#Just because they’re on the same page doesn’t mean NOTHING!

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 15 - Simulation Swarm

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The detective wasn't the first Hosah Levi, and he definitely wouldn't be the last. The original, the blueprint, everything the shifter was supposed to be, that was his uncle.

Hosah's dad was heartbroken when he lost his twin brother. That was the Hosah Levi. There wasn't much to explain his disappearance. No body, no camera footage. Just gone without a trace. Safe to say, it was a closed casket funeral.

A sad, but common occurrence for shifters. You shrink in the wrong place at the wrong time, you're gonna end up trampled on, kidnapped, washed away by the rain, or all of the above all at the same time.  That was why Hosah's dad was so hesitant to let him take the job offer in New York. It was silly. His son was a grown man, he had his own place in Colorado with a steady job and a couple classes to go to in his off time, so why should he have to worry about being allowed to take opportunities?

The truth was, his father had always thought of him as incapable. Not in an insulting way, but in an infantilising, coddling way, which was arguably far worse.

Whenever they spoke on the phone, their conversations always ended sour with an argument, about how Hosah should quit and come home, about how he should call more because every day that passes by without absolute confirmation of his safety causes immense stress to his entire family, or just about anything they can think of on that particular day.

Today however, the argument was about coming home, as it usually was.

"It's just not safe out there. You know how long it's been since you last called? Three days. Hosah, you understand how worried I get, don't you? You know how much can happen in three days. It'd be so much easier for you to just come back to Colorado. Your room is the same as how you left it. Please." His father pleaded down the phone.

It was always the same two or three points with him. You're not like everyone else, you're a vulnerable person, you can't get around your own apartment on your own so how are you supposed to navigate the city, I'm scared for you, blah, blah, blah. Quite frankly, Hosah was bored of it. He'd admitted to himself that he wasn't going to be able to hack complete independence for much longer, but he'd never, ever, admit that fact to his dad.

With his phone balancing between the side of his head and his shoulder, the shifter tried his best to stay on the call as he painted away in the short time that Teddy would be out for,

"No- no I know there are risks," Hosah repeated words he'd said a thousand times before, "That's why I'm not.. living alone anymore."

He still hadn't told his dad about Teddy. In fact, he hadn't told his dad about anything that had been happening lately. He rarely did, actually, Joel Levi didn't need the added stress.

"You have a girlfriend?" That was another thing Hosah hadn't told his dad about. Or really, hadn't told anyone about. Asides from Jules, as she knew everything.

He debated his relationship status with Teddy before responding, "No, but I have a roommate. New co-worker. He's nice. I like him."

"A co-worker is who killed your uncle, you know." Father dearest reminded him. It was never actually proven whose blood the small red stain on the office floor belonged to, but Joel had his theories.

It was best to not bring up the uncertainty of the true events of his Uncle's death around his father. After all, they were twins. Connected at the soul, or something like that.

"Right," Hosah mumbled instead of arguing, a route he rarely went down now that he thought about it.

The other end of the line crackled before the voice was picked back up again, "-this guy that you've moved in with?"

The shifter could only assume the first word in that sentence was supposed to be 'who'. Putting Teddy into words was a difficult task, at least, if he didn't want to end up gushing like a school girl when talking about her latest hallway crush, that is.

"His name's Edward. Super tall, like, the top of his head brushes against door frames kind of tall. Italian. Red hair, met him like a month and a half ago." Hosah described, his lips instinctively curling into an embarrassingly wide smile as he spoke.

"And this guy," Joel began, static and all, "He's good? He helps you? He's nice, gentle, sweet, caring, all that?"

The shifters face flushed a slight red as his father listed off all of Teddy's best qualities, "Yeah, yeah of course." He clarified.

"I could probably do a better job." His father scoffed as he usually did. Nothing was ever good enough, whether it was washing the dishes or taking care of his son, he might as well just be doing it the whole time all by himself because nobody else could do it as good as him.

"Yeah," Almost on queue, the sound of keys rattling on the other side of the door cut Hosah and his father's conversation short, " I have to go, 'kay? Got stuff to do. Call me some time tomorrow or whenever you can and I'll pick up. Okay, loveyoubye"

The shifter rushed to end the phone call so he could firstly, cover up Teddy's birthday gift, and also greet him as he came through the door.

"Sorry, did I interrupt something?" Teddy asked from across the room, standing in the open door. Yeah. His head just about would've brush against the wooden framing.

How someone could look so effortlessly picturesque, Hosah would never know. The shifter stared for a moment, completely lost for words, just taking in the rather mundane sight in front of him. Teddy's pale face had been nipped by the cold breeze, it seemed, as his cheeks and nose were reddened, although a more pink colour than his scruffy, brownish red hair that had clearly been rattled by the same wind. He looked a little disheveled with his scarf lazily wrapped loosely around his neck and his coat missing a few buttons from being completely fastened. Still, even in clothes he'd thrown on in about half a minute, Teddy looked perfect.

Hosah had almost forgotten what his roommate had even said in the first place as he opened his mouth to respond, "Uh, no, no, I was just on the phone to my dad, actually."

"Cool." Teddy had gotten into the habit of stealing the shifter's favourite words and phrases, "Have you told him yet?"

Right. It was probably best to keep his family in the dark about his current situation, he didn't want to worry them, or, god forbid, endanger them.

"Wellll..." Hosah wasn't really sure how to word it in a way that his roommate would understand.

"I mean, you don't have to." The sudden shift in views left the shifter without knowing what to say, half expecting an argument to come out of the conversation. Teddy continued, "It's your business, and if you don't want to, or you're not ready, or.. Whatever reasons you have, you're not obligated to say anything."

"You're right." Hosah nodded.

"As per usual," The taller of the two muttered under his breath as he strolled up to his roommate, giving his blond hair a ruffle before pulling the head into his shoulder, or, more like his chest given their height difference.

It was the little and casual pieces of affection like this that drove Hosah crazy. He felt like a rabid dog with how desperate he'd become to experience the brief touches over and over again.

"Did he say anything?" Teddy asked, hand still cradling the shifter's head, their legs intertwining as they stood at an, in any other case, uncomfortably short distance from each other.

Although, since it was Hosah and Teddy, this kind of close proximity was just right.

Hosah thought for a minute, focused on fidgeting with the loose threads that hung out of his roommates thick, bobbly knitted sweater, "Mmm," He hummed, "Just the usual, come home, it's dangerous out there, you need someone to take care of you,"

"God," Teddy laughed, "If there's one person that doesn't need taking care of in this world, it's you."

Hosah looked up, the overhead light reflecting in the big black holes he had for eyes, "You think?" He asked, chin resting on the taller of the two's chest, as he couldn't quite reach his shoulder as his hips leant against Teddy's.

"Cmon. First time you were.. I don't know, shifted I guess, you made me a cup of coffee. I mean, I know I wouldn't even be able to make it from room to room if I were like that." Teddy hesitated as he got to certain parts of his sentence.

Hosah had never really known how to take compliments.

"Whatever," He scoffed, regrettably worming his way out of Teddy's cradle, turning his back to him as he tried to forget the much needed words of affirmation.

He was right, Hosah wasn't completely incapable, but that's not what he'd been told his entire life, that's not what he truly believed. All Hosah really thought he wanted was to find someone who would take care of him like the helpless creature he was, but even he knew that wasn't completely the true to his deeper feelings. His own heart and mind were things even he would never be able to fully understand. That was Hosah's problem. He'd spent weeks, months, years stuck on a goal, and as soon as he'd meet it, he'd realise he actually wanted the opposite all along. Despite how much it hurt to admit, his stalker was spot on. Hot and cold. If anyone ever saw Hosah sticking to his word without any contradictions, that was not him, and they were to eradicate this imposter as soon as possible.

"You know it's true," Teddy teased, following behind the shifter as he rushed into their now shared bedroom to find a shirt to put on.

A defensive snap he hadn't felt the urge to indulge in came rushing out of his mouth, "Then why do you.. I don't know. If I'm so capable, why do you insist on doing everything for me. You're not my crutch. Clearly I don't need my hand being held."

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but the deep rooted anger and sadness Hosah held toward this topic got the best of him.

Teddy stood in an astonished silence as he leant in the door frame.

"Because I want to." The tall figure blocking out the hallway's light laughed slightly as he spoke, a laugh that said, 'Isn't it obvious?'.

"I want to take care of you. I want to make things easier if I can. Yeah, you're capable, but that doesn't mean it's not still nice for someone to go out of their way to help you. If I asked you to get me something from the fridge, you'd do it, right? You just... need to let me help you. I won't if you don't want me to, but you need to decide that for yourself." Teddy continued.

Right now, all Hosah wanted to do was to shrink down and sit in the giants hands. 'Yes, of course you can take care of me, you can clip my wings and tell me what to do, and I'd do it without question.' , he thought.

Hosah turned to face the towering figure, "I just.. I don't want you to see me differently, From now, to when I'm small." He explained, his voice much quieter, as if he had something in his throat as he spoke.

"I don't think of you differently." Teddy put it bluntly.

"That's easier said than done." The shifter shrugged as his eyes moved down to the floor as they usually did when he got apprehensive over something.

"Hosah." His tone had shifted, now much more stern, but not necessarily angry, "You're probably the one person in the world I have the most respect and admiration for. I'd be an idiot to think of you any less than I would.. I don't know, some highly intelligent Nobel prize winning scholar dude, doesn't matter if you're five foot or three inches."

"I'm five seven." Hosah corrected, stood with his arms folded and his head hanging low, clearly not having much to substance to carry his arguments anymore. That was the problem with logical people, they solved all your issues far too fast, not giving you the time of day to just be angry about it before finding a solution.

"Five seven, then. Like I said, doesn't matter. I.." Teddy lost his words, he sounded tired, maybe sad, enough to make the shifter feel guilty for the entire discussion.

"I love you, Hosah." Finally, after maybe three long seconds, Teddy spoke again.

What? Seriously? Hosah's brain moved at a hundred miles an hour, surely he couldn't have heard right, there was no way in the world. He tried to say something, but instead, all that came out were stuttering gasps. He could feel his face becoming hotter by the second as his eyes stayed locked onto the carpeted floor, unable to even consider lifting them to look at Teddy's, probably smug, face.

As expected, the figure by the door laughed at Hosah's pathetic attempt at responding,

"What, do your friends not tell you they love you usually?" Teddy smiled, moving in closer towards the shifter, placing a hand about the size of Hosah's entire head on his shoulder.

Of course, how could he be so stupid.

"No, it's just, I thought you meant it differently for a second. Ha-ha." The shifter tried his best to keep his cool, but his furrowed eyebrows and blushing cheeks gave him away.

The pale hand traced up Hosah's neck until it found its way to his face, cupping the burning cheek in its palm, the thumb caressing the smooth, tanned surface, which didn't fail to make it a much deeper red colour. The shifter stood silently, his mouth slightly agape, although still holding his breath with a sharp inhale of surprise at the touch.

"Well," Teddy spoke softly, smiling just enough for his crooked tooth to stick out from his top lip, "Maybe I do, in a way."

That was all he wanted to hear. The words Hosah had prayed would come out of his mouth from the moment he opened it. It all came together, after weeks of debating whether he even had a chance or not, he could finally answer all his questions. But, as a million cases in his head came to a close, around the same amount were opened right back up again, this time with more dead ends and false leads, leaving them to go cold with the lack of any kind of explanation.

"Don't mess with me like that." Hosah's head hung down, his hand barely able to wrap around the wrist of the man cupping his cheek.

Despite how hard his chest beat and how the butterflies fluttered in his stomach, he couldn't help but blink the tears out of his eyes as he feared it was all a big joke. An elaborate plan to make a fool out of himself, living the rest of his time with Teddy in utter shame and embarrassment as the awkwardness of their unreciprocated feelings hung heavily in the air, polluting the apartment until they'd both suffocate in the unresolved, unspoken and unmentioned tension.

"I'm not messing with you. I'm serious." And he really did sound serious.

There was no way, though. No way that someone like Teddy, someone so sweet and so gorgeous, could ever be attracted to Hosah. He wouldn't believe it no matter how many times he heard it. The shifter couldn't help but scoff, his grip tightening around the wrist.

"Hosah," Teddy's other hand grabbed hold of the other side of Hosah's face, lifting his chin with both of his thumbs until the brown eyes met his own, "It's true. Of course it's true. I thought I was being obvious with all the touchiness." He was laughing, but the shifter was still too discombobulated to see the humour in any of it.

"You're so confusing, I don't know what you think." Hosah gave his roommate a playful jab in the stomach, unable to say anything else about the news he'd just been told.

The feeling could only be described at euphoric. The shifter had felt like a monstrous pervert with what he'd been thinking of Teddy. His brain would start to sizzle and fry just at the thought of a time where his forearms were visible as he loomed over the shifter's shrunken form; to Teddy, it was probably nothing, but to him, it was absolutely everything and more. It was always these tiny details that had him the most worked up. Hosah didn't really care about if they were jacked or if they were insanely beautiful, although those were definitely bonuses, but he cared about nice hands, good, thick calves, broad shoulders, all the things that would come in handy.

"You don't get to talk about confusing, you've been giving me mixed signals since day one." Teddy pressed his forehead against the shifter's, the tips of their noses touching as they did, well, however long ago it was. The days had been blurring together lately.

It took much more energy than usual to stay regular sized. "That's just the way I am, I guess," Hosah smiled despite the rush of conflicting thoughts and feelings, as he grappled against his own body to keep the few inches he felt slowly draining from his body.

"You don't have to hold back, it's okay." It was getting quite obvious that the shifter was now standing on the tips of his toes, and Teddy always picked up on everything, even things Hosah would try his best to hide.

And in the blink of an eye, Hosah was back to his usual self. Although it wasn't exactly entirely normalised, the shifter felt the most comfortable when he was about this height. Three inches tall, a slight bit bigger than Teddy's thumb. It was perfect, he could slip and slink under the radar without anyone realising he was even there in the first place. Hosah had become used to being a shadow in the city, everyone is here because they dream big, being exceptional in your home town out in butt-fuck nowhere just didn't cut it here, and the shifter had come to accept that. He accepted it the moment he had to quit baseball because he just couldn't be a regular height for long enough, he accepted it when he'd finish a painting and still feel like he could do so much more, and most importantly, he'd accepted it when it had been told straight to his face.

There was no chance of him being a big shot out here, which is why it scared him so deeply when someone like Teddy saw him as he was, something special. Not just another face in the crowd, but an individual with good qualities and flaws, scars and all, he saw the shifter as someone worthy enough to fall in love with.

He didn't get it. Who was he in comparison to the giant that sat on his hands and knees over him. He was nothing, a weed growing from the cracks in the sidewalk, an inconvenient breeze that ruffled the hair of the passers by, truly forgettable and insignificant when compared to the likes of Teddy. It made sense why the police didn't bother with the almost a hundred letters, and why they didn't bother looking into his uncle's sudden dropping off of the face of the earth. People like him didn't even take up space in this world, making them all the more worthless. He needed to take a break from work, stop analysing every word his stalker wrote to him, as it seemed to really be getting to his head and psyche.

"I.. I don't know what to do now." Hosah admitted, finally looking up to see the giant face above him. This is what he wanted, but now that he had it, what else was there to look forward to?

"I mean.. We don't have to necessarily do anything." Teddy's voice was much more hushed, something he'd taken into account ever since hurting the shifter's much smaller ears.

Hosah didn't say anything, he didn't have the mental energy to think of anything useful to add. The pale hand which dwarfed him in comparison inched closer to the shifter's shrunken form. They were good hands. Almost paper white, although his knuckles and fingertips were still red from being out in the cold. Nice, large, gentle hands. It was all Hosah could really ask for. Teddy's fingers weren't like his own, they were straight, and cut off almost like perfect rectangles at the end, although they were anything but sharp and rough. His recollection of the digits seemed to be correct, as a bent finger brushed the same cheek the same hand once held in its palm. This was nice. No confrontation of their feelings, just silent touch.

"I didn't expect it to be like this." The shifter finally commented, leaning into the touch like it was the last time he'd ever receive it.

Although he wasn't looking at his face, he could tell Teddy had that stupid, goofy smile on his face that he always wore whenever he had a one-up on Hosah.

"What do you mean?" Teddy said in a quietened laugh. The shifter wondered what the pair looked like from a different angle, and how ridiculous the giant would be from a birds-eye sort of view, as he sat on all fours with his back bent almost inhumanly in order to get closer to Hosah in his new form.

"In the movies they.. I don't know, they confess their love and they kiss passionately and suddenly they've got it all figured out and it's smooth sailing from there. But I still have no idea. It's all the same, except, I guess some things have been... cleared up." The shifter rambled on with no control over what specifically he said, not that this was a problem when in Teddy's company.

"Maybe it's the kissing passionately part we're missing. That's the key," The giant joked, but with how he looked towering above the shifter, his hair cascaded forward, the overhead lamp looking almost like a halo from this angle, honestly made Hosah want to try it out.

The shifter gave a sigh of amusement, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

"Right," Teddy inhaled sharply, second guessing himself before continuing, "If you want to go.. Really super slow, we should do that. I don't want to bring all of this onto you when there's a lot going on. I don't know. It feels kind of sudden, I just.. Said it, I couldn't really hold it in for much longer."

"It's okay. I don't think I would've really lasted either. Things don't have to change, we don't really act like just friends anyway." Reminiscing on the month, or, however long it'd been as it felt like years, that they'd known each other, Hosah realised just how couple-y they'd acted all along. He didn't know any just friends that held hands on the street or that held each other in the night.

"Maybe not," Teddy sighed, his smile softy spread across his perfect pink cheeks, a satisfied and content expression that told Hosah all would be okay.

And for a moment, it really did feel like everything would be okay. There was no stalker in the window, there was no sudden phone call of a case reopening, there was nothing, in fact. The city was unusually quiet, as if everyone and everything had stopped in place just for the two of them to have this moment.

The giant really was beautiful, Hosah thought to himself as he sat, leant back with his neck craned up to face the figure that towered over his shrunken body. A kind of once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettable type of beauty that one would dream about for years after seeing a glimpse of out of the corner of their eye, or in the reflection of a window, or when the train passes through a crowded station. The sort of face that would make you do a double take in the street, which people most certainly did.

It was all his little features that stuck out the most, especially at such an angle. His hair curled at the ends, clearly wanting to go into coils but either it wasn't long enough or it wasn't being taken care of properly to be able to do so. His cheeks were covered in small, dark freckles, as were his arms and his legs, and even his hands and fingers. Even Teddy's nose was perfectly sculpted, completely straight and symmetrical, unlike his thick, bushy eyebrows that Hosah itched to pluck at and clean up as he obsessively did his own. He wondered how far his freckles went down, if the giant had one on his stomach and chest like his own abnormally large and almost quite garish mole on his abdomen which completely dwarfed his belly button.

"You look deep in thought." Teddy commented, shifting from his knees to laying on his stomach on the carpeted floor. They could've just moved to the bed, as the sun had already long set; the creepy cat clock that hung menacingly on the crowded wall was just about to strike eleven.

The shifter stood to his full, minimal height, the hand making him look as small as ever in comparison. Each crevice of the palm fit perfectly into his own, as if they were two pieces of a much bigger jigsaw puzzle that needed to be put together to reveal the full picture. Hosah wasn't really one to believe in fate or a magical red string, but as his fragile body went limp against the flesh wall, each groove of his back being effortlessly supported by the- slightly calloused but still, blissfully soft palm, he thought for a brief second that this was just right. He didn't need the cabin by the lake, or his job at the detectives agency, he didn't even need anyone else in the world to keep him company, just Teddy and this moment would be enough for him.

Hosah thought about what the doctor had told him the previous day; a concept called the butterfly effect, that one seemingly small and insignificant choice or event can cause a long trail of consequences, completely altering the course of someone’s life forever. That theory seemed to check out, as from the clouded window, he could see the stars shone bright through the light polluted city sky for the first time in years.

[bnnysweets]

APPLE CIDER

loser!ellie x ditzy!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. they’re inspired by cat and robbie in victorious bc i saw this edit and i couldn’t just don’t do nothing. ellie is just so mf in love with you omg.

warnings: ellie is IN LOVE, truly. reader is clueless. mention of marriage. reader is going out with a girl (booo🍅🍅) and she’s a asshole, ellie comforts you. fluff!

ellie is DELIRIOUS ’bout you, you share the same friend group so everyone knows she’s in love with you, but everyone also knows they can’t tell you because they already tried, but you didn’t believed, always excused it.

once, julien tried to tell you: “i’m telling you, she fucking loves you!” you laughed, “i knows she loves me, i love her too.” you said smiling and julien rolled her eyes, “i mean she wants you! like a girlfriend!” “yeah! we’re totally girlfriends!” you answered genuinely, “lord help me…ellie is in love with you. she wants to kiss you, with tongue. she draw you naked on her sketchbook, she writes songs about you, she gave your name to her favorite star.” you looked at her for a moment, without saying anything, just analyzing. “you know i don’t understand irony.” you said and julien gave up, changing the subject.

little did you know it’s aaaalll true, ellie’s big motivation to go the college everyday is to one day she have a great job and earn a lot of money to spoil you with all the expensive makeup you like and a pretty ring that you deserve. one page on her sketchbook has you in a wedding dress and veil, with your name + williams wrote on it. nobody else has ever saw it, it’s too precious to her.

so imagine her state when you started seeing a new girl, rachel. she was miserable, thinking you would never look at her the same way, but in one radom thursday you sat at the cafeteria table with a pout and sad eyes, ellie was experiencing a bittersweet feeling: at the same time time you looked so cute and sweet with that face, she was mad someone or something had made you sad. “rachel told me she liked me more when she didn’t really know me.” you announced to your friends, almost crying but before anyone could say anything ellie let a loud scoff, “are you fucking serious? this girl is insane?” she said and everybody was shocked, no one had ever seen ellie so mad and speaking so loudly, you just looked at her, speechless, batting you eyelashes at her, she swore you were trying to hypnotize her. “anyone who says they don’t like your personality is fucking insane, anyone should be fucking proud to get to know you. to know the pretty person you’re, inside and out, to know your kind heart and your bright mind. i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you say how rachel it’s just a difficult person when in reality she’s just a asshole, she’s a damn prick. she doesn’t deserve you, and you don’t see this! you don’t see how she talks ‘bout you when you’re not around, you don’t see because you trust her and it is the saddest and yet the prettiest thing ‘bout you, you believe her besides everything. but you need to wake up, she doesn’t like you! she likes to have you by her side, to show you off, to kiss you and show everyone how she has a pretty girl by her side. but she doesn’t truly like you, she likes how you make her feel, because she fucking knows how much you like her.” when ellie finished your face was all wet with tears, and ellie was out of breath, looking at you, fearing your reaction.

you got up and went to hug ellie, who was on the other side of the table. she embraced your body, smoothing your back while you cried and tightly hugged her body. when you calmed down you took your head out of her shoulder and looked at her, “thanks for the cold shower els, i needed it.” you said and waved goodbye to the group. you head to the rachel’s dorm to end everything right after this. maybe ellie has a chance after all.

[pochaccoups]

the seven deadly sins — seventeen hyung line ver. (18+)

SEUNGCHEOL —; ENVY

Seungcheol can’t help how often the daggers of jealousy sink into his heart. You’re you, after all. The fucking hot love of his life. He think it’s a little justified that seeing other men make you smile brings out this possessive, protective urge in him, because it’s him that should be making you smile and laugh.

He’s not an asshole though. He’s not the type to punch a guy for checking you out, or even for hitting on you when he’s not by your side. He’s not even the type to intimidate, or humiliate. Your relationship is built upon a steady foundation of trust, and he knows before you even get to tell him that you’ve politely let whoever know that you’re taken.

That means it’s you who’s on the receiving end of his pent up envy.

Harsh, merciless snaps of his hips drive your face deeper into the pillow, make your muffled moans grow louder. Your poor pussy weeps around his cock as it drives in and out of you, as though Seungcheol won’t relent until he’s carved the shape of it into your guts. Until your mind can only think about him, him, him.

It’s his name you sob like you’re praying for forgiveness, his cock that finds a home in your greedy walls, his mouth that marks your skin and leaves a message upon you—you’re being taken care of.

JEONGHAN —; GREED

When Yoon Jeonghan wants something, he will stop at nothing to get it.

You were a smart girl, and he liked that. He wanted to play games with you, and you saw through him. Pretended to play along so you could play your own games and string him along, all in the name of fun. He wanted you—badly. Wanted to make you go dumb, put you in your place. How badly did you want the same thing.

What you quickly learn, however, is that it is not enough for Yoon Jeonghan to finally get what he wants. Even when he’s finally managed to slither his way between your legs, made you cry on his tongue and then his cock, in his eyes remains something akin to hunger.

He needs more.

Seeing you fall apart at his hands has altered something in his brain.

“One more, pretty?” he asks, soft and angelic, as though he hasn’t turned your bones into jelly and filled your head with cotton. He draws circles on your tummy; presses a kiss to your hair in a way that makes you melt for him.

“Can’t, Hannie, ‘s too much,” you mumble, your throat like sandpaper.

“It’ll feel good,” he says, sliding his hand between your legs to play with your poor puffy clit, grinning as you whimper at the contact. “Yeah?”

Your reply comes as a pitiful, broken moan. When he gets you to your high, it comes as a gentle, pulsing wave, but you’ve reached heaven now, and Jeonghan has guided you there. You’re floating, brainless, and as your eyes flutter shut and you drift away into slumber, he knows he has won.

JOSHUA —; PRIDE

Joshua Hong. The man who’s got it all. The face, the body, the voice, the girl.

Every conversation he has is about you, you, you. You’re his phone lockscreen. His social media pages are made up of pictures of you. It’s almost insufferable, the way he doesn’t shut up about how perfect of a partner you are.

He buys you a one-of-a-kind engagement ring. He doesn’t tell you how much it’s worth, but secretly he’ll leak it to the press—a quarter of a million dollars and a two year wait for it to be crafted.

It should come as no surprise that he likes to film you taking his cock. It’s not enough for him to slide his cock into your heat, to bury it snug between your velvety walls—he needs a way of remembering the tight, slippery grip of your pretty cunt pulsing around him, and the shameless, debauched noises you make when he fucks you good. Work means he can be far from you sometimes, and timezones mean you can’t just call, so tapes it is.

They’re strictly for your and his eyes only—of course. However, what crosses his mind too often is a devilish little voice in the back of his head telling him to post it. Just make a burner account. She’ll never know. But he can’t bring himself to do it when the ring on your finger is a promise of his trust.

Instead he’ll leave his phone unlocked, opened on his camera roll where the videos haven’t been tucked away into the hidden folder ‘yet’, or ‘accidentally’ clicking the wrong thing when sending his friends photos and ‘not realising’ until an hour later that he’d exposed to them a short dim clip of him covering your tits with his cum.

He knows they want you. It’s not like they hide their wolfish stares, their drooling mouths, their licked lips. They’ll never have you, though, and he sleeps well at night knowing that. With you in his arms, too.

JUN —; LUST

Junhui is quite a wildcard— a mix of a little bit of every sin. Above all, however, he is just so full of desire. He’s got an unquenchable libido that is heightened when he’s in love. And you are his lucky victim.

It’s the littlest things you do that make him hard. It’s even things you don’t do. It’s the way your tits sit in a low cut top on a blistering summer’s day. It’s the way you like to run your hands through his hair when you’re lounging on the couch together, or sitting at the dinner table. It’s the way you call his name from another room with the sweetest lilt to your voice: “Junieee?”

It’s the way you take him so good, whether you’re bent over the kitchen counter or pressed up against the wall or rolled onto your side first thing in the morning. He’s so greedy for you, for the warm embrace of your wet, fluttering pussy and for the sound of your soft, blissful moans.

It doesn’t help that you’re always so wet, so open and ready for him. Knowing that does terrible things to his sanity. You’re so pliable when he gets his hands on you, so welcoming, letting him play with you as he pleases. You try to play it off as he kisses along your neck and gropes at your nipples through your shirt, pretend like he’s bothering you, but you’re not fooling anyone.

He’ll try to make things quick sometimes, make you cum on his fingers while he kisses you hard, or let you take him down your throat, but then it’s you who’s whining, batting your eyelashes because you want more. He’s ruined you. You’re perfect for him.

HOSHI —; GLUTTONY

Oh, he can’t get enough of you. When he gets his hands (or, well, his mouth) on you, it’s over.

Kwon Soonyoung would spend weeks on end between your legs if he only could. He’d give up food and water and shelter and money if it meant he could survive on your pussy alone. It’s enough sustenance, he swears it.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” he tells you, smeared and glistening with you all down his chin and neck. He's the image of debauchery, indulgence, shamelessness all at once. You look even worse for wear. Sweaty, lips puffy from being bitten, skin burning, hair tousled. Both of you look like sin.

It always starts so innocent. Well, as innocent as your boyfriend using your stomach or tits as a pillow can be. “Just taking a nap,” he’ll insist. Then his fingers start wandering, and his hand is down your pants, and his head is between your thighs.

“Just… Just a lil’ sip, yeah?” he’ll promise, and you never believe him as his tongue dives into your cunt. It’s never been ‘just a sip’. He makes you sob, makes you spill your nectar all over his tongue and drinks it like it’s the blood of the Lord until he’s intoxicated by it, hooked on it, his life depends on it. He’ll keep eating even though he’s full and you’re a quivering, writhing mess, and even then it still won’t be enough.

WONWOO —; WRATH

Wonwoo is not mean. He doesn’t have much of a temper. He’s calm. Patient. Soft-spoken. His best friends of ten years have only seen him yell once. Really, he’s the last person to be described as wrathful.

Somehow, though, you’ve figured out how to get on every last one of his nerves. He’s smitten with you, but fuck if you don’t raise his heart rate sometimes.

“Are you really wearing that out, baby?” he asks, eyes dropping to the where you tug at your miniskirt, only for it to ride back up to just beneath your ass the second you move again.

“Yeah, why?” you reply, tilting your head at yourself in the mirror. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“You do, but—”

“You think I look like a slut?”

“No, love. It’s two degrees out. I don’t want you to freeze.”

“You just don’t want other men looking at me, I get it. God, you’re so controlling.”

You don’t mean it. His jaw still clenches.

Then it’s a never-ending back and forth until you’ve managed to wear out every last thread of his patience, and he’s putting you on your knees and stuffing your mouth full of his cock in return for you putting words in his. He’ll fuck your throat until it’s raw and your mascara bleeds down your face, until his release spills on your tongue and he’s cooing at you to swallow it like a good girl.

Then he’ll ruin your pussy. Flip that stupid little miniskirt up over your ass and give you something to complain about.

WOOZI —; SLOTH

It’s a well-known fact that Jihoon is a laid-back man. Not quite lazy—when it comes to his work he’s very much the opposite. It's just that doesn’t put any more effort into things than he needs to.

His slothful sex habits don’t come from the fact that he thinks you should be doing all the work because he has an ego. It’s nothing like that. It’s that he likes to let you take what you want from him, what you need. Which is why, most of the time, he’ll sit back and let you do exactly that.

With his arms behind his head, he watches with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth as you ride his cock into tomorrow. He’s in no rush to cum. So long as you’re not done with him, he doesn’t feel the need.

You’re a vision, anyway; and him, a sort of voyeur. His head spins only from the sound of your soft, broken moans, your disheveled appearance, the spit and cum and the marks that run down your chest. Your tight pussy is heavenly too, fluttering so temptingly around him, so needy, and he's not even doing anything.

Eventually comes your soft whining. Like clockwork, your hips start to slow, your words edged with exhaustion. “Jihoonie, my thighs hurt…”

"Ah, poor thing," he coos, but even in your fucked-out state you can hear the faux-concern in his words. He reaches for your face, warm and damp with sweat, and cups your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked lips. "You wanted my cock so bad, didn't you? Then take it yourself."

Your thighs burn, and walking will hurt in the morning, but the only way you will get an orgasm and a load from your boyfriend is if you do as he says, so you brace yourself against his chest, and you ride him hard.

[connorsui]

The flowers arrive like clockwork.

Every two weeks, without fail, a fresh bouquet is delivered to your doorstep. And the arrangement always changes—

soft peonies, vibrant sunflowers, the classic elegance of white roses.

But the note is always .... the same, scrawled in familiar, slanted handwriting.

"For you, love. Keep them close. -S"

You press the latest note between your fingers, running your thumb over the ink. The paper is stiff and crisp. A stark contrast to the delicate petals resting in the glass vase on your kitchen counter.

Simon ... never forgets.

No matter where he is—somewhere far, somewhere dangerous, somewhere he won’t talk about—he remembers. Remembers you. Remembers that the loneliness sinks in deeper when his own house is too quiet, when the bed is too cold, when the weight of his absence presses down on you like an iron hand.

And so, the flowers come. A silent reassurance.

A tether to him.

However, what you don’t know is that thousands of miles away, buried in the monotony of deployment, Simon keeps a single flower from each bouquet. A small, fragile thing, tucked into his chest pocket.

It doesn’t belong here—delicate against the hard edges of military life, a stark contrast to the scent of gunpowder and sweat. But he watches it, tracks the way its petals curl inward, the way the color fades at the edges.

Because if it’s dying here, then the ones back home must be too.

And Simon doesn’t allow things to wither in his absence.

So he orders another bouquet. Makes sure it arrives before the last one is nothing more than brittle stems. Makes sure you don’t spend a single day without something beautiful waiting for you.

Because he knows you.

Knows that you don’t just place them in the vase carelessly—you trim the stems, change the water, arrange them just right, fingers brushing over petals like they mean something. And they do. Because they’re from him.

Knows that when the blooms start to wilt, you don’t throw them away immediately. You linger. You press the petals between the pages of books, tuck them into old letters, keep them as if they hold some part of him.

And maybe they do.

When Simon comes home, it’s always quiet. No grand reunions, no declarations. Just the steady sound of his boots crossing the threshold, the slow exhale as he sheds his gear, as the weight of war is left at the door.

And the first thing he does—before he even pulls you into his arms—is check the flowers.

Sees them fresh and bright, standing tall in their vase, just as they should be.

And he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders, because he kept his promise.

You turn from the counter, watching him as he takes it all in. His eyes flicker to you, to the bouquet, back to you.

Then, soft as a whisper, “Did you like them?”

You smile, stepping forward, pressing yourself into his chest as his arms encircle you, his scent wrapping around you like something safe. Something whole.

You bury your face into his shoulder, voice muffled but sure. “Always.”

And he believes you. Because Simon doesn’t deal in pretty words or hollow gestures. He deals in actions, in quiet devotion, in making sure that no matter how far he is, you never feel the absence of him.

Not when his love still lingers in every petal, every bloom.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. I

summary: you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,002

contents: 18+/minors dni, canon typical violence, angst, break up vibes, pining, longing, intense guilt, illusions to depression

AN: taking a stab at writing joaquin bc i've quickly grown enamored with him. i'm still learning his characterization and how i'd perceive him so be kind with this first try. this is just the first part & there will be another tying things up! i hope yall enjoy and i'm so excited to be back here writing again.

vuelve a mí masterlist

It’s hard to see him like this. Truthfully,  it’s hard to see him at all. Not because of anything he’s done, not even because of how he’s changed while you were gone, but from how you changed. 

It doesn’t make much sense; you had been turned to dust. Crumbled away into literal nothingness. And yet, when you returned everything felt different. Nothing, not your passions, your job, your family— Joaquin— felt like it was yours anymore. 

When you’d come back, you felt so disconnected from everything. You questioned who you were and what your purpose was, especially since so many people in your life had carried on. 

Joaquin included. 

He wasn’t Falcon when you left. He had never touched the suit. Sure he had wanted to, he had his aspirations but you had always imagined that you’d be right there to support him. 

But here you sat. Sam called you immediately, not knowing the hospital had too. You were still Joaquin’s emergency contact— after all these years he hadn’t changed it. 

So here you sit, a book in your hands as you patiently waiting for him to wake up. The doctors assured that he would wake up, he was in critical condition but young and healthy. ‘A fighter’ they’d said.

“You came.”

His voice startles you, and you flinch slightly, losing your place in the pages.

He grins apologetically, “Sorry, querida, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes effort to not get lost in his smile, especially after thinking that you might have lost him for good. 

You fortify yourself, crossing your arms against your chest, “More than you already have?”

“You’re one to talk, honey.”

You know exactly what he means. All the abandonment of relationships, taking risks to better understand yourself. He and others have made it clear that they’re worried about you, that you aren’t the same. Confirmation of what you’re most afraid of. 

“I don’t want to argue, not when you’re like this.”

He raises a brow at you playfully, “But some other time maybe? Over dinner?”

“Joaquin…”

You watch him physically deflate and it breaks your heart. He shakes his head, giving you a weak smile, “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’d be offended if you hadn’t,” He murmurs lowly.

Something inside you flutters at the soft huskiness of his voice and you’re rendered speechless for a handful of moments. Forced to acknowledge just how much you’ve missed him. Finally, you’re able to say, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quino.”

“I don’t know, maybe something that explains why we aren’t together anymore.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not fair, you don’t understand. You weren’t gone. You got to live your life with no interruptions, with no hiccups. And I got— I got nothing. I was nothing.”

He sits up, flinching as he does. You try to calm things— you had really meant it when you said you didn’t want to fight. But when Joaquin is worked up, when he believes in something his passion can’t be quelled. Isn’t that what got him here in the first place? 

He barrels past your attempts to shush him, his gaze piercing into yours as he does. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But what you don’t understand is how heartbreaking it was having to go on without you. My life was interrupted, the love of my life was taken from me and more than ever I had to serve my country. The one person that has ever truly understood me was gone. That’s a fucking hiccup if I’ve ever seen one. So no, it's not the same. No, I don’t understand, but it wasn’t easy for me. It’s never been easy without you— not before and definitely not after.”

As you listen to Joaquin’s words, you must face not only what the two of you lost together, but what he lost on his own. His struggle, his pain, forces you to turn away from your own and see his in a new light. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after being blipped, you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. You’ve done nothing but hurt yourself and the ones you love by being swallowed by how the unknown may have changed you. 

You gave up. On yourself, on your friends and family. On Joaquin.

Your chest goes tight and you freeze as your body is flooded with emotion. It took this— him injured and angry for you to come to your senses? 

What have you done? 

“Hey, vuelve a mí,” He murmurs so gently that the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Lo siento, querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

With sharp, quick movements you wipe away your tears and stand. “I shouldn’t have come,” You repeat, stepping closer to him, resting your hand over his gently. “I’m really glad you’re okay Joaquin but I— I have to go.”

“Wait, we can talk about this, figure it out like we did before? Don’t go,” He flips his hand over in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” You whisper brokenly. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It only makes the guilt inside you plant itself deeper.

You swallow, shaking your head. Your mind is made up.  “Me being here…it’s just going to fuck up everything further. I’m sorry.

“Baby, that’s not—“

“Be well, Quino. Please,” you implore, untangling your hands and darting for the door.

He calls after you. Calls and calls, exerting effort you know his healing body shouldn’t. And yet, you can hear him trying until the elevator doors close. Something inside you continues to feel him. As you walk to your car, as you eat dinner later that night, as you crawl into your bed made for two. That yearning, that ache…it doesn’t change your mind. 

> pt. II

let me know if you'd like to be on my joaquin taglist!

[httpvomitello]

False Alarms .｡*･ﾟﾟ (part 2)

Summary: Following the aftermath of the argument, where the silence is louder, Joel has to claw his way back to you.

joel miller x f!reader

(part 1)

WARNINGS: Angst, age gap, references to past trauma, hurt/no comfort(in the beginning), language, happy ending (sort of).

The silence lasts some days.

Not tense, not heated—just cold.

The kind of quiet that settles into the bones of the house. Every floorboard creak, every clink of a spoon against ceramic sounds like it's happening in an abandoned place. Like you live next to each other, not with each other.

Joel sleeps on the couch.

You didn’t ask him to.

But you didn’t stop him, either.

On the second day, he leaves a cup of hot chocolate by your bedside. Still warm. You don’t drink it.

On the third, you come home to the broken hinge on the kitchen door fixed. You hadn’t asked. You hadn’t mentioned it. You’d been dealing with it squeaking for weeks. But there it is—quiet.

And so are you.

By day four, it’s raining, hard.

You’re curled on the far end of the couch, blanket around your shoulders, trying to read the same page for the fourth time. Joel steps inside, drenched, holding something behind his back.

You don’t look up.

He approaches cautiously, like he’s stepping through glass. Then—

He sets a small object on the table in front of you and backs away.

It’s a flower.

Not fresh. Dried. A small yellow bloom you’d pointed out months ago on patrol and told him reminded you of honey. Of warmth.

You swallow. Hard.

But say nothing.

Joel lingers by the fireplace, arms crossed like they’re holding him together.

He tries again later. Dinner.

He cooks your favorite—if anything made of canned beans and rabbit stew can be called a favorite. He sets the table. Lights a candle. Doesn’t say a word when you walk right past it and grab a granola bar from the cupboard.

But he doesn’t put the food away. He leaves it there, like he’s hoping you’ll change your mind.

You don’t.

Not yet.

That night, you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, while Joel stays curled up on the couch downstairs, blanket thrown haphazardly over his shoulder.

You remember the way he looked at you when you told him you weren’t pregnant. Like the floor had fallen out from under him.

Not because he was relieved. Not because he was upset.

Because he didn’t know how to feel, and hated himself for it.

On the fifth morning, you find a note on the kitchen counter. Joel’s handwriting. Uneven. A little rushed.

"Didn’t know how to talk.

Didn’t know how to fix it.

Still don’t.

But I’d give anything if you’d let me try."

You sit down at the table and read it twice.

Then three times.

Then fold it neatly and place it in your pocket.

The sixth morning is quiet again. But the silence feels different.

Less like punishment. More like waiting.

You find him outside by the fence, hammering in reinforcement boards. The rain’s stopped, but his shoulders are soaked in sweat.

You watch him for a long time. The way he works—focused, jaw tight.

Finally, you speak.

“I got your note.”

Joel stopped.

Then slowly turns.

You meet his eyes.

“I’m ready to talk now.”

He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t speak.

Just breathes—sharp and almost broken.

Then he nods.

And he drops the hammer.

Inside, the tension thickens again—different this time.

Joel sits down across from you, eyes down, wringing his hands like he’s bracing for the end of something sacred.

You take a breath.

He does too.

“I was scared,” you start. “Not of being pregnant. Not really. I was scared you’d shut down again. And you did.”

Joel flinches. But he nods.

“I thought we were past that. Thought we were better than the version of us that runs away when shit gets real.”

“I didn’t run,” Joel says quietly. “I froze.”

You look at him. “Same thing.”

He winces. “I know.”

A pause.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “I didn’t know how to be okay with it. Thought I’d say the wrong thing. So I said nothin’. Like a goddamn coward.”

You close your eyes. “It made me feel alone.”

Joel’s voice cracks. “You weren’t.”

Silence.

Then—

“I kept thinking,” he says, voice low, “if you were pregnant, I’d find a way. I’d try. Even if it scared me to death. Because I already lost too much. And I ain’t ever gonna be ready to lose you.”

Your chest tightens.

“But I also knew,” he continues, “that I’m not what you’d call a good bet. I get scared, I shut down. I don’t talk right. I’m... Jesus Christ, I’m older than you and still don’t know how to make you feel safe when you need it most. And that... that kills me.”

You don’t speak.

So he keeps going.

“But if there’s a way to learn, to be better at this—at us—I’ll do it. I’ll fuckin’ beg, if I have to.”

Your fingers tighten around your sleeve. Your throat is hot.

“I don’t want you to beg,” you whisper.

Joel meets your eyes.

“I just want you by my side.”

His voice is almost a whisper now. “Then say I still got a chance.”

You look at him for a long time.

Then nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “You still got a chance.”

Joel exhales so slowly, like he’s deflating.

Like his soul’s been waiting to come back home.

taglist: @umadirectioner, @keseqna, @jasminedragoon, @joelsslutt, @valoxwayward, @writingwizardsblog, @peachtickler69

[cameronsbabydoll]

MY SMART GIRL

tutor!kook!pope x bambi!reader

WARNINGS: light academic dumbification, teasing, tension, praise, pope being smug, slightly possessive vibes, makeout at the end

AUTHORS NOTE: credits to kook!pope: @princessbrunette and @starfxkrinc !! also divider is made by me! also i know the math in this fic is for middle school but yeah!

he’s explained the formula three times.

you’re trying. god, you are. but your pencil is starting to slip between your fingers, your eyes blurry, your knees tucked under the desk like they’re holding you upright.

pope’s voice is calm. steady. kind of too calm for someone watching you struggle over the same algebraic expression for twenty minutes.

“baby.”

your head snaps up. “i’m listening,” you say quickly. too quickly. like you’re expecting him to scold you.

he doesn’t.

instead, he smiles. soft, amused. the kind of smile that makes your stomach flip.

“i know,” he says, voice warm. “but you’re listening with your cute little puppy face. not your brain.”

you blink at him. scandalized. “what does that mean?”

“it means,” he hums, tapping your notebook, “you’re staring at the page like it’s gonna sprout legs and walk you through the equation.”

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

he leans in, close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. “not a bad thing,” he murmurs. “makes me feel important.”

your voice is quieter now. almost shy. “so… if the exponent is negative—”

“it goes in the denominator,” he says, already circling the number. “it’s like… when something’s not ready to be on top, it goes underneath. it submits.”

you stare.

“that’s your academic example?” you ask, heat rising in your cheeks.

he shrugs, not even bothering to look sorry. “it’s memorable, isn’t it?”

you squint at him. “you’re insane.”

“but you’ll remember it now,” he says, smug. “you don’t have to get it my way. you just have to let me teach you.”

you let out a breath. one that sounds a little too much like i want to kiss you.

then, softly: “it’s hard when you’re so smart.”

he smiles again. different this time. quieter. a little dangerous. “not smart,” he says. “just really obsessed with your confused face.”

you stop breathing for a second.

he tilts his head, watching you like he’s memorizing your reaction. “look,” he adds. “let’s try from the bed. maybe the desk is too stiff.”

and maybe you’re too dazed to argue. or maybe you like the way his hand lingers at the small of your back as you sit down.

but you nod. and then it gets worse.

because now he’s behind you, thighs bracketing yours, his textbook on your lap like it’s innocent, like his breath on your neck isn’t making your thoughts evaporate.

you’re trying. again.

you get halfway through the question.

“pope…”

his hand rests low on your stomach, thumb brushing under the hem of your shirt. “yeah?”

“i can’t.”

he hums against your shoulder. kisses it, just barely. “you can. you’re my smart girl, right?”

you nod. slow. dizzy.

���say it.”

“i’m your smart girl,” you whisper.

and he grins. so proud. so smug.

he kisses your cheek. your neck. your jaw.

but you shake your head, still fixated on the textbook.

“i’m gonna get one,” you mumble. “watch.”

he leans back, hands raised like he’s letting you drive. “go ahead.”

you reread the question. your lips move, murmuring something under your breath, and then—finally—you circle the right answer.

you turn to look at him, triumphant.

he’s already looking at you like he wants to ruin your life.

“look at you,” he breathes. “that brain does work after all.”

“shut up,” you whisper, grinning.

“make me.”

you don’t get the chance—because his hand finds your chin and tilts your mouth up to his before you can think twice.

he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night. like you’re the answer to something he didn’t know how to ask. like he needs you soft and sweet and pressed up against him in his stupid boat shoes and pressed polo and smirking mouth.

and when you finally break away for air, a little breathless and dazed, he tucks your hair behind your ear and murmurs, “still think you’re bad at math?”

you shove the textbook off the bed.

“i think i’m bad at focusing when your with me.”

[darlingsblackbook]

Alhaitham x Academic Rival!Reader | Part Two

Why is apologizing so hard!

Genshin Masterlist

I | Alhaitham doesn’t apologize right away - not because he doesn’t regret it, but because he has no idea how to approach you without making it worse.

II | Alhaitham tries to be logical about it at first: If I gave offense, I should simply clarify. Done.

III | When Alhaitham sees you again - sitting a little farther away in the lecture hall, eyes a little dimmer - his carefully constructed plan crumbles.

IV | Alhaitham approaches you with a book in hand, pretending it’s business. “I thought this might support your argument from last week. You were close, but your conclusion lacked support.”

You stare at him blankly. “Thanks.”

No sarcastic smile. No flustered stammer.

He walks away feeling worse.

V | Kaveh catches Alhaitham pacing at home.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re rereading the same page for 20 minutes. She finally ignore you back, huh?”

VI | The next time you see Alhaitham, he’s weirdly lingering. Hovering near your desk like a ghost with a PhD.

“You didn’t submit your paper this week.”

“Wasn’t feeling up to it.”

“It’s not like you to fall behind.”

“…Maybe I’m not on your level.”

That hits. Alhaitham stands frozen, unsure what to say.

You pack up and leave without waiting.

VII | The guilt builds until it spills over into Alhaitham's writing. Your name shows up in the margins of his notes.

She would’ve argued this… Her stance would be this…

He realizes he misses you. Not just your intellect — you.

VIII | So… Alhaitham buys sweets. They’re not even your favorite. He doesn’t know what your favorite is. He just remembers you once picked a pastry over lunch and mumbled something about it being “comforting.”

IX | Alhaitham leaves it on your desk with a sticky note:

“For research recovery.”

You stare at it for a long time.

X | The next day, you leave your corrected paper on Alhaitham's desk.

He reads it three times.

He circles a line of your argument and writes in the margins,“Impressive.”

XI | That afternoon, Alhaitham finds you in the library.

“I was unfair to you.”

You blink.

He's standing there like he's about to defend a thesis, but his voice does not have that edge to it at all. No, it's soft - gentle.

“You were right to walk away. I… didn’t mean to hurt you.”

XII | Your heart stirs — not because of the apology, but because it’s Alhaitham. Stiff posture, untrained words, but sincere eyes.

XIII | "Why do you even argue with me if you think I’m beneath you?”

“I don’t.”

“…Then why say it?”

“Because when I talk to you, it doesn’t feel like I’m wasting my breath. You’re the only one who pushes back. And—”

He hesitates. “—I value your mind. Even if I don’t always… speak kindly.”

XIV | You soften a little. “You don’t have to be cruel to show respect, you know.”

“I’m learning that.” Alhaitham looks away. “But… I’d like to keep hearing your voice. Debating with you. Even if you win.”

XV | “You’d let me win?”

“No,” Alhaitham says, deadpan. “But I’d tolerate it.”

You laugh. It’s the first time he’s heard it in a while. He hides his relief badly.

XVI | From then on, Alhaitham starts catching himself before speaking. He still throws jabs, but they’re lighter, more teasing. You start teasing back.

XVII | One day, Alhaitham catches you staring at him.

“What?”

“Just wondering when you turned into someone kind of… sweet.”

He blushes and immediately hides behind a book. “Must be projection.”

XVIII | When you pass Alhaitham your next paper, there’s a note at the end,“Try to be nicer, or I’ll start winning on purpose.”

He smiles. Actually smiles.

XIX | The rivalry never ends — but now it’s charged with something electric. And when Alhaitham finally kisses you (a long time later), he still prefaces it with,

“This doesn’t mean you were right about your theory.”

You grin. “Sure, Haitham. Whatever helps you sleep.”

All Rights Reserved © 2025 Darlingsblackbook

[theglassesgirl]

The Ithaca Saga: What IS a Monster, how it’s presented, and when fictional S.A is integral to the plot.

So -

This was originally a response to @ / anniflamma which you can still find on my page unedited. But with the new discourse surrounding the suitors, I figured I could retool it as a standalone essay to express a topic I’ve been trying to pin down for a while now; What exactly does the mean when they call a character a monster? What do they do, do the reasons matter, and how does the subject of rape affect how the fandom consider some monsters more unforgivable than others? When IS rape in fiction “necessary” and why such questions defeat the purpose of exploratory creative works.

In this post we will discuss all the major antagonists of the Epic Musical, Penelope’s agency, the label of Monster and the types of moralizing one might do when faced with uncomfortable subjects in fiction and how to prevent these feelings from blinding is about what a story is trying to say.

For those who read my original response; there’s new content to read here and posts that will be referred to, if you’d like to give it another gander!

Thank you,

Let’s begin;

I think making the threat of rape explicit was very much needed, actually.

It’s come to my attention that there are people here and on tiktok who are so uncomfortable with the subject matter in this CENTURIES old tale that they’re both refusing to accept that it plays an important part in the original poem and musical, AND are bizarrely insisting that Jorge should have magically done away with it to make more palatable.

This is beyond juvenile - it’s a clear sign of media illiteracy.

What, if I may ask, do you think it means when you say that the suitors are going to force Penelope to choose one of them to marry.

You may respond that they want to take over Ithaca. That they want to be king. But take a moment to consider what forcing a woman to marry one of them will entail. I wonder if you think that one can divorce the idea of sexual violence in this plot.

It would be…unfathomably difficult to do so. Because you CANT. There is an implicit threat of Penelope’s will breaking and having to have unwilling and reluctant sex with any one of them in the event she just gave up and picked one.

This isn’t a storyline that depicts Penelope of being willing to marry any of the suitors. She is WAITING for her husband’s return. Even if he doesn’t, she doesn’t WANT to marry someone else. Her consent is being violated by the very merit of them being in her palace, eating her food, and threatening her son.

They’re doing ALL OF THIS in order to bend her will in the HOPES of raping her as a bonus to becoming king of Ithaca.

My contention is the use of “unnecessary” when it comes to this trope in media - though themes of rape can be uncomfortable, to call them unnecessary HAVE to meet certain criteria. Which this specific instance doesn’t.

By observing various responses, it’s clear that the threat of rape went completely over many’s head in this instance of the story. So I very must appreciate Jorge making it SO clear that it’s upsetting.

This part of the odyssey, and the musical, is very much about Penelope suffering under the threat of assault for YEARS. In the same way Odysseus was (a thing I touched upon in my calypso essay, in terms of his ambiguous situation in the musical) - it’s a parallel that works as both Antinous and Calypso were introduced (regardless on your personal interpretation of what Calypso did or did not do, but that’s neither here nor there).

It has taken an emotional and psychological toll of either spouse. And the kicker is that neither of them are freed of this situation on their own - they are both rescued by outside forces. Athena/Hermes helps free Odysseus; Athena/Odysseus will help free Penelope.

The looming threat of rape is SO necessary that it helps the catharsis factor we feel toward PENELOPE’s story - it’s nothing to do w Odysseus who by now is a force of nature as big as Poseidon, his actions happen TO her, and it’s up to her to decide (per “would you love me” ) what she feels about that. She can very well reject him! She’s suffered under male violence for YEARS. Odysseus’s violence and those of the suitors toward her are basis enough for the comparison.

Do all men, including her husband, become violent? Does she want to put up with that? We know from her song snippets that she is NOT a woman that simply succumbs to the Rape Rescue trope as suggested by ignorant consumers of media - and I call it ignorance and consumerism because there’s a clear lack of engaging with the material in an intuitive way. It’s just blind consumption - as if one bites into a burger and find a pickle, which you personally don’t like, and having it removed - you can’t treat ART that way .

Penelope is a very intuitive and emotionally intelligent queen. Stop infantilizing her. Her own husband suggests that like the suitors, his actions make him just as bad as they are and presents his hope as being understanding if she rejects him on those grounds. But those ARENT her grounds. She has full autonomy and can make a distinction FOR HERSELF whether she considers her husband equal to the monsters who have harmed her.

So let’s talk about the “Monster” label as it is presented on the entire musical.

Some have erroneously suggested that Odysseus has been given an out to commit cruel and ruthless deeds with out “good justification” - he does it for his family,, after all!

Which is a misunderstanding of everything every antagonist of each saga has done.

Let’s start with the Troy Saga: Odysseus has killed a BABY. He made the choice to put his family over this child. Everything he has done and lost would be for literally NOTHING if he hadn’t, as even if he had killed the suitors and regained everything - the GODS themselves would make sure that child would come to an aged Odysseus and slaughter him, Penelope, Telemachus and his entire kingdom when he came of age.

Odysseus STARTS as a monster. We have been rooting for the man who laid Troy and its children asunder. As such, the label of a monster is NOT so much a morally subjective label - it simply a thing that IS. Or rather. It is what ALL the antagonists ARE, but it’s hardly a condemnation of any of them.

(Peep that one of the first lines Ody says refers back to in the Vengeance Saga is what he did to Troy - he STILL views his actions over there as unforgivable, so not even HE will ever see himself otherwise, the problem was that he felt so guilty over it that he became a detriment (a different kind of monster) to his friends and family when they were all guilty of the same thing and trying to get home.)

ALL of the antagonists have a “good reason” to kill ALL the soldiers (who again, have looted and slaughtered the Trojans) Odysseus and his close friends included. Whether your AGREE is almost irrelevant…because the story itself proposes that it’s irrelevant.

The next saga introduces the cyclops: his motivation is primarily that his FRIENDS the sheep have been slaughtered. You can argue in the scope of things, you can’t empathize with this but it’s his good reason. He’s the son of a god, and these sheep are all he has. His friends, who matter to him as much as Polites does to Ody, are being taken and slain, he is being drugged, attacked and maimed. VERY much was Ody goes through in the final saga. And even so.

The Cyclops is antagonistic to the party, he’s a monster who feels justified killing to avenge his killed sheep. A monster is a thing he IS.

As Poseidon’s son, he asks his father to kill the 600 men who have ransacked his home and beat on him. He doesn’t view his father as being wrong for this. In the same ways Ody and Telemachus don’t waste any time addressing the slain suitors later on. Poseidon is a monster of a god - it’s just a thing he is. Not even being stabbed 100 times is enough to repay the harm he’s done - to most everyone, not just Ody, but we are not asked to quantify that. Just live with it.

Circe has killed NUMEROUS men over the years. HER “good reason” is that something bad happened to her nymphs when she let a stranger in her islands. She doesn’t even promise that she WONT kill in the future - her song ends w the suggestion that the world may continue to need her to puppeteer! Because she does not exist to be “redeemed” - she is somewhat more reasonable and capable of empathy than even the likes Athena, who being a greater and more powerful god, does not have the one on one affection to her follows as Circe does. She’s a monster! It’s a label, a thing she IS.

So here we begin to ask; is it LOVE that gives people the capacity to do monstrous things? Because the cyclops loved his sheep friends, Poseidon loves his son, Circe loves her nymphs.

And by now you’re saying now wait a minute didn’t the Underworld Saga go over this? Why yes it did! And Odysseus decides to “become the monster” - he already IS one by the standards of the cyclops, Poseidon, Troy - they all see him as a monstrous being. But he accepts that, after being one in Troy, he held back and ruined the lives of his men, making him a monster to THEM. His “good reason” for being so!

He attempts very hard to be the General he was in Troy and prioritize them going home, sparing no sympathy towards his enemies - but in the Thunder Saga we see the gods further push him to be completely self-serving like they are. The sun gods cows are harmed, he sends Zeus in relation - his “good reason” being his friend were personally harmed.

Odysseus’s “good reason” is ultimately decided to be the same good reason he had to slaughter the Trojans - to get back home to his wife and son.

Like with the Cyclops sheep, Circe’s nymphs, The Sun gods cows, and Poseidons son, WE are shocked and made to feel some type of way about Odyseuss’s reasoning. Surely HIS personal suffering shouldn’t cost the lives of “innocent” men…but it does! It surely does.

He is a monster. It’s just a thing he IS.

Now, Odysseus spends the next seven years under the thumb of ANOTHER monster. And through calypso own reasoning, despite her tragic backstory, her “good reason” she IS a monster. She’s incapable of understanding why she wasn’t reciprocated. Incapable of empathizing with a human because as a god who has spent eternity alone, it stands to reason she, like all the other monsters mentioned before, prioritizes HER personal suffering over everyone else’s. In some versions she either kills herself or does spend the rest of eternity alone. She’s a monster. This is a thing she IS.

Now what the HELL does all this have to do with the suitors?

Odysseus started the musical a MONSTER. He’s worn different hats, but it is what he IS. It’s a label, not a moral critique.

ALL of the antagonists of every saga have a “good reason” NONE of them are ruthless for ruthlessness sake! It’s immaterial whether you agree with them or not, but to understand them for what they are.

Odysseus is the antagonist of the ithica saga, md while the suitors are the antagonist to him and his family, we see their fate form THEIR POV

The suitors could not have been depicted as “rude youthful men” like Telemachus. That Odysseus killing them should be shocking - a frightening condemnation of everything he’s done and became. But I ask once again - in what world are the suitors not implicitly set up as monsters?

Because again. They aren’t being rude for rudeness’s sake! They aren’t JUST eating Penelope’s food and sleeping in HER house. Them threatening Telemachus, as you propose, isn’t “enough” of a reason because they didn’t wake up one day beefing w this boy. Everything they do is for the express purpose of sexual violence towards the Queen of Ithaca, who upon assaulting, will make it so any one of them will be King.

You can’t separate the one from the other. You get a nonsense scenario. The whole REASON they’re there in the first place.

Even if you create a fanfic where 108 men wake up one day and raid the palace to slaughter the royal family with no intent of sexually assaulting either (because remember Telemachus is also the subject of Hold Em Down) and then fight amongst themselves to be the next king, but then isn’t that STILL a “good reason” for Odysseus to slaughter them?

Now I hear what you may be asking: but if all the monsters of the sagas, Odysseus included, have a “good reason” even though we might not agree with it, what kind of monsters does that make the suitors? Surely and clearly THEY aren’t doing what they’re doing for noble reasons.

I consider them akin to the 600 men who died under their captains command.

Because, as stated before. Odysseus views his actions in a Troy as his start of monstrosity. He did all that to finish the war and do back home. He ruined the lives of all Trojans.

So did his soldiers.

The only moment in time (even in the deleted songs) that the bulk of them repent about the war is in terms that it left them without food.

But glasses! They were just following orders!

Which is what one of the suitors suggest in song 38. Their serpents head is dead, THEY were just going with Antinous’ flow, they are innocent.

Like the 600 soldiers, the 108 suitors sacked a home that wasn’t theirs and harmed a wife and child - does them being the queen and prince pale in comparison to the hundreds of wives and children slain in Troy? Homer is a genius to ask us to see these parallels for what it is.

The suitors ARE monsters. That is simply what all 108 of them are. In the context of the story itself, their intent is to break Penelope’s will, commit martial rape, and become king of Ithaca. They aren’t there for kicks, they aren’t ignorant boys, they’re socially accepted adults abusing the hospitality rule with an express purpose.

So a GROUP of monsters are slaughtered by ANOTHER monster, and though in this instance we can argue it’s morally justifiable, it doesn’t take away from Odysseus’s fear of being rejected by his family. He has ruined the lives of the Trojans, his men, AND multiple gods! To get to this point. He IS a monster. And the story asks US, through Penelope, if he is still worth loving.

Seeing Penelope as merely his reward is so backwards and bizarre. It’s very clear that bad faith interpretations of her are based on objectifying her erroneously, when the narrative presents her as a fully developed character.

In the story both in the poem and the musical that the suitors ARE NOT her guests. She is being sequestered against her will.

In what world could the suitors be “just” murderers and not….very clearly rapists? It’s BUILT into their motivation. You would have to change the very FOUNDATION of the Ithaca plot line and Penelope herself??? To say nothing of Telemachus’s role!

What’s the proposal here? That Penelope invited these suitors? That’s she’s actively looking for a replacement husband? Okay, again, that changes literally SO MUCH of the story, but wouldn’t that put Telemachus in a position where he too has to change? Does he resent his mother for doing this? Is he helping his dad out of spite or because he wants him back? How are we meant to view Penelope in this radically new and hip Epic the Musical? Is she savvy and in her right to choose a new boo? Okay…okay, so then….you want Odysseus to be the only one unchanged and go axe crazy because….hes jealous? He kills these upstanding men….curtain call. That’s all folks!

Absurdity at its finest. You throw Penelope’s agency out the window. Her weaving and unweaving her loom is meaningless or simply doesn’t happen. Or maybe it’s that she wakes up one day and goes hey yknow what I WILL consider marrying one of these guys with no sense of dread and fear. Oh wait Oddy has killed then all! Never mind me feeling unsafe a week ago, he’s done a Bad.

Crazy.

It’s just…not going to end up making Penelope look like a well written female character if Jorge has done what you wanted! THAT would make her a mindless prop. You seem to think she is one, and that’s not the case. Historically, in fact!

She is a whole person in the poem and musical whether you understand it or not. You would have to argue so thoroughly why she sucks and let me assure you - there are entire DISSERTATIONs on why you’d be incorrect.

So, no.

No, you CANT take away the rape in Penelope’s storyline. It matters ALOT. It’s the ROOT of the matter! Could old school vegetales make something up that’s more to your sensibilities? Maybe at its peak but god, I couldn’t possibly come up with a draft that could reflect that. I won’t even try.

The rape aspect of the Ithica Saga isn’t unnecessary - it’s INTEGRAL to the plot. It can make you uncomfortable, but it’s BUILT into the royal family’s suffering whether it’s explicit or not! And it SHOULD be explicit! Because you seem to think because it usually isn’t, that the rape aspect isn’t there!

I cannot imagine coming to this kind of conclusion.

They are not random men going on a siege of the palace one day - you cannot “sanitize” the SUITORS because by the very merit of them calling each other THE SUITORS there is an implicit threat of sexual violence. Because Penelope doesn’t WANT suitors. She rejects them. They’re already violating her consent.

How the FUCK to do you censor the rape when it’s in every action they take? And I know what you’re saying: but didn’t Jorge censor the rape aspect that both Circe and Calypso commit towards him?

Further reading: suggests that ALLUDING to it is not the same as censoring, that it still FITS the PURPOSE of these characters in regards to Odysseus’s suffering under them. That after ambiguity, it is NECESSARY to make the rape aspect CLEAR in order to create both catharsis and MEANING at the end of the narrative. The THEME is still respected and present, it is not REMOVED. Please consider reading the linked follow up that answers this question.

In short.

It’s truly a matter of using one’s goddamn head when it comes to view fictional depictions of rape as “necessary” - because though some depictions can be presented BADLY, to suggest they should not EXISTS lends itself to rape culture. It silences the voices of victims. Its representation denied. Don’t talk about it, don’t even suggest it, because rape is bad.

It’s an action that happens to people. It’s a crime in civilized society. It’s a physical and psychological trauma that has always been. It happens daily, in fact. Though epic the musical is a source of entertainment for you, it doesnt exist solely for that purpose.

When Homer included it within his original oral story, he did so as a storyteller trying to get his audience to philosophize, not simply have fun.

I think we’ve come to some abysmal conclusion that men can’t write about these topics when we have historical evidence of at least one man knowing what the hell he’s talking about. And Jorge has done a phenomenal job even when he hadn’t depicted blatantly.

If you’re uncomfortable to the point of not wanting to see it at all, that is entirely on you, art and creative works allow us to explore these topics safely. Whether it’s from the POV of the assailant or one of the victims commenting on it, fiction is one of the only places we can talk about it and learn about ourselves in a way it doesn’t harm real people.

I don’t even want to BEGIN discussing all the losers who are still harassing Antinous fans or people who genuinely enjoy his song despite/BECAUSE of the subject matter. Its purpose in the story matters more than you policing how it’s presented and how it’s consumed. No amount of people enjoying themselves will take away the foundational POINT of the character and song. It’s perfect the way it is.

Like with the chaos that calypso discourse wrought, you cannot control how people treat a NOT REAL CHARACTER or the songs they sing - if it bothers you that one type of fictional villian is treated one way or another, it is on you to find likeminded people instead of going into others faces and pretending to be a self-righteous prick. You can throw whatever buzzwords you want, the CONTEXT these characters live in has nothing to do with how others want to play with them. If you don’t understand the difference between the two instances, fandom is certainly not for you and will not be changed to suit your sensibilities.

To end this post, I want to thank those who further asked me questions and bounced ideas off with me, and wow, what a phenomenal ending to a grandiose musical. I hope I can see it live, animated, streamed, developed into a game etc whatever form it takes now that the concept albums are published

Thank you all for engaging w my work💖

[writtenbyan-aries]

Summary: full one shot based off of this snippet - I added more details to this one.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, swearing, onlyfans!reader, consensual recording/picture taking, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, dirty talk, praising, oral (f rec), hair pulling, choking, filthy filth

Word Count: 3.2k | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

You were at home, racking your brain on new ways to spice up your website. A new outfit? No. A new lingerie set? No.

You chewed on your lip, letting out a frustrated sigh as nothing peaked your interest.

The feeling of your phone vibrating on your thighs, distracts you from your thoughts when you see Colby’s name on the screen, “Hey.”

“Hey. Do you have plans tonight?” Colby asks, not really sounding like he even wants to be talking to you right now.

“Um, no. I don’t think so, why?” You sit up and wait for him to speak, but he’s still quiet, “Colby?”

“I gotta go.”

You hear the three beeps and slowly pull your phone away from your ear, confused as hell, “What the fuck?” You shake your head, trying to figure out why Colby sounded different on the phone.

He didn’t tell you if anything was bothering him, he seemed fine before he left, which is what makes it weird because he couldn’t even be on the phone with you.

But it also made you kind of worried. You liked Colby.

A lot.

The one thing that’s been holding you back from telling him about said feelings, is mainly your onlyfans page.

You weren’t sure whether or not Colby would be okay with that. You wanted Colby and you honestly felt like he wanted you, too. But, at the same time, you weren’t sure if he would want to be with someone that has shown and continues to show their tits for money.

You toss your phone down with a sigh before walking over to retrieve your new lingerie sets from your bottom dresser drawer. You lay them out, deciding on which one to pick before changing into it.

You grab your camera, setting it on your tripod before moving to get on the bed, posing in various positions before repeating if with the next set.

You were honestly shocked that you haven’t been walked in on before. Sometimes you get so into taking pictures or recording stuff that you heard something at the last second that’s saved you from even Sam walking in.

You wrapped up getting dressed right at the perfect time. As soon as you pulled your shirt down over your body, you hear the front door open and close with a powerful shove.

You wait a few seconds, trying to listen to if you can tell where they’re going, but panic at the last second when you hear them growing closer.

You shove your tripod in your closet before moving to shove the lingerie back into the bottom dresser drawer.

Just as you turn around, there’s a knock on your door and you know it Colby, “Come in.”

The door opens and he walks in, “Hey.”

You give him a smile, “What’s up, Colbs?” Your smile slowly fades away when he doesn’t look at you for a few seconds, “Colby?”

He doesn’t look at you when he asks, but his words shockyou, “Do you do porn?”

You blink a few times, processing what he just asked you, “um. I-I, mean yes and no.”

“What do you mean yes and no?” He turns towards you, “Do you just, go through guys? Like what? how does that work?”

You hold up your hand, “Whoa, back it the hell up, Colby. I don’t just go through guys.” You scoff, “What is your deal?”

Colby sighs, “My deal, is that you do porn and you never told me?” He shrugs, “You sleep in the room next to mine.. I don’t, this is big, y/n.”

You laugh slightly, mainly trying to cover up your nervousness, “Colby. Listen to me. It’s not straight up porn. Okay? I do OnlyFans. I don’t do anything nude. Well..”

He looks at you, “What do you do?”

You sit down on your bed, reaching over to grab your laptop, “If you want to know, just..” You get in, clicking around until you pull up your page, “Here. Look. The only really bad thing is that I show my boobs, and every now and then I will post a video. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

He walks over, sitting down beside you as he takes your laptop. You can tell there’s a positive change to his demeanor and you bite your lip.

You watch as his eyebrows raise with each picture that’s more scandalous than the last. You hear his breath hitch when he stumbles across your first video - purple vibrator sliding in and out of your pussy.

“So..” you cause him to jump slightly but you don’t pay any attention to it, “..who told on me?”

Colby laughs, “well.. actually.” He looks over at you, “One of Sam’s buddies sent him a screen shot and asked if it was you.”

“Why would Sam know? I haven’t told anyone I do this.” You tilt your head and Colby shrugs, looking back to your computer as he scrolls down, “I don’t know, but yeah.” He turns his phone towards you and points to this picture on your computer, “Its this one.”

You purse your lips, “That was a pay to see picture.”

“Wait, what’s that mean?” Colby looks at you and you can’t help but giggle, “It means.. whoever screenshotted that and sent it to Sam, paid to unlock it so they could see it.”

“So, they’re subscribed to you?” Colby asks and you nod, “or someone else he knows is?” You shrug, “I’m not sure, Colby.”

You could see the jealousy plastered on his face as he just stares at you, “Uh huh.” He jocks his jaw and nods, “Okay.”

He sets your computer down on the bed and stands up, hands on his hips as he tries to process everything you just shared with him, photos and all.

“So what? Are you like mad at me? Not friends anymore?” You purse your lips, “Like does this make you look at me differently?”

Colby shakes his head, “Not really. Well..” he laughs slightly, motioning towards you computer, “..I mean, okay. I see you differently now, but like..” He trails off, trying to find his wording as he scratches his brow, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it and I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship.”

Colby chuckles, “Ruined?” He shake his head, “No. not at all. As I said. Different.. a hundred percent.”

“Different?” You ask as you tilt your head and he nods, “Oh yeah. You’re so much hotter than I originally thought.”

You can feel your cheeks growing warm and Colby’s next question didn’t help any matters, “So, how do you feel about potentially doing full blown.. porn?”

Fuck, you think, “Um. I mean..” you laugh slightly and look down before looking back up at him, “Maybe if it was someone I was comfortable with?”

You nod, Colby heavy on your mind, “Yeah. I think I could do it.”

A smirk grows on his lips as he slowly leans in, giving a nod to the right with his head, “Go get those pretty little outfits, because we’re about to be making you bank, baby.”

You tilt your head, “Why don’t we just get right to it.” You grip the collar of his shirt and pull him down as you lay back. He goes with you, his lips attacking your neck.

“Don’t we need the camera?” Colby leans back and you nod, “Yeah.” You breathe out, “It’s in my closet on the tripod.”

You look up at him with a smirk, “I took some pictures while you and Sam were out.”

“Mm, I’ll need to see those, too then.” He pushes himself up and goes to get the camera. He turns it on after taking it off, clicking a few times, “And we’re rolling.”?

He walks over to you, “Go ahead and take those clothes off for me, baby.” He bites down on his lip as he alternates watching you in the little screen and behind it, “Fuck, look at you.”

You toss your shirt to the side, leaving you topless as you move to sit on your calves, thumb hooking into the waistband of your shorts, “You like what you see?”

“Baby you have no idea.” Colby bites down on his lip, watching as you slowly push your shorts down your thighs. You fall back, lifting your legs to kick them off and Colby pulls them off of your ankles, tossing them behind him.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.” Colby bends down, pointing the camera directly at your pussy, “You look fucking so good.”

You gasp as Colby’s thumb drags up and down your folds, “P-please.” You whimper as you buck your hips, “I need you.”

Colby pushes his thumb into your cunt, angling the camera up at your face as your eyes roll back and you moan, “Fuck, yes.”

He angles the camera back down just as he starts to slowly work his thumb in and out of you, making sure to film how fast your wetness costs his skin, “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“Been wanting you.” You roll your hips at the loss of his thumb inside of you, “P-please.”

He chuckles as he sets the camera down on the bed, “Play with yourself while I undress, sweetheart.” You watch as he steps back, waiting until your fingers start working circles on your clit to undress.

“There ya go, baby.” He whispers, lip pulled between his teeth as his fingers move to unbutton his shirt, “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Your eyes track his shirt as it falls to the floor and you slide two fingers in, gasping at the feeling. Colby nods, “Keep going. Fuck, listen to that.”

Colby finishes undressing, picking up the camera and giving it a closer look at your needy cunt, your fingers weren’t cutting it.

“Here baby.” Colby hands you the camera and you smirk as you take it, flipping it around to capture him moving between your legs.

His hands snake under your thighs to lay across your hips and your legs hook over his shoulders. Your back arches with the first swipe of his tongue, moaning out as you dig your heels into his upper back.

Colby’s face is buried in your cunt, his tongue thrusting in and out as his fingers dig into your skin, “Fuck.” He groans against you, “You taste so fucking good.”

You moan loudly as his nose pushes against your clit, your orgasm being drug out with the curling of his tongue, “Fuck, fuck.” You gasp, “C-colby.”

He holds onto you, not letting go as your walls clench around his tongue, moans and incoherent mumbles leave your lips as he guides you through your high.

Your hand tangles tightly into his hair, earning a groan from him as he pulls away, “The best pussy I have ever tasted.” He crawls up, lips crashing onto yours and you moan when the taste of yourself creeps into your tongue.

He sits up, taking the camera from you so he can record his cock rubbing up and down your folds before pushing between them.

He groans, angling the camera up to your face to capture what you look like feeling his cock for the first time, “Fuck, fuck.” You arch your back, rolling your hips forward and you gasp when he thrusts his hips into you.

“Fuck, baby girl. You’re taking me so well.”

His hand grips your hips as the other grips the camera tighter, “Fuck, you have such a beautiful pussy.” He groans lowly as he slowly pulls out, “Fuckin’ hugs my cock perfectly.”

You moan loudly as his cock is thrusted into you. Colby looks at you from behind the camera, watching your face twist with pleasure as he slowly pulls out and thrust back in.

He breathes out, “You’re already making me want to cum.” His hand slides over to press his thumb to your clit. He smirks as he hears whimpers and moans of approval slip from your lips, growing louder the harder his thrusts grow.

Your back is arches off the bed as your hands grip the blankets hard, moaning out loudly as Colby’s cock is repeatedly slammed into your cunt, “S-so close, fuck.”

“Come on baby.” Colby sets the camera down, angled to capture your body and your legs around his waist, “Cum for me.”

He groans lowly as he bends down to kiss you. Your arms wrap around his neck and his hand slides down your body, giving your hip a squeeze, “You feel so good.”

You moan, nails dragging up and down his back as you cum, holding onto his for leverage, “Fuck, fuck, yesyesyes.”

You throw your head back, a nonstop string of moans leaving your lips as Colby not only, fuck you through your high, but marks up your neck in the process.

He rolls over, grabbing the camera to film your body on his, groaning as he watches his cock disappear inside of you, “Fuck, that’s it baby.” He reaches out, sliding his fingers along your open thigh, “Just like that.”

You tilt your head back, hands squeezing his thighs as you bounce up and down, whining out as you feel yourself growing close, yet again.

“One more time.” Colby whispers, his hips bucking upward, “M’so close, too baby.”

“Need you.” You whimper, grinding your hips down.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Colby asks as his hand grips your hips, the other still keeping the camera as steady as he can.

You lean down, kissing up his neck, “Want you to cum in me.” You kiss his lips, “Need all of you.”

He nods his head and you roll off of him, biting down on your lip when he grips your throat and pushes you backward.

His hand remains on your neck as his cock slips into you, “You’re gonna be so full.” His thrusts pick up rather quickly, your moans muffled by his hand squeezing harder as he rails into you.

His films you body jolting with each thrusts, groaning at the sight of you tits bouncing, face turning red from the lack of air.

“Fuck.” He lets go of your neck, cupping your cheek but you keep it up by taking his thumb between your lips.

“oh, baby.” He groans, burying his cock deeper into you, “Fuck, you’re such a slut aren’t you.” He grips your chin, earning a whimper from you as you give him a nod.

“Say it, baby.”

“Your slut.” You moan out, clenching your walls around his cock, “I’m your slut.” You moan loudly, back arching as you gasp out.

You come undone underneath him one again, moaning out as you feel his cock twitch inside of you. Your legs loses from around his waist and he sits up, filming your pussy as he pulls out.

You lift your legs, wrapping an arm around them to hold them up. Colby’s thumb pulls your pussy lip to the side, groaning as you push more of his cum out.

“Look at that.” Colby whispers as his thumb swipes upward. He reaches up, leaning forward to film you sucking the cum off his thumb, “Atta girl, baby.”

You smile up at him and he stops filming, moving to lay beside you, “How was that?”

“Exciting.” You breathee out as you roll over to face him, “But I have a question for you.” He nods and you sigh, “Do you want to be known? Like do you want me to cut out anything that has you in it?”

He laughs, “Baby. Like I said before, we’re going to make you bank, so you do..” he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “What you need to do, to do that.”

“Maybe we should tell Sam first.” You bite your lip and he gets smirks, getting up to go to the door, “Hey Sam.”

“I already know.”

Colby closes the door and walks back over to you laughing, “Now that that’s out of the way.” He grabs your laptop, “Go clean up, I’ll get this uploaded to your computer.”

You smile, nodding your head as you get dressed to go to the bathroom.

When you get back, your clothes are back off and you’re in bed with Colby, “After we edit this.. I think you should film me going down on you.”

He nods his head, “Oh absolutely.”

——

It’s been two months since you uploaded that first video, you made it a pay to see vide, which gave you and Colby, and even Sam, a little bit of time before news leaked into the fandom.

After that. Wildfire.

All of your social media comment sections have been flooded with questions, comments, and of course, concerns.

Is that really Colby on y/n’s onlyfans?

Colby and y/n???!?!!!!?

COLBY FUCKIN BROCK WTF

I mean, idk who I’m more jealous of really.

I’m actually kind of shocked ngl

WAIT HOLD ON.. Y/N AND COLBY!?

No because get it girl. For real, and get it Colby damn

You and Colby would spend nights just laughing at the comments and of course discussing the rude ones with each other, but it mainly ends up in having sex.

Colby finding out was probably the best thing that could have happened in the situation, if you knew he would have been down to help you, you would have asked him a while ago.

You made so much money in the first two months, you guys basically spoiled Sam by taking him away to different cities around the world as an apology for him having to sit through filming sometimes, he was like your little sugar baby.

Right now, you were in Italy. You and Colby went back to the hotel to get ready for dinner when Colby’s laugh catches your attention.

You lift your head, arms still rested on the banister of the balcony, “What’s up, babe?” Colby leans against the doorway and looks up at you, “Have you read the comments on the post you posted today?”

You shake your head, reaching out as he hands you his phone. Your lips turn into a smirk as your eyes scan over the screen.

You can’t tell me Sam ain’t hitting it too

Ngl, they’d make a hot thruple

I want to be y/n when I grow up

You hand Colby back his phone and you ride your brows, “What? You want to give them what they’re asking for?”

“It’s whatever you want, baby. You’re calling the shots.”

You purse your lips, bringing your glass of wine up to take a sip as you think, “You think he’d go for it?”

Colby scoffs, “Please. You should have seen the look on his face when you seen your tits through that lace top. You’re not living with us both for no reason.” He smirks, “I’ll tell him to come up here.”

You walk over, biting down on your lip as you grip his bicep, “Wait, until dinner. I want to ask him myself.”

——

Thank you so much for reading, I hope it was good! Let me know and as always, I love you so much! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Flower Crown

Aragorn x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): fluff, light angst, kissing, non-descriptive intimacy

Word Count: 2k

During a spring festival, the man you love returns unexpectedly.

ao3 // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

The sky is a cloudless, endless ocean above your head.

You breathe deep, savoring the scents in the air. Newly bloomed flowers, freshly baked bread, and roasting chicken all infiltrate your nostrils, reminding of you the celebration that’s about to begin. Anticipation buzzes under your skin like a swarm of startled bees. You’ve been waiting for this all winter. Spring is finally here, knocking, ready to be greeted. The flowers are in full bloom, and the trees have awakened from their solemn slumber.

Every year the small village in which you’ve lived your whole life celebrates the changing of the seasons. A community-wide festival is held. Each person is involved in their own way, and the duties are often assigned at the beginning of winter to allow everyone to prepare. Sometimes, these responsibilities shift, but a few remain the same.

Last year, you attended the baker in their duties to provide baked goods. This year, you were tasked with sewing new dresses for all the unmarried young women. The base fabric, an off-white cotton, remains the same. It’s like a blank page awaiting colorful paint or black ink, each dress ready to be designed with every young woman in mind. You, and several of the married women, take great care in personalizing each dress to the young ladies’ personalities.

It is not by chance that this happens. It is more than tradition. Rebirth and renewal are the themes of the festival, and with that comes an influx of weddings. The dresses are for that very reason, as a form of matchmaking, along with the presented flower crowns and the festival itself. You’ve always thought it silly but never truly commented on the matter. Fortunately, with you on sewing duties, you were able to work on your own dress.

With the dresses come flower crowns. They are given to the young women by unmarried men of the village. It is always the married women and village elders who quietly determine which man will gift what crown to who. They’re intuition is almost always correct. It is rare for a pair to not eventually marry. Sometimes it is quick, and sometimes it is years later before either realizes they belong together.

And the flower crowns are the true beauty. Another group handmakes each one. But because you know how intricate they are, you did nothing for your dress. It is simple. Plain. Just because you’re forced to be part of this tradition doesn’t mean you want to try and find a husband. You’re perfectly fine alone, because the man you do want is far away.

He isn’t avoiding you. Not on purpose. Aragorn is a ranger. He thrives in the wilds, seeking out the darkness to rid it from the world. But you do miss your wanderer. He tries to travel through your area as often as he can just to see you.

Over the years, the friendliness has grown, becoming heat and tension.

None of the other men in the village make you feel the way he does, and they likely never will.

In the shade of a tree, you smooth out the front of your dress. The tips of your fingers itch and you need to move them just to calm yourself. That alone is silly. What do you have to be nervous for? The process is always the same, always consistent, so why do you feel like this?

The young, unmarried women begin to congregate near the arch of flowers. Breathing deep, you march forward, finding your spot where it always is. You can taste the eagerness in the air. The women around you are just as nervous, nearly bouncing on their toes. They whisper to each other, giggling, but none of them glance your way or address you.

All day, and not even one has thanked you for your work.

But you won’t let it eat away at your resolve. Today is a good day. You’ll drink berry wine and gorge yourself on delicious food while listening to the married women gossip about their husbands.

As the village elders arrive, all talking ceases. That is the cue, and just like the women in line, you curtesy. You’re not allowed to look up, to glance into the face of the man who will place a crown upon your head. You keep your head bent and gaze on the ground.

There is shuffling, the rustling of hands lifting crowns. You focus on the green grass beneath your feet. You’re the only one up here not wearing shoes. You breathe in, and out, watching as so many pairs of polished boots pass by.

When someone does stop before you, the boots are not clean. They are muddy and have seen travel. You almost want to laugh but really, you’re curious. Who is this? Who would be so bold to come to the crowning with filthy boots?

In the next moment, the crown is placed upon your head. You don’t move. Don’t breathe. The stranger’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, pressing gently. You respond. You can’t resist. It is natural to do so.

Your gaze takes in this stranger as your head lifts. And when you see his face, you realize that this is no stranger at all.

“Aragorn,” you whisper, and his response is a smile.

There is applause, and good-natured cheering all around, and yet you respond to none of it. It is only him, this man you’ve been missing, standing before you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask just as the music starts up. It’s too early. Aragorn often arrives in the fall when the leaves start to change.

Others are already wandering off together or going their separate ways. You’re left staring, happy to see him but not understanding why.

“To see you,” he replies.

To see you. To see you. Whatever nervousness you felt before is gone, replaced with a giddiness that sends heat right to your cheeks.

When you don’t reply immediately, Aragorn frowns. “Have I upset you?”

“No!” You reach for him, grabbing his upper arm, taking a step forward. “Not at all. I’m just…surprised.”

His gaze softens, and you could fall into his depths. “Didn’t think I’d come?”

“You always visit when the weather begins to cool.”

“I do,” he agrees. “Couldn’t stay away.” Aragorn says this almost absently as his fingers toy with a white ribbon on your dress.

A young woman shrieks with delight, and you and Aragorn both turn as she’s hoisted in the air.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks.

The answer is immediate. “Yes.”

He presents his hand, and you take it. His palm is warm. Strong. Aragorn leads, and then you’re moving, matching the correct steps. It’s not an intense dance but it isn’t slow either.

“Did you just arrive?”

He smiles. “As they were distributing the flowers.”

“Is that why you’re so dirty?” Aragorn laughs as you lean in and sniff, making an exaggerated expression. “And smelly?”

“I thought you liked the way I smelled after a ride.” Aragorn wraps his arm around your waist, turning as he does so.

“A ride,” you correct. “Not a journey.”

The music swells, dips, and then increases in pace. You’re left focusing on your feet, going through the motions. But Aragorn knows what he’s doing, and he leads you through it effortlessly. It’s difficult to speak, but his hands do enough talking. Aragorn’s touch lingers. He might squeeze slightly or allow his hand to wander. It stirs something hot in your belly that travels lower until you’re blazing everywhere.

When the music comes to an end, and the two of you are out of breath, Aragorn places his hand on your lower waist and guides you away.

“Something to drink?”

“Please.”

Berry wine is had before Aragorn takes your hand again, the two of you strolling off into the nearby orchard. Between the trees, there is privacy, the two of you walking in gentle silence. It’s just your hand in his and the warm breeze that stirs up your dress.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say, stopping next to an apple tree. There are leaves on its branches but no blooms.

Aragorn comes to a stop beside you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder. “Glad? That is all you feel?” With a soft touch, Aragorn turns your head in his direction. His head is angled downward, and there is no escaping what you see in his eyes.

There are times when the two of you have found a bit of quiet, some peace only with the need to explore the other. As you gaze upon his face, you are entirely aware of what he wants, but Aragorn is an honorable man. He will not push or insist on more unless you’re the one who seeks it out.

The berry wine is warm in your blood. Aragorn’s nearness is just as intoxicating. His fingers play with that same ribbon, and you lean into his touch until your noses brush lightly against each other.

“There is plenty I feel,” you reply, your voice a whisper amongst the birdsong and breeze.

“Is your heart willing to share?” Aragorn tugs lightly on the ribbon, loosening a portion of the bodice.

“Is yours willing to hear the truth?” you counter, knowing that you’d give him anything in this moment.

Aragorn tugs on the ribbon again, loosening the bodice further. Air rushes into your lungs as your chest receives a bit of freedom. “Tell me now. Under the trees. Let the sky listen.”

“You’re far too sweet to be a warrior,” you laugh, and Aragorn grins, closing the distance. The kiss is chaste and lovely, sending heat down to your toes and up to the crown of your head.

Your fingers find the front of his tunic. They curl inward, pulling of their own accord, seeking his closeness. Aragorn indulges, deepening the kiss until your bodies are pressed together. His hand rises, clutching the back of your neck. There is only you and him and your repeated meetings.

When you finally break apart, your lips are raw, and you hunger for more. You ache for deeper things, and long to tell him so.

“Is this all right?” he asks, fingers brushing against your exposed collarbone.

“Yes,” you murmur in reply, shivering under his touch.

Aragorn returns to your mouth, and you open for him. Your own fingers explore as much as his, but it is Aragorn’s fingers that venture beneath fabric.

You inhale sharply, and his hand retreats. “Apologies.”

“Don’t stop,” you say, grasping his wrist to guide his hand back to your skin.

Under the shade of the apple tree, Aragorn follows your lead, the two of you finding a dance. Although time has not been kind, keeping the two of you parted, there is no need to rush. You are happy simply existing with him, taking time to explore and savor what you’ve missed over the last few months.

Every caress is a song, and each kiss not only satiates but fuels the hunger that sits low in your belly. Fingers press and dig into skin. Clothing opens or falls away. There is no one else around, and Aragorn’s warmth is all you seek.

“Will you stay?” you ask between kisses.

Aragorn pauses, drawing back slightly. “For a few days.”

A few days. A few days with him and then separation. With Aragorn arriving now, will he return in the fall? Or will this be your new normal?

Even as these doubts swirl in your mind, you know the truth.

You don’t care.

As long as he comes, as long as he returns to you when he can, that is enough.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I’ve had my share of [Crowley voice] you idiot thoughts at both of them over their terrible communication skills and severe chronic inability to say what they mean. But like. I get it.

For 6000 years, they had to talk in code. They had to express themselves in grand gestures and subtext and plausible deniability, out of fear of being found out. And they got really good at it! They developed a whole secret language of ways to say I love you because they couldn’t say it out loud.

But now that they can—and need to—talk about what they are to each other with actual words, they don’t know how.

Neither of them know how to say what they want, openly, and to ask what the other wants. And (I think this is a crucial component) they don’t know how to fight. They’ve had enough spats to have a 350+ year old apology dance, but they have repeatedly avoided talking about the really big differences in their worldviews and what they value, because those conversations would immediately bump up against the things they try hardest to avoid (doubt and guilt for Aziraphale; rejection for Crowley), and because that could lead to a real disagreement that they don’t know how to get around. And then where would either of them be? Alone.

So they bicker and they have drunken philosophical debates and they make up and do little dances all while not really talking about the big differences in how they see the world. And then when the pressure is on they have horrible miscommunication blowouts where they end up talking past each other and hurting each other deeply because they don’t even realize they’re not on the same page.

Upon rewatch I think this is part of why Crowley seems so unhappy in the early episodes. I think he did hope that once they weren’t working for Heaven and Hell, things would go in a more explicitly romantic direction. (But of course he won’t just come out and say that, until the absolute last ditch moment.) From his POV, he’s made his desires perfectly clear (he hasn’t) and I think he thought that working for Heaven was the last thing holding Aziraphale back. And then they cleared that hurdle and nothing changed. Or not enough. Because the problem goes deeper than that.

And bless(/damn) them, they’re still trying. The confession was clearly so hard for Crowley, and would have been even without the first half of the scene, because he’s working against his deepest insecurities. He can’t even finish his sentences, and yet he’s still trying. And I do think that Aziraphale was working up to his own version of it (he’s so openly physically affectionate with Crowley this season, much more than in the past) but he’s always moved a bit slower with these things, and then it was too late. (It’s always too late.)

But even if they’d both been able to openly say their I love yous, they still have this thing sitting between them, which is that Aziraphale doesn’t understand why Crowley would never go back to Heaven, and Crowley doesn’t understand why Aziraphale would want to. And having that conversation goes right to the heart of how they’ve both been damaged by the system of Heaven and Hell, which is why I suspect they’ve both instinctively avoided it before now. And at some point in s3, they are going to have to talk about that.

[bettelaboure]

⊹The exception⊹ | Felix Yongbok Lee

⊹Pairing: Felix Yongbok Lee x The Reader

⊹Summary: forbidden romance between Stray Kids' Felix and his PR specialist unravels in stolen moments, quiet confessions, and breathtaking intimacy—only to be destroyed by scandal, silence, and the harsh reality of an industry that punishes love

⊹Warnings: suggestive content, emotional heartbreak, workplace romance, power imbalance, public scandal, angst

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

You’re hiding in the conference room again. Not hiding from the job—God knows that never ends—but from him.

The book in your hands is supposed to help. Kill Switch is your emotional support blanket, your escape hatch, your "if he’s brooding and emotionally constipated, I can fix him" anthem. But the words blur when the door swings open.

You don’t need to look up. The scent of cologne and smugness announces Felix first.

“You have got to stop claiming rooms like they’re fictional boyfriends,” he says, plopping into the chair across from you with that slow, lazy sprawl like he has nothing but time to kill.

You don’t flinch. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“I booked it,” you say, highlighting a line you’ve already memorized. “Properly. Through the calendar. Like a normal, functioning adult.”

“Sounds exhausting.” He leans in on his elbows. “Want me to teach you how to break the rules instead?”

You finally look up. “Tell me. What’s it like being the human version of a migraine?”

He grins, delighted. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d sue you for emotional damage.”

You bite your lip, hard. Because he’s joking. Of course he’s joking. That’s all Felix ever does—banter and tease and throw gasoline on your carefully lit candles of control.

“Felix, I swear—”

He reaches over and plucks the book from your hands. You gasp, too slow to stop him.

“‘She doesn’t need a hero. She needs a monster. Me,’” he reads dramatically, narrowing his eyes at the page. “Damn. You highlight like it’s a sacred ritual.”

“It is,” you snatch it back. “Romance books are the only place where people actually mean what they say.”

His smirk falters.

You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

The air tightens between you. He leans back slowly, head tilted like he’s trying to see past your PR-perfect exterior.

“You really believe that?” he asks, softly this time.

You hesitate. Then nod.

“In real life, people dodge. They backtrack. They make you feel crazy for needing clarity,” you say. “In romance novels, they fight for it.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a second. Just studies you like you’re something more complicated than he expected.

Finally, he shifts. “So what are the rules, then?” he says, lighter again. “Romance law, according to you.”

You cross your arms, trying not to smile. “Rule One: Never fall for someone who gets under your skin on purpose.”

His eyebrows lift. “Yikes. That’s rough for me.”

“Rule Two: If he flirts by insulting your favorite things, he’s not the one.”

Felix makes a wounded sound. “Hey! I insult you, not your books. Equal opportunity chaos.”

You shake your head, lips twitching.

“Rule Three,” you say, and here’s where you pause. Because your heart skips—traitorously—when he leans closer. You could count the constellations in his eyes at this distance.

“Don’t fall for someone whose job overlaps with yours. Exception: if he's your rival and the sexual tension is unbearable.”

Felix watches you, the teasing faded, replaced with something quiet and unreadable.

“You always follow the rules?” he asks.

“No,” you admit. “But I try.”

Felix reaches out—hesitates—then tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your breath catches.

“Well,” he murmurs, “if we’re in a romance novel, you know what happens around Rule Three, right?”

You swallow. “What?”

He leans in, lips almost brushing your ear. “The exception happens.”

It takes months.

Months of accidental brushes—his hand grazing yours as you both reach for the same folder, his fingers brushing your waist as he slips past in the narrow hallway. Each contact lingers too long to be just friendly, but never long enough to cross the line.

One night, it’s raining after an award show. You sit together in the backseat of the van, both staring out opposite windows, but your knees touch—and neither of you moves away. When you shiver, he doesn’t ask, just slides off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. You whisper a thank you into the quiet, and he just nods, like it means more than it should.

A late shoot runs over, and everyone else leaves. You’re starving. He returns an hour later with your favorite takeout and a sheepish grin. You eat on the studio couch, cross-legged, teasing each other between bites. When you laugh—really laugh, the kind that scrunches your eyes—he stares for a beat too long.

Then he kisses you.

It’s awkward at first—your lips crash, your teeth knock. But then his hand finds your jaw, cradling it tenderly as your bodies sync. You grab the front of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to him, and the kiss deepens. The air turns molten. When you finally break apart, breathless, neither of you speaks. You don’t need to.

That night, you go home with him.

The air between you is heavy with anticipation, the kind that simmers just below the skin. His hand brushes yours as he unlocks the door, and the touch lingers, hesitant. Once inside, neither of you rushes. You hover near the kitchen counter, nerves jittering in your chest, while he sets down his keys, then turns to face you—his gaze soft, unreadable.

He steps closer, inch by inch, until you feel the warmth radiating off him. His fingers find yours again, intertwining slowly. He raises your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours.

"Still sure about the exception?" he murmurs, voice husky with something more than want.

You nod, breath shallow. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

He closes the space between you and kisses you—not with heat, but reverence. Like he's memorizing you. His lips move gently against yours, and you melt into it, your hands finding the hem of his shirt. He breaks the kiss only to whisper your name, then kisses you again, deeper this time.

Clothes slip away between soft laughter and quiet gasps. His hands roam carefully, reverently, like every inch of your skin is a secret he’s determined to uncover. He presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat, your shoulder, the curve of your hip. Every touch is slow, deliberate. Worshipful.

When he lays you back on his bed, the dim light casts a golden halo around you. You reach for him, and he comes willingly, settling over you with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your collarbone. Whispers your name like it’s a prayer.

"Are you okay?" he asks, forehead pressed to yours.

"Yes," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. "I want this. I want you."

His hand finds yours again and pins it softly beside your head as he moves inside you, slow and sure. The world narrows to just the two of you—the rhythm of your breaths, the way he watches your face like he’s watching something sacred. It’s not just physical. It’s a letting go. A giving in. A promise made without words.

You kiss him through the crescendo, and when you both fall apart, it’s with his arms wrapped tightly around you, like he's afraid of what might come next. You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, steady beneath your cheek, like the first rhythm you’ve ever trusted.

After that, the moments come easier. Soft mornings tangled in his sheets, your voice reading him chapters from your dog-eared romances. He teases the prose, but his thumb draws lazy circles on your hip under the blanket, and he never misses a word. At night, he tells you his truths—how the idol life feels like a glass box sometimes, how hard it is to always smile. You tell him how exhausting it is to curate perfection.

You fit. You fall. Slowly. Completely.

Then the headlines hit.

Blurry photos. A hotel hallway. Your hand on his chest, his gaze locked to your face like it’s the only thing in the world.

You thought you were careful. You weren’t.

The company reacts instantly. PR crises erupt like wildfires—flashes of headlines, grainy images splashed across gossip columns: STRAY KIDS' FELIX IN LATE-NIGHT ROMANTIC SCANDAL? and MYSTERY WOMAN IDENTIFIED AS COMPANY PR SPECIALIST.

Your inbox becomes a graveyard of panicked messages. Conference calls blur together, each one colder than the last. You're told it’s better for everyone if you leave quietly. That your presence compromises not just him—but the group, the brand.

Felix storms into the last meeting like a force of nature. The door slams behind him, startling the executives mid-sentence. His jaw is clenched so tight you think it might crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"This is bullshit," he growls, his voice rough and barely restrained. "She did nothing wrong. None of this is her fault."

The room falls deathly quiet.

"You knew," he continues, pacing now, wild energy radiating off him. "You knew we were close. You knew we were careful. But the moment a camera catches us in a hallway—just talking, not even touching—you act like we’ve committed a damn crime."

One of the senior execs clears their throat. "Felix, this isn't personal. This is about optics. The group’s image—"

"To hell with the image!" he explodes, slamming a hand on the table. Everyone flinches. His eyes flash dangerously. "We didn’t hide. We weren’t sneaking around. We just… wanted something real. For once."

He turns, gaze scanning the room, daring someone to challenge him. "But I forgot. Real isn’t allowed here, is it? Not if it doesn’t come with a PR plan and a pre-approved script."

No one speaks. Not even you.

Finally, Felix exhales a shaky breath, voice breaking as he says, "She mattered. And you’re treating her like a liability. Like she’s disposable."

His fury quiets then—not gone, but channeled inward, where it hurts more. He looks at you, eyes rimmed red, voice lower now, wrecked. "You mattered. You still do."

Then he walks out. No more words. Just the echo of everything he couldn’t fix.

But even he can't rewrite the rules that have already been carved into stone.

That night—your last—you sit in his apartment in silence. The only light comes from the city outside, casting fractured reflections on the floor. You sip cold tea you don’t taste. He sits beside you, a hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing in slow, useless comfort.

"I’ll say something," he murmurs. "I'll go public. I’ll—"

You turn to him, press a finger to his lips. "And what happens after that? You lose everything you’ve worked for? They spin it worse? Make me the villain?"

He looks at you like he’s already mourning you. "So what? I’ll lose it. I'd still have you."

You kiss him then—hard, aching, like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him before you forget. Your fingers twist in his shirt, dragging him closer until breath and heartbeats blur. He responds in kind, kissing you like a promise and a goodbye all at once.

You undress each other slowly—his hands brushing under your shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his. It's not rushed. It's reverent. Like peeling back the final layer of defense, like unwrapping something precious that neither of you wants to let go of. Each item of clothing falls to the floor with quiet finality, soft thuds in a world that’s suddenly far too silent.

His hands find your skin, warm and trembling, tracing the lines of your shoulders, the dip of your waist, the curve of your spine. You gasp when his mouth follows, pressing kisses in the hollow of your throat, the inside of your wrist, the spot just behind your knee that makes you shiver. You arch toward him, and his breath hitches like he’s trying to memorize the sound you make.

When you finally fall into bed, limbs tangled and hearts racing, he holds you like a question he doesn’t want answered. He moves with care, like your body is a memory he’s carving into his bones. There’s heat, yes—skin slick, breath shallow, the friction of need drawing gasps from both your lips—but it’s the way his forehead rests against yours, the way your fingers clutch at his back, that burns the most.

He whispers your name like a plea and a prayer. And when you come undone beneath him, it’s with his mouth against your shoulder, your hand clutching his, and the aching, quiet knowledge that this is goodbye disguised as closeness.

After, he doesn’t let go. His arms stay wrapped around you, one hand tracing invisible circles on your back. You bury your face in his neck and breathe him in, memorizing the scent of cologne and sorrow.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t have to.

Not for this.

After, you lie with your head on his chest, fingers drawing lazy spirals on his skin. He doesn’t speak. Just holds you. Just breathes.

Before you go, you place Kill Switch on his nightstand—your copy, the one with the cracked spine and coffee stains and bent pages from nights reading aloud to each other. Inside, tucked between pages 239 and 240, is your note:

She didn’t need a monster. She needed someone to stay.

He finds it the next morning. Sits on the edge of the bed with the book in his hands like it might break. He doesn’t cry—not then.

But when he walks into practice later and sees your old coffee mug still on the table, untouched, he almost does.

He reads the note again that night. And the next. And the one after that.

Like a rule he forgot to follow.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[muletia]

i love the idea that the only thing you and the rest of the decepticons are on the same page about is how "wtf" you are about how megatron is acting.

like, you don't want to be here. they don't want you to be here. after the tenth time it's started to get exhausting for all of you but like what can you do about it? pretty much nothing.

it's not enough for a friendship, but at least there's something reassuring, on both of your ends, about the fact that you're as put off by it as each other.

this is the only moment you can truly relate to the decepticons. sure, you’ve got megatron wrapped around your finger, but that doesn’t mean you can fully control him. he lets you get away with a lot, and your defiance goes unpunished, but at the end of the day, you’re still just a human—you can’t defend yourself. you can’t stop the next kidnapping, which, yes, becomes incredibly annoying and exhausting over time.

maybe one day a certain vehicon got brave—or was just a plain fool—and pointed out to his master how absurd the whole situation is, saying that kidnapping a human contributes absolutely nothing to their cause and doesn’t help them achieve the goals they’re fighting so fiercely for. it’s no surprise that vehicon was killed on the spot, and since then, no one speaks publicly about you, not even in a fake positive light. but i can totally see vehicons and higher-ranked bots like knockout and breakdown gossiping about you and megatron in the medbay.

i can absolutely picture moments where some decepticon soldier is assigned to abduct you, and on the way to the nemesis, you temporarily bury the hatchet and roast megatron with the most outrageous insults you can come up with. it kind of humanizes the vehicons in your eyes and broadens your perspective on them. not that you plan to get too friendly with them, but those quiet moments before megatron starts his usual nonsense, ranting about you becoming his queen, are really important to you because they help settle the disrupted harmony of your life. they are the quiet before the storm...

[bluedandylyon]

Rewatch Rambles (tm)

Season 1

PRINCESS PROM PRINCESS PROM WE'RE GOING TO PRINCESS PROM

(pt 1. Listen, u don't understand. I wrote SEVEN pages of notes while watching this episode dude)

The way this show deals with propaganda, I stg. Phrases like this make Scorpia's defection hit so much harder. The way the Horde just fed complete lies to this really sweet and kind person to destroy her self-esteem and prevent her from looking deeper into the colonization of her home that took place.

The destruction of the Scorpioni people's culture and home is horrible. Scorpia desperately holds on to the propaganda that her family just "handed over" the land to Hordak to deal with the cognitive dissonance of being part of the Horde. It breaks my heart every time.

RAH just the way that Catra has internalized Adora’s abandonment and compartmentalized that She-ra and Adora are two different people to cope with her abandonment bc she is so angry at Adora but she loves her and the only way those two can co-exist is if she turns She-ra into a different person than Adora and dump all of the anger she feels towards She-ra. 

And also this phrase

Is so sad because it just goes to show that Catra fully believes Adora asked her to come with her as an afterthought after meeting Bow and Glimmer and thinking they’re better friends bc they “fit in”.

She thinks Adora is embarrassed of their past connection and again, it stems from the “you are kind of disrespectful”, at least the sentiment behind that statement. To Catra, Adora sees her as inferior and a person who is so disobedient and socially weird, that that’s why she gets mistreated and doesn’t get what she wants, cuz she doesn’t “fit in”. 

The way I fucking LOVE extremely neurodivergent Adora planning for the ball, I love her so much. It feels like that thing I do where I practice what I’m going to say to a person and like possible conversation topics before a hang-out but cranked to 300. 

The way Adora is so freaking uncomfortable throughout the makeover sequence bc she only feels safe in her clothes. It’s so transmasc coded,  being forced into dresses and feeling like it’s ur only choice and like,,, disappointing ur female friends when you’re not into makeup and dresses and nails AURGH. I know Adora is comfy with dresses later, in the future vision, but I just relate to her discomfort on very femme presenting clothes in the early szns a lot. 

This transition from Adora’s room to the FZ using Catra putting on her jacket is so GOOD.

Also holy shit she's so hot, suit Catra HELP ME. Listen they don't call me the Masc Catra CEO for nothing, I will go FERAL over her during all of these rambles. U signed up for this.

I gotta admit that Catra did go thru gay panic looking at Scorpia in that dress.

I mean, same. Scorpia is fucking ripped and she WORKS that dress.

Also maybe I’m reading too much into it but this transition of Scorpia walking to grab Catra’s hand into Adora ready for the ball could symbolize that Catra is only thinking of how jealous Adora is going to be? Like she’s grabbing Scorpia’s hand but she’s really thinking about Adora and how she’s going to get a rise out of her. 

This frame just symbolizes Adora’s coping mechanism since she left the Horde so well. She’s just leaned completely into She-Ra and feels completely dependent on her bc she will just break down with so many emotions if she takes like a single second to process all that’s happened to her.

Huh, you know what? I'm pretty sure this is the first episode in the series so far where Adora doesn't turn into She-Ra throughout the whole run.

I love Entrapta just being so completely sure of herself here and loving her own company, I would be talking about “the social experiment” with her for hours lol.

This really shows how much of a show Catra is putting on. She looks around for Adora and then grabs Scorpia's pincer. Her #1 goal tonight is make Adora jealous. Kidnap her friends for her master plan is a close second.

This whole transition is peak, when she notices Catra entering the ball right after saying that is RAH. It's a good wake-up call, that at the end of the day she did leave Catra behind, even if she tried to get her to come with. Idk, I just like that she is made aware of the loose ends in her past. That even though she is starting to fit in with the alliance and crafting a new identity for herself, she shouldn't forget where she comes from and the relationships she left behind.

Especially because this is the first ep that highlights Catra and Glimmer’s parallel struggles with fitting in and dealing with their abandonment issues. They actually deal with it very similarly, trying to get a rise out of the person they love by showing "they’re so much better off without them".

Bow doesn’t really rise to the bait bc he’s much more emotionally mature and secure, but Adora totally falls for it bc,,,, she doesn’t really know how to deal with most emotions. 

This is Glimmer’s first time really seeing Catradora interacting and I love her confused ass face like “why is Adora being really intense with this specific horde soldier rn” also Catra’s mlep is 10/10

The way Adora IMMEDIATELY falls for Catra’s bait. like, it’s actually kind of embarrassing for her how fast she folds shkdjshsaj there is NOTHING in that party except for Catra as soon as she arrives.

Also the special Adora smirk, love to see it.

literally SO unnecessarily sensual. She did NOT have to caress the pole like that. Girlie is working overtime.

I am also obsessed with thinking that Catra made the lil paper ahead of time and even put in a little doodle. My blorbo doesn’t mess around, she clocks IN to her shift as #1 ex situationship menace.

Also arghhh as a person with abandonment issues, I feel this fucking episode so hard with Glimmer. I know Bow is frustrated and annoyed, which is so fair but it’s also kinda mean how he doesn’t take a second to validate her feelings of fear of him moving on from their friendship.

Like Glimmer's feelings are valid as hell. When you are used to having a best friend u do everything with, that dynamic changing without any warning is scary! Especially if you struggle with feelings of inferiority.

I just LOVE the parallels between glimbow and catradora in this ep. And I like how glimbow’s way of communicating is slightly better but it’s still unhealthy and invalidating vs Catradora’s,,,,, not communicating at all

Bow straight up ate with this line tho.

I'm gonna save the dance for pt 2 bc I have 5 pictures left on this post and y'all know there's gonna be a LOT of dance screencaps.

[writeonwhiskey]

act like you love me: ch 5

a/n: more of the build up. enjoy! word count: 8293 tracklist: Question, Get Cool, Mixtape: OH [ master list ]

5 - The Line Between Tents

WEEK 4 (continued)

Your brain is nothing more than a network of anxiety when you arrive on set. You’re counting your steps to keep your mind from spiraling, wanting to pretend like it’s just another day. As if last night didn’t happen. As if you didn’t voluntarily kiss Hyunjin under the pretense of practicing and then grind yourself on his cock. As if your heart wasn’t torn when he insisted Changbin drive you, but you declined profusely because you couldn’t trust yourself to be that close and alone with him again, even though you were going to the same place. 

Doing that last night was supposed to help take the edge off filming today, however it’s done the exact opposite. The scene is only a page long, but you know filming it could take hours. Hours of staring into his eyes. Hours of pressing your lips together. But this time you’ll be in front of a dozen people. You feel queasy at the thought of it.

Because the real problem isn’t the script or the onlookers, not even your scene partner. It’s the fact that a part of you doesn’t mind. A part of you wants to feel that spark again. And that’s dangerous. 

Hyunjin is your co-star. You should not be feeling anything for him. Acting 101 explicitly warns against falling for your costar. And you’re failing miserably at it.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to let your guard down��to let yourself see his charm as genuine. 

In the hair and makeup trailer, you’re lounging on the couch just staring at the wall, when Felix and Yuna enter. You force a smile and sit in front of the vanity as they dutifully come to your side and start their work.

“Were you up late after the club?” Felix asks. 

He hooks a finger under your chin to tilt your head around, inspecting the bags under your eyes. You hardly slept a wink.

“Is it that obvious?”

He offers you a kind smile instead of answering, bless his heart. Yuna gets to work on your hair as he sets his makeup case on the counter and opens it, looking over the different products he’ll need to make you presentable.

“We’re styling you for the kiss scene, right?” Yuna asks and you nod. “You nervous?”

You wish you had the freedom to open up and spill the tea about what happened last night, to have someone to talk this through with, but you can’t. You have not only your reputation to think about, but Hyunjin’s as well. Word can’t get out about what’s going on between you two.

“Yeah. My anxiety is in overdrive,” you admit.

“Have you rehearsed?”

Her question causes an onslaught of images to course through your mind of last night. You straddling him. His lips on yours. His hand on your neck. The way his mouth tasted. 

You rehearsed alright. A little too well.

“N-no,” you shake your head.

Felix pauses the movement of his brush against your face and leans back, watching you carefully with narrowed eyes.

“I mean, not really. We’ve done some blocking and whatnot, but we haven’t rehearsed the actual kiss,” you attempt to recover from your shitty lie.

You don’t know if it’s believable, but thankfully Felix gets back to work without commenting on it.

“It’s part of the job, honey,” Yuna says.

“I know,” you sigh. “It’s just another first—they’re all being packed into one experience. It’s a lot.”

Felix offers a soft smile, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb before changing the subject. You close your eyes, partaking in the conversation for a bit until their synchronized work lulls you into a short, but much needed, nap.

Yuna gently shakes you awake when Jeongin comes to get you. He smiles shyly as he extends a hand to help you down the steps. 

“Forgive me if I was a little out of character last night,” he says, walking at your side. 

“We all have those nights,” you shrug it off, knowing exactly how he feels. “Did you come get me just to apologize?”

After all this time on set, you know your way around pretty well by now.

“Taking you to the interview with Elle Korea,” he reminds you.

“That’s today?” You mentally kick yourself for being so consumed by the aftereffects of that damn kiss and having to do it again today that you’d forgotten about it. 

“Yes. Shouldn’t take more than twenty or thirty minutes, though.”

As you approach the inn, you spot a large white canopy on the lawn with cameras set up all around it. Hyunjin is seated in a director’s chair beneath the canopy, with an empty seat next to him. Seeing him there—not just on time, but early—surprises you. 

A PA from the magazine crew comes to mic you up before you’re seated.

“Good morning,” Hyunjin greets you.

“Morning,” you say softly, sparing him a quick glance.

The interviewer arrives and gets mic’d up too.

“How did you sleep?” Hyunjin asks.

“Like a rock,” you lie. “You?”

He covers the mic on his collar with his hand, leaning towards you as he replies, “Same. Definitely didn’t dream of what color they were, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It certainly isn’t,” you reply sharply, nipping his flirtation in the bud.

You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t look at him. He has to know last night was a one-time thing. You have to set some boundaries.

The lights beaming down on you add an unnecessary layer of heat to your body and your hands suddenly feel clammy as the interviewer takes his seat.

You can’t help but feel nervous—it’s your first interview for anything. And even though it won’t be released until closer to the series air date, you want to get it right. There’s no room for mistakes in your position. It just doesn’t help that the man seated next to you has an energy radiating off him that’s calling your name and you’re doing your best to ignore it.

“Ready?” the interviewer asks.

You and Hyunjin nod in sync.

“We’ll talk a bit about the project, then a bit about yourselves. Nothing too wild,” he reassures you.

You take a deep breath and nod again, smiling as the cameras roll.

“How has the start of filming been?” the interviewer asks.

You share a quick glance with Hyunjin, and he gives a subtle nod for you to speak first.

“It’s been really good so far—even better since coming to Gyeongju,” you begin. “Being away from home and having to rely on each other has brought us closer. The whole cast and crew are great, and the people here have been really welcoming.”

“It’s the same with any project,” Hyunjin says next. “Working out the kinks, finding commonality to bridge the gap of being strangers and coming together to work as a team.”

He switches into work mode effortlessly. Articulating his answers with the professionalism you’ve seen him carry in countless interviews before. Regardless of the chaos you’re feeling internally, having him next to you for this manages to provide a sense of comfort…and that in itself is a wild realization.

“How have you two been getting along?”

He lets you answer first again.

“I’ve actually worked with Hyunjin once before,” you say with a smile, glancing over at him, acting like the chummiest of co-stars. “We kind of just picked up where we left off.”

It’s an honest answer. Omitting the larger truth, perhaps, but it’s grounded in the truth.

Hyunjin lets out a small, barely audible chuckle at your response. “We did. I’m sure we’ll only get closer as we continue but, yeah, it has been fun and entertaining so far.”

You fight to keep looking forward and control every muscle in your face.

Only get closer? In what way?

A very particular way of getting closer creeps into your mind and you have to beat it into submission to stay focused on the interview.

The interviewer asks more routine questions about the storyline and your characters. You become more at ease as the time passes…until he directs a question specifically at you.

“y/n, being a foreign actor, what does it mean to land a role like this for you?”

You knew questions like this were bound to come. It’s inevitable that you’d have to talk about it at some point, so you try not to take it as a dig.

“It’s a huge opportunity—I know that. I’m thankful for it, and for the trust Director Bang and the producers have put in me. I could never thank them enough.”

“Are you hoping that this role will pave a way for other foreigners to land major roles in Korean dramas?”

“First and foremost, I’m hoping to do this character and the story justice. I don’t have the bravado to claim I’m the actress that’s going to open a door for those coming after me, but if it happened, that would be an amazing bonus to working on this project.”

You smile after the long-winded answer, hoping everything came out in the right way.

“You know, you sound almost like a native,” the interviewer smirks and your stomach drops. “How do you think the public will react to seeing you in a lead role?”

You’ve heard this statement time and time again to the point that you’re used to it. The difference right now is that there are cameras pointed at your face and an interviewer who keeps throwing curveball questions your way. It’s as if he wants to get a reaction out of you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and you can feel Hyunjin’s eyes on you again, but you don’t dare look at him.

“With an open mind, I hope. I’m working hard.” You answer simply this time, short and straight to the point.

The interviewer turns his attention to your costar. Your pulse continues to increase at the next question.

“Hyunjin, how has it been having to work with a foreigner?”

Hyunjin’s gaze remains on you, watching carefully as your smile falters, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. You don’t want to see his expression—is it one of pity? Secondhand embarrassment? He’s taking a risk being in a project like this, what if he’s not satisfied with the way you’ve answered?

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin asks, tone flat, as he finally looks away to face the interviewer.

“How is her work ethic?”

“I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

The bitter edge in his voice catches you off guard and you slowly turn to look at him. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and an unmistakable look of annoyance has taken over his features. 

Is he…defending you? After the steps he’s taken recently to make sure you’re comfortable, it shouldn’t come as a shock. But it does.

“I’m asking, how does working with y/n compare to other native Korean female co-stars you’ve had?”

Hyunjin is silent for what seems like hours. You glance from him to the interviewer, to the cameras and crew. You can feel the tension surrounding you and it makes you want to vanish into thin air.

“She’s no different than anyone I’ve worked with before,” he finally answers, dully. “Male or female. Korean or not. I would never compare or rank my co-stars, anyways. Least of all based on their nationality.”

The interviewer sits back in his chair, as if the slight change in distance could save him from the cold glare Hyunjin is giving him.

“And y/n speaks our language more properly than me or you. She’s lived here for almost eight years, and she graduated from Korea National University of Arts. She’s worked hard for this. She deserves to be sitting next to me as much as anyone.”

Your eyes open wide at that—you’ve never talked to him about your personal or educational background. How does he know any of that?

“Yes, of course. I wasn’t—” the interviewer attempts to back track from Hyunjin’s intensity.

“You were.”

Hyunjin’s words ring with finality as he stands. He starts taking off his microphone, looking pointedly at you until you do the same.

“Got everything you need?” he asks the interviewer, dropping his mic on the empty chair. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he starts walking away.

You gently place your mic on the chair, turn to the interviewer and crew. You bow while muttering, “Thank you.”

Hyunjin has the freedom to behave in such a way, but you do not. You still must show grace and professionalism regardless of what’s being said to or about you.

Your heart is still racing as you follow after Hyunjin around the back of the inn, feeling like your first interview was a shitshow. 

Was that the right move? Should you have told him not to defend you? How are they going to edit that together? Will they show him storming off? You can just imagine the salacious headlines now.

Fuck.

But, regardless of the fallout, you’re so, so appreciative of the praise he doused over you.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, jogging to catch up to him.

He stops walking and turns to face you, eyes still hardened.

“T-thank you,” you manage to get out under the intensity of his stare. “For sticking up for me.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes softening as he focuses on you instead of the situation you just left behind.

“He was really starting to irritate me with those questions,” he tells you. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

You glance at the ground. “It’s to be expected—even with this role, I’m reminded that I don’t necessarily belong here.”

Hyunjin hooks a finger under your chin, lifting your head back up.

“Fuck that. And fuck him. I get you want to remain professional, but don’t ever let anyone fuck with you like that, you hear me?” He says sternly, dropping f-bombs like there’s no tomorrow.

You nod slowly, doing your best not to react to him touching you. You want to crumble into his arms, because right now, you know without a doubt that he’d catch you. Hold you. Console you.

“Do you think they’ll scrap the interview?” you ask softly. “I don’t want this to reflect badly on the series.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs, dropping his finger from your chin. “I’ll make a call.”

He offers a small smile before turning around and continuing to set with you following close behind again. 

Not long ago, Hyunjin subtly flexing his connections would have annoyed you. But in this moment, as you watch him walk in front of you with his confident swagger, it comes off as extremely endearing.

Last night at the club felt like one thing—something purely physical. The way he looked at you then, you could easily brush off as desire, perhaps. However, the way he just spoke up for you is something entirely different. 

It’s too much. Too much kindness. Too much intensity. It’s stirring the pot of something dangerous. And now you’re about to kiss him again. The lines are blurring fast, and you’re not sure how to protect yourself if they disappear completely. You know you need to reinforce the line somewhere, but how can you when he’s being this considerate of not only you, but your career too.

When you make it to set, Chan is already waiting, crouched beside the monitor as usual. He motions you and Hyunjin over and dives straight into the shot, explaining the angle and tone. He wants it to feel spontaneous, but emotionally grounded—like the moment snuck up on both of you. You nod along, trying to take deep breaths in an attempt to combat your elevated heart rate that’s been spiking for the past thirty minutes.

You remind yourself that this isn’t a repeat of last night. This is different. This isn’t you and Hyunjin. This is Jae-hoon and the innkeeper. There are cameras and crew all around. This is work. There’s no chance the kiss could unravel into something more with all those factors. 

But when you step into place and the cameras start rolling, that argument shatters instantly.

You fall into character, thinking of the moments these two have shared that brought them to this point. Jae-hoon, still adjusting to his new quiet and reserved lifestyle, has been stepping up around the inn. It’s led to late nights and laughter with the innkeeper and here they are now, folding the regular cotton linen in the small laundry room. 

Lines flow; expressions land. 

The tension builds just as it should. 

And then the moment arrives.

The kiss.

The kiss with Jae-hoon. Not Hyunjin. Jae-hoon.

But who are you kidding at this point?

He steps forward, and his eyes lock on yours—steady, searching, familiar. Like they did last night. He reaches up, brushes your hair behind your ear, thumb grazing your cheek. A gentle, practiced gesture. But your breath catches all the same.

You remind yourself of where you are. You know what you’re supposed to do. But as his face inches closer, a thousand thoughts swirl around your mind at once. You become overly aware of everything—the feel of his hand on your face, the minty smell of his breath, the dolly system pushing the camera forward toward you.

And you freeze. Just for a second. Just long enough for Chan to call, “Cut.”

“Sorry,” you say quickly, stepping back. “I just—can we go again?”

“Reset to one,” Seungmin says. 

You chew on the inside of your lip, watching as the cameraman pulls the camera back to its starting position. You don’t want to keep flubbing this, but the pressure is on.

You turn back to Hyunjin. He appears calm externally, but his eyes say otherwise. Like he felt your hesitation. Like he’s questioning himself.

“Sorry,” you say softly to him.

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Even if you wanted to tell him, you wouldn’t dare risk your conversation being picked up by the boom mics overhead. 

You reset and take a deep breath before attempt number two.

You get through the dialogue and this time at least make it to the actual kiss. His lips land on yours and you stiffen, and you fear Chan is going to call cut again, but he doesn’t. Maybe it’s not noticeable.

It looks fine, technically speaking, but it feels empty. There’s a split second where your mouths move, but there’s no heat, no spark, no you. You’re still too in your head. Thinking about what it all means. About how none of this overthinking should even be happening.

Another cut.

Chan makes the decision to just work on the closeup, saying that they’ve got the dialogue needed during the wide shot. The boom mics are removed, and the camera is stationary less than five feet away from you.

Hyunjin steps closer to you and rests his hand next to yours on the washing machine. His pinky ever so subtly moves on top of yours. You glance at your hands, then up to him and he nods reassuringly. 

He moves his hand as the third take starts and something shifts. His eyes lose the concerned look and it’s replaced by something else, something familiar and enticing. He brings his hand up to brush your hair back, but instead of grazing your cheek with his thumb, he cups the back of your neck like last night.

“Do it like you mean it this time,” he whispers through his teeth to keep his lips still.

He caresses the back of your neck and then his lips are on yours again. It’s soft at first. Gentle. Like a question. He gently squeezes the back of your neck, prompting you to answer it.

This time, your lips move in sync and heat blooms in your chest. Your lips part and his tongue enters your mouth. You moan—quiet, instinctual—and thank god there’s no audio being captured. Your fingers curl into his shirt without even thinking. 

You forget the cameras. The lights. Even the crew.

It’s just the two of you.

His hand slides down to your waist, the other moves from your neck to cup your face. You lean into him, chasing more.

Until—

“Cut!”

—and the sound of the set's commotion comes blaring into your ears. 

You step back, breath shallow. His too, judging by the rise and fall of his chest.

“I—I think we got it,” Chan says, surprised. “Let’s get some close ups for coverage, yeah?”

Fucking coverage.

You get through the next few takes much easier but keep your conversation with Hyunjin short between them. You don’t want to comment on that moment. You don’t want to comment on a lot right now. 

WEEK 5

The air on set feels lighter, though you can’t tell if it’s because you’ve made it past the kissing scene—or because Hyunjin has been filming off-site with Chan for the past few days. Either way, the inn location is quieter, with Seungmin handling direction as the assistant director. 

At lunch, you sit at an empty table near craft services, still wired from too much caffeine and trying not to smudge your lip tint on your coffee cup. You’re scrolling through your phone when the chairs in front of you scrape across the floor in unison. 

You look up. Minho, Seungmin and Han are welcoming themselves to your table. Technically, it’s not your table—but there are plenty of others.

“Got plans for the long weekend?” Minho asks. 

It’s your first extended break in weeks. Three full days off. You were hoping to spend at least two of them being a couch potato, ordering delivery and watching trash TV. 

“I do,” you say.

Planning to do nothing is still a plan. 

“We’re going camping for a night. You should come,” Han grins. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m not built for camping,” you reply, shaking your head. “But thanks.”

Felix and Jeongin wander over, grinning like giddy schoolboys.

“Alright, I’m bringing everything we need for s'mores,” Felix announces, plopping down beside you.

“I’ve got the hotplates and side dishes,” Jeongin adds, sitting on your other side. He nudges your shoulder playfully as a greeting. 

“Perfect,” Han says, ticking it off on his fingers. “Minho’s on grill duty and bringing the meat, I’ve got drinks and Seungmin’s bringing…wait, what are you bringing?”

“Antihistamines,” Seungmin deadpans.

There’s a pause. No one knows if he’s joking or not. 

He’s not.

“Right.” Han recovers quickly. “y/n, we still need someone to bring the bowls, plates and cutlery.”

You press your lips into a firm line and shake your head. 

“I really do appreciate the invite, but I’d rather not be eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

“We have repellent,” Minho shrugs. “And the campsite uses citronella candles and rosemary around the sleeping areas.”

“I have no idea what that means, Minho,” you stare at him blankly.

“It means you’ll be fine,” he says. “You should come. It’s just for one night.”

“No thanks. Final answer.”

And you really want it to be. 

It almost is, too. Until you’re on the way back to the hotel and your phone rings. Your brow furrows seeing Chan’s name on the display. You immediately answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n. How’d everything go today?”

“Good. Seungmin crushed it.”

“Love to hear it,” he says warmly. “So listen—I got a call today. Great news, actually. I want to tell you in person. You’re coming camping, right?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, you’re going?”

“Yeah, figured it’s a good team-building thing. I’ve been so slammed, haven’t had the time to hang out with you all. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You hesitate. “Uh…”

What kind of news is important enough to warrant a face-to-face?

You really wanted to spend your days off doing nothing. But if even Chan is going…won’t it look weird if you don’t? 

“Y-yeah, I’ll be there. See you tomorrow.”

You hang up, thumbs still hovering over your screen.

There’s one variable you haven’t accounted for.

Is Hyunjin going?

You haven’t seen him all day. Haven’t talked. Haven’t texted. 

And now you might be stuck with him in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and tents, and way too many chances to be alone together.

You exhale slowly.

If you just keep your distance, everything will be fine. 

You rush down to the lobby with your bags around 10:00am, decked out in dark grey cargo pants and a black shirt. You spot the Sprinter van out front and dart towards it. The door is wide open when you get to it, the chatter from inside spilling onto the sidewalk.

The Sprinter van is far more lavish than you would have imagined. It smells like new leather, polished wood and…beef jerky?

Immediately to the right are three seats facing the back of the van, already occupied. Minho’s got headphones on, Jeongin is passed out with a neck pillow, and Felix is turned around, chatting with Chan and Han through the partition. You step inside and greet them all. Through the partition you see Chan is in the driver’s seat and Han is riding shotgun, fiddling with the display to get some music going.

You turn to the left and see that you’re the last one in. Seungmin and Changbin are in the middle row, snacking on beef jerky. Your eyes fall on the only open spot left in the back row. Next to Hyunjin.

Of course.

You hesitate for a second too long before walking toward him. He grabs his bag from the seat and moves it to the floor without a word, clearing the space for you. You sit and drop your bags at your feet and in the aisle. You fasten your seatbelt and lean against the side of the van. The aisle is already separating the two of you, but even that doesn’t feel like enough. After a few days of not seeing him, you’re a puddle of confusion on how to act around him. You unlock your phone to scroll through aimlessly, just to have something to do.

Chan calls out to check that everyone has their seatbelts on as Han finally gets the music going. 

“So…you got ambushed into this too?” Hyunjin asks.

You glance at him. “Something like that.”

He quietly considers your response as the van lurches forward. 

“You always pack this much tension for camping trips?”

You bristle at that.

“I would have preferred a better seat, that’s all,” you reply, snarkily, sounding more like the version of yourself from week one.

“Oh, yeah? Maybe you should have been on time then.”

He says it so smugly. But instead of wanting to lunge for his throat like you used to, you want to mount him and show him what smug is.

“It was one minute past ten when I made it to the lobby,” you elaborate without prompt. “Besides, I wasn’t planning to come, so I had to run out and get a few things and make sure I packed the right kind of socks.”

“Riveting,” he says, eyes flicking to your phone. “Hope you posted it on Instagram.”

You huff a quiet laugh and look away.

During the drive, Felix suggests trivia. Jeongin counters with “Who’s Most Likely To.” Seungmin threatens to duct tape everyone’s mouths shut. No one listens. Changbin joins in right away and eventually, you and Seungmin do, too. Minho reluctantly pulls off one headphone to listen in as everyone votes him most likely to be a secret crime boss. The van fills with laughter and shouts over the music.

You glance at Hyunjin again. His eyes are closed; head tilted against the glass—but there’s a crease in his brows that hasn’t relaxed.

This is going to be a long night.

Although, maybe not an entirely silent one.

Two hours later, the Sprinter van crunches to a stop on a gravel road framed by tall pines. The forest is dense and quiet—postcard perfect. You step out into the crisp, fresh air and stretch, blinking against the afternoon sun. You walk around the van and before you is a neat semicircle of forest green dome tents, already pitched. In the center, a stone fire pit is ringed by folding camp chairs, and a couple of wooden picnic tables sit under string lights. 

You let out a soft breath—it’s more glamping style than survivalist, and that you can certainly deal with. 

“Okay, this is actually kind of nice,” you admit.

“No bugs, no horror movie vibes,” Felix says, slinging a bag over his shoulder.

Han throws his arms out dramatically. “Welcome to paradise, my children!”

He spins in a circle and laughter breaks out as everyone starts grabbing their bags, leaving the coolers for later. 

“All tents are labeled with a name—find yours and stash your gear. Then meet us at the tables and we’ll get started on lunch.” Minho says.

You walk along the tents, looking at the names as you pass—Felix, Chan, Seungmin, Han, Minho…

Hyunjin falls in step beside you. “Find yours yet?” he asks.

The next tent you pass is Jeongin’s, then the one after that is yours. You gulp—there are only two tents left, and you haven’t walked past his name yet.

“Right here,” you say.

He keeps walking to the next tent and flicks the name tag. “Guess we’re neighbors.”

Your pulse skips. Sleeping ten feet away from him is not how you planned to keep your distance.

“We’ve got a decent view,” he continues, turning around to look at the picnic tables.

The string lights aren’t on yet, but you can already imagine how it will look when they are—soft yellow bulbs casting a warm glow over the table with the fire flickering below them. It feels like the kind of place where secrets get shared.

You turn back to face Hyunjin, tilting your head to the side. 

You have so much to say and although you’d rather leave it unsaid, there are still several weeks left of filming. You don’t want what happened between you to get in the way.

“Can we talk later?” you blurt out.

He steps back toward his tent, stooping to grab the zipper and slide it up. “Talk?”

“Yeah, just talk.” You hold his gaze, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

“Okay. Come find me when you’re ready.”

You nod and unzip your own tent before taking off your shoes and ducking inside to drop off your bag. The canvas walls are cool and wide, and a two-person sleeping bag is nestled in the middle. The space smells of pine, too, and clean fabric. You take a deep breath and smile. It’s actually really nice.

You remind yourself once again that you should be enjoying these experiences and not getting caught up in the way you’re feeling. And besides, you’re planning to address that later.

When you re-emerge from your tent, everyone’s already unloading coolers, firewood, and food. Felix breaks out a portable speaker and turns on a summer playlist. Everyone has a task to do. You help Jeongin set up the table with side dishes, and the plates and bowls you brought. Chan and Minho cook the meat on the grill. Hyunjin and Changbin work on the rice. Seungmin and Felix are making soup. Han is fighting for his life to break the chunky bags of ice and dump it into the coolers around the drinks.

And it feels nice. It’s a comfortable atmosphere. The quiet surrounds you and your coupled conversations fill the area. Definitely not as relaxing as sitting on the couch would have been, but enjoyable all the same.

Once the food is done, everyone gathers around the tables, paper bowls and plates full, chopsticks clicking. You’re sitting between Jeongin and Felix, picking through your rice and grilled pork belly, stealing bites of kimchi from Jeongin’s plate when he’s not looking, after you’ve eaten all yours. Hyunjin’s across from you, and thankfully he’s more absorbed in his conversation with Changbin and Seungmin rather than trying to catch your eye. 

The overall vibe around the table is messy, loud, and chaotic—and for a moment, you forget you’re not just here for fun. Whatever Chan wanted to tell you in person is still gnawing at the back of your mind.

After lunch someone suggests checking out the lake, and you all set off down a narrow trail lined with trees. It’s not far—just a ten-minute walk—and when you arrive, the water gleams under the sun, inviting you all in.

Shoes are kicked off, pant legs rolled up. You sit on a big flat rock near the edge as the others mess around. Felix is the first one to splash in, and Han pushes him fully in right after. Hyunjin helps Changbin chase off a duck that got too bold near their snacks, and Chan wades in up to his ankles, arms crossed, looking suspiciously like someone plotting a nature documentary. 

At some point, Jeongin walks over and offers you a wet hand, grinning. “Don’t want to get your feet dirty?”

“I’m just observing the chaos.”

“It’s more fun to participate in the chaos,” he says, tugging you up gently. 

You let him, and then you’re ankle deep a second later too, water cold and clean around you. Someone decides to start a rock skipping competition, but no one gets more than a few skips in before their rock sinks. When your last stone skitters across six ripples, they all cheer and clap and Seungmin announces you as the winner. Really, though, you think he’s just tired of playing. 

When you return to camp, everyone splits off for a little while and you opt to take a nap in your tent for a few hours. The sun is low once you come back out and you immediately help get the fire pit going—arranging logs, kindling, and a drizzle of lighter fluid.

The fire’s crackling and Chan waves you over to where he’s standing when he catches your attention. “Hey, walk with me?” he says once you’re within earshot.

You follow him toward the edge of the campsite where the trees are a little denser, the air cooler.

“So,” he says, glancing at you with a faint smile. “About time I share the news, yeah?”

“I’ve been wondering what it could be all night,” you tell him. “So, yes, please.”

He laughs, then slows his pace. “I got a call from one of the PDs at KBS earlier this week. They’re looking for someone to fill in as a weekend variety show MC. Temporary gig. They wanted someone with good on-screen presence—ideally from our cast. It’ll be in the weeks leading up to the series premiere. Great PR.”

Your stomach flips.

Chan stops walking. “They asked for my input. I gave them your name.”

You stare at him.

“I think you’d be amazing,” he continues. “You’re funny, quick, professional. They already pulled a few behind-the-scenes clips and liked your energy. So, just a heads up—you’ll probably be hearing from your agency soon. But I wanted you to know first.”

You blink. “Wait… are you serious?”

He grins. “Completely. I told you this project would open up new opportunities for you. It’s already starting to.”

You glance out toward the fire where the others are laughing, pretending for a second that your brain isn’t spinning. You were hopeful that landing this role would lead to your next job. But you hadn’t even considered being an MC—you’ve never hosted anything. Is it the right career move? 

Chan nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got this, y/n. It’ll be good, I promise. Just say yes when they ask.”

You nod, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Chan.”

Back at the camp, dinner is underway with ramyeon bowls and the rest of the meat. The string lights have been turned on and the area looks just as magical as you envisioned. You’re quiet while you eat, contemplating the news Chan just delivered. You’re hesitant to talk it over with your agency, though, because if they were okay signing off on that new scene without your consent…do they even have your best interest at heart?

When it’s fully dark, everyone circles close to the fire, and the s’mores ingredients are brought out. You’re seated between Felix and Seungmin, holding your skewer with a marshmallow at the end over the fire. You toast it until it’s golden brown and then accidentally drop it into the fire, earning your second round of applause of the day, this time for dramatic effect.

“Wasted,” Han says solemnly.

“Redemption,” Felix says, passing you another.

You all munch on s’mores and talk about a lot of nothing until the soju is brought out and Felix suggests playing Never Have I Ever.

“We’re not in high school,” Seungmin mutters.

“That’s exactly why it’ll be fun,” Felix grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

You pass when they offer you a drink, waving the water bottle in your hand. They don’t pressure you to take it—probably for many reasons. But you’re a girl on a camping trip with eight men, they wouldn’t dare do anything to make you uncomfortable and it warms your heart knowing you’re safe with them.

Truthfully, you just don’t want alcohol getting in the way of your thoughts or words when you talk to Hyunjin later. You’re still planning to make that happen, but you haven’t found a moment to call him away from the others without it being noticeable. You’re not sure it will be as short a conversation as you had with Chan, so you’d rather do it when they’re not paying attention.

Your eyes find Hyunjin across the firepit, and he waves his water bottle, offering you a small nod of solidarity.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Felix says. “Never have I ever peed in the ocean.”

Jeongin groans and immediately takes a drink. “Have you seen public bathrooms on the beach?”

Han drinks too. So do you. 

“Some of you have to be lying—everyone’s done it.” You say.

“A pool isn’t the ocean,” Changbin pipes up.

“Neither is a lake,” seconds Minho. “Make your statements clear.”

Changbin follows up with: “Never have I ever forgotten my lines in the middle of filming.”

All of the actors drink.

As the game proceeds, you learn way too much about Han’s teenage years, Hyunjin’s history of taking props from sets and the fact that Changbin once got banned from a family amusement park.

“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.” Hyunjin says.

Han is the only one that drinks.

That shocks everyone and causes Minho and Seungmin to harass him for a moment, pulling at his clothing to find it but he swats them away in defense.

“Never have I ever…” Minho pauses, and over the fire you can see the mischievous look that passes over his eyes. “...sent a suggestive selfie.”

“Now we’re getting to the good stuff,” Felix says, taking a drink with everyone else except Minho, Han and Chan who are then labeled as ‘boring’ by the group. 

“It’s about reputation,” Minho shrugs it off.

“You just have to make sure your face isn’t in it,” Jeongin says.

Everyone turns to look at him and his face flushes.

“Your turn, y/n. Keep it spicy.” Felix encourages.

You’d much rather not.

You pause, thinking for a moment. “Okay, I got one. Never have I ever had a one-night stand.”

All of them drink. To which you shake your head and click your tongue in mock disappointment.

Jeongin goes next. “Never have I ever kissed someone I wasn’t supposed to.”

A beat passes. The fire crackles. Han drinks quickly and laughs it off, Minho does too. You hesitate, then take a sip—casually, like you hope no one’s watching. But Hyunjin is watching. You feel it.

He doesn’t drink, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s thinking hard about something.

The questions get a little more risqué as the boys’ filters are diluted by their drinks. You’re safe from most of them, but there are far too many disturbing images you get from the answers.

Seungmin goes next. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone I work with.”

You freeze for half a second before taking a slow sip. A few others drink too. Your eyes catch Hyunjin’s, his hand holding the drink doesn’t budge. He raises an eyebrow, almost like he’s teasing you for drinking. And you can’t explain the jabbing pain you feel behind your ribs.

Minho goes next. “Never have I ever wanted to quit everything and disappear.”

A hush falls over the circle. You glance up, watching as Hyunjin drinks. Chan and Han do as well. You know, possibly, the time in Hyunjin’s life he felt that way, but you wonder what’s made Chan and Han consider it, too.

The moment passes when Felix blurts out, “Okay, why did this just get so depressing?”

You all chuckle to shake off the seriousness and someone else suggests charades, turning the mood around completely. 

It’s nearly midnight when everyone decides to stop fighting their yawns and head off to their respective tents. You glance at Hyunjin as you unzip yours. It’s late. And it would be too obvious if both of you walked off together right now. You can talk tomorrow.

“Goodnight,” you say quietly.

“Night?” he replies, like it’s a question.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

You toe off your shoes at the entrance and enter the tent, zipping it back shut behind you. You grab your bag and change into your pajamas—shorts and an old concert tee—before settling in the sleeping bag. As you’re figuring out which way you want to lay, your phone starts vibrating.

Hyunjin’s calling.

“H-hello?” You answer awkwardly.

“Hey.” Hyunjin says. You can hear the faint rustle of his sleeping bag through the line.

You sit up, feeling on edge. “You’re calling me from, like…ten feet away?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “You wanted to talk, right?”

“I figured we’d do it tomorrow…”

“Tonight’s good.”

There’s a pause— you listen to the faint chirping of insects outside, the wind stirring the trees. You’d already put the topics you wanted to address in the back of your mind in order to get some sleep.

“What did you want to talk about?” he prompts. 

You exhale slowly, shifting the phone against your cheek. Maybe it’ll be easier this way.

“About what happened that night at the club—the kiss and everything since.”

You can hear him shifting, maybe sitting up too. “Okay.”

“It’s just…it’s been weird,” you say, then correct yourself, “I’ve been weird.”

He’s been acting like himself this entire time.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You wince. “I know. I wasn’t sure how to—” you cut yourself off, searching for the words. “I think I needed a boundary, but I didn’t know how to establish one without making it a bigger deal.”

“A boundary for what?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—what is it you think you need a boundary for? Was something about it wrong?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “Well, maybe…I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think it was wrong, per se...”

“Then what?”

Your heart is hammering a little now. “I think…I didn’t expect it to feel like it did. And once it did, I didn’t know what I was allowed to do with that.”

The silence stretches again. You can almost imagine him sitting there, phone pressed to his ear, processing. Maybe you are making a big deal of this. Maybe co-stars engage in this kind of behavior all the time. That doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s not something you want to continuously engage in throughout your career. 

And then there’s the rustling sound of movement through the phone.

Finally, he speaks softly, “Open your tent.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“I’ll talk if you let me. But not through this.”

For a second, you hesitate—your heart feels like it’s going to knock itself loose. But you’re already climbing out of your sleeping bag to unzip your tent.

Hyunjin is standing there in slippers, basketball shorts and a muscle shirt. The look on his face is unreadable, but it’s gentle. 

“Can I come in?” he whispers.

You nod and move aside, making room in the space beside you.

He crawls in and zips the flap shut behind him, then turns to you, sitting cross-legged, hands in his lap.

“I haven’t felt awkward,” he says, jumping right back into the conversation. “Not once. I’ve just been waiting for you to decide if that kiss meant anything.”

You look down at your hands, thumbs nervously brushing over one another. “It’s not that simple,” you say.

“Why not?”

You glance up. “It’s unprofessional, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin leans back slightly. “That’s what this is? You think it’s a rule we’re breaking?”

“It’s not not a rule,” you murmur.

He grins, and the dim light inside your tent catches on the curve of his cheekbone. “You ever think maybe that’s what makes it fun?”

You blink at him. “Fun?”

“I like talking to you, joking with you—even arguing with you. You’re fun.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, I’m just a good time to you?”

His face falls a little, the teasing slipping away. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

You search his face for a beat, then ask, “Then why didn’t you drink earlier?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Drink?”

“When Jeongin asked if anyone’s ever kissed someone they shouldn’t have. You didn’t drink.”

Hyunjin’s expression softens. “Because I don’t think I did.”

You hold his gaze, your heart somersaulting.

“I don’t regret kissing you,” he says quietly. “Not even a little.”

“What about…” you begin carefully, “the question about having a crush on someone you work with?”

His smile returns, gentler this time. “I didn’t drink because I don’t have a crush.”

You’re unsure whether to feel disappointed or relieved at that.

“What, are we twelve-year olds?” He uses your own line on you with a smirk. “I like you, y/n,” he finishes, and it knocks the wind out of you.

Not a crush. Not a fleeting thing. Something firmer. Riskier.

You shake your head and sigh. “It’s not just about liking each other. I don’t want to blur the line between acting and… whatever this is, but everything about you complicates any boundary I think of setting.”

“What is this?” he asks softly. “To you?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. But every time I draw a line, you make me want to cross it.”

His voice is low. “Then cross it. If it’s your line, you get to move it.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. It should be a simple answer—no. You should reinforce the boundary, double down. You wanted to talk to him for that specific result.

But then he says something like that, and he’s not teasing. He’s giving you space to choose.

The truth is, you like him. Not in passing, not just because he’s good-looking or charming. You like the way he watches you when you speak. The way he listens without interrupting. The way he treats your concerns like they matter.

You exhale slowly, the weight of it all settling in your chest.

Maybe the boundary doesn’t have to mean distance. Maybe it can mean intention.

So you shift forward on your knees, heart pounding, and pause just inches from him. You meet his eyes, searching—making sure he’s still with you.

He is.

“And if this changes everything?”

“It already has,” he says. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.”

You swallow, gaze dropping to his lips, then back to his eyes. You’re so close now. Just one breath away.

But then—

“Hyunjin-ah!” Changbin’s voice whisper-yells through the quiet, somewhere outside the tent. “You in there?”

You both go still, startled.

“I need to take a piss and it’s fucking dark out here. Come with me.”

Hyunjin mutters a quiet curse under his breath, glancing toward the tent flap. His eyes flick back to you, reluctant.

“That’s your security detail?” You tilt your head away from him, smirking.

“Assistant…chauffeur,” he smiles back before sighing. “I should go.”

You nod, heart still thudding. “Yeah.”

He moves slowly, like it physically pains him to leave. Before unzipping the flap, he looks back at you again and in one swift motion, grabs your arm and pulls you to him. His lips crash against yours, his arms encircle your waist. You grab onto his triceps as he licks at your bottom lip, waiting for you to open your mouth. You do, leaning into him, hands caressing his head as your tongues find each other again.

But just as quickly as he started it, he ends it.

“We’re not done,” he says quietly against your lips.

You slide back onto your sleeping bag, not looking away. “I know.”

Then he’s gone. And for the second time in minutes, you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved. The interruption has kept you from crossing a line, but what good is that if you were already willing to cross it again? Not only that but he’s practically taunting you into doing it.

You turn around, throwing your face onto the pillow and letting out a muffled scream, feet kicking the sleeping bag. You’re happy but also really fucking terrified at what the future may hold.

a/n: So much happening, ahhh! We're officially out of the Enemies territory, in that space before they become lovers. I won't make you wait too long for the lovin'! Just bear with me through one more chapter! [ read chapter six here ] [ master list ]