, cracking his neck with exaggerated drama. “Prepare to be humbled.” 

You snort. “Please. You design magazine covers for a living.”  

“And I still have better hand-eye coordination than Jay.” 

“Hey!” Jay protests from his seat, a fry halfway to his mouth. “Unnecessary.” Sunghoon picks up his bowling ball- matte black, naturally, because of course he’d pick the most intimidating one, and lines up his shot. You lean over to Wonyoung as he takes his stance. “Ten bucks says he slips.” 

“No bet,” she whispers. “He’s definitely slipping.” He doesn’t. The ball sails down the lane like it was born to. Not quite a strike, but a noble nine. Still, he spins around with that smug little smirk that makes you want to punch and kiss him at the same time. 

“I’m waiting,” he says, arms out.

“For what?”

“My praise.” You cock an eyebrow, grabbing your own ball, a bright lilac with sparkles, completely your vibe. “You’ll get it when you earn it.” 

“Oh, it’s like that?” He teased. You give him a grin over your shoulder as you walk to the lane. “It’s always like that.” Your throw goes a little off. You get five pins and one tragically rogue ball but you raise your arms like you just conquered Everest anyway. Jay and Wonyoung cheer you on, loud and dramatic, and you blow a kiss in their direction before sliding back into the booth beside Sunghoon. He passes you a soda, his fingers brushing yours, and leans in close enough that your shoulders touch. “You’re terrible at this.” 

“And yet, I still look amazing doing it.” He smirks, his voice low. “That’s true.” You nudge his shoulder with yours. “You’re flirting.”

“You make it easy.”

The game winds on like that, playful insults and bad technique, shared bites of fries, the occasional high-five that turns into hand-holding when no one’s looking. Wonyoung sings along too loudly to every song that comes on. Jay takes the bowling way too seriously and actually tries to calculate his win percentage. Sunghoon teases everyone and somehow still ends up doing the scoreboard. But more than that- it’s easy. It’s fun. The kind of fun that fills your chest like helium and makes your laugh louder, your smile wider. The kind of fun that doesn’t ask for anything in return. There’s a moment, near the end of the night, when you catch Sunghoon looking at you, really looking. His head tilted, mouth soft, eyes full of something that makes your whole soul ache.

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe now… it is. You lean into his side, just a little, and let the night wrap around you like a warm, flickering blanket. Neon lights, greasy food, too-loud laughter. All of it stitched with something golden and glowing. It isn’t perfect. But it’s yours. And right now, that’s more than enough. 

The ice rink is quieter than you expected, nestled between city buildings like a secret. The lights above the ice are dim and golden, soft like early morning sun through lace curtains. There are just a few people gliding across the surface, laughter echoing like bells in the cold air, the kind of sound that makes your chest ache in the best way. You tug your scarf tighter, breath fogging the air in front of you. “You’re really serious about this?” you ask, eyeing the ice with no small amount of suspicion. 

Sunghoon just grins, crouched down to lace up his skates like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Dead serious.” 

“I’ve never done this before,” you warn. “I know,” he says, standing up with a grace that makes your stomach flip. He’s already taller than you, but on skates he looks like something carved out of winter. Long lines and quiet confidence, something familiar and dazzling all at once. You wobble when you stand, arms flailing until he catches you. His hands find your waist, steady and warm, and you glare at him, breathless. 

“This was your plan all along,” you mutter. “To watch me fall on my ass.” He leans in close, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. But I’ll catch you every time.” Your heart doesn’t know how to handle that, so you look away. The first few minutes are exactly as humiliating as you expected. You cling to the railing like it’s a lifeline, feet sliding in every direction. Sunghoon skates backward in front of you with ridiculous ease, hands out like he’s luring a stray cat. 

“Come on,” he says, voice gentle. “Just one step.”

“I am stepping! I’m also dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“I could be.” He laughs, the kind of laugh that hits you in the ribs, bright and full of something that feels like home. He skates up beside you, takes your hand in his without asking. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Always.” Somehow, you believe him. With him guiding you, it gets easier. Your legs stop shaking so much. Your fingers don’t cling as tightly. He teaches you how to glide, how to bend your knees, how to fall safely, which you do, spectacularly, three times in a row. But he never lets go. Not once. 

And when you’re finally coasting across the rink on your own - a little wobbly, a little wild, but free, he cheers for you like you’ve just won gold. You laugh until your cheeks hurt. “Okay,” you say, breathless. “How are you this good at skating?” 

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “I used to want to be a figure skater when I was a kid.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah. I’d watch competitions on TV and try to copy the spins in my kitchen.” He glances down at the ice, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It felt like flying.” You skate closer to him, heart aching at the softness in his voice. “Why didn’t you keep doing it?” 

He looks up, and there’s something a little broken in his smile. “My parents didn’t think it was practical. I let it go.” You reach for his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m not. Not anymore. I still skate sometimes, on nights when I can’t sleep. It reminds me of who I was before the world got too loud.” The air between you shimmers, cold but not empty. Full of things unspoken, things that have been building since the moment you met him. It’s in the way he looks at you now, eyes wide and vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something he’s not sure he deserves. And maybe… maybe you’re ready to give it. 

You skate backward a little, still holding his hand. “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” It’s a whisper, but it echoes louder than anything else. The kind of truth that makes the world slow down. His eyes go wide. He stops moving. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly, breath shaking. “I didn’t plan it. But somewhere between fighting with you and falling on my face, I—” Your voice catches. “I just did. And I know we said we’d take it slow, but I'm ready, this is it for me, You are.” For a moment, the only sound is the scrape of skates on ice and your heart beating like it’s trying to break out of your chest. Then he steps toward you.

“Say it again,” he whispers. Your throat tightens. “I love you.” And then he’s kissing you, right there on the ice, hands on your face, lips cold and sweet and desperate. The kiss is slow but trembling, like the both of you are trying not to fall apart, trying to hold onto the feeling as long as you can. When he pulls back, his voice is rough and full of awe.

“I love you too.” Your breath catches. “I didn’t want to,” he admits. “I was so scared to let this become real. But it did. And I’m not going to pretend it didn’t.” 

You smile, eyes stinging. “So what does this mean?” He presses his forehead to yours. “It means we’re official. As of right now.” 

Your laughter turns into a sob halfway through, and he kisses it away, holding you in the middle of the ice like the world has narrowed down to just this. Just you and him and this quiet, golden moment where everything feels right. When the lights begin to dim for closing time, he skates you one last circle around the rink, holding your hand the whole time. And in that frozen orbit, beneath stars too distant to touch, you fall in love all over again.

That night Sunghoon takes his time with you, soaking in the smell and feel of your skin against his. It’s not hard and rough like you’re used to, it’s soft like the pillowy feeling of being on cloud nine. It was tender and it made you alight with pure happiness. You had not known happiness like this for such a long time. You were beginning to feel like he was sent to you. That your grandmother knew you needed someone to fill her void. 

And Sunghoon didn't just fill that void, he lit it ablaze, lighting a candle inside of you and setting your heart on fire with need for him. Not just sexually but spiritually. 

Sunghoon whispered soft and quiet i love you’s against your skin as you sat atop him, connected as one. He held your hand as he slowly pushed into you over and over again. He drank in your moans while simultaneously spilling his own. This was love, and it did not hurt this time. It felt good. You were high on this love, addicted to the rush, and you never wanted to let that go. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” He breathed against your ear, his breath harsh. “Tell me how good it feels.” 

“So-good.” You whined, legs to your chest as Sunghoon took his time with you, reaching unbelievable places inside of you. “Don’t stop-” Tears welled in your eyes threatening to spill over. “Please don’t-” 

“Never.” He cooed. Sunghoon sank his face down to yours, kissing at the apples of your cheeks and whisking away the tears falling from your eyes. “I’ll never stop loving you.” Your sob rang through the room, along with the sound of his skin hitting yours. But it was not a sob of sadness, you did not cry of despair. The emotions coursing through you were simply too heavy, too much. It catapulted you to your already awaiting orgasm. It ripped through you like a storm, creating chaos in your mind. You welcomed it. 

Sunghoon followed suit. His head tipped back, eyes screwed shut and lips slightly agape. He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Even more so than the day you first met him, staring up at him with wide eyes on that dirty sidewalk. This was it, he was it. 

The next few weeks continued to pass by in a blur. Days in the office no longer felt long. You, Sunghoon, Wonyoung and Jay became a proper team creating the most perfect cover that Suyu could not even hate if she tried. It was the perfect mesh of everything her and her other members claimed to want. You don’t know if you were saying this out of bias or not but it looked pretty damn perfect to you. 

“Knowing Suyu, she’ll find something to hate about it.” Wonyoung says with the roll of her eyes, two afternoons before the big presentation is supposed to happen. “That girl is never happy.” 

“She’ll only be happy if Sunghoon agrees to go on a date with.” Jay snorts from his end of the table in the very big conference room the four of you occupied. You’ve decided to ditch the cubicles and work in conference rooms together for my cohesion. It seemed it was working in your favor. 

“Not happening.” Sunghoon said, typing away, not even looking up. You snort a little laugh, shaking your head. “Over my dead body.” 

“Rawr, Y/N” Wonyoung snickered. “Didn’t know you were so possessive.” Your cheeks heat in slight embarrassment looking down at your paper to hide away from their prying eyes. 

“It’s hot.” Sunghoon mused, your head shot up, shocked at his open candor. Although Jay and Wonyoung were very much aware of your relationship, Sunghoon tended to keep the PDA away from the office. Sunghoon sent a knowing smirk your way. A way to tell you he knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he liked it. 

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic Park Sunghoon.” You flirted back sending him a small smile that you knew would drive him absolutely mad. 

“for you i’d be anything baby.” Wonyoung’s grunt of disgust broke the flirting fest the two of you were having. 

“Spare us all.” She complained, but still there was a small smirk on her face. One that said she really wasn’t all that bothered by the two of you. She loved it. 

You laugh, light and airy like you felt in that moment. “Like you and Jay aren’t always on top of eachother all the time.” 

“We do n-” 

“Yes, we do.” Jay interrupts before she could utter another word. “I don’t mind, they’re in love. Let them flirt, Won.”  

“Yeah..” Sunghoon trails. His eyes on yours “We are.”  

The morning of the presentation rises with a golden hush, sunlight sifting through your curtains like powdered gold. It spills over the sheets, over his bare back, tracing the ridges of muscle and the delicate rise and fall of his breath. The room smells like skin and sleep, like warmth you’ve grown used to waking beside. Sunghoon stirs, eyes fluttering open, and he finds you already looking at him. His lips curl into a sleepy smile. “You watching me again?”

“Always,” you whisper, your voice still threaded with dreams. He reaches out and pulls you into him, your legs tangling effortlessly. There’s a peacefulness to it, a kind of calm you didn’t think you’d ever get to have. You don’t speak for a while. Just lie there, breathing together in sync, the calm before the storm. The presentation is in a few hours, the culmination of months of ideas and revisions, of whispered meetings and sparks behind locked office doors. But none of that matters right now not when he kisses your shoulder like he’s promising you forever in silence.

The world tilts.

Your breath catches. Your eyes glaze. And the room falls away in one cruel sweep. In its place is sterile white. Bright, blinding. The kind of light that doesn’t bring warmth, only fear. You’re standing in a hospital corridor, the walls humming with fluorescent dread. Nurses rush past you, voices sharp and clipped. And then you see him. Sunghoon. But not the Sunghoon you know. Not the one who smiles like sin and kisses like salvation. He’s lying on a hospital bed, still as stone, wires snaking from his chest, from his arms, from his scalp. Machines beep in jagged rhythms, cruel little lullabies counting down to something inevitable. 

He looks pale. Hollow.

Dead.

A doctor turns to the others. “We’re losing him. There’s not much time—”

“No,” you breathe. “No, no—” You stumble forward in the vision, chest aching with a pain too big for your ribs. You’re screaming his name but no one hears you. It’s like you’re not even there. You reach for him, desperate to hold his hand, to shake him awake, to do something. But then like a gunshot to the head- darkness. 

You’re yanked back into the present like a diver breaking the surface after too long underwater. Your lungs seize. Your body jolts. You sit upright in bed, heart galloping against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Y/n?” Sunghoon is already up, panic etched into every line of his face. “Hey—what happened?” You blink at him, throat raw. Your hands are shaking. Your mouth opens, then closes. What was that? 

You clutch the sheet around you, the image of him lying on that bed seared into your memory like a brand. You can still hear the flatline in your ears. “Talk to me,” he pleads, scooting closer, brushing the hair from your damp forehead. “You’re scaring me.” But you can’t find the words. You don’t even know what this means. All you know is that it felt too real. Too visceral. Like a ghost of a future that hasn’t yet happened. And you’d never felt fear like that. Not even when you lost your grandmother. Not even when your father died without goodbye. Because this was Sunghoon. And he was gone in your arms. “I’m okay,” you lie, voice shredded. “I just—bad dream.” 

He pulls you into his chest, wraps his arms around you like a shield. “It’s over now,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.” And you let yourself believe him. Just for a second. But the image won’t leave you. Not even when you get dressed. Not even when you walk into the boardroom hours later, hand in hand, presenting your final vision to an audience of executives and strangers. Not even when you see the pride in his eyes as he watches you speak, like you’ve somehow always belonged to this exact moment. Because beneath the suit, beneath the smile, beneath everything he is, there’s still that hospital bed, cold and waiting. And you? 

You’re terrified that someday, somehow, it won’t be a dream. You shallow your breath, allowing yourself to fall back into the resolve the Sunghoon was giving you. “I’m sorry.” You say. 

“Don't be sorry, baby.” Sunghoon plants a small kiss to the side of your head. “Do you want to talk about it?” But you shake your head no. This was the morning of a very important presentation. You can’t allow something like a vision..or a dream? To break your balance. 

Sunghoon decides on taking a shower together and you can honestly say it was the best idea he's had all morning. Letting the warmth of the shower water fall over you like a security blanket did good for your quaking anxiety. The two of you savored your time together before it was time for what was no doubt going to be a stressful presentation. 

The conference room gleams with sterile promise,  all white walls, steel accents, and the flicker of rain pressing hard against the windows like it’s trying to get in, trying to drown the whole day in gray. The storm has soaked the city in gloom, made the roads reflective, the sky a bruise. It’s the kind of weather that clings to your clothes, your hair, your spirit. Still, you sit tall. You're perched at the long, lacquered table beside Sunghoon, Wonyoung and Jay across from you. The CEO sits at the head, aloof and unreadable, surrounded by a few of Suyu’s management staff. The mood is already tense, the kind of tight that makes every throat clear feel like a bullet ricochet. You're clutching the presentation clicker like a lifeline. 

And then she arrives. Suyu steps into the room like she owns every inch of it, her heels tapping with the arrogance of someone used to the world bowing before her. She’s wrapped in designer spite — sunglasses still on despite the indoor lighting, lips already pursed in disdain. Her team trails behind her like shadows, but she commands the storm all on her own. “Sorry I’m late,” she says without sounding remotely sorry. She doesn’t offer a reason. Doesn’t need to. She knows no one here would dare call her out. Her gaze flickers across the room, then lands on you. And stays there.

A slow, venomous smile curves her mouth. You know that look. You’ve seen it on girls in high school, in boardrooms, in battlefields dressed as brunch tables, the kind that hides a knife behind lip gloss. But you refuse to flinch. You return the smile, polite, professional. Determined. Even if your stomach is already turning. Even if you know something isn’t right. Because before the meeting, as you and Sunghoon stood tucked in a corner hallway, nerves vibrating between you, he kissed you. Not a small, fleeting thing but a real kiss. A grounding, you-got-this kind of kiss. You thought you were alone. You weren’t. Suyu had seen it. 

You caught the flicker of her figure at the edge of your vision as you pulled away, the flash of her hair like a flag of warning disappearing around the corner. But she didn’t say anything then. She’s saying it now, in the set of her mouth. In the storm behind her eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” she drawls, sliding into her seat. 

You rise. Your voice is steady. You begin to speak. You talk about the concept, the vision, the artistry, the story you built with your bare hands. The cover design, sleek and dreamlike, a blend of sharp femininity and rebellious edge. You talk about the themes you studied from her past work, the ways you’ve tried to elevate her image without losing what made her iconic. You worked your soul into this. 

Halfway through your explanation, Suyu starts to scoff. Loudly. You ignore it. Keep going. Then she interrupts. “I’m sorry, are we seriously pretending this is good?” The room stills. Your mouth goes dry. “I mean, really?” she sneers, crossing her arms. “This looks like something a design intern from a knockoff fashion school would make after drinking two energy drinks and crying over her ex.” Your hands grip the edge of the table. Wonyoung’s eyes flash in defense, but she stays silent. Jay’s jaw tightens. Sunghoon doesn’t move.

“I wanted fierce. I wanted iconic,” Suyu continues. “Not this sad, watered-down Tumblr board with delusions of grandeur.” You swallow. “I can explain the—” 

“Oh, please don’t. You’ve explained enough. I don’t need to be walked through mediocrity.” A flicker of laughter comes from someone on her team. And it hurts. But not as much as when the CEO leans forward and says, “She’s not entirely wrong. This doesn’t feel aligned with Suyu’s brand.” Your breath catches. Your fingers shake around the clicker. You turn to Sunghoon, desperate for something. A word. A hand. A glance. Something to say you’re not alone. He sighs. The hurt had only started to seep into your bones when sunghoon nodded, a simple nod of agreement was what tore your heart in half. Yanking it from your body and smashing it to pieces on the floor in front of you. “I told you we should’ve gone with the second mock-up,” he says. “This one doesn’t hit the mark.” 

It’s not just the words. It’s the casualness of them. Like you’re not standing there bleeding. Your heart tears clean in two. You stare at him. Unblinking. Unmoving. The man who once said he loved you while holding your hand in the snow now sits there like you’re just another person in the room. A stranger he happens to know. Suyu’s smile curls. “Maybe you should stick to something you’re actually good at,” she says sweetly, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Like kissing your boss in public hallways. That seemed more in your lane.” And there it is. The dagger, ​​Slammed into your chest and twisted with precision. 

Wonyoung rises to her feet. “That’s enough.” But it’s not. It’s far from enough. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You gather your notes. You click the laptop shut. And then you speak. “Thank you for the feedback,” you say. “I’ll revise the design.” Your voice is steady. Your hands are not. The storm outside begins to weep harder against the glass, like the sky is mourning with you. You turn without another word, walking out with the sound of your name left echoing in Sunghoon’s throat — unheard, too late. And somewhere in the distance, a red string frays.

You were humiliated, destroyed, disgusted. How dare he. How fucking dare he. You had all agreed on the design, all. You had all worked tirelessly on the cover for months now. It was not just you. Sunghoon had warned you that you were their scapegoat but to not even defend you when you were being torn in half? Not even an ounce of accountability. How fucking dare he. You were livid, you couldn’t even see straight as your eyes blurred with tears threatening to spill.

You don’t remember running. You only remember the sound your heels make against the marble floors- sharp, frantic, echoing behind you like a second heartbeat. Like guilt chasing your ankles. Like shame trying to wrap its claws around your throat. The doors burst open, and the cold hits you like a slap. The sky is sobbing. Fat, angry raindrops fall in sheets, soaking through your blouse, your skin, your bones. It’s as if the universe itself has decided to mourn your dignity.

You don't have an umbrella. You don’t care. You just run. Your breaths come out in ragged, uneven stutters. You can’t stop seeing their faces. Suyu’s cruel smirk, the board’s blank indifference, and worst of all- his. Sunghoon. Sitting there. Saying nothing. Letting it happen. His silence was louder than any insult they could have thrown. A betrayal more cutting than any blade.“I told you we should’ve gone with the second mock-up.” 

He might as well have said, I don’t believe in you. I never did.

The words keep replaying, rewinding, looping until they stitch themselves into the lining of your chest. You make it to the sidewalk, the rain pounding harder, your tears indistinguishable from the storm. Your fingers tremble as you wrap your arms around yourself, like maybe you can hold the pieces of your heart in place before they fall entirely apart. But then- A hand on your wrist. Firm. Familiar. “Y/N—please,” Sunghoon’s voice cracks through the rain, desperate, raw. “Just wait—listen to me.” 

You spin around, water dripping down your cheeks, your hair plastered to your face. “Why? So you can say I told you so again? So you can throw me under the bus a second time? Was watching them humiliate me not enough for you?!” His mouth opens. Closes. He looks like he’s been punched. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie to me,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Not now. Not after everything.” You try to pull away but he doesn’t let go. And that’s when it happens. The world vanishes. Time fractures. You’re no longer in the rain. You’re back there.

Bright lights. White walls. The cold sterility of a hospital room seeping into your bones. You’re on your knees. Screaming. Doctors surround a still body on a bed. Tubes. Wires. The sound of machines flatlining. Your voice is raw with anguish. You’re clawing at someone—anyone—begging, pleading.

“Please—no—don’t—_bring him back, please—_he can’t be gone—he can’t be—” And then the words you will never forget: “Time of death—7:46 PM.” You hear them like a bell tolling inside your ribcage, like a countdown to the end of the world. You watch Sunghoon’s chest stilled beneath the sheet. You see your own face; twisted with disbelief, with agony, with a kind of grief that doesn’t come from this world. 

Your voice breaks through the flashback, one last scream: “SUNGHOON—!” And then you’re back—but barely. The rain is still falling, and his hand is still wrapped around your wrist. You look down at it like it’s the thing that killed you. And with a sharp, guttural sob, you yank it away. Like his hand was on fire and you were burning, burning from the rage and the humiliation and from your breaking point. A breaking point that was bound to come. 

You were a ticking time bomb of emotions, you missed your grandmother, you missed the comfort of your red bracelet, funny enough you missed your parents and the father you never got the chance to say goodbye to, that too stolen from you. 

You miss the childhood you never had, one filled with love and reassurance. One where you didnt feel like a burden but like a gift. You hated that this was your life, that you were always second best even in the most mundane of places. 

“Don’t touch me!” you cry, voice shattering. “Don’t ever touch me again!” He stares at you, completely soaked, completely stunned. “Y/N—what—what just happened—” But you’re already stumbling backward. Away. From him. From the pain. From whatever this is turning into. 

You bolt into the street, blind with heartbreak, with fury, with something you don’t even have a name for. And behind you; his voice. Desperate. Terrified. “Y/N—watch out—!” You turn too late. A flash of headlights. A screech. Then-  Nothing.Just blackness, folding you in like a final breath. And the rain keeps falling, like the sky is crying for both of you.

The first thing you feel is the weight. Heavy, like you’ve been asleep for centuries. Your body is lead, your limbs sunken deep into stiff hospital sheets that smell like bleach and absence. Your mouth is dry. Your head aches. Your skin is sore, like the bruises haven’t bloomed yet but are waiting, just beneath the surface. The beeping of a heart monitor slices through the fog. You open your eyes.

The ceiling is too white. The light overhead buzzes with the subtle hum of sterility. You turn your head, slowly like moving through water and see the pale curtain that separates your bed from the rest of the world. It stirs slightly from the hum of an unseen vent, like a ghost brushing its fingers against your reality. You glance down at your wrist. Your breath catches in your throat. There it is. The red string. 

Thin, delicate, impossibly bright in the sterile light. Wound gently around your wrist like it never left. Like it belonged there all along. You sit up too quickly, dizziness punches the edge of your vision, but you push through it, heart hammering in your chest like a trapped thing. You look out the window. Grey clouds churn like smoke against the sky. Rain clings to the glass in streaks, as if the world has been weeping without you. You press the call button. A nurse rushes in, kind eyes and a clipboard clutched to her chest. “You’re awake,” she breathes, a smile blooming like dawn. “Thank God. You’ve been out a while.”

“You were in an accident. You’re going to be okay.” You blink. A car. That’s right. The street. The rain. Sunghoon. “What day is it?” you ask, and your voice trembles because something in your chest is already breaking. The nurse glances at the chart. “April third.” The words punch the breath from your lungs. “…What year?” you manage. “2024.”

You swallow, heart thundering like it’s trying to run from your chest. “That’s not possible.”

But she only smiles gently, like she thinks you’re confused. Like she’s seen this before. “Don’t worry, honey. Just rest. You’ll feel more like yourself tomorrow.” But you’re not even sure who you are. Because this is before. This is before everything. Before the journals. Before the office. Before Sunghoon. It’s the day of the accident. The first time. You stare down at the red thread on your wrist like it holds the answer to the unraveling of time itself. You twist it gently between your fingers, like maybe if you touch it long enough, you’ll remember how to breathe.

You don’t know what kind of trick the universe is playing. You don’t know why it’s giving you another beginning. But your heart already knows one thing for sure. Somehow, somewhere; Sunghoon exists. He has to. Your chest heaves with the weight of it, lungs tight with questions that have no place in this timeline. That hospital light is still buzzing above, casting everything in a strange half-glow, like you're caught in the moment between lightning and thunder waiting for something to strike. The red string clings to your wrist like it never left. Like it knew.

“Was there… was there a man?” you ask suddenly, voice raw, broken from something older than your waking. The nurse looks up from the monitor she’s checking. “A man?” 

“Was he hit, too?” You sit straighter in the bed despite the protest of your bruised ribs, your fingers clutching the blanket like it's the only thing keeping you tethered. “Outside. In the rain. I— I remember him.” The nurse hesitates, then softens. “Yes… there was someone else. A young man. He pushed you out of the way before the car hit.” 

Your mouth falls open, lips parting like they’re trying to catch a breath that won’t come. “What—what does he look like?” She sighs gently, like she’s already replayed this conversation in her mind. “Tall. Dark hair. Pale skin. He had a bracelet, I think. Something red around his wrist.” You nearly choke on your breath. “Park Sunghoon?” The name escapes your lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. 

The nurse freezes. Then she nods. You can't speak. He’s here. He was real. Not just a dream, not just a creation of grief and longing- he’s real. And he saved you before he even knew your name. “Can I see him?” you whisper, barely audible. “Please. I need to see him.” 

It takes time. Paperwork. Permission. A quiet nod from someone behind the desk. Then the wheels of your bed begin to move, and the world around you shifts as they push you down the too-bright hallway, every fluorescent light a drumbeat in your chest. You don’t know what you expect when they wheel you into the room, but it isn’t this. Sunghoon lies still beneath pale blue sheets. Monitors blink softly at his side, IV lines like threads of spun glass winding into the curve of his wrist. He looks too still. Too quiet. His skin is waxen, the color of snowclouds. His lashes fan over cheeks that hold no warmth. He could be sleeping- but the stillness has a weight to it. The kind that feels like silence after music has died. 

“They’re not sure if he’ll wake up,” the nurse murmurs, lingering near the door. “His brain took the worst of it.” You nod once, wooden. Silent. Then the door clicks shut behind her. You are alone with him. And he doesn't know you. You pull your blanket closer around your shoulders, trying to hold in the warmth that suddenly seeps out of you like mist. You wheel yourself closer to his bedside, trembling fingers reaching out- but not quite touching. 

“You don’t know me,” you whisper. The words slice your throat on the way out. “You don’t know my name. You don’t know the way I laugh when I’m nervous, or how I cry when someone talks about their grandmother.” You laugh, a hollow thing. “You don’t know that I drink tea when I’m anxious, or that I never learned to whistle.” Your eyes burn. “I know that you hated my first cover design. I know that you have a terrible poker face and that you secretly adore puns even though you pretend not to. I know that you’re stubborn and serious and kind in the quietest, most impossible ways.” 

“But I also know that none of that’s happened yet. Not here. Not in this version of us.” The red thread lies between you both, as if waiting. “He saved me,” you say aloud, voice crumbling like old paper. “Before he ever knew me.” You reach forward, gently resting your hand over his; cool, unmoving. “I don’t know why this is happening. Why the universe spun the clock backward. But if it brought me here to find you again…” 

You lean closer, forehead nearly brushing the edge of his bed. “…Then I’ll wait. I’ll find a way to make you fall in love with me again. Even if I have to start all over. Even if it takes years. Even if you never remember a single moment.” Your voice breaks on the last word. You sit there in silence, the storm outside casting shadows across the floor. And somewhere, deep beneath the machines and the stillness- You think he might squeeze your hand. Just barely. 

It’s only when the stillness settles, soft and cold as snowfall, that you notice it, his wrist. Peeking out from beneath the hospital blanket, slack and pale in the hush of machines, lies a single braided thread. Red as pomegranate wine. Frayed at the edge, worn, but unmistakable. Your eyes widen. Your breath stalls. It’s the same. The same bracelet. The same shade, the same knot, the same tiny bead like a drop of dried blood tucked between the threads. He still has it on. Your hand trembles as you lift your own wrist, laying it beside his on the edge of the bed. The two strings look like they’ve been waiting all this time, twin threads from different cloths, now side by side, humming quietly in the silence of the room. 

It steals the air from your lungs. The stories your grandmother whispered flicker to life behind your eyes. The red string never breaks. Even when cut, it finds its way back. You’d doubted it- how could you not? After everything. After losing him. After watching him disappear in that final flash of memory and headlights. But now? Now the thread lies between you, unmistakable and real. 

And then he breathes. A gasp. Wet and sudden. You jolt back in shock, eyes darting to his face as his chest rises in a shallow breath, then another. His lashes flutter. His lips part. He’s waking up. He’s waking up and you don’t exist to him here. Your heart stutters, cracking open like thin ice under too much weight. You scramble up from the chair, nearly knocking it over in your rush. “I—I’m sorry. I got the wrong room. I’ll get the doctor—” But before you can turn to flee, before your fingers even brush the call button-

“…Y/n?” It’s so soft you almost miss it. A breath more than a word. A tremble more than a voice. But it’s your name. You freeze, eyes wide, back still turned. “…Y/n,” he says again, a little stronger this time, as if drawing your name up from some hidden place in his bones. You turn slowly, not daring to believe. His eyes are open now, barely, but they’re there. Dark and dazed and clumsy with pain. He’s looking at you like you’re a dream crawling out of the dark. Like he doesn’t know what’s real and what’s just memory, but you- you, he remembers. “How…?” you whisper, barely able to breathe. 

His lips twitch into something like a smile. Weak. Trembling. “Your voice,” he murmurs. “I knew it.”

You stumble back toward his bed, tears burning down your cheeks like fire. “You… remember?” 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Not all of it. Just pieces. Feelings. I saw you before I woke up. I felt… like I lost you.” Your hands clutch at the blanket, at your own chest, trying to keep yourself together as your heart swells to fill every broken place. “I thought you wouldn’t know me,” you say through a sob. “I thought I’d have to find you again. Start all over. Make you fall in love with me a second time.” 

He blinks slowly, exhaustion drawing shadows under his eyes. But his fingers twitch, reaching weakly toward you. “You already did,” he says. “In every version of this world… I think I would love you.” 

You sit beside him, hand trembling as it hovers over his. The machines beep quietly, like lullabies sung in code, and outside the clouds churn, endless shades of grey bruising the morning light. But none of it touches you. Not really. Because Sunghoon is awake, and he remembers you. Even though he shouldn’t. Even though this is a time before he should know your name, before your first meeting was ever supposed to happen. Still, he looks at you like you are a story he’s read a thousand times, and only now understands the ending. He turns his wrist slowly, eyes drifting down to the red bracelet wrapped around yours.

“It was always you,” he murmurs, voice soft and unsteady. “Even before I knew it.” You inhale shakily, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “How?” you whisper. “How do you remember me?” His gaze lifts, lashes damp from pain and memory.

“I had dreams,” he says. “Or… I thought they were dreams. Every time I touched you—I’d see something. Sometimes it was nothing more than a flicker. A flash. You smiling under golden light. A hallway I didn’t recognize. Your voice calling my name in the dark.” He closes his eyes briefly, breath hitching. “But then… every time I touched you, it got stronger. Clearer. And near the end—I saw you dying. I saw you bleeding and screaming and I couldn’t reach you. I’d wake up choking. I didn’t understand why.”

Your fingers clutch at the sheet. “In mine,” you whisper, “you were the one dying.” His eyes flutter open again, searching your face. “You had the red string. I never did. Not in the dreams.” 

A beat. And then another. The air between you crackles with something ancient. Something bigger than time “The string connected to you,” he says, voice thick. “I think it was showing your side. Like the dreams were through my eyes, but your pain. Your memories.” You stare down at the bracelets—his, tucked beneath pale hospital linen. Yours, worn and dulled but still whole. And then the truth falls between you, like a thread slipping back into the eye of the needle. “We’re soul ties,” you say, the words trembling out of you. “Not just lovers. Not just fate. We’re pieces of each other.” 

Sunghoon swallows. “The string wasn’t just some story, was it?” You shake your head, heart pulsing against your ribs like a caged thing. “No. Our grandparents… they had this once too. My grandmother told me stories. She loved a man she could never be with. She said the string would return—find its way through generations if it had to.” 

His eyes shine. “My grandfather gave me this bracelet before he passed. Said it was for ‘when the thread comes back.’ I thought he was being poetic.” You let out a soft, broken laugh. “Mine told me the same.” And for a moment, you are quiet together. Wrapped in this wild, impossible truth. A love so old it circled back. A thread so stubborn it refused to break. Worn by your grandparents. Given to you.

Soul ties. Lovers across lifetimes. The one that got away, born again in a heartbeat and a car crash. “I’m sorry I ever doubted it,” you say, tears slipping down your cheeks. Sunghoon smiles weakly, thumb brushing your wrist. “I’m not. I think we needed to doubt it. To fight it. So that when we stopped… we knew it was real.”

And suddenly the pain of the past doesn't feel like a punishment anymore. It feels like a bridge. A path winding through lifetimes, across heartbreak and death and fate bending back on itself like a red thread pulled tight. You reach for his hand, fingers sliding into his gently. The bracelets touch. The strings align. “I love you,” you whisper, for the first time in this life with your whole soul behind it.

The red string of fate had brought the two of you together, in something so magical and true. More magical than your grandmother had ever described before. Something you wished she 

would have gotten to feel at a scale that you did, in this very moment with sunghoon.

Epilogue

One year later 

The sky is soft that morning draped in cotton grey and trimmed with streaks of early gold. The kind of sky that doesn’t need to dazzle to feel holy. The kind your grandmother used to call a good omen. You stand outside the little toy shop at the corner of the old neighborhood. It’s quiet, the shutters half-open, a chime ringing as you step inside. The air smells like sawdust and lavender, memories and beginnings.

It took time to get here, months of healing, of relearning how to breathe without bracing for grief, of sorting through boxes and stories and broken pieces of the past. You and Sunghoon didn’t rush. You stitched yourselves back together gently, one soft moment at a time. The shop isn’t just your parents’ anymore. It’s yours. It’s new. It’s old. It’s both. Just like your love. Sunghoon’s laughter echoes from the back room, followed by a thud and a quiet curse. You smile, setting the "Grand Reopening" sign in the window.

He appears a moment later, hair tousled and cheeks pink from effort, holding a tiny wind-up ballerina in one hand. “She spins like you when you’re tipsy,” he grins. You roll your eyes. “So, gracefully?”

“Sure,” he teases. “Let’s go with that.” You take it from him and place it on the shelf, right beside a row of handmade music boxes you designed together. There’s a rhythm in everything now. A shared breath. A new life. Wonyoung and Jay come by in the afternoon, arms full of flowers and cake. The four of you spend the day laughing, telling stories, pretending not to see the way Jay looks at Wonyoung when she’s not looking.

Later, after the lights are off and the door is locked behind you, you and Sunghoon walk home under a sky that has cleared into starlight. The city sleeps around you, but your hearts are wide awake. Fingers intertwined, you glance down at the bracelets on your wrists. Still there. Still unbroken The red string doesn’t glow. It doesn’t hum. It simply exists. A quiet truth. A promise kept across time. Sunghoon squeezes your hand. “What do you think our grandparents would say?”

You smile. “That we finally got it right.” And with that, you lean into him, the night folding around you both like a story ending in its rightful place. A love lost once. Returned again. And this time- held tight enough to never let go. Every now and again, Sunghoon would whisper “In every walk of life I will love you.” You knew in your entire body and soul that that was true. 

тαgℓιѕт ★ - (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah , @simj4k3 , @sangiewife , @hyunj00 , @firstclassjaylee , @teddybeartaetae , @i-am-not-dal

[solxamber]

Sync or Sink || Vil Schoenheit

You, an overworked S-Class esper with the survival instincts of a damp sock, catch the eye of SSS-Class guide Vil Schoenheit. He decides you’re his personal fixer-upper project. Shockingly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

The world was already hanging on by a thread — economic collapse, melting ice caps, influencers starting cults via TikTok. It was a mess. You’d think that would be enough. You’d hope that would be enough. But no. Some ancient cosmic being — probably named something dramatic like Thar’zul the Chronovore — looked down at Earth and said, “You know what this needs? Fun.”

And by fun, it meant Gates.

Gates are like if cursed portals, radioactive sinkholes, and a haunted Etsy store had a baby. They pop up anywhere and everywhere: in libraries, parking garages, yoga studios, even in the middle of someone’s wedding ceremony. (“Do you take this—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”)

These glowing tears in the fabric of reality are basically open invitations to every monster, demon, and unholy abomination in the neighborhood. And if left unchecked, they break, releasing those nightmares into your already-taxed existence like a hellish game of whack-a-mole.

But don't worry! Humanity, against all odds, did not die out immediately.

Because the universe, in its infinite chaos, also gave rise to Espers. Special little guys. Think emotional time bombs with telekinetic temper tantrums and the ability to level buildings if they stub their toe too hard. Espers are the only ones who can suppress Gates and fight back the monsters. They're strong, fast, powerful—and also dangerously dramatic.

Like, “cries during dog food commercials” dramatic. “Blew up a vending machine because it ate their dollar” dramatic. If they don’t have someone helping them regulate their powers (and by extension, their feelings), they’re a walking nuclear disaster waiting to happen.

Which brings us to Guides.

Guides are born with the power to soothe, ground, and stabilize Espers before they turn into emotional IEDs. They go through rigorous training. They meditate. They are the human equivalent of “have you tried deep breathing?”—except instead of calming down toddlers, they’re keeping an Esper from melting the freeway with their grief-powered fireballs.

This entire survival system hinges on compatibility between Espers and Guides. Sounds romantic, right? It’s not. It’s mostly screaming, paperwork, and sometimes unspoken sexual tension.

So, to recap:

Gates = Bad.

Espers = Powerful but emotionally unstable.

Guides = The only thing standing between civilization and utter monster-induced ruin.

Together, Espers and Guides form the first — and only — line of defense between humanity and total monster-induced annihilation.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, this system hinges entirely on two people getting along.

Which, as anyone who's ever been in a group project can tell you, is a complete joke.

The Gate had been rough. You were bleeding, caked in monster goop, and running on exactly one granola bar, four energy drinks, and pure spite. Monsters just kept coming—one after another like it was a clearance sale on eldritch horror—and now your knees were shaking, your head was pounding, and you were 99% sure you were hallucinating the talking goat that told you to “go into the light.”

You stumbled out of the Gate zone, vision blurry. There were Guides waiting beyond the perimeter, crisp in their uniforms, radiant with that “I got 8 hours of sleep and drink water” glow. Unfortunately, most of them had already been snagged by the other Espers, who were quicker, cleaner, and not currently dripping ectoplasm from their sleeve.

You blinked. The only one left was… well, no. That couldn’t be right.

Standing a few feet away, untouched and oddly pristine, was a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine shoot titled "War-Torn But Make It Couture."

Tall, composed, and stunning in a way that made your brain short-circuit, he was clearly someone Important™. The other S-Ranks had actively avoided him, which should’ve been a clue. But your frontal lobe was melting. You didn’t have the bandwidth to care.

You wobbled forward like a dying Roomba, grabbed a handful of his sleek uniform, and mumbled, “Guide. That’s you, right?”

And then you slumped forward and face-planted directly onto his collarbone.

There was a pause.

“…Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, incredulously.

You groaned. “Yeah. You’re a Guide. You’ve got the badge.”

Another pause. Longer, this time.

He sounded… offended. And faintly intrigued.

“…You don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” you mumbled into his neck.

You didn’t see the expression on his face, but if your ears weren’t lying, he audibly gasped. Like someone had just told him dry shampoo was canceled. Like the very idea of not being recognized was a personal attack.

But instead of pushing you off, he slowly brought a hand up, fingers grazing your temple. You felt a wave of warmth radiate through your skull like a breath of fresh air had crawled into your ribcage.

It was… good. Too good.

A jolt of relief punched through your nervous system. Your heart rate settled. The Gate static stopped screaming in your ears. Your whole body sagged, weightless and calm, and you barely had time to mutter “holy shit you’re good at this” before your knees gave out completely.

You passed out in his arms.

And Vil Schoenheit—SSS-Rank Guide, national treasure, and walking perfection—stood there holding your limp, grime-covered, unconscious form with a complicated look on his face.

You came back to consciousness the way a phone boots up after being thrown into a wall. Slow, glitchy, and confused.

Something was warm under you. Something was very firm. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the strange sensation of not being in pain anymore. The Gate headache was gone. Your soul no longer felt like it had been sandpapered. You were, inexplicably, comfortable.

That’s when you realized: you were still wrapped around the fancy Guide like a human backpack.

Face: mashed against his shoulder. Legs: around his waist. Arms: locked in a desperate hug like a koala going through a rough breakup. And he… was just sitting there. On a recovery bench. Completely calm. Holding you like this was something that happened to him all the time.

“Oh,” you mumbled, sleep-dazed. “My bad.”

He tilted his head, glossy hair catching the light like it had a sponsorship deal with a shampoo brand. “Are you done?” he asked, voice sharp. “Or shall I assume you’ve permanently relocated to my clavicle?”

You peeled yourself off him with all the grace of wet laundry sliding off a countertop. “Thanks for, uh, not letting me die,” you offered, scratching your head.

He stared at you for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”

You blinked. “…A Guide?”

He inhaled. Visibly. Offended on a spiritual level. The look on his face could’ve soured milk. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Are you actively trying to offend me?”

“What? You’ve got the badge! That’s all I need, right?”

Vil Schoenheit—as he introduced himself—flicked you on the forehead. It was somehow both dismissive and full of judgment. “Recover. Properly.” he snapped, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. “You’re lucky I’m magnanimous.”

He swept out of the room like a disgruntled ballerina.

You blinked after him, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell was that about?”

A nurse walked in and immediately gasped like she'd just witnessed a royal birth. “Oh my Seven—was that Vil?!”

“Vil… who?” you asked, trying not to sound like an idiot.

She turned to you so fast her clipboard flew off the counter. “Vil Schoenheit. SSS Guide. He’s a legend. Do you have any idea how many Espers have tried to bond with him and been turned away in tears?”

You stared at the door where he’d just vanished. “No? He just kinda… guided me.”

The nurse screeched. “YOU JUST KINDA GOT GUIDED—are you INSANE? That man once made a Grade-SS Esper cry because they wore Crocs to an informal debriefing!”

You slowly sat back against the pillow, eyes wide.

“…I told him ‘oops sorry lol.’”

You were still internally combusting about the whole “Oops sorry lol” situation when you finally worked up the nerve to go to Vil’s office. Not to bond—you weren’t delusional—but at the very least, to apologize. Maybe offer him a thank-you fruit basket. Or one of those luxury hair masks. Something.

Espers were better paid than Guides. That wasn’t a flex—it was just how the system worked. You’d always thought it was kind of unfair, but now, standing outside his office, you suddenly felt even worse. Because if Vil was being underpaid to deal with Espers, plural, like you? He deserved hazard pay.

You raised a shaky fist and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

The door opened, and you were hit with the distinct scent of wealth, vintage cologne, and spiritual intimidation. The office looked like it belonged in a magazine titled Power & Passive Aggression: Interiors for the Elite. It had velvet chairs. A chandelier. And on the floor, sobbing, was an SS-ranked Esper.

“Please,” she was whispering, clutching Vil’s coat like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “Please, just once. I know I’m not SSS, but my compatibility score is so close—”

“I don’t guide based on some arbitrary number,” Vil said coolly, extracting himself with the same disdain you'd use to avoid stepping in gum. “I guide based on worth.”

You were already edging away when his eyes snapped up—and softened.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked, voice shifting so drastically in tone it gave you whiplash.

“I—uh. I just wanted to apologize. For, you know. The slumping. And the drool. And the calling you ‘a Guide’ like you’re not the Guide.” You laughed nervously. “Also. Uh. I can repay you?”

He stared at you like you’d offered to give him pocket lint.

Then, without even glancing at the SS Esper still on the floor, he waved a perfectly manicured hand and said, “Leave.”

She looked up, stunned. “W-what?”

“I said leave.” His voice sharpened like glass under velvet. “Now.”

You watched her scramble out in silence. Then Vil turned to you, posture relaxing like you were an entirely different species of Esper.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the velvet chair.

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your legs moved like they belonged to someone else.

“I didn’t come here to be guided,” you said quickly. “I just thought I’d offer some compensation since you took care of me back at the Gate, and—”

“Hush.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t guide you for compensation,” Vil said, moving closer, “and I certainly don’t require repayment.”

“But I—”

“Do not interrupt me,” he said smoothly, placing his hand just under your jaw and tilting your head with two fingers. “Close your eyes.”

You did.

And just like before, the storm in your chest went still.

He hadn’t even made full contact yet, and already your frayed nerves calmed, your aching muscles relaxed, and that hollow echo left by the Gate quieted.

You opened your mouth to speak again—because, honestly, who wouldn’t panic under that much raw focus—but his voice cut in before a single syllable escaped:

“Did I say you could talk?”

You shut your mouth.

Vil smiled. Like he’d just won something important, and wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.

“Good. You learn quickly.”

You staggered out of the Gate like a soldier crawling back from the front lines of a war no one believed in. Your clothes were singed, your limbs were shaking, your skin was buzzing with leftover energy that had nowhere to go, and your brain was running the Windows 95 shutdown noise on loop. You had fought monsters for the past hour with all the grace of a dying blender.

Everything hurt. Your body felt like it had been used as a battering ram. Your soul felt like it had been microwaved.

So when you saw the sweet, merciful glow of a Guide badge ahead in the crowd, your instincts took over. You staggered forward like a half-dead Roomba on its last cycle, locked onto the nearest beacon of safety.

The Guide in question had orange hair and the smug look of someone who thought they were God’s gift to humanity despite the fact they were clearly holding a vape pen and a clipboard.

You didn’t care.

You lurched toward him, arms outstretched like a cryptid emerging from the woods.

“BRO NO,” he yelped. “DUDE, I’M NOT CERTIFIED FOR THIS LEVEL OF TRAUMA—DON’T PUKE ON ME—”

But before your forehead could connect with his very punchable shoulder, a blur of movement swept in.

You were yanked back by the collar like an untrained dog trying to bolt into traffic.

“Absolutely not,” a cool, smooth voice said with the unmistakable tone of expensive disdain. “You are not grounding with him.”

You turned sluggishly to your new captor and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Vil. Hair perfect despite the apocalyptic weather conditions of a gate zone. Wearing a coat that probably cost more than your entire existence and looking at you like you were a particularly unfortunate stain on said coat.

You blinked at him. “Am I in trouble?” you mumbled.

Vil arched a brow. “You’re seconds away from slumping onto a Guide who once tried to ground an Esper by playing lo-fi beats through his AirPods. Yes, you’re in trouble.”

You were too tired to be offended.

He sighed, took your hand, and suddenly, bliss.

Like every nerve in your body was dunked in lavender oil and told to shut up. Your breathing evened out. Your vision cleared. Your bones climbed back into their sockets like, “Our bad, we’ll behave now.”

You let him guide you to a nearby bench, too dazed to do anything but follow the magical angel who had just saved you from the worst decision of your life.

Vil sat gracefully. You slumped next to him like a dying cactus in a thunderstorm.

“Post-gate recovery is non-negotiable,” he said, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly expire in public.

You closed your eyes and focused on the cool, steady rhythm of his guidance, and then—

A crinkle.

You opened one eye to see him pull a juice box from his bag. With a bendy straw.

He inserted the straw and handed it to you like you were a toddler who’d just had a very bad day at daycare.

You stared at the juice. Then at him. “Is this for me?”

“No,” he said dryly. “It’s for the other S-class Esper currently drooling on my coat.”

You blinked, deeply touched. You took a sip.

It was… heavenly.

You made a soft noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

And then—your eyes stung.

“No,” Vil said immediately, without looking at you. “Whatever emotional reaction you’re about to have—don’t.”

You sniffled. “But you brought me juice. Nobody’s brought me juice since I got classified. Everyone just shoves me into Gates and tells me not to die.”

He flicked your forehead. “If you die, I have to find another Esper whose personality doesn’t give me hives. That sounds exhausting.”

“Are you… saying you like me?”

“I’m saying your emotional resilience is marginally less pathetic than average,” he said, adjusting your posture so your head leaned more comfortably on his shoulder. “And I don’t hate your voice.”

You sipped your juice box, trembling like a Victorian child given a warm meal for the first time.

No one had treated you like this since you joined the system. You’d been weaponized, categorized, and told to sit still and kill things on command. You were a tool. A number. A sharp object.

But Vil wasn’t afraid of your sharp edges. He looked you in the eye and said, “That’s a guide badge you’re drooling on, potato. Not a chew toy.”

And then gave you juice.

You sniffled again.

“If you sob, I will end you,” he muttered, but his hand never let go of yours.

And you knew, deep in your wrecked little Esper heart, that you would fight a thousand more gates just to be guided by him again.

Even if he bullied you the entire time.

So apparently, post-gate recovery hadn’t just been juice boxes and emotionally confusing hand-holding.

No. It turned out you had to take something called a Routine Compatibility Check for “guidance efficiency optimization.”

You hadn’t known what any of that meant, but someone had shoved a clipboard at you and told you to “go sit in the glow room and don’t touch anything,” so there you were. Sitting in a sterile white room that smelled like hand sanitizer and despair. Waiting to meet your newly assigned “guidance match.”

A door creaked open.

You turned around—and in walked a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen direct sunlight since the invention of the lightbulb. His shoulders were hunched, hoodie too big, blue glowing hair all mussed like he’d lost a fight with a hairdryer. He had eyebags for days and the posture of a raccoon caught mid-fridge-raid.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

He looked at you harder—and visibly recoiled like you’d just bit him.

“…Uhhh,” he said, voice high and trembling. “You’re the S-class?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“Oh no.”

This man looked like he was seconds from writing “HELP” on the window with a dry erase marker. His hand was already twitching toward the panic button. He was mentally Googling “what to do when assigned a battle demon.”

You opened your mouth to say something reassuring—like, “Hey, I only explode on some guides,” or “I’ve never actually flattened a building during a meltdown”—

—but the door slammed open behind you.

“Absolutely not.”

You turned around.

Vil Schoenheit stood in the doorway like the wrath of God dressed in Gucci. Impeccable coat. Sunglasses indoors. Holding a coffee cup that you knew wasn’t from the office vending machine.

He eyed the situation—your tentative shuffle toward your new guide, the way the poor guy was gripping his ID badge like a rosary—and his lip curled like someone had just handed him expired tofu.

“I’m taking them,” Vil said flatly to the Guidance Office rep standing nearby. “This is non-negotiable.”

The rep blinked. “But, Mr. Schoenheit, the match—”

“—was laughable. They’re mine.”

Your poor assigned guide looked so relieved it was almost insulting.

“Thank the stars,” he mumbled, already gathering his things like you were a bomb that’d just been safely disarmed. “No offense, but I really don’t do well with… uh… physical contact or eye contact or conflict or—”

You were too stunned to reply as Vil grabbed you by the wrist, effortlessly pivoted on his heel, and strode out of the room with you in tow like a high fashion tornado.

You stumbled after him. “Okay, hi, hello? What was that?”

“I saw your assignment,” Vil said coolly. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let that continue.”

“But—I thought you weren’t accepting new matches?”

“I’m not.”

You blinked. “So…?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, slow and deliberate, like you weren’t quite connecting the dots fast enough.

“I didn’t consider you ‘new'.”

You shut your mouth because your brain was full of static. Something about the way he said that made your knees consider filing for divorce from the rest of your body.

He guided you all the way to the elevator, in silence, while you tried to process what had just happened.

You, apparently, had been claimed.

And worst of all?

You thought you might have liked it.

It all started with a noble quest. A simple dream.

You just wanted a hoodie.

Not a fancy one. Not a designer one. Not a limited edition “inspired by the blood of fashion victims” collection. No, no. You wanted one of those oversized, marshmallow-soft hoodies that whispered “lay down and give up, my liege” every time you put it on. The kind of hoodie that could absorb emotional damage.

So there you were. Financially stable (thanks, murder gates), emotionally unstable (thanks, murder gates), and elbows-deep in a display bin labeled “3 for 2: Emotional Support Wear”, when fate struck.

Or rather, sashayed past in four-inch heels and an aura of contempt.

Vil.

You froze. He looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. Every strand of hair in place. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Cheekbones that could slice open a space-time rift. And where was he going?

Straight into a boutique so fancy it looked like it would ask you for a résumé just to step inside.

Naturally, you turned the other way. This was not your world. You were not dressed for it. You were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a questionable graphic of a goose wielding a knife. You were simply a humble raccoon-person in search of softness.

But then—

“You.”

Oh no. Oh god. Oh no god.

You turned around slowly, hoodie clutched to your chest like a shield. Vil stood there with shopping bags and the expression of someone who’d just discovered a stray in his favorite restaurant.

“Come. I need hands.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I left mine at home. Can’t help you.”

He blinked. Then, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t hear nonsense, he handed you his bags and turned around, fully expecting you to follow.

And you did. Because unfortunately, curiosity was stronger than shame.

The next hour? Was… actually kind of amazing.

Vil didn’t shop. He conquered. He moved through stores like a well-dressed storm, flinging judgment at poor fabric choices and muttering dark things about asymmetrical hemlines. Store staff parted for him like he was royalty. Other customers wilted under the weight of his gaze.

You, meanwhile, trailed after him like a high-end goblin, carrying his many, many bags, dressed like a sleep-deprived college student who had just lost a fight with a laundry machine.

It was great.

You watched him try on outfits with the kind of reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. He was graceful. Efficient. Disgustingly photogenic. You felt like you were witnessing a documentary: “The Endangered Fashion Icon in His Natural Habitat.”

And then, miraculously, he let you live.

He suggested a coffee break and even let you pay—probably out of pity. You made a mental note to deduct it as a business expense under “accidental deity encounter.”

Sitting across from him, sipping overpriced lattes, you made a joke. Something dumb. Something about a pair of jeans you'd seen that looked like they'd been personally attacked by a cheese grater.

Vil laughed.

You were not prepared.

It was real. Warm. Shockingly cute. Like, “I’ve been guiding murder monsters all week and now suddenly I believe in joy again” kind of cute.

You stared. He looked at you. You looked away, sipping your drink very intently, trying not to say “please laugh again, it heals my soul.”

You didn't say it out loud.

But you thought it really hard.

You walked into Vil's office like a responsible little murder gremlin, fully prepared for your weekly check-up guidance session.

What you were not prepared for was the sheer atmospheric rage brewing inside.

Vil was pacing like a cat who'd just realized its favorite toy was in the hands of a toddler—absolutely done with life. He was muttering to himself under his breath, phrases like, “Espers with zero gratitude... how dare they ask for guidance without a thank-you,” and, “I swear if one more person thinks my time is free like it's some kind of community resource—

He saw you, exhaled the deepest sigh known to man, and pointed at the couch like he was casting a curse. Not a word of greeting. Just The Finger of Sit.

So you sat. For about three seconds.

Then, something in your little gremlin heart said: No. He is cranky. He is suffering. This is a job for Emotional Support Esper.

You got up, walked behind him, and—without a word—started massaging his shoulders.

Vil tensed like a cat about to fight god. Then slowly—slowly—melted into it.

“This isn’t part of your session,” he grumbled, but it lacked bite. His head tilted forward, giving you better access. “You’re not guiding me, you know.”

“I’m aware,” you said, digging your thumbs in just right. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t reply. Just… breathed. It was weirdly serene. You, massaging one of the most powerful and terrifying guides in the country. Him, finally looking like he wasn’t five seconds away from incinerating someone with nothing but his glare.

Eventually, you sat back down on the couch. And then—shock of all shocks—Vil slumped down next to you.

No dramatic speech. No biting commentary. Just one very exhausted, very overworked guide leaning on your shoulder like gravity had personally betrayed him.

“…Don’t say a word about this,” he murmured, eyes already closed. He reached for your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and held it tight.

You stayed there for a long time.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

You just sat with him in silence, wondering how the hell you’d gone from emotional demolition expert to comfort pillow. And, weirdly, feeling kind of honored.

You weren’t sure how you got home, but judging by the trail of blood, sludge, and crushed energy drink cans leading up the stairs, you had clearly made the journey using sheer spite and possibly a small miracle. Your legs moved on autopilot, powered by rage, trauma, and about four remaining brain cells—none of which were cooperating.

You’d just come back from a gate that had gone so poorly, it might as well have been cursed by the gods, the devs, and your second-grade math teacher. Breach. Casualties. Screaming.

There was definitely a moment where you almost flung a monster into a building and then screamed louder when you realized it was the emergency response building. Whoops.

It wasn’t even your assigned gate. It was a last-minute scramble. You and a handful of other S-rank espers were yanked in because the gate was behaving badly. Like, “snarling, vomiting monsters that defied physics” badly. And you—foolish, heroic, caffeine-soaked gremlin that you were—ran in first like someone had dared you.

You fought. You fought so hard you forgot your own name for about two hours. And still, people died. People always died. But this time, it felt like too many. You saw a little kid’s shoe and had a breakdown mid-punch. You tried to do everything, and your body just… stopped cooperating.

You didn’t even get guided afterward.

Vil wasn't at this gate. The other guides were all assigned or recovering themselves. Some were crying. A few had fainted from strain.

And you? You looked around, felt your knees give out a little, then just muttered “okay cool” and left like a ghost clocking out after a double shift at a haunted Wendy’s.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were so dissociated you forgot how doors worked. You stood outside yours for a full minute before realizing the knob turned left. You walked in, left your boots and weapon where they fell, and didn’t even consider locking the door behind you.

Let fate come. Let a gate burst into your living room. Let some criminal wander in and steal your furniture. That was Future You’s problem. Current You was Busy.

You peeled yourself out of your battle gear like a sad, oversized fruit roll-up, leaving it in a heap that would absolutely start growing mold by tomorrow. You wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for three solid minutes, and then closed it again. There was nothing in there but expired yogurt, an empty ketchup bottle, and the overwhelming sense of despair. Just like your soul.

Your eyes landed on the couch. You made eye contact. It made eye contact back.

You didn’t go to your bed. The bed had too much hope. The couch? The couch knew. The couch had seen things. It was your emotional support furniture, and it beckoned you with lumpy cushions and the faint scent of Febreze and failure.

You collapsed into it with the grace of a dying walrus, grabbed the nearest throw blanket like a life raft, and curled up.

Your muscles throbbed. Your eyes were dry, too tired to cry. Your heart was heavy and hollow, a contradiction wrapped in fatigue.

You didn’t call the Guidance Office.

You didn’t reach for your communicator.

You didn’t even consider getting guided.

Because why would you?

You hadn’t earned it.

Guidance was for espers who did good. Who came back whole. Who saved people and feel okay about it.

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Least of all Vil—the most terrifyingly elegant guide in existence, whose soothing voice could calm a charging bull but whose judgmental stare could reduce you to ash on the spot. You could already imagine it:

“Potato, why didn’t you call?” And you’d go, “Because I sucked. And also I was busy eating my weight in sadness on my couch.”

So no. No guidance. No messages. No crying. Just you, your depression blanket, and your ever-growing collection of trauma under a mountain of emotional avoidance.

You passed out like that, too. Face-down, limbs sprawled, snoring gently, still wearing one sock and gripping the couch cushion like it owed you rent.

And in the hallway, your door remained unlocked.

Because honestly?

Let the monsters come.

You’d either sleep through it or invite them in for leftover yogurt and mutual despair.

You woke up feeling like a truck had hit you, reversed, parked on your spine, and left its high beams on just to be petty. Every bone in your body creaked like an abandoned haunted house. Your mouth tasted like regret and half a protein bar. Your blanket was half off the couch, half on the floor, and a mysterious corn chip was stuck to your elbow.

You blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Then your phone screamed.

100 missed calls.

37 texts.

All from: Vil Schoenheit.

Each message angrier than the last.

The final one simply said: “Pick. Up. Now.”

You did.

The moment the line connected, there was a beat of silence—then his voice, sharp and low like the edge of a knife:

“Address. Now.”

You mumbled something barely coherent, possibly your zip code, possibly the ingredients of a burrito. Either way, you texted him your location, dropped the phone on your chest, and passed out again like a Sims character who ignored every need bar until they collapsed.

The next time you woke up, it was to someone violently shaking you like they were trying to exorcise a demon.

“The door was wide open. Wide. Open. Are you out of your mind?! What if someone broke in?! What if something followed you?! What if—”

You cracked one eye open. Vil was kneeling beside your couch in full luxury casuals, flawless hair tied back in a silk ribbon, eyes blazing with a fury usually reserved for war crimes or off-season fashion.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” he snapped, voice wobbling between fury and panic.

You sat up slowly. Your limbs felt like wet noodles. You looked at him—actually looked at him—and saw the edges of worry in his perfect posture. You didn’t think. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his surprisingly warm, cologne-scented form like a soggy baby koala.

He froze.

Then he hugged you back, one arm sliding firmly around your waist, the other hand smoothing over your hair with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.

“You didn’t respond,” he murmured, voice much softer now, like he’d deflated the moment you touched him. “I was at a gate, and you—you should’ve called me. You idiot.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you croaked, still clinging. “I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t—”

THWACK.

He flicked you so hard on the forehead you saw colors. You yelped and recoiled, holding your skull like he’d smacked you with a frying pan.

“OW—what the hell, Vil?!”

“Use your brain,” he snapped. “You don’t have to earn guidance. You lived. You fought. You made it back. That’s enough.”

You stared at him, stunned and blinking. Your brain, which had been curled in a ball screaming failure failure failure, screeched to a halt. It didn’t know what to do with this information. It flailed.

“...but—”

“No.” He pressed two fingers to your temple. “Quiet.”

And just like that, warmth bloomed across your skin. Calm, grounding, steady. His presence wrapped around your rattled mind like a weighted blanket.

You hadn’t realized how loud your thoughts had been until everything went quiet.

You slumped forward again, forehead on his shoulder.

“…thank you,” you whispered.

He made a soft, exasperated noise and squeezed your hand.

“Next time,” he muttered, “if you don’t call me, I will drag you to a spa against your will and lock you in a bathhouse for six hours.”

Honestly?

That sounded kind of nice.

You nodded into his shoulder and let the warmth pull you under again.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment. There was no dramatic gasp, no heart-skipping beat, no rom-com soundtrack swelling in the background.

No. It happened while Vil was in the middle of passionately criticizing your instant ramen consumption.

“You don’t even check the sodium levels, do you? Of course not. Why would you? That would require basic self-preservation instincts, which you clearly lack,—are you even listening to me?”

You were, actually. Kind of. Mostly you were just watching the way his eyes flashed when he got worked up, how his voice lilted, how his hair caught the light like he had a personal filter on at all times. His hands moved a lot when he was mad—elegant, precise little gestures like he was conducting an orchestra of outrage.

And somewhere in the middle of him saying something about how your body was “not a landfill for factory-processed poison,” you thought:

Wow. He’s perfect.

There was a pause.

A silence that felt loud in your own brain.

Not because he noticed—no, he was still going. But you did. You noticed. And you felt your entire emotional infrastructure collapse like a badly built IKEA table.

You sat there, nodding along, eyes wide and empty like a man realizing he’d dropped his phone into lava. Because you knew exactly what this meant.

You were so, so screwed.

You didn’t even try to deny it. You were too tired for that. Too experienced in emotional disasters to think, “maybe it’s just a crush!”

Nah. You liked him. For real. In the "I’d wear sunscreen just to impress him" kind of way. In the "he could tell me I look homeless and I’d say thank you" kind of way.

So, you just accepted your fate.

You nodded solemnly while Vil insulted your meal plan and thought:

Well. I guess this is my life now. Time to emotionally implode in private.

You weren’t going to tell him. Absolutely not. The man had standards higher than Mount Everest. You were a gremlin in sweatpants. He guided you out of what had to be some misplaced sense of moral responsibility, not because he liked you.

So, your plan was simple: keep it quiet. Let the crush rot in your chest. Maybe it would fade. Maybe Vil would never find out. Maybe you’d survive.

…Maybe.

“Are you even paying attention?” Vil snapped, snapping his fingers in your face.

You jolted back to reality. “Yes! Yes. Sodium bad. Body temple. I got it.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I’m always weird,” you said quickly. “That’s my brand. Very consistent.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopeless.”

You watched him for a second longer and thought, God, I’m doomed.

And then you smiled and said, “Yeah. But at least I’m charming about it.”

He rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t deny it.

You were just trying to survive. That’s all.

Because being around Vil Schoenheit every other day, breathing the same air as him while he guided you while scolding you, was no longer tenable. Your heart was staging a full-blown coup against your sanity.

Every smirk he threw your way shaved years off your life. Every time he flicked your forehead for being “reckless” or “insufferable” or “a walking cautionary tale,” you internally swooned like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.

So, you did what any emotionally fragile raccoon-person would do when faced with unattainable love and regular exposure to flawless cheekbones: you fled.

To the Guidance Office.

You kept your voice steady when you asked for your previous guide’s contact. The poor intern looked like he’d rather explode than question you, especially once he realized who your current guide was.

Still, he handed over the transfer form and you sat down, heart racing, tapping your pen like a death drum. You were halfway through scribbling your tragic little freedom request when—

A shadow loomed.

Perfume wafted.

And the temperature dropped ten degrees.

You didn’t even have time to look up before the form was snatched from your hands with all the grace of a man committing a stylish crime.

“Up. Now.”

Vil’s voice was frost and fury and every hair on your body stood up like soldiers called to war.

You stumbled after him, too stunned to protest, as he marched you through the hallways with terrifying grace. You passed several people who were clearly wondering if they were witnessing a kidnapping, but no one dared interfere.

His office door slammed shut behind you, and he turned on you like a beautifully irate weather phenomenon.

Then—rip.

Your transfer form disintegrated in his hands.

��OUT,” he snapped, voice tight, angry. “If you’re going to be a complete and utter fool, then get out of my sight.”

You blinked. “What—why are you mad? I’m doing you a favor!”

“A favor?” he repeated, like you’d just spat in a glass of Château Margaux.

You held your ground, though you were 97% sure he could kill you with a single sigh. “You didn’t want to guide me in the first place! I’m—look, I’m making it easier for both of us. No more clingy potato energy. No more… emotional spirals. You can guide someone who isn’t a complete mess.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and then he—kissed you.

No warning. No build-up. Just lips crashing against yours like your poor little romantic delusions had summoned it from the abyss. His hands cupped your face, tilting it just right, and you—froze.

You opened your mouth to say something.

He kissed you again.

This time, slower. Angrier. Like he was trying to shove every word you weren’t letting him say directly into your bloodstream.

“I love you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away, chest heaving. “You stupid, overthinking potato.”

You blinked. “I—wait, what?”

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” he snapped, pacing. “You think I guide you because it’s convenient? You think I chose to rip you away from that quivering ball of social anxiety just to be charitable? I don’t have to guide anyone. I chose you.”

You were still stuck on the part where he said “I love you” and hadn’t immediately revoked it.

He pointed at you. “Sit down.”

You sat. Immediately.

He sat next to you, crossed one leg over the other, and glared. “We’re going to talk about this. Then you’re going to delete the idea of transferring from your thick, tragically underutilized brain. Understood?”

“…Yes?”

“Good. And drink some water. You look like you’re about to combust.”

You obeyed. Because frankly? You were.

“You’re serious?” you asked, voice a little cracked around the edges, sitting on his plush office chair like you were squatting in a throne you had absolutely no right to. “You love me?”

Vil stared at you with the exhausted patience of a man who had been in love with a rock for three years. “Yes. I’ve loved you for a while, and you—” he poked you in the forehead again, harder this time, “—have been blissfully, astoundingly oblivious.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, already sweating. “You’re very hard to read!”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “You’re just emotionally illiterate.”

“Give me one example.”

“Oh, one?” He tilted his head and actually laughed, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s start small, then. Remember the time I brought you a silk-lined weighted blanket because you said you liked ‘being squished by fabric’ and your apartment ‘felt like a haunted fridge?’”

You blinked. “I thought that was just you mocking me with luxury.”

“I custom-ordered it in your favorite color and personally dropped it off.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

“And what about the emergency juice box I carry around exclusively for you, because you tend to spiral into a puddle after difficult gates and refuse to ask for help?”

“…You said that was because I’m ‘emotionally six.’”

“That was a joke.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at you again. “What about when I held your hand during guidance and you told me, ‘This is wildly intimate,’ and I said, ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ and you laughed and said, ‘Ha ha good one,’ and proceeded to talk about raccoons for twenty minutes?”

Your face was hot. Like boiling kettle hot. You were being roasted over the open flames of your own idiocy.

Vil, now fully in his villain origin arc, stood up, arms crossed. “Or the time I made you lunch because you skipped breakfast three days in a row and you cried a little, and I wiped your tears, and you said, ‘You’d make such a good husband, wow,’ and then called me bro.”

“I was tired that day,” you whispered.

He paced. “I took a personal day to guide you after that one breach because you refused post-gate care. I showed up at your house! You were curled up like a soggy blanket and told me you didn’t deserve comfort, and I guided you anyway! I even brought snacks!”

You were holding your head in your hands now, processing. “Oh my god. I’m the clown. I’m the whole circus.”

Vil sighed and came to kneel beside you again, gentler now. He pulled your hands from your face and took them in his, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “I assumed you didn't like me. But this?” He smiled a little. “This is honestly worse.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter now, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want you to change guides. I want you to stay.”

You looked down at your joined hands. Then up at his face, soft and real and so, so stupidly beautiful.

“...Can I kiss you again?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

And he did. And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t freeze or black out or say anything about raccoons. You just held him closer and kissed him back, trying very hard not to think about how many brain cells you’d wasted missing the obvious.

(But you did apologize to him later. After the third kiss. And after asking if he’d consider writing a “Vil Schoenheit’s Guide to Realizing Your Guide is Flirting” manual for future dumbasses like yourself.)

The first time Vil met you was… unfortunate.

You'd collapsed on him like a sandbag flung from the heavens by a god with no taste.

He'd been called in to assist after a gate breach—nothing unusual, really, just a high-stress emergency with far too many untrained espers and not enough functioning brain cells among them. His job was to stabilize, guide, and keep anyone from combusting mentally or emotionally, preferably both. It was clinical, routine, and efficient.

Until you.

You stumbled out of the smoke and screaming with wild eyes and your uniform half-burnt, looking like you’d just gone twelve rounds with the concept of mortality. You locked eyes with him—briefly, like a bird recognizing glass mid-flight—and then passed out straight into his arms.

Correction: onto him.

He wasn’t sure how you managed to fall with such inconvenient geometry, but one moment he was standing, perfectly composed, and the next he had an unconscious stranger face-planting onto him, limbs sprawled like a freshly felled tree.

His first thought was: Excuse you?

His second: Do they not know who I am?

Honestly, the offense was justified. People didn’t usually touch Vil without permission, let alone treat him like a fainting couch. And yet when the medics arrived to assist, he waved them off with a sigh, brushing soot out of your hair and stabilizing your exhausted psyche with the practiced ease of someone too annoyed to be fazed. You were just another Esper, he told himself. Another mess to be cleaned up.

Then you woke up.

You blinked at him. Groggy. Confused. Soft in the eyes in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Sorry. My bad.”

No recognition. No fawning. No demands for priority guidance.

Just that—thanks—like he was your local neighborhood guide and not one of the most in-demand SSS-ranks in the country.

And that was when it happened: the first crack.

A hairline fracture in his perfectly sculpted composure. Something warm and startlingly gentle wedged itself in his chest. The faint, whispering thought: They’re not like the others.

He'd left soon after and that should've been the end of it.

But the next day, you came to his office. Not to request a partnership. Not to ask for more guidance sessions. Not even to praise his skill, as most did when they finally found out who he was.

No.

You walked in with a slightly bent energy drink and said, “Hi. Just wanted to thank you again. For yesterday. And, like, if you want anything—coffee, or uh, a meal, or maybe a really good nap on my couch—I can return the favor.”

He blinked. “You're offering me compensation?”

“Yeah,” you said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Also, you helped me not die. That deserves at least a smoothie.”

He stared at you. You stared back, unbothered and vaguely hopeful, like someone trying to barter with a raccoon they’d wronged in a past life.

And that’s when the thought struck him:

I wish more Espers were like this.

Earnest. Direct. Not wrapped in ego or desperation. You treated him like a person and not a tool or a celebrity. Like someone who deserved appreciation, not worship.

He didn’t say yes to your offer.

And later that evening, sipping the mango smoothie you left on his desk with a sticky note that said “Thanks again, Your Highness,” Vil caught himself smiling.

Disaster or not, you had… made an impression.

And for better or worse, that impression was starting to stick.

Soon, he found himself buying your favorite juice on the way to work.

He told himself it was to bribe you into being less reckless. That he just “happened” to know your favorite. That it was a coincidence.

He also started carrying headache meds. And bandaids. And snacks. And spare gloves because you kept losing yours and pretending you didn’t need them.

A week later, he spotted you in the hallway again. You were coming out of a gate looking like you’d been mugged by gravity and a brick. But what truly horrified Vil was not your appearance (which was a hate crime against fashion), but the fact that you were about to be guided by someone else.

Some junior Guide with too much gel in his hair and the audacity to step away from you.

Vil's soul left his body.

He didn’t even think. He stomped across the hallway, yanked you away like a cat stealing laundry, and declared, “Absolutely not.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Guiding you. Sit down. Shut up.”

“...Okay?”

He’d never been so professionally compromised. He gave you the most aggressive, possessive, emotionally repressed guiding session in history. It was like channeling affection through gritted teeth.

He was doomed.

Vil Schoenheit was a man of control. Precision. Elegance. He kept his calendar color-coded, his wardrobe steamed, and his guiding sessions timed to the minute.

So when he heard through the grapevine that you were about to be reassigned to another Guide—because of some nonsense about “compatibility tests” and “emotional interference” (rude)—he did not react well.

No, he did not pout.

He did not sulk.

He marched directly to the Guidance Office, pulled rank in that way that only Vil could—part charm, part cold-blooded menace—and made it very clear that you were off the market.

“This Esper is mine,” he said, crisp and cool like a glacier in a fur coat. “Officially. Put it in writing.”

The poor intern at the desk blinked up at him, then at the screen.

“Um… you mean, you want to—?”

“Yes. I want to take full responsibility for their guiding.”

“Sir, do you mean romantically—?”

“Professionally.” A beat. “For now.”

Vil was shopping for seasonal essentials, which of course required strategic planning, multiple fitting rooms, and approximately seventeen judgmental head tilts. He saw you wandering out of a soft-clothes store with a hoodie that looked like a blanket and a dream.

You saw him.

You tried to leave.

He grabbed your wrist.

“I need hands,” he said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

And then he handed you a bag and moved on like a model on a mission.

You carried his bags for hours. You offered no complaints, just commentary like, “That color makes your cheekbones illegal,” and “If I try that on I’ll look like a deflated beanbag.” You actually enjoyed yourself.

And then—then—when you ended up in a café and he reluctantly allowed you to buy his coffee, you sat there, sipping from your little cup, and made some stupid joke about luxury couture and cheese graters.

He laughed.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t polite or dismissive. It was the kind of laugh that knocked loose something in his ribcage. The kind that made him stare at you over the rim of his drink and realize, with full-body horror:

I’m doomed.

Because he liked you.

He really, really liked you.

Not in the “you’re tolerable and I guess I won’t smite you” way. In the “I want to wring your neck for not wearing gloves but also maybe hold your hand” way. The “I will destroy that junior Guide if he even looks at you again” way. The “please stop getting injured or I will cry and then deny it until the sun explodes” way.

And you had no idea.

You were still out here calling yourself “emotionally bulletproof” and stealing his granola bars like it was normal. Still calling him “Vilbo Baggins” and poking his forehead like you weren’t holding the shreds of his dignity in your little chaos-stained hands.

So yes. Vil was doomed.

And he couldn’t even blame you.

Because of all the Espers in the world, it had to be you—you with your messy hair and shiny eyes and stupid brave heart.

Fast-forward to a Tuesday. Or maybe Thursday. Vil had lost track. It had been a day full of Espers with no manners, no boundaries, and one who tried to touch his hair mid-guiding.

By the time you wandered into his office, he was one broken string away from full violin villainy.

And for once, you didn’t joke.

No "What’s up, Guidezilla?"

No "Did your skincare try to abandon you too?"

You just took one look at him, walked over, and—gently—placed your hands on his shoulders.

Vil froze.

You kneaded the tight muscles there with surprising skill. Still no words. Just the quiet press of your thumbs, the steady warmth of your touch. And when he exhaled—shaky, involuntary—you didn’t tease him for it.

You just said, softly, “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know.”

And that was when he broke a little.

Not obviously. But his posture slumped just slightly. His head tilted just enough to rest against your shoulder. Not even for a minute—maybe twenty seconds.

But it was enough.

Enough to make him realize: This is the safest I’ve felt all day.

And the fact that it was you—you, with your chaos and your grin and your glitter stickers stuck to your ID badge—that was terrifying. And comforting. And utterly, stupidly addicting.

He didn’t say thank you. Not out loud.

But later, when you weren’t looking, he moved your next few guiding sessions to the prime slot on his calendar. The one reserved for important things.

And in his fridge?

There was already more of your favorite juice.

He told himself it was just being thorough.

He was a liar.

It had started like any other deployment day. You and he had both been assigned to different gates, which wasn’t uncommon anymore. It was annoying—yes, he preferred to keep you in arm’s reach like a chaotic, overly affectionate pet raccoon—but manageable. You hadn’t called, hadn’t messaged, so he assumed it was fine. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you’d just fallen asleep.

But then he heard the reports.

Talk around the guidance center was that your gate had gone bad. A breach. Casualties. They'd barely managed to contain it. The kind of mission that rattled even the seasoned Espers.

Vil had frozen mid-conversation, a pen slipping from his hand and clattering onto his desk.

“Did they get guided after?” he asked, voice sharp.

The other Guide had shrugged. “Apparently not. Took off the moment debrief ended.”

And that was when the spiral started.

He called you. Once. Twice. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.

Pacing his office like a man possessed, he left increasingly deranged voicemails.

—"Pick up your phone, I swear to the God, if you are ghosting me because you’re feeling ‘emotionally crunchy’ again—"

—“If you're hurt, I need to know. If you're not hurt, I'm going to kill you myself.”

—“Potato, I’m serious. Answer the phone.”

When you finally picked up, sounding groggy and like someone had drop-kicked your soul, all you said was:

“…Vil?”

And that was enough.

“Address. Now.”

You sent him a dropped pin and then promptly passed out again.

He’d never gotten to your place so fast in his life. Nearly crashed into two pedestrians, scared a delivery driver into a full existential crisis, and parked in a tow zone without blinking.

The front door was unlocked.

He burst in like divine judgment, only to find you curled up on your couch like a sad, emotionally fried ferret.

“You left the door open. What if someone had—?! You didn’t even—! I called you a hundred times! Why didn’t you—!?”

You blinked up at him, slow and a little disoriented. “Vil?”

He was kneeling next to the couch before he realized it, shaking you like an overcaffeinated nurse trying to keep a patient conscious. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

Something in Vil's chest cracked with a soundless, incandescent rage. Not at you. Never at you.

At the situation. At himself. At the idiocy of a world where someone like you—who put yourself on the line for people who didn’t know your name—could think for one second you didn’t deserve comfort.

You sat up and hugged him before he could speak. And Vil, for all his pride and poise, let you.

He guided you right there on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you like he could anchor all your scattered pieces back into place with sheer force of will. His fingers were steady against your temple, his voice low and soothing.

You didn't fight it this time. Not really. You were too tired. Too raw.

But later, when you were dozing against him and he felt the weight of your breathing even out, he looked at you and thought:

If I ever lose them, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

And he realized, with an unflinching kind of horror, that this wasn’t just fondness anymore.

This was love. Stupid, all-consuming, feral love.

Oh, when Vil saw the transfer form in your hands—his potato, his utterly chaotic, absurdly self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated Esper—filling out a request to switch Guides?

He saw red. No, scratch that. He saw every shade of fury on the spectrum. He didn’t even remember walking; one moment he was across the hallway, the next he had the form in his fist and you in his office, the door slammed shut behind you with enough force to rattle the entire floor.

“What. Is. This.”

You blinked at him like a cat caught stealing food, caught between guilt and indifference. “A transfer form? I—uh. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a—” Vil looked genuinely scandalized. If he wore pearls, he would’ve clutched them. “Do you think I’m running a halfway house for wayward Espers?! I have been guiding you, carrying juice boxes for you, putting up with your ridiculous snacks, and you think this isn’t a big deal?!”

You stared at him, flustered and slightly confused. “I—I just thought maybe it’d be easier for both of us if I wasn’t—like—around all the time, you know? I’m not exactly low maintenance—”

Vil’s brain short-circuited.

He kissed you.

No thought. Just lips. Panic. Longing. Rage. Chapstick.

Your sentence died like a bug on a windshield.

Vil pulled back just long enough to snarl, “I love you, you stupid overthinking potato.”

You blinked.

“I—what—”

He kissed you again. You weren’t going to ruin this with words. Not today.

When he finally let you breathe, you looked dizzy. In love. Slightly offended. Vil understood.

“You’ve been in love with me?” you asked, voice very much in the ‘I missed every single sign like a blind NPC in a dating sim’ zone.

“Oh finally,” Vil groaned. “Yes. For ages. Do you think I just carry juice boxes for anyone? I had to go to a wholesaler to find your weird imported apple-lychee thing. I do not do that for strangers.”

You looked like the Earth had tilted sideways. “Oh my god. I thought you were just—like that.”

“‘Like that?!’” he cried. “I forced you to carry my shopping bags through an entire mall and called it a bonding experience! I let you pay for my coffee! I let you touch me when I was emotionally unbalanced! Me!”

“Oh my god,” you said again, very softly. “I am Stupid.”

Vil sighed like he was asking the universe for strength. “Yes. But you’re mine now. So unless you want to see what a real tantrum looks like, stop trying to fill out transfer forms like we’re in some tragic rom-com and just stay.”

You looked at him for a moment, soft and stunned and still processing the part where he said “I love you” more than once.

Then you reached for him, and he let you pull him into a hug, and despite everything—despite the rage, the confusion, the two destroyed pens on his desk and the emotional whiplash—you smiled into his shoulder like you couldn’t quite believe your luck.

Vil closed his eyes.

And all he could think was:

If I have to live in this ridiculous, broken world... let it be with you.

You didn’t expect it to come up like this.

You were lying on Vil’s fancy designer couch, head on his lap, while he scrolled through his tablet like he wasn’t also playing with your hair and ruining your heart. It was a quiet kind of peace, the kind you didn’t get often, the kind you didn’t want to jinx.

Which is exactly why he jinxed it.

“I want to permanently bond,” he said, tone casual in the way a gun cocking across the room is casual.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked down at you like you were the idiot for not reading his mind faster.

“I don’t want to guide anyone else,” he said. “You’re mine.”

Your heart made a sound like a microwave short-circuiting.

“You’re sure?” you asked, because you had to—because you needed him to say it again, to look you in the eye and confirm this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment emotion, or drama, or guilt, or—

Vil gave you a glare so sharp it could slice through reinforced glass. You didn’t even need to hear him speak. The look alone said: If you ask that again I will end you and then raise you from the ashes just to scold you properly.

So naturally, you pulled him closer.

He kissed you like you’d insulted him and he was trying to forgive you with his entire mouth. And then he pushed you down onto the couch with all the grace and pent-up need of someone who’d waited far too long to do this.

There was nothing dramatic about the bond itself—it was warmth, deep and golden, spreading between your minds like a whispered promise. Familiar, grounding, and so right it made you dizzy. You felt him in a way that no one else could ever match—his feelings humming beneath your skin, threaded through your heartbeat, echoing in your thoughts.

It felt like falling and landing and being caught all at once.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just pressed his forehead against yours and held you close, letting the bond settle between your chests like a vow.

Then, quietly:

“Finally.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah,” you said, hugging him tighter. “Finally.”

Life was still mildly cursed. You weren’t about to tempt fate by saying otherwise. The gates still opened at the worst times, your body still ached in places that didn’t make sense, and someone still managed to microwave metal in the guidance office kitchen every single week.

But—

You had Vil. And that made it survivable.

He had finally, finally reprogrammed you out of your self-destructive nonsense, though it had been a war. You were talking metaphorical trench warfare. It took a thousand forehead flicks, an aggressively color-coded sleep schedule, and a terrifying PowerPoint presentation titled “If You Die, I Will Be Very Upset (And Also Kill You) – A Visual Threat.”

And in return, you had managed to make Vil Schoenheit loosen up. The man who once flinched at the idea of touching door handles with his bare hands now shared hoodies with you and let you kiss him with gate-dust still in your hair.

It was progress.

So when the door to your shared home clicked shut behind you both after another long day, you let out a sigh and slumped like a corpse released from its mortal coil. Vil caught you by the collar before you hit the floor like “absolutely not, we are not breaking furniture today.”

You peeled off your jacket, dropped your bag, and turned to him, still stuck in your boots. “Is it bad I want to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes,” he replied instantly. “Go shower, you reeking gremlin. I’ll order dinner.”

You blinked. “Will it be salad?”

“No. I’m ordering dumplings.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachieving nutrient-balanced microgreens–”

Vil shoved you gently toward the bathroom. “Shoo. I’ll be waiting here with your emotional support carbs when you’re done.”

And that was it.

You went to shower, and he ordered dinner. And maybe life was cursed and weird and exhausting—but it had given you Vil. And now, the worst thing he threatened you with was hydration reminders and forehead kisses.

Honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

[juney-blues]

June Egbert is, and always has been incredibly fascinating to me because of just, how many factors have conspired to make Homestuck fans show their collective transmisogynistic asses.

The main character of Homestuck transitioning is a planned future plot point for the official continuation of homestuck, that was spoiled in advance by a fan making a joke about finding some toblerones Andrew Hussie the author of homestuck hid in a cave.

The current main writers of Homestuck: Beyond Canon have went on record in an AMA confirming that this was indeed always the plan, even before they took up the project.

In spite of these facts, the general consensus among certain homestuck fans seems to be that "June Egbert" is purely a headcanon for the original comic that was "made canon" by a "Toblerone Wish" (a concept that didn't even exist at the time)

For a variety of reasons, the "canonicity" of the postcanon official continuations of homestuck is a mattter of much debate, (though a debate that most homestuck fans seem to err on a side of "it's not canon at all in the slightest," something the writers have feelings on I'm sure.)

All of these factors combined leave the concept of "June Egbert" in a very nebulous place. It's assumed by most to just be an "ascended headcanon" that was shoehorned in, it's a spoiler so it hasn't happened yet in any official media, and the official media it will eventually happen in is regarded by some to be nothing more than glorified fanfic.

If someone is talking about June Egbert, and you don't like the concept of June Egbert, you have your pick of a million different excuses for why she's fake and gay and not worth discussing and bad writing and just the authors doing a gay dumbledore*, paying lip service to representation while actually doing nothing.

And of course, lots of people *don't* like June Egbert! Rather than being introduced as transfem from the start, she's in this nebulous position of discovery where people have to truly reckon with the idea of a "Pre-transition Trans Woman."

You can try to write off *some* of the backlash as transphobia, because obviously not everyone in this fandom is gonna be cool about trans people.

But there's no shortage of fans just dying to tell you about how much they like reading her as transmasc, or the idea of her being nonbinary or genderqueer or genderfluid, or literally anything besides a trans woman. And since they're fine with all those other interpretations, there's obviously no implicit biases driving their distaste for the concept! (if you want to try explaining the concept of "transmisogyny" to people like this you're braver than I.)

you can trust them when they say it's *just* a problem with whether or not it makes sense with the writing, or it just doesn't feel right somehow, or any of the thousands of excuses that this writing situation gives them to just Not Like It.

It's just, so interesting to me. There's not a lot of characters out there that get a trans arc in this way, that leaves room for open denialism and insistence that we have our trans cake and eat it too... Because Homestuck is a timeline spanning multiverse story, lots of people seem to want it to be an alternate timeline thing. Assuring us we can have this character share space with a non-transitioning version of herself and it won't be weird or imply gross things about trans people.

If you ask me it feels like a plotline that'd be really good for exploring some gender horror though, finding your true self and then being demoted to a footnote, an alternate version, because everyone around you likes your pre-transition self more....

Anyway I have no broader point beyond "hey look at this isn't this kinda weird. You don't get this kinda stuff often!"

*side note: it's a little ghoulish I think to compare "a future trans plot point that hasn't been given the chance to even happen yet, in an already famously queer piece of media, from a nonbinary author" to "some stupid shit done by the literal most famous transphobe of all time" but that's perhaps a discussion for later.

[mohntilyet]

about illario working with the venatori, we can't forget that elgar'nan gifted him blood magic, so I do think that he somewhat influenced him and that's why he's so much more vindictive and jealous in comparison to tevinter nights. I don't mean that he's being mind controlled, but it's a bit like cyrian, a god just amplifying those negative emotions in you and promising power and glory can push a person to that edge and to make stupid af decisions.

im also not forgetting that zara line in inner demons where she talks about an envy demon. like. why an envy demon in specific...there's THINGS between zara and illario that were not shown

no literally if you get me talking about illario + envy + the possibility of getting him possessed, you will have me here for fucking ever. a non mage doing blood magic (any magic at all) is really weird and interesting to me and i don’t remember an example of this happening before (feel free to correct me tho lol. i’m discounting possessions and dwarves)

i had started wildly theorising after bloodbath that he had been possessed and he was tapping into the fade using an envy demon. especially like you said, zara mentions it, AND because i swear there’s a codex in the ossuary where it mentions an envy demon whereas spite is obviously determination, right? so i thought it was a breadcrumb trail to a big “illario is being influenced and doesn’t even know” reveal— same as you anon like great minds am i right— but i’m not sure there is actually any evidence of that lol. like maybe if you squint but i do believe it was explained away by “oh yeah, and elgarnan let him do special blood magic”

it does also make sense to me that illario can only control lucanis, due to being part of the same family. a bloodline thing, and it is very poetic to me that their shared family connection in caterina is what allows him to control lucanis, even for a moment lol. spite being the extra magical boost that lucanis needs to block that out ALSO makes sense to me so i’m not too fussed abt these details lol🤔

the envyllario in my heart also gets spectral weapons for himself. lucanis gets wings, illario gets talons, PLUS green-purple are complementary colors so it would have been really fun to see them clash with their spirit/demon-powers. the talon thing is also a kind of reflection of his end-goal desire, how envy demons already have those freaky hands, and it manifests as claws and is a much more aggressive, strength-augmenting manifestation (as opposed to manoeuvrability and speed-augmenting that spite’s wings give lucanis.) anyways that's what the diagram above is supposed to be (this is extremely hot to me)