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seospicybin · 2 days ago

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COVET.

CHAPTER ONE

Felix x reader x Bangchan. (s,a)

Synopsis: When a friend of your dad set you up with his son, you hope to see the man you used to love— but it was his stepbrother who showed up instead, Felix. He is your student. Too bold. Too young. But also impossible to resist. Then Chris returns—gentle, steady, still the same man you once dreamed of. Now you're stuck between the past that once had your heart… and the boy who’s learning how to break it. (17,5k words)

Author's note: You guys been asking for a Felix fic so here ya go (also, adding a dash of Chan just because I'm in the mood for some chanlix hehehe) pls enjoy it nonetheless and tell me what you think of it ♡

You’ve been in the city for exactly seventeen days.

Seventeen days of unpacking boxes, adjusting to the new water pressure in your apartment, forgetting which cabinet holds your coffee mugs, and waking up two minutes before your alarm like your body still doesn’t trust it.

It’s not bad. It’s just… not home yet.

But today is your official first lecture at the university. You’d spent the entire weekend reviewing your materials, making sure your notes were flawless, your syllabus airtight, and your first impression unforgettable. A fresh start—you could feel it humming in your veins as you stepped into the classroom, the low buzz of anticipation like something electric.

Your heels click against the polished floor, laptop tucked under your arm. The room quiets down the second you arrive—at least, mostly.

You give your students a quick once-over. All young, bright-eyed, some still blinking sleep away. You introduce yourself, establish expectations, try to make your voice firm but warm.

And then there’s him.

He’s sitting all the way in the back, golden hair catching the late-morning sun, one knee bouncing lazily, a lollipop tucked between plush lips like this is some high school drama. His name rolls off your attendance sheet like a warning bell: Lee Felix.

You’d recognize that smirk anywhere now—he’s had it on since you walked in.

Ten minutes into your lecture and he hasn’t looked up from his phone once.

“Mr. Lee,” you say, loud enough for it to cut through the room like a blade.

Heads turn but Felix glances up with deliberate slowness, like he didn’t just get caught red-handed. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t flinch. He just quirks an eyebrow and drawls, “Yes, Professor?”

There’s something about the way he says Professor—just enough edge, just enough mockery, just enough heat to make your grip on the whiteboard marker tighten. You take a breath. You’re not going to lose composure on your first day.

“I’m sure your phone can wait until after class,” you say coolly.

“I was just Googling a term you mentioned. Trying to keep up,” he lies so smoothly it almost sounds real.

The class snickers under their breath. You don’t let it show, but irritation prickles down your spine. It’s clear: he’s one of those. Smart enough to coast, cocky enough to test you, and pretty enough to think he can get away with it.

You’ve handled worse. But you also didn’t move cities, start fresh, and build a reputation from scratch to be toyed with by a smug, lollipop-sucking troublemaker. Your eyes lock with his for just a beat too long, and he has the audacity to wink.

You move on with the lecture, but you already know one thing for sure: Lee Felix is going to be a problem.

You’ve just dismissed the class when you hear it—

The lazy drag of footsteps that don’t belong to anyone in a rush to leave.

You keep your eyes on your laptop screen, fingers clicking quickly across the keys as you save your lecture notes and power down. Maybe if you act busy enough, he’ll change his mind. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

“Professor,” comes that infuriatingly smooth voice, so much softer now that it’s just the two of you in the room.

You glance up slowly, only to find Felix leaning against your desk, arms crossed, expression smug like he knows something you don’t. You hate how good he looks up close.

No—not good. Just… young. Reckless. Golden. Dangerous.

His lollipop is gone now, replaced with a slightly lopsided smile. “Just wanted to say, great first class. You really know how to command a room.”

You blink at him. “You didn’t seem too interested in it.”

“Oh, I was interested,” he says, and there’s a deliberate pause before he adds, “Just not in the material.”

He’s playing a game. Testing how far he can push before you push back.

You meet his gaze, cool and calm, no room for flirtation. “Mr. Lee, I’d advise you to choose your next words carefully.”

“Wouldn’t dream of saying anything inappropriate,” he says with a flash of his teeth, and that voice of his drops just a little—low, teasing, like a dare. “Unless you’re into that.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t blush. You don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting at all. Instead, you close your laptop with a soft snap, stand slowly, and lean your hands on the edge of your desk as you face him head-on.

“Listen closely, Mr. Lee,” you say, voice low but clear. “If you want to pass this course, I suggest you drop the act. I’m not here to be entertained. And I’m not here to entertain you.”

He straightens up just slightly, eyes flicking across your face, and for a second—just a second—you think you might’ve caught him off guard.

“If this continues,” you continue calmly, “I’ll have no problem removing you from this class. Permanently. Is that what you want?”

There’s a pause. You can almost see the calculation happening behind those deceptively warm eyes and then he smiles again—smaller this time. Slower. More careful.

“Not at all, Professor,” he says smoothly. “I like being in your class.”

You say nothing, and the silence stretches between you like a taut string.

Eventually, he steps back. “See you Wednesday.”

You watch him walk out the door, and only when he’s gone do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Trouble. He’s going to be trouble.

There are only a few places in the city that feel familiar yet. The walk to the faculty lounge. The tiny bakery with the quiet owner who never talks too much. And this golf course—the green stretching wide under the open sky, the scent of cut grass and the satisfying weight of a club in your hands. But mostly, it’s him.

“Still swinging like a beginner, huh?”

The teasing voice makes you glance up just in time to see the man approaching, half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and a golf glove already in place.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Please. I’m still the only reason you don’t come in last in tournaments.”

He laughs—a full, warm sound that rumbles out of him and melts some of the stress clinging to your shoulders.

Mr. Bahng, as everyone else used to call him, but to you, he’s just Chris’s dad—and practically a second father of your own.

You’ve known him since you were a little, back when he was a partner to your father at work until he got transferred to another city but he’d visit your family during business trips or holidays and always bring you a snack from the airport like you were still ten. Now, he just sends books or gift cards for takeout, but the energy’s the same. Steady. Supportive. Familiar in a way this whole new city still isn’t.

You shake hands, and he pulls you into a quick side hug like always.

“Still keeping those city boys on their toes?” he asks as you walk to the tee.

“Trying to,” you reply, giving him a mock glare. “They’re just harder to scare.”

“Bet you’ve scared at least one of them,” he says with a chuckle. “You always had that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘don’t-test-me-unless-you-want-to-lose-your-ego’ look,” he grins. “Your dad told me you used that on a boy in high school. What was his name? Lee?”

You scoff. “He tried to kiss me in a stairwell and spelled Nietzsche wrong in his essay. I stand by my choices.”

He laughs again and steps up to take his shot—too wide on the angle. You make a noise of disapproval.

“Left your wrists back again,” you point out. “Still trying to brute force it instead of—”

“Relax,” he mutters, straightening up. “You always get mouthy before you lose.”

“I never lose to you,” you say with a sharp grin, taking your place behind the tee. “And today’s not the day.”

The rest of the game flows easy, the two of you bantering between swings, correcting each other’s posture, talking about everything and nothing. This kind of familiarity is rare. Comforting. He doesn’t ask about your dating life, doesn’t push you about making friends. He just exists beside you like a tree you could lean on if you needed it.

However, by the 14th hole, he clears his throat and says, “Actually… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You glance over. “That sounds ominous.”

“Nothing bad,” he says quickly. “Just—seeing you out here today, all grown up and holding your own. I was thinking…”

You pause mid-step, eyeing him carefully.

“I know someone I think you’d get along with,” he continues, tone light, like he’s testing the waters. “He’s smart. Ambitious. Got a good heart. A bit overworked lately, honestly. Reminds me of you when you first started teaching.”

You raise a brow, half-amused. “Are you trying to set me up?”

He grins. “Would it be the worst idea in the world?”

You open your mouth to say something sarcastic—but pause.

He said someone I think you’d get along with. Smart. Ambitious. Overworked. And you know he has a son.

Your thoughts go straight to Chris. Chris, who used to help you carry your books after class. Chris, who told you not to cry when you didn’t get into your first-choice university. Chris, who was always kind and quiet and maybe just a little too good-looking for his own good. You haven’t seen him in years, but if he’s back now…

You clear your throat. “Is this your way of recruiting me into the family?”

He laughs. “What can I say? I’ve always wanted a daughter like you.”

It makes your chest warm. He means it. You can feel it. You pretend to think it over, but your heart’s already made the leap. “Alright,” you say, trying to sound casual. “I’ll meet him.”

He claps you on the shoulder with a proud smile. “You won’t regret it.”

You smile back, and for the rest of the game, you let yourself imagine what it might feel like to see Chris again. To be looked at like that. To belong to something… someone… that’s always felt a little out of reach.

You line up your next shot, but your mind drifts—

what would Chris wear to the date? Still gentle and quiet like you remember? Would he still have that soft voice, that shy, dimpled laugh? The idea of sitting across from him again after all these years tugs a smile onto your lips before you can stop it.

You swing but the ball hooks left—wild.

Mr. Bahng laughs behind you. “You were doing so well until I mentioned a certain boy.”

You blink at him, embarrassed. “I'm not,” you weakly defend yourself.

“I know that look,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “Don’t go falling in love just yet. Save that for the date.”

Studying bores him. It always has. It’s not that he’s stupid—God, no. Felix could probably ace half his classes with his eyes closed if he wanted to. That’s the thing—he just doesn’t want to.

Too many hours trapped in a chair listening to the same tired voices drone on about things that don’t light anything up in him. Too many papers, too many expectations. It all feels like white noise most days.

He comes to campus for one reason: to hang out. To be with his friends. To flirt, skate through the day, maybe sneak a smoke behind the student center or sleep through the late lectures if no one notices.

That’s all it was. That’s all it ever was. Until you show up like a glitch in the pattern. A brand new lecturer with no patience for bullshit and this fire in your eyes that makes Felix sit up straighter without realizing it. You dress sharp, speak sharper, and carry yourself like you’ve got the whole world under control. You don’t laugh at his jokes. You don’t flinch when he teases you. You don’t look at him the way others do—like he’s just the golden-haired boy who always gets away with things. You look at him like you see through him.

And that? That’s interesting. For the first time in years, he’s showing up to class early. He’s staying awake. He’s listening—to you, specifically. Not because of the material. Not because he cares about grades or degrees or whatever future everyone keeps pressuring him into chasing.

He shows up because you’re there. Because you challenge him. Because you ignore him. Because you look like you should be untouchable, and somehow that just makes him want to touch even more.

He knows he’s pushing it, knows the lines you draw, the rules you hide behind. Knows you’d probably throw him out of class if he pushed too far. But he also knows one thing for certain— No one else on this campus makes his heart kick the way you do when you walk into the room like you own it. No one else makes him want to show up.

You’re the only part of his routine that’s not boring and if he’s being honest with himself, you’re the only reason he’s still coming to class at all.

As usual, Felix lounges on the edge of the stone steps, half-listening to whatever Jeongin’s rambling about beside him. It’s something dumb. Something about a failed group project or a girl who ghosted him after two texts. Seungmin chimes in now and then with his usual dry sarcasm, and Hyunjin’s too busy scrolling through his phone to contribute more than the occasional “damn, that sucks.”

Felix laughs at the right moments, leans back on his elbows, sunlight soaking into the leather of his jacket. It’s easy. Effortless. But he’s only half there. The other half is watching the lot. Waiting.

“You’re staring again,” Seungmin says without looking up.

Felix doesn’t bother denying it.

Jeongin follows his gaze. “The new professor?”

Felix hums. A little smile tugs at his lips. “She’s not my professor. She just… teaches the class I’m currently tolerating.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Sure. Is that what you’re doing? Tolerating her?”

Felix shrugs, but the grin spreading across his face gives him away. He thinks about that first day. You walked in like the room belonged to you, like the floor knew better than to creak under your heels. No hesitation. No nerves. Just sharp eyes and a sharper mouth, dressed in soft fabrics and clipped words.

Everyone else had gone quiet. But him? He couldn’t stop staring. You’d called him out within ten minutes and he still thinks about it.

No professor had ever done that—not like you did. Not with heat behind your gaze and ice in your tone, like you were daring him to cross a line just so you could destroy him for it. And yeah, maybe that should’ve turned him off, but it didn’t. If anything, it flipped something in his brain. Because suddenly class wasn’t boring anymore. Suddenly, showing up felt like chasing a high.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Jeongin says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe.

Felix scoffs. “Yeah. ‘Hey, Professor, wanna grab coffee after you finish grading my half-assed essay?’ Real smooth.”

Seungmin shrugs. “You’ve pulled off worse.”

“But she’s…” Felix trails off, frowning.

Different. That’s the word he wants. Different from anyone he’s ever wanted. Different in ways that make him want to push and pull and figure you out just to feel what it’s like to have your attention for more than five seconds at a time.

Before anyone can say anything else, a car pulls into the lot and just like that, his whole body sharpens because it’s you. Hair pinned back, sunglasses perched on your head, dark dress hugging all the right places as you step out of your car like you’re stepping onto a stage you were born to own.

He sits up straighter. Slides his phone into his pocket. Brushes a hand through his hair. This? This is the best part of his morning. Maybe his whole week.

The others go quiet as they follow his gaze.

“Go get your fix, lover boy,” Seungmin mutters, already standing. “I’m out.”

Felix grins, but doesn’t respond. He just leans back into place, he eyes the curve of your waist, the soft sway of your dress as you stride toward the building and when the time is right— When he’s sure you’re close enough to hear him—

He says it: “Morning, Professor. That dress looks real good on you today.”

You freeze for a second. Just long enough to confirm what he already knows—you heard him. But you don’t look at him. Don’t smile. Just a clipped, nearly inaudible, “Thank you, Mr. Lee,” and you keep walking like you didn’t just lose for a second there.

Felix grins. God, you make it too easy.

The way your jaw sets when you’re trying to stay professional, the way your hand tightens around your bag strap, like you’re holding yourself back. The way your spine straightens like it’s him you’re bracing against.

He laughs as you push open the door without looking back, the sound rolling low in his throat, just loud enough for you to hear it if you’re still listening. You always pretend you’re not but he knows better.

You’re already in his head—he might as well return the favor.

Class ends.

You dismiss everyone with your usual calm, collected tone—sharp enough to keep them in line, soft enough to keep the room respectful.

Most students pack up and shuffle out. But Felix? He lingers. Always the last to leave. Always with something to say.

You’re collecting your papers at the front, eyes skimming your notes like you’re already ten minutes ahead of the moment. But he walks right up to your desk anyway, slow and easy, with that same crooked smirk that got under your skin the first week.

“You got any plans tonight, Professor?”

You glance up, brows raised. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugs, tone casual. “Just wondering. You strike me as the type who doesn’t know how to have fun on a Friday night.”

You give him a flat look, the kind that usually ends the conversation. But this time, you surprise him.

You slide your notes into your bag, your voice calm and detached when you answer, “Actually… I have a date.”

It’s not the words—it’s how effortlessly you say them. Like it’s not meant to hit him. Like it’s not supposed to matter. But surprisingly... it does. His stomach dips, almost unnoticeable, like hitting a sudden drop in the road you didn’t see coming.

The smirk on his face falters for half a second—barely there—before he recovers. “Oh yeah?” he says, grin stretching back into place, like it’s all just a joke. “Lucky guy.”

You don’t respond to that. Just offer a tight smile, and a pointed glance toward the door. You don’t have to say it—he knows the conversation is over.

He tosses his bag over one shoulder and walks out with that same swagger, head high, like nothing’s changed, but something has.

The word date sticks in his head. Over and over. You never give him anything. Never let him in. But now… you’re going out with someone? Who?

Felix doesn’t even realize how deep in his thoughts he is until his phone buzzes in his back pocket.

Mom.

He answers without thinking. “Hey, mom.”

“Felix darling,” her voice comes through warm and familiar. “I need you to do something for me tonight.”

He exhales, already rubbing a hand over his face. “What is it?”

It’s just a date. You’ve been on dates before—awkward coffee meetups, polite dinners with forgettable conversation, half-hearted setups from friends who didn’t know you at all.

But this one? This one buzzes under your skin like something electric. Maybe it’s because it’s him. Chris. Or, at least, that’s who you think it is.

You’ve spent the entire week trying not to overthink it—how many years it’s been, whether he’ll remember the things you used to talk about, whether the way he smiled at you back then meant what you thought it did.

You told yourself you weren’t going to go overboard and yet, here you are, standing in front of your mirror for the third time, adjusting your necklace, smoothing the soft fabric of your dress over your hips again like it’ll make a difference.

You spent hours getting ready. Hair, makeup, choosing a shade of lipstick that wasn’t too bold but still enough to make him look twice. You hate that you care this much. You hate that your pulse quickens every time you glance at the clock, that your hands feel a little clammy, that you’ve changed your earrings twice already.

But god, the thought of seeing him again—the boy who used to lean in and whisper things only you could hear, who made you feel like you were more than just someone’s daughter or a mere friend— It makes your stomach flip.

You want him to see you and see how much you've grown. You want to impress him. You want him to want you.

You take one final look at yourself in the mirror, exhale slowly, and grab your bag. This is ridiculous. It’s just a date. One dinner. But still—

You can’t shake the feeling that this night might change something and you're right. It will. Just… not in the way you think.

The café is warm and quiet, tucked into a corner of the city where everything feels slow and curated. Jazz plays softly through the speakers, and the hanging lights above each table give off that soft golden glow that makes everything feel more intimate than it should.

You chose the booth by the window. Partly for the view, partly so you could look like you weren’t desperately scanning the room every time the front door opened and it's thirty-seven minutes past the appointed time.

It’s not like him to be late.

Chris—at least the Chris you used to know—was punctual. Thoughtful. Someone who would’ve shown up early and probably brought flowers and smiled that boyish, dimpled smile that made your stomach do flips.

You’re on your second latte now because the first one went cold while you kept glancing at the entrance like an idiot. This one’s mostly foam, but your hands need something to do. You pull out your compact and reapply your lipstick. Again.

God, this is ridiculous.

You keep telling yourself he’ll walk in any minute now. That he probably just got caught in traffic. That maybe he’s circling the block trying to find parking. That he’ll be here, and it’ll be worth it. That all this effort—all this nervous energy and too-tight hope—will mean something.

The bell above the door rings and you don’t look up. You’re tired of looking up. Tired of the tiny jolt of anticipation that always dissolves into another stranger, another group of friends, another barista returning from break.

You take a sip of your latte and slump slightly into your seat, letting your shoulders relax for the first time in an hour. And that’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes on you.

You glance up, expecting… no one. Expecting just another unfamiliar face. But what you see is a black leather jacket. Tousled blond hair. And that unmistakable, shit-eating smirk.

Felix. He’s standing near the entrance, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, head tilted just slightly like he’s amused. Like he meant to find you here.

You blink, completely thrown, stomach dropping as your brain tries to piece it together. He sees your confusion—and it only makes his grin deepen. He walks toward your table like he belongs here. Like this is a game and he’s been playing it longer than you realized.

And the worst part? He looks good. Too good. The kind of good that makes your throat dry.

You sit up straighter, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. What the hell is he doing here?

This was supposed to be a date with Mr. Bahng's son. Chris. Not with the boy who makes a habit of testing your patience. Not with your student. Not with Felix.

You duck your head instinctively, hand lifting to shield your face like you’re invisible behind a half-full latte and a smear of lip gloss.

But it’s too late. Felix has already seen you.

You hear his boots before you see him—the confident thud of them crossing the café floor. You keep your eyes locked on the swirls in your coffee, praying he’ll just pass by, that this is some bizarre coincidence.

But of course it's not. Felix stops in front of your table. Then, without asking, without a shred of hesitation, he sits right across from you. One arm slung over the back of the booth, legs stretched comfortably, as if he’s been doing this with you every Friday night for years. And that smirk. That goddamn smirk. That smug, lazy, self-satisfied smirk that tells you this isn’t just a coincidence.

You stare at him, jaw tight, but before you can get a word out, he speaks. “Your date is here.”

You scoff. Audibly. “Felix, just because we’re off campus doesn’t mean you can do this.”

He raises his brows, all innocence. “Do what?”

You narrow your eyes. “Whatever this is. Showing up, sitting down—ruining my night.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” he says easily, resting his chin on his hand. “I am your night.”

You blink. “You’re—what?”

“I’m your date.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nice try.”

But your heart stutters because he’s not joking. He’s not being sarcastic. He’s dead serious.

“No,” you say quickly, voice sharp. “No, you can’t be. It’s supposed to be—”

You stop yourself because you never actually said Chris’s name aloud. You just assumed because who else would it be?

Felix shrugs. Then, slowly, he pulls his phone out of his jacket and turns the screen toward you. There it is. A message thread from someone labeled Mom.

One message in particular, sitting bright and brutal on the screen: "Felix sweetie, don’t forget. Café Verona, 7PM. You’ll be meeting her there. Be nice. Your dad will be so happy if this works out."

No. No, no, no.

Your breath catches in your throat, your lips parting but no words coming out. Your brain tries to string together logic—maybe it’s a prank, maybe he hacked a phone, maybe—

But your name is there. The café’s name. The time. It’s real.

You stare at the message again, then at him, your voice cracking when you finally manage, “But—Mr. Bahng said—his son…”

Felix lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. His stepson.”

He watches you with something gentler now beneath the smugness, like he knows the floor has just been pulled out from under you. “You didn’t know?” he asks casually. “He married my mom eight years ago.”

The air around you thins. You grip the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded.

Mr. Bahng. Your second father. Your comfort in this city.

And Felix—the boy who’s made it his mission to get under your skin—is his stepson.

You feel it all at once. The burn of humiliation. The dizzying confusion. The heavy drop in your stomach like the whole night has collapsed under its own weight.

Your voice barely makes it past your lips. “This… has to be a mistake.”

But you know it’s not.

Felix leans back in the booth, watching you unravel with maddening calm, and that smirk returns—less teasing now. More… inevitable.

“Guess you’re stuck with me tonight, Professor.”

Felix watches you come undone. Not all at once—no, not the dramatic kind of breaking. It’s quieter than that. Subtler. A slow unraveling behind your eyes as everything you thought you knew about this night flips upside down.

God, it’s beautiful.

Not because he wants to hurt you—he doesn’t. But because for once, you’re not composed. You’re not hiding behind that perfectly neutral expression or snapping at him with rehearsed professionalism.

Right now, you're just you—confused, flustered, vulnerable. Human. And he can’t look away.

You’re staring down at the table, lashes low, jaw clenched like you’re trying to find a way to salvage what’s left of your pride, but there’s nothing to save.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,” you finally say, voice low and uneven, “but this can’t happen.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, like he hasn’t heard that a dozen times before—but this time, it feels different.

“This,” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, “isn’t going to work. You’re younger than me.”

“So?”

“And you’re my student.”

“At least for the next two semesters.”

You shoot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

He leans forward just slightly, resting his forearms on the table, eyes locked on yours. The smirk on his lips curves slow and deliberate.

“No,” he says, voice low, smooth, “the point is… those are just excuses.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out because you know he’s right.

He watches the way your throat moves when you swallow hard, the way your fingers tighten slightly around the cup in your hand. And then, like twisting the knife with velvet hands, he says, “You forgot the most important reason why you can’t say no.”

Felix grins, cocking his head just a little. “My stepdad will be really disappointed if you walk away from this.”

The effect is immediate. He sees it hit—hard. Your spine stiffens, your face goes still. You look down like the guilt weighs too much to hold in your chest.

“It's just a date,” he says softly, not pushing, just planting the seed. “Talk to me. Laugh. Pretend I’m not ruining your life.”

“No. You’re not listening,” you say, quieter now. Firmer, but not nearly as steady as you want to be. “This isn’t going to work.”

But Felix isn’t even blinking. He just watches you—closely, carefully. You think you’re convincing him but all he sees is conflict. You’re still holding on to your rules, but not because of him. Not because of who he is or what he’s doing. No, it’s because you’re scared. Scared of being seen with him. Scared of liking him. Scared of what it would mean if you let go. And more than anything—you’re scared of disappointing his stepdad.

That part is written all over your face.

Felix leans back in the booth, tapping his fingers once against the side of his glass, as if weighing something, pretending to think. But the truth is, he already knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“Okay,” he starts, and your eyes flick to him with something cautious. “How about this.”

You say nothing, just stare at him.

“Three dates.”

“What?”

“Three,” he repeats, holding up three fingers. “We go on three real dates. No weird tension, no professor-student labels, no excuses. Just two people. That’s it.”

You narrow your eyes. “And after three?”

“If you still think this is a bad idea,” he says with a shrug, “I’ll tell my stepfather myself. I’ll say it didn’t work. That we weren’t compatible. That I blew it.”

You hesitate but he sees it. That twitch in your jaw. The soft crease between your brows. You’re not rejecting the idea—you’re fighting the part of you that already wants to say yes. It’s almost too easy.

“And you’ll actually tell him?”

Felix smirks. “Promise.”

There’s a long beat of silence. You look away first, eyes darting toward the window like the answer might be outside. But all you find is the reflection of yourself next to him—and the growing weight of something you can’t explain.

Finally, you exhale, barely above a whisper. “Fine.”

Three dates. Three is more than enough. Because Felix has already made up his mind— He’s going to change yours.

Felix hides his smile behind the rim of his glass. Got you.

You tell him no. Twice. But Felix is already unlocking the passenger side before you’ve finished your sentence, leaning on the door like he’s doing you a favor, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to drive you home after ambushing your date.

“You’re not walking home alone after dinner,” he says, cocky as ever. “What kind of gentleman would I be?”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You’re not a gentleman.”

He grins. “I am when I want to be.”

Still, you get in because the night has already gone to hell and honestly, you don’t have the energy to argue anymore. The car smells faintly like his cologne—clean, warm, and frustratingly pleasant. You fasten your seatbelt in silence, eyes fixed on the windshield as he pulls away from the café and into the quiet of the city night.

The ride is… quiet. Thankfully. You expected teasing. More smug comments. Some joke about how “charming” he is or how you were “clearly impressed.”

But for once, Felix keeps his mouth shut and you’re grateful for it because your mind is still a mess. You can’t stop thinking about how wrong tonight felt—how you built it up in your head, how you thought you were going to see Chris, how you’d imagined every version of what he’d look like now. How your chest had fluttered just thinking about him walking through that café door.

But it wasn’t him. It was Felix. And you hate that part of you isn’t as disappointed as it should be.

You reach your building too fast and the car slows to a gentle stop in front of the entrance, headlights washing over the brick steps.

You’re already reaching for your bag when he puts the car in park. “Thanks for the lift home,” you mutter, eyes still forward.

But before you can push the door open, his voice cuts through the quiet. “Don’t forget,” he says, lazy and low. “We still have three dates left.”

You pause and lare at him over your shoulder. “Two. After tonight, it’s two.”

He just grins, tilting his head like he’s about to break some tragic news. “This doesn’t count,” he says.

You blink. “And why is that so?”

He shrugs. “It’s not a date unless we kiss at the end of the night.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “You’re joking”

“I’m just saying,” he smirks. “I’m a really good kisser. Would’ve made it count.”

And you hate it. You hate that your brain stalls for a second, that it pictures it—his mouth, his hands, the taste of something dangerous and warm and off-limits. You hate that your fingers curl a little tighter around your bag. That your heart skips, just once.

You scoff instead. “Have a great night.”

“I already did,” he simply replies with his annoying smirk.

You throw the door open and step out before he can say another word, but just before you shut it—

“Goodnight, Professor,” he says, voice warm and velvet and full of satisfaction. “Dreams of me tonight.”

You slam the door harder than necessary. Your heels click furiously up the stairs as you make your way into the building, face hot with embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name.

And you know. You just know— He’s still watching you. Smiling like he already knows how this is going to end.

The morning air feels too bright.

You sip your coffee in slow, careful mouthfuls, the steam curling into your face as you stare at the slice of toast you haven’t touched. Your plate’s barely warm. Your stomach? Uneasy.

You barely slept because every time you closed your eyes, you’d see his—gold-flecked, too sure of themselves, that damn smirk that still burns at the back of your brain.

“It’s not a date unless we kiss.”

You rub at your temple like you can scrub the memory out.

This was supposed to be simple. One polite dinner. One quiet, grown-up “thanks, but no thanks.” Then you’d call Mr. Bahng in the morning and tell him it didn’t work out. That Felix was… impossible. Inappropriate. Not what you’re looking for. But just as you’re mustering the resolve to make the call, your phone lights up on the kitchen table.

Mr. Bahng.

Perfect timing. You swipe to answer, exhaling softly as you press the phone to your ear. “Hello, sir—”

“Sweetheart!” he beams, and you can practically feel his smile through the line. “Ah, I was just thinking about you.”

You sit up straighter, fingers curling slightly around your mug. “Oh?”

“I just had to call. Felix told me all about last night,” he says, voice filled with delight. “He said you had a wonderful time!”

Of course he did. You say in your head as you roll your eyes. You don’t know why you’re surprised. Felix probably hung up the phone after dropping you off and painted the whole evening in stars and candlelight. Told his stepfather you laughed. That you blushed. That you kissed. Who knows what he said.

You try to correct him. “Actually—”

“He’s really taken with you,” Mr. Bahng cuts in gently. “I always thought there was something different about that boy, but it’s nice seeing him this serious about someone.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out.

“Now, I know he’s a little younger,” he continues, “and yes, one of your students—but he only has, what? Another semester? Maybe less?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Just under a year.”

“Exactly!” he says. “By the time anything serious happens, it’ll be completely appropriate.”

You open your mouth again to speak—but the next words from him feel like a train hitting your chest.

“I just can’t wait to welcome you to the family one day.”

You go still. “What?”

He chuckles. “Too soon? Ah, forgive an old man. I just—”

His voice softens. “I’ve always thought of you like a daughter. And to have you officially… well. You’d make this family better. You’re the kind of woman I always hoped my son would bring home.”

You bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’ve done so well. You deserve to be loved the way I know Felix will love you.”

And just like that—

Whatever words you’d planned to say are gone.

Because how can you tell this man, the one who made you feel at home in a city full of strangers, the one who’s always been kind, who beams like a father when he sees you—how can you tell him no?

You swallow thickly. “Thank you, sir.”

He hums, satisfied. “Give it time. I know it’ll work out.”

You end the call with a numb sort of silence and the second your phone hits the table, you slump into your seat, burying your face in your hands.

Three dates. That’s all you agreed to. That’s all you owe. And then you’ll walk away from this—walk away from him. Three. Just three.

Class ends with the usual shuffle of feet and rustling of papers. You wrap up your lecture with a clipped reminder about the upcoming assignments, your voice cool and clear, carefully measured. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded these days—structure, professionalism, the boundaries that say you are not getting swept up in this mess.

You stay at the front of the classroom, organizing your notes, half-hoping for a moment of peace before the next meeting on your calendar. But the second you lift your head, you see him.

Felix. Leaning against the doorframe, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack slung over a single shoulder, the other shoved casually into the pocket of his leather jacket. His blond hair catches the light, and that same damn smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth like he’s been waiting for this all day. He doesn’t move right away. Just looks at you like you’re the main event.

“Hey, Professor.”

You roll your eyes. “How can I help you, Mr. Lee?”

He pushes off the doorframe and strolls up to your desk, the classroom now thankfully empty except for the two of you. He gives you that annoyingly charming smile—the one that probably works on half the campus—and says, “I figured you can help decide where we’re going for our first date.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. “What are you—shh!”

You glance toward the hallway as if anyone might be listening.

He laughs, delighted. “What, scared someone’s gonna overhear the scandal?”

“This isn’t funny,” you hiss, low and stern. “As long as you’re still enrolled in my class, I have to remain professional.”

He leans in a little, eyes gleaming. “You being all proper is kind of hot, you know that?”

Your glare sharpens. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, not at all sorry. “Secretly dating your lecturer? Feels like something out of a fantasy.”

You take a step back before he gets too close, shoving your notes into your bag with a little more force than necessary.

“We are not dating,” you snap, voice clipped.

“Not yet,” he replies easily.

You scowl, push past him, and make your way toward the door. “Please don't bother me with such questions unless it’s academic related.”

But he follows, relentless. “But we still need to choose a place for the first date,” he says behind you, like it’s already set in stone.

You say nothing. Don’t look back. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Still, as you step out into the hallway, you hear him call out after you, voice playful and smug:

“Don’t worry—I’ll pick somewhere that’ll impress you.”

You told yourself you wouldn’t care. You told yourself this was just an obligation—something to get through. Three dates. That was the deal. Nothing more, nothing less.

But here you are, standing in front of your mirror again, adjusting the neckline of your dress for the third time. You want to look put together. Sophisticated. Effortless.

You want to look good—but not for him.

God forbid you look like you tried. Still… you try.

Light makeup, just enough to make your features pop. A dress that hugs you in the right places, but not too tight, not too obvious. Hair soft, perfume subtle. You want to look like you always look like this. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like this wasn’t Felix.

You’re fixing the strap of your purse when you hear the low rumble of his car pulling up outside.

You let out a sigh. You don’t even know if it’s from annoyance or nerves—or some messy tangle of both—but it crawls up your chest all the same. You refuse to be standing at the door like you were waiting for him. So you sit and wait.

When the knock comes—three knocks, bold and unhurried—you wait a little longer, just to make him sweat. He deserves that much. Then, finally, you open the door.

Felix stands there in a black button-up, sleeves rolled halfway to his forearms, silver rings glinting on his fingers. His blond hair is tousled, like he styled it with careless perfection, and he looks up at you as if he wasn’t expecting to actually be stunned. His eyes drag down the length of you slowly, drinking you in like he’s afraid to blink.And then—

He exhales sharply, eyes blown wide. “Holy shit.”

He leans one hand on the doorframe, the other over his chest like he’s been winded and slowly, he leans in close enough you can smell his cologne.

“You’re not even real,” he breathes, gaze flickering down to your legs, then back up—lingering at your lips before locking onto your eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to behave tonight?”

You fight the twitch in your lips. “Maybe start by not saying things like that.”

He whistles softly and shakes his head. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re annoying,” you mutter, grabbing your purse. But the way he’s looking at you—it rattles something. Makes your pulse shift in your wrist.

“Ready?” he asks, voice suddenly lower, deeper.

His tone does something to your stomach—something unwelcome.

“Y-Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat and adjusting your strap again to buy yourself a second of control.

He steps back and gestures toward the stairs. “After you, Professor.”

He opens the car door for you like a proper gentleman, and you hate the way that gesture makes your chest tighten. Once you’re seated, he rounds the car and slides in behind the wheel, flashing you a sideways glance as he starts the engine.

You glance at him. “Where are we going?”

He grins. “You’ll see.”

You cross your arms. “I don’t like surprises.”

He throws the car into drive, eyes on the road now. “Good thing I’m not trying to impress someone easy.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smirk. One date. One night. You just have to survive this without losing your mind.

Or your heart.

Felix slows the car as the dock comes into view, headlights cutting across the worn wooden path and rows of moored boats gently rocking against the water. He parks at the edge of the lot and throws it into neutral, then glances sideways—just in time to catch the crease forming between your brows.

Perfect.

You’ve been quiet most of the ride, arms crossed, lips pursed, trying your best to look unimpressed. But he’s seen the way your eyes flick toward him when you think he’s not looking. He knows you’re curious.

And now? Now he’s going to give you something you really weren’t expecting.

He steps out and makes his way around to your door, opening it before you can even reach for the handle. You arch a brow at him, but say nothing as you step out, heels clicking softly against the pavement.

You glance at the rows of boats ahead, a little suspicious now, a little cautious. You adjust the strap of your purse, scanning the horizon like it’ll give you answers.

Finally, you ask, “Where exactly are you taking me?”

There’s something in your voice—hesitant, unsure—and he lives for it. He likes you best when you’re like this: sharp on the outside, unraveling just beneath the surface.

He grins as he gestures toward the dock with a tilt of his head and starts walking, hands in his jacket pockets. “Well, since you’re all about professionalism and secrecy,” he says, “I figured I’d give you exactly that.”

You hesitate before following him, eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “Means I borrowed a friend’s boat.”

You stop walking. “A boat?”

Felix turns, walking backward now as he faces you. “You didn’t want to be seen in public with me, remember?” he says, voice light, teasing. “So… I figured I’d bring you somewhere private. Quiet. Away from the curious eyes.”

You just stare at him for a second, and he can’t quite tell if you’re horrified or impressed. Probably both.

He leans against the dock rail, hands gripping the edge behind him, and lets his smirk tug slowly across his lips. “I mean—romantic sunset boat date? That has to earn me a few points.”

You shake your head, lips pressed together, visibly fighting off a reaction. “Do you even know how to ride it?”

“Most of it, yeah,” he laughs, already stepping down the planks toward where the small cabin boat is tied. “Don't worry. It floats.”

The boat rocks gently beneath his boots as Felix steadies it, reaching a hand out toward you with a grin. You stand at the edge of the dock like you’re still considering running, arms folded, skepticism practically radiating off of you—but you take his hand anyway. That’s all he needs.

“Careful,” he murmurs, guiding you on board, steadying your waist as you step down. “Wouldn’t want to lose you before the wine comes out.”

You scoff but let him help you.

The second you’re both aboard, Felix moves to untie the ropes and start the engine, navigating the small boat out onto the water with practiced ease. The city gets smaller behind you as the boat glides into the open, far enough that the buildings blur into the soft purple of dusk.

Once they’re alone with nothing but sky and water around the two or you, he heads below deck briefly and returns with a picnic basket tucked under one arm, a bottle of wine tucked under the other.

You watch him cautiously from your seat near the railing as he spreads a thick, navy picnic mat across the deck, anchoring it down with a few carefully placed cushions. He opens the basket and begins to arrange everything with the kind of care that makes you narrow your eyes like you’re waiting for the joke, but he’s serious about this.

A neat charcuterie spread: cured meats, brie, fresh figs, crackers, olives, sliced strawberries. A bottle of red. Two stemmed wine flutes he sets down gently beside the basket. Everything carefully packed. Nothing cheap. Nothing half-assed.

He’s never done this for anyone. Not like this. And when he finally sits back on his heels and looks up at you, it’s with a small, crooked smile.

“Well?” he says, extending a hand toward you again. “Gonna join me or just watch?”

Felix sees the internal war flashing across your face. But eventually, you sigh like you’re doing him a favor and slide your hand into his.

He helps you kneel down beside him on the mat, adjusting one of the pillows so you’re not sitting too close, even though he wants to. He pours the wine carefully, offering you your glass before taking his own.

And for a moment… neither of you speak.

The boat sways gently, slow and steady like a lullaby. The breeze is soft. The water reflects gold and violet, and the sun hangs low over the edge of the world, bleeding into the sea.

It’s beautiful. But Felix doesn’t look at the view. He looks at you. The way your eyes catch the light. How your features soften when you’re not frowning at him. How your fingers wrap around the glass just a little too tight like you’re trying to remind yourself you’re still in control.

You don’t notice him staring until you shift your gaze—and catch him mid-sip, lips curved around the rim of his glass, still watching you.

You blink, instantly suspicious. “What?”

He lowers the wine, leans his elbow on his knee, and smirks. “Sunset’s not even the prettiest thing on this boat.”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

But he sees the way your cheeks warm. You turn your face slightly like you’re annoyed, but you’re smiling now. Barely. That’s all he needs to keep going.

“You always look at your lecturer like that?” you say dryly.

He tilts his head. “Only when they show up looking like they walked out of my dreams.”

You shoot him a warning glance, but it’s too late as you sip your wine again. And again. And you stop correcting him after a while.

You sit there beside him as the light fades and the world quiets—and Felix can’t stop watching you. Because somewhere between the teasing and the lines you keep drawing between you, he knows that you’re slipping and he’s going to make sure you fall.

The sun is dipping below the edge of the water now, casting everything in shades of gold and blood orange, and the warm breeze dances across your skin, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to make you shift self-consciously.

You don’t mean to relax but with every sip of wine, your shoulders lower just a bit more, your limbs a little softer, your glare a little slower to come.

It’s the wine. The atmosphere. Felix. And you hate that he was right.

This is beautiful.

You’re swirling the wine in your glass when he suddenly leans toward you, slips off his leather jacket, and drapes it gently over your shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, like you didn’t just freeze at the feel of him so close. “You looked cold.”

“I’m not,” you lie.

“You are,” he insists, settling the collar against your neck. “And besides, don’t act so shocked. I can be a gentleman.”

You scoff. “Since when?”

He laughs, lounging back on his side and propping himself up on one elbow. “Since now.”

The weight of the jacket feels heavier than it should. Like it’s trying to pull you toward him. And maybe it is.

You sip again, letting the silence stretch, but something’s been itching at the back of your mind since this morning—and you can’t pretend anymore.

You turn your gaze toward him. “What did you tell Mr. Bahng?”

Felix raises an eyebrow, like he’s surprised you brought it up now, like you’ve only just remembered the other half of your mess. “What?” he teases. “You didn’t like how I told him we had a magical night?”

You narrow your eyes. “Exactly that.”

He holds up a hand. “Relax. I didn’t tell him everything. Just that you enjoyed yourself.”

He pauses, lips twitching. “Which you did. Still are.”

You exhale, trying not to give in to the pull of his smile. “That’s not the point.”

He leans in slightly. “No, the point is—” he tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips—“you still owe me a kiss.”

Your breath catches. “That again?”

“It’s part of the deal,” he shrugs, all innocence. “It doesn’t count as a real date otherwise.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you deflect—like always. “Why are you so interested in me anyway?”

He blinks, thrown for a second.

“I’m your lecturer,” you continue, words low and rushed. “You could date any girl your age. And let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be hard for you. You’re… popular and all.”

Felix pauses, and then—just like that—he gives you the most straightforward answer he’s given all night.

“Because they’re not you.”

It’s not even the words—it’s the way he says them. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact.

You glance down at your wine glass, trying to ground yourself, but nothing feels real. Not the boat rocking gently. Not the jacket over your shoulders. Not the heat slowly blooming in your chest. You feel hot and it’s not just the alcohol. You shift your gaze back to him—and he’s already watching you.

“So... should we kiss now?” he asks, voice low, smooth, almost careful.

You don’t answer. You can’t. But your eyes flick down to his mouth. Just briefly but enough for him to see it. And maybe that’s answer enough.

“We just need one,” he murmurs, inching closer. “One kiss. To make this a real date.”

There’s no avoiding him forever, right? Sooner or later, it’ll happen. Might as well be now. So you nod and close your eyes

He doesn’t dive in. Doesn’t rush. Instead, he lifts his hand and brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. His fingers linger at the side of your head, warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch without meaning to.

And then— He kisses you. Soft. Barely there. A press of lips so careful, so unexpectedly tender it makes your heart stutter. It’s nothing like you expected from someone like Felix. It feels like the first kiss you had when you were still young and naive, full of nerves and promise. It makes your chest tighten, makes your hands clutch the edge of the picnic mat for balance. But then, slowly, he deepens it. He leans in closer, tilts his head, breath brushing your cheek, and the kiss melts into something warmer—something heady and patient and intentional.

Your hands drift up without thinking, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and suddenly you’re not just kissing him—you’re wanting it. Wanting him.

You feel yourself sink, cushions soft beneath you, and before you can catch yourself, your back hits the mat with Felix hovering over you, lips still pressed to yours.

And you hate it. God, you hate that he’s right. That he is a good kisser—too good. The kind that leaves you breathless and warm all over, like oxygen suddenly doesn’t matter as long as his mouth is on yours.

You never imagined this. Not like this. Not with him. But now that you’ve had a taste… You’d rather not breathe than not kiss him again. And just when you start to chase him back with your lips, he pulls away.

Your body instinctively leans up, trying to follow—but he stops you with a quiet breath against your mouth. You frown before you can catch yourself, but quickly smooth your expression, swallowing hard.

His face hovers just above yours, close enough that you can still feel the heat of his breath. Then his eyes trail down. Slow. Lingering. His gaze drags down your neck, over your chest, down the curves of your body pressed beneath him—like he’s undressing you with just his eyes—and it shouldn’t make you feel as hot as it does.

But it does because you suddenly feel too exposed. Your skin prickles, heart slamming inside your chest, breath shallow.

Then he brings his eyes back to your face—and the stare is even worse. Too intense. Too real. He’s not smirking anymore, not entirely. Just this soft, knowing pull at the corner of his lips, like he’s watching something slowly crack open in you and loves every second of it.

You look away, cheeks burning. “Don’t stare at me like that…”

“Why not?” he says, voice lower now. “You’re beautiful to me.”

You curse him silently for saying it so easily. So genuinely. You want to say something clever, to brush it off like it didn’t hit you straight in the chest—but then his hand is on your face, fingers light against your cheek, tilting your chin gently until you’re forced to meet his eyes again.

He smiles, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “So?” he asks. “What did you think of my kiss?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say? That it wrecked you? That you’ll never forget the feel of his mouth on yours? That you can still feel the ghost of it against your lips like he’s still kissing you?

You look away again and he chuckles. Low, smug, warm. “Come on. Tell me,” he murmurs.

Then his thumb brushes across your lower lip—soft, slow, lingering. Your breath catches.

“I’ll just give you another one,” he whispers, “so you can figure out your answer.”

And then— He kisses you again. But this time, there’s nothing tentative or slow about it. He kisses you hard. Lips crashing into yours like he’s waited years instead of weeks, like he’s finally allowed to show you what’s really been hiding under all that teasing. His tongue slides into your mouth, warm and hungry, and you respond before you can stop yourself. Your hands are in his hair, his shirt, anything you can grab onto to hold yourself together.

He shifts his weight fully over you, an elbow propped beside your head just to keep himself from crushing you—but god, you want the weight. The press of him. The heat of his body, solid and steady and burning against yours. You arch slightly, chest to chest, and he fits over you like he belongs there. The kiss grows messier, deeper. Teeth graze lips, your nails curl into his shoulders, and your breath is short and shallow between the drag of your mouths.

You can't tell when you stopped thinking. Maybe it was when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Maybe it was the way his hands started roaming—confident, warm, sure. Or maybe it was the moment you stopped pushing him away.

You’re not even sure where his jacket went—just that you’re burning now, every part of you, and the cool night air does nothing to help it.

Felix is all over you now. His mouth trails down your jaw, across your cheekbone, and to your neck. He kisses like he means it. Like he’s wanted this for a long time. And the worst part? You let him. No—you want him to.

You tilt your head without meaning to, baring your throat to him as he presses soft, open-mouthed kisses there—then bites, gentle but claiming. His hand is on your waist, then your thigh, then everywhere at once. Exploring. Possessive.

Your breath hitches as he shifts over you, one knee between your legs, pressing just enough for you to feel the heat of him through the fabric.

It’s dizzying. Too much. And at the same time... Not enough. Then his mouth finds the opening of your dress—his breath hot against your skin—and you feel his lips trail down, slow and deliberate, until he’s mouthing at the swell of your chest.

It doesn't take long until he gets impatient. You feel it in the way his hands move—rougher, needier. With a tug, the neckline of your dress gives way, falling enough to bare your breasts to the night. The air rushes over your skin, cool and sharp, but it's nothing compared to sensation of his mouth meeting your flesh. The hot of his tongue swirling around your nipple. The wet press of lips on your soft mounds. The way he focuses on you like there’s nothing else in the world.

You arch into him, your hand flying to the back of his head, anchoring him there. His tongue flicks—his lips close around your nipple—and suddenly your stomach clenches, heat coiling deep.

Your thoughts blur and you only come back to yourself when you feel his hand again—sliding lower now. Slower. Deliberate. Fingers skimming your inner thigh, teasing along the edge of where you want him most. Not touching. Not yet.

Your body reacts to his touches. Your hips shift, seeking him. Inviting him.

His mouth returns to your neck, voice low, muffled, intoxicating. “Does it feel good?”

You open your mouth, but all that comes out are breathless whimpers.

His hand moves again, and you feel the press of his palm against your sex—over the fabric, light but maddening. He draws slow, lazy circles on your clit right where you’re pulsing for more, and your body shivers beneath him.

Still, you can’t answer. Still, he doesn’t stop.

Then his lips are at your ear again, the heat of his breath skating over your skin. “I’m going to touch you now,” he murmurs, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “Really touch you.”

Hearing that only tightens the knot inside your stomach and worse is he makes you wait—just long enough to make you tremble—before his hand slips beneath the fabric. Beneath your last barrier. You suck in a breath at the first contact of his hand on your wet cunt.

The way his fingers explore, the way he learns you—he’s not teasing anymore. He’s focused. Intent. Working you open with every glide, every press, every calculated movement like he’s mapping you with his hands.

“Still can’t answer?” he whispers against your skin.

You shake your head. Maybe in protest. Maybe in surrender. You don’t know anymore.

He chuckles softly, like he’s enjoying every second of your unraveling. “Don’t hold back,” he says. “Let me hear you,”

And then—

The tension snaps. You moan, soft at first—then louder, fuller. You can’t contain it. Not with the way he’s touching you, kissing you, covering you like you belong to him. Your head tips back and then you feel it—your whole body winding tighter and tighter until—

Everything explodes.

Silence, except for your breath and the gentle lap of the water around the boat. But somewhere in the haze of it all, your dazed eyes flick upward—and for a second, you catch the stars.

Tiny, glittering specks scattered across a black sky. The soft rock of the boat. The smell of the sea. The jacket around your shoulders. His weight, his mouth, his hands…

You hate it. Because this—this whole thing—it’s beautiful. And Felix? Felix was once again right.

Felix can’t believe himself. Scratch that—he can believe himself.

What he can’t believe is how easily you came apart for him. How your body arched, how your moans spilled, how your fingers curled into his shoulders like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

He just made you come with his hand and God… you were so beautiful like that. Unglued. Unfiltered. Yours.

You’re still beneath him when he lifts his hand, fingers glistening in the soft light. Without thinking, he slips them between his lips, tasting the evidence of how badly you wanted him—how badly you still do, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. You taste like the ocean and sin. Sweet and sharp.

Felix sighs through his teeth, the heat in his chest simmering slow now. Satisfied, but not done. Not even close.

“You’re so beautiful like that, Professor,” he murmurs aloud, almost absentmindedly.

Your body tenses instantly. It’s subtle, but he feels it. The way your legs clamp shut. The way your arms cross over your chest like you’re trying to erase what just happened. Like you’ve suddenly remembered who you are and who he is.

Shit.

You don’t even look at him when you speak. “I don’t want to do anything more than this.”

The words hit like a slap—cold and clipped—but Felix doesn’t flinch. He blinks, sits back, gives you space.

“Hey,” he says softly, “I wasn’t planning to.”

You still don’t look at him.

So he smirks. Just a little. “Besides, we still have two dates left, remember? Enough time to try a lot of things.”

That makes you glance his way—only to shoot him a glare sharp enough to kill a lesser man.

Felix just grins wider. He lives for that look on your face now. The one that says you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time. He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. We’re taking it slow.”

Then he flops onto the mat beside you with a dramatic sigh, tucking his hands behind his head, eyes toward the sky like he didn’t just completely ruin you five minutes ago.

“I happen to like it slow,” he adds casually, “makes the payoff even better.”

Your sharp exhale beside him tells him you’re glaring again, and it makes him smile into the stars. Because the truth is he’s not sorry. Not even a little.

He knows you’re back to building your walls again, wrapping yourself in professionalism and distance and control. But it’s too late. He’s already seen what’s underneath.

And now? Now, he’s never wanted anything more than to crack you open all the way—slowly, thoroughly, sweetly.

He’s going to take his time. And you? You’re going to let him. Even if you don’t know it yet.

The ride back is quiet.

Not the awkward kind of silence—more like the weighty kind, heavy with everything that was said without words. Everything that happened. Everything that shouldn’t have.

Felix grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting on the gear shift, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye when he can. You’re turned toward the window, face unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line.

You haven’t said a word since you pulled yourself together and climbed into the passenger seat, cheeks still flushed, your arms crossing like they’re trying to hold in all the heat he coaxed out of you.

He gets it. He knows what this is. It’s embarrassment. Guilt. Confusion. And again—he’s not sorry. Not even for a second. Not when he can still feel the shape of you in his hands. Not when his jacket is still draped over your shoulders.

He parks outside your apartment building and kills the engine. The car dips into silence again.

You reach for your bag, already halfway out the door—still trying to flee the moment—when he leans over the console slightly.

“Hey,” he says, just loud enough to make you pause. “You can keep the jacket. Looks good on you.”

Your hand immediately flies up to the collar like you only just remembered it was there. And the moment you do, you’re shrugging out of it like it’s on fire, shoving it into his lap without even looking at him, then you’re out the door. No “thank you.” No “goodnight.”

Felix doesn’t take it personally. He watches as you march up the steps, heels tapping fast against the pavement like you can’t get inside fast enough.

Just before you disappear through the building’s front door, he rolls the window down and calls out. “Goodnight, Professor! Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You don’t stop. Don’t turn around. But he swears he sees your shoulders tense.

He waits until the door shuts behind you. Waits until he sees the faint flicker of light from your apartment window upstairs—just to be sure you're safely home.

It’s only when he’s alone again that he brings the jacket up to his face, presses it to his nose. It smells like you now. Soft, floral, faintly sweet—your perfume clinging to the fabric in a way that makes his stomach twist and settle at the same time. He smiles to himself in the dark, fingers tightening around the collar of the jacket. He’s not going to wash it. Not yet. Then he turns the engine back on, and the car hums back to life as he drives off into the night—already thinking about what he’ll do with the next date.

Because now he knows exactly how close you are to falling for him and he has every intention of pulling you the rest of the way down.

Felix walks through the front door of his parents’ house and is instantly hit with the scent of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen. Cinnamon, maybe. Apples. Something homey. It’s the kind of smell that sinks into your skin and makes you feel like a kid again.

He kicks his shoes off by the hallway, but pauses when he notices something new—several boxes stacked by the wall near the coat rack. Some labeled with marker. One of them is slightly open and reveals a pair of heavy-looking boots and what looks like a rolled-up poster tube sticking out. His brows pull together as he aware that these boxes weren’t here the last time he visited.

He brushes it off for now and heads into the dining room, where his mom already has the table set—placemats, cutlery, homemade pie resting under a net cover at the center. She greets him with that familiar warmth and tells him to sit while she finishes up the last of the side dishes.

Mr. Bahng walks in not long after, clapping Felix on the back and sliding into his seat like it’s been a long day already. “Glad you’re here, son.”

Felix grins. “Wouldn’t miss mom's cooking.”

“Smart boy,” she calls from the kitchen.

They dig in not long after she joins them—grilled chicken, sautéed greens, roasted potatoes. Comfort food at its finest. And for a while, it’s just peaceful. Familiar. Family.

But curiosity keeps tugging at Felix so he sets his fork down. “Hey, uh… what’s with the boxes by the door?”

His mom looks up at Mr. Bahng, who chuckles around a bite of chicken. “Oh, that’s Chris’s stuff,” he says, like it’s nothing. “He’s moving in for a bit.”

Felix blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” his mom nods, reaching for her glass. “He just got a placement in the city. Starting work soon. He’ll be staying with us until he finds a place of his own.”

Felix leans back in his chair, letting the news settle.

Chris. Moving in. He hasn’t lived under the same roof with Chris in a while—not since college holidays. But the thought instantly makes him grin.

Chris is… Chris. The kind of older brother who never treated Felix like a nuisance, even back when they first met. Always patient, always willing to listen. Even when Felix was a kid who didn’t know where he belonged in the sudden shuffle of a new blended family. Despite not being related by blood, Chris feels more like a brother than anyone ever could. He’s solid. Reliable. Always there when it matters.

“Man,” Felix says with a chuckle, “that’s awesome.”

His mom smiles, clearly pleased. “I thought you’d be happy. He should be back from overseas next week.”

“I can’t wait,” Felix says. “It’s been too long.”

There’s a warm buzz in his chest now, a genuine excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the same kind of heat he feels when he’s teasing you, not the thrill of chasing what he’s not supposed to have—but something steadier.

He’s missed having Chris around and maybe this whole year’s going to be more interesting than he thought.

“Thanks for lunch, Mom. I’ve got class in an hour, I should head out,” Felix calls out as he pushes back from the dining table, rubbing his stomach.

His mom waves him off from the kitchen sink. “Take some pie with you!”

“Already packed it,” he says with a grin, lifting the foil-covered plate as proof.

He heads to the front door, crouching down to shove his feet into his sneakers. But as he balances on one foot, he loses it—just slightly—and his elbow knocks one of the boxes stacked by the wall.

The lid pops open and its contents tumble out across the floor—books, folders, a pencil case, a couple old notepads with their corners bent.

From the kitchen, his mom’s voice floats out, slightly alarmed. “Everything okay out there, honey?”

“Yeah!” Felix calls back. “Just me being clumsy.”

He sighs and crouches to gather everything back inside. Most of it is harmless. Academic stuff. Some sketchpads. The kind of things that live at the bottom of someone’s closet and don’t see daylight for years. He grabs a weathered notebook and flips it shut, about to toss it back in—when something slips from between the pages.

A photo. It flutters to the ground, landing face-up on the hardwood. Felix immediately reaches for it and holds it in his hand.

There’s a boy in the photo—about nine or ten, cheeks round with youth, arms skinny. He’s grinning ear to ear, dimples sunken deep into his cheeks, the kind of smile that hasn’t yet been weighed down by the world. Chris. Definitely Chris.

But what makes Felix’s breath catch is the girl standing next to him and holding his hand. She looks about the same age. Bright eyes. That same shy-but-curious smile you sometimes wear when you’re not pretending to hate Felix. He knows that face. Knows it too well.

It’s you. There’s no mistaking it.

His chest tightens with something sharp and unfamiliar as he flips the photo over. Sure enough, there it is. Scrawled in faded pen at the bottom corner:

“Chris & Y/N – Summer 2004”

Felix stares at it. Something shifts in his gut. A dull thud against the inside of his ribs. He remembers what his stepdad said about introducing him to a “daughter of an old friend.” How proud he was. How eager he was for Felix to meet you. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Just assumed it was some business acquaintance. But now…

It clicks.

Your dads are friends. Longtime friends. You and Chris? You were childhood friends.

Felix tucks the photo back into the notebook and shoves it deep into the box. Closes the lid tighter than before. Like it might stop his thoughts from racing.

The ride to campus feels longer than usual. One hand on the wheel, one drumming against his thigh, restless. He should be brushing it off. Laughing it away like he usually does.

But something’s different now.

Instead of feeling closer to you, like he’s found another link in the invisible thread tying you to him, Felix feels like he’s trespassing. Like he’s stepping into something that was never meant to be his.

Then his thought drifts to that time he came to that café thinking he was just part of a harmless setup. A playful matchmaking attempt. But now, he wonders.

That night…

When you sat there in that dress, checking the door every few seconds, lips pressed together, nervous as hell—

You weren’t waiting for him. You were waiting for Chris. And when Felix walked in instead? Your disappointment had nothing to do with the date. It had everything to do with who showed up.

The car turns down the familiar campus road, and his grip on the wheel tightens. Felix isn’t sure what stings more—

The lie he didn’t know you were telling. Or the truth that’s starting to settle inside him.

Class is nearly over, but you’ve barely registered half the things coming out of your own mouth. You wrap up the last of your lecture with a few half-hearted sentences, distracted by the empty seat near the back of the lecture hall.

It’s the first time Felix's missed class since the semester started.

It shouldn’t bother you. Really, it shouldn’t. You’ve had students skip before. It happens. Life happens. But something about his absence unsettles you more than you’re willing to admit. Maybe because he’s always there. Always in your peripheral, always smirking, teasing, leaning just a little too close when he talks to you after class.

Or maybe it’s because after everything that happened on the boat, part of you expected him to show up today—maybe act smug, maybe act like nothing happened at all—but at least be here.

But he’s not and instead, you’ve spent the entire hour distracted, stumbling over your words and overcompensating by overexplaining theories that didn’t need elaboration.

You tell yourself it’s fine. Better even. That space will do you both good. That last night was nothing but a heat-of-the-moment lapse in judgment and him being gone today is a blessing. Still, as you pack up your things, you feel the smallest pang of something you don’t want to name.

With a sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward your office. The halls are mostly empty now, the soft hum of end-of-day quiet settling over the building.

By the time you reach your door, you're already mentally sorting through the stack of ungraded papers and files you shoved into your inbox tray last week.

You’ll focus on work. That’s what you need. Something to ground you. Something predictable.

You open the door to your office and step inside, setting your bag down beside your desk. The room smells faintly of paper and coffee, and it’s quiet. Peaceful.

Finally.

You roll your sleeves up and start organizing the scattered papers across your desk—mind slowly settling, your thoughts just beginning to clear.

Until the door creaks open behind you. You're not expecting anyone, so when your office door swings open without a knock, irritation flares fast.

“Excuse me—” You spin around, ready to scold whoever it is.

But the words never make it out because it's him. It's Felix.

And before you can ask what he’s doing here, why he looks like he hasn’t slept, or what that look in his eyes means—

He’s already crossing the room. Fast. Determined. Jaw clenched, eyes dark.

You barely have time to suck in a breath before his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is hot. Hasty. Desperate. It’s not soft or teasing the way it was on the boat. This one is rough—nearly frantic—like he's trying to prove something. Like he’s trying to erase something.

Your back hits the filing cabinet behind you as he leans in closer, his hand gripping your waist tight. You push at his chest just enough to part your lips from his.

“Felix—” you pant, breathless, “We can't do this here. You—”

Felix swallows your words with another kiss, even deeper than before, mouth hot and hungry against yours. And you try to resist—you should resist—but every time you try to push him away, his hands slide over your body like they already know you’re bluffing. Because they are. You are.

Every second of hesitation only makes him more relentless. Your body betrays you first, melting into his again. Then your hands, wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. And finally your mouth—kissing him back, just as desperate, just as needy.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he’s steering you backward. One slow step at a time. Until the backs of your thighs bump into the edge of your desk. Your palms find the wood behind you, bracing yourself as Felix presses into your space. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, but his hands have already started to wander—fingertips skating down your waist, tugging at the hem of your blouse like he wants it out of the way.

You break the kiss with a gasp, heart pounding, and your voice comes out weaker than it should. “Felix—someone could walk in—”

He dips his head into the crook of your neck, breath hot as it ghosts over your skin. “Then tell me to stop.”

But you don’t. You can’t. Because right now, with the way his mouth finds that sweet spot under your ear, the way his hands slide up your thighs, slow but firm—you don’t want him to.

Felix kisses you again and again and you’re still trying to catch your breath when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, eyes wild. Your heart is hammering, your back still against the edge of your desk, and everything feels too hot—too exposed.

“This is wront,” you whisper, voice trembling. “We shouldn’t be doing this here—”

But he isn’t listening. Instead, he looks at you like he can’t hear anything but the beat of your heart.

His hand slides to the front of your blouse, fingers slipping over the first button. You catch his wrist, but it’s weak—your grip is nothing more than a suggestion. He undoes one button. Then another.

“Felix—” you warn again, quieter this time.

Sunlight pours through the office window, washing over your chest as he parts the fabric, slowly, reverently, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

When your skin is bare to him, he sucks in a breath. His hand lifts, fingers grazing lightly over your skin—barely there, but enough to make you shiver.

“I can’t believe,” he murmurs, gaze fixed to the lines of your body, “you stand in front of a whole class looking like this underneath.”

He says it like a confession. A sin he’s desperate to keep committing. “I'll think of this heavenly body when you stand in the front of the class.”

Before you can stop him, his mouth is on your neck—warm, open kisses trailing lower, over your collarbone, down to the edge of your bra. And then he’s pushing it down. Not gently.

You gasp when the cups fall away, your breasts spilling out, exposed to the cool air and the sun pouring through the window.

“Felix—”

But his mouth is already there. Heat rushes to your face as he latches on, tongue circling one sensitive bud while his hand kneads the other, fingers rolling your nipple between them with maddening care. His teeth scrape just slightly, enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You bite your lip to suppress the sound that builds in your throat.

He glances up at you, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Shh,” he whispers against your skin, “if you’re not quiet, someone might hear.”

You clench your jaw, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes anyway when he drags his tongue across your breast again—slow, deliberate, wicked.

His other hand is relentless, teasing, squeezing, coaxing more of your body’s reactions. Every nerve feels raw, hyperaware. You're trying to stay still, to stay sane, but the feel of his mouth, his hands, the sunlight on your bare skin—it’s too much and not enough.

You brace yourself against the desk, lips pressed tight, hoping no one walks past your office door. But the only sound in the room is your own ragged breath and Felix’s low voice, murmuring things you’re too overwhelmed to process, with his mouth still on your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

And God help you, you’re letting him.

Your back arches again—instinctive, helpless—as Felix's mouth works your chest and his hand roams lower, setting your nerves on fire. The motion grinds you just slightly against his thigh, creating friction that shoots lightning up your spine.

Felix pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are red and wet, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do you want me to touch you there now?” he murmurs, voice thick, slow—like velvet dragging across skin.

But he doesn't wait for your answer.

One hand stays at your chest, gently squeezing on your breast as he leans forward, while the other glides down your side, over your hip, until he reaches the hem of your skirt. He slips under it with practiced ease.

His fingers find their way between your thighs, spreading warmth and promise as he presses his palm against your cunt through the thin barrier of your underwear. Your breath stutters as he starts to move it, slow at first, the pressure teasing—deliberate.

“Want me to make you cum again, mmh?” he asks, lips grazing your ear. “Don't you want to feel good like before?”

You can’t speak so your body does the talking, hips arching again to meet the slow drag of his hand on your dampness. The friction makes your legs tremble.

Felix smirks. You feel it against your neck. “Then tell me,” he whispers, “tell me where you want me to touch you.”

His fingers slide down again, shifting under the fabric, brushing past the heat of you. He traces between your folds, drawing a quiet gasp from your throat. You grip the edge of the desk behind you, fingers curling.

His thumb presses against your clit—bare now, exposed to his touch. He moves in gentle, maddening circles. “Here?” he teases, breathless against your cheek. “Or…”

He moves lower, two fingers dragging down, hovering just outside your entrance. “Or do you want me to touch you here instead?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Every thought in your mind has collapsed into sensation. But he knows. Of course he knows. So he sinks his fingers into you and you fall apart almost immediately.

His breath catches against your skin as he groans softly. “God,” he murmurs, “you’re even wetter than the other day.”

He starts moving—slow, deep strokes—his fingers curling just right, finding that spot inside you that makes you tremble all over again. Your jaw slackens. Your body clenches.

Felix presses kisses along your neck, then your jaw. Between strokes, his lips hover by your ear. “Does that feel good?” he breathes.

You nod, but it’s not enough. His thumb returns to your clit, working in sync with his fingers, and your legs begin to shake.

Felix pulls back just far enough to look down—watching, breath hitching as his fingers disappear into you over and over again. “You’re tightening around me,” he mutters, voice dropping into something dark and hungry. “Like you’re going to swallow my fingers whole.”

Your head tips back, but he catches your mouth in a kiss—hot, open, consuming. “God, I want to put my cock inside you,” he groans against your lips. “So. Fucking. Bad.”

The words shatter something in you. Everything—his fingers, his mouth, his voice—it’s too much. You feel yourself teetering on the edge, breath shortening, body winding up so tight it hurts.

“Going to cum, huh?” He innocently asks as if he's not making you a moaning mess as he speaks. But he knows. He always knows.

“Go on,” he whispers, right against your ear. “Let go for me.”

With a soft, broken cry muffled against his shoulder, you let go—clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashes through you in sharp, trembling waves. You let yourself fall—no resistance, no pretense. Just heat, and light, and him.

As the last waves of pleasure fade, so does the haze that clouded your thoughts.

The warmth of Felix’s body still lingers against yours, his breath ghosting over your cheek, but your hands reach instinctively for your blouse. You fix the buttons in silence, one after the other, your fingers trembling as you adjust your bra back into place and smooth down your skirt.

The silence between you grows heavy.

Felix doesn’t say anything at first, but when you refuse to meet his eyes, he speaks—quietly.

“Are you okay?”

Your fingers pause mid-button. You look up at him finally, and the question tumbles out of you before you can stop it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

His lips part like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. His brows draw together. He opens his mouth again, then closes it. Struggling. Hesitating. That alone shakes you more than anything else.

Then finally, he asks, “That night at the café... were you expecting someone else?”

Your heart drops to your stomach and he’s looking at you like he already knows the answer—but still needs to hear it. Needs to hurt himself with the confirmation.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to smooth it over, to spare him. “I was only there because your stepdad invited me—”

Felix shakes his head, a hollow laugh escaping him. “No. No, that’s not it.”

You look away as if it would hide you from the truth.

“You were expecting Chris.” His voice is calm. Too calm. It cuts deeper because of it.

“I found the photo,” he continues. “At my parents’ place. You and him, when you were kids. I figured it out.”

Your throat tightens. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” he says, voice rising slightly now, eyes locked on yours. “You looked crushed when you saw me walk through that door. You didn’t even try to hide it.”

You inhale sharply. “Felix, let me—”

“So what was that night then?” he asks. “The boat, the wine, the way you let me touch you... the way you kissed me back. Was that all because you felt bad for me?”

“No,” you whisper, too quickly.

“Then why?” he demands, stepping forward. “Why me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because you don’t even know yourself.

His gaze flickers across your face, searching. “Is it because I’m not him?”

The question hits you like a slap because a part of it is true but at the same time, you don’t want to hurt him.

“I’m not stupid,” he says, softer now, but his voice is taut with something sharp—hurt or anger, or both. “I know he’s older. That he’s a lecturer now, too. That he’s... respectable. But you think I'm... not worthy of you?”

You shake your head, but no words come.

Felix gestures between you. “You think this—what just happened—that wasn’t real? You didn’t feel that?”

You want to say you did. But the guilt. The shame. The confusion. It’s all too loud.

He exhales, chest rising and falling as he tries to rein himself in. “I’m just as good as him,” he says bitterly. “Maybe better. I see you. I make you laugh. I make you feel.”

His voice lowers. “I’m the one who knows how to touch you right. I’m the one who made you come like that. Not him. Me. So why can’t that be enough?”

You look at him, lips parted, but nothing comes out. Nothing but silence. And he hears it loud and clear.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he bends down, grabs his bag off the floor, and slings it over his shoulder without another word.

The door creaks as he opens it and when it closes behind him, the sound is deafening. And the worst part? You don't even try to stop him.

Felix slams the car door shut with more force than necessary. The engine's dead—again. The third time this week. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel and exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight with irritation.

Of course it won’t start. Of course the world is against him this morning.

His mom had texted him earlier, asking him to come home for breakfast. Nothing special, she said. Just family. Just something warm to start the day. But Felix is cold inside and out.

He curses under his breath, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and stomps down the street to the nearest bus stop, hands shoved deep in his leather jacket pockets. The air smells like burnt toast and traffic fumes. Everything feels grating today.

The bus comes late. And it’s crowded. He squeezes into a seat by the window and slumps into it, earbuds in but no music playing. He doesn’t feel like drowning anything out—not today.

Instead, he just watches the city blur past the glass. But it's not the city he’s really looking at as his thoughts wander and bouncing around from one thought to another.

First, to that day at the café. He remembers the exact look on your face when you saw him walk in—like someone flipped your entire world upside down. You didn’t even try to hide the disappointment. That stung. It still does.

Then the boat. The wine. The stars. The way your lips tasted like something forbidden—like something that never should’ve happened but did anyway. You let him in. Let him touch you. And he thought maybe, just maybe, you saw him. Chose him.

But then... that day in your office. Your silence. Your hesitation. That damn look in your eyes like you’d made a mistake letting him get too close. Like you regretted every second of it.

It’s still there—that pressure, that ache he’s been trying to ignore. He leans his temple against the window, the cool glass grounding him. Sort of. He doesn’t know why he’s letting this get to him so much. He’s not the type to mope or sulk.

But this? This is different. Because he likes you. He wants you. And it’s not just physical. It hasn’t been for a while.

The second Felix steps through the front door, he kicks it shut behind him with the heel of his boot and mutters a flat, “I’m here,” loud enough for anyone in earshot.

He doesn’t mean to sound so drained, but he doesn’t bother correcting it either. He leans down to untie his shoes, tugging at the laces like they’re personally offending him. His fingers are stiff from the morning chill and the ride over didn’t help. He’s just about to straighten up when he hears footsteps—quick, familiar ones—and then—

“Hey, little bro.”

He looks up and there he is. Chris. He’s standing just past the hallway, grinning wide like nothing’s changed. Like the last few months apart didn’t matter. Like this is how things have always been.

Chris opens his arms. “What, not gonna hug your big brother?”

Felix just blinks at him. His body stays frozen in place, shoes half-on, his backpack still hanging off one shoulder.

Chris’s grin falters slightly when the silence stretches. He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, still joking but with a touch of genuine concern underneath. “What, you didn’t miss me or something?”

Felix knows he shouldn't compare. He knows Chris is everything he’s not—polished, dependable, the golden boy. But it’s not his fault that he’s everything people compare Felix to—without even trying. That the woman Felix wants... might’ve wanted him instead. It’s not Chris’s fault he’s the one you used to dream about.

Felix swallows thickly, forces his shoulders to relax, and steps forward. He walks into Chris’s open arms and pulls him in for a hug. And weirdly—weirdly—it helps.

Because Chris hugs him back strong and easy, like he always does. Like he doesn’t notice the heaviness sitting behind Felix’s ribcage. And when he claps a hand against Felix’s back, steady and warm, the tension in Felix’s chest eases—if only a little.

Maybe it’s just been a rough morning. Maybe he’s just in his own head too much. Maybe he’s projecting all of this onto Chris when he shouldn’t. Because Chris isn’t the enemy. He never was. He’s just Chris. And he's back.

The kitchen smells like warm butter and toasted bread, the scent of home wrapping around Felix like a familiar blanket. His mom is bustling around the counter, plating eggs and pouring orange juice like she’s hosting a royal brunch instead of a small family breakfast.

Felix takes his usual seat at the table, Chris sitting across from him with the same casual energy he always carries—like he belongs anywhere, like nothing could ever shake him.

“God, I missed this,” Chris says, mouth already full of toast as he gestures with a fork toward the spread. “You guys don’t even know how hard it is to get a real breakfast where I lived.”

“Maybe if you stopped ordering delivery at 2 A.M.,” Felix mutters.

Chris grins, unfazed. “Hey, a man’s gotta eat.”

Their mom laughs, giving Chris a playful tap on the back of the head as she sets more food on the table. “He never changes.”

Everything feels normal. The clink of silverware. The sound of Chris rambling about his last few months. His stepdad throwing in occasional dad jokes. His mom glowing with joy now that both her boys are under one roof again.

“So,” Chris starts between bites of scrambled egg, “I’ve got some good news.”

Felix raises a brow as he sips his coffee.

“I’ll be teaching at your university starting next week,” Chris announces, tone light and proud. “They needed someone in the department and my name came up. Perfect timing, right?”

Felix freezes, coffee halfway to his mouth.

Chris beams. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you around campus a lot, little bro.”

Felix lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Can’t get rid of you, huh?”

Inside… something curls. Not quite jealousy. Not quite dread. Just something uneasy. Because suddenly, the world he’s built with you—quiet and slow and maybe still figuring itself out—feels like it’s going to get crowded.

Chris will be on campus. With you. Around you. And the two of you already have history. A history that Felix now knows runs deeper than he originally thought.

He takes another bite of toast and nods along as the conversation keeps moving, but his mind is elsewhere.

He knows Chris. Chris is kind. Charismatic. Considerate. A genuinely good man. He’s not the type to hurt people. Not the type to steal something that isn’t his. Not the type to steal someone Felix wants. Right?

Still, Felix can’t help it—he glances across the table at his older brother, who’s laughing at something their mom just said, eyes bright and warm. And for the first time that morning, Felix doesn’t taste his food. He tastes something bitter instead.

Once he's finished with his breakfast, Felix stands from the table, brushing crumbs off his jeans and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I gotta head out early. Bus won’t wait for me.”

His mom frowns, mid-sip of her tea. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? We could’ve packed you some food—”

“I’m good,” he says quickly, offering a reassuring smile. “Really. Breakfast was great as always, mom.”

As he moves toward the door to put on his shoes, Chris rises too, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. “You taking the bus all the way there?”

Felix nods without turning around. “Yeah. Car’s still being a dick.”

“You sure? I can drop you off,” Chris says, ever casual, ever kind.

Felix pauses, foot halfway into his sneaker. “It’s fine. You just got back, you should rest.”

Chris shrugs. “I’ve got some files I need to hand over at the admin office anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one ride.”

Felix opens his mouth then closes it. He’s out of excuses now and Chris is looking at him with that easy smile, the kind that makes people say yes without thinking twice.

“Alright,” Felix says eventually, trying to sound more grateful than tense. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” Chris grabs his keys and his messenger bag like it’s nothing. Like this is nothing.

The hum of the engine and Chris’s occasional humming to the radio fill the car as they cruise down familiar streets. Felix stares out the window, head propped against the glass, the ache in his chest growing with every passing second.

“You’re quiet,” Chris notes, glancing over from the driver’s seat with a half-smile. “That’s not like you. What’s going on in that pretty blond head of yours?”

Felix forces a chuckle. “Just tired.”

Chris doesn’t buy it, not entirely. “How’s school? Finals coming up?”

“Yeah. Busy.”

Chris hums, eyes back on the road, and there’s a beat of silence before he throws it casually: “You seeing anyone?”

The question hits like a sudden gust of cold air and Felix straightens slightly, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “Not really.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Not really?” he echoes, voice teasing. “So there is someone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to,” Chris grins, nudging Felix with an elbow. “You’ve got that look—like someone’s got your stomach in knots. Mysterious, broody, lovesick Felix. Who is she?”

Felix laughs, tight and hollow. “You watch too many dramas.”

Chris lets it go—thank God. The rest of the ride plays out in easy small talk and music until they pull into the university parking lot.

“I’ll drop you off by the entrance,” Chris says, already turning toward Felix’s department building before he can object.

“It’s fine, I can walk—”

“Don’t be weird,” Chris waves him off. “I want to see where I’ll be working soon anyway.”

Felix swallows the lump in his throat. “Sure.”

As the car rolls forward, Felix leans back in his seat—until he sees movement from the left. You. Just stepping out of your car, your figure unmistakable even from a distance. Your hair catching the sunlight. The slight sway in your stride.

Felix’s heart stops. He doesn’t move. Just watches, something cold flooding into his chest as your presence fills the parking lot like a warning.

Chris is still talking beside him, something about grabbing food together soon, but Felix hears nothing except the rush in his ears.

You cut through the lot, headed right toward the building. Toward them.

Shit.

Felix debates it. Should he say something? Distract Chris?

It's too late as Chris puts the car in park and opens the door. He steps out and then, in the worst twist of fate—

“Hey!” Chris calls out, voice bright. “Is that you?”

Felix’s eyes widen as you keep walking, one, two, three steps... and then you stop. Your hand pauses mid-swing, your body freezing for a split second before you turn around.

Your expression says it all. The way your eyes widen, lips parting in silent disbelief.

Chris grins like the sun as he strides toward you. “Wow… it is you.”

Felix watches, frozen in the passenger seat, as Chris walks straight into your orbit, completely unaware of the undercurrent crackling in the air. Of the past. Of everything.

You blink at Chris, stunned. A polite smile plays at your lips, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. And behind it—behind the professional front—you’re unraveling. Felix knows it. Because he is too.

He watches from behind the windshield, stomach tight, heart clenching as he suddenly, vividly, desperately doesn’t want to know what happens next.

Because in that moment— in the way you look at Chris… in the way Chris lights up seeing you… Felix realizes something he’s been trying not to. You were never supposed to be his.

And now… he’s no longer sure if you ever will be.

✨ COVET: CHAPTER TWO is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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marsprincess889 · 2 months ago

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Uttara Phalguni_ the bonds, the tribe, the family bussiness

Part 1

A lover AND a fighter

How to create bonds that last, how to build an empire, how to rule a kingdom

☀️

Intro/note:

Hi everyone, so this is the teased Uttara Phalguni women trope post.

A lot of these examples in media are the ones I love and have come to me in times and moments when, now I can see it in hindsight, they were relevant.

In the aftermath of claire nakti releasing her video on Uttara Phalguni men and the fairytale/story trope associated with it, I want to share my observations on this nakshatra (which is also my ascendant) and especially the women who carry it, which have been sitting and simmering in my head for a long time, longer than I knew at first, because a lot of this is kind of also my life.

I had to split this into two parts. Part 2 is right here.

This first post overviews Uttara Phalguni in general and then connects its themes to Uttara Phalguni women in various films and tv shows. The second part continues that theme, and then it ends with another review.

The main focus of these posts is Uttara Phalguni women.

Uttara Phalguni on the zodiac/nakshatra wheel

To overview this nakshatra a bit, Uttara Phalguni is a Sun ruled nakshatra in the second (out of three) stage of the civilization, bridging the signs of the Solar, fiery Leo and the Mercurial, earthy Virgo, the signs of the 5th house (pleasure, creativity, children, worship, recreation, self-expression) and the 6th house (everyday life, the mundane, health, routines, work) respectively.

The deity ruling it is Aryaman, one of the adityas, god of partnerships and contracts. Uttara Phalguni means "the latter fruitful/reddish one" 🫒, completing the fertile duo with Purva Phalguni and setting the stage for arguably the most materialistic nakshatras thematically_ Hasta and Chitra.

It's classified as warrior ⚔caste, stable/fixed in nature, and its yoni animal is the bull 🐂(male cow, yoni consort of its opposite Uttara Bhadrapada).

All of this associations have some kind of relevance to the themes I discuss later.

Setting the stage for the Uttara Phalguni story: ties, loyalties, family bussiness

5th house is coorelated to the offspring. The other two nakshatras in Leo_ Magha and Purva Phalguni, rat yonis, both relate to family trees in some way. Magha relates to them directly, connecting to ancestors and their power to give them the "claim to the throne". Purva Phalguni is about procreation and continuing the family line.

Uttara Phalguni, the last nakshatra of Leo and the first nakshatra of Virgo, is about the completion of that pattern, the fruits being ripe for harvest, the stability after the passion, the abundance and relationships within the (extended) family that carry to the work life.

Uttara Phalguni natives, having this energy in them, know and understand that all kinds of relationships should be built on honesty, truth, loyalty and support, and that takes work. They know that fun comes with responsibilities, and they know that being part of a family is a real job...

The Uttara Phalguni woman ⚔☀️🐂🫒

The family darling, the good girl, or is she?

The Uttara Phalguni woman begins as a beloved daughter or a daughter like figure in many stories. She's often privileged, good-natured and willing to help, and has the reputation of a sweet, somewhat innocent figure.

Uttara Phalguni's basis above is "wealth gained from one's family", basis below "wealth gained from one's partner", these bring about the accumulation wealth.

They are portrayed as supportive and loved by the whole family, like the person in the family that nobody can completely hate.

Despite their reputation and "princess"-like status, they always have a spirited and adventurous side to them, a strong and stubborn character that never clashes with their goodness and niceness, but, as we will see as we go on, it does often clash with her family.

We see her remain kind-hearted and sweet through time, but in almost all of their stories, she secretly (or eventually, not so secretly) feels out of place in her own family or in the imposed role.

The Sun_ Uttara Phalguni's nakshatra ruler (also its sign ruler in the Leo portion), as discussed by many in vedic astrology, is the planet of the individual in its unapologetic and radiant state. It represents the soul, as it's constant and immortal. Uttara Phalguni natives live by their integrity and hearts. They have to be true to themselves, but as family and community is important to them, they never want to hurt the people they consider to be in their tribe.

This is the beginning of the dilemma of Uttara Phalguni that is the running theme in these stories: do I abandon so much of what is dear to me and hurt my tribe, to follow what I feel in my heart?

Her image of a "good girl" is often crucially tied into it. Uttara Phalguni women, as the general archetype of the nakshatra, are not devil-may-care femme fatales, nor are they ethereal, almost mythical feminine figures, they're not the nonchalant "black cats", skilfully/secretive and manipulative women or the completely submissive, infantilized "babygirls". They're "real", kind, open, bright, spirited and honest women with honor and integrity who know themselves and their values by heart, who follow their hearts and stick to their convictions, who stand with their tribe and support the people they love. They are driven by their personal fire and guided by their bright light within. They have generous, golden hearts, ready to give to those who deserve it, ready to forgive those who they consider family, ready to stand by their loved ones' sides forever, and to shower their people with happiness and beauty.

All Virgo nakshatras represent the female/feminine in the most literal, earthly sense, and Virgo women are embodyments of that. Uttara Phalguni, being the abundant and giving/ripe one out of the three, has a unique role which has to navigate both generosity and receptivity.

All of this sounds poetic and beautiful when said like this, and it's true, but those who fail to see the worth of these women often crudely label them as "boring", "vanilla" or as "good girls" who have nothing interesting to offer other than being sweet and good. Their Earthy, grounded and stable nature, along with other classic indicators, often push Uttara Phalguni women into the role of a "girl next door"_ the easily available/accessible girl who is known for being "normal" (Lili Reinhart's Betty from "Riverdale", Olivia Newton John's Sandy from "Grease", Emma Watson's Hermione from "Harry Potter" films are great examples of the archetype, and all of these actresses have Uttara Phalguni in big three).

This image and role is also often unconciously imposed on her by her family, which dims her true light and consequently makes her desire to distance herself from them stronger and stronger. The role can be something considered "ultra-feminine"_ unrealistic standards that were born out of twisted masculine projections or the opposite_ something masculine and giving, where the Uttara Phalguni women constantly adjusts to male whims and dims herself, so that unhealthy masculine energy is satisfied.

This can easily turn into silently tragic circumstances for Uttara Phalguni women, as I explore it in part two.

So, unfortunately, these women often feel misunderstood, used and taken for granted.

Uttara Phalguni's connection to family extends to friendships and partnerships, where they treat each relationship with serious intentions but loving ease and playfulness at the same time.

With friends, they value understanding, support and loyalty. With romantic partners, they value all those things too, but since they often feel like something is always missing when viewing themselves just as a part of their family, the romantic interest serves a different kind of role.

In these stories, the choice of her love is different than what people would expect from her. She wants to state her choice and "prove" to everyone that she's more than what most make her out to be, to be seen and appreciated for who she truly is, not for the role she was pushed into.

The interesting and extremely common pattern is that, often, her partner is the one who understands her deeply and sees her for who she actually is, and often, the partner is considered to be "less than" her in one or more ways. In a lot of those stories, a big factor or indicator of her choice between duty and self-interest is a man she chooses to love, who is in some way always less privileged and often, in one way or another, part of a completely different world.

I want to mention how perfect Saturn ruled individuals are for them as romantic partners. Saturn people, in my opinion, are really the only other planet type(this can also apply to other Sun-ruled individuals..) that notice and recognizes her for who she actually is. Refer to the Sun women part in this post to read my take on it. Saturn is also connected to hardships, representing which type of individuals Sun women feel best with, as two of the Sun and two of the Saturn nakshatras are yoni consorts.

Sybil Crawley (U.Phalguni Sun Jessica Brown Findlay) in Downton Abbey, Sarah Cameron (U.Phalguni Moon and Asc Madelyn Cline) in Outer Banks, Queen Clarisse (U.Phalguni Asc Julie Andrews) in The Princess Diaries, Elena de la Vega (Uttara Phalguni Sun Catherine Zeta Jones) in The Mask of Zorro, Princess Isabella (U.Phalguni Asc Sophie Marceau) in Braveheart, Winnie Foster (U.Phalguni Sun Alexis Bledel) in Tuck Everlasting_ all fictional women who are in love with lower class men/men considered "below them". Their love for them is clashed with their love for their family of birth or the obligations that they feel come with their status in the family.

Since her choice of a partner is often not approved, Uttara Phalguni women often fall into the trope of "dating what daddy hates", which combines her desire to follow her heart with the willingness to defy her family.

There are more examples, you'll see them throughout the post.

...

In "Downton Abbey" a kind-hearted daughter of an Earl (Uttara Phalguni Sun Jessica Brown Findlay) falls in love with the family's chauffer. They bond over their shared ideals and values and she decides to marry him, even though she knows her father is going to disown her.

Uttara Phalguni Sun native Jessica Brown Findlay plays Sybil Crawley_ the youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. She's known to be kind, helpful and supportive, adored by her whole family (that is not exactly the case with her two sisters and two of them are at each others' throats constantly, but they both love her).

She treats the servants like her friends, gets interested in politics and attends rallies and meetings. She's open minded and supportive to people around her, and her traits make her parents smile at first, but later they turn into a reason for conflict.

Spoilers: she ends up marrying him and after she herself passes away, her husband becomes an essential part of the Earl's family. He also helps to save the estate and becomes a brother to her two sisters, being genuinely loved by everyone, just like his late wife wished.

In the end, she brought a blessing to the family, even if it seemed like the opposite at first.

In "Outer Banks" the daughter ("kook princess") of the wealthiest man of the island_ Sarah Cameron (played by Uttara Phalguni Moon and Ascendant Madelyn Cline) falls in love with leader of the "Pogues"_ a friend group of the poor kids from the other side of the island. Her turbulent relationship with her father is one of the highlights of the show, which is not uncommon for Uttara Phalguni women in real life (I asked my followers and others publically and you can see the comments for yourself).

Like in many stories feautring Uttara Phalguni women, she's seen as too proper or boring from distance/from most, or even seen as a spoiled and stuck-up by some. Only her love interest_ John B sees her as who she is (something that is extremely common among U.Ph women in fiction and I think in real life too): spirited, brave, compassionate and full of integrity.

Uttara Phalguni women are rarely, if ever hesitant to fight for their true values, especially when it comes to love, and they're always ready to to stand by their partner. As I have said many times, they take their bonds seriously and conciously or unconciously view all of them as "marriage", in the sense that they consider all parties bound by both mundane and cosmic law.

In Vedic texts, even on websites that can be easily found online, moon in Uttara Phalguni is considered a great day for couples to get married, one of the rare ones to be so, and according to some, the best one.

"In sickness and in health", they are ready to stand by and fight alongside their beloved. Being a fixed nakshatra, having a bull yoni and ruled by the radiant Sun, these women are steady and reliable sources for people in their lives, especially their romantic/sexual partner.

In "The Mask of Zorro" the daughter (secretly adopted) of the governor of California (Uttara Phalguni Sun and Ketu Catherina Zeta-Jones) meets a rogue rebel and people's hero_ Zorro, falls in love with him and gets on his side, standing against the man who raised her in order to do what she felt was right.

youtube

Uttara Phalguni Sun and Ketu native Catherine Zeta-Jones plays Elena De La Vega (known as Elena Montero), daughter (secretly kidnapped and adopted) of Raphael Montero, governor of California, powerful and influential politician. She falls for a masked men fighting for the freedom of people, against the man who raised her. Once again, her love for and attraction to someone "below" her is in conflict with her traditional duties and obligations.

This story also has an important element of feeling out of place in your family, like the examples before, but here the issues with a father figure is even more apparent.

Sun rules the father, and the sign of Leo (and the 5th house), in which Uttara Phalguni begins, relates to linages and procreation. 6th house_ the house of Virgo (where most of Uttara Phalguni falls), relates to work in its traditional and hyper-mundane sense, as it's the place of "the material" in every sense of the word.

In Uttara Phalguni, there's a theme of family feeling like a job or a chore, even if money and "privileges" are theirs because of it, just because the emotional connection and support isn't there.

To go back to the "good girl" image that these women feel trapped in, Elena herself expresses her struggle during a confession:

Elena: I dishonored my father.

Alejandro (Zorro/the masked man/her love interest, pretending to be a priest): That is not so bad. Maybe your father deserved it.

Elena: What did you say?

Alejandro: I said, tell me more, my child.

Elena: Well, I try to behave properly, the way my father would like me to. But I'm afraid my heart is too wild.

Alejandro: Too wild?

Elena: Yes.

At the end of that scene, he tells her something_ the conclusion that Uttara Phalguni natives eventually have to reach:

"Seorita, you have done nothing wrong. The only sin would be to deny what your heart truly feels. Now, go."

Catherina Zeta Jones has Uttara Bhadrapada moon too (and yoni consorts do share many traits) but in this film I think that her Uttara Phalguni Sun and Ketu are emphasized, due to the themes of her character and the fact that Antonio Banderas only has Uttara Bhadrapada (yoni consort, Saturnian) as moon.

The full scene (please watch):

youtube

The theme of complicated or strained relationships with fathers or father figures among Uttara Phalguni women is depicted really well in this film. This often overlaps with the theme of defining family as bound by blood or from the heart. We could also connect this to the idea of "chosen family" as family through marriage to see why exactly marriage and relations (and other gains) through it is such an important theme here ("Wealth gained from one's partner").

In "Tuck Everlasting", a teenage girl named Winnie Foster, played by Uttara Phalguni Sun Alexis Bledel, falls for a young man from a family of oucasts, despite knowing that her rich parents would disapprove. In this story too, the Uttara Phalguni heroine wants to experience something "more" than what the confines of her obligations offer, as she feels inadequate or miserable there, and in even in cases where she does not, it's still not something she's ever fully satisfied with.

A more tragic example is Princess Isabella (Uttara Phalguni Ascendant Sophie Marceau) from "Braveheart" (1995) who falls in love with a foreign rebel despite being promised to a prince.

As Uttara Phalguni women are often depicted as privileged, they're also often depicted as literal royalty, as the themes of Uttara Phalguni are all important for powerful families.

"Wealth accumulated through one's partner"_ Royal through marriage

In "The Princess Diaries" Uttara Phalguni ascendant Julie Andrews plays Queen Clarisse. She's responsible and reliable (Earth element, sthira/fixed/stable nature, Bull yoni) but also giving and kind, loved by her people (a general pattern among Uttara Phalgunis, especially women, is love from the community).

In the second film it's revealed that although her marriage was arranged (she became royal by marriage, another U.Ph theme), she and her husband King Rupert were great friends who truly cared for, supported, and in a unique way, loved each other. The Queen describes it like this: "We became very fond of each other... he was my best friend".

But all that time, she and the head of royal security_ Joe, were not so secretly and quetly in love with each other.

Uttara Phalguni women are often the embodyments of "marriage/wife material", the best candidates on the marriage market who, for one reason or another, many men want/is the best choice.

An interesting example would be Cora Crawley for Downton Abbey, played by (most likely) Uttara Phalguni moon Elizabeth McGovern. In this text she's talking to a newfound admirer who she enjoys spending time with, not because she has any ill intentions towards her husband, but because he gives her more (and much needed) time and attention than what her life as the wife of a Count and mother of grown women can offer. Early in the show it's revealed that Robert Crawley (played by Purva Phalguni sun Hugh Bonneville, making them a "Phalguni" pair) pursued her for money, to save the estate, but within in a year he was head over heels for her. It's shown many times and in many ways that their marriage is remarkably strong (no matter the challenges) and that Cora is incomparable as a wife and even as daughter-in-law to a notoriously harsh/critical (and a force to be reckoned with) Dowager Countess Violet Crawley (played by Uttara Phalguni moon Maggie Smith, a character who also joined the family by marriage).

The lack of true appreciation that Uttara Phalguni women get used to in their families, blood or otherwise, is shown time and time agsin in her story and arc. Despite coming from privilege and marrying into privilege and having nothing but sweet intentions towards everyone, Cora is still mistreated multiple time throughout the show. She also posesses strong will and character similar to other Uttara Phalguni women, showing that despite their kindness and giving nature, Uttara Phalgunis are not the kind of women to be underestimated, underappreciated or disrespected.

Cora: London scared me at first. I'd only been in a school room a few months before. But my mother was eager. Why especially? We weren't really in the first rank in Cincinnati. Still less when we moved to New York. My father was Jewish and the money was new. But there was a lot of it and I was pretty, I suppose I can say that now I'm an old lady. She thought you'd make a better match over the Atlantic. And suddenly, here I was in these vast ballrooms, and all the other girls seemed to know what to do and what to wear and how to flirt.

Her admirer: I bet you were more beautiful than all of them. More original, more real.

Cora: I certainly got a lot of names on my dance card... Listen to me bragging! Please forgive me, I never talk about myself.

Her insecurities regarding her femininity as a young woman is also a common occurence among U.Ph women, both in fiction and real life.

This storyline eventually ends with her husband, as he becomes extremely jealous, finally realizing that he should have been more appreciative of Cora and not taken her for granted.

In an interesting way, the feelings or life events that Uttara Phalguni women often go through is depicted amazingly in the show "The Great" through Uttara Phalguni moon Elle Fanning's character, Catherine.

She starts of as an Austrian lady, about to marry King Peter of Russia. She seems too "sunny" and optimistic about it, maybe even naive, but when she arrives there, despite trying to stay kind and be the best wife she could, her spirit is soon broken.

Elle Fanning's moon is in Leo and so the rulership aspect of this lunar mansion is much stronger in this story.

After she realizes that she won't be treated like she wants to, she starts her search for like-minded people who can be friends/allies in that hostile environment that seemed to constantly and overwhelmingly be against her.

Aryaman_ the "companion" God of contracts and agreements.

Catherine made the impression of a naive young woman, perhaps what people call "vanilla" today, and she was in truth sweet, but she soon learned to use that reputation to her advantage as she started plotting against her abusive husband.

"The Great" is a highly exaggerated and over-the-top dramedy that contains many themes, which include the dynamics between Sun and Saturn individuals (more specifically cow yonis as Nicholas Hoult is Uttara Bhadrapada moon), the compromise and fusion of energies through marriage (creator_ Tony McNanamara has Ketu in Vishakha) and the story of the Uttara Phalguni woman archetype as she navigates family dynamics, communities, bonds, love and personal power. Those who have watched the later seasons know that Peter is not exactly the villain, but he certainly starts out that way and for all intents and purposes, he WAS abusive to Catherine at the start.

Catherine learns to adapt (Mercury/Virgo influence) and use her cunning to gain power in little ways, through connections.

In this show too, the Uttara Phalguni woman becomes royal by marriage, but even when she was the one who gained privilege and benefitted more from the marriage on paper, her partner is still the one considered "below" her, even by Russians at court, especially the ones who know Peter well: Catherine is extremely intelligent, well-read and is generally seen as more capable than Peter in many ways, while Peter is shown as contrastingly crude and dim (at least in the beginning).

Catherine is a remarkable example of an Uttara Phalguni woman: kind, intelligent, beautiful, down-to-Earth, self-reliant, giving, ready to compromise, but she's also strong, unafraid to fight back, ruthless when overstepped.

Even though she started out in a weak position, barely tolerating the place, she naturally became the Queen who was truly feared and respected by her people (not unlike Queen Clarisse in The Princess Diaries, who reigned after her husband passed away and was greatly loved).

I highly suggest watching this show if you can.

"Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story" is similar to "The Great" and shares many themes with it. The titular heroine is Queen Charlotte of England (based on the real Queen Charlotte), played by Uttara Phalguni Sun (and possibly moon too) India Amarteifio, starts out as a foreign noble lady who is off to be married to King George of England, without her consent. She feels deeply betrayed because her own brother had an active part to play in it and failed to consider her wishes (dissapointment from family and/or men in their lives is an unfortunate running theme in both fiction and real life for U.Ph ladies).

She feels unnatural in the new country, even just because she's the subject of rude and improper discussions about her appearance. Despite this, like Catherine, she tries to settle in by beginning to find allies. She finds a lifelong friend in her servant Brimsley (although she does not know it yet) and in a new peer_ Lady Agatha Danbury, who she immediately bonds with because of their similar age and the shared struggles (being the only black women at court when it was rare and pretty much unheard of, even though they were privileged in other ways).

She's kind but sassy (like Catherine) and values loyalty in every bond she makes.

Which leads us to George_ who she tried to run away from right before the wedding.

In this story too, even though on paper she's the one who benefits more from the union, George is still viewed as someone "below" her, because of his mental health struggles. He was hidden away by his family and tortured to "heal" but Charlotte stood by him despite getting a welcome that was way less than ideal. She defied everyone who tried to "help" George and helped him truly.

Again, the Uttara Phalguni woman proves to be a real blessing to her partner and his family and in this case, his country too.

Her friendship with Lady Danbury is interesting too because it just reminded me of Catherine (from "The Great") and her friend Marial: Charlotte and Agatha befriend and understand each other easily and they are, uniquely, equals, but Charlotte is seen as more naive and "vanilla" (again, I do not know how else to describe it 😭), perhaps because she's younger. She did not even know about her "marital duties" at first. All of these were the case with Catherine and Marial.

Despite all of this, both Charlotte and Catherine find their footing and end up as beloved (more feared, in Catherine's case) and important figures. Later in her life Charlotte is shown to be exactly as sassy, kind and fun-loving as she was in her youth, but much more beloved and respected than before. Her friendships and love for George endured and the community she built is the whole backdrop for the "Bridgerton" seasons.

The beauty in this story lies with the true love that grows from their union (same is the case in "The Great" and with Lady Grantham from "Downton Abbey"): Charlotte's efforts to save and protect the marriage resulted in an enduring and unconditional love between them. As George's mental health struggles worsened with time, Charlotte became the only real person for him to rely on.

I am genuinely getting emotional remembering the ending

This is another story of the Uttara Phalguni woman being a bringer of prosperity and love to their community, and another one where she did so by following her convictions and her heart.

But as much as they can give, they need the at least the same amount given back to them, which is seldom the case, especially when these women are younger. They learn lessons about reciprocity and loyalty, and they deal with heartbreak from close people (Elena from her false father, Sarah from her father, Catherine feom her mother, Charlotte from her brother...) and the betrayal cuts them deep.

...

End of part one, part two is here.

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hyunles · 23 days ago

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Overtime | H. HJ.

pairing: ceo!hyunjin x fem!reader word count: 3,7k genre: smut. +18, MDNI cw: no proofread, explicit wording, boss x employee relationship, kissing, couch sex, oral (f.), fingering, creampie, breast sucking, penetration, unprotected sex (pls don't), brief dirty talk, male whimpering, a lot of moaning. Let me know if I missed something! notes: hyunjin in suit always makes me go feral godddd, he's so handsome as always, english is not my first language, pls consider on giving feedback (in the kindest way possible) taglist and requests are open, feel free to ask! have a nice reading <3

It was time for you to fulfill another of your New Year's resolutions: Get a new job.

As a recent graduate, it was a little difficult for you since everyone asked for a twenty-year-old with thirty years of experience, but you always did your best at job interviews.

Today you were supposed to go to a job interview at a law firm. Your position? Nothing fancy, just the CEO assistant.

Naturally, you were nervous. He was the one interviewing you, so you really hoped to not embarrass yourself.

As you made your way to the entrance of the big building, you could feel your heart rate start to rise. No. You had to calm down.

Taking a deep breath, you got onto the elevator and pressed the needed button. Eight floor.

You reviewed your resume, which wasn't that impressive. You also reviewed a few lines your mother had said would help you a long time ago, when you were in middle school, but they could work now.

The elevator came to a stop and you got out, walking until you reached the office. His office.

You could hear people arguing inside, that made your brows furrow, but you decided to knock either way since it was already the time you were called.

The words stopped and a male voice said something inaudible before a guy about your age walked out, fuming in anger.

"Come in." The same male voice called you.

Your boss. Hwang Hyunjin.

You nodded and walked inside. "Good evening. I'm the applicant for the assistant position." You said and immediately handed him your resume.

He hummed, reading quickly but carefully. "Take a seat." He nodded to the chair across his desk, where you sat a few seconds later.

"A chef at a sushi restaurant and a barista at a cafe? How did you end up here?" Hyunjin said without tearing his eyes away from the paper.

"Everyone is asking for years of experience that are impossible for someone my age. And in your ad, you were asking for an assistant between 25 and 30 years old." You explained calmly, hoping he couldn't notice your nervousness.

"Okay, a 25 year old… Are you organized? Can you handle stress?"

You immediately nodded. "Yes sir, I can, totally. I'm very good at it."

"Good."

Silence again, just the sound of the CEO flipping through the few pages of your resume.

"I want you in my team. If you're interested, you start tomorrow." He said with his serious voice.

Your eyes widened a bit as you smiled ever so slightly. "Thanks sir, that really means a lot."

"It is full time. Monday to Friday from nine to five, an hour of lunch at two, I'd maybe need you to stay overtime but I always notify you in advance." He started. "You have social security and a month of paid vacation when you choose it, and a small bonus at the end of the year. Is that okay with you?"

You were immediately surprised. Was that really true?

"Definitely! More than I expected, actually."

"Good. You can start tomorrow morning. See you tomorrow." He nodded and stood up. "I'll take you to the door."

You’ve been working there for a few months now, and everything had been going smoothly. The office was well-organized, and you had made friends with some of the employees.

You've heard rumours about how Hyunjin had a reputation for being strict, cold, and downright intimidating when angry. And he definitely was like that with everyone. Everyone but you for some reason.

Of course, he was still firm, but there was something softer beneath his gaze when he looked your way, a glint of interest that left you wondering. He’d often call you to his office, offering a thousand excuses —small, irrelevant things that could have been handled over email.

Today started off as an average day in the office, any given Friday. You found yourself in the office kitchen, making coffee, when suddenly your phone buzzed. It was Hyunjin.

"I need you in my office. Now."

With a quiet sigh, you put your coffee down, feeling a slight tremor of nerves dance in your stomach. You knew it was never just a simple request with him. And you always were a bit nervous because of all the rumours even when he was softer with you.

As you entered his office, the air felt heavy. Hyunjin was seated behind his desk, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped inside. The look on his face was one of irritation, though you weren’t sure if it was because of something you did or something else

“What took you so long? I asked you to bring me an important file yesterday." He said with the severe voice you've grown accustomed to.

"The files on Mr. Kim's trial? I left them on your desk and texted you at nine." You replied calmly but firmly as you always did. Careful.

He frowned, rummaging through the numerous files he had on his desk —or pretending to—, and quickly finding the folder.

You started to think he just called because he wanted to see you. But you immediately shook those thoughts aside.

"Right… Well, now that you're here, I have to ask you something." He said, gesturing you to sit on the chair across his desk.

"The lawyers' dinner is on your agenda, right?" He didn't even wait for you to answer. "I need you to go with me and take notes."

You frowned slightly in confusion but nodded anyway. "But it's tonight."

"Do you have something to do?" He immediately asked, leaning against his desk with a serious expression.

"Not really but you should've-"

"I want you there at six in the fanciest clothes you have." He said firmly, not leaving room for discussion.

You sighed quietly and nodded, standing up. "I'll be there."

He didn't say anything.

You stepped back.

"If you don't have anything else to say to me, I'll go." You waited until he nodded and walked out of the office.

It was going to be a hell of a night.

17:20

Of course you were ready. You needed to leave now if you wanted to make it on time.

The outfit wasn't very impressive. Just a black dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, knee-length. Also, some low heels and black, thin tights.

Nothing very revealing but not simple either. The few jewels giving it a plus.

You walked out of your house, where your taxi was already waiting. You got in and indicated the driver the address.

After a few minutes, you texted Hyunjin. Just a small message.

"I'm on my way. See you there."

A simple and concise message.

You started to organize your small notebook, getting ready for whatever notes you had to take as Hyunjin said.

That ruined the Friday night —that just implied drinking coffee as you stayed up late drawing or talking with some friends— you had planned.

Either way, you no longer had reason to complain if you were on your way to dinner. A luxurious meal at a 3-star Michelin restaurant. You always thought they were exaggerating too much.

After a few minutes, you arrived at your destiny. You paid and got out of the taxi, walking inside and asking in reception for the table, a big one in a private room.

You were the first, as always. It was 17:50 now, and you had to wait.

You started scheduling the tasks for Monday, both yours and his, killing time.

Suddenly, the door opened. There he was, looking neat as always, you dare to think he looks even better.

White button-up shirt, a black tie, black pants with the usual belt he loved —the one that camouflaged perfectly but also had a subtle golden buckle—, and the glasses he rarely wore and made him look even more professional. His black, short hair was also slicked back, some strands loose, falling perfectly on his forehead.

Hot, you thought. But you immediately shook your head slightly.

"You're early." He stated, taking a seat next to you.

"I like to arrive early. Arriving 10 or 15 minutes early is just in time for me." You explained as you kept writing.

"I like how punctual you are."

You blinked slightly, even stopped writing for a second, but you quickly recomposed.

"I lied to you. I didn't want you to come take notes. I just wanted you here." He said as if it was nothing.

It was definitely anything but nothing.

"Oh…" You mumbled.

"You make me feel more… in control. You help me so much." He continued. "I like it. You keep me grounded with that seriousness of yours. You need to loosen up a bit." He chuckled, leaning closer.

"I'm fine." You simply said, turning your face away just a bit.

He let out a quiet sigh and sat straight again. "Do you even drink?" Hyunjin asked like you were friends.

"I don't like the taste of alcohol." You kept writing.

He snatched your notebook away, smirking. "Leave this. This dinner is supposed to be a… party, so to speak."

"No."

"Come on, you can't be this boring." He teased.

You sighed, looking at your notebook in his hands. He had pretty hands, you've thought that since you met him.

When he was about to make a snarky remark, the chatter of people on the hallway could be heard, he looked at the door.

At least 20 people walked inside, laughing and smiling as they greeted the two of you.

You just smiled slightly and greeted back, memorizing everyone and remembering their last names in case you needed it.

Hyunjin joined the talk soon, his eyes going around the big table before the waiter started taking orders.

The evening reached its peak, everyone was already a bit tipsy, just a few were drunk. People kept coming, you even had to give up your seat to one of the lawyers because he said he was having knee problems.

There were at least 40 people cramped in that medium room. Unexpected guests, people walking around… A total mess.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was having a blast. He talked and talked about the stupid cases he got and won. Obviously, he was slightly tipsy, but he was very composed.

You sighed quietly and excused yourself, walking out of the room, already exhausted and feeling overwhelmed.

You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, ready to go back.

But Hyunjin appeared again. It was like he had some magic trick to just pop up wherever you were.

"I'm leaving now. I'm tired. Do you want me to take you home?" He said, smiling. Weird sight, that really gave away the fact that he was tipsy, drunk even.

"You're not driving in this state. I'll take you home." You said, leaving no room for argument.

Hyunjin chuckled. "You noticed?"

"Obviously, you're all red, smiling, and even laughing."

"So you know me…" He whispered as you walked towards the parking lot.

You ignored that comment, shaking your head slightly. Focus.

"This is my car." He said as he grabbed his keys, opening it.

You walked towards the driver's door and extended your hand. He placed the keys on your palm and walked towards the passenger seat.

The drive was quiet, calm. He was very awake, looking out the window.

You were driving calmly, but your mind was going at an outrageous speed.

Thoughts like hot, or he's cute didn't leave your head, you were already stressed.

And his voice didn't help.

"I think I need to wear my glasses daily. My head isn't hurting."

"Funny because you're drunk." You smiled slightly.

He looked at you. "Hey… You're smiling."

That made your eyes go slightly wide. "Wait, you think I never smile?"

"Well…"

"I'm offended." You chuckled, driving calmly.

Hyunjin sighed and leaned his head against the headrest of the seat. Silence returning, slightly tense now.

"You loosen up when I'm drunk." He said.

It caught you off guard.

"You feel more human this way." You murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You always look like a robot. Just work, work, work. I even have to remind you when it's lunch time."

He looked at you with a silly smile. "I need to keep everything in check."

"Not alone. That's why you have me and the other lawyers, the litigation team, everyone. It's not just your job. It's a team effort."

That shut him up, leaving him thinking.

"Text me that please, I want to remember that every day."

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling over his house. "We're here. Can you walk for yourself?"

"I'm not drunk, just slightly tipsy. I just feel like chuckling."

"Okay." You murmured, getting off the car.

You walked him to his front foor, waiting for him to get inside.

But instead, he opened and leaned against the doorframe.

"How are you going home?"

"I'll take a taxi."

"No."

He didn't even ask when he pulled you inside.

You tried to protest but he quickly shot the door behind you and took off his shoes.

"You're staying with me tonight."

You frowned, taking off your shoes. You knew he wasn't letting you go.

"Where?"

"The guest room. It's spacious."

You nodded as you walked inside, looking around. The house was big, giant for just one person.

"Do you live alone?" You asked, sitting on one of the couches.

"Yes. I used to live with someone but she left. That was 6 years ago anyway." He felt the need to clarify. Why?

"I see."

You started to reorganize your schedule for tomorrow since it'd be difficult to return home in the morning in less than 30 minutes.

He noticed and sat next to you, taking your phone and placing it on the coffee table. "You need to sleep."

"I could say that to you."

"I'm fine."

"You're drunk."

A moment of silence before he looked at you with slight curiosity. "Are you single?" He blurted out.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him. "Why?"

"Just answer."

It took you a moment, but you nodded. "Yeah."

That seemed to please him, making him scoot closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol on his system or the liking he took for her these past months, but he felt bold enough to move his hands towards your waist.

"Hyunjin…" You started but he shushed you quickly.

"You're really pretty." He murmured, making your breath catch. Why was he doing this right now, when he looked so good?

He smiled slightly and cupped your face in his hands, getting closer. So close your breaths mingled together and you could feel the warmness of his body.

"Sir, we shouldn't do this." You murmured, but you didn't move.

"Push me away." He whispered. "Tell me to stop."

You couldn't.

He got closer, noses now brushing.

"I want you. Not just for tonight, but forever. You've made me feel things I never felt…" He murmured, a bit of vulnerability in his voice.

You didn't know what to say, it was like your brain just short-circuited right there and then.

So he took the opportunity and brushed his lips against yours, barely, softly.

"Can I?" Hyunjin whispered.

You nodded.

And that was all the confirmation he needed before kissing you. It was a soft but hungry kiss. You could notice he'd been thinking about it for weeks, months even.

His fingers tangled around your hair as you pulled him closer by the tie. He groaned and pressed himself against you, making you lay down.

Eventually, you broke the kiss in need of air. Quiet gasps and a slight chuckle escaped his mouth. "You're a better kisser than I imagined." He mumbled.

You smiled as your filter and your moral flew away. "Hyun…"

"A nickname? Where's the serious you?" Hyunjin chuckled quietly, kissing down your jawline and neck.

You shivered, tilting your head back as your hands undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

He groaned and helped you with his shirt and pants, already desperate.

"I want you so much…" He whispered, you sighed.

Finally, he started taking off your dress, very gently for his desperation. He was almost admiring you.

"You're so gorgeous…" He whispered, throwing your dress to the floor, kissing down your chest, feeling the texture of your bra with his fingertips.

You could just sigh and move your hands to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

He smiled and unclipped your bra, immediately taking one of your breasts on his mouth, grinding against you.

You couldn't take it and it was just starting. You arched your body, seeking more contact.

He grabbed your hips and played with the edges of your underwear. You sighed desperately. "Just take them off…"

He chuckled, kissing down your abdomen while pulling your panties down. You were already wet, drenched even.

You squirmed slightly when he kissed your thighs.

"God, so wet for me?" He whispered before licking once, his tongue flattening against your entrance. You moaned, gripping the couch.

He started to lick desperately, almost animalistic. He was so needy for you, like a starved man eating you out. And you could just moan and whimper, keeping his head in place.

He kept his ministrations, now moving his lips towards your clit, sucking gently and licking. You moaned his name like a prayer and buckled your hips up, seeking more contact.

Hyuniin decided to make this more interesting and delicious, since both of you were desperate.

He introduced his middle finger on your entrance, slowly at first, lubricating it. You moaned and moved your hips, begging for him.

"Hyunjin… G-God…" You could just say, it was like all thoughts just disappeared from your brain and the only reasonable thing was him, his fingers on you, his tongue on you.

He started moving his finger until it hit that gummy spot, making you let out a yelp, closing your eyes. The pleasure you were feeling was indescribable.

Hyuniin introduced his ring finger, moving both quickly, out and inside, curling them, making it messy.

His lips and chin were glistening with your arousal, and the sight turned you on even more if that was possible.

"Come on… Good girl…" He whispered as he moved his hand faster. The wet sounds making him groan.

"Fuck… You're so good for me…" He whispered, his other hand moving to his boxers, taking them off. His length was so hard it started to hurt, and he had to pump up a bit to relieve himself before aligning it with your wet pussy. "Can you take me?" He murmured, eyes filled with lust.

You nodded.

He pushed inside, stretching you slowly.

"Goodness…!" You moaned loudly, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

He whimpered quietly, filling you up so good. His hips finally made contact with yours and he stayed still for a second, waiting until you grew accustomed to the feeling, the stretch.

"Please… Move…" You could barely whisper. Your mind was clouded with pleasure and your thoughts were only on how good he felt inside you.

His big length twitched, and he started moving, slowly out and suddenly in, that was his pace, making you moan loudly and stealing whimpers from himself.

You'd never expected him to be the loud type, but you weren't complaining.

"Please… Oh God… Please…" He whimpered, moving faster, causing wet sounds. You moaned, loving how he sounded. "Finally… I can have you…" He wasn't even thinking what he was saying, he got so carried away that he no longer thought straight.

With every thrust, you moaned and he whimpered, saying his pleading again and again, hitting that stop repeatedly, making your sight go white.

In a few more thrusts, his hips stuttered. He was close, and so were you.

"I'm gonna…" You whispered.

"Yes baby, come for me. Come with me…" He mumbled, letting out a soft moan. His head falling on your shoulder, kissing there softly.

And finally, you felt it forming more persistently down in your stomach. You were about to cum. Your moans were unstoppable, with absolutely no filter.

He bit your shoulder, moaning quietly but loud enough for you to hear and take you over the edge.

With that, you came, and seconds later, you felt his release filling you up.

Your legs trembled, your body felt weak.

That was the best sex you had in your life, and you were probably going to regret it in the morning. But who cares when your boss just gave you the best orgasm in your entire life, right?

You were panting, cleaning your sweat away. He stayed inside you for a second before sliding out carefully, he didn't want to overstimulate you.

"You're so good at everything, I'm impressed…" He murmured, kissing you again, gently now, lovingly.

You broke the kiss reluctantly. "You won't regret it?"

"No. Never."

You smiled, kissing him softly.

"Let's take a bath." He murmured against your lips.

Two months had already passed since that messy night. You two kept your professional facades but, outside of the building, you two went on dates, getting to know each other.

Obviously you never wanted a one-night-stand, and neither did he. He was an absolute romantic, lover of cheesy things. You could've never guessed since he always kept his serious facade, but you were happy that you were the one who got to see that side of him.

Today you were answering mails as always when you got a message from Hyunjin.

"Are you free today?"

"For you always ;)"

"Good. I need to see you at the park after work. 6:30, without delays."

"Okay, Mr. Mistery."

With that, you left your phone on your desk again, now a bit more nervous.

But you knew, whatever it was, whatever he wanted to talk about, it was going to be something good. You knew him better now, and you knew he was planning something romantic. He's been weird for days, not calling you after work, nothing, but acting like a highschooler in love.

You knew, whatever it was, you loved him, flaws and all. He was the perfect person for you.

And you were the perfect person for him.

ᝰ.ᐟ Reblogs and likes are very appreciated. If you liked this, please consider them!

Thanks for reading!

── 2025, hyunles ⋆ No translations, rewrites, or reposts allowed.

#lirio writes #hyunjin #skz #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin imagines #skz smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader

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astrofaeology · 2 months ago

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Saturn in Aries

predictions for each Rising

paid readings | Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following me. From the 25th of May 2025 to September 1st 2025 (where saturn will station in mercury retrograde) and will become direct once again 27 November 2025, till the 13th of April 2025.

With saturn in aries, saturn will force you to build new foundations, and confronting fears related to independence and bold action. This period will challenge us to be more accountable for our individual drives and to find a mature balance between initiating new ventures and ensuring their long-term viability. Expect to learn valuable lessons about leadership, self-reliance, and the true cost of pioneering new paths.

Aries Rising - Saturn's transit through your first house of self and identity will be a profound period of redefinition. You may feel a significant pressure to solidify who you are, potentially leading to an "identity crisis" as old ways of being are challenged. This is a powerful time for self-mastery and reinvention, as Saturn encourages you to take responsibility for your life and build a more solid foundation for your future self. You'll learn to balance impulsivity with patience and strategic action, leading to a new, mature confidence. If you were born with Saturn in Aries, this is your Saturn Return, a pivotal period of adulting and making firm commitments.

Taurus Rising - will experience Saturn's influence in your twelfth house of the subconscious and hidden matters. This transit encourages deep spiritual growth and healing, calling you to go inward and confront your shadow side. Old patterns of escapism or avoidance may come to the surface, demanding to be addressed. While this can be a solitary period, it offers a chance to release fears and build a strong spiritual practice. By the end of this transit, you can emerge feeling more whole and ready to spread your "new, healed wings."

Gemini Rising - Saturn will be in your eleventh house of friendships, community, and aspirations. Your social circles and group connections may undergo a significant review, with some relationships feeling strained or karmic. You may need to prune your social circle, choosing quality over quantity. This is a time to solidify your long-term goals and choose meaningful alliances. You might be called to leadership within groups, taking on more responsibility. By releasing unhealthy connections, you make room for those who truly support your aspirations.

Cancer Rising - will feel Saturn's weight in your tenth house of career, public image, and destiny. You may feel intense pressure to succeed professionally, and recognition might not come as easily as you hoped, with every misstep feeling public. The road to achieving your goals might be steep and solitary, with delays feeling like failures. However, this is an excellent period for career advancement and building a solid reputation. If you're willing to play the long game, what you build now can define you for decades. You'll learn to take responsibility for your ambitions and step into leadership roles, even if it requires hard work and patience.

Leo Rising - will experience Saturn in your ninth house of higher learning, travel, and belief systems. Your beliefs may be challenged, and previous worldviews might crumble, possibly through disappointing teachers or systems. The way forward might not be obvious, and traditional avenues of expansion may feel restricted. However, your greatest growth will come through broadening your horizons. This is an excellent time to pursue advanced degrees or engage in structured learning. You'll learn what it truly costs to live your truth and build a more resilient and meaningful philosophy of life.

Virgo Rising - Saturn transits your eighth house of shared resources, intimacy, and transformation. This is a period for getting your financial house in order, with issues around taxes, wills, insurance, and inheritances potentially requiring your attention. You'll be encouraged to confront your relationship with vulnerability and power dynamics in intimate connections. This transit offers a chance for deep financial restructuring and psychological healing. By addressing these areas, you can set yourself up for a more secure future and develop a healthier approach to shared resources and intimacy, learning to navigate complex emotional and financial territories with maturity.

Libra Rising - Saturn in your seventh house of partnerships and relationships. Your one-on-one connections will be highlighted, and you'll be asked to consider the health and responsibility within them. You may face challenges in finding true reciprocity and give-and-take, with discussions around commitment and boundaries becoming intense. However, this is a time to build more committed and dependable partnerships. You'll learn to establish clearer boundaries and ensure your relationships are balanced. You'll seek long-term stability and won't be interested in casual connections, leading to deeper, more mature bonds.

Scorpio Rising - Saturn moves into your sixth house of health, daily routines, and service. You may feel pressure to restructure your daily life and become more disciplined with your health and routines, potentially involving addressing long-standing habits. Work responsibilities might increase, or you may face challenges in your work environment. This transit provides an opportunity to build healthier habits and a more organized daily life. You can become more efficient and productive in your work. It's a time to take responsibility for your well-being and establish sustainable routines that support your goals.

Saggiatrius Rising - will experience Saturn in your fifth house of creativity, self-expression, and joy. You might struggle to find time for hobbies, dating, or creative pursuits, and your sexual energy may be lower. There could be delays or challenges related to children, and joy might feel risky, with creative expression feeling blocked or like hard work. However, Saturn in Aries encourages you to develop a more mature relationship with joy and creativity. You're asked to create and love without expecting instant gratification. This is a time to carve out dedicated time for what truly brings you fulfillment and to be disciplined in your creative endeavors, leading to more lasting and meaningful expressions.

Capricorn Rising - Saturn transits your fourth house of home, family, and foundations. You may face increased responsibilities within your family, potentially needing to care for aging family members or deal with structural issues in your home. Some Capricorns might move to a longer-term home, which could come with its own set of challenges. This transit helps you solidify your home base and family foundations. You can create a more stable and secure living environment. It's a time to embrace your responsibilities within your family, leading to a deeper sense of belonging and inner security.

Aquarius Rising - will have Saturn in your third house of communication, learning, and local community. Communication might feel like a battlefield, and you may struggle to express yourself without being too blunt or moving too fast. Relationships with siblings or neighbors could become sources of stress. You're being asked to pause before speaking and to listen more effectively. This is a period to refine your communication skills and take your mental health seriously. You'll become more assured in your educational, writing, and public speaking abilities, and you can form deeper connections within your local community by practicing thoughtful and disciplined communication.

Pisces Rising - For Pisces rising, Saturn moves into your second house of personal finances, values, and self-worth. You may feel a strong urge to get your finances in order, pay off debts, or improve your credit score. You might initially feel a sense of scarcity, even if you are earning well. This transit encourages you to reconsider your outlook on wealth and self-worth. This is a prosperous cycle for establishing financial security, but it requires discipline and a reevaluation of your values. You'll learn to manage your resources more effectively and develop a stronger sense of self-respect and self-worth, leading to long-term financial stability.

DISCLAIMER: This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.

#astr #astro observations #astroblr #astro community #astro notes #astrology #saturn in aries #aries #rising signs #rising

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bratzkoo · 3 months ago

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blueprint of us | minghao

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: rich af! minghao x architect! reader Genre: fluff Rating: PG-15 Word count: 14k~ Warnings/note: enemies to lovers minghao kinda that i've been thinking about for weeks! i need this.

summary: you really thought minghao is just your usual old money prioritizing getting richer over the environment, not with his background and whatever he does, well, until you didn’t.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): -

requests are close, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Y/N straightened her blazer, mentally rehearsing counter-arguments to every possible criticism as she strode into the Seoul Metropolitan Government conference room. At twenty-eight, she'd earned her reputation as one of the city's most uncompromising sustainable architects through sheer determination and technical brilliance. The Hangang Riverfront Revitalization Project was exactly the kind of high-profile commission her firm needed—and she wasn't about to let anyone derail her vision of creating the most environmentally innovative public space in Asia.

She scanned the room, noting the familiar faces of committee members and developers, before her gaze locked onto an unfamiliar figure. Xu Minghao of XM Development stood near the windows, examining the site maps with intense focus. She'd never met him personally, but his reputation preceded him—artistic, enigmatic, and ruthlessly effective at getting his designs approved. His buildings were architectural marvels that graced magazine covers and won international awards while consuming unconscionable amounts of energy with their glass facades and dramatic lighting.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Minghao looked up. Their eyes met across the room in a moment of instant recognition—not of each other personally, but of what each represented. A subtle tension charged the air between them.

Joshua Hong, the city's cultural development officer, approached with his characteristic diplomatic smile. "Y/N! I see you've noticed Minghao. Let me introduce you properly before presentations begin."

She followed Joshua, maintaining perfect professional composure as they approached Minghao, who straightened to his full height, his expression coolly appraising.

"Xu Minghao, this is Y/N, principal architect at Green Path Architecture. Y/N, Minghao is the creative director at XM Development."

"Your Dongdaemun Plaza extension was featured in Architectural Review last month," Y/N said, extending her hand. It wasn't a compliment—merely an acknowledgment of fact—but she could acknowledge quality work even from the opposition.

Minghao's handshake was firm, his gaze direct. "And your critique of it in Sustainable Design Quarterly was quite... thorough." There was a hint of something in his voice—not quite anger, more like curiosity.

Y/N didn't flinch. "I stand by every word."

"I would expect nothing less." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, surprising her. "It was one of the more intelligent critiques I've read. Most critics don't understand the structural constraints we were working with."

Before Y/N could respond to this unexpected comment, they were called to take their seats.

Throughout her presentation, Y/N was acutely aware of Minghao's attention. Unlike other developers who checked phones or whispered to colleagues during technical explanations, he observed with complete focus, occasionally making notes. His scrutiny was unnerving—she found herself emphasizing certain points more forcefully, as if in direct challenge to his design philosophy.

When Minghao presented his concept, Y/N reluctantly found herself impressed by his eloquence and vision. Where her presentation had been data-driven and practical, his was almost poetic—speaking of architecture as cultural storytelling, of spaces that evolved with seasonal light, of connections between traditional Korean design principles and contemporary human needs.

"A truly sustainable space," he concluded, his voice quiet but carrying through the silent room, "must sustain not just environmental metrics, but the human soul. It must create memories, inspire creativity, and connect people to something larger than themselves."

It was beautiful rhetoric that conveniently sidestepped concrete sustainability commitments, Y/N thought critically. Yet she couldn't deny the power of his vision or the masterful renderings that accompanied it.

When the committee's decision came, delivered by Joshua, it landed like a thunderbolt.

"Both proposals contain essential elements the committee feels are necessary for this project's success. Rather than choosing between them, we're asking Y/N and Minghao to collaborate on a unified design—combining Green Path's environmental innovation with XM's cultural and aesthetic vision."

Y/N's expression remained professionally neutral while her mind raced through implications. A collaboration? With him? Their approaches weren't just different—they were fundamentally opposed.

Across the room, she saw Minghao's composed mask slip momentarily, revealing a flash of the same dismay she felt. Their eyes met again, mutual wariness transformed into shared predicament.

After the meeting adjourned, Minghao approached her with measured steps. "It seems we have a situation," he said, his voice low.

"That's one way of putting it," Y/N replied evenly. "I have serious concerns about reconciling our approaches."

"As do I," he admitted, surprising her with his candor. "But the commission is significant. Perhaps we can establish ground rules to make this... functional."

They agreed to meet the following day at a neutral location to establish their working parameters, both clearly determined to protect their core principles while finding some way to fulfill the committee's requirements.

The café they chose was halfway between their respective offices—a small, quiet place with good lighting and minimal distractions. Y/N arrived ten minutes early, selecting a corner table and arranging her materials precisely. Minghao arrived exactly on time, dressed in simple black that somehow looked both casual and impeccable.

"I reviewed your full proposal last night," he said without preamble as he took the seat across from her. "Your technical solutions are innovative, but they fail to consider the aesthetic impact."

Y/N set down her coffee cup with deliberate care. "And I reviewed yours. Your spatial concepts are impressive but environmentally irresponsible. Your projected energy consumption is triple what it should be for a public project of this scale."

"Those calculations don't account for the passive cooling systems integrated into the design."

"Even with those systems, the glass expanses you've proposed create unnecessary thermal management challenges."

They continued this technical sparring for nearly an hour, each demonstrating a surprisingly thorough understanding of the other's specialty. Y/N had expected Minghao to dismiss environmental concerns entirely but found instead that he comprehended them well—he simply prioritized differently. Similarly, Minghao seemed taken aback by her knowledge of architectural theory and cultural references.

"You've studied Korean traditional architecture," he noted when she referenced historical precedents for natural ventilation.

"You sound surprised."

"Most sustainability specialists I've worked with focus exclusively on contemporary technology."

"That would be shortsighted," Y/N replied. "Traditional builders solved climate challenges without modern energy sources. There's much to learn from them."

A thoughtful expression crossed Minghao's face. "On that, at least, we agree."

This small point of alignment felt like a minor breakthrough. They tentatively established a working schedule and division of responsibilities, each carefully guarding their core elements while identifying areas where compromise might be possible.

As they gathered their materials to leave, Minghao hesitated. "I should clarify something. I'm not opposed to sustainability. I simply believe it must include cultural and aesthetic sustainability alongside environmental concerns."

Y/N studied him, trying to determine if this was merely diplomatic posturing. "And I'm not opposed to beauty. I just believe it shouldn't come at the expense of future generations."

Minghao nodded once, accepting this. "Then perhaps this collaboration isn't impossible after all."

"I didn't say that," Y/N countered with hint of a challenging smile. "I said it wasn't entirely impossible."

Something flickered in Minghao's eyes—surprise, followed by what might have been respect. "Until tomorrow, then."

Their working relationship developed into a pattern of intense intellectual debate punctuated by rare moments of unexpected alignment. They established a temporary studio in a small gallery space Joshua arranged for them—neutral territory that became the battleground for their competing visions.

Each morning began civilly enough, reviewing progress and outlining objectives. By afternoon, they were invariably locked in philosophical combat over fundamental aspects of the design. Y/N found these debates simultaneously frustrating and stimulating—Minghao challenged her assumptions with perspectives she'd never considered, forcing her to articulate her values with greater precision.

"You speak of environmental responsibility as if it exists in isolation from human experience," Minghao argued during a particularly heated discussion. "But people protect what they love. Create a space they don't connect with emotionally, and it will be neglected or demolished within a generation, regardless of its ecological merits."

"And you speak of human experience as if it can be separated from environmental context," Y/N fired back. "The most beautiful space becomes meaningless if the air is unbreathable or the temperature unbearable. Ask the residents of coastal cities losing ground to rising sea levels how much they're enjoying the 'human experience' of architectural masterpieces that contributed to climate change."

Mingyu, Minghao's assistant, had learned to make himself scarce during these exchanges, quietly leaving coffee and returning hours later when the conceptual storm had passed.

What surprised Y/N most was not Minghao's stubborn defense of his vision—she'd expected that—but his work ethic. He matched her legendary stamina hour for hour, sometimes staying past midnight to perfect details or research technical questions that arose during their debates. One evening, she returned from a quick dinner break to find him surrounded by books on wetland ecosystems, cross-referencing her water management proposals against ecological studies.

"I wanted to understand the biological implications better," he explained simply, not looking up.

Another night, Minghao found Y/N studying the historical design references in his original concept. When he raised an eyebrow in question, she merely said, "If I'm going to argue against aspects of your design, I should at least understand its cultural context properly."

These moments of mutual professional respect existed alongside their fundamental disagreements, creating a complex working relationship neither had anticipated.

Three weeks into their collaboration, they reached an impasse over the central plaza. Y/N's design prioritized permeable surfaces and rainwater capture, while Minghao's emphasized traditional patterns and ceremonial pathways. Neither would yield, their respective heels dug in after days of circular arguments.

"This isn't productive," Minghao finally said, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration. "We're approaching this from incompatible premises."

"Then we need to change the premises," Y/N replied, surprising herself with the suggestion. "We're still thinking of our designs as separate entities being forced together, not as a new integrated concept."

Minghao looked at her thoughtfully. "What are you suggesting?"

"Let's visit the site. Together. Not to argue our positions, but to observe. Maybe there's something we're both missing."

The next morning dawned clear and cool as they met at the riverfront. By unspoken agreement, they walked in silence, observing how light played across the water, how people naturally gathered in certain spaces, how the existing landscape created patterns of movement.

An hour passed before either spoke. They had stopped at a particular bend in the river, watching an elderly man feeding birds while a group of students sketched nearby.

"There's a rhythm to how people use this space," Minghao said quietly. "Different but harmonious patterns overlapping."

Y/N nodded. "And natural cycles intersecting with human ones. The tide, the seasonal plants, the daily movement of sun and shadow."

They spent the entire day at the site, gradually beginning to exchange observations, then ideas, their usual combative dynamic softened by the physical reality of the place itself. As sunset painted the river gold, Y/N found herself sketching alongside Minghao on a park bench, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they worked.

"What if," Minghao said suddenly, looking up from his drawing, "the water management systems became visible features that change with the seasons? Not hidden infrastructure, but celebrated elements that tell an environmental story while creating evolving beauty."

Y/N stared at him, momentarily speechless at how perfectly this bridged their divided approaches. "That... could actually work." She quickly sketched an adaptation of her technical systems that incorporated his aesthetic principles. "The filtration gardens could become these sculptural elements that transform with rainfall patterns."

"Yes," Minghao leaned closer to see her drawing, his usual reserve giving way to genuine enthusiasm. "And these ceremonial pathways I proposed—they could be constructed with your permeable materials, creating traditional patterns that also serve ecological functions."

They worked with growing excitement, building on each other's ideas in a creative flow unlike anything their previous combative approach had produced. When darkness finally forced them to pack up their materials, both were reluctant to break the productive spell.

Walking back toward the subway station, Y/N glanced at Minghao's profile, softened in the evening light.

"I still think you're wrong about the glass pavilions," she said, but there was no edge to her voice now.

"And I still think your maintenance projections are unrealistic," he replied with the ghost of a smile.

"But today was... not entirely unproductive."

"A diplomatic assessment," Minghao agreed. After a pause, he added more seriously, "You're not what I expected, Y/N."

"Oh? And what did you expect?"

"Someone less willing to consider alternative perspectives. Less... formidable in defending her vision."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I could say the same about you. I expected a developer focused exclusively on aesthetics and profit, not someone who would spend hours researching ecosystem impacts."

They parted at the station with a new sense of possibility, though neither would admit how significantly their perception of the other had shifted. Y/N found herself thinking about Minghao's unexpected depth as she rode home—his quiet intensity, his surprising knowledge across disciplines, the rare moments when his composed exterior gave way to genuine passion for architecture.

It was professionally inconvenient, she decided, to discover that your philosophical opponent was actually worthy of respect. Even more inconvenient to realize you were beginning to look forward to the intellectual challenge he presented each day. Most inconvenient of all was catching herself wondering what else might lie beneath his carefully controlled surface—and why that possibility intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

The breakthrough at the riverfront changed something fundamental in Y/N and Minghao's working relationship. Though they still disagreed—often vehemently—about specific elements, a grudging respect had formed between them. Their temporary studio space gradually transformed, walls covered with evolving sketches that showed a slow but unmistakable merging of their distinct approaches.

Y/N arrived early one morning, a week after their site visit, to find Minghao already there. He sat with his back to the door, so absorbed in his work that he hadn't heard her enter. She paused, taking the rare opportunity to observe him unguarded. His movements were precise as he sketched, occasionally pausing to reference her technical specifications before continuing. The morning light caught the edges of his profile, and Y/N was struck by the intensity of his focus—the same quality she prided in herself.

"You've adapted the rainwater system," she said, finally announcing her presence.

Minghao turned, not startled but transitioning smoothly from solitary concentration to acknowledgment of her arrival. "I had some thoughts about integrating it more fully with the traditional elements."

Y/N set down her materials and moved closer to examine his work. The technical system she'd designed remained intact in its function but had been transformed visually into something that echoed historical Korean water features while remaining distinctly contemporary.

"This actually improves the water flow," she admitted, studying the modifications. "The aesthetic changes create a more efficient path for heavy rainfall."

"Form following function," Minghao said with the slight upturn of lips that passed for his smile. "Or perhaps function following form. Does it matter which comes first if the result serves both?"

Y/N gave him a measured look. "It matters in the process. But I'll concede the outcome is... promising."

They settled into work, the morning passing in focused collaboration punctuated by their usual debates—though the tone had shifted from combative to challenging, each pushing the other toward more refined solutions.

Around noon, the studio door opened to reveal Seungkwan from Y/N's firm, carrying several bags of takeout.

"Lunch delivery!" he announced with characteristic enthusiasm. "Y/N, the office is buzzing about your collaboration. Everyone's wondering if you've strangled the famous Xu Minghao yet or if he's converted you to the dark side of luxury development." He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize Minghao was present. "Oh! I mean—that is—good afternoon, Mr. Xu!"

Y/N suppressed a smile at Seungkwan's flustered backpedaling. "Minghao, this is Seungkwan from my PR department."

"We've met briefly," Minghao said with a gracious nod. "At the initial presentation."

"Right! Yes! I was very impressed with your cultural integration concepts," Seungkwan babbled, setting down the food and backing toward the door. "I'll just leave this here and let you both get back to your... creative tension. Or harmony! Whatever you're creating!"

After Seungkwan's hasty departure, Y/N shook her head. "Sorry about that. He's brilliant at public relations but subtle isn't in his vocabulary."

"He cares about you," Minghao observed, arranging the food containers. "Your firm seems more like a family than a corporation."

"We're small but dedicated. Everyone believes in what we're doing." Y/N accepted the container he handed her. "What about XM? From what I've read, it's quite hierarchical."

Something flickered across Minghao's face—so brief Y/N almost missed it. "Traditional corporate structure, yes. Efficiency has its advantages."

"But?"

Minghao looked up, surprised by her perception. "What makes you think there's a 'but'?"

"Your expression. Just for a second."

He considered her for a moment before responding. "The traditional structure has advantages for executing projects efficiently. It has... limitations for innovation. Particularly regarding sustainability initiatives."

This was the most personal insight he'd offered about his professional situation. Y/N sensed something significant beneath his measured words.

"You're advocating for change within XM?"

"Let's say I have a longer-term vision that doesn't always align with quarterly profit expectations." Minghao's tone made it clear he considered this topic closed.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before returning to safer territory—the technical challenges of their current design integration. But Y/N filed away this glimpse beneath Minghao's professional exterior, another piece in the increasingly complex puzzle he presented.

Later that week, Y/N sat in her apartment surrounded by crumpled sketches, trying desperately to focus on refining the public garden layout for their project. Instead, she found herself repeatedly drawing Minghao's profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the thoughtful tilt of his head when considering a design problem.

"This isn't happening," she muttered, furiously erasing the latest inadvertent portrait. "This is Stockholm syndrome. Professional delirium. Sleep deprivation psychosis."

She crumpled the paper and tossed it toward the trash can, missing by a good foot. The floor was already littered with similar failures—evidence of her complete inability to focus without her thoughts drifting to a certain frustratingly elegant architect with stupidly perfect cheekbones and infuriatingly thoughtful design insights.

When her phone rang, Y/N nearly leapt for it, grateful for any distraction. Seeing Seungkwan's name on the screen was an added relief—at least it wasn't Minghao calling about work, which would mean having to sound professional while in the midst of this embarrassing crisis.

"Please tell me you're free for dinner," Seungkwan said without preamble. "We're all at the usual place, and Woozi is three beers in, talking about writing a concept album about sustainable architecture. You need to witness this."

Y/N stared at her disaster of an apartment—takeout containers from three consecutive nights of working late with Minghao, sketches everywhere, and a half-empty bottle of wine that wasn't helping her current crisis at all.

"I'll be there in thirty," she replied, grateful for the escape.

The hole-in-the-wall restaurant was already lively when Y/N arrived, sliding into a booth next to Jeonghan and across from Seungkwan and Woozi.

"The workaholic emerges!" Seungkwan announced dramatically. "How's life with the enemy?"

"He's not the enemy," Y/N answered automatically, then froze at her own defensive tone.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto her with laser focus.

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan drawled, sliding the soju bottle towards her. "That's new."

"What?" Y/N poured herself a generous shot. "He's a collaborator now. Professionally. On the project. That's all."

"Right," Woozi nodded sagely. "Totally professional. Which is why you just drew hearts around his name on that napkin."

Y/N looked down in horror, only to find a blank napkin. When she looked up, Woozi was smirking.

"Your face right now is all the confirmation we needed," he said.

"I hate all of you," Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. "It's not—I don't—UGH."

"Oh my god, she actually likes him," Seungkwan stage-whispered, eyes wide with delight. "Our Y/N has fallen for Corporate Architecture Ken!"

"I have NOT fallen for him," Y/N hissed, looking around to make sure no one from the industry was nearby. "I just... don't completely despise working with him anymore. He has... occasional good ideas."

"Occasional good ideas," Jeonghan repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it when you haven't stopped talking about 'Minghao's innovative approach to spatial harmony' for three weeks?"

"Or when you defended his honor to that sustainability consultant who called his previous projects 'ecological disasters'?" Woozi added.

"Or when you started wearing your nice blazers to the collaborative studio instead of your usual 'comfort over corporate' outfits?" Seungkwan chimed in.

Y/N looked between them, betrayal written across her face. "I just wanted to project professionalism!"

"Since when have you cared about looking professional?" Jeonghan laughed. "Your entire brand is 'too busy saving the planet to care about dress codes.'"

Y/N downed her soju in one shot, the harsh reality hitting harder than the alcohol. "This is a disaster. If—and I mean IF—I were developing... unprofessional feelings, which I'm NOT admitting to... it would be career suicide. Personal suicide. A complete betrayal of everything I stand for."

"Dramatic much?" Woozi raised an eyebrow.

"He works for XM Development!" Y/N whispered furiously. "They literally built that resort that destroyed an entire coral reef ecosystem! I protested outside their headquarters! I wrote a scathing industry article about their CEO!"

"Who happens to be his uncle," Seungkwan pointed out unhelpfully. "Awkward future family dinners."

Y/N dropped her head onto the table with a thunk. "This isn't happening. I refuse. I absolutely refuse to be attracted to Xu Minghao. He probably irons his socks. He definitely owns more black turtlenecks than Steve Jobs ever did. His idea of sustainable materials is 'slightly less endangered tropical hardwood.' This is a cosmic joke."

"But he's so pretty," Seungkwan sighed dreamily. "Those cheekbones could cut glass."

"And he did publicly challenge his board about sustainability initiatives," Jeonghan reminded her. "That article was everywhere in the industry. He put his reputation on the line."

"Not helping," Y/N mumbled into the table.

"Look," Woozi said, suddenly serious. "You've spent your entire career fighting against developers who don't care about environmental impact. Now you've found one who might actually be an ally—who gets your vision enough to fight for it within his own corporate structure. What's the real problem?"

Y/N lifted her head, expression pained. "The problem is I wanted to hate him. I was prepared to hate him. Hating him was simple and comfortable and fit my worldview perfectly. But now..." She gestured helplessly.

"Now you like him," Seungkwan finished for her. "Like, LIKE him like him."

"And I hate that I like him," Y/N groaned. "It's so inconvenient. So cliché. So... ugh."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Jeonghan said with philosophical air.

"Well, my heart needs to shut up and get back to focusing on sustainable architecture instead of Minghao's stupid perfect hands and the way he tilts his head when he's really considering an idea and how he remembers exactly how I like my coffee and—" Y/N cut herself off, horrified.

The table erupted in delighted chaos.

"This is the greatest day of my life," Seungkwan declared, wiping away a fake tear. "Our ice queen has melted for the prince of luxury development."

"I'm leaving," Y/N announced, grabbing her bag. "I'm moving to a remote island where there are no architects, no colleagues, and definitely no irritatingly perceptive friends."

As she stood to leave, Woozi called after her: "Just remember to invite us to the wedding! I've already started composing your processional!"

The wadded-up napkin Y/N threw hit him squarely between the eyes.

Meanwhile, across the city, Minghao sat perfectly still in his apartment's minimalist living room, staring at the scale model he'd been working on for the past three hours. It was meant to be a section of their riverfront design. Somehow, he'd unconsciously incorporated elements that were distinctly Y/N's—the curved rainwater channels, the integrated vegetation patterns, the community-focused gathering spaces.

"This is unacceptable," he murmured to himself, setting down his tools with deliberate precision.

He'd spent years cultivating perfect control—over his designs, his career trajectory, his emotions. Three weeks working with Y/N had somehow dismantled that control with terrifying efficiency.

His phone rang. Jun.

"Please tell me you're not still working," his friend said when Minghao answered. "It's Friday night. We're at Mingyu's place. Even Wonwoo left the office."

"I'm not working," Minghao replied, staring at the evidence that he'd been thinking about Y/N rather than actual work. "Just... reviewing some concepts."

"All work and no play makes Minghao a dull boy," Jun sing-songed. "Come over. Mingyu made his famous hotpot, and Vernon brought that weird board game where you have to build fictional cities."

The prospect of architecture-themed entertainment was the last thing Minghao needed right now, but the alternative was sitting alone in his apartment, fighting the unprofessional urge to text Y/N about a design idea that had occurred to him in the shower.

"Fine," he conceded. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Mingyu's apartment was chaos compared to Minghao's serene space—warm, cluttered, and currently filled with his closest friends sprawled across various furniture. The delicious scent of hotpot filled the air, and someone had put on a jazz playlist that mingled with conversations and laughter.

"He emerges from his creative cave!" Jun announced as Minghao entered. "We were taking bets on whether you'd actually show up or send another 'something came up' text."

"I'm not that antisocial," Minghao protested mildly, accepting the drink Mingyu handed him.

"No, you're just that obsessed with perfection," Wonwoo corrected from his position on the couch, not looking up from his book. "How's the collaboration going with the eco-warrior princess?"

Minghao nearly choked on his drink. "Her name is Y/N, and the project is progressing adequately."

"Adequately?" Jun repeated with a grin. "That's not what Mingyu said after he dropped off those materials yesterday. What was it again, Mingyu? Something about 'intense creative energy' and 'finishing each other's sentences'?"

Mingyu had the decency to look apologetic as he stirred the hotpot. "I just mentioned that you two seemed to be working well together. Better than expected, considering how you used to talk about her environmental manifestos."

"We've found professional common ground," Minghao said carefully, taking a seat at the dining table. "Her technical knowledge is impressive, and she's more open to aesthetic considerations than I initially assumed."

"Wow, from Minghao, that's practically a declaration of love," Vernon commented, looking up from where he was setting up the board game.

"It's professional respect," Minghao clarified firmly.

"Is that why you've saved every industry article she's ever written?" Wonwoo asked, finally closing his book. "For professional respect?"

Minghao shot him a betrayed look. "Those are research materials. Know your opponent's perspective."

"And is that why you specially ordered her favorite tea for the studio? And stayed up all night researching wetland ecosystems to understand her water management system better? And hand-crafted that traditional pavilion model that took you three days?" Jun pressed, clearly enjoying himself.

"Those were... professional courtesies," Minghao insisted, feeling uncomfortably warm. "The project benefits from a harmonious working relationship."

"Harmonious," Mingyu repeated with a knowing smile. "Interesting word choice."

"You guys are reading too much into this," Minghao said, helping himself to food in an attempt to end the conversation. "We're collaborating on a project with strict deadlines. That's all."

The room fell silent for a moment before Jun spoke again, his tone gentler. "You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if you did like her."

"She represents everything I'm supposed to be working against," Minghao said quietly. "She's idealistic to the point of impracticality, stubborn about her principles, and has publicly criticized XM's projects multiple times."

"And yet..." Vernon prompted.

"And yet," Minghao admitted reluctantly, "she's brilliant. Her technical innovations are genuinely revolutionary. She sees connections in systems that most designers miss. And she cares about the impact of her work in a way that's..." he searched for the right word, "...admirable."

"Just admirable?" Wonwoo asked, eyebrow raised.

Minghao set down his chopsticks, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain his usual composure. "Fine. You want the truth? I can't stop thinking about her. I find myself sketching elements I know she'll appreciate into designs she'll never even see. I've started questioning corporate policies I've accepted for years because her arguments make compelling sense. I wake up thinking about our debates and go to sleep solving design problems we discussed."

He ran a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration. "It's completely inappropriate, utterly unprofessional, and would horrify my uncle and the entire board if they knew. She probably still thinks I'm a corporate sellout despite everything, and the project will end in three weeks, after which we'll go back to being professional adversaries. So yes, maybe I do find her more than just professionally admirable, but it doesn't matter because nothing could ever come of it."

The room was silent for a long moment.

"Wow," Mingyu finally said. "That's the most words I've heard you speak consecutively in... possibly ever."

"She must be really special," Vernon added thoughtfully.

"This is a disaster," Minghao sighed, his perfect posture finally slumping. "Of all the architects in Seoul, why did it have to be her? The one person guaranteed to find my family's business morally reprehensible? The one designer who would consider my aesthetic priorities superficial? The most stubborn, principled, frustratingly intelligent woman I've ever met?"

"The heart is mysterious," Jun said, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "And apparently has terrible timing."

"The heart has nothing to do with this," Minghao insisted. "This is temporary insanity brought on by extended proximity and creative intensity."

"Right," Wonwoo nodded sagely. "That explains why you've started dressing even more impeccably than usual for your studio sessions. And why you've been turning down family dinner invitations to work late with her. And why you risked your position at XM to champion sustainability initiatives that align with her values."

Minghao stared at him. "How do you know all that?"

"I pay attention," Wonwoo shrugged. "And Mingyu talks a lot."

"Traitor," Minghao muttered, glancing at Mingyu, who was suddenly very interested in the hotpot.

The following day, Y/N arrived at the studio determined to maintain strict professional boundaries. She'd spent half the night lecturing herself about the absolute insanity of developing feelings for Xu Minghao, of all people. She had a plan: minimal personal conversation, focused work discussion, and absolutely no noticing of his perfect cheekbones or elegant hands or the way his eyes lit up when discussing traditional Korean architecture.

Her resolve lasted approximately three minutes.

Minghao was already there, arranging a collection of material samples on their work table. He looked up when she entered, and something in his expression seemed different—a flicker of self-consciousness that mirrored her own.

"Good morning," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I brought coffee." He gestured to a cup on her side of the table. "Black with one sugar."

The fact that he remembered exactly how she took her coffee was not helping her resolution at all.

"Thank you," she managed, setting down her bag and picking up the cup to give her hands something to do. "I was thinking about the central plaza transition areas overnight. I have some ideas for improving the flow."

Minghao nodded, seemingly grateful for the immediate focus on work. "I was considering the same issue. The current design creates a bottleneck during peak usage times."

They fell into their usual pattern of collaborative problem-solving, but something had shifted in the atmosphere. Y/N found herself hyperaware of every accidental brush of hands when they reached for the same reference material, every moment their eyes met when making a point, every instance of inadvertent synchronization when they both had the same idea simultaneously.

Judging by Minghao's slightly stiffer-than-usual posture and occasional hesitations before physical proximity, he might be experiencing similar awareness. The thought was both terrifying and oddly exhilarating.

By afternoon, the awkwardness had somewhat dissipated as they became absorbed in a particularly challenging aspect of the water feature design. Their usual dynamic reasserted itself—Y/N focusing on technical efficiency, Minghao on experiential quality, both pushing the other toward a more integrated solution.

"If we adjust the flow pattern here," Y/N suggested, leaning over the model they'd constructed, "we can increase capture capacity while creating more interesting visual movement."

Minghao considered this, head tilted in the exact way that Y/N had embarrassingly confessed to finding attractive just the night before. She forced herself to focus on the model instead of his profile.

"That could work," he agreed, reaching for a pencil to sketch the modification. Their fingers brushed briefly, causing both to withdraw a fraction too quickly.

"Sorry," they said simultaneously, then looked at each other in surprise.

A moment of silence stretched between them, charged with something neither was prepared to acknowledge.

"We should take a break," Minghao finally said, straightening up. "We've been working for hours."

Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Good idea. I need some air."

They stepped outside into the late afternoon sun, walking silently to a small park across from their studio building. Finding a bench, they sat with a careful distance between them, watching office workers hurry past on their way home.

"The project is progressing well," Minghao observed after a while. "Better than I expected when we were first assigned to collaborate."

"Agreed," Y/N said. "It's become something neither of us would have created independently."

"That's the value of diverse perspectives," Minghao replied. "When integrated thoughtfully rather than forced together superficially."

Something about his phrasing made Y/N wonder if he was talking about more than just their architectural collaboration. Before she could analyze this further, her phone chimed with a news alert.

"Oh," she said, reading the notification. "There's an article about you. About XM's sustainability initiative."

Minghao tensed visibly. "Already? The board meeting was just yesterday."

"You didn't know this was being published?" Y/N asked, scanning the article. "'XM Development Creative Director Challenges Board on Sustainability Direction.'"

"No," Minghao replied, his usual composure slipping. "Someone leaked it. This complicates things."

"In what way?"

He hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "My uncle—the chairman—is deeply traditional in his business approach. He believes our brand is built on luxury and exclusivity, not environmental considerations. I've been trying to shift the corporate direction gradually, presenting sustainability as market advantage rather than moral imperative. A public leak makes it appear I'm forcing his hand through media pressure."

"Are you?" Y/N asked directly.

"No," Minghao said, meeting her eyes. "I would prefer to change the company from within, through demonstrating that sustainable design can be both beautiful and profitable. Our project is meant to be evidence of that possibility."

Y/N studied him, seeing the complexity of his position more clearly than before. "You're navigating a difficult path between family expectations and your own values."

"As we all must in different ways," he replied quietly. After a pause, he added, "Working with you has... clarified certain priorities for me."

The admission hung in the air between them, neither quite ready to explore its full implications. Instead, they watched the sun begin its descent, casting long shadows across the park.

"We should get back to work," Y/N finally said, standing. "The committee presentation is in two weeks."

Minghao nodded, following her lead. As they walked back toward the studio, he asked unexpectedly, "Would you join me for dinner tomorrow evening? There's a restaurant I think you might appreciate—they source all ingredients locally and power their kitchen entirely with renewable energy."

Y/N nearly stumbled in surprise. "That sounds suspiciously like something I would approve of," she said, attempting to keep her tone light despite her suddenly racing pulse.

"I do occasionally pay attention to your preferences," Minghao replied, a rare hint of humor in his voice.

"Then yes," Y/N agreed, telling herself this was still professional courtesy, nothing more. "I'd like that."

As they returned to work, Y/N tried not to think about Seungkwan's inevitable reaction when he heard she was having dinner with Minghao, or how much time she would likely spend tonight overthinking what to wear, or how the prospect of spending an evening with Minghao outside their work environment filled her with both anticipation and alarm.

This was fine. Perfectly normal. Just two collaborating professionals having a business dinner. The fact that her heart raced slightly at the thought was irrelevant and absolutely not worth examining.

Across the table, Minghao appeared to have regained his usual composed focus, though Y/N thought she detected a new tension in his movements, a heightened awareness that mirrored her own. If he was experiencing even a fraction of the confusing emotions currently churning through her, he was hiding it far better than she was.

Y/N forced her attention back to their design, trying to ignore how thoroughly Xu Minghao had disrupted her carefully ordered world—personally and professionally. The most infuriating part wasn't that she was attracted to him despite their differences.

It was that she was attracted to him because of them.

Y/N stood in front of her closet, surrounded by discarded outfits, feeling ridiculous. It was just dinner. A professional dinner with a colleague. The fact that she'd tried on seven different combinations was completely unrelated to the fact that said colleague was Xu Minghao.

"This is pathetic," she told her reflection as she adjusted a simple black dress. "Too formal." She changed into jeans and a nice blouse. "Too casual." A tailored pantsuit followed. "Too business meeting."

After thirty more minutes of wardrobe crisis, she settled on a dress that balanced professional and elegant—something she might wear to an industry event rather than a date. Because this was definitely not a date. Minghao had simply suggested they discuss their project in a different setting. The fact that he'd chosen a sustainability-focused restaurant was merely... thoughtful professional courtesy.

Her phone buzzed with a text from

Seungkwan: "WHAT ARE YOU WEARING??? Send pics!!! I need to approve!!!"

Y/N groaned. She'd made the tactical error of mentioning her dinner with Minghao during a work call, and Seungkwan had practically hyperventilated with excitement. She ignored the text, knowing any response would only encourage him.

Seconds later, her phone rang.

"You can't ignore me on this historic occasion," Seungkwan declared when she answered. "Our Y/N, sustainability warrior princess, dining with the prince of luxury development! The office has a betting pool on whether you'll come back engaged or covered in wine after throwing it in his face."

"It's a professional dinner," Y/N insisted, checking her watch. "And I'm going to be late if I don't leave now."

"Just tell me one thing," Seungkwan said, his tone suddenly serious. "Are you going to give this a chance? Whatever 'this' is between you two?"

The unexpected question caught Y/N off guard. "I... don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do," Seungkwan replied gently. "I've known you for years, Y/N. I've seen you passionate about projects, about environmental causes, about fighting corporate developers. I've never seen you like this about a person."

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, suddenly unable to maintain her denial. "It's complicated, Seungkwan. Even if there were... feelings... which I'm not saying there are... there are so many reasons it couldn't work."

"Name one that doesn't involve your stubborn pride or preconceived notions."

She opened her mouth to list the many practical obstacles, then closed it again, realizing how many of her objections had gradually eroded over the weeks of working with Minghao.

"Just be open to possibility," Seungkwan suggested. "That's all I'm saying. And text me immediately if anything romantic happens!"

"Goodbye, Seungkwan," Y/N said firmly, ending the call. But his words lingered as she gathered her things and headed out.

The restaurant was intimate but not overtly romantic—a renovated traditional building with contemporary sustainable elements seamlessly integrated throughout. When Y/N arrived, Minghao was already there, dressed in his usual impeccable style but with subtle differences that suggested he'd put thought into his appearance beyond his normal care.

"This place is beautiful," Y/N said as they were seated at a corner table with a view of a small courtyard garden. "I haven't been here before."

"It opened recently," Minghao replied. "The owner is an old friend who shares your commitment to sustainability. The building itself is carbon-neutral, and all ingredients are sourced within fifty kilometers."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You really did your research."

A flicker of something crossed Minghao's face—was that actually nervousness? "I wanted to choose somewhere you'd appreciate."

The thoughtfulness of this gesture was not helping Y/N maintain her professional distance at all.

After ordering, an awkward silence fell between them—so different from their usual passionate debates or focused work discussions. It was as if removing the shield of their project had left them both uncomfortably exposed.

"So," Y/N finally said, "how did your uncle react to the article about your sustainability initiative?"

Minghao's expression tightened slightly. "About as well as expected. There was a... heated discussion about company direction and my role within it. He believes I'm being influenced by outside perspectives."

"Am I the outside influence he's concerned about?" Y/N asked directly.

"Among others," Minghao admitted. "But my interest in sustainable design predates our collaboration, though working with you has... intensified certain convictions."

"Is your position at risk?" The thought bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

Minghao considered this question carefully. "Not immediately. Family dynamics complicate professional relationships. My uncle values loyalty and tradition, but he also recognizes that markets evolve. The question is whether sustainability represents a fundamental shift in our company identity or merely a strategic adaptation."

"And what do you believe?"

"I believe it's necessary," he said simply. "Both ethically and practically. The future of development must incorporate environmental responsibility—not as marketing strategy but as core principle."

Y/N studied him, struck by how similar his words were to arguments she'd made in industry publications. "That sounds suspiciously like something I would say."

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Perhaps you've been a bad influence."

"Or a good one, depending on perspective," Y/N countered, returning his smile.

The arrival of their first course provided a welcome shift in conversation to lighter topics. Y/N was surprised by how easily they moved from professional discussions to personal interests—Minghao's background in traditional art, Y/N's early environmental activism, shared admiration for certain architects and mutual disdain for pretentious industry trends.

"I can't believe you also hated the Hansen Tower," Y/N said, laughing at Minghao's devastatingly accurate critique of a recently celebrated building. "Everyone acts like it's revolutionary, but it's just inefficient design hiding behind flashy facades."

"Form without function," Minghao agreed. "Beautiful from a distance but completely impractical to actually occupy. Architecture should serve people, not merely impress them."

"Another suspiciously Y/N-like statement," she observed, enjoying the unexpected alignment of their views.

"I've always held this perspective," Minghao clarified. "But working with you has helped me articulate certain principles more clearly."

As their meal continued, Y/N found herself increasingly aware of how much she was enjoying Minghao's company. His quiet intensity, thoughtful observations, and unexpected flashes of dry humor were dangerously appealing. The careful distance she'd maintained began to feel increasingly arbitrary.

When dessert arrived—a beautifully presented seasonal fruit creation—Minghao hesitated before speaking. "I've been considering a possibility that I wanted to discuss with you."

Something in his tone made Y/N's pulse quicken. "What kind of possibility?"

"A professional one," he clarified, seeming to sense her sudden tension. "I've been contemplating establishing an independent design studio focused on integrating sustainable innovation with cultural and aesthetic excellence. The kind of work we've been doing together, but as a dedicated practice rather than a one-time collaboration."

"You're leaving XM?" Y/N couldn't hide her surprise.

"It's one option I'm considering," Minghao said carefully. "Family expectations are powerful, but at some point, personal convictions must take precedence." After a pause, he added, "I would value your perspective on whether such a venture could succeed."

"I think it could," Y/N said slowly, processing the implications. "But it would be a significant risk compared to your position at XM."

"Some risks are necessary for meaningful change." His gaze met hers with unexpected directness. "Both professionally and personally."

The weight of his words hung between them, carrying implications beyond career choices. Y/N found herself at a crossroads—continue maintaining careful professional boundaries or acknowledge the growing connection between them.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed with an urgent message. Y/N glanced at it and frowned.

"Everything alright?" Minghao asked.

"It's from Seungkwan. Apparently there's been a leak about our project—some industry blog has published speculation about conflicts between our design approaches, claiming the collaboration is failing."

Minghao's expression darkened. "That could undermine the committee's confidence before our presentation."

"We should address this," Y/N said, professional concerns immediately overriding the personal moment. "Perhaps with a joint statement or preliminary images that demonstrate our progress."

"Agreed." Minghao signaled for the check. "We should return to the studio and review what might have been leaked and prepare a response."

The intimate atmosphere dissolved as they shifted back into work mode, both perhaps secretly relieved to postpone the more complicated conversation that had been developing.

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the studio early, determined to focus on damage control rather than dwelling on the unresolved tension from dinner. To her surprise, she found Mingyu pacing outside the door.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "Thank goodness. Minghao sent me to wait for you. There's an emergency meeting at XM headquarters. The chairman is demanding to review the project immediately instead of waiting for the committee presentation."

"What? Why?" Y/N asked, alarmed by the sudden interference.

"The leaked information created concern about the project's direction," Mingyu explained as they hurried toward a waiting car. "Minghao's uncle is worried about the company's reputation if the collaboration is perceived as compromising XM's luxury brand identity."

During the drive to XM's imposing glass headquarters, Y/N felt mounting dread. This was exactly the corporate interference she'd initially feared when forced to collaborate with a luxury developer.

The building itself embodied everything Y/N had spent her career criticizing—excessive glass that created massive heating and cooling demands, dramatic but energy-intensive lighting, and materials selected for prestige rather than sustainability. As they rode the elevator to the executive floor, Y/N steeled herself for confrontation.

Mingyu led her to a conference room where Minghao was already engaged in tense conversation with an older man whose commanding presence and family resemblance identified him as the chairman. Several board members and executives observed from around a massive table covered with printouts of their design.

Minghao looked up when Y/N entered, his expression carefully controlled but his eyes communicating a silent apology.

"Ah, the environmental architect," the chairman said, turning to assess Y/N with calculating eyes. "I've heard much about you. Please, join us. We were just discussing certain... concerns about the direction of this project."

Y/N approached with professional composure, noting the specific design elements that had been highlighted for criticism—precisely the innovative integrations she and Minghao had been most proud of developing together.

"Chairman Xu," she acknowledged with a respectful nod. "I understand you have questions about our collaborative approach."

"Indeed," he replied coolly. "XM Development has built its reputation on distinctive luxury experiences. These elements," he gestured to their sustainable water management systems and community-focused spaces, "dilute our brand identity with features that could appear in any public park. Our clients expect exclusivity."

Y/N felt a familiar surge of frustration but maintained her professional demeanor. "With respect, Chairman, this project is specifically designed as a public space that balances environmental responsibility with exceptional design quality. The integration creates something unique rather than diluted."

The chairman's expression remained skeptical. "A noble sentiment, but our investors have specific expectations about XM projects. Minghao knows this," he added with a pointed look at his nephew.

"Uncle," Minghao said, his voice quiet but firm, "the committee specifically requested a collaboration that incorporates both companies' strengths. The design we've developed fulfills that brief while expanding XM's capabilities in an emerging market sector."

"A sector you seem increasingly preoccupied with," the chairman observed. "First your sustainability initiative presentation, now this project. One might wonder where your priorities lie."

The undercurrent of personal disappointment in his tone made the professional criticism more cutting. Y/N saw Minghao's carefully maintained composure falter slightly, revealing how deeply his uncle's approval mattered despite their differing visions.

"My priority is the future success of XM," Minghao replied. "Which requires evolution rather than rigid adherence to past formulas."

The chairman waved this away impatiently. "We need concrete adjustments to realign this project with our brand standards. I suggest removing these community elements, upgrading the materials to our usual specifications, and redesigning the central pavilion to feature our signature aesthetic."

Y/N bit her tongue, recognizing that these changes would effectively erase every sustainable innovation they'd integrated, returning the design to exactly the kind of environmentally irresponsible luxury project she'd fought against throughout her career.

She glanced at Minghao, expecting him to begin negotiating a compromise. To her surprise, he straightened his shoulders and spoke with quiet determination.

"No."

The single word fell into stunned silence. Even Y/N hadn't expected such direct refusal.

"What did you say?" the chairman asked, his tone dangerous.

"I said no," Minghao repeated calmly. "The design represents a balanced integration developed through genuine collaboration. Removing those elements would compromise both its integrity and its purpose."

The chairman's expression hardened. "Perhaps you've forgotten whose name is on this building, Minghao. Your experimental design theories are interesting, but ultimately, XM projects reflect the company vision—my vision."

"I haven't forgotten," Minghao replied. "But I also remember the principles my father valued before you took control—innovation, integrity, and creating spaces that elevated people rather than excluding them."

The personal nature of this statement clearly crossed a line. The chairman's expression turned glacial. "We'll continue this discussion privately. Everyone else, please leave us."

The executives quickly filed out, eager to escape the family tension. Y/N hesitated, looking at Minghao with concern.

"It's alright," he told her quietly. "I'll meet you downstairs after we've finished."

Y/N reluctantly left the room, acutely aware that Minghao had just risked his position—and family relationship—defending their shared vision. The implications of this were too significant to ignore.

An hour passed before Minghao appeared in the lobby, his expression composed but with a new resolution in his eyes.

"Walk with me," he said simply, leading her out of the building and across the street to a small park—one of the few green spaces in the corporate district.

They sat on a bench beneath flowering cherry trees, a moment of natural beauty incongruously peaceful after the tension of the meeting.

"I've been relieved of my position as creative director," Minghao said finally, his voice calm despite the bombshell.

Y/N stared at him in shock. "They fired you? Over our project?"

"The project was simply the catalyst. My uncle and I have been moving in different directions for some time. Today merely forced the issue into the open."

"Minghao, I'm so sorry," Y/N said, genuine distress overriding any professional considerations. "You shouldn't have sacrificed your position. We could have modified some elements, found a compromise—"

"No," he interrupted gently. "The compromise would have destroyed what makes the design valuable. And this isn't just about one project. It's about the future I want to create versus the past my uncle wants to preserve."

"Still, your career—"

"Is not defined by XM," Minghao finished. "Perhaps this was inevitable. I've been considering independent paths for some time, as I mentioned last night."

Y/N studied him, searching for signs of regret or uncertainty. Instead, she found surprising calm—as if a burden had been lifted rather than imposed.

"You seem... okay with this," she observed.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "There's freedom in clarity. For years I've tried to balance family expectations with personal convictions. Now the choice has been made for me."

"What will you do now?"

"Exactly what I suggested yesterday—establish an independent practice based on the principles we've explored together." After a pause, he added more softly, "Though I had hoped to discuss that possibility with you under different circumstances."

Y/N felt a flutter of something that definitely wasn't just professional concern. "With me? In what capacity?"

Minghao turned to face her directly, his usual reserve giving way to unexpected openness. "In whatever capacity you might consider. As a consultant, a collaborator, or..." he hesitated, then continued with quiet determination, "...something more. If that's something you might want."

The directness of this semi-confession left Y/N momentarily speechless. Part of her wanted to retreat behind professional boundaries, to remind both of them of all the reasons personal involvement would be complicated. But after watching Minghao sacrifice his position defending principles they both valued, such caution suddenly seemed cowardly.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted honestly. "Three months ago, I would have said collaborating with an XM developer was my worst nightmare. Now I'm sitting here disturbed by the fact that you're no longer with XM, which makes absolutely no sense considering I've spent years criticizing everything they represent."

"Life rarely follows our expectations," Minghao observed, a hint of humor warming his voice.

"Tell me about it," Y/N sighed. "My entire worldview had such clear lines before meeting you. Sustainable architects: good. Luxury developers: bad. Now everything's complicated."

"Complexity can be valuable," Minghao suggested. "In design and in relationships."

Y/N looked at him—really looked at the person rather than the professional role he'd occupied. The man who had challenged her assumptions while respecting her principles. Who had matched her passion for architecture with his own, differently expressed but equally genuine. Whose carefully maintained reserve concealed depths she'd only begun to discover.

"I think," she said carefully, "that I would like to explore what 'something more' might mean. But slowly. This is all very... new territory."

The smile that transformed Minghao's usually composed features was worth every moment of confusion that had preceded it.

"New territory is where innovation happens," he said softly.

Their conversation was interrupted by Y/N's phone ringing insistently. She glanced at it and groaned.

"It's Seungkwan. Again. He's probably heard about the XM meeting already—news travels unnervingly fast in this industry."

"You should answer," Minghao suggested. "He'll just keep calling otherwise."

Y/N reluctantly accepted the call, holding the phone slightly away from her ear in anticipation of Seungkwan's volume.

"Y/N! IS IT TRUE?" Seungkwan practically shouted. "DID MINGHAO JUST QUIT XM DEVELOPMENT TO BE WITH YOU? THE ENTIRE OFFICE IS LOSING THEIR MINDS! WOOZI JUST SPAT COFFEE ALL OVER HIS KEYBOARD!"

"That's not exactly—" Y/N began, feeling her face heat up as Minghao raised an amused eyebrow, clearly able to hear Seungkwan's voice.

"IT'S THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER HEARD!" Seungkwan continued, undeterred. "GIVING UP A FAMILY EMPIRE FOR LOVE! IT'S LIKE A DRAMA BUT WITH SUSTAINABLE ARCHITECTURE!"

"Seungkwan, please," Y/N attempted, mortified. "It's much more complicated than that. He had professional disagreements with the company direction—"

"BECAUSE OF YOU!" Seungkwan crowed triumphantly. "BECAUSE YOU SHOWED HIM THE LIGHT OF ECO-CONSCIOUS DESIGN WITH YOUR PASSION AND PRINCIPLES! I'M WRITING THE WEDDING SPEECH RIGHT NOW!"

"There is no wedding!" Y/N hissed, avoiding Minghao's gaze. "We haven't even—that is—we're just—"

"Just what?" Seungkwan pressed, finally lowering his volume to merely enthusiastic rather than deafening.

Y/N glanced at Minghao, who was watching her with undisguised amusement and something warmer that made her pulse quicken.

"We're figuring it out," she said finally.

"HA! I KNEW IT!" Seungkwan's volume instantly returned to maximum. "JEONGHAN OWES ME DINNER! I SAID YOU'D ADMIT FEELINGS BEFORE THE PROJECT ENDED!"

"I'm hanging up now," Y/N informed him, doing exactly that despite his protests.

She turned to Minghao with embarrassment. "Sorry about that. Seungkwan has no concept of indoor voice or professional boundaries."

"He cares about you," Minghao observed, echoing his comment from weeks earlier. "Though his enthusiasm is... considerable."

"Wait until you meet the rest of them properly," Y/N said, then paused as she realized the implication of future social integration. "I mean, if that's something that might happen. Eventually."

"I'd like that," Minghao said simply.

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a moment, the cherry blossoms occasionally drifting down around them in the spring breeze.

"So what happens now?" Y/N finally asked. "With the project, with the committee presentation, with... everything?"

"The project continues," Minghao said decisively. "My departure from XM doesn't change my commitment to our design. As for the rest..." he looked at her with quiet intensity, "that depends on what we both want to build."

The architectural metaphor wasn't lost on Y/N. "I've never been good at personal blueprints," she admitted. "Professional plans, environmental strategies, technical specifications—those I can draft perfectly. But this..."

"Perhaps we approach it like our design process," Minghao suggested. "Start with core principles, develop the framework gradually, adjust as we learn, and trust that something valuable will emerge from the collaboration."

Y/N couldn't help smiling at his architect's approach to relationship development. "That's the most Minghao way possible of asking someone to date you."

"Is it working?" he asked, a rare vulnerability visible beneath his composed exterior.

Instead of answering immediately, Y/N reached for his hand—a simple gesture that somehow felt more significant than their entire professional collaboration.

"I think," she said carefully, "that I'd like to see what we might design together. Beyond riverfront projects and sustainable pavilions."

Minghao's fingers interlaced with hers, his touch as precise and intentional as everything else about him. "I've found our collaborative process surprisingly rewarding so far."

"Despite the arguments?"

"Because of them, in part," he amended. "Few people challenge me the way you do. It's... invigorating."

Y/N laughed. "Only you would find someone questioning your every design decision 'invigorating.'"

"Only when the questions are intelligent ones," he clarified, his thumb tracing a small pattern against her palm. "And when they come from someone whose perspective I've grown to value."

The simple honesty of this statement affected Y/N more than any grand declaration could have. She looked at their joined hands—her practical manicure next to his artist's fingers—and thought about how unexpected and yet somehow right this felt.

"So we continue with the committee presentation," she said, bringing the conversation back to safer territory while she processed her emotions. "And afterward..."

"Afterward, we explore possibilities," Minghao finished. "Professional and personal."

"Seungkwan is going to be insufferable about this," Y/N groaned, but couldn't suppress her smile.

"As will Jun," Minghao admitted. "He's been making increasingly unsubtle comments about our 'creative chemistry' for weeks."

The thought of their respective friends' reactions to this development was both mortifying and amusing. Y/N could already imagine the dramatic speeches, the knowing looks, the inevitable "I told you so" declarations.

"We should get back to the studio," she said reluctantly. "We have a presentation to finalize, and now we need to address your change in professional status as well."

Minghao nodded, but neither moved immediately to leave the peaceful moment they'd created together.

"Just to be clear," Y/N said, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain, "you're really okay with what happened at XM? You didn't throw away your career because of our project?"

"I didn't throw away anything," Minghao replied with quiet certainty. "I chose authenticity over compromise. The project was simply the catalyst for a decision that's been forming for longer than you might realize." After a pause, he added, "Though I will admit that knowing you has clarified certain priorities."

Y/N felt a rush of warmth at his words. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, and it wasn't even really a compliment."

"It was absolutely a compliment," Minghao corrected her. "Just expressed with appropriate restraint."

Y/N laughed, struck by how much she enjoyed his particular brand of reserved intensity. "You know, for two people who started out thinking we represented everything wrong with each other's approach to architecture, we've come to a surprisingly compatible place."

"Perhaps we weren't as opposed as we believed," Minghao suggested. "Just viewing the same principles from different angles."

As they finally rose to leave, still holding hands as they walked back toward their studio, Y/N reflected on the unexpected journey that had brought them to this point. From professional adversaries to reluctant collaborators to... whatever they were becoming now. It wasn't a path she could have designed or anticipated.

But sometimes, she was beginning to realize, the most interesting spaces emerged from unexpected intersections—in architecture and in life.

The committee presentation room buzzed with anticipation. Two weeks had passed since Minghao's departure from XM Development—two weeks of intense preparation, industry speculation, and carefully navigated new personal territory between him and Y/N.

"Are you ready for this?" Y/N asked, adjusting the display boards one final time. She wore her most professional outfit, a structured suit in deep green that somehow managed to be both authoritative and a personal statement.

"Absolutely," Minghao replied, his calm demeanor betraying none of the professional upheaval he'd experienced. If anything, he seemed more centered than before, as if shedding his corporate constraints had allowed a more authentic self to emerge.

Word of their situation had spread throughout the industry—the XM creative director who'd left his family's company over creative differences, continuing to collaborate with the sustainable architect who'd presumably influenced his professional rebellion. The resulting publicity had transformed their presentation from a standard committee review into a highly anticipated industry event.

Joshua Hong approached them with an encouraging smile. "Quite the turnout today," he observed, nodding toward the unusually full room. "Your project has generated significant interest."

"Apparently professional drama is good for publicity," Y/N said dryly.

"Quality work is good for publicity," Joshua corrected. "The circumstances simply brought additional attention to what was already an innovative collaboration."

As committee members and industry observers took their seats, Y/N felt a flutter of nerves—not about the design itself, which she knew was exceptional, but about the public perception of her relationship with Minghao. They'd agreed to maintain strictly professional behavior during the presentation, focusing attention on their work rather than the personal connection that had developed alongside it.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Seungkwan: "We're all here! Third row, looking FABULOUS and ready to cheer inappropriately loud!!!"

Y/N glanced over to see Seungkwan, Jeonghan, and Woozi seated together, all giving her enthusiastic thumbs up. Behind them sat Jun, Mingyu, and Wonwoo—Minghao's support team. The sight of their merged friend groups was both heartwarming and mildly terrifying.

"Your colleagues are here," she murmured to Minghao. "And mine. Together. This could be interesting."

"Should we be concerned?" Minghao asked, following her gaze to where Seungkwan was now showing something on his phone to Jun, both of them grinning conspiratorially.

"Definitely," Y/N confirmed.

Before she could elaborate, Joshua called the presentation to order. Y/N took a deep breath, centering herself in the familiar territory of professional expertise as she stepped forward to begin.

"The Hangang Riverfront Revitalization Project presented unique challenges and opportunities," she began, her voice clear and confident. "Our goal was to create a space that serves environmental needs, community functions, and cultural expression in equal measure."

As she outlined the technical aspects of their design, Y/N found herself naturally transitioning to Minghao's contributions without the planned handoff cues they'd rehearsed. Their presentation flowed organically between her explanations of sustainability innovations and his descriptions of spatial experience and cultural references.

The committee watched with undisguised interest as these former adversaries demonstrated a seamless collaborative vision. When they revealed the final design models and renderings, a murmur of appreciation spread through the room.

Their central concept—visible environmental systems integrated with traditional Korean design elements to create both functional efficiency and cultural resonance—was beautifully realized in the detailed models. Water features that processed rainwater while referencing historical irrigation patterns. Community gardens arranged to create contemplative spaces reminiscent of traditional courtyards. Solar elements that cast evolving shadow patterns inspired by traditional architecture.

During the question period, a committee member asked directly about the impact of Minghao's separation from XM Development on the project's viability.

"My professional transition doesn't affect my commitment to this design," Minghao answered with perfect composure. "The concept we've developed represents principles I intend to pursue in my independent practice."

"And how do you respond to industry speculation that personal factors influenced these professional decisions?" the committee member pressed, glancing between Minghao and Y/N with poorly disguised curiosity.

Y/N tensed, but Minghao responded with characteristic grace.

"Professional respect can develop into broader appreciation," he said carefully. "Y/N's environmental expertise and design integrity challenged me to reconsider certain assumptions. That kind of intellectual growth naturally influences career decisions."

It was the perfect answer—acknowledging their connection without feeding gossip or distracting from the work itself. Y/N shot him a grateful look as the questions returned to technical aspects of the design.

When the presentation concluded, the committee announced they would deliberate and provide their decision within the week. As the crowd dispersed, Y/N and Minghao found themselves surrounded by their enthusiastic friends.

"That was AMAZING!" Seungkwan declared, hugging Y/N before she could evade him. "You two have, like, actual presentation chemistry! It was like watching an architectural tango!"

"Please never say 'architectural tango' again," Y/N begged, though she couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm.

"Your integration of the water systems was particularly elegant," Wonwoo told her, adjusting his glasses. "I appreciated the technical rigor behind the aesthetic elements."

"And your cultural references were so thoughtfully applied," Jeonghan said to Minghao. "Not superficial at all."

As their friends chatted excitedly about various aspects of the presentation, Y/N noticed the easy way their previously separate groups had merged—Mingyu and Seungkwan comparing notes on their respective roles, Jun and Jeonghan clearly bonding over some shared mischievous energy, Wonwoo and Woozi engaged in what appeared to be a deeply technical conversation about acoustic design elements.

"They get along well," Minghao observed quietly, coming to stand beside her.

"Surprisingly well," Y/N agreed. "Though I'm not sure the world is ready for Seungkwan and Jun joining forces."

"Too late," Minghao noted, nodding toward where the two were clearly plotting something, occasional glances in their direction confirming that Y/N and Minghao were the subject of whatever scheme they were developing.

"We should probably be concerned about that," Y/N said.

"Definitely," Minghao agreed, echoing her earlier assessment.

Before they could investigate further, Joshua approached with news.

"The committee was impressed," he told them. "Very impressed. They've asked me to inform you that deliberations may be abbreviated—they're leaning strongly toward full approval with minimal revisions."

"That's wonderful news," Y/N said, relief and pride washing through her. After everything they'd been through, the validation of their shared vision meant more than she'd expected.

"There's something else," Joshua continued. "The city planning department was so taken with your integrated approach that they're considering a larger initiative—a series of sustainable urban interventions throughout Seoul, using your river project as a prototype. They'd be interested in discussing this with both of you, regardless of which firm ultimately leads the river project construction."

Y/N exchanged a look with Minghao, both processing the implications of this unexpected opportunity.

"We'd be very interested in those discussions," Minghao replied, his calm words belying the significance of Joshua's news.

After Joshua departed, Seungkwan appeared with an announcement of his own. "Attention, architectural power couple and assorted friends! We've arranged a celebration at The Garden Terrace. No excuses, attendance mandatory, first round on Jeonghan because he lost the betting pool about when you two would finally get together!"

"We haven't officially—" Y/N began, but Seungkwan waved away her objection.

"Semantics! You're holding hands right now!"

Y/N looked down in surprise to find that, indeed, her hand had somehow found Minghao's during their conversation with Joshua. She hadn't even noticed.

"The evidence is undeniable," Jun declared solemnly. "Subconscious hand-holding indicates advanced relationship development."

"That's not a real thing," Minghao told his friend with fond exasperation.

"And yet," Jun gestured meaningfully at their joined hands, "empirical evidence suggests otherwise."

Rather than pulling away in embarrassment as she might have weeks earlier, Y/N simply adjusted her grip on Minghao's hand more comfortably. "Fine. We'll come to your celebration. But no embarrassing toasts or relationship interrogations."

"We make no such promises," Seungkwan replied cheerfully. "See you all there in thirty minutes!"

The Garden Terrace was exactly the kind of place Y/N and Minghao might have designed together—a rooftop restaurant with traditional elements reimagined through contemporary sustainable design. Living walls provided natural cooling, solar canopies created dappled light patterns across wooden floors, and the careful arrangement of spaces allowed both community interaction and private conversation.

Their friends had reserved a corner section with spectacular views of the city at sunset. Y/N and Minghao found themselves at the center of a boisterous celebration, their successful presentation and potential new opportunities providing the official reason for festivities, though everyone present knew the unofficial cause for celebration was more personal.

"A toast!" Seungkwan announced, raising his glass. "To the most unlikely architectural partnership in Seoul—proof that opposites not only attract but create award-winning public spaces in the process!"

"And to new beginnings," Jeonghan added, with a meaningful look at Minghao. "Professional and otherwise."

Everyone raised their glasses, the genuine warmth of the moment overriding Y/N's usual aversion to being the center of attention. Under the table, Minghao's hand found hers again, a quiet connection amid the lively celebration.

As the evening progressed, Y/N found herself in conversation with Jun while Minghao was engaged in discussion with Woozi across the table.

"He's different with you," Jun observed, nodding toward Minghao. "More himself, somehow."

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, curious about this perspective from someone who'd known Minghao far longer than she had.

"Minghao has always contained himself," Jun explained. "Precise control in everything—his art, his work, his emotions. Necessary for navigating family expectations and corporate politics, but it became second nature. With you, he's still Minghao—still thoughtful and measured—but there's a freedom to it now. Less constraint, more authentic expression."

Y/N considered this, watching Minghao as he listened intently to Woozi's apparently passionate discourse on acoustic design. There was a subtle openness to his posture and expressions that did seem different from when they'd first met.

"I'm glad," she said simply. "He deserves that freedom."

"And what about you?" Jun asked. "Your friends tell me you've changed too."

"Do they now?" Y/N replied dryly, making a mental note to have words with Seungkwan about discussing her personal development with Minghao's friends.

"Apparently you smile more," Jun said with a grin. "And have developed a surprising tolerance for aesthetic considerations in your designs."

"Function still comes first," Y/N insisted, though she couldn't deny how her perspective had evolved. "But I've come to appreciate that beauty can be functional in its own way—creating spaces people connect with emotionally means they value and protect those spaces."

"Exactly what Minghao has always believed," Jun noted. "See? Perfect harmony."

"Hardly perfect," Y/N laughed. "We still argue constantly."

"Creative tension," Jun corrected. "Essential for innovation."

Across the table, Minghao caught her eye and smiled—that rare, genuine smile that still made her heart do ridiculous things in her chest. He excused himself from his conversation and made his way to her side.

"Stealing my architect, Jun?" he asked, his tone light.

"Just confirming you're worthy of her," Jun replied with theatrical seriousness. "The jury remains deliberating."

"A reasonable concern," Minghao acknowledged, surprising Y/N with his playfulness. "I have similar questions myself."

"On that note, I'll leave you two to your existential relationship doubts," Jun said, standing. "Seungkwan is demonstrating what he calls 'the dance of sustainable architecture' to Mingyu, and I can't miss that."

As Jun departed, Minghao took his place beside Y/N. "Having second thoughts yet?" he asked quietly.

"About?"

"This." He gestured between them. "Us. The complicated personal and professional entanglement we've somehow created."

Y/N considered the question seriously. "Second thoughts? No. Occasional moments of disbelief that I'm actually involved with someone who once represented everything I professionally opposed? Absolutely."

"The feeling is mutual," Minghao assured her, his eyes warm with amusement. "My uncle still can't comprehend it. He called yesterday to ask if this was an elaborate professional strategy to absorb your environmental expertise into a new luxury brand."

"Is it?" Y/N teased.

"If so, it's a strategy that's backfired spectacularly," Minghao replied. "I find myself increasingly aligned with your environmental priorities rather than his profit margins."

"Terrible business sense," Y/N agreed solemnly. "But excellent ethical development."

Their conversation was interrupted by Seungkwan's return, slightly flushed from whatever architectural dance he'd been performing.

"Stop being antisocial in your little couple bubble," he admonished. "We're planning the housewarming party for your new joint studio."

"Our what?" Y/N asked, bewildered.

"Your new studio," Seungkwan repeated as if it were obvious. "For the independent practice you're obviously going to establish together. We've already started a Pinterest board for the design. Very minimal but with plants everywhere. Mingyu suggested a coffee station that would make most cafes jealous."

"We haven't discussed—" Minghao began.

"Details," Seungkwan dismissed with a wave. "The concept is solid. 'XYN Design' or something similarly clever that combines your names. Sustainable luxury for the conscious elite. We're trademarking taglines as we speak."

Y/N looked at Minghao, expecting shared exasperation at their friends' presumption. Instead, she found him looking thoughtful.

"It's not an unreasonable concept," he said carefully. "Combining our complementary expertise in a dedicated practice."

"You're actually considering this?" Y/N asked, surprised by his openness to Seungkwan's meddling.

"I'm considering many possibilities," Minghao clarified. "Including professional collaboration that extends beyond our current project." After a pause, he added more quietly, "If that's something you might be interested in exploring."

Before Y/N could respond, Seungkwan clapped his hands delightedly. "See? It's practically decided! Jun, they're discussing the studio concept! Operation Architecture Romance is advancing to phase three!"

"We have phases?" Y/N asked, alarmed.

"So many phases," Seungkwan confirmed cheerfully before hurrying off to update Jun on this development.

Left momentarily alone despite the bustling celebration around them, Y/N turned to Minghao. "Are we really discussing a joint studio?"

"We're discussing possibilities," Minghao clarified. "No commitment, just... consideration of potential futures."

The careful way he framed it—open but not pressuring—was so characteristic of his approach to everything. Y/N found herself appreciating this thoughtfulness even as part of her marveled at how quickly her life had transformed.

"Three months ago, I would have laughed at the mere suggestion of working with you long-term," she admitted. "Now it seems like the most natural evolution imaginable."

"Evolution rather than revolution," Minghao observed. "Gradual integration of complementary elements."

"You make it sound so architectural," Y/N smiled.

"It's how I understand the world," he acknowledged. "Through spatial relationships and balanced tensions."

"And how do you understand us?" she asked, surprising herself with the directness of the question.

Minghao considered this with characteristic thoughtfulness. "As a harmonious counterpoint," he said finally. "Different melodies that create something more complex and beautiful together than either could alone."

The poetry of his answer caught Y/N off guard. For someone so reserved, Minghao occasionally revealed unexpected depth of feeling through carefully chosen words.

"That's beautiful," she said softly.

"It's accurate," he replied simply. "At least from my perspective."

Around them, their friends continued celebrating, occasional glances and smiles in their direction suggesting that their quiet conversation was not going unnoticed. Y/N found she didn't mind the attention as much as she might have expected. There was something affirming about having their connection witnessed and supported by people who mattered to them both.

"Whatever we decide professionally," Y/N said, returning to the question of their potential collaboration, "I know I want to continue what we've started personally. Despite how unexpected and occasionally inconvenient it might be."

"Inconvenient?" Minghao raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yes," Y/N laughed. "Do you know how often I have to hear Seungkwan say 'I told you so'? At least three times daily. And my entire professional identity was partly built on criticizing exactly the kind of development your family company represents. Plus, you're annoyingly particular about material selections and have opinions about literally every design element down to the smallest detail."

"All valid points," Minghao acknowledged, the hint of a smile playing around his lips. "Though I could note similar inconveniences—Jun's unbearable smugness, my uncle's disappointment, your stubborn insistence on prioritizing function even when aesthetic adjustments would create negligible efficiency impacts..."

"See? Completely impractical connection," Y/N concluded, her smile belying her words.

"And yet," Minghao said softly, taking her hand, "here we are."

"Here we are," Y/N agreed, feeling a sense of rightness that defied all her previous notions of compatibility. "Designing something neither of us planned but both of us need."

Six Months Later

Y/N adjusted the placement of the architectural model on the display table, stepping back to assess its impact in the gallery lighting. Around her, staff made final preparations for the evening's exhibition opening—"Sustainable Harmony: New Directions in Urban Design."

The gallery space—a renovated industrial building with exposed brick walls and carefully preserved structural elements—provided the perfect backdrop for their first major presentation as partners in XYN Studio, the name they'd ultimately embraced despite Y/N's initial eye-rolling at Seungkwan's suggestion.

The past six months had been a whirlwind of change. The Hangang Riverfront project had received unanimous committee approval and was now under construction, with Y/N and Minghao serving as design consultants. Their joint studio had formed organically from their continued collaboration, gathering surprising momentum as clients sought their unique integration of sustainability and aesthetics.

And personally... Y/N smiled to herself, remembering the incredulous looks on her friends' faces when she'd casually mentioned moving in with Minghao just three months into their relationship. For someone who had always prided herself on careful planning and methodical decision-making, the speed of these developments should have been alarming. Instead, each step had felt like a natural progression, as if they were simply acknowledging what had already formed between them.

"Perfect," Minghao's voice came from behind her as he surveyed the model placement. "The lighting highlights the water elements exactly as we intended."

Y/N turned to find him carrying two cups of tea—oolong for himself, black with one sugar for her. The simple gesture of remembering her preference, as he had from their earliest collaboration, still touched her in unexpected ways.

"Nervous?" she asked, accepting the cup.

"Appropriately alert to the professional significance of the evening," he corrected, making her smile. Minghao rarely admitted to anything as unrefined as nervousness, though she'd learned to recognize the subtle signs—the slightly more precise adjustment of his cuffs, the extra moment spent considering his words.

"It's a beautiful exhibition," Y/N assured him, looking around at the carefully curated display of their work. "The perfect introduction of XYN Studio to the wider design community."

Their exhibition showcased a series of urban interventions—some completed, others conceptual—that demonstrated their shared vision. Each project balanced environmental innovation with cultural and aesthetic excellence, creating spaces that served both planet and people with equal consideration.

"Your parents are coming tonight?" Minghao asked, a hint of that not-nervousness in his voice.

"Yes," Y/N confirmed. "They're excited to finally meet you properly. My father has read every article about your departure from XM at least twice. He's fascinated by your professional evolution."

"And your criticism of my family's company?" Minghao asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Also fascinated by that," Y/N admitted with a laugh. "He finds our entire relationship 'conceptually intriguing,' which is high praise from an environmental engineering professor."

"And your uncle?" she asked in return. "Any change in his position?"

Minghao's expression grew more thoughtful. "Some. The success of the river project has made him reconsider certain assumptions. He's even incorporated some sustainability elements into recent XM developments—though more as marketing strategy than core principle."

"Progress nonetheless," Y/N observed.

"Incremental change," Minghao agreed. "Sometimes that's how transformation happens—not through dramatic rejection but gradual integration of new ideas."

The philosophy could have applied equally to their personal journey—from professional adversaries to reluctant collaborators to partners in every sense. Not a sudden conversion but a gradual recognition of complementary values beneath seemingly opposed approaches.

Their moment of reflection was interrupted by the arrival of familiar voices—their friends coming early to preview the exhibition before the official opening.

"It's MAGNIFICENT!" Seungkwan declared before he'd even fully entered the gallery, Jeonghan and Woozi following with more moderate but equally supportive expressions.

"Professional bias noted but appreciated," Y/N replied dryly as Seungkwan embraced her enthusiastically.

"No bias, only objective recognition of excellence," Seungkwan insisted. "Though I do take partial credit for facilitating the partnership that made this possible."

"How exactly did you facilitate it?" Woozi asked skeptically.

"Through strategic encouragement and creating opportunities for romance to blossom," Seungkwan explained grandly. "Also, I totally called it from day one."

"We all called it," Jeonghan corrected. "Some of us were just more vocal about it."

As they bantered, Jun, Mingyu, and Wonwoo arrived, completing what had become their merged circle of friends. The easy integration of their once-separate groups mirrored Y/N and Minghao's own blending of lives and practices—unexpected but surprisingly natural.

"The central concept is exceptionally well-articulated," Wonwoo observed as he studied one of the display boards. "The balance between innovation and accessibility is precisely calibrated."

"High praise from architecture's most discerning analyst," Jun translated for Y/N. "He stayed up all night reading your design manifesto and called it 'refreshingly substantive.'"

As their friends explored the exhibition, offering commentary and support in their various styles, Y/N found herself standing slightly apart with Minghao, observing the scene with shared appreciation.

"Did you ever imagine this?" she asked quietly. "When we were first forced to collaborate on the river project? That we'd end up here?"

"Never," Minghao admitted, his honesty one of the many things she'd come to value deeply. "I expected a difficult professional exercise that would ultimately remain a compromise between opposed visions. I never anticipated discovering such fundamental alignment beneath our surface differences."

"Nor did I," Y/N agreed. "I was so certain I understood exactly who you were and what you represented. Being wrong has never been so satisfying."

Minghao's expression softened into the smile that was still rare in professional settings but increasingly common in their private moments. "Perhaps that's the most valuable outcome of our collaboration—the recognition that initial judgments rarely capture the complexity of another person's perspective."

"That, and the truly exceptional architecture we create together," Y/N added with a grin.

"That too," Minghao acknowledged. "Though I maintain the personal discovery has been the more revolutionary development."

Before Y/N could respond, Seungkwan's voice rose above the general conversation. "Everyone! Attention please! Jun and I have an announcement!"

Y/N and Minghao exchanged wary glances, all too familiar with the creative chaos that tended to result from Seungkwan and Jun's collaborative ideas.

"As the self-appointed chroniclers of the greatest architectural love story of our generation," Seungkwan began dramatically, "Jun and I have created something special to commemorate this exhibition opening."

"We call it 'From Rivalry to Romance: The Architectural Journey of Y/N and Minghao,'" Jun continued, producing a tablet with a flourish. "A digital scrapbook documenting your transformation from enemies to partners."

"You did not," Y/N said, horrified fascination in her voice.

"We absolutely did," Seungkwan confirmed. "Complete with candid photos, overheard quotes, and a timeline of significant moments—including Y/N's legendary takedown of Minghao's Dongdaemun Plaza extension in Sustainable Design Quarterly, which we now recognize as sublimated attraction expressed through professional criticism."

"That was genuine criticism," Y/N protested, though she couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

"The glass curtain wall was legitimately problematic from an energy management perspective," Minghao agreed, surprising everyone by joining her defense.

"See? Still perfectly aligned in their architectural principles," Jun declared triumphantly. "True love."

As their friends gathered to view what promised to be an equally embarrassing and endearing documentation of their relationship, Y/N turned to Minghao. "Should we be concerned about this becoming public?"

"Definitely," Minghao replied, echoing their now-familiar exchange. But his expression remained calm, even quietly amused. "Though I find I'm less concerned about public perception than I once would have been."

It was true, Y/N realized. Both of them had grown more comfortable with the unconventional nature of their connection—professional rivals turned partners, environmental advocate and luxury developer finding common ground, opposites creating harmony rather than discord.

As the gallery began filling with exhibition guests—fellow architects, clients, critics, and friends—Y/N felt a moment of perspective on the journey that had brought them here. Not just the architectural achievements displayed around them, but the personal evolution that had made those achievements possible.

Later that evening, after successful introductions between families, enthusiastic reception of their work, and countless congratulations from colleagues, Y/N and Minghao finally found a quiet moment alone in the corner of the gallery.

"A successful launch," Minghao observed, his composed exterior barely hinting at the satisfaction she knew he felt.

"For the studio and the exhibition," Y/N agreed. "Though I could have done without Seungkwan and Jun's multimedia presentation of our 'architectural romance.'"

"It was surprisingly well-produced," Minghao noted with that hint of humor she'd come to treasure. "The timeline of our evolving design approach alongside our personal development showed genuine analytical thinking."

"Of course you would appreciate the organizational structure," Y/N laughed. "Even in embarrassing friend interventions, you find design elements to admire."

"Pattern recognition is fundamental to architectural thinking," Minghao replied solemnly, though his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Y/N studied him in the gallery lighting—the elegant lines of his profile, the careful precision of his movements, the subtle warmth in his expression that most people missed but she had learned to read fluently. All the elements that had once seemed to represent values opposed to her own now recognized as simply different expressions of shared principles.

"I love you," she said simply—a statement they'd exchanged privately before but never in a professional context. "Not despite our differences but because of how they've helped us both grow."

Minghao's expression softened in the way reserved only for her. "I love you too," he replied, his quiet voice carrying the depth of feeling he expressed more through actions than words. "You've changed how I see everything—architecture, sustainability, purpose, balance. It's been the most valuable revelation of my career."

"Just your career?" Y/N teased gently.

"Of my life," Minghao amended, taking her hand with characteristic intentionality. "The most unexpected and essential discovery I never knew I needed to make."

Around them, their exhibition—the physical manifestation of their shared vision—drew appreciation from the design community that had once seen them as representatives of opposed approaches. Their friends and families mingled in unlikely but harmonious combination. And between them, something had formed that neither could have designed alone—a connection that balanced strength with vulnerability, principle with flexibility, certainty with growth.

Not a compromise between conflicting visions, but a new creation altogether—unexpected, challenging, and ultimately more beautiful than either could have imagined when they first faced each other across that conference room, certain they understood exactly who the other was and what they represented.

The most exquisite designs, they had both discovered, emerge not from perfect agreement but from productive tension—opposing forces finding balance to create something neither could achieve alone.

In architecture, and in love.

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20dollarlolita · 2 months ago

Text

Review: First Stop Cosplay's Lolita Patterns

So a while back I saw some patterns from a company called First Stop Cosplay. I asked them if I could review their patterns (since the last time I reviewed a small pattern company they did not appreciate it) and they actually sent me some patterns for free.

I had a lot of fun making these. Unlike when I reviewed Cut/Sew, I ended up with actual lolita garments, didn't get confused by any steps, and actually had a lot of fun. And at no point did I have to make this face:

So, here's our reviews.

First Stop Cosplay isn't a EGL fashion company or even a fashion company at all. They're a cosplay pattern company that happened to make five different lolita fashion patterns. Their lolita options consist of a petticoat, some short bloomers, a capelet, and the blouse and skirt that I'm reviewing. I don't have any evidence that anyone in their team wears lolita regularly or outside of comic conventions, although that isn't inherently a negative thing.

First Stop Cosplay's entire goal is to make handmade cosplay inclusive and accessible to everyone. They do this by making patterns that are very simple, and that have instructions that are so detailed and easy that new sewists can follow along without a problem. Their normal women's size catalog includes 14 different size options. We're going to stick a pin in "inclusive for new sewists" and "inclusive for all sizes" because I'm going to come back to those points in a minute. The patterns are sold as a single size, and are a bit on the expensive side relative to their market. Printed versions of both the patterns I received would run $50, though they do have a lolita bundle option. They are currently discontinuing their paper patterns and going fully digital, and there is a slight discount for buying the digitial download instead. Unlike most digital download patterns, there is a sizeable gap time between when you buy the pattern and when you receive it. I bought some digital patterns from them yesterday afternoon, put in the activation codes, and am still waiting to actually receive my patterns. For comparison, I bought some digital patterns off Etsy yesterday and had them within minutes. They have an elaborate and non-automated anti-piracy system to make sure their patterns and instructions are protected from people who didn't buy them. I don't think they have quite the right balance of intellectual property protection vs customer convenience, but that's maybe just my opinion.

I do think that First Stop's prices are justified by how high quality their instructions are. They really do walk through every step, and I think that most people whose sewing knowledge is how to thread their sewing machine and sew a pillow would have enough prerequisite knowledge to make their skirt pattern. I think anyone who successfully made their skirt pattern could follow the blouse pattern and have at least most success. Basically, with a First Stop Cosplay pattern, you're not buying a sewing pattern. You're buying a how-to-sew tutorial that's tailored to make the item you want to make. They are offering genuinely the best indie patterns I've found on the market. I do respect that they want to keep these pattern instructions secure, and I do think I'd have been a little bit annoyed if I spent $50 on some patterns and then found out that all the expensive instructions that I bought the pattern for were just available for free online. However, I don't love that there's several days between when you receive the product and when you're allowed to actually use the product.

When you buy their pattern, you get a single size. This is an absolutely horrible idea that I know for a fact is costing them a lot of business and also is building up a reputation that their garments won't fit and therefore aren't safe to invest in and it's also actively working against their pledge to be size inclusive and inclusive to new sewists, but we'll go into that later. We don't need to lead with me going over the worst decision they've made and why it sucks.

(But, while we're on the subject of bad inclusivity, y'all need to fix the pop ups on your site. I'm over there grabbing screenshots and data and I'm also in hell because I have one pop up go OVER the second pop up every single time that I tab between different pages. There's a whole chunk of disabilities for whom this is an absolute accessibility nightmare. Also if both pop ups happen at the same time, the page can get scroll-locked and you have to refresh the page. I want to give you money so please don't make it hard for me to buy your product. I only need to X out of your newsletter pop up one time, I won't change my mind the 12th time I'm shown it)

Let's review the actual patterns now.

0024 Customizable Lolita Skirt:

This is a fun, basic rectangle skirt. It's got an interfaced, non-shirred waistband, with non-removable waist ties inserted at the side seams. I loved that the instructions included how to do the kind of tasks that most patterns just assume you would automatically do. Instead of, "transfer all markings," it will show you each marking and how to transfer it. Instead of "press seams as you sew," it will stop the instructions and tell you what to press and how to press it. In addition to helping out new people who don't have someone to teach them how to do these things, it's helpful for lazy sewists like me who tend to want to skip these steps.

This pattern comes with three PDF instruction files. The first is for how to cut the pattern, fuse the interfacing, and transfer all the markings. The second is all of the sewing instructions. The third one is the "bonus content," and is where the skirt gets its "customizable" name. Sadly, there's not as much bonus content for these skirts as I would really like. The instructions include different ways to sew on trim, like sewing the trim under the hem, sewing it on top of the hem, applying it to the skirt body, or applying it to the waistband. There's not any actual direction for how to select good lace or trim or how to apply it to make it look the most lolita. Again, they're cosplayers, so I won't fault them for not knowing lolita fashion the way that a lifestyler lolita would, but it did feel like a bit of a let-down. For a product with "customizable" in the name, I wanted some more options.

In terms of actual design, though, it's a pretty solid skirt. if I was to throw you RhodyGunn's lolita skirt tutorial and say, "just interface the waist band!" and you didn't feel confident making that with no help, this would be a really good skirt for you. I have three problems with it, which is actually a pretty small number of problems by my standards.

My skirt did not fit me, but that was my fault. I just ordered totally the wrong size, and didn't realize it until it was too late. I made it work just by using the waist ties to cinch it in tighter. I wanted to make the skirt again, and if I'd had multiple size options with my purchase then that wouldn't have been a problem. Instead, when I remade my skirt, I had to use my sewing patterning skills to fix it. That's not a huge problem for me, but it would be a huge problem for First Stop Cosplay's target audience.

I added a ruffle and a few lines of lace onto my skirt, because I don't want to put a lot of work into a skirt and then have it not be an actual lolita skirt. This is what it looked like before my customizations. Please note that my skirt is extra long due to me ordering like 2 sizes too large, as their longer sizes are longer than their smaller sizes.

My other critiques sum up to, "lolita isn't patterned like that" in a couple of cases. While skirts with suspenders are definitely a thing, I couldn't find any that tie at the shoulders. I know that this is probably a way to make sure that the straps will fit everyone, but I'd love to see a piece manufactured by any brand that would give inspiration about how to wear it. The other thing that's just not patterned like lolita garments is the waist ties.. It would be possible to replace the pattern piece with one that's actually lolita-shaped without modifying the instructions at all. If no one at First Stop wants to do a re-drawn waist tie, I'll do it and post it here, since I think the info would benefit the handmade community at large.

Lolita waist ties are very flared, which is how we get the cute waist bow, so pattern them like this next time and it'll be correct. I'm not saying this as a preference or a style choice, lolita waist ties are just shaped like this 85+% of the time.

As previously mentioned, I made each garment twice. On the second one, I re-patterned the waist tie, and then I just slapped a bunch of lace on the hem. It made a perfectly acceptable lolita skirt, in my opinion. Please note that, if I was a new sewist, I wouldn't have been able to make this skirt a second time, since I wouldn't have the skills to resize the waistband to fit me. In order to make this pattern for myself a second time, I would have needed to receive multiple sizes when I bought my pattern.

Blouse time.

FSCO Whimsical Lolita Blouse:

Button front, puff sleeve, peter pan collar blouse, two sleeve variations. I did not make the long sleeves because I live in Sacramento, which is one windy day apart from being in an air fryer.

I want to start by saying that I've officially made this blouse my favorite handmade lolita blouse pattern, and I'm going to make it in more colors and fabrics. I love how fast it comes together, and I love that a lot of really time-consuming techniques have a more simple technique instead. I like sewing fast and this feels good to sew fast.

However, this blouse suffers pretty badly from "close, but not quite," in the same way the waist ties are. Yes, lolita blouses can have flat roll peter pan collars, but they're usually not this size, or this shape, or sit this close to the neck. Yes, lolita blouses usually have puff sleeves, but they're shorter and puffier. These were super easy modifications for me to make, but again, it's not an easy modification for a new sewist to make. But these are adjustments that First Stop COULD make. They could adjust 2 pieces and one line of text in their instructions and have what would actually be the only good lolita blouse pattern aimed at the absolute beginner. These patterns are so close to being so good. Two pattern pieces and one line of text away from having THE lolita blouse pattern that we recommend to all the new kids.

To anyone making this blouse: if you don't want to make adjustments to the pattern, the collar more or less isn't going to read as lolita at the size it is at. I got around it by using some 3.5" gathered lace. That ended up being a pretty big lace, but you will need to put a ruffle or some wide gathered lace on the collar if you want to wear this as a lolita blouse. It would be nice for there to be instructions for that.

Just if anyone is curious, here's the changes the pattern needs to really read as lolita. Sleeve shorter and more volume at the hem, collar wider especially at the shoulders, neckline farther away from the actual neck. Change that and you're golden. The picture on the right is the collar in the pattern laid over the collar that I redrew.

My original blue blouse up there didn't fit me, and that was actually not my fault this time. I bought the right blouse for my bust size, as I was recommended to do. However, relative to their sizing, I have a smaller bust and a larger waist. This meant that a fitted blouse like this was too small in my waist. When I made my purple blouse, I just added 3/4 of an inch to each side seam and re-patterned the bust dart, but again, First Stop Cosplay's target audience does not know how to do that.

When you're selling a product, not posting a tutorial online or giving comments on a forum, but are actually selling a product for real money, it's your responsibility to give your customers the things that they need to succeed. That includes making sure that they have the info needed to make their pattern fit.

First Stop Cosplay is a really promising company, and I really enjoyed most of the process of their patterns. This is why I'm going to spend some time talking about the thing that's stopping people from buying and successfully completing their products, which is the thing that I think is going to kill this company and make them go out of business. First Stop, I really don't want. you to die, so I need you to listen:

The single size pattern thing is a problem. it stops new customers from choosing your product. it stops existing customers from being successful with your product. It stops you from completing your mission to be both ability-inclusive and size-inclusive. It's working against you to such an extreme that I'm stunned that no one in the company with the power to change this can see it.

In the 2.5 months that I've been working on this project, I've talked to a lot of people about your company. "I would buy from them, but I'm afraid I'm going to get the wrong size," was a common sentiment I got. "I won't buy from that company, because they're charging a lot of money for just one size," was another. It stopped ME from trying your company; if I had to buy these patterns out of pocket then I would not have reviewed them. This is because I, a very experienced sewist, didn't want to get the wrong pattern size--and i STILL GOT THE WRONG PATTERN SIZE, twice, even after being PERSONALLY GUIDED by an FSCO employee. How are other companies dealing with the problem of customers buying the wrong size of pattern? They're giving people multiple pattern sizes when they sell the pattern.

I will admit that it's beginner-friendly to not confuse your customer with nested pattern sizes. However, y'all are going digital, and it will cost you no more money or and more paper to just give separate PDFs for each size. You already have the PDFs. You're selling them separately. Just put them in a group. Then, you're still fulfilling your goal of not confusing your customer with multiple sizes, but you're also not trapping a beginner into a single size with no chance of correcting that mistake. When you're asking a beginner to pick their size before they're allowed to look at the pattern, you're potentially dooming their project before it starts. In my market research, I encountered two people who bought First Stop Cosplay patterns, followed them all the way to the end, used their limited time and their expensive fabric. They made cosplays that they were happy with and proud of...until they put them on, and then they didn't fit. That's a story that should not happen. And I get it, it's not super easy to help a beginner pick a size when you're not present to help and they don't totally know what they're doing. But you know what is a thing you can expect a beginner to do, that will make their finished product better and make their garment reflect positively on your company? Telling them to make a mockup before they use their expensive fabric. You don't need to know how to resize a pattern. You just need to know how to follow the basic mockup instructions and then try it on. Just like shopping at Walmart, if your mockup garment is too small, you make the size larger. If it's too big, you make the size smaller. This is also very newbie-inclusive because it introduces them to the steps they're going to follow so that they're more familiar with them. The fact that even one person did everything right and still wasn't able to get their working garment is a fact that you should be trying to figure out how to fix. When you're a small pattern company, your reputation of, "I made their stuff and it doesn't fit," is a very dangerous reputation.

Your product, as it is, is inclusive to all body sizes, but it's not at all inclusive to all body shapes. You offer one shape in all sizes, and then don't provide the information necessary to help people who are not that shape choose between sizes. The information provided for body measurement and for finished garment sizes are not complete enough to confidently choose what size will fit my shape. I understand that more information is confusing to newer people with less experience, but less information is denying people the opportunity to make things that fits. I can see two options for solutions for this, both of which will cost y'all no money. One is to have a supplementary page that has ALL the body measurements for each size. If you're making patterns 14 different sizes, someone in the company has a chart that shows inseam length and shoulder width for those sizes. Your main audience probably doesn't know what to do with that, but if that information isn't posted then no one can ask a more experiences sewist for how to use that info. The other solution is, wait for it, just give people more sizes when they buy the pattern. This means that, if I bought my blouse pattern based on my bust measurement like I thought I should, and then I see that waist measurement is more important for my specific shape, I am not stuck trying to modify a blouse pattern that won't fit me. Y'all already have all the sizes. Just put three of them in each download. Give people the tools they need to make your company look good. Because, right now, "we're inclusive of all sizes as long as you don't have an apron belly or narrow shoulders," is not a look that lines up with the values and mission that you posted on your site.

First Stop Cosplay recently had to downsize. You got rid of some of their staff. You closed their Discord. You're going to sell through their current stack of paper patterns and then go digital only. You're not currently producing new patterns. Who in your company is so tied up in the single size thing that they're willing to throw away new customers when you're already struggling? When you're selling a digital pattern, it doesn't cost you any more money or labor to include multiple patterns. You can sell multiple sizes of digital patterns without selling nested patterns. I don't know if it'd somehow have an additional cost associated with selling multiple patterns at once, but if it is, I recommend that you do whatever every successful pattern company selling multiple sizes of digital patterns is doing to stop that from costing money, because First Stop Cosplay is the only company I know of that seems to have that problem.

I don't know. It's not my company. I'm just one girl who made their patterns four times and did a couple of months of casual market research. Take my stuff with a grain of salt.

Anyway, here's how my full lolita set turned out. Took a total of three days and a $8 bedsheet set from Goodwill, lace was all from Cheeptrims so it was less than $1 per yard. Even with $50 worth of patterns, this is still cheaper than buying it anywhere, and I got the fun of making it. I had a really good time and I want to have a good time with this company in the future.

So please use the resources you have to solve your problems.

Good night.long post

#20dollarlolita #egl fashion #first stop cosplay #handmade lolita #egl community #cosplay community #handmade #handmade blouse #lolita blouse #lolita skirt #review #sweet lolita #classic lolita #20dollarcoordposts #sewing #long post #very long post #dash stretcher #your dash is going to be so stretched that its pants will never fit again

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natsaffection · 11 months ago

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STRAP SUCKING STRAP SUCKING STRAP SUCKING ‼️‼️

STRAP SUCKING FIC ‼️‼️

DOM!NATASHA

😉 love ya!

Suck it. | N.R

Warning: 18+! MINORS DNI!, Oral Fixation, Strap on sucking (r)

Word count: 1,6k

A/N: ui..

Natasha sat on the plush sofa, scrolling through her tablet, trying to focus on the intel she needed to review. But her attention kept drifting to you, lounging on the other end of the room. You were relaxed, nestled into the cushions with a tub of ice cream in your hand. The soft clink of the spoon against the container was the only sound breaking the silence. Natasha's sharp green eyes flickered over to you, watching as you took slow, deliberate bites of the dessert. The way your lips wrapped around the spoon had her pulse quickening despite herself.

You noticed her gaze, smirking inwardly. You knew exactly what you were doing. Natasha had a reputation for being tough, unyielding, but you knew the small things that could unravel her, bit by bit. And this little game with the ice cream? It was just too tempting not to play. Slowly, you dipped the spoon into the creamy vanilla, gathering a small bite, and brought it to your lips. But instead of taking it in immediately, you let your tongue trace the edge of the spoon, teasing the ice cream before finally savoring it. You saw Natasha's jaw tighten slightly out of the corner of your eye.

"You're such a slut.." Natasha muttered under her breath, the words meant more for herself than for you. She tried to return her attention to the tablet, but it was useless. The image of your teasing smile and the way your tongue played with the spoon was seared into her mind. You pretended not to hear her, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed your excitement. You dipped your spoon into the ice cream again, this time taking your time to lick it clean, glancing at Natasha with innocent eyes. "Mmm, this is so good, Nat.." you said softly, knowing full well that you were pushing her buttons.

Natasha’s patience was wearing thin. Her grip on the tablet tightened, and she set it down on the table with a little more force than necessary. She could feel the tension building, the struggle between her desire to maintain control and the overwhelming urge to do something about the way you were teasing her. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. In one swift motion, Natasha was on her feet and crossing the room towards you. Before you could react, she had the ice cream tub out of your hands and was pulling you up from the sofa. The next thing you knew, she was steering you towards the hallway, her hand firm on your wrist.

“H-Hey, my Ice-” you started, but the look in her eyes silenced you immediately. There was something fierce and almost predatory in her expression. “You wanted my attention, didn’t you?” Natasha’s voice was low, dangerous, sending a thrill down your spine. “Well, now you’ve got it. Let’s see how much you can take.”

Natasha's grip on your wrist was firm as she led you down the hall, her pace quick and purposeful. The door to her room clicked shut behind you, and you felt the air in the room shift—a palpable tension thickening between the two of you. Without saying a word, Natasha turned to face you, her eyes dark and intense.

“Knees.” she ordered, her voice low and commanding. You knew better than to hesitate. You dropped to your knees in front of her, your heart pounding in anticipation. The thrill of obedience, of surrendering to her, coursed through your veins. You didn’t dare look up, but you could feel her gaze burning into you, assessing, deciding what to do with you.

Natasha walked away for a moment, and you could hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of her getting ready. When she returned, you dared to glance up, and your breath caught in your throat. She stood before you, her toned body accentuated by the harness she now wore, the strapon jutting out, a silent promise of what was to come.

“Open..” Natasha commanded, her voice carrying that edge of authority you found impossible to resist. You parted your lips, obediently leaning forward as she guided the tip of the strapon to your mouth. Slowly, you began to suck on it, your tongue working over the surface, knowing this was exactly what she wanted. Natasha’s hand came to rest on the back of your head, guiding your movements as you took more of it into your mouth.

“That’s a good girl.” she murmured, a note of satisfaction in her tone. “You know your place.” Her praise sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. You closed your eyes, focusing on your task, taking her deeper, pushing yourself to please her. But Natasha was not one to make things easy. Just as you were settling into a rhythm, she pinched your nose shut with her fingers, cutting off your air.

You gasped around the strapon, your eyes flying open in surprise. The lack of air added a new layer of intensity to the act, and Natasha’s grin was wicked as she watched you struggle, her control over you absolute. “Look at you..” Natasha teased, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?”

You tried to nod, but with your nose pinched and her strapon filling your mouth, it was difficult to move. Natasha finally released your nose, allowing you a quick breath before pushing you back down, deeper this time. The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of her dominance and your own submission creating a heady mix that had your body trembling with need.

“Maybe I’ll let you breathe if you’re good enough.” she taunted, her hand tightening in your hair as she guided your head up and down, controlling the pace. “But if you’re not..well, you know what happens.” You whimpered around the strapon, the sound muffled but clear in its desperation. You knew you had no choice but to please her, to obey, or face the consequences of her displeasure. And as much as you loved this game, you knew that Natasha could push you to your limits, and beyond, if she chose to.

Natasha’s other hand trailed down to your chin, tilting your head up slightly so that your eyes met hers. The heat in her gaze was unmistakable, and it fueled your determination to do everything in your power to satisfy her. “Keep going, Y/n..” she urged, her voice softer now, almost encouraging. “Show me how much you want it.”

Natasha’s hand gripped your hair tighter, controlling your movements with precision. You could feel the weight of her dominance bearing down on you, each thrust a reminder of who held the power in this moment. “Deeper.” Natasha commanded, her voice a low, sultry whisper that sent a shiver through your entire body.

You did your best to comply, relaxing your throat and taking her as deeply as you could. The tip of the strapon pressed against the back of your throat, making you gag slightly. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. You knew better than to disappoint her.

“Good girl..” Natasha murmured, her tone laced with dark approval. She pushed in further, her hips moving in a steady rhythm now, forcing you to take her even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, but the praise in her voice drove you to continue, despite the gagging sounds escaping your throat.

Natasha watched you intently, her eyes blazing with satisfaction. She could see the struggle in your eyes, the way your breath hitched each time she thrust deeper. But she didn’t relent..instead, she seemed to take pleasure in your difficulty, knowing that you would push yourself to the brink to please her. “Come on, take it all.” she urged, her voice a husky command that sent waves of heat coursing through you. “I know you can do better than that.”

She thrust again, this time more forcefully, and you couldn’t suppress the gag that followed. The sound was raw, desperate, and it only seemed to fuel Natasha’s hunger. She leaned over you slightly, her grip on your hair tightening as she increased the pace, pushing you closer to your limits. “Don’t you dare pull away.” Natasha growled, her voice rough with need. “You’re going to take every inch, and you’re going to love it.”

You nodded as best you could, your throat burning, eyes watering, but you didn’t stop. The gagging noises grew louder, more intense, but Natasha showed no signs of easing up. Her thrusts became more insistent, each one pushing you further, testing how much you could handle. “Gagging like a desperate little slut..” Natasha teased, her voice dripping with cruel affection. “I knew you had it in you.”

She released her grip on your hair for a moment, bringing both hands to your face, holding your head in place as she pushed in one last time, the strapon going as deep as it could. You choked, tears spilling down your cheeks as you struggled to take it all, but the look in Natasha’s eyes kept you going. She was enjoying every second of your struggle, every gag, every tear. After what felt like an eternity, Natasha finally relented, pulling out just enough to let you catch your breath, but not enough to give you any real relief. She looked down at you, her thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek, her gaze softer now, but no less commanding.

“Good girl.” she whispered, her voice a mixture of praise and possession. “You did so well for me.” You gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to recover, but you knew that this was far from over. She let you catch your breath just enough before she moved her hips again, the strapon sliding back into your mouth. “Again.” Natasha ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And this time, don’t hold back. I want to hear you gag for me.”

#natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut

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toruskiii · 5 months ago

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BEEP BEEP! YOUR RIDE IS HERE!

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳."

Sypnosis: You ordered an Uber to get home— but something about your driver is… off. Not in a dangerous way, just weird. Genre: Fluff/Crack Characters: Blade, Boothill, Aventurine x gn!reader Warnings: NEVER let Boothill drive you around. Lots of reckless driving (keep your eyes on the road and follow traffic laws guys), Aventurine gambling addiction core, reader just gives up on Blade's part LMAO, a lot of cussing, this is pretty ooc😭 A/N: Heh...how long has it been since I last posted?! This has been rotting in my drafts for quite a while so take this as an apology [masterlist] [about me]

BOOTHILL

It’s well-known that Boothill has a reputation for stealing vehicles and disregarding traffic laws while he was in Penacony, so it’s safe to say he’s probably not the best Uber driver around.

But you were exhausted. Your feet were aching from walking around the city, and you were way too far from the train station. Besides, it was late, and at this point, calling an Uber seemed like your only option. You scroll through the app, frustration building as you realize there’s no one available to pick you up at this hour— except for one driver.

Boothill.

The name itself was odd, but you figured, why not give it a try?

That is, until you started reading the ratings and reviews. Now you’re regretting your decision and seriously considering texting your friends and family the car details, just in case.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 3 out of 5 stars. “A very odd fellow, and he almost got us both into a car crash!” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 2 out of 5 stars. “I was a drunk passenger, but honestly, I can’t tell if I was the one who was drunk or if it was him.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 0 out of 5 stars. “Does this guy even have a license? He’s seriously reckless! But I’ll admit, he managed to speed across the streets and get me to my destination on time, even though I was running late.” >Cyborg69 replied: "Oi, don't cha think I should get at least 3 stars for that?"

You barely have time to read another review when a sharp honk pulls you out of your thoughts.

Beep!

"Hey, you the one who ordered an Uber?" A rough, almost drawling voice calls out, and you look up to see a man with black-tipped bangs leaning out of his car window. In all honesty, he looks pretty decent— well, as decent as someone can look when you realize they’re not exactly human. Penacony really does attract the strangest people.

His fingers tap against the car door, a playful grin spreading across his face as he gestures toward the vehicle. "Hop in! Front or back, your choice." he says with a casual shrug. You pick the back seat, deciding it’s the safest bet.

As you settle into the car, you’re immediately hit by the sharp, almost overpowering scent of gasoline. It catches you off guard, and you can’t help but wince. He notices your expression in the rearview mirror and lets out a low chuckle, rolling down all the windows with a flick of his hand. "Heh, sorry ‘bout the smell. Kinda rushed to... ya know, grab some fuel."

If his ratings didn’t already make you second-guess this ride, the way he spoke just sealed the deal.

“Oh! Uh, that’s fine.” You force a smile, nervously buckling your seatbelt as he starts driving. At first, everything seems normal. You keep glancing at him through the rearview mirror, your eyes meeting his for a few seconds before he quickly looks away, whistling casually.

"Don’t hafta keep lookin' at me, sweetheart. I ain’t no danger." He flashes a smile, but it doesn’t do much to ease your nerves. "So, headin’ home?" he asks, and you nod slowly, giving him an address near your place for him to drop you off.

As the drive continues, your gaze shifts to the interior of the car, and you can’t help but feel a little weirded out by some of the decor. A heart-shaped pillow? Really? That didn’t exactly match the vibe you’d expect. And a bottle of perfume— one that definitely looked like it belonged to a woman. Maybe he just liked the scent, but still, it felt… odd. After all, men’s perfumes could be strange sometimes. Who wants to smell like wolf shit and pig ass anyway?

Then again, he did kind of fit that description.

Maybe he liked the scent of blood— because suddenly, he floors the accelerator, speeding down the highway, earning a chorus of honks from terrified drivers.

“woAH!” you shriek, the force slamming you back into your seat. Your hands instinctively grab the handle above the door, knuckles white as the car swerves dangerously.

“Oops, sorry.” His voice comes out nonchalantly, but there’s no trace of remorse on his face— just that stupid grin. “Hold on tight! These folks on the road are way too slow.” With a wild yell, he floors the gas again, pushing the car even faster.

At this point, you’re just praying that if the car flips, you’ll go down with it. You didn’t want to survive whatever mess would follow if he really did manage to send the car tumbling. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, and you scream again in pure horror, watching him laugh as he skillfully dodges every car in his path.

“What the actual FUCK are you doing?!” you scream, feeling your life flash before your eyes.

“I’m driving! What else am I doing? Taking a dookie?” he retorts with a scoff, eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror. You glance back, and your stomach drops: blue and red lights. Are there cops behind you?

“Uh, ignore the cops, darlin’.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Pretend this is just some free clubbing lights for ya.”

You panic, a fresh wave of terror rushing over you. "I don't want to fucking club!"

"Woah there, panic at the disco, heheh."

You don’t find his joke funny at all when he suddenly misses the turn to your house, and for a brief moment, you actually consider choking him out from the backseat just to make him stop. But then, something heavy falling in the car catches your eye.

Wait. Was that a gun? Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

He must’ve noticed your body stiffen in horror, because his free hand quickly rummages through his pockets. With a groan, he mutters, “Oh my Aeons— sorry, that’s my gun.” He clears his throat, and you can only deadpan at him, your mind racing. The reviews on his profile had to be way too generous. He didn’t deserve 0 stars. Hell, he should be banned, his license revoked, and his profile deleted.

But of course, he tries to reassure you. “Don’t worry, that’s, uh… a toy gun. For unruly passengers, ya know? Get it?” His sharp teeth flash in a grin, and you swear, for a split second, you see a glint of something dangerous. Then he curses some censored version of a swear word under his breath. “Ah, crap…I missed your turn.”

Yeah, you’re never booking an Uber again.

The car screeches as he whips it into a sharp U-turn, sending a cloud of smoke from the tires. You glance over to the police officer in the next lane— his bright blue eyes reflecting dim streetlights, a black-haired guy with an unreadable expression. But it’s the person sitting in the backseat that catches your attention. Two glowing golden eyes peer out from the window, face pressed against the glass.

“What the heck do they want from you?!” you scream, your body drenched in sweat as you grip the seat, heart racing.

Boothill shrugs nonchalantly. “Ehh... I dunno.”

Oh, he definitely knows.

He suddenly slams the brakes, and you slam forward, your face colliding with the back of his seat. Before you even have a chance to recover, you scramble out of the car, your breath ragged. But something catches your eye— there’s a pair of black heels in the backseat.

Wait. What?

“Think of this ride as, uh— on the house, ‘kay?” Boothill calls out from the window, giving you a thumbs-up with his metal fingers. You can barely catch your breath as you clutch your chest, your heart still racing.

“I’m kinda in a sticky situation— er…” His voice trails off as the sirens grow louder. He grunts, pulling the handbrake, but not before shouting at you as he slams the gas and speeds off.

“Remember to give me 5 stars on the Uber app!”

You stand frozen, staring in disbelief as his car disappears into the distance. Your mind is still reeling, trying to process what just happened, when the police car whips past you in a blur of lights and sirens. And then, you hear it— a panicked scream.

“HE’S DRIVING AWAY WITH HIMEKO’S CAR—"

AVENTURINE

After a long night of clubbing, you called an Uber, eager to escape the blinding lights and noise and head home. But what you didn’t expect was stepping into what felt more like another club than a car ride.

This didn’t feel like an Uber at all. The backseat was spacious, plush even, with a basket full of snacks— gum, chips, candy, just about anything you could imagine.

“Feel free to take whatever you want, yeah? It’s an accommodation,” a smooth voice drawls, and damn, you did not expect your Uber driver to be someone so... dazzling. A pretty blonde guy with striking purple and blue eyes, his gaze cool and calm. His cologne was strong but intoxicating, a heady mix of something sweet yet fresh.

"Are you sure I can take the snacks? No extra charge?" You raise an eyebrow, hesitating as you reach for a packet of chips.

"No extra charge," he repeats with a smirk, his hands casually gripping the wheel. He taps his fingers on the leather-covered steering wheel as he waits patiently for the car in front of him to move.

You mumble a quiet thanks before grabbing a few packets of chips and stuffing them into your bag, quickly buckling up your seatbelt. As you settle in, you start taking in your surroundings. One look at this guy, and it’s pretty obvious he’s loaded. The seats are unbelievably comfortable, and the extra touches in the snack basket are a little surprising. Alongside the chips, there are bottles of mineral water and other beverages, perfect if you’re parched. And judging by the brand of the snacks and drinks, it’s clear— this is first-class treatment. Something you’d expect to find on a luxury flight.

Suddenly, a tiny dice clatters against your leg. You freeze, slowly picking it up, unsure of what to make of it. He doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation, his grin widening as he speaks.

“Roll the dice,” he says, his tone playful. “The number you land on will decide where you’re going.”

You blink, completely caught off guard. “I’m sorry— what?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I just wanna go home, dude.” You hand the dice back to him awkwardly, hoping he’ll drop it.

He tuts, the sound almost childlike. “Ah, no, no, no. I offered you some wonderful snack choices, the least you could do is play along with my game.” He whines, like a petulant child, and you’re starting to feel uneasy. But there’s something about him that doesn’t scream dangerous— just weird. Definitely weird, like the one Uber driver you met last month.

“…And what is this about?” You furrow your brow, a little frustrated. “You’re an Uber driver, shouldn’t you listen to your customer on where they want to go?” You toss the dice back toward him.

“Please,” he suddenly pleads, slumping in his seat dramatically. “I have a gambling addiction.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing him cautiously. “What does that have to do with me?” You glance down at the dice now sitting in your palms.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, his eyes glazed over with a mix of frustration and longing. “My job banned me from going to casinos for a week,” he mutters. “So, I took this Uber job to kill time. The only way to salvage my boredom is to have my customers gamble for me.”

This Uber driver is definitely fucking weird.

“And what is your job, besides being an Uber driver...?” you ask, gulping slightly as you glance around his car, trying to pick up on any clues. His outfit, the decor, anything that might give you an idea of what’s going on.

“Well… I work for the IPC—”

“Okay, I get it now,” you quickly cut him off, your face twisting into an expression of judgment and unease. Those three letters were all you needed to hear. Of course, he worked for the IPC. All the people you've met affiliated with the IPC were just off. Like that strange Uber driver from last month? He was a huge IPC hater— and, oh yeah, he robbed a car. Then there was that girl you ran into last week, the one who casually introduced herself as an IPC worker. And trailing behind her? This bizarre creature that looked like an anteater... or a dolphin— you’re not even sure. You overheard it was her pet, but you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

"Hey," he sighs, sitting up straighter in the seat. You’re desperately hoping he’ll drop the dice nonsense and just start driving already, but he stays put, even though the car in front of you has been long gone.

"I know the IPC has a bad reputation," he says, "but I promise you I’m not that bad."

"Yeah... not that bad for a guy who has a price on the IPC’s head," you mutter under your breath, and you catch the flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Oh! Boothill?”

You instantly regret even saying anything.

“I bumped into that guy last week— well, more like he crashed into my car,” he continues, seemingly unphased by your discomfort. “At first, he apologized. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a gun on me and—”

Without thinking, you hurl the dice somewhere in the car, scramble to get out, and bolt for the door, heart racing.

"No tip???"

BLADE

It hadn’t even been five minutes in the car, and your driver was already chastising you.

"You're breathing too loudly in my car."

You freeze, immediately holding your breath, your hands clutched tightly in your lap. "I apologize—"

"Don’t talk."

You bite your lip, feeling your patience slip. Let me just fucking die then, I guess, you think, staring blankly out the window.

You glance over at the drawer in the car and notice a piece of paper peeking out. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you tug it out, only to find the words written in... lipstick?

“𝒲𝒽𝑜𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓴𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓀𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝑒. 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒!~"

What the hell? Why are all the drivers like this? You can't even begin to describe it anymore.

"If you're feeling afraid right now, I suggest you get off," his deep voice cuts through the silence, and without missing a beat, you nod— pushing open the door while he’s still driving and rolling out onto the pavement.

reader rn:

#i just realized I have not written anyone else besides these few characters omfg #originally this was going to have stelle and caelus but maybe next time #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fluff #blade x reader #aventurine x reader #boothill x reader #hsr boothill #hsr aventurine #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr imagines

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allthingsfangirl101 · 7 months ago

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Familiar Faces – Jake Seresin

I wasn't sure what was going on around here, but the training captain was fired two weeks before the pilots were supposed to go out on their mission. I'm not sure if I was a last resort or an eager replacement.

From what I know about Pete "Maverick" Phillips, he was a hell of a pilot but had some problems with authority. I reviewed his files and my heart was stuck in my throat as I read through the profiles of the pilots.

I spent too much time reading through Jake Seresin's file. He goes by "Hangman" now and has a reputation to match it. My mind wandered back to our last night together. How much we had to drink. How little we talked. How fast we lost our clothes.

I shook my head and shut his folder. I wasn't sure how he would respond to seeing me again. To be honest, I wasn't sure how I would respond to seeing him again.

When the time came to leave, I grabbed my stuff and headed to the car waiting for me outside. I ignored the nerves building the closest I got to the ship.

"Captain Y/L/N," someone said as I got out of the car. I looked up as they walked over to me.

"That's me," I nodded.

"Follow me," he said. I smiled as he took my bag from me.

The second we walked on board, I saw him. I held my breath, waiting for him to notice me. When he did, I forced myself to look away and not look back.

"Little Firefly," Jake Seresin smirked when I walked by him.

"Lieutenant Seresin," I nodded as I continued walking. I held back my eye roll when he jogged to catch up to me.

"What brings you here, Y/N? Did they finally transfer you here?"

"Not exactly," I mumbled.

"Captain Y/L/N!"

"Captain?" Jake stuttered as Admiral Soloman ran over to us.

"Admiral Soloman," I smiled, ignoring Jake's confusing look. "It's nice to meet you. Officially."

"It's wonderful to meet you," he chuckled, "but please, call me, Warlock."

It was then that Warlock noticed Hangman studying me. "You alright, Hangman?"

"Yeah," he stuttered, slowly looking away from me. "I mean, yes, sir. I'm fine."

"Alright," Admiral said with a small smirk on his face as he looked between the two of us. "Go round up the others. We have a lot to talk about."

"Yes, sir."

I finally looked at Jake, my heart instantly jumping into my throat the second we made eye contact. All those feelings I ignored during training hit me like a train. I tore my eyes away from him and tried to remind myself of the pain I felt.

"Captain Y/L/N, if you would follow me, there are some things I wanted to go through with you before you meet the rest of the team."

"Of course, sir."

After meeting the team, I was escorted to my quarters. I slowly started to unpack when there was a knock at the door. I turned around, my breath getting caught in my throat.

"It's a small world," Jake joked.

"It is," I said slowly. I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself.

"It's been a long time," he said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway.

"It has," I mumbled.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," I shrugged. "You?"

"Better now," he said, not-so-subtly checking me out. "I have to admit, Firefly, I'm looking forward to you giving me orders."

"Jake," I elongated his name in warning.

"Last time I saw you, you were leaving me in your dust," he teased. "If Maverick can't train us, you're the best option. You always were the best pilot. Fast decisions. Faster reactions. You always were fast. Then again, not always. . ."

"Jake!" I yelled, cutting him off. We stared at each other as I tried to debate what to do. Part of me wanted to catch up with him. Another part of me wanted to jump overboard. "You need to leave."

"Y/N," he sighed.

"Now, Jake," I said as I started to push him out of my room. "Go."

Once he was out, I turned around. I forced myself to focus on unpacking. Until. . .

"You left."

"What?" I turned around to see Jake still in the doorway.

"That night," Jake stuttered. "The night we. . . I woke up the next morning and you were gone. When I went into training later, they said you had transferred."

"Not exactly," I said, slightly clearing my throat.

"What do you mean?" Hangman asked, taking a hesitant step toward me.

"I wasn't transferred, Jake," I said crossing my arms over my chest and turning my attention to my feet. "I was deployed."

"Wait, what?" Hangman panicked. "Deployed?"

"They needed me," I mumbled.

"I guess I get it," he stuttered. "You had the best record. No one could beat you. Where did they send you?"

"It doesn't matter," I said a little too quickly. I looked up and saw nothing but worry in his eyes.

"Yes, it does," he gently pushed, closing the gap between us. "Where did you. . ."

"Please don't ask me," I cut him off. I closed my eyes, forcing the tears not to fall. "Because if you ask me, I'll answer and I don't want to bring those memories back."

My eyes were still closed when Jake pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist. Memories of the last time I saw him flooded my mind but it was better than memories of that deployment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered. "But you know, whatever happened over there, you can talk to me about it."

His honest offer to listen as I vented about the worst flight of my life was too much. I shook my head as I pulled out of our embrace and took a step away from him. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and looked away.

"Y/N," he sighed, trying to get my attention, "I know we ended things kind of awkwardly but. . ."

"Kind of," I mumbled. I looked back at him before continuing, "Jake, we got drunk and slept together. I knew I was shipping out the next day and. . ."

"Wait," Hangman cut me off. "You knew you were shipping off? What? Did you purposefully get drunk and sleep with me?"

"It wasn't as planned as that," I sighed. "I purposefully got drunk because I was nervous about where I was going and what they needed me to. . ." I cleared my throat before continuing. "I got drunk and you joined me. We were both drunk and didn't hold back. I didn't purposefully get you drunk and lure you to bed. Besides, it wasn't like it took much to get you into bed. I'm not sure how you feel, but I don't regret it. It was the one thing I wanted before. . . I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, Jake. And I didn't want to die without being with you. At least for one night."

Before I could overthink my response, Jake grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his chest. The second I was close to him, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. He let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms around my waist as our lips moved in sync. We broke apart, breathing heavily.

"I've missed you like crazy," he whispered with his nose pressed to mine. "That night we spent together is stuck in my head. I haven't forgotten it."

"Really?" I couldn't help but ask. "Here I was, thinking it was just another one-night stand for you."

"With you? Never." He smirked as he tightened his arms around my waist. He paused before adding, "Y/N, when I woke up and you weren't there, I have never felt so lost and confused. I searched for you but they told me you were transferred. I looked for you. For months. I didn't want it to be a one-night stand, Y/N. I wanted more."

"More?"

He leaned in and delicately pressed his lips to mine. Our lips moved in sync until I remembered where we were.

"Jake," I gasped, breaking the kiss. "We can't. . . Not here. . . We're at work."

"I just happen to have a place nearby," he smirked.

"Jake," I sighed, slightly pushing him off of me.

"I know. I know," he chuckled. "You're my superior. If we start something, we need to be careful."

"It's not that," I said, slightly clearing my throat.

"What is it?" Jake gently pushed.

"I'm trying to get the Admirals to hire Captain Mitchell back. He deserves his job back."

"Wait, what?"

"He does, Jake," I said quickly. "This is a dangerous mission. A really dangerous mission. And I don't have the experience. Well, I do but I can't be focused enough. Maverick can keep you. . ."

"Why can't you be focused?" He asked, cutting me off. "Because of me?"

"Partly," I said honestly. "But. . ."

"Y/N," he said my name softly. "Does this have to do with your mission? What happened?"

"It was really bad," I said, my voice breaking. "They wanted me. . . They needed me. . . They ordered me to bomb a training facility. I killed hundreds of innocent people!"

Jake pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me as I sobbed.

"You were following orders," he tried to comfort me. I shook my head and buried my face into his neck.

"I can't do it," I said through my sobs. "I can't send you on a mission that you might not come back from. I can't be responsible for your death too. I can't. I can't. I won't."

* * * * *

"Captain Y/L/N, might I have a word?"

"Of course, Captain Mitchell," I excused myself before following Maverick.

"I wanted to say thank you," he started. "Admiral Soloman told me that you stepped down and recommended they give me my job back."

"I did," I nodded as I folded my hands behind my back.

"I also understand that it's not because you couldn't take care of the team and train them," Maverick said. I glanced at him and saw the knowing look in his eyes. "I've read about your mission, Captain. I also know that you tried to refuse the mission. You didn't choose to bomb the center. You were ordered."

"That doesn't change the number of lives I ruined," I mumbled to myself.

"Captain," Maverick said after a little pause, "how did you get your call sign, Firefly?"

My heart flipped. I cleared my throat as I tried to figure out if I should tell him the truth.

"One of the pilots I trained with gave it to me," I said, dancing around the full story. "He used to say that he was always chasing me like little kids chase a firefly."

"Who is the pilot that gave it to you?" Maverick asked, the tone of his voice sounding like he already knew the answer.

"You say you've read about my mission," I sighed, tired of this facade, "which means you also know who I flew with before my assignment."

"Hangman."

"That's not what I called him," I said under my breath as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"What did you call him?"

I smiled as I answered, "Serendipity."

"Really?" Maverick asked, holding back his laugh. "Doesn't that word mean. . ."

"The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way," I recited the definition I knew too well. "Jake liked to believe that we called him Serendipity because it sounds close to his last name."

"Why did you give him that call sign?"

"He and I got to talking one night," I explained, "and the way he spoke about his life made it seem like it was a miracle. He used to believe he was, "a lucky bastard". His words. To me, Serendipity was a better call sign than Lucky Bastard. And now he's known as, Hangman because he leaves his fellow pilots hanging."

"Something tells me that he won't be like that now," Maverick chuckled.

"What do you mean?"

Before he could ask me, someone came jogging toward us.

"They're ready for your announcement, sir."

"Of course," Maverick nodded. He started to walk away but stopped. He turned back and answered, "He won't be Hangman with you here."

* * * * *

I stepped into the back of the room, my eyes instantly finding Jake. It was like he sensed I was there because he turned around almost instantly. He sent me a smile and a teasing wink. I rolled my eyes and made a spinning motion with my finger, telling him to turn back around.

As Admiral Soloman and Maverick walked into the room, the tension and mood in the room shifted. My eyes glanced back at Jake's head.

"It has been an honor flying with you," Maverick said. "Each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission. My choice is a reflection of that and nothing more."

"Choose your two Foxtrot teams," Admiral Simpson instructed.

"Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob."

"And your wingman," Admiral Beau added.

"Rooster."

My heart jumped into my throat as my eyes darted to Jake. I couldn't see his expression but I worried about what he would be thinking.

"The rest of you will stand by on the carrier for any reserve role that's required," Admiral Simpson instructed.

"Dismissed."

I waited to catch Jake's eyes as he left but he kept his head down. I quickly left, trying to find him. When I did, he was over by his plane. I held my breath as I walked up behind him.

"Are you okay?" I asked once I had found my voice. When he looked at me, it wasn't what I expected. I thought he'd be angry, but he wasn't.

"I am," he said with what looks like a smile on his face.

"Really?"

"Really," he nodded honestly. He grabbed my waist and pulled me into him.

"But I thought you'd be angry," I said under my breath.

"Why would I be angry?" He chuckled. "I get to stay on the boat. With you."

Part 2

#glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell imagines #top gun: Maverick #hangman #jake hangman fic #top gun hangman

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hellinistical · 2 months ago

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a review and analysis of the anecdotes needed for the new chapters, as well as being sprinkled with my own theories.

this will be a LONG post and will have MAJOR spoilers for ZAYNE AND SYLUS.

Covering Sylus's "Land of Lost" and Zayne's "Never-Ending Winter", and then for those that didn't read Zayne's "Thorns Under the Moon" in the Prologue to Tomorrow portion of the story.

Additionally, this would be a great thing to read if you dont wanna do the routes or whatever or if you're confused! I tried to break it down supppper deeply and organized it as best as i could. the formatting MAY be off but theres nothing I can do about that cause i literally just yoinked it from my google doc and its the same shit on the power point im doing LMFAO anyways. i also think this is good for people who struggle to write for them!

And finally, a review and analysis of the Timelock Key and the new four chapters will be out later. thanks for reading!

if you'd like to be tagged for the break down of that or future analysis, just comment ! if youd like to see more stuff of this, there's some character thoughts in my masterlist.

ANECDOTE COVERAGE: (scroll down for the route coverage)

Sylus, Land of Lost

0.1- High Alert

Myth v.s. Man, and distinguishing the two.

Sylus is introduced through reputation first, with a wanted poster, a myth, the most notorious criminal in Philos’s history. There is already a legend made about him that precedes who he is as a person.

“He was lucky” with his entrance just flips the myth backwards- no longer is it a metaphor, but it is real. Composed, sardonic, and in control. Sylus’s escape from the space-time prison may have altered or corrupted him. The mist could be a byproduct of that breach—something he brought back that now answers to him. (or has smth to do with his evol since we know that theres already a mist type thing when he uses it sometimes like in his entry in the main story)

The mist could be an ancient, banned technology, linked to the space-time prison’s interior environment. Sylus may have fused with it during his escape—he could be its host or conduit. It feels like it is smart.

There is a huge sense of moral ambiguity with this man. He isn't painted as a clear-cut villain or hero. He uses violence and manipulation (puppeteering with mist), but his actions seem directed toward a larger purpose—likely resistance or rebellion against the Overlord. That line “the Overlord’s luck has run out” implies Sylus is an agent of change or revenge, not chaos for its own sake. He’s driven by his own ideological preferences. And unlike Xavier, with them being like, parallels and directly combating each other, he is supposed to be an answer for tyranny.

Tone/Atmosphere

The story opens in a tight, claustrophobic, almost “noir-like” tone, where suspicion and tension hang thick even before Sylus appears- which makes sense due to the man being kind of perceived as a story to get kids to listen. The presence of seven checkpoints and grumbling deputies builds the sense that something oppressive looms—not just outside, but within the hierarchy of the world. (which we will continue to see throughout the anecdotes and even in the main story). “They scoured the galaxy for rare treasures—gifts for the Overlord's birthday.” This line is bureaucratic and akin to a ceremonial event, but keeping in line with it being dystopian, the wording having it be seemingly grandeur (what with the hunt), but it’s got that pettiness with the fatigue and suspicion. It’s basically bringing about a juxtaposition.

Dialogue/Subtext

The exchanges between the Deputy and Captain establish three things at once:

1. Philos, Feathers Star, the Overlord, the space-time prison.

2. The Deputy is brash, the Captain more informed—suggesting tension between age, rank, and experience. 3. Perception of Sylus: He's introduced as a legend, almost too big to be real. Which I’ve already said but yeah organization wooo

“That name rings a bell…”

“Most wanted criminal in Philos’s history…”

This exchange uses casual disbelief as a tool to lull the reader into a false sense of security before Sylus arrives. His later entrance undermines that skepticism with force.

World Breakdown

Regarding Feathers Star is treated like a capital node—likely a core planet in the Overlord's dominion. The description of the black diamond-shaped planet could be both literal and symbolic: a rare, harsh, precious place shaped by immense pressure. The overlord, of course, is seen as some kinda central figure in authority- not divine, just a ceremonial thing like a king. HOWEVER, the gifts do add some quasi-religious under tones. A cult.

The Overlord may not be a single person, but a figurehead position, used to stabilize control across multiple sectors. Alternatively, the Overlord is a god-king who may be immortal or technologically sustained. (Astra gonna get their ass whooped ong)

Cultural/Political Notes

Deputy- younger arrogance. The captain- institutional loyalty. Sylus might once have been a figure of authority himself—perhaps part of the regime—before becoming its greatest enemy. The empire turned him into a myth to discredit him while simultaneously fearing him.

Feathers star

Black diamonds- compressed carbon (basically a nod to Sylus’s unbreakable control), but the name is a contradiction as it has a stark contrast to it. Another note of a false utopia of some sort.

Back to the Mist

Ik I’m circling gimme a break. it seems emotionally responsive. Its grip tightens as the Captain speaks; it performs violence without Sylus moving. It could be a manifestation of Sylus’s will, semi-autonomous being, or linked to his nervous system/mind.

0.2-Absolute Suppression

Narrative Dissection

The opening imagery is something to take note of, I think: “The impact caused great fire, illuminating the night sky above Feathers Star’s capital.” The anecdote begins with cataclysm—a violent rupture of normalcy. It is literal (explosions, war) and metaphorical (the collapse of dominion, security, and identity).Feathers Star’s capital, once presumably secure, is lit up in unnatural illumination—a foreshadowing of Sylus’s reality-warping presence. The line recalls Biblical imagery: fire from the heavens, divine punishment, or a celestial revelation- him coming is a sign of the apocalypse(?).

The setting of the bunker is critical in that it is a contrast to Sylus; treasure and armouries show materialism and militarism, showing the hoarding nature of the overlord and his force (which is funny cause Sylus is now like that-) and Sylus bypasses with his own will and the symbolic dominance. The bunker is also a false sanctuary. Its doors were made to withstand “any assault”—yet Sylus’s mist enters without resistance, breaking natural and technological law. The contrast suggests that the Overlord has prepared for every kind of power except the kind Sylus brings: psychological inevitability.

The Throne

“Sylus sits on the Diamond Throne, crafted by the Overlord himself.” This is the heart of the scene, and arguably the anecdote. The Diamond Throne, a symbol of conquest and dominion, now becomes a seat of humiliation for its original maker. Sylus doesn’t fight for it—he sits. It’s the natural progression of his presence. The throne, being made by the Overlord, becomes his ultimate defeat—he built his own demise. This reads as mythic irony—the kind of punishment given to gods in Greek tragedy. His pride, his conquests, have led him here.

Power Structures/Philosophies

The Overlord

Represents rule through fear, violence, control. He conquered Diamond Star and turned it into a "cesspool of vice"—his strategy is corruption and enslavement.

His attitude during Sylus’s arrival shifts from bargaining to desperation. He uses humor (“You got the muscle, I got the goods”) as a shield, but it's transparent.

His final surrender (“Yes.”) is not a rational agreement, but a psychological collapse—possibly influenced by mist or Sylus's gaze.

Sylus

Sylus is not a looter, and not a tyrant. His words make this clear: “Unfortunately, none of the loot here will satiate my appetite.”

His objective is not wealth, nor vengeance in the usual sense. He’s after the soul of power itself—planetary control, cosmic realignment. Sylus embodies Absolute Suppression, but not through overwhelming force. He doesn’t destroy the Overlord; he converts him. He renders him obedient, slack-jawed, erased. The eye glow suggests a hypnotic or godlike power—possibly symbolic of omniscience or deep manipulation. This is not magic in the fantasy sense, but presence as pressure. ASIDE from it being an aether core i mean.

Thematic Significance

The mirror question- “Recognizing these gems so easily…Aren’t you just like me?” is a plea from the overlord to reclaim parity- asking Sylus to acknowledge SHARED identity. However, Sylus rejects this through inaction. Doesn’t even dignify it. Basically, this could be seen as “False Equivalence” in that the overlord thinks that plundering and ruling are the highest expressions of power. Sylus sees that as small. They’re insignificant in the presence of something higher—not through strength, but by scale of thought.

Stylistic/Symbolic Mechanics

Repetition of irony and role inversion:

The Overlord locks himself away for safety but dies (spiritually) there. His own identity (biometric data) is the key Sylus uses to enter. He rules through chaos, only to be undone by something quieter than chaos: stillness, presence, inevitability.

Red Carpet imagery:

“It’s as if a red carpet is being rolled out for an unexpected guest.” The “guest” doesn’t act like one because he’s already the master. This line reinforces the reversal of the collapse of ceremony to horror in that the throne room becomes the execution chamber (and yet no weapon was actually drawn).

The Broader Narrative Implications

This Is a Pattern: The Overlord is likely not the first. Sylus seems to move from system to system, leaving behind ruined rulers, empty palaces, and rewritten identities.

He May Be a Cosmic Reset: This isn’t about revenge—it’s entropy given form. The beginning of an unraveling. He wants planets, not for conquest, but perhaps for cleansing. (ala a safe place for him and mc and anyways he was looking for mc regardless at some point)

0.3- Mysterious Visitor

Power as performance- theater of control

This scene is drenched in spectacle—the ruined fortress being rebuilt, the choreographed arrival of gifts, the banquet, the sudden darkness, the birthday cake. Yet at its core, it is a meticulously staged humiliation. Sylus isn't just overpowering the Overlord militarily—he’s directing a psychological play where power is theatrical. The use of props like candles, chess pieces, and cake frosting laced with blood shifts control from brute force to emotional warfare.

This birthday is not a celebration. It’s an execution masked as ceremony, and Sylus is the puppeteer. His control over setting, pace, and tone renders everyone else impotent—especially the High Lords, who are stripped of their status by their powerlessness in the mist.

Chess being a metaphor for mind games

The repeated chess motif is important—Sylus doesn't just want military dominance; he wants intellectual supremacy. Every move on the board mirrors a manipulation in real life. Sylus letting the Overlord "win clarity" only during chess is a cruel gift—it shows he's fully aware of the Overlord’s mental fog and exploits it for his own amusement.

The demand to “round up to 100 spaceships” is more than greed—it’s numerical obsession, a perfect number that signifies control, closure, and perhaps a past offense. It subtly implies that Sylus is correcting an old imbalance with math (I think. Could be waffling).

Mind Control/Gaslighting (slayyy)

The Overlord is “stuck on his throne by the mist”—likely literal and metaphorical. He is lucid only during Sylus' chosen moments. This implies that Sylus has control over his consciousness, choosing when to grant and revoke awareness. The overlord is reduced to a puppet with flickers of sentience, which makes his pain all the more cruel—he remembers enough to beg. When he says “Please, spare me... I’ll give you anything…” it’s not desperation for mercy. It’s total surrender, the moment when power crumbles into pathetic bartering. The frosting—sweet on the outside, violent on the inside—perfectly captures the tone of this entire anecdote.

Sylus’s line, “Beasts don’t belong in cages”, is loaded. It indicates Sylus sees something morally corrupt in the Overlord’s methods—using violence for entertainment, caging living beings. This line alone humanizes Sylus, albeit slightly, hinting that while he, too, is violent, he sees himself as principled.

Mockery

The use of a candle—not just for light, but to blow up the armory—is poetic. It’s a literal spark of destruction masked as birthday celebration. Lighting it on the cake equates the entire banquet to a funeral pyre. When Sylus says “If this is our final celebration, we should make it unforgettable,” he knows he's orchestrating a legacy-killing moment. By forcing the Overlord to taste blood-sweet frosting, Sylus makes him consume his own humiliation. The knife isn’t plunged into the Overlord’s heart—it’s gently brought to his lips. That kind of violence is surgical, chilling, and psychological.

0.4- Out of Reach

Thematic depth

“Out of Reach” subtly but powerfully explores the theme of disillusionment and idealism fading under pressure. Myer still holds onto the fantasy of justice even as the older generation has learned to accept reality’s limits. The boss's line: “Kid, it’s good to dream,” is particularly poignant.

Bigger Boom Boom

The gift ship reveal ties beautifully to the previous chapter: Dozens of ships, compared to "years past," implies this year is different (duh). Myer’s horror at the pillaging reinforces the moral cost of the Overlord's birthday tribute—another way the Overlord is letting Sylus use him as a pawn.

0.5-Judgement of Fate

World Building and its revelations

Space‑Time Prison Brooch: The blood‑soaked brooch links Sylus’s escape from Philos to this massacre, implying a continuity of cosmic artifacts and a deepening conspiracy.

Basically, its supposed to act as a crescendo of destruction. Sylus’s waning power, mythical artifacts, and the dreams of mortal pursuers. It elegantly bridges the supernatural scale of Sylus with the human stakes embodied by Myer.

Zayne, Never-Ending Winter

0.1- Never-Ending Winter

Two World Ya Feel meeeee yessir

Zayne’s duality is central: he’s both a healer and a destroyer. His dream—a battlefield soaked in blood and silence—contrasts sharply with his waking role as a brilliant surgeon. His past is haunted, hinted by the imagery of him stepping over bodies and using dark crystals to kill. That supernatural or metaphorical moment isn’t just a dream—it’s a manifestation of guilt, perhaps from past trauma, war experience, or even literal supernatural powers in a sci-fi or fantasy setting. "These hands have mended heart valves and saved hearts. Yet for the past ten years, these same hands have ended countless lives in an endlessly repeating dream." It positions Zayne as someone who cannot separate who he was from who he is—even if society can.

Hypercompetence vs. Humanity

Zayne is shown to be immensely capable: he performs emergency open-chest CPR under chaotic conditions, something rarely successful in real life. But this scene isn’t just to prove his skills—it humanizes him. As sweat forms despite the cold, as his voice remains calm while everyone else panics, you can feel the burden of his excellence. His competence isolates him, but it also defines him.

Traumaaaa

Zayne cleaning bloodless hands with a disinfectant wipe shows that trauma lingers in muscle memory. He’s mentally living in both timelines—in the snow-covered battlefield of his past and the sterile, clinical present. (Like that thing that dawnbreaker dreams of everything our zayne does with mc and has no mc of his own but i suspect that dawnbreaker is the true zayne ANYWAYS-)

Thematic Significance!

The line between dream and memory is intentionally blurred. The boy in the snow may be real or symbolic—representing Zayne’s own innocence that was silenced, or a literal act from his past. That’s the horror: he doesn’t wake up screaming. He wakes up cleaning blood that isn’t there.

Redemption Through Service

Though tormented by his past, Zayne chooses medicine, rescue, and action. His decision to risk a high-failure surgery shows not just skill but a desperate need to save. It’s not just duty—it’s penance. (But meena, why would he be punishing himself? BECAUSE HE’S ASTRA YOU FOOLS- gets dragged away)

Body as the story

The repeated attention to hands, heartbeats, surgical motion, and even notebooks held close to the chest—all evoke how the body holds truth. There is no need for exposition when the reader can feel Zayne's internal struggle through how he moves and breathes. Infold makes it a point to mention his scars moreso than that of people like Rafayel. His scars are evident especially when he rolls his sleeves up.

Symbolism/Setting

The silence in the dream and the snowy landscape of Mt. Eternal mirror one another. Both are cold, quiet, suffocating. It creates a symbolic atmosphere where death feels natural, quiet, even expected. Mt. Eternal isn't just a location—it's a metaphor for enduring guilt, danger, and immovable pasts. "As the flurry of snow slowly dissipates, the foreboding Mt. Eternal comes into view." It’s telling that Zayne is being dropped back into this exact kind of environment—not only physically but psychologically.

False Daytime

The final scene where flash bombs illuminate the mountain “as bright as day” is metaphorical brilliance. It’s a false brightness. It mocks the idea of clarity and peace—Zayne is still in darkness, even if the snow is lit up. (womp womp sucka)

To compare- the boy in the snow

“There is only a shivering little boy. Zayne stands before him, his shadow looming across the boy's blood-covered face.” This is an image of absolute power imbalance. But Zayne doesn’t act—he simply raises his hand. The interruption of the dream here is haunting. We’re not shown what happens next. That ambiguity feeds the reader’s curiosity but also reinforces Zayne’s internal turmoil: what did he do? (THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS HIDING SMTH)

Emotional Tensions

Internally, Zayne’s stoicism is a mask. Underneath is exhaustion, dread, and a deep yearning to rewrite something irreversible. Externally, The narrative never lets him rest. Every reprieve—like a cold glass of water or a moment of peace—is shattered by new emergencies, new deaths, new reminders.

Deathly Encounter

Mt. Eternal is a character in itself- STAY WITH ME

The environment—snow-covered Mt. Eternal, the field ward, the constant presence of death and blood reflects Zaynes mental state. "The freezing air in his lungs wakes him." This line isn’t just physical. The cold is what brings clarity. He feels alive only when surrounded by death.

Emotional Arc

Zayne is a man collapsing inward. The external composure masks his internal unraveling. He’s too exhausted to dream, but even when he does, his dreams are haunted by death—and himself. He doesn’t remember when he last slept. He lies when he says he “just woke up” highlighting the disconnect from time and reality. Additionally, Zaynes dreams turn into visual allegories of guilt and failure.

“The Grim Reaper in his dream mocks him for his folly, futility, incompetence.” This dream is a direct representation of his inner critic. It manifests as himself in a white coat, standing still—accepting death. It’s a split between his idealistic self who wants to save everyone, and the realistic self who knows he can’t.

Recurring themes/motifs

Mortality/Futility being the central philosophical tension is: Is trying to save everyone noble, or naïve? Zayne carves a tally mark for every death, not to punish himself, but to remember. Each patient is not a number but a memory. This is his quiet rebellion against futility. (low key makes me think of the abyssal chaos story where they had people trapped in the computers) “Yet they still died.” “But he’s not planning to give up.” The tension between idealism and realism is the emotional centerpiece.

Role of Healer (Im a healer, but…)

Zayne was a battle medic in an active warzone. He’s a figure of stability, but also desperation. William’s dialogue was a BIG thing: “Zayne, it’s normal to want to save your energy since you just started here.” Because it implies that he’s new to this scale of trauma (level unlocked!)

Symbolism

Dark Crystals: In the dream, Zayne’s hands form dark crystals. This is a potent symbol; it could imply corruption of purpose, symbolizes how his intentions are becoming brittle, and ties into the mysterious evol system mentioned earlier.

The tally notebook is his tomb of remembrance, being a ritual to honor and in a way, an emotional ledger (#vent channel). Echoes Holocaust witness poetry, war memorials—personal documentation to make sure death doesn’t go unnoticed.

Determination

I cant lie dawg im getting tired anyways THEMES

Duty vs. Safety: Zayne’s conflict revolves around the tug-of-war between personal safety and public responsibility. He chooses self-sacrifice not out of recklessness but out of deep-seated obligation.

Mentorship/Legacy: His instructor represents both a parental and professional figure who wants to preserve life, not lose it to ideals. His plea isn’t just professional—it’s paternal.

Solidarity/Brotherhood: William’s final gesture is essential: it affirms that Zayne isn’t alone in his conviction. His acceptance into the special rescue unit isn’t just procedural—it’s spiritual, like a knight receiving his sword from a brother in arms.

Emotional resonance: "If he can't save everyone, then he'll go to the root of the problem and eliminate it."This is his core creed—heroism, not in glory, but in its raw, sacrificial form.

Zayne’s arc in this chapter follows the "Refusal of the Return" in the Hero's Journey model. He has crossed a threshold, faced conflict, and now is being offered a return to safety—but he refuses. Instead, he doubles down on his journey toward the unknown, because that is where his truth and usefulness lie.

Through Troubled Times

Mission Briefing/A will/

“Our mission is to find the center of the Protofield and eliminate it…” Idkw I added this it just seemed noteworthy. High-key lost my train of thought.

“I'll introduce you when we get back.” William’s question is poignant. Wills represent anticipated death, and his curiosity about Zayne’s "emotional anchor" peels at the shell around Zayne. Zayne deflects, classic repression. But William’s line “I’ll introduce you when we get back” adds human stakes. It’s a quiet but powerful emotional tether to the idea of life after this. “Didn’t expect ‘getting back’ to become an unobtainable luxury.”

Lil notes

He needs immense therapy.

A Long Way Home

More mission stuff

The team’s technical precision and logistical readiness (detailed callouts like "Metaflux barrier test initiated") contrast heavily with the chaos that follows. The structure dissolves into survival, loss, and raw willpower. This showcases the brutal unpredictability of war—even the most meticulous planning can be undone by uncontrollable variables.

Zaynes character development

Self-Sacrifice: He freezes his own legs to stay upright—a brutal metaphor for using your pain to maintain control. His decision to face the Wanderers alone reflects both his guilt (stemming from his past) and his relentless need to redeem himself by saving others.

The moment of peace in the line “can we go back” is heart-wrenching in its simplicity. It acknowledges survival—but also the emotional release Zayne experiences for the first time in the narrative. Sunlight here is not just weather—it's the return of hope, warmth, and clarity after the suffocating cold of war and grief. The “frozen apocalypse of dreams” not becoming reality ties directly back to Zayne’s trauma and internal war. It's a powerful resolution… until it isn’t.

Plot twist, with other notes

William and his lil contamination. The blue crystals appearing on William signal Protofield corruption—a slow death or transformation, possibly into a Wanderer. Zayne's inability to speak is telling. For a man so controlled and emotionally locked down, this moment breaks him. It’s the fear of failing again, of not being able to save the person he cares for most.

Protofield energy, like trauma, doesn’t kill instantly—it spreads, it infects, it lingers. William’s final scene reinforces that not all wounds bleed—some glow.

The title is deceptive (just like the size of my dick)

Home for zayne is a state where guilt is no longer defining him, a place where people can stay safe, and where the past isnt actively poisoning the present.

The Nightmare Worsens

Immediate tragedy

The core of this chapter is the horrific transformation and death of William, Zayne’s close friend and comrade. William becomes infected by black crystals—possibly remnants of the destroyed Protofield or something even older—that violently mutate and consume his body. The transformation is grotesque, agonizing, and irreversible. The core of this chapter is the horrific transformation and death of William, Zayne’s close friend and comrade. William becomes infected by black crystals—possibly remnants of the destroyed Protofield or something even older—that violently mutate and consume his body. The transformation is grotesque, agonizing, and irreversible.

There is NO noble death. It’s just decay.

Post-trauma (the time-skip)

Three years later, Zayne is a doctor, seemingly functional, even celebrated for his Evol-assisted surgical breakthroughs. But the trauma has calcified inside him. He’s buried William’s memory—literally in a drawer, along with his own accolades. However, it is VERY clear that the past isn’t done with him.

Thematic Significance and Analysis

Corruption of Hope- Evol saves lives, but cannot stop death, and sometimes makes the suffering more unbearable. William’s line, “Life… can be terrifyingly ugly,” hits this theme hard.

Heroism vs. Mercy: Zayne's struggle represents the clash between heroic idealism (“I can save him”) and merciful pragmatism (“He’s already lost”). The tension breaks Zayne spiritually. The right choice is impossible. He doesn't kill William in cold blood—William dies by crystal-induced combustion—but that doesn’t absolve Zayne from the torment of not being able to grant mercy.

Memory being a burden: The theme of remembrance vs. repression comes through Zayne's drawer—an altar of sorts. He hides the awards like tombstones. And yet, he can’t move on. The story implies that the snow, the trauma, the ghosts—they never left him. The past isn’t past; it’s patient.

Fate Cycles and the Reaper: The closing lines paint a chilling picture: the Grim Reaper, once a metaphor for death and guilt, is now watching again. His eyes have reopened. Fate is cyclical, not linear. The crystals have returned, and so the nightmare isn’t over—it’s merely paused. This final image sets up a possible continuation, but even as a standalone, it says: There is no peace in survival—only the illusion of it. What happens to the hero who survives, not as a victor, but as the last one left? The title “The Nightmare Worsens” is both literal and existential. Not only does the crystal infection physically escalate, but Zayne's internal nightmare—the weight of loss, guilt, helplessness—deepens and metastasizes. And then it goes back to the crystals, which only appear again.

THORNS UNDER THE MOON/ ROUTE COVERAGE:

Zayne Being Dawnbreaker

Zayne being shaped to become Dawnbreaker is a burdened inheritance- it was GOING to happen regardless. It’s meant to represent sacrifice, redemption, and his universal purpose. It’s meant to display that this role is a cyclic pattern, potentially reincarnated or fated through time, especially if tied to Astra. Mind you, his whole transformation isn’t all about getting some big ol strong power up- its a metaphorically power up that relies more on the philosophical reasonings, whatever they may be.

Beta Protocurve/Linkon

Beta protocurve is more than a new enemy mechanic—it links directly to space manipulation, and in speculative fiction terms, that usually leads to dimensional anomalies, temporal dissonance, or void incursions.

Wanderers being attracted = Ever sowing chaos intentionally, to create another Metaflux rupture or open rift.

Basically this is implying that he is acting as a mythical anchor and it is almost evangelion-like in that emotional trauma and myther converge together.

Another Zayne arc

Ever’s plans to do their own empire using the aether-core enhanced wanderers, manipulating science, trauma, and fate. Their interest in MC is not casual—MC is central to their plan. (which we knew. duh)

Nodding back to when I said that zayne’s trauma is emotional and physical, it’s important to remember that with the reveal (that i am getting to) that his trauma is supposed to happen and is chronological. The nightmares are bleeding into prophecies. The guilt over William, the illusion MC, and the fear of Akso—this isn’t PTSD, it’s Foreseer-induced temporal insight. Remember: he does NOT want his fate, he accepts it out of necessity (cough he’s astra out of guilt and-)

Akso Hospital is used for premonitions

Akso isn't just a setpiece in Zayne’s dreams—it’s a future event he keeps reliving because he may be consciously or subconsciously temporally displaced. Foreseer’s voice suggests time isn't linear for him anymore. “When you and the world wake up,” implies a sealed-statis that could be him becoming a rift stabilizer- basically a living Dawnbreaker lock.

Zayne taking in the black ice → he absorbs chaos metastasis into himself.

He isn't killing the anomaly. He's hosting it, and that implies a toll—possibly one that alters him into Dawnbreaker or fractures his timeline permanently.

Doomed pairing

Zayne’s fear of losing MC and thinking he is a curse to her is what makes his arc tragic. He doesn’t fear death—he fears being the reason she suffers. When he says “Letting her in was a mistake,” he either means that letting her into his nightmare is dragging her into the pain or that letting her into his life like that means that their destinies are tied to HER destruction (NOT his).

However, this is a paradox: it's MC who grounds him. She keeps him sane, real, anchored. The cluster cracks when she is successful. Their soul resonance is literal and symbolic: she is his will to live.

Extrapolation

Zayne becomes Dawnbreaker not because of lineage—but because he takes the metaphysical weight onto himself. He might merge with Astra or be chosen by their essence. (or that ho IS astra).

Akso Hospital event becomes the catalyst where all timelines converge: MC, Ever’s scheme, Metaflux rupture, and Dawnbreaker's rebirth.

MC’s Healing Ability could be aether resonance-based, and her memory unlocking (via dream/future peeks) could mean she is also connected to Foreseer or even Astra in some unknown way. (NOT counting the myths, of course).

Zayne’s real curse isn't Dawnbreaker—it’s loving MC in a world where love leads to annihilation. Which. Imo that’s his own interpretation for the sake of romance but hey! Could be wrong.

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keehomania · 1 year ago

Text

business proposal (제안서) — kim seokjin (김석진)

✧.* 18+

a closer look reveals the hidden multitude of narcissists roaming freely across the earth. they moved through life as ordinary figures—doctors, lawyers—sharing the same vulnerability of human blood. yet, there lingered a belief in their superiority, an unspoken arrogance. among them, businessmen appeared to embody that conceit most profoundly.

kim enterprises had the value of 1.5 billion won. a leading technology firm specializing in cutting-edge ai solutions and smart home devices. founded on the principles of advancing human-technology synergy, the company designs state-of-the-art gadgets that seamlessly integrate with daily life. under the visionary leadership of kim seokjin, the president’s son, the company has gained a reputation for pushing boundaries and setting new industry standards. currently, it lies at the forefront of revolutionizing smart technology, with a diverse portfolio ranging from intelligent automation systems to next-generation personal assistants.

impressive, really. it'd have been much more impressive if he was as likeable as his company. he was a narcissist in the purest form, no matter how much he cared for the company and his employees. only because no care would amount to the kind he put into himself.

the company had been running smoothly under his care for nine years, as his father had fallen ill and was unable to sustain it on his own. he knew he was making the right decision when he deemed seokjin the next heir, the next in control. he was smart, charming, persuasive. he knew every corner and end of a business deal, how to tie the knots and when to cut off loose ends.

“kim, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. i must say, kim enterprises has been on our radar for quite some time.” seokjin shook his hand firmly, returning the smile. “the pleasure is mine, james. i've been following your company’s progress closely as well. it’s impressive how you’ve carved out a niche in ai development.”

james’s eyes lit up. “thank you. we’re particularly interested in your smart home integration systems. from what i understand, your latest model has seen a significant uptick in market share.” seokjin’s smile widened, “yes, our quantum series has been a game-changer. we’ve seen a 30% increase in market penetration over the past year. the integration of adaptive ai has really resonated with consumers, allowing for a more intuitive user experience.”

james nodded, clearly pleased. “exactly. that’s why we’re keen on a partnership. our research indicates that your technology complements our upcoming product line perfectly. what terms are you envisioning for this deal?” seokjin considered the question thoughtfully. “given the scope of the integration and the potential for cross-promotion, i’d suggest a revenue-sharing model. we propose a 60-40 split in favor of kim enterprises for the first two years. this would allow us to leverage your distribution network while providing you with a substantial stake in the revenue generated.”

james raised an eyebrow, thoughtful. “that’s a fair proposition. but considering the development and marketing costs, how about adjusting the split to 50-50 initially, with a performance-based adjustment thereafter?” seokjin weighed the offer, then nodded. “i see your point. let’s compromise at 55-45, with a performance review after the first year to reassess the terms. we can draft a detailed agreement to reflect this.”

james’s expression softened into one of admiration. “agreed. your understanding of both the technology and market dynamics is impressive, kim. it’s clear you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

seokjin’s eyes sparkled with resolve. “thank you, james. i believe in building partnerships that are beneficial for both sides. our goal is not just to expand our market presence but to also deliver exceptional value through innovative collaborations.” james raised his glass with a smile. “well said. i look forward to working with you. let’s toast to a successful partnership.”

he truly was a natural, he knew exactly what to say and how to say it. however, even if he was reluctant to admit it, he couldn't have done it on his own.

you navigated the room with a calm, poised demeanor, your sharp eyes scanning for any potential issues or tasks that needed attention. you approached seokjin with a subtle nod, a tablet in hand. he acknowledged the gesture, his eyes flickering with appreciation. “i’ve just received the finalized draft of the agreement,” you said quietly, sliding the tablet over to him. “i made sure to include the revised revenue split and the performance review clause you discussed with james.”

he glanced at the document, his expression approving. “perfect timing. you’ve captured all the necessary details. thanks for handling this so efficiently.” james, intrigued, looked at you. “i must say, it’s clear that you play a crucial role in ensuring everything runs smoothly. your attention to detail must be invaluable.”

you smiled modestly. “thank you, james. it’s my job to make sure that the priorities are met and that every aspect of our deal is thoroughly managed. it’s a pleasure to contribute to the success of our partnerships.” as you stepped back, you made a quick call to coordinate a follow-up meeting with the legal team, ensuring that all paperwork would be processed without delay. your presence was a testament to the meticulous planning that underpinned seokjin's success.

although he was the brains behind the operation, you were the one that made sure the operation was in action. you coordinated all of his appointments and travel arrangements, handled all of his phone calls, drafted all of the reports and presentations, organized all of the meetings, supported all of the projects, and so much more. you were good at your job, and you loved it.

it was one of the many reasons why that same night, in the back of seokjin's limo, he had met your words with a look of horror displayed on his face. you remained stoic as you adjusted the hem of your dress, pushing your hair past your shoulder before meeting his gaze once more. “you want to quit?” you nodded in confirmation. the question itself held more shock than intended, but he couldn't help it. your announcement had put a dent in the night. you had been his left hand for exactly nine years and, out of the blue, you had announced that you were ready to leave the company.

the city lights blurred past the windows as you sat in the back of seokjin's sleek, black limousine. the leather seats were soft beneath you, but there was tension in the air that makes you sit a little straighter, hands folded tightly in your lap. seokjin was beside you, scrolling through his phone with a practiced ease, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind.

“it's personal,” you explained, trying to keep your tone even. “i have some matters in my life that need my full attention right now.” he stared at you, disbelief etched on his features. “after nine years? just like that?”

“i'm sorry,” you said, your heart aching with each word. “but it's something i have to do.” seokjin's jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. “if that's your decision, i won't stand in your way.” the rest of the ride passed in heavy silence, the atmosphere between you both laden with unspoken words and shared sorrow. you could only gaze at the fleeting cars through the window, oblivious to the hurt etched into what was supposed to be his stoic expression.

that night, he found himself tossing and turning in his grand, empty bed. sleep eluded him, chased away by a persistent nightmare. in it, he saw a woman with long, black hair, her back always turned to him. no matter how much he called out and cried, she never looked back, slipping further away with each step. he woke up in a cold sweat, the image of the woman haunting him. the clock beside his bed read that it was only four o'clock. frustrated and unsettled, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the sense of impending loss.

the following morning, he stood in front of the mirror in his expansive bedroom, the morning light filtering through the curtains. his shirt was buttoned, but his tie lies undone around his neck. he waited, as he always did, for you. when you arrived, your expression was composed, professional. "good morning, vice chairman."

he nodded, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror. “morning, secretary (y/n).” you stepped forward, deftly tying his tie with practiced hands, the sound of your name stinging more than necessary. the proximity, once a simple part of your routine, now felt charged with the weight of your impending departure.

he gazed at himself in the mirror, his ego surfacing as a way to mask his vulnerability. “do you see that? the beauty?” you glanced at the mirror, assuming he meant the sunlight casting a golden glow across the room. “yes, the sunrise is beautiful.” a faint smirk touched his lips. “no, not the sunrise. me. my aura.”

you suppressed a sigh, knowing that it was nothing but the the standard for him. “yes, very dazzling, vice chairman.” satisfied, he turned away from the mirror and straightened his suit jacket. “let's go. we have breakfast at my parents' house.”

the drive to the kim family estate was quiet, the earlier tension replaced by a heavy resignation. seokjin's family home was grand, an imposing structure surrounded by meticulously maintained gardens. inside, you were greeted by his mother, her warm smile a stark contrast to the austere demeanor of the chairman. “good morning, hyeon. (y/n), it's always a pleasure to see you.”

“good morning, mother,” seokjin replied, his tone polite yet distant. the chairman nodded at you both, his presence commanding respect. “let's eat.”

breakfast was a formal affair, the table laden with an array of traditional dishes. conversation was polite, centered around business and family matters. seokjin's parents were unaware of your decision to leave, and you caught seokjin's gaze more than once, a silent understanding passing between you. as the meal progressed, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. that world, so intertwined with his, had been your life for nearly a decade. leaving it behind wouldn't be easy.

breakfast ended, and the chairman suggested that he and his son retire to the study room for a private discussion. you followed his mother to the sitting room, where she invited you to join her for tea. she was a gracious host, her demeanor warm and inviting. “how have you been, sweetheart? it feels like forever since we had a proper chat,” she said, pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups.

you smiled, taking the offered cup. “i've been well, mrs. kim. thank you.” her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “tell me, what do you think about my hyeon? he talks about you often.”

you paused, considering your words carefully. you knew she was an older lady, so you didn't question the way she misnamed him. her memory had probably grown shabby. “he's an exceptional leader, very dedicated to his work. it's been an honor to work with him.” she nodded, her smile widening. “yes, he's always been very driven. but tell me, is my son seeing anyone? he never mentions these things to me.”

you shook your head. “despite all the girls around him, he's not dating anyone.” mrs. kim's eyes widened in horror. “he's not— gay, is he?”

you stifled a laugh, shaking your head again. “no, mrs. kim, he's not. he's just very focused on his work.” she sighed in relief, placing a hand over her heart. “thank goodness. it would be wonderful for him to finally get a girlfriend. he's not getting any younger, you know.” you couldn't help but wonder at her words. the idea of him with someone else felt oddly unsettling.

in the study room, seokjin's father, chairman kim, sat behind an imposing oak desk, his expression stern. “i heard a rumor, seokjin. (y/n) is quitting?” his jaw tightened, but he met his father's gaze steadily. “it's true. but i won't let it happen.”

chairman kim raised an eyebrow. “and how do you plan to stop it?” seokjin's voice was firm. “i'll find a way to convince her to stay. she's indispensable to me.”

a moment of silence passed before chairman kim's lips twitched into a faint smile. “are you dating her?” seokjin blinked, momentarily taken aback. “no, father, i'm not.”

the chairman feigned a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “oh, i feel faint. my son, the great seokjin, not dating his perfect secretary.” he rolled his eyes, a rare display of exasperation. “i've seen your medical records, father. you're perfectly healthy.”

chairman kim waved a dismissive hand. “you should do your father a favor and find a wife, give us grandchildren. it's time you settled down.” seokjin sighed, the weight of his father's words lingering. he had never been in a relationship, and neither had you. it was one of the reasons you knew you had to quit. your life revolved around your work, as did his. only, you weren't satisfied with that. it wasn't that he wasn't attracted to anybody, because he was, but nothing mattered more than his craft. he felt off about women touching him, in any case. it made him anxious, and brought up memories he fought to keep hidden.

you and seokjin departed for the office, the morning sun casting long shadows across the driveway as the car pulled away from the estate. the ride was initially silent, both of you lost in thought. he finally broke the silence, “what exactly did you mean by personal matters?” his tone was careful, almost hesitant.

you turned to him, offering a small smile. “i'm looking to settle down, vice chairman. i want to get married, have children.” he fell silent, the weight of your words settling over him. the rest of the ride to the office was steeped in an unusual quiet, your declaration hanging in the air like a specter.

upon arriving at the office, he moved through the halls in a daze. his usual commanding presence seemed diminished, his mind clearly elsewhere. he entered his office, finding his younger intern already there. “good morning, vice chairman,” jungkook greeted cheerfully, his youthful energy a contrast to seokjin's subdued demeanor.

he barely acknowledged him, slumping into his chair. jungkook, sensing something was off, leaned forward with a curious smile. “you look like you've seen a ghost. what's up?” seokjin rubbed his temples, sighing. “it's secretary (l/n). she wants to quit.”

jungkook raised an eyebrow. “oh? did you try offering her a promotion, bigger pay, fewer working hours?” he nodded in response. “i did. she dismissed it all. said she wants to settle down, get married, have children.”

jungkook's eyes twinkled with mischief. “and that shocked you?” seokjin glared at him, but his grin remained unshaken. “why does it bother you so much, vice chairman? do you like her more than just a secretary?” the question lingered in the air, met with silence. his mind raced, trying to comprehend why your decision affected him so deeply. he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy at the thought of you with someone else, starting a life that didn't include him.

jungkook leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “maybe it's time to ask yourself why her leaving matters so much to you.” he remained quiet, lost in thought. How could marriage and a family be more important than the bond you shared with him? the realization struck him hard—perhaps it wasn't just about losing an exceptional secretary. maybe, just maybe, it was about losing you.

a knock on the door disrupted the tense silence between the two men. you entered, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea and three cookies on the side, exactly how seokjin liked it. the aroma of the tea briefly lightened the atmosphere. he looked up, his expression softening momentarily at the sight of you. “thank you, secretary (l/n).”

you placed the tray on the table, pouring a cup of tea for him and setting it in on his desk. “i've sent out emails looking for a future secretary. one of the primary candidates is on her way.” jungkook observed the way his face twisted with hurt at your words. despite the pain evident in his eyes, seokjin maintained his composure. “join us while we wait for her.”

you nodded, taking a seat beside the young intern. the room fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock. seokjin sipped his tea, the familiar taste doing little to ease his troubled mind.

a few minutes later, the door opened, and a young woman entered. she had a bright, cheerful demeanor, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “hello, i'm jung keulgi. it's an honor to be here.” seokjin straightened, adopting his usual authoritative posture. “miss jung, are you ready to devote yourself to a perfect company?” she beamed. “absolutely! i'm very excited for this opportunity.”

you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the narcissistic question. “are you prepared to handle working for someone with an ego as big as the company?” keulgi sensed the underlying tension but maintained her cheerful facade. “i'm sure i'll manage.”

seokjin continued, his tone growing sharper. “will you stay devoted instead of quitting due to silly things like personal matters?” the tension in the room escalated. you snapped, unable to hold back any longer. “are you done, vice chairman?”

his eyes flashed with anger. “about as done as you are, secretary (l/n).” keulgi, clearly uncomfortable but trying to stay positive, interjected softly, “if you hire me, i'll do my best.”

seokjin didn't take his eyes off you as he replied, “you're hired.” as he turned to you, his voice was cold and demanding. “you have a month to turn her into your carbon copy. after that, do as you please.” the room fell silent once more as the weight of his words settled over you. keulgi glanced between you and him, her cheerful demeanor now tinged with apprehension.

he stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “that will be all for now. welcome to kim enterprises, miss jung.” she nodded, offering a hesitant smile. “thank you, vice chairman.”

as she left the room, you remained seated, the gravity of your situation sinking in. seokjin's harsh command echoed in your mind, a painful reminder of the rift that had formed between you. jungkook, sensing the need for a distraction, cleared his throat. “well, this is going to be interesting.”

seokjin shot him a glare. “you're dismissed, jungkook.” with a playful salute, he left the room, leaving you and him alone once more. the silence was heavy, filled with the unspoken emotions and unresolved tension. he finally broke the silence, his voice softer but still edged with hurt. “you can have the rest of the day off.”

you glanced up at him in disbelief, but you weren't willing to argue any further. all you could do was nod and bow before leaving the room. he was alone, once more. he couldn't do anything but watch as you left, gulping as if to hold himself back from calling out your name. you could train all the candidates in the world, yet it would never be the same.

you stood at your kitchen sink, washing the last of the dinner dishes as the sun set, casting a warm orange glow through the window. the evening was peaceful, the kind of tranquility you had been craving. as you dried your hands and prepared to head to bed, the sudden blare of a car horn startled you. peeking out the window, you saw seokjin standing next to his sleek black car, looking up at your house.

heart pounding with a mix of surprise and curiosity, you hurried outside. “vice chairman? is everything okay?” he shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. “no emergencies, secretary (l/n). i just needed to see you.” you frowned, puzzled. “at this hour? what's so urgent?”

his eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching. “are you serious about quitting to settle down?” you nodded, feeling a familiar pang of sadness. “i am. i'm ready to put all my attention on a relationship.”

his expression shifted, the gravity of your words sinking in. he took a deep breath, and then, to your astonishment, he did the unthinkable. he dropped to one knee and pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.

“marry me, secretary (l/n). i'm rich, handsome, and more than capable of giving you everything you want.” you stared at him, completely taken aback. his usual confidence seemed both reassuring and out of place in this moment. he continued, his voice earnest, almost pleading. “i'm perfect for you. accept my proposal.”

his words hung in the air as you tried to process what was happening. finally, you leaned in close, your face inches from his, and inhaled deeply. seokjin's heart stopped, anticipation flickering in his eyes. but instead of a kiss, you pulled back, your expression skeptical.

“are you drunk, vice chairman?” he blinked, clearly taken aback. “no, i'm sober. i'm serious.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “i believe you. but vice chairman, i don't want a perfect life with a perfect man. i just want to be with an ordinary guy from an ordinary family.” his face fell, his confident facade crumbling. “why not me? i'm perfect!”

you smiled, despite the annoyance of his narcissistic words clawing at your nerves, and you chose the easy way out. assuring him that he was nothing but flawless was the only way to get him to stop talking about it. “that's exactly why. you deserve someone who sees you that way, but it's not me.” the rejection hung heavy between you as you turned and walked back into your house, leaving him kneeling in the fading light.

the following day, he recounted the entire incident to jungkook, who listened with wide eyes. when he finally finished, the intern burst into laughter, unable to contain himself despite the glares from his boss.

“vice chairman, you can't just propose out of the blue like that, this isn't the eighteenth century,” jungkook said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

his frown deepened, but he couldn't argue with jungkook's logic. “so, what should i have done, then?” he shrugged, still grinning. “maybe start by asking her on a date? get to know her outside of work. build a relationship first. you can't skip straight to marriage, no matter how perfect you think you are.”

the elder mulled over his words, realizing the truth in them. he had acted impulsively, driven by a fear of losing you, but dating? he was actively unfamiliar with the entire thing. in fact, he thought it was pointless. nothing but a waste of time, but if it meant stopping you from quitting, maybe it was wasting time in the best way possible.

you sat in your office, typing away at your computer, but your mind kept drifting back to the previous night. the image of your boss on one knee, his earnest proposal, and your subsequent rejection played on a loop in your head. the weight of your decision and its implications loomed large.

“hey, (y/n),” a familiar voice broke through your thoughts. you looked up to see kim namjoon, the head of finances, standing at your desk. his expression was a mix of concern and curiosity. “is it true? are you really leaving?” you offered him a kind smile and nodded. “yes, namjoon. it's true.”

the news seemed to ripple through the office. baekhyun and sooyoung, who were nearby, immediately voiced their protests. “you can't be serious!” baekhyun exclaimed, his usually cheerful demeanor clouded with disappointment. sooyoung nodded vigorously. “yeah, you've been here forever! what are we going to do without you?”

keulgi, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. “i've heard so much about your amazing work. it's going to be hard to fill your shoes.” you felt a pang of guilt but tried to reassure them with a smile on your face. “we'll all stay in touch. it's not like i'm disappearing.”

sooyoung then brightened, a mischievous glint in her eye. “how about we have a dinner after work? to welcome keulgi and to honor your nine years of hard work.” you hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of your departure. but keulgi's encouraging smile swayed you. “come on, it would be nice.” with a reluctant smile, you agreed.

the moment was cut short as the door to the office opened and seokjin walked in. the room fell silent, all eyes turning to him. he let the silence hang for a moment before speaking, his gaze locked onto yours. “am i invited to this dinner as well?” the tension was palpable. baekhyun hesitated before responding, glancing around at the others. “of course, vice chairman. you're welcome to join us.”

seokjin's smile was tight as he nodded. “very well. i'll see you all there.” he left the room as suddenly as he had entered, leaving your heart heavy with unspoken emotions. namjoon broke the silence, his tone light but his words carrying weight. “is it just me, or did it suddenly get cold in here?” the others murmured their agreement, exchanging glances.

“i don't know what's going on,” baekhyun said, shaking his head. “but he's been awfully on edge lately.” you remained silent, the weight of your decision and seokjin's reaction pressing heavily on your mind. the upcoming dinner promised to be an eventful one, but you couldn't shake the feeling that it would also be pivotal in the worst way possible.

you stood in front of your mirror, giving yourself a once-over. you had opted for a casual outfit, perfect for the laid-back atmosphere of the local barbeque spot where your colleagues were hosting your farewell dinner. just as you were adjusting your hair, a loud honk interrupted your thoughts. curiosity piqued, you peered out the window to see none other than seokjin, leaning against his car, looking as out of place in your neighborhood as a peacock in a flock of pigeons.

you opened the window and leaned out. “what are you doing here?” he glanced up, a smirk playing on his lips. “i'm not here to propose again, if that's what you're worried about. i'm here to pick you up.” your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “why?”

“isn't it so ordinary of me to go with my coworkers?” he replied, clearly pleased with himself. you shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. “yes, well done, vice chairman. give me a minute.”

you grabbed your bag and headed downstairs. as you stepped outside, you noticed his attire—an expensive suit that screamed high-end fashion. you stifled a laugh, knowing he would stand out like a sore thumb at the spot you had all agreed on. nonetheless, you entertained his gesture and got into the car. the drive was filled with light conversation, mostly about work and the upcoming transition. despite the casual nature of the evening, you could sense his effort to blend in, which you found oddly endearing. when you arrived at the restaurant, the familiar scent of grilled meat and beer wafted through the air, making seokjin's face contort in mild disgust. you chuckled at his reaction. “welcome to the real world, vice chairman.”

inside, your colleagues greeted you warmly, their eyes widening in surprise when they saw their boss. he maintained his composure, though you could see his discomfort. at the table, he attempted to take charge. “what's everyone drinking?” he asked, clearly expecting a sophisticated answer. “perhaps an old variation of whisky?”

a stunned silence fell over the group, everyone staring at him in disbelief. you nervously laughed. “they only serve beer and soju here, vice chairman.” for a moment, you expected him to bristle at the lack of his preferred drink. instead, he stifled a sigh and nodded. “beer it is, then.”

as the evening progressed, you found yourself reminiscing. it had been nine years since you first joined kim enterprises, and you vividly remembered celebrating your first day in this very spot. you were drinking beer when a younger seokjin had approached you, his demeanor confident and slightly arrogant. “do you know who i am?” he'd asked, and you'd honestly had no clue. little did you know back then just how egotistical he was.

now, years later, you watched him attempt to navigate this ordinary setting. as the night wore on, you noticed the subtle signs of him getting tipsy. his cheeks flushed, his laughter louder and more uninhibited. eventually, you decided it was time to call it a night. “i think i should take him home,” you said, standing up.

your colleagues protested, but you promised to make it up to them. they relented, and you guided a slightly unsteady seokjin to his car. the drive to his house was quiet, his head leaning back against the seat, eyes half-closed.

when you arrived, you helped him inside, supporting his weight as you guided him to his bedroom. you gently eased him onto the bed, intending to leave as soon as he was settled. but just as you were about to turn away, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you down onto the bed. you fell on top of him, your faces inches apart. his eyes, though slightly glazed, held a seriousness that made your heart race. “pretty ordinary of me to get drunk off beer, right?” he slurred, a lazy smile on his lips. your breath caught in your throat. “yes, very ordinary.”

“thank you, secretary (l/n),” he mumbled, his eyes closing. he fell asleep almost instantly, his grip on your wrist loosening. you stayed there for a moment, your heart pounding, before carefully tucking him in. you watched him for a few seconds longer, your emotions a whirlwind. finally, you tore yourself away, quietly leaving his house and heading home, your mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings you couldn't quite name.

the following morning, you arrived at the office early, keen to begin the handover process with keulgi. the usual hustle and bustle of the workplace greeted you, but today there was an undercurrent of anticipation and anxiety. it was the beginning of your final month at kim enterprises, and you wanted to ensure everything transitioned smoothly.

as you were explaining the intricacies of the office dynamics to keulgi, seokjin entered, looking visibly worse for wear. he massaged his temples, clearly nursing a headache from the previous night. you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. you followed him into his office, where he promptly sank into his chair, wincing slightly.

“good morning, vice chairman,” you greeted, trying to keep your tone professional despite your concern. “morning,” he muttered, barely looking up.

despite your concern, you exited the office, re-joining keulgi in order to show her around. “so, these are the folders you'll need to keep track of—client files, project updates, and financial reports. everything is color-coded for easy access. emails are prioritized into high, medium, and low urgency. make sure to flag anything that needs immediate attention.”

she nodded, absorbing the information. “got it. and what about his schedule?” you handed her a tablet with his meticulously planned itinerary. “his schedule is very tight. make sure to coordinate with all department heads and external partners. he's very particular about his meetings being on time.”

as you continued the walkthrough, keulgi mentioned, “oh, by the way, i noticed one of the legs on his chair was falling apart, so i put it together with some cables.” your eyes widened in shock, “what kind of cables?”

“rubber cables,” she replied, confusion etched on her face at your reaction. your heart sank. without another word, you rushed into seokjin's office, your pulse racing. the sight that greeted you confirmed your worst fears. he was on the floor, shaking, his head in his hands, his entire demeanor shattered.

“vice chairman!” you cried out, rushing to his side. “i'm so sorry, she didn't know—” he didn't respond, his breathing erratic. you quickly reached for the chair and cut off the rubber cables. the moment they were gone, his shaking subsided, though his face remained pale and his expression haunted. keulgi, realizing the gravity of the situation, joined in the apologies, her voice frantic. ”i'm so sorry, vice chairman. i didn't know—“

seokjin's gaze was ice cold as he finally looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and something you couldn't quite place. “is this how you're carrying out your duties, secretary (l/n)?” you stood there, stunned and silent. the warmth and camaraderie of the previous night seemed like a distant memory. his words cut through you like a knife, and for the first time, you had no response.

seokjin struggled to his feet, regaining his composure with great effort. “leave,” he commanded quietly, the tension in his voice unmistakable. you and keulgi hurried out of the office, the weight of the incident heavy on your shoulders. outside, you tried to reassure her, but the shock of your boss's reaction lingered.

inside his office, he sat down once again, burying his face in his hands. he mentally cursed himself for his harsh words. his eyes fell on the rubber cables now discarded in the trash can, and a shudder ran through him. memories he'd fought to bury resurfaced, and he struggled to push them back down. the trauma, long kept at bay, clawed its way to the surface. he knew he had overreacted, and he hated himself for it. he had to apologize to you, but the thought of facing you after what had just happened seemed insurmountable. how could he explain the depth of his fear, the reason for his reaction? for now, he could only sit there, the remnants of his vulnerability on display, hoping he hadn't irrevocably damaged the fragile relationship he had with you.

he sat behind his expansive mahogany desk, its polished surface reflecting the ambient light filtering through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. the cityscape of seoul lay sprawled out behind him, but his attention was far from the view. instead, his eyes were unfocused, staring blankly at the stack of documents in front of him. his mind was elsewhere, fixated on the conversation he'd had with his intern just days ago.

jungkook, seated opposite to him with his laptop open, was discussing the final preparations for the launch of their new art gallery. the young intern's enthusiasm was palpable, his voice animated as he detailed the latest developments, the artists who had confirmed their participation, and the final touches needed for the grand opening. but despite his energetic briefing, seokjin's mind kept wandering back to a single, pivotal point in their earlier exchange.

“you can't just propose out of the blue,” jungkook had laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “you need to take it slow. ask her out on a date first.”

seokjin's usually sharp mind was dulled by the weight of those words. proposing had seemed like a logical solution to him. a clear, decisive action to keep you from leaving. but now, in the wake of jungkook's advice, he realized how absurd it must have seemed. how uncharacteristically rash and desperate. the thought of asking you out on a date, a simple date, felt strangely daunting.

“vice chairman? are you listening?” jungkook's voice cut through his reverie, pulling him back to the present. he blinked, forcing his attention back to his intern. “yes, jungkook. i'm listening. the gallery—” he trailed off, struggling to find the thread of their conversation.

he raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “the gallery launch is on track. but you don't seem very interested today. is something on your mind?” he sighed in response, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. he prided himself on his composed and unflappable demeanor, but today, he felt anything but. “it's nothing. just some personal matters, as some would say.” he couldn't bare to focus on the project at hand. no, in fact, he was ready to execute a project of his own.

the soft hum of conversation and clinking of cutlery filled the air as you and your friends settled into a cozy corner booth at a chic restaurant. the atmosphere was relaxed, with warm lighting and comfortable seating that made it perfect for a catch-up lunch. your girlfriends were animated and full of news, and you found yourself caught between genuine happiness for them and a pang of wistful longing.

one of your friends, jiho, was regaling the table with stories about her recent wedding. her eyes sparkled with joy as she described the ceremony, the heartfelt vows, and the beautiful reception. you smiled and applauded her enthusiasm, but inside, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. the idea of finding such happiness seemed elusive, and your heart ached slightly at the thought.

“you're going to love being married,” jiho said, her voice full of contentment. "it’s just wonderful." you nodded, offering a supportive smile. “i'm so happy for you, jiho. it sounds like it was a perfect day.”

as she continued sharing details, your other friend, minji, leaned in, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “speaking of perfect days,” she began, “i have something to tell you. my husband’s friend saw your profile on social media and, well, he’s been asking about you.”

your heart skipped a beat. minji's husband had been a close friend of yours for years, but you had no idea who the friend in question was. the idea of someone from his circle showing interest was both flattering and daunting. “what’s he like?” you asked cautiously. minji grinned. “he’s a nice guy, charming and successful. i think you’d get along. how about we set up a blind date?”

you hesitated. the idea of a blind date was daunting, but the prospect of meeting someone new, especially someone vetted by friends, was appealing. you glanced at your friends' eager faces and took a deep breath. “okay, i’ll do it.” minji clapped her hands excitedly. “great! i'll set it up and let you know the details.”

just as the conversation shifted to wedding anecdotes and dating possibilities, a cheerful waitress approached your table with a friendly smile. “excuse me, ladies,” she said. “we’re conducting a survey to improve our service and, in exchange, we’d like to offer you a free appetizer. would you be interested?” your friends, always up for a little extra perk, agreed enthusiastically, and you followed suit. the waitress handed over a clipboard with a short survey and left to fetch the appetizer.

thu looked over the questions with mild curiosity. the first asked, “ideal date spot with your significant other?” the second, “ideal activities with significant other?” and the last, “ideal gift given by significant other?” you answered thoughtfully, trying to balance your idealistic dreams with the reality of your current situation. as you finished filling out the survey and handed it back to the waitress, you felt a slight nagging sense of familiarity with the tone of the questions. they seemed familiarly bosay and demanding, almost like they were trying to gauge your relationship ideals with a hint of urgency. but you brushed off the feeling, focusing instead on the excitement of the impending blind date and the lively conversation with your friends.

in the dimly lit rec room of seokjin's luxurious house, the soft clack of pool balls punctuated the otherwise quiet evening. jungkook lounged on the leather sofa, his gaze fixed on him, who was confidently taking shots at the pool table with practiced ease. the game seemed to serve as a backdrop for their conversation, but jungkook's attention was focused on the stack of papers spread out on the coffee table.

“you did what?” his voice was a mix of incredulity and disbelief as he stared at the surveys before him. the questions and answers were neatly recorded on the forms, and jungkook couldn't believe what he was seeing. seokjin, with a proud smirk, took another shot, his movements graceful and deliberate. “i paid the restaurant to hand out those surveys,” he said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “i wanted to see what kind of answer i'd get. and now, i need you to find the one with her name on it.”

jungkook’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “you’re seriously crazy, this is way over the top.” ignoring the incredulous glares from his elder, he picked up the stack of surveys and began sifting through them. his hands moved quickly, flipping through each paper as he muttered under his breath. “this is insane. what are you trying to accomplish?”

seokjin, meanwhile, remained focused on his game, the smirk never leaving his face. his confidence was unwavering, but jungkook could sense a trace of anxious anticipation beneath the surface. after what felt like an eternity to him, he finally spotted the survey with your name. he held it up, slightly hesitant. “here it is. this is the one.”

his eyes lit up with a mixture of excitement and triumph. he rushed over, snatching the paper from his hands with a deft movement. his gaze was fixed on the survey, and as he read through your answers, his smirk broadened into a genuine, if somewhat smug, smile.

“how childish,” he remarked aloud, his voice laced with a blend of amusement and satisfaction. he began reading your responses aloud with a playful tone. “ideal date spot: an amusement park. ideal activities: rides, very charming. ideal gift: a teddy bear.” jungkook watched, his initial skepticism replaced by bemused curiosity. “seriously? you’re actually taking this seriously?” he had never been more serious.

the call came just after you wrapped up your brief lunch with your friends, the sound of seokjin’s voice crackling through the speaker, urgent and commanding. “you need to meet me immediately,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. he gave you the coordinates, and you found yourself driving across town with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. arriving at the amusement park, you were surprised to see it eerily quiet and closed for the night. you sat on a bench near the entrance, trying to piece together what he could have possibly wanted in such an unconventional setting. the minutes ticked by slowly until seokjin finally appeared, stepping out of the darkness with his usual confident stride.

“what’s going on?” you asked, rising from the bench to meet him. “why did you bring me here?” his eyes twinkled with a secretive glint. “we’re going to be here for the night. i have a ‘free pass,’ so to speak.”

you blinked, puzzled. “a free pass? but the park is closed.” seokjin simply smiled, taking your hand and leading you towards the entrance. “just follow me.”

as you walked through the empty park, the moonlight casting long shadows across the deserted grounds, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. he guided you to one of the rollercoasters, and despite your protests, he insisted on riding it first. the rollercoaster roared to life, and as you climbed higher and higher, your heart raced with a blend of thrill and terror. when the ride finally came to a stop, you were visibly shaken, your hands still gripping the safety bar as if it were your lifeline.

he turned to you, his face stoic but his eyes searching. “did you have fun?” you hesitated, your voice trembling. “it was fun, i guess.”

he raised an eyebrow, sensing your unease. “why do you seem so hesitant?” you sighed, feeling a bit embarrassed. “it was too scary. i wasn’t expecting it to be so intense.” he looked at you with a mixture of concern and amusement. “then why did you go on it?”

“because you asked me to,” you admitted. a smile curved his lips, and he quickly shifted gears. “alright then, let’s go on rides you want to enjoy.” your face lit up with relief and excitement. you led him towards the merry-go-round, and as the ride spun in gentle circles, you felt a wave of childhood nostalgia. you waved enthusiastically, feeling the pure joy of the moment. he watched you, his gaze softening as he took in your happiness.

the merry-go-round went around seven times, and as you disembarked, you couldn’t stop smiling. seokjin then guided you into the park’s restaurant. to your surprise, the place was completely empty.

“what’s all of this?” you asked, glancing around in awe. he shrugged casually. “i rented everything out for the night. consider it a going-away present.”

your heart fluttered at his gesture. “thank you, vice chairman.” he smiled, slicing a steak and placing it in front of you. as you dug into the meal, he glanced at you with genuine interest. “why did you enjoy the merry-go-round so much?”

you hesitated, then opened up. “it was one of my favorite rides as a child. i used to watch it from afar, because my parents never had the money to let me actually ride it.” hiw expression softened, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. “i'm sorry to hear that.”

the meal continued in a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional clinking of cutlery. after you finished, hw told you there was one more surprise. “just be patient,” he said with a hint of mischief in his eyes. curious, you followed him outside to a spot overlooking the sea. As you waited, the crackling sound of fireworks filled the air, bursting into vibrant colors against the night sky. your eyes widened with delight as you watched the display.

“isn’t it pretty?” you asked, turning to seokjin. his gaze was fixed on you, not the fireworks. “beautiful,” he replied, his voice low and sincere.

the car ride back was filled with a charged silence. as you stared out the window, a memory of the survey and its bossy tone flashed in your mind. you turned to Seokjin, your eyes wide with realization. he looked at you with a smug smile, clearly enjoying the surprise. before you could ask more, the car pulled up to your home. he exited and opened your door, handing you a large, stuffed teddy bear from the trunk. you were overwhelmed with gratitude and, in a moment of pure joy, you hugged your boss tightly.

to your astonishment, he hugged you back, his embrace warm and reassuring. as you pulled away, both of you were so close. too close for comfort. you knew better, stopping yourself as you glanced at the time. “it’s getting late,” you said softly. he nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. “good night. i'll see you in the morning.”

the morning sun streamed through your bedroom window, casting a gentle glow over the room as you prepared for another day at work. you had almost forgotten about the stuffed teddy bear seokjin had gifted you the night before. as you reached for it, something shifted inside its pocket. curiosity piqued, you reached in and pulled out a small, elegant box.

opening it carefully, you found a delicate silver necklace inside. the intricate design and glint of the metal took your breath away. you were momentarily stunned, not expecting such a thoughtful gift. after a moment of hesitation, you decided to keep the necklace. you slipped it into your pocket, planning to wear it later.

at the office, you settled at your desk, the necklace still weighing on your mind. as you worked, you fished it out of your pocket and admired it, the silver catching the light. unbeknownst to you, he was watching from his office across the hall. his gaze softened as he observed you, a small, admiring smile on his lips. the sight of you, glowing with a mix of wonder and appreciation, made him think how gorgeous you were.

you finished adjusting the necklace around your neck, and as you headed to the bathroom, your phone rang. it was minji, her voice excited and insistent. “hey, i was just wondering if you’re still up for that blind date with my friend today? i know it’s short notice, but he’s really looking forward to it!”

it took a moment for the reminder to hit you. the blind date slipped your mind amidst the whirlwind of yesterday’s events. you agreed, albeit with some reluctance. “sure, i’ll meet him. just let me know the details.” as you entered the bathroom, keulgi emerged from a stall behind you, startling you. she had apparently overheard your conversation.

“are you going on a date?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise and curiosity. caught off guard, you nodded, glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot. “yes, but please keep it quiet.” keulgi, ever enthusiastic, promised to keep it to herself. however, her enthusiasm got the better of her. as soon as you left the bathroom, she couldn't resist sharing the news with the rest of the office.

when you returned to your desk, the atmosphere in the office had noticeably shifted. colleagues whispered excitedly and shot you curious glances. the office buzzed with the news of your impending date. seokjin, who had been outside his office listening to the commotion, seethed with jealousy. his earlier soft smile had vanished, replaced by a scowl that betrayed his irritation. he paced back and forth, trying to control his frustration.

the excitement and chatter from your colleagues did nothing to ease his anger. his mind raced with thoughts of the date and the implications of your newfound interest. he couldn’t shake the feeling of possessiveness that gnawed at him, and the thought of someone else taking you out only fueled his frustration. the more he listened to the enthusiastic reactions of his staff, the more he felt his grip on his emotions slipping. he knew he needed to act, but he was caught between his pride and the undeniable feelings he had been trying to cast away.

the date began at a quaint, upscale café, where you met your blind date, taehyun. he greeted you with a polite smile and an amiable demeanor. as you made small talk, discussing interests and hobbies, taehyun seemed genuinely pleasant, though his compliments caught you off guard. “you look absolutely gorgeous tonight,” he said with a warm smile.

you blushed slightly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and surprise. “thank you,” you replied, attempting to refocus the conversation. as you chatted, you noticed that his tie was hanging loose and uneven. it irked you more than you expected, and you reached over to fix it, hoping to tidy up his appearance. he watched with a smile as you deftly adjusted the tie, clearly appreciative of the attention to detail.

just as you were about to continue the conversation, a loud, urgent yell interrupted the moment. “secretary (l/n)!”

you and taehyun both turned to see seokjin striding toward your table, his expression stormy and his eyes locked onto you with barely concealed anger. your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. “vice chairman?” you asked, confusion mingling with concern. “what’s going on?”

he stopped in front of your table, his demeanor tense. “i need to see you urgently,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering. you glanced at taehyun, apologetic. “i’m so sorry, it seems to be an emergency.”

you followed him outside, where he led you to his waiting car. the drive began in silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. the car came to a sudden stop in the middle of the road, and you turned to seokjin, your anxiety growing. “what’s the matter?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm despite the unease you felt.

his gaze was cold, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a stern, almost menacing composure. “never do that again,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of finality.

you frowned, confusion clouding your expression. “what do you mean? what did i do?” his eyes locked onto yours with intensity. “never let me see you with another man like that again.”

you didn’t respond immediately, and his jaw clenched as he seemed to wrestle with his emotions. finally, he added, “i don’t want to see you with anyone else. it’s not something i'm willing to accept.” the confession left you stunned. you stared at him, a mixture of surprise and realization dawning on you. the implications of his words were clear, and the protectiveness in his tone was undeniable. the car ride continued in silence, with the weight of his words lingering between you.

back at home, you went through your evening routine, attending to various tasks around the house. the day's events had left you both physically and emotionally drained. you found solace in a small ritual that had been a comforting presence throughout your life—your diary. sitting down at your desk, you pulled out the well-worn book, its pages filled with a mixture of memories, dreams, and sketches. as you flipped through the pages, you came across a series of drawings. they depicted a younger you and a boy, playing and laughing together. the accompanying writing read, “i miss you, brother.” the words tugged at your heart, and you felt a pang of sadness.

the drawings were a testament to a bond that had once been a central part of your life. as you closed the diary and set it aside, you felt the ache of missing something—or someone—important. the day’s events had stirred up memories you weren’t quite ready to confront.

later that night, as you drifted off to sleep, the familiar haze of dreams enveloped you. in your dream, you found yourself in a dimly lit basement, a place filled with shadows and echoes of the past. the little boy from your diary appeared, standing before you with a stern expression. you felt tears streaming down your cheeks, overwhelmed by a mixture of regret and longing. the boy began to scold you, his voice echoing with an authority that seemed to pierce through your sorrow. despite the scolding, you felt a deep sense of gratitude.

“thank you, kim soo—seo—” you started, trying to recall his name. but before you could finish, the boy cut you off with a tsk. “no, stupid. my name is kim seo—” the name was just on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite grasp it. the dream began to fade, and you woke up with a start, heart racing and breath uneven.

sitting up in bed, you felt the weight of the dream pressing on you. the name “kim seo” lingered in your mind, but it was elusive, slipping away before you could fully remember. the dream had left you with a deep sense of loss and confusion, and you were left grappling with the fragments of a memory that seemed to evade your grasp. as you lay back down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something significant you were missing, a connection that was just out of reach. the memory of the dream and the name echoed in your thoughts, haunting you as you tried to find solace in sleep once more.

seokjin arrived at work the following day with a heavy air of exhaustion surrounding him. he trudged through the office, his usual confident stride replaced by a sluggish, disoriented gait. as the morning wore on, it became increasingly clear that he was struggling to stay awake. his head bobbed with fatigue as he sat at his desk, his eyes slipping shut despite his efforts to remain alert.

concerned, you approached his desk, gently shaking his shoulder. “vice chairman, are you alright?” when there was no response, you shook him harder, your worry mounting. his body felt unnervingly heavy, and it became clear that he was deeply asleep, his breathing uneven. panic surged through you as you realized the severity of the situation. without hesitation, you grabbed your phone and dialed for emergency services.

the paramedics arrived swiftly, their professional demeanor a small comfort amidst the chaos. you watched anxiously as they wheeled him into the ambulance. your heart pounded in your chest, and despite knowing it was likely nothing serious, you refused to leave his side.

in the hospital, as the medics prepared him for further examination, they reassured you that his condition wasn’t critical. “he’s just exhausted,” one of the paramedics said. “it’s likely just severe fatigue. you can go in once we’re done.” when you were finally allowed in, he was still asleep, his face pale and drawn. you took a seat next to him, trying to steady your breathing as you buried your face in your hands. the sight of him, knocked out cold, was deeply unsettling. It reminded you of something from your past—something too familiar.

as you stared at him, your thoughts drifted back to the boy from the basement. the way he was unconscious on the floor when the lady had taken you—the same position, the same labored breathing, the same pale complexion. the memories came rushing back, painful and vivid. the name “kim seo” echoed in your mind, but it didn’t quite fit. then you remembered the boy’s full name, “kim seohyeon.” the realization came with a jolt. “kim seohyeon,” you whispered to yourself, the name feeling strangely natural as it rolled off your tongue.

your relief was fleeting, however, as a chilling thought struck you. seokjin’s mother had asked you not even a couple days ago, “what do you think about my hyeon?” it wasn’t just a fragment of a bad memory—it was a piece of a puzzle falling into place. hesitantly, you turned your gaze back to him, who remained motionless. your heart raced as you said, “kim seohyeon.” your voice was shaky, trembling with the weight of the revelation.

for a moment, the room was silent, and you felt a brief sense of relief as though your words had broken the tension. but then, he stirred, his eyes fluttering open. his gaze was bleary, and he blinked at you in confusion. “what is it?” your heart sank as you saw his groggy, disoriented expression. the name you had just spoken had clearly registered with him, but his response was laced with irritation and confusion. you were left grappling with the enormity of the realization that seokjin—kim seohyeon—was more deeply connected to your past than you had ever imagined.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions surging within you. “kim seohyeon,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you looked at seokjin. his eyes, which had been closed in exhaustion, flew open at the sound of his name. the shock and recognition dawned on his face as he fully grasped the situation. “it was you,” you said, your voice laden with disbelief.

your heart pounded as you pieced together the fragmented memories that had haunted you for so long. “i remember now,” you began, your voice quivering. “there was a boy—you were in the basement with me.” his expression shifted from confusion to horror as the realization sank in. “the dreams i’ve been having,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “a black-haired woman, a basement—i’ve been dreaming about it for weeks.”

the pieces began to fall into place for you. “the boy i kept searching for, the one i couldn’t remember clearly—it was you. we were together in that basement. i’ve been trying to find you all this time, but i didn’t know it was you.” the enormity of the realization hit you like a tidal wave, and you began to sob uncontrollably. you had spent your entire life searching for the boy from the basement, the boy whose memory had haunted you for years. to discover that he was right under your nose all along, that seokjin was the one you had been seeking—it was overwhelming.

the flood of emotions surged through you, and the connections you had been struggling to piece together suddenly fell into place. the cables, the fear, the strange sense of familiarity—all of it made sense now. the sobs wracked your body, and you felt a deep, raw anguish as you realized how close you had come to losing him without ever knowing.

his gaze softened as he watched your breakdown. his usual composure and egotism crumbled in the face of your distress. weakly, he reached out to you, his hand trembling slightly. “it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tender concern that was rare for him. “i’m here.” you hesitated for a moment, but then, seeking solace, you moved into his embrace. his arms wrapped around you, providing a comfort that felt both foreign and deeply familiar. you continued to cry, each sob a release of the pent-up fear and sorrow that had built up over the years. he held you close, his own breath shaky as he struggled to process the gravity of the situation. he stroked your hair gently, his touch soothing and steadying. the warmth of his embrace provided a sense of security that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

as your sobs began to subside, he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin so that you looked up at him. his eyes were filled with a mix of empathy and resolve. “you found me,” he said softly, his voice trembling with the weight of the moment. his words, though simple, carried a profound meaning. the realization that you had finally found him, the person you had been searching for, was both a relief and a heartbreak. in that moment, the intensity of your emotions reached a peak, and he leaned in, closing the gap between you.

his lips met yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, but quickly grew more passionate. it was a kiss that spoke of the pain, the longing, and the deep connection that had been forged through shared battles. you responded, kissing him back with equal fervor, allowing the years of separation and anguish to dissolve in the intensity of the moment. when the kiss finally broke, you both pulled back slightly, breathless and awestruck. the weight of the past had been acknowledged, and the connection between you was solidified in a way that was both profound and healing.

he looked into your eyes, his expression a mix of vulnerability and resolve. “we'll be okay,” he said softly, his voice filled with a newfound determination. you nodded, feeling a deep sense of relief and hope.

the weeks following the revelation passed in a strange, uncomfortable silence. despite the deep bond you and seokjin now shared, an unspoken tension lingered in the office. the connection between you had shifted, but neither of you quite knew how to bridge the gap between your past traumas and your present reality.

he had revealed to you the reason behind his name change to seokjin. his parents had insisted on the new identity as a protective measure, believing that if seohyeon no longer existed, the woman who had once terrorized him would never be able to find him. this revelation, while reassuring, had also created a chasm between you two that was hard to navigate.

one afternoon, as the silence in the office grew increasingly heavy, he called you into his office. his demeanor was serious as he gestured for you to take a seat. you entered, your heart racing slightly, unsure of what to expect. “thank you for coming,” he began, his voice steady but laced with an undertone of something you couldn’t quite place. “i need you to do something for me.” you straightened in your chair, adopting a professional tone. “what is it?”

seokjin looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. “i need you to be my girlfriend.” the words hung in the air between you, and you were momentarily stunned into silence. “what?” you managed to ask, your voice betraying your shock.

his gaze softened as he continued, his expression vulnerable. “i’ve been thinking a lot about us. after everything we’ve been through, i realized how much i care about you. i need you in my life, not just as my secretary, but as my girlfriend.”

his confession touched you deeply, and you felt a swell of emotion rise within you. “vice chairman” you began, struggling to find the right words. “i didn’t expect this.”

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “i know. it’s sudden, and i understand if you need time. but i wanted to be honest with you about how i feel.” the sincerity in his voice, combined with the gravity of his words, made your heart ache with a mix of relief and hope. you were touched by his honesty and the way he had finally allowed himself to be vulnerable with you.

he then leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more earnest. “there’s one more thing,” he said, his voice lowering. “i need you to kiss me.”

your eyes widened at his request. the gravity of the moment, coupled with your feelings for him, made your pulse race. you nodded slowly, feeling a surge of emotions—affection, longing, and a deep connection. you stood up and walked over to him, your heart pounding in your chest. his gaze followed you, his expression a mixture of anticipation and tenderness. as you reached him, you leaned in, closing the distance between you.

the kiss was tender, filled with the emotions you both had been holding back. It was a sweet, unspoken promise of a new beginning. he responded gently, his hands resting on your back as he deepened the kiss. when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your faces flushed with the intensity of the moment. he looked at you with a soft smile, his eyes reflecting the vulnerability and affection that had been building between you.

his voice was soft and teasing as he traced his fingers gently along your back. “this means you’ll be my girlfriend, doesn’t it?” the playful tone in his voice, combined with the tender touch, made you smile despite the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling. you nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and affection. “yes, it does.”

his eyes lit up with a genuine smile, his teasing demeanor giving way to something more heartfelt. “i’m glad to hear that. i’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time, but i didn’t know how.” you laughed softly, shaking your head. “you didn’t need to wait so long. i think we both knew how we felt about each other.”

his smile widened as he pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms encircling you with a sense of relief and contentment. “i guess it’s true,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “sometimes, the things you’re looking for are right in front of you.” they really were, as it seemed.

the next few days at work were marked by an underlying tension that neither of you could quite shake off. seokjin was noticeably less cold and demanding, a stark contrast to his previous demeanor. the change was subtle but significant. he found himself taking more interest in your presence, often waving at you from across the office with a grin that was almost boyish. each time you waved back, his smile would widen, and a look of genuine joy would light up his face.

the change didn’t go unnoticed by your colleagues, who observed the shift in seokjin’s behavior with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. however, no one dared to comment, respecting the unspoken agreement that something had clearly shifted in the office dynamics.

as the days passed, his new feelings for you started to manifest in ways he hadn’t anticipated. while he relished the sweetness of your new relationship, he found himself increasingly aware of the more physical aspects of your presence. he couldn’t ignore how his pulse quickened when he noticed the way your tight skirts accentuated your figure, or how the sight of your bare legs and hair pulled back made him sweat in the middle of meetings.

he tried to maintain his composure, but the intensity of his feelings became difficult to manage. his attempts to focus on work were often disrupted by thoughts of you, and he struggled to keep his desires in check.

one afternoon, unable to ignore his escalating emotions any longer, he called you into his office. his voice, usually commanding, now carried a hint of nervousness. “can you come in here for a moment?” you nodded, entering his office with a sense of anticipation. seokjin closed the door behind you and gestured for you to lock it. his eyes were intense as he watched you comply. he then moved to pull down the blinds, casting the room into a more private, dimly lit atmosphere.

“what’s going on?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern as you approached him. he looked at you with a mixture of longing and hesitation, his gaze fixed on yours. “i need you to understand something,” he said softly. “it’s not just about what we’ve been through, or about being together. i—”

he paused, taking a deep breath as he reached out to pull you closer. the seriousness in his eyes gave way to a softer, more vulnerable expression. “i need you to know how much i care about you. and right now, i can’t help but feel…”

before he could finish, he leaned in and kissed you. the kiss was different from before—less tender, more urgent and needy. it was filled with the intensity of emotions that had been building up inside him. you responded to the kiss, your own feelings mirroring his. the kiss deepened, and the world outside the office seemed to fade away as you both lost yourselves in the moment.

it was a kiss that spoke of months of unspoken yearning, a kiss that shattered the professional façade you had both so carefully maintained. his hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer. his other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your mouth as you kissed him deeper. his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting, exploring. you gasped, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

that was it. the moment you had both been waiting for, the moment that would change everything. you could feel the tension in the room, a tight coil winding tighter with every passing second. the sound of a zipper echoed through the room as seokjin stood, lifting you onto his desk. your legs wrapped around his waist, and you could feel his erection pressing against you, hot and insistent. your breath hitched as he kissed along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

he stepped back for a moment, looking into your eyes, searching for permission. you nodded, unable to form words, and he took that as his cue. his hands found the buttons of your blouse, deftly undoing them one by one. your bra was next, revealing your tits to his hungry gaze. He took one in his hand, squeezing gently, and your moan filled the room.

he leaned in, taking your nipple into his mouth. you arched your back, the sensation shooting straight to your core. he sucked, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, and your hips rolled against him. he groaned, his grip on your hip tightening. the anticipation was palpable as he reached for his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. you could see the need in them, the same need that was building within you. as he stepped closer, you felt his hardness pressing against your thigh, and you knew there was no turning back.

he whispered something in your ear, something filthy and thrilling, and you could feel your cheeks flush with arousal. his hands found the zipper of your skirt, sliding it down with a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet office. your skin prickled with excitement as the fabric fell away, revealing your lacy underwear. his hand slid under the fabric, his fingers finding your wetness. he groaned again, his breath hot against your neck. “you're so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

you nodded, your eyes closing as he began to stroke you, his touch tentative at first, then growing bolder as your moans grew louder. your body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. you knew you were his, and he was yours, in this every stolen moment of passion.

with a final tug, his hand found your bare skin, and you gasped as he touched you, his fingers exploring your folds with an urgency that mirrored your own. you could feel your core tightening around his touch, desperate for more. he pulled back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched your reaction. “you like that, don't you?” he asked, his voice a low growl. you nodded, your eyes glazed over with desire. he leaned in, capturing your mouth again in a bruising kiss as his thumb began to circle your clit. the sensation was overwhelming, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. you didn't know if you could hold on much longer.

suddenly, he stopped, his hand moving away from your panties. you whimpered in protest, but he just chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. “patience,” he murmured, “we're just getting started.”

with surprising strength, he flipped you over, so that you were now lying face down on his desk, your ass in the air. he stepped back, and you could feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of your exposed body. you felt a thrill of exhibitionism, knowing that he was seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

he leaned over you, his breath hot on your ear. "you're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with lust. his hand came down in a firm smack on your ass, and you yelped in surprise. the sting was quickly replaced by a warmth that spread through your body, making you wetter than ever.

he smacked you again, harder this time, and you moaned. the sound seemed to spur him on, and his hand began to move in a steady rhythm, alternating between gentle caresses and firm slaps. you felt yourself getting wetter with every hit, your body begging for more. “do you like that, baby?” he asked, his voice strained with his own need. “yes,” you managed to gasp out, your voice shaky. “more.”

he complied, his hand coming down harder and faster, each smack echoing through the room. you could feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. and then, with one final, brutal slap, you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm. he leaned down, his breathing ragged, and kissed the back of your neck. “you're mine,” he murmured, his voice possessive. “mine to claim.”

and with that, he reached for his own pants, his hands shaking with desire. he freed himself, and you could feel the tip of his cock brushing against your wetness. without another word, he pushed inside you, filling you up in one swift, agonizingly sweet motion. you yelled, the pleasure overwhelming as he claimed your virginity, your body stretching to accommodate his size.

he didn't stop there, though. he began to move, his hips pistoning into you with a relentless rhythm that had you seeing stars. you could feel every inch of him, and it was more than you had ever imagined. each thrust was a declaration of ownership, each moan a promise of more to come. you pushed back against him, meeting him halfway, your body moving in perfect sync with his. you were lost in the sensation, the pain and pleasure melding into something indescribable. your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as you held on for dear life.

“fuck, you're tight,” he grunted, his voice strained. “so tight.” your response was a whimper, your throat too tight to form words. all you could do was moan and arch your back, taking him deeper, letting him fill you completely. the room spun around you as he picked up the pace, his hands digging into your hips as he drove into you. you could feel his climax building, his breaths coming in harsh pants against your neck. and then, with a final, guttural groan, he came, his warmth flooding into you.

you collapsed onto the desk, your body spent, as he pulled out and leaned over you, his chest heaving. he kissed your shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal. the room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths.

for a moment, you both just stayed there, basking in the afterglow of what had just happened. but reality began to seep back in, and you felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness. you were his secretary, and you had just had unprotected sex on his desk. the implications of your actions were just beginning to hit you.

seokjin must have noticed the change in your demeanor because he leaned in, whispering in your ear, “don't worry, i've got you.” his words were soothing, but they didn't entirely ease the anxiety coiling in your stomach. he helped you sit up, and you both began to straighten your clothes, trying to erase the evidence of your passionate encounter. your heart was racing, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him, seeing him in a new light. “we can't do this again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “what if someone finds out?”

he turned to face you, cupping your cheek. “they won't,” he assured you. “this is our secret.” his eyes searched yours, and you could see the determination in them. “but if they do,” he trailed off, a smug smile playing on his lips. “well, then they'll just have to deal with it. you're my girlfriend, after all.”

you couldn't help but smile back, his confidence infectious. but deep down, you knew that this was just the beginning. the line between professional and personal had been irrevocably crossed, and there was no going back.

✧.*

a/n: literally no one asked for this idc this is so funny to me i based the name off one drama and the plot off another goodbye

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gammasnippets · 1 year ago

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[CHANNEL_9] fromis_9 '채널나인' EP58. Spotlighting🎬 Part.1

fromis_9 Lee Saerom, Song Hayoung, Jang Gyuri, Park Jiwon, Roh Jisun, Lee Seoyeon, Lee Chaeyoung, Lee Nagyung, Baek Jiheon

2,824 words (Unedited)

It’s the year 2027.

With the immense attention social media content garners these days, K-pop groups must put out a lot of various kinds of content for their fans to stay in their boat. And as of late, some artists are even resorting to a more risqué and sexual form of media just to stay in the game. The morality and ethics of it is something that shouldn’t be scoffed at, as it has sparked controversy around the industry. Others are in favor of it, while some are against it.

But as time goes by, this venture becomes harder and harder to resist as more and more fans are eating all forms of content… Until their perception of it all becomes grayed out.

Being one of the industry's most revered groups, the members of fromis_9 are just some of the artists who started partaking in more provocative and sensual concepts for their content to provide fans with a more sensual form of fanservice. Their agency has always been reluctant to do so, as they had their reputation to keep up. But with many groups competing for the top spot, these nine girls have to “exploit” what assets they have to push themselves higher in the industry.

As the group delved deeper into this sensual rabbit hole, they made a variety of content that fans will surely go crazy about. From music videos that show their bodies in tight, revealing clothes, and a bunch of photoshoots that would make you blush with the sheer sensuality of the outfits and poses that they had, fromis_9 has gone to the world that only the most daring of groups would dare venture in. And being a part of a group of editors tasked to produce content like this, you often find yourself getting a lot of material to jerk off to from these girls.

To commemorate the group’s 10th anniversary, the company has planned a series of special videos featuring the girls for their ever-loyal fans. And after several passes and editing by the other editors, the videos finally came in your email, waiting for a final review to be conducted by no other than you. The pressure is high, as this could very well be the most successful video project yet. As the last editor to get the content, it's all up to you to give it the final touches and make these videos—12 in total— as flawless as possible. With tissues and lotion just within arm's reach, you start reviewing the footage.

You press play on the first video on the list and the unforgettable intro for their variety series “Channel_9” starts.

The episode begins as the camera shows a large studio complex, almost like the ones they have in other countries where they create live-action films and such, panning through the many large structures and beautiful gardenscapes scattered around the area. It then transitions to a drone shot, where the girls can be seen walking through the complex. They pass by large water fountains and flower patches, all the while showing how nice and beautiful the place is. All of them gasped in awe at the sight of the complex.

“This place looks like a big hotel. They could be hiding the rides in those buildings,” says Hayoung.

Seoyeon chuckles. “You mean a theme park?”

“Ah… Right,” she answers.

You can hear all the girls laughing at that short yet funny conversation.

“Unnie,” says Chaeyoung. “We just visited one recently and you still can’t forget about it.”

“That place was fun, though,” she retorts.

“Yeah. You’re right,” Saerom and Chaeyoung answer, almost in unison.

“Wish we can return to that place,” Jiheon tells everyone.

"Maybe the crew's planning to take us to a theme park," Jiwon tells the group as she looks at the cameraman with a smug look on her face.

Everyone giggles at that.

Gyuri then sighs. "There she goes again."

"Watch it get jinxed," Nagyung adds.

Seoyeon laughs out loud at that. "Her plans never work out."

"Ya!" Jiwon protests, "It'll work out this time. Just watch!"

She looks back at the camera again, nodding as if persuading them to agree with her.

However… She got silence for an answer.

Jiwon playfully sulks, making everyone laugh.

They continue to walk through the complex until they've reached the center of a huge courtyard, where the rest of the filming crew is waiting for them. As they are all getting into their respective positions, you see the members getting excited to start shooting the first episode.

"This will be exciting, hmmm?" Hayoung asks them, looking eager.

"I sure hope so," Jisun replies, smiling.

"Oh, me too," says Saerom.

One of the staff members then began to speak up.

"Hello, everyone," the staff member began, greeting them.

The group greeted her back in unison, bowing their heads.

"Welcome to the country's biggest filming facility," the staff member continued.

"Oh! So this is what it is!" Jiheon gasps.

The camera then pans out in a drone camera, giving the viewers another good look of the entire complex.

"This is probably where they filmed that one train movie I just watched," Chaeyoung says in excitement, her eyes sparkling in awe.

Suddenly, Hayoung yells.

"Ahh! Ahh!"

Everyone looks at her, shocked.

"What is it?" asks Saerom.

Hayoung, still looking shocked, excitedly points somewhere far.

"I… I've seen that bench from my favorite drama show!"

"Really?" Gyuri asks.

Hayoung nods.

The camera then pans over to a familiar bench that looks identical to the one in the show.

"It really does look like that one," Seoyeon says.

"Wow, unnie," Nagyung says. "You do know your stuff."

Hayoung smiles and gives her a thumbs-up.

"Anyway… We have prepared a series of challenges for all of you," the staff member resumes.

Oohs and ahhs can be heard from the girls.

“We call these Spotlighting Challenges.”

Another wave of amazement envelops the group.

Hayoung then raises her hand. “Spotlighting Challenge?”

The staff member nods. “These challenges refer to a study about how people behave differently when they are being watched—be it on camera or in the spotlight.”

Everyone nods at the given explanation.

“Ooh. So that’s why there’s ‘spotlight’ in the name,” Chaeyoung remarks, nodding her head.

“Yeah,” Jisun hears her and agrees. “But we’re definitely used to it by now, right?”

Chaeyoung nods back, laughing. “Yeah. This should be easy for us!”

"Every single challenge has different goals and rules to achieve,” the staff member follows up. “All of you must do your best to complete each challenge."

"I see…" Nagyung replies, attentively listening.

"So where are these challenges located?" Saerom asks.

"Each challenge is located at different areas within the complex. There are nine challenges—one for each member."

Everyone is shocked at the announcement.

"Woah! Nine?" Jiheon exclaims.

"Yes, each member has a unique challenge."

"Unique challenge?" Jiwon asks, her eyes wide in shock. "So we'll be alone?"

"Yes," the staff member nods her head. "These challenges can only be completed individually."

A sudden silence fills the air as they process the information.

"Jeez… This is going to be nerve-wracking," Gyuri mumbles, scratching her head.

"I feel the same," Jiheon tells her, her body shaking in nervousness.

"We know you girls will worry about not having each other by your side," the staff member tells them reassuringly. "But we believe in each of your skills and strengths."

"Thank you," Jisun bows, accepting the encouragement.

"Are the challenges going to be difficult?" Chaeyoung asks, curiously.

The staff member shrugs her shoulders and replies in a soft tone.

“Kinda…”

Everyone then lets out sighs and grunts at the answer.

“Oh dear. We’re done for,” Nagyung frowns.

"But we made each challenge doable for any member," the staff member explains.

Everyone responds with a mixture of relief and determination.

"Well that's good news," she says with a smile.

"I know right?" Jiwon replies, also relieved.

"These challenges will require all of you to be creative. So do your best," the staff member adds.

Those words piqued the girls' curiosity. Some of them begin thinking of what they could mean.

"Be creative, huh?" Saerom asks them, her tone doubtful.

The staff member nods. She follows up with the instructions with a smirk forming on her face.

"And maybe some of your… Physical skills."

A mischievous glint suddenly sparkles in the girls' eyes as they exchange knowing looks.

"Hmmm… I wonder how physical these challenges can get?" Jiwon mischievously suggests with a playful tone.

Her teasing remark sends a wave of laughter through the group, instantly lightening the tense atmosphere.

"Oh, boy. Jiwon's at it again," Hayoung chuckles at Jiwon's suggestive remark.

The group can't help but blush at the playful insinuation.

"Surely it's nothing like that… Right?" Chaeyoung asks, looking dumbfounded at the revelation of their challenges.

The staff member smiles knowingly, making the girls even more intrigued

"Oh, dear…" Jiheon whispers under her breath, her cheeks slowly blushing. "This is going to be interesting."

"Are we really going to do it? Here?" Jisun murmurs, sounding both nervous and excited.

"I guess so," Gyuri responds with a sly grin.

The girls look at each other once again, giggling, as if they're sharing a naughty secret only they know.

"But what do we get if we win?" Nagyung then asks, diverting the topic to their goal.

"We have prepared something for all of you if you win," the staff member replies. "Since there are nine of you, the group will need five members to successfully complete the challenges."

Everyone is intrigued, their curiosity piqued by the promise of a reward.

"What's the prize? Can we get a hint?" Saerom asks, sounding mischievously.

"Yeah! Tell us!" Jiwon follows up, yelling in excitement.

"Jeez, unnie. Tone it down," Chaeyoung playfully berates her.

"Well… Is there anything you girls like?" the staff member asks the group.

Some of the members start thinking of an answer, but the others already have their minds made up.

"An all-you-can-eat buffet!"

"A trip to a theme park!"

"Rent a cinema, maybe?"

"Ooh! Let's go overseas!"

Those are some of the answers the girls excitedly shout out, their enthusiasm shooting through the roof.

The entire staff bursts into laughter at their liveliness and shared excitement.

"I guess we'll have to discuss that later," the staff member says with a smile.

"Alright!" Hayoung replies, pumping her fist in the air.

"I'm actually kinda excited now," Gyuri admits, a joyous look on her face.

"Me too," Jisun adds.

"So please do your best, everyone," the staff member encourages.

Saerom nods, looking determined. "Of course."

The other members nod, too.

The rest of the staff then carries, in front of them, a ballot box. Colorful envelopes can be seen inside the transparent box.

"Wow! So pretty," Jiheon exclaims, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"That's cute," Nagyung agrees, a smile forming on her face.

"Everyone, please take turns drawing an envelope," the staff member instructs, gesturing towards the box.

The girls eagerly step towards the box one by one, reaching into the ballot box. They then head back to their original spots, envelopes in hand, excitement radiating from each of them. Some are careful in picking their envelopes, while some are swift and waste no time… And some play around with their selection.

All the members seem eager to open the envelopes and reveal the contents. But everyone is waiting for a signal, patiently, as their anticipation builds.

"Please remember that you shouldn't reveal the contents of your envelopes to anyone," the staff member reminds them.

Everyone responds in affirmation as they grip their envelopes tightly, excitement and curiosity swirling in their eyes.

"Okay. You can open your envelopes now."

The members rip open their envelopes, their eyes meticulously scanning the contents.

"Oh. So this is just instructions to where we should head for," Chaeyoung asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

The staff member nods. "Yes. You will be informed about the challenge once you reach your designated location."

She nods back in understanding. "I see…"

"I hope the missions are fun!" Saerom exclaims with a grin on her face.

"I'm more hoping that they're easy," Gyuri chuckles, crossing her fingers.

"That too!" Saerom adds, laughing along with her.

"Ugh! I'm getting nervous!" Seoyeon whines, hopping from foot to foot.

"Pretty sure you can do it," Hayoung reassures her, giving Seoyeon a comforting pat on the back.

"How cute," Nagyung murmurs, giggling at the two.

"So, is everyone ready?"

Everyone responds in unison, their voices filled with anticipation.

"We're ready!"

"Yes!"

"Let's go!"

"The Spotlight Challenge has started! Again do your best, everyone!" the staff member announces as she cheers them on.

"Thank you!" In response, the girls bowed to everyone in gratitude.

Each member then reviewed their instructions and began looking around, figuring out where to go.

"Hmmm… I guess I should be going here," Jisun muses to herself, reading the directions on her instructions sheet as she walks off.

"Hey, unnie!" Jiheon calls out to her. "Are you going?"

Jisun turns around and nods. "Ah! Uhmm... Yes."

"Wait! I'm coming with you!" Jiheon decides, running up to join Jisun on their journey.

On the other hand, the rest of the group continued to figure out their destinations.

"Well… I think I'm heading this way," Seoyeon says, pointing opposite to Jisun's direction.

"You're heading there, too?" Hayoung asks her curiously, glancing at her own instructions.

Seoyeon just nods with a sheepish smile.

"Yay! Let's go together!" she excitedly screams as she hugs her.

"Hey! I’m also heading there too!" Nagyung adds, joining in on the hug.

As the trio embraced each other tightly, the remaining members were still working out the instructions given to them.

"If this is here, then…" Gyuri mumbles. "Then this one is… Hmmm…"

"I guess I should be going… This way?" Chaeyoung says, scratching her head in confusion as she tries to decipher the instructions.

"Huh? Chaeyoung-ah," Gyuri calls out.

"Yes, unnie?"

"Are you leaving already?"

"Yeah, I think so," Chaeyoung responds, looking unsure.

"Okay. Do your best, then!" she encourages her, waving her hand at her.

"Will do! Thank you!" Chaeyoung replies cheerfully, waving back at Gyuri. "See you later!"

Suddenly, Jiwon appears behind her, as if peeking at her unnie's instructions. Gyuri quickly spots her and hides her envelope, giving Jiwon a playful glare.

"What are you doing?" the older girl asks, pretending to be annoyed.

"What?" Jiwon acts coy, smiling as if she's innocent. "I'm doing nothing?"

"You aren't supposed to peek at my directions," Gyuri scolds her, wagging her finger at Jiwon.

"No, I'm not," she continues her innocent act, blinking her eyes innocently at Gyuri.

But Gyuri sees through her act and playfully pinches Jiwon's cheek.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Unnie!" Jiwon yelps as she feigns pain.

"Come on now, don't be sneaky," she says with a smirk.

"I'm not! Really!" Jiwon insists, rubbing her cheek dramatically.

Gyuri chuckles. "Alright. Where are you heading?"

"I'm heading that way," she points to the huge building behind the filming crew.

"Ooh. That looks big."

"I bet that's the main building."

"Seems like it. Yeah."

Suddenly, Saerom spots the two, approaches them, and joins in on the conversation.

"So, where are you going?" she asks.

Gyuri is the first to answer, pondering her options.

"I think I'll head to that building and ask around," she says, pointing to the same building Jiwon had mentioned earlier.

"Me too," Jiwon adds, nodding in agreement. "I think my challenge is somewhere in that building."

"I see…" Saerom replies, nodding at their answers.

"So where will you go?" asks Jiwon.

"Me?"

The two other girls nod expectantly.

"Same as you two. To that building," Saerom answers, confirming their choice.

"Oh. Then we all should go together," Gyuri suggests with a smile.

"Yes! Let's all go!" Jiwon exclaims excitedly, grabbing onto Gyuri and Saerom's arms.

Now with all the nine members of fromis_9 walking off in different directions, the view then shifts to a drone shot, showing the immense size of the complex, before showing a slo-mo view from each camera team that follows every member towards their respective destinations. Nervousness and excitement can be read on their faces, adding anticipation for the upcoming events.

All of a sudden, a brief montage teasing the future episodes plays. It showcases the members meeting new people, strategizing for their challenges, and lots of pure, unadulterated sex—the girls letting out screams and moans no one has probably heard. Your heart skips a beat as you process what you just saw. Doing sexy projects might not be new to them at this point, but nothing that's as bold and intense as this is.

You can't deny the creeping sense of unease that you're suddenly feeling. Yet, at the same time, it's an undeniable fact that you are getting excited and eager to see more.

Finally, the screen fades out, leaving you excited to review all of fromis_9's thrilling new series.

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

Author’s Notes:

I'm back... I guess? 😅 I apologize for the sudden absence that took more than a year. I left everyone without saying a word. And with that, I would like to make up with a huge series starring all of fromis_9.

Yes. Including Gyuri. 🍊

As ambitious as this might be, and given the fact that I'm not the most creative writer with the most amount of creative juice there is, I'm gonna try and sprinkle a few other stories featuring other idols in between... Just to add variety, and to not bore myself (and everyone) with just one group.

And, yes. I know. I still have 6 more Girls' Generations to write a story about. We'll get there when we get there, okay? It'll happen... When it happens. 😂

A huge thanks to @braaan for the poster! You are too kind. 🫂

And with that, thank you very much for reading! 🙇

#smut #kpopfanfiction #kpopfanfic #kpopsmut #fromis9smut #saeromsmut #hayoungsmut #gyurismut #jiwonsmut #jisunsmut #seoyeonsmut #chaeyoungsmut #nagyungsmut #jiheonsmut

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420b1a2eit · 11 months ago

Text

Ryujin's Review

Ryujin x BBC(3)

1598 words

tags: foursome, BBC, rough sex, double penetration, spitroast, etc.

Ryujin stretched out on the plush king-sized bed in her Los Angeles hotel room, excitement bubbling through her veins. She'd taken Yuna's advice and eagerly made three bookings on a certain app. Dredd, Louie, and Isiah—all with impressive reputations and even more impressive endowments.

She stared at herself in the mirror, admiring her toned physique. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that radiated confidence and anticipation. Her tight abs and thick thighs were testament to her dedication to calisthenics and martial arts. She'd dressed to impress in black lace lingerie, the delicate fabric hugging her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

The knock on the door jolted her from her reverie. She opened it to find the three men standing there, each exuding an aura of raw masculinity. Dredd, the tallest, had a dark, commanding presence with his chiseled jaw and intense eyes. Louie, with his playful grin and muscular build, exuded a sense of wild energy. Isiah, the quietest, had an air of quiet dominance, his broad shoulders and ripped abs hinting at untamed strength.

Without a word, they stepped inside, and the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. Dredd was the first to act, his large hand wrapping around Ryujin's wrist, pulling her close. He kissed her roughly, his tongue invading her mouth, while Louie and Isiah watched, their eyes dark with lust.

Ryujin moaned into Dredd's mouth, feeling her arousal spike. Louie moved behind her, his hands sliding over her hips, squeezing her ass through the thin fabric. "You ready for us, baby?" he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"Fuck yes," she gasped, her voice trembling with excitement.

Dredd's hand moved to her throat, squeezing lightly as he guided her to the bed. He pushed her down, and Ryujin landed on her back, her legs spread invitingly. Louie and Isiah were quick to undress, their massive cocks springing free, hard and ready.

Isiah stepped forward, his cock inches from Ryujin's face. "Open wide, slut," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. She obeyed eagerly, her mouth stretching to accommodate his girth. He thrust deep, hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and drool.

Dredd knelt between her legs, tearing away her panties and exposing her wet pussy. "Such a tight little cunt," he growled, his fingers sliding inside her, spreading her open. Louie joined in, spanking her ass hard, making her yelp around Isiah's cock.

"Take it all, bitch," Isiah snarled, his thrusts becoming more forceful. Ryujin's eyes watered, but she loved every second, her body on fire with desire.

Dredd replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing into her tight, wet heat. Ryujin screamed around Isiah's cock, the sheer size of Dredd stretching her to the limit. Louie moved to her side, grabbing her hair and yanking it back, his hand slapping her face lightly.

"Look at you, such a perfect little whore," Louie taunted, his voice dripping with lust. "You love being used, don't you?"

Ryujin nodded as best she could, her body shaking with pleasure. "Yes, I love it," she gasped when Isiah pulled out momentarily, giving her a breath before shoving back in.

The room filled with the sounds of their rough, primal fucking. Dredd pounded into her relentlessly, his balls slapping against her ass, while Isiah fucked her mouth with brutal intensity. Louie alternated between spanking her and whispering filthy words in her ear, his own cock rock-hard and leaking pre-cum.

"Such a good slut, taking all of us so well," Dredd praised, his voice gruff. He increased his pace, driving into her harder, each thrust hitting her G-spot, sending waves of ecstasy through her body.

Isiah's grip tightened in her hair, and he came with a roar, his cum flooding her mouth, forcing her to swallow. He pulled out, leaving her gasping and drooling, her lips swollen and red.

Louie took his place, pushing his cock into her mouth without hesitation. "Suck it, bitch," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. Ryujin complied, her tongue swirling around his shaft, sucking eagerly.

Dredd's thrusts grew erratic, and he soon followed, filling her pussy with his hot seed. He pulled out, his cum dripping from her swollen lips.

"Fuck, that was amazing," he panted, collapsing beside her. Isiah and Louie soon joined, their bodies spent but their eyes still filled with desire.

Ryujin lay between them, her body aching in the best possible way. She had never felt more alive, more desired, more utterly used and satisfied.

"Ready for round two?" she asked, her voice hoarse but eager. The men exchanged grins, their cocks already twitching back to life.

"Oh, we're just getting started," Louie promised, his hand sliding down to tease her still-sensitive clit. "This night is far from over, slut."

Ryujin's heart raced as Louie's fingers expertly teased her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her already sensitized body. The men shifted around her, their predatory gazes never leaving her flushed and eager face.

Isiah, recovered from his initial release, was the first to move. He spread Ryujin's legs wider, positioning himself between her thighs once again. His cock, still slick from her mouth, lined up with her entrance. "Ready for more?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Yes, fuck me," Ryujin moaned, her hips bucking up to meet him. Isiah thrust into her with a powerful stroke, filling her completely. She cried out, the sensation of being stretched anew overwhelming her senses.

Dredd moved behind her, lifting her upper body slightly to position her on her hands and knees. He ran his hands down her back, gripping her hips as he aligned his cock with her tight, puckered hole. "I'm going to take this sweet ass, slut," he growled, the tip of his cock pressing against her.

Ryujin's breath hitched, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through her as Dredd slowly pushed inside. She clenched around him, the fullness intense but exhilarating. "Oh fuck, yes," she gasped, her body trembling with anticipation.

Louie, not to be left out, moved to the side, his cock brushing against her lips. "Open up, bitch," he commanded, his tone rough and commanding. Ryujin obediently parted her lips, taking him into her mouth, the taste of his pre-cum mixing with the remnants of Isiah's release.

The three men established a rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization. Isiah pounded into her pussy, his thrusts hard and deep, while Dredd claimed her ass with relentless force. Louie's cock filled her mouth, the sound of her sucking and gagging adding to the symphony of their rough, primal fucking.

"You're such a good little whore," Louie praised, his hand tangled in her hair, guiding her head up and down his shaft. "Taking all three of us like a pro."

Ryujin's muffled moans were the only response she could manage, her body quaking with pleasure. The combined sensation of being filled so completely, of being used so thoroughly, was pushing her to the edge.

Dredd's hand snaked around to her front, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed it in tight, rough circles, driving her wild. "Cum for us, slut," he growled, his voice low and demanding.

The command sent her over the brink. Ryujin's body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that left her gasping and crying out. Her walls clenched around Isiah, milking his cock, driving him closer to his own release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Isiah groaned, his pace becoming erratic. He buried himself deep inside her, his hot seed spilling into her, adding to the mix of fluids already dripping from her.

Louie followed suit, pulling out of her mouth to stroke himself to completion. He aimed his cock at her face, thick ropes of cum splattering across her cheeks, her lips, marking her as theirs.

Dredd was the last, his thrusts growing wild and desperate. He gripped her hips tightly, his own release crashing through him as he filled her ass with his cum. The sensation sent another wave of pleasure through Ryujin, her body quivering in the aftermath of their brutal, satisfying encounter.

The room was filled with the heavy sound of their breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex. Ryujin collapsed onto the bed, her body spent but utterly sated. The men lay beside her, their hands lazily caressing her skin, their eyes filled with a mixture of lust and satisfaction.

"You were incredible," Isiah murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on her thigh. "A perfect little slut."

Ryujin smiled, her body still humming with the remnants of their shared pleasure. "I'm just getting started," she replied, her voice a sultry promise of more to come.

Dredd chuckled, his hand squeezing her ass possessively. "Good, because we've got all night."

The night stretched on, filled with the sounds of their passionate, unrestrained fucking. Ryujin reveled in every moment, each touch, each thrust, each filthy word a testament to her insatiable desire. The men took her again and again, their stamina seemingly endless, their need as voracious as hers.

By the time dawn began to break, casting a soft glow through the hotel room, Ryujin lay exhausted but blissfully satisfied. She'd been used, filled, and pleasured in ways she'd only fantasized about. The memory of this night would stay with her forever, a reminder of the raw, uninhibited passion that had consumed them all.

As she drifted off to sleep, nestled between the warm, strong bodies of her lovers, she couldn't help but smile. Yuna had been right—the app was worth every single star.

#ryujin smut #kpop smut #kpop bbc #bbc smut #itzy ryujin #shin ryujin #itzy smut #itzy ryujin smut

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richarlotte · 3 months ago

Note

Could you just post your peel routine on main, please?

My knee/elbow glycolic acid (chem peel) routine.

Note: I went to see my dermatologist, was told to try glycolic peels through her office to help clear up the hyperpigmentation on my knees and elbows, saw the price, and decided to try my luck on my own. I did all of this at my own risk and wouldn’t recommend trying to do your own chemical peels unless you’re willing to really take your time and educate yourself properly. I ordered my peels from eBay and read all the reviews.

I started off using a 20% peel and cotton pads that I got from Sephora. I’d soak a cotton pad in the peeling solution, spread it over my clean, dry skin, and let the solution sit for 10 to 15 seconds. Glycolic acid can be neutralized with water, so as soon as those 10 to 15 seconds were up, I’d rinse my skin with water and a neutral soap. I did this every other day for a week, took a week-long break, and then started again but went up to 20 to 25 seconds and then onto 30 secs to a min.

You want to slowly build up your tolerance until you reach around 10 minutes. Depending on how dark and callused your skin is, you might not need to do the peel every other day when you’re leaving it on for longer, and if you start to see results that you love with a lower concentration of acid, you might not need to move to a stronger concentration. I went to 30% after a month of 20% because the skin on my knees was SO discolored.

Higher concentrations of glycolic acid are much more likely to burn than lower concentrations. As soon as you start working with any concentration over 30%, you’re going to want to take more notice and be very careful with what you’re working with so that you don’t damage your skin with the acid. Using less is more when you’re doing things without being a professional.

I followed the same routine as I moved up through stronger concentrations of glycolic acid. I have dark skin, so starting slowly with 30%, 50%, and 70% was important. I built my tolerance up until I was able to last for 15 minutes with the solution on my skin. I started letting the cotton pad sit on my skin when I got to 50%, and it made the scarring on my knees clear up.

You’re going to have to play around with different concentrations of peel to find what works for you, as everyone’s skin is different, and you should wear gloves when you’re applying it. I kept the areas I used the acid on moisturized with a very thin layer of Vaseline, I trimmed the skin off as it started peeling instead of just ripping it off, I avoided wearing clothes that rubbed against the areas, and I applied sunscreen liberally when I’d go out without covering my body.

DO NOT use this routine on your face, neck, armpits, décolletage, or intimate areas; always patch test before you apply any peel and make sure you order from a reputable source; don’t apply the peel to any raw patches of skin or skin that’s still peeling; and take care to remain smart and sanitary throughout the duration of the process. A lot of the process is just common sense and repetition, but you HAVE to be sure to take your time between applying each stronger level of acid.

Take care to be responsible!

#richarlotte x #under 18s do not reblog

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yatagarasuhonyaku · 5 months ago

Text

The Raven of the Empty Coffin: Chapter 4 "Yukiya" Part 1

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. The events of this novel follow after what's already covered by the anime. For an easier understanding, I recommend first reading the few scenes of previous books I've already translated.

Blog version

For the Index, you can find it HERE

Previously: Chihaya (Part 3)

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

Chapter 3: Yukiya (Part 1)

“Taken. Please, your verification.”

The boy's clear voice reverberated through the wide hall.

Two men stood on the stands at each side of the Field, each one completely unlike the other. The first was a bulky middle aged man, all dressed up in a splendid iron blue haori with crests engraved on it. The second was a boy of small stature, dressed merely in a simple feather robe.

At the moment, the big man was pale as a sheet, staring at the Field with plain incredulity—yet no matter how many times he checked it, the situation on the board wasn’t going to change.

The boy, on the other hand, calmly waited for the judge's resolution. The only colors in the midst of the pure black of his feather robe came from a crimson strap and a green decorative jewel. His hair was the same color as the fertile soil of a farming field, bouncy as it fell on his perfectly straight back.

He was apparently only two years older than me, yet we were more or less the same height —in fact, the Ornamented Blade resting on his hip looked disproportionate. Nevertheless, he had an unflinching figure, enveloped in an air of genuine self-confidence.

“I've verified it. Winner, lower side.”

With the announcement of the judge declaring him the winner, the boy calmly moved on to the customary greetings. “Thank you for the match.”

A commotion ensued—people's voices were filled with wonder rather than joy at the results. It turned out that the middle aged man, who had just lost during the Board Drill, was in fact a high ranking official and commander in active service working at the Feathered Grove. Everyone had thought it was impossible for the boy to win against the man, despite his ever rising reputation through the past few days’ matches.

——Amazing! To think he would actually win!

Now, what could be cooler than watching a boy almost my age face such a high ranked opponent as an equal?

People in the audience moved forward to interrogate the boy, one after the other, about the match that had just finished. ‘Why did you choose that strategy?’ ‘How did you plan to counter him if he had chosen this different method of attack?’ The boy answered everyone soundly and without hesitation.

With the match review over, the boy finally stepped down from the stand and left the building for a break. I was reluctantly watching him go, when the Township Lord—the man who had brought me here in the first place—asked me between laughs, “Do you want to go say hi?”

We found the boy right outside the hall, eating rice balls as he chatted with a group of people—possibly his friends.

“Sapling Yukiya, do you have a moment?” The Township Lord called to him.

Right then, the boy—Sapling Yukiya—noticed our presence, immediately fixing his posture. “Oh, what a surprise, Your Lordship. It's an honor to have you here. I didn’t expect you to come all the way from Ayukuni multiple days in a row.”

“Oh, it's all for my own enjoyment, in part at least. There are very few chances to watch such a huge gathering of Yamauchi's most famous and skilled generals—and your match today too. It was splendid.”

“My deepest gratitude for the compliment.”

The two of them chatted animatedly. In the meantime, my eyes were all but glued on Sapling Yukiya.

——He was truly tiny.

Now that I could see him up close, his physical appearance proved to be utterly unremarkable. The only standout was the air of maturity surrounding him, of which there was not a trace on my peers back home. He had a somewhat dignified presence, made apparent by how he managed to talk with the Township Lord with such ease.

“To tell the truth, I wanted to introduce you to someone. I thought it would be a good learning experience, you see, so I brought him here with me. He should be joining the Unbending Reed Monastery next year.”

“Oh, so he's a future junior?” Prompted by the Township Lord's words, Sapling Yukiya’s eyes turned towards me.

“I-It’s an honor to meet you! I'm Haruma of Ayukuni! Your match earlier was truly, truly wonderful. You were so imposing, Sapling Yukiya, despite your size—”

As I babbled on, all overexcited, I was suddenly struck by what I had just said. I froze immediately, taken aback by my own discourtesy. However, Sapling Yukiya didn't even blame me for my blunder—he let out a giggle instead. “Size plays no part in strategy, does it? That said, as long as today's match left an impression on you, that's all that matters.”

“...... It absolutely did!”

What a mature, big-hearted person he turned out to be! I was more and more impressed by the moment. I had gone on a fervent speech about what a help it had been to watch his match and just how fascinated I was by Sapling Yukiya's approach to battle tactics, when the Township Lord interrupted me with a wry smile, “Well, just as you see, Haruma here is a bit of an oddball. In fact, I've been secretly hoping that he has what it takes to become a second you of sorts.”

Those words were apparently enough for Sapling Yukiya to realize what the Township Lord’s expectations were.

“I see.” He nodded ever so slightly, giving me a much more serious look than before. “It's heartening for me as well to have trainees like you. We are both oddballs, so let's work hard together,” Sapling Yukiya said to me with a bright smile.

——That was the moment my path in life was set.

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

The lecture hall's roof tiles sparkled as they bathed in the early spring's sunlight, all slightly different colors from being replaced time and time again. This was his first visit to the Unbending Reed Monastery in a very long time and, while he didn't regret dropping out, it was proving to have something nostalgic about it.

He was overcome by emotion, his new status as yet another outsider to the Monastery hitting him as he went through the access procedure, when someone shrieked at his back. “Wait a moment! Isn't that Lord Professor?”

Akeru looked up to find a couple of young men. They had been walking around together just a moment ago, but they were now running towards him—Hisaya and Tatsuto. Back when they were all Seeds, he looked after them quite a bit.

“It has been a whole year, hasn't it? How have you been?”

Akeru forced a smile at that. “I'm doing just fine working for His Highness Wakamiya, fortunately. More importantly, how about you? The Trial of Storm should be almost over, right?”

The second he asked that, his ex-peers’ gazes went distant. “Well, this year's first and second of the class were as good as settled, so the Trial was all for us average people to fight over the scraps,” Tatsuto explained with resignation.

“Still, I feel sorry for Shige,” Hisaya added. “If it were only the practical courses, he would have had a chance—he beat Yukiya and Chihaya in some of those. But he still ended up third because of all the points he lost in theory.”

“Well, and if you had been here, the results could have changed even further……” Tatsuto quietly mentioned.

Akeru laughed at that. “What are you implying? Don’t tell me that you want me to act as your teacher even now as Evergreens?”

“No, I didn't mean it like that!”

“I mean, you passed the Trial of Mist, didn't you? Wouldn't it have been better for you to become an Evergreen with us instead?”

Akeru gave them a big snort. “Well, I would have surely taken first place if I had stayed here, of course. But what option did I have? His Highness Wakamiya asked me to come back ‘by all means’. Ah, such are the woes of those overflowing with talent,” he said, waving his arms in a theatrical manner.

The other two, well-aware of Akeru's actual scores, loudly cackled in answer. “Oh, don't make me laugh! You weren't capable of beating us in Horsemanship even once in all your time here.”

“You're truly the same old guy, huh? That's a relief, actually.”

“Why would I have changed that easily—!? Anyway, do you two know where the hell Yukiya is?” Akeru asked. He had gone through the trouble of coming all the way to the Monastery for a reason.

The two of them glanced at each other.

“Now that's bad timing to have business with Yukiya.”

“We decided the order for the tests by lottery, you see. So Yukiya and Sadamori's battle ended up being the very last one. Those two are actually the only ones yet to finish the Trial of Storm—their Strategy match is tomorrow.”

The trainees’ skills in Strategy were tested by a demonstration match during the Trial of Storm. The two Evergreens took the role of generals in a large-scale mock battle, while the Seeds and Saplings acted as their soldiers. Even the information on the training field, chosen among the few big ones across Yamauchi, was kept from them until the day before.

Which meant that, at the time, Yukiya was cloistered in his given ‘headquarters’ as he went over the data they had prepared for him, ironing out his battle plan for the next day.

“We haven't seen him since this morning, and Chihaya and Shige have way too much time on their hands right now. They probably went over there to banter already.”

“Can you at least tell me where Yukiya's headquarters are then?”

“No idea. The Instructors are probably your only remaining option.”

Then, just as Akeru was considering what to do next, someone else meekly cut in on the conversation.

“Excuse me, seniors?” Akeru turned to find a trainee he didn't recognize—a Seed, given his decorative jewel was white. His body was thin, and freckles were spread all over his nose. He gave off quite the serious aura. “I'm sorry, I didn't plan to eavesdrop, but…… If you wish, I can guide you to Evergreen Yukiya's headquarters.”

“Oooh, really?”

“Yes. Just—I have to pick up something from the kitchen fist. Could you wait for a moment?”

He was quite the polite junior. Tatsuto and Hisaya were smiling wryly at him. “So Yukiya is working you to the bone as usual, huh?”

“You know you can tell him no if you want, right?”

“Oh, but I'm doing this because I want to, don't worry. Well then, I'll be back in a moment,” the Seed bowed his head and left in a dash.

Once he was gone, Akeru asked, “Who is that?”

“Yukiya's pupil. Name's Haruma. He has the best scores in Strategy among the Seeds by far and actually got dragged into Yukiya's Tactical Research Group the very second he got here.”

“Woah, poor kid.”

“Well, it seems Haruma himself really admires Yukiya too, so, from the looks of it, they're surprisingly doing just fine?”

“He's surely being fooled by appearances—now that makes me feel even sorrier for him.”

As they enthusiastically enjoyed some gossiping, Haruma returned in a dash, packages in his arms. “My apologies for making you wait, follow me.”

Akeru said his farewells to the two Evergreens, and so left the Unbending Reed Monastery guided by Haruma.

“Ah, now that I think about it, I haven't introduced myself to you yet. I’m—” Akeru tried to give the boy his name, but he was cut off before he could.

“It’s fine, I know,” Haruma cheerfully said. “Akeru of the Western House, right? You joined the Unbending Reed Monastery at the same time as Evergreen Yukiya and the rest but you’re now working as His Highness Wakamiya’s close aide. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Haruma spoke with a big, cheerful smile. Akeru’s eyes went wide open. “Wait, they didn’t say anything weird about me, right?”

“Not at all! Evergreen Yukiya even complimented you, saying you were ‘very wise’.” While, from the looks of it, Haruma’s interpretation of the words had been quite well-meaning, Akeru had a hunch about what Yukiya truly meant with ‘wise’—it gave him all kinds of conflicted feelings.

He may have spoken like that to Tatsuto and Hisaya, but Akeru knew better than anyone that he was no match for Yukiya and the others. Hence, after clearing the Trial of Mist, Akeru went to personally meet with Wakamiya one more time. ‘I’ve learned enough combat to protect myself but, even if I were to stay in the Monastery, it’s impossible for me to reach the heights required to protect Your Highness.’ After that, Akeru made his request to again serve directly under Wakamiya from that point onwards.

Wakamiya was appreciative of Akeru’s efforts and, this time, enlisted him as his close aide from the very beginning. Akeru was well aware that his lack of talent as a warrior would have truly become apparent if he had stayed any longer and was firm in his belief that he made the right choice back then.

That said, he didn’t enjoy others pointing it out even one bit. “That bastard…… I’ve heard you really admire Yukiya—is that true?”

“It is! I mean, I wouldn’t have even had the chance to be at the Monastery in the first place if it wasn’t for Evergreen Yukiya.”

Haruma was a commoner from the Eastern Region. He had always liked studying, but his social status had greatly limited his options to focus on such an endeavor no matter how much he wanted it. So, as he had some skill with the sword, he requested admission to the Unbending Reed Monastery, aiming for a recommendation from his Township’s Lord. However, his physical capabilities proved to be one step behind all the other candidates.

“I lost at the test matches. I truly thought that was it for me and was about ready to give up, but—” The Township Lord gave Haruma one of his precious few recommendation letters despite his results. “I couldn’t believe it! Then, when I asked him why he chose me, he brought up Evergreen Yukiya.”

Up until then, the Township Lord had been of the belief that those tough of body and blessed with physical strength were the only ones fit to become Yamauchi Guards. Yet recent events had made him consider that, perhaps, having a Guard with a clear, bright mind would be a good idea as well.

“And then! Arguing it was a perfect chance, the Township Lord even brought me to Reed Waterway Temple!” The moment he heard that, Akeru could already tell how the rest of the story was about to proceed.

It all happened about two years ago.

The rumors about a teen prodigy who had managed to defeat Suikan—the best tactician of their era—spread like wildfire in the military world. That, coupled with the fact that Suikan actually left the Monastery afterwards, led to the organization of what they called a ‘Strategy Workshop’. A screening process for the position of Strategy’s new practical Instructor in all but name.

The event included officials from the Yamauchi Guard and the Feathered Grove, as well as out-of-office scholars focused on war tactics. Everyone with confidence in their own tactical skills gathered at Reed Waterway Temple and dueled each other to determine the level of their talents.

Within the region, the event was referred to as the Reed Waterway Workshop.

With all that said and done, Yukiya, the very source of the problem at hand, proved to be the center of everyone’s attention at the Workshop. The Warfare Record of his match with Suikan had already made the rounds by that point and anyone who saw it could tell that Yukiya’s odd strategy had to be a stroke of good luck—or cheating.

At first, everyone believed that the so-called ‘Unbending Reed Monastery’s Teen Prodigy(1)’ would give himself away at the Reed Waterway Workshop—but Yukiya didn’t employ any tactic like the one against Suikan. Not even once. He battled within orthodoxy, facing his upper side opponents strictly with by-the-book tactics. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost. He performed splendidly as well in the reviewing process after the matches themselves.

After that, his ‘Monastery’s Teen Prodigy’ nickname stopped being used as a form of mockery and quickly became genuine. The man ultimately chosen as the new Instructor was an ex-Yamauchi Guard, already retired from any sort of active service—but the renown Yukiya gained during the event was undoubtedly second to none.

“I was quite shocked when I first saw Evergreen Yukiya with my own eyes,” Haruma said with a dreamy look in his eyes, apparently lost in the memory. “Back then, Evergreen Yukiya was even smaller than I am now. But he wasn’t intimidated, no matter his opponent—he even won against people way above him! I got way too worked up,” Haruma forced a shy smile, “and even ended up disrespecting him after a match. However! He didn't seem at all bothered by it and was so nice to me. He even offered to help me out when I actually arrived at the Monastery.”

True to his word, Yukiya did apparently take quite good care of Haruma after he joined the Unbending Reed Monastery. “There are many juniors who admire Evergreen Yukiya just like me, but for me, he isn't only an example to follow—he's someone I owe my life to.”

In sharp contrast with Haruma's bright smile, Akeru found himself tremendously conflicted and desperately swallowing his words.

“I'm glad to be of any help to him whatsoever. I don't really care what others may say about it.”

“Hey, wolf in sheep's clothing bastard.” Curse words were the first thing to come out of Akeru’s mouth as he pulled the tent flap open.

Yukiya was there, sitting on a camp stool as he looked at the maps spread over the nearby stand. He just laughed in answer, his eyes still fixed on the papers. “What’s up with that? And out of nowhere!”

“Don't you have even the slightest of a guilty conscience, deceiving your poor innocent junior like that?”

“Deceiving? Perish the thought. I'm truly just a kind and caring senior.”

“Now that’s bullshit. I know you're twisted to the core, don't you lie to me.”

Nevertheless, Akeru's cursing was promptly ignored with a laugh. “So what's the deal? You came all the way here, so there must be some kind of emergency.”

As he said that, Yukiya finally raised his head.

His physical appearance had changed significantly since their days as Seeds. His features, which were once only possible to be described as round and plump, had gotten sharper with age. At the moment, gentle and soft would be a better description for them. It was a terrifying thought, but someone could even mistake Yukiya as an eloquent, fine young man by appearance alone. He had truly gone through quite the transformation.

And, while he had been the smallest among the Monastery trainees back in the day, he now possessed the fit, strong body of a warrior. Someone who hadn’t seen him in the last three years would probably have a hard time recognizing him at first. Most frustrating of it all was his height—before Akeru even realized it, Yukiya had gotten taller than him.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Akeru cleared his throat. “Indeed. I came here with a message from His Highness Wakamiya.”

“From His Highness?” Yukiya tried to ask back, but someone else's voice overlapped with his.

“Hey!” It was Shigemaru's. From where, Akeru couldn't tell. “We'll end up overhearing the conversation if we stay here, is that fine with you?”

Before Akeru got the chance to ask where he was, Shigemaru pulled up the edge of the tent right behind Yukiya and popped his head in. “Hey, Akeru!”

“Shigemaru! What are you doing here?”

“It's not only me, Chihaya is here too. I was making some tea for my best friend, being as he is in the middle of the Trial of Storm and all, but I guess it may be best for us to leave now?”

Shigemaru attempted to retreat, but Akeru stopped him. “No, you can stay. You two are going to be the second and third of the class after all, right? You'll be tasked with His Highness’ protection in the near future anyway, so it may actually be for the best.”

Besides, Shigemaru and Chihaya had already met Wakamiya on multiple occasions before and, being Yukiya and Akeru's friends, the people in Wakamiya's Faction had regarded them as allies for a long time now. What was even the point of keeping them out after all that?

“Really? Then, please, wait for just a bit!”

Shortly after Shigemaru's face vanished from the tent, he and Chihaya came in. This time, actually through the door.

“Hey, little Lord, a messenger this time? I see you're right at home with menial work.”

“Shut your trap, you poor bastard.”

The instant they saw each other, Akeru and Chihaya proceeded to exchange quite vicious greetings. The latter was carrying bamboo tea cups, while Shigemaru held a steaming iron kettle in his hands.

They all pushed aside the stand with the maps and, after spreading a mat on the ground, sat down in a circle.

“It's low-grade tea, but if that’s fine with you—”

“Thank you.”

After wetting his lips with the tea Shigemaru courteously poured for him, Akeru took a bunch of papers out of a bundled package he had brought with him. “First of all, take a look at this.”

Yukiya took the papers offered, all while Chihaya and Shigemaru peeked over his shoulder to check the contents. “Wait, what the hell is this?”

The paper was filled with a tiny grid broken down by lines. Shigemaru and Chihaya looked at it with puzzlement, yet Yukiya seemed to figure it out quite fast. “Is this one of those ‘statistical graphs' from the Outside?”

“That it is. At Wakamiya's request, we checked the records of the last hundred years and gathered data on the water levels in Center Mountain and its surroundings using this Outside-style methodology. Can you read it? The vertical lines on the grid represent the amount of water and the horizontal ones the time.”

Yukiya seemed to grasp his instructions almost immediately. He followed the lines with his finger and let out a soft ‘I see’. “It does make it quite easy to see the evolution over time.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Yukiya left the paper on the mat so Shigemaru and Chihaya had an easier time seeing it. “In short, the more this line goes up, the more water we had at the time. The opposite is also true, the lower it goes, the less water.”

If one paid attention to the general evolution, although the line would go up and down again and again, the overall tendency was down. Thanks to Yukiya’s explanation as he traced the line with his finger, Chihaya finally grasped its meaning as well and gave a questioning look to Akeru. “The water at Center Mountain is—dwindling down?”

“That seems to be the case.”

Supporting the Imperial Court's investigation were the plentiful cases of wells drying down in the Center area during the past few years. The Center Mountain had always been blessed with plentiful water, however, with a multitude of waterfalls sprouting directly from its surface. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the Residences of the Center’s many noble families had been built as if stitching them together, speckled in whatever space the waterfalls left.

Both Chihaya and Shigemaru had confusion written all over their faces. After all, why was it such a big deal if the water levels went down a bit?

“It’s normal if you can't figure out what this means with only a graph. But, try to remember,” Akeru told them solemnly. “Have you forgotten what route the Monkeys used to invade us four years ago? A dried up well.”

Tension rose among the group the moment the Monkeys came up in conversation.

“...... So this talk concerns the Monkeys?” Shigemaru asked in a quiet voice.

“Indeed it does. And it's an urgent matter,” Akeru replied. “Ever since the Monkeys’ first invasion four years ago, the Imperial Court has been examining all the wells and caves in the Center.”

Ultimately, they didn't find any other potential invasion route besides the initial dried up well—or so said the official report. “But, in reality, there are more passages than the one the Imperial Court has under its control.”

“What!?” Shigemaru yelled out of sheer shock.

Yukiya, taking Akeru's role in the conversation, explained, “No need to worry. The other known passage is already sealed and there should be people keeping proper watch over it too.”

After taking in Yukiya’s behavior, Shigemaru blinked in surprise. “I see, so you already knew about the place.”

“I do know about it, yes. After all, I was the one who personally confirmed its existence in the first place. I went through it with my own feet and even saw the Monkeys there with my own eyes,” Yukiya confessed, his tone as if he hadn’t said anything special.

“Just what kind of crazy life are you leading……” Shigemaru muttered with exasperation.

“Back to the topic. What’s the relationship between the Monkeys and the water?” Chihaya, fed up with waiting for answers, asked.

In response, Akeru looked directly at Yukiya. “Then, let's ask Yukiya as he knows these passages from firsthand experience. Is there anything in common between the well the Monkeys used as an entrance and the passage you went through?”

Like a trainee replying to the Instructor's questions in theory class, Yukiya gave Akeru a quick answer. “One could say that, geographically speaking, both were either holes or underground pathways excavated to lead deep under Center Mountain.”

“Then, this is a question for you, who has actually traversed such an underground pathway. What did you have to go through to reach the Monkeys’ territory?”

“What—?” Yukiya was stumped for a second, but it didn’t last long. “...... Water. Now that you mention it, I dove through a mysterious underground lake. Shining water poured on it. The Monkeys were right there after I surfaced.”

“That's it!”

The invasion route that the Imperial Court sealed was a hole opened on the well's very walls. It had once been filled with water, which meant there was no way for the Monkeys to come in from there. So, if one were to assume the Monkeys invaded thanks to the well drying up, and that this was due to the water levels on Center Mountain going down— “Then we could conclude that what separates us from the Monkeys’ den is actually the water itself. Or so His Highness Wakamiya thinks.”

After investigating the matter on Wakamiya's orders, it became clear that—though not without its ups and downs—the overall tendency for the water quantities flowing from the Center Mountain to Yamauchi’s different regions had been solidly downwards. “To top it all off, we got a report saying that the water coming out through the Center's waterfalls had suddenly gone down these last two or three days.”

“These last two or three days……?” Shigemaru murmured weakly. Although Yukiya and Chihaya didn't say anything, the look in their eyes had clearly gotten sharper.

“If it's all groundless concerns, that’s great, but His Highness has been saying he has ‘a bad feeling about it’ nonstop ever since.”

Yukiya groaned the second he heard that. “Now that sucks. The True Golden Raven's instinct is virtually no different from a prophecy. If His Highness Wakamiya is actually saying that, something is going to happen in the near future for sure.”

“We have eyes on any suspicious spots that were found during last time's investigation. The Yamauchi Guard is on the move already, but the area to cover is way too wide. Especially because, if the worst comes to pass, they could end up in a skirmish against the Monkeys.” In short, they were sorely and utterly lacking in manpower. “That’s why His Highness Wakamiya orders you to join the search as soon as the Trial is over.”

“Understood, so I will,” Yukiya said as he straightened his back. “Tell His Highness that I’ll be joining them as soon as I’ve taken care of things here. The Trial of Storm will be all over after tomorrow's match.”

“Got it.”

“My Trial of Storm is all finished, though,” Shigemaru energetically leaned forwards. “I may not be an official Yamauchi Guard yet, but could I still help out?”

“I'll go too.”

Akeru nodded in approval at Shigemaru and Chihaya's requests. “I'm sure His Highness Wakamiya will be glad to hear you say that.”

Yukiya, meanwhile, watched the three of them, all ready to leave that very moment, with a downturned mouth. “Honestly…? I would rather go with you all right now.”

“But you can't,” Akeru flat-out refused to hear Yukiya's complaints on the matter. “Even if we assume a disaster of some kind is going to happen, we can't tell when that will be. It could be tomorrow, in ten days or even a whole month from now. To have you fail out because of this would be completely laughable. Let me give you a message: ‘Yukiya, don’t panic, and come with us only after you've actually finished everything you have pending. We'll talk after that—’ Word for word. It comes not from His Highness, but his wife.”

“Eh—” Yukiya blinked in surprise. “Sakura no Kimi told you that?”

“That she did, and His Highness too. When he heard her say that, he went ‘well, Yukiya is probably well aware of that without anyone's intervention, but tell him I'm of the same opinion just in case’.”

Yukiya bitterly held his head in his hands. “...... Then, please tell not only His Highness but Sakura no Kimi as well that I said ‘understood’. I'll go with them after the Trial of Storm without fail.”

“Got it. And you better not go and screw it all up at the very last moment and lose.”

Yukiya's lips curved into a sly grin.

“Who the hell do you think you're talking to?”

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

Akeru and the others left. The tent fell into silence and Yukiya sighed. “Well, then.”

The topographical map he had been checking represented the entirety of the surrounding terrain. He had already finished a preliminary inspection when the sun was still high in the sky—the terrain was quite craggy and there was a tunnel one could use as a shortcut if so desired. If he attempted to win in a reliable and steady manner, tomorrow's battle could turn out to be quite complex.

Of course, he wasn't concerned with losing at all, no matter how complicated the battlefield got. He had trained at this field many times before and his opponent was one of his fellow Evergreens—he knew him quite well after three whole years spent together.

What worried him wasn't victory, but rather the time spent on the test itself.

There were Seeds unaccustomed to mock battles taking part this time, so he wanted to avoid any overly intricate strategies and, after hearing what Akeru had to say, the only thing he wanted was to be done as soon as possible so he could join Wakamiya and the rest in the search. He had intended to win in a conventional manner, but it seemed like it was time to change plans post-haste.

“Evergreen Yukiya, I brought you dinner.”

“Come in.”

“Sorry to intrude,” Haruma said politely before coming in, leaving a four-legged tray with food on it in front of Yukiya. Haruma had grilled some mochi with miso sauce he had brought from the kitchen, from the looks of it. It smelled wonderful. “So, everyone has gone back.”

“Yes, I'm sorry. After you went through all that trouble to make this for everyone.”

“Don't worry. I'll bring the leftovers with me and share it with the other Seeds.” Haruma had done him the favor of preparing dinner for him, Shigemaru and the others at a spot somewhat away from the tent. He truly was a well put together junior—he was so casually considerate. Always careful to not be a bother to him.

“Ah, about tomorrow. I'm thinking of giving you command over a detached force.”

Taken by surprise, Haruma straightened his pose. “Me? Is that truly alright? That's usually a role for a Sapling to……”

“I'll carefully consider the members. There shouldn’t be many complaints if we gather people well acquainted with your talent. I'll leave the decision-making on the field to you,” Yukiya said.

Haruma's expression remained solemn, but his eyes sparkled. “That's such an honor! If I can be of help to you, Evergreen Yukiya, I'll do everything I can!”

“Good. Go rest now then.”

“I will! See you tomorrow.”

Yukiya watched Haruma go with light steps, a smile creeping on his lips.

Haruma himself didn’t seem to realize it, but, to tell the truth, Yukiya had felt suspicious about him when they first met. As a Sapling, the two juniors he had shared a room with had been a terribly insolent pair. They were all obedient now, but that was only because Yukiya had hammered the hierarchy between them physically in their very bones.

On top of that, he was very much aware of the fact that he had been an even more insolent junior himself. Yukiya had been under the conviction that an obedient and meek junior just didn’t exist anywhere in this world.

Which was why Haruma's subservient behavior right out of the gate drove Yukiya to believe he had to be scheming something—what, he didn't know—against him. It took him quite a while to realize that Haruma seemed to be, by all intents and purposes, genuine in his admiration for him. The shock was enough to make him reflect on his life choices.

Haruma joined Yukiya’s Tactical Research Group every single day without fail and would take care of any menial tasks out of his own volition—Yukiya didn't even have to give him the order. Haruma was so ridiculously considerate, Yukiya's peers had started to poke fun at him over how he ‘worked a poor Seed to the bone’.

Then there was Haruma’s talent. He was absolutely brilliant, as expected of someone recommended to the Monastery due to his brains. His practical skills were somewhat concerning, but his skill in Strategy was beyond question. Out of all the juniors currently at the Monastery, he was the one that understood Yukiya's thought process best, hands down.

As time went by, his feelings about Haruma had grown closer to what he felt for his little brother back in the Northern Region than just another simple junior. The boy's future performance wasn’t just somebody else's business to him, he actually looked forward to seeing him grow.

But that wasn’t the matter he should be pondering at the moment—he had a task in front of him to complete.

Under normal circumstances, this would be the time to pull an all-nighter and perfect his strategy, but he was already set on a course of action. He felt sorry for his opponent, but he fully planned to settle things fast the next day. That decided, Yukiya went to sleep early that night.

The next morning, Yukiya woke with the sunrise and immediately took bird form, flying around as he studied the training field from above. The weather was nice that day, no wind worth mentioning. He didn't see anything in particular that could potentially hamper his plan.

With that finished, he returned to the tent where he had spent the night. By that point, the juniors assigned to become part of Yukiya's forces during the test had already begun to gather.

Haruma was in front of them all, waiting eagerly for him. “Good morning! How were the skies?”

“The wind is gentle with no clouds in sight. The best weather conditions for a match.”

“That's good to hear.”

Yukiya took human form as he answered, quickly retying his Ornamented Blade in the process. “I'll be relying on you today.”

“Leave it to me.”

They all lined up in the plaza where the tent was. A while later, the Instructors that would act as lookouts arrived from the Unbending Reed Monastery. White banners were raised across the camp, and the trainees too tied white straps on themselves.

Yukiya’s men totaled to thirty and their only available weapons were bamboo swords and whistling arrows. The goal of the test was to steal the enemy General’s Banner. Those who had their strap stolen by the enemy or who the lookouts judged to have suffered fatal injuries were to abandon the field immediately. They had until midday the following day.

They were waiting in line for the match to start when finally the sound of drums came from afar.

——Yukiya’s last test at the Monastery had begun.

That very second, Yukiya started to give instructions to his forces. “Haruma, take your three men and leave immediately towards the enemy’s side through the nearby tunnel.”

“Yes!”

“Now, everyone else. We’ll leave one person behind to protect the General’s Banner and then march all together towards the enemy’s camp.”

After the instructions, the juniors looked at Yukiya with complete disbelief. His assigned lieutenant, a Sapling, even let out a surprised gasp before asking him in a high-pitched tone, “But—what about scouts? And why leave only one person to take care of the General’s Banner—”

“One will be enough. This is a swift attack, our true enemy is actually time.”

In these field practices, the key to victory truly lay in who managed to pressure the opponent’s forces into dispersing. If Yukiya considered his rival’s records up until that moment, his chosen strategy would surely be what they called the ‘badger’. It used a minimal amount of scouts, assigning all remaining forces to defend the General’s Banner instead.

There was also the fact that his opponent had faced defeat at Yukiya’s hands way too many times and had gotten very cautious around him. That surely meant that, at the very start of the encounter, he would send out a lot more scouts than his usual.

“I would assume he’ll send seven scouts at the least. He'll also be worried about the tunnel and send people to guard it, so the number of people away from camp could easily increase by another four or five. Even if some of them realize what we’re trying to do and return to camp, that still means about two or three people less to fight. If my calculations are correct, we’ll be facing only around twenty men once we actually arrive there.”

If the enemy planned to go on the defensive anyway, then the best chance to attack was now, when he didn’t have any information on Yukiya’s forces yet and hadn’t fully solidified his formation.

“Depending on the circumstances, we may even be able to start the battle without their scouts ever returning,” Yukiya declared as he jumped on the back of one of his juniors, shifted already into a horse.

The Sapling turned lieutenant smiled ever so subtly. “And… that’s why you think only one man is enough to defend our Banner…?”

Their loss condition relied on one of the enemy’s scouts coming over to check on them and, having found out about the empty camp, deciding to charge all by himself in the time it took them to launch their all-out attack. However, the prospects were positive. As long as they left someone specialized in archery and with plenty of whistling arrows, Yukiya believed that the trainee should be able to take any enemy scout out without even needing to engage in close combat.

The main source of concern was, then, the tunnel—it would be bad news if the opponent were to use it to send out advanced troops directly to Yukiya’s camp without him noticing. Hence he had sent Haruma there.

“Let’s finish this quickly.”

“Yes!”

They headed out towards the enemy’s camp at full speed. Upon arrival, and just as Yukiya had expected, there were only nineteen boys with red straps hurrying to and fro at the enemy’s camp. Yukiya saw a few of them shift into bird form in an attempt to fight back—with that, the battle was all but won in his eyes.

“Disperse!”

Following Yukiya’s order, the big group of trainees following him cleanly divided into three platoons. Just as they had agreed beforehand, the two platoons on the sides approached the enemy’s camp as they dodged any arrows coming from above. Some of them were intercepted by the opposite side’s bird-shaped men, ending up in a fight, and others took a clean hit from the whistling arrows, but most managed to survive the charge.

Although the red-strapped soldiers on the ground fought back valiantly, the vast majority of Yukiya’s last platoon proceeded to then charge from above. They weren’t given enough time to even release their second round of arrows.

Yukiya spearheaded the descending group, flying right into the heat of the battle and slashing down four or five of the opponent’s men with his bamboo sword. The attack opened the way for one of the Saplings on his side to make a run for it and take the General’s Banner.

“Taken!” the boy yelled between pants, raising the Banner up high for everyone to see.

One of the Lookout Instructors beat the drum.

——And with that, the match was over.

“......And I thought that just this last time I could get back at you. What are you? A demon?”

“People often call me that, yes.”

After the match, no commending each other’s big efforts or any emotive scene like that took place. Instead, Sadamori made his forces line up and verified the actual losses on his side while he headed towards Yukiya with a bitter look on his face.

“Sadamori, for the record, you should have instructed your troops at the start on what they should do when fighting back, whether it is using bows and arrows or transforming into bird shape to go for the melee—one or the other. Otherwise, they can just end up hitting each other. Besides, the Seeds are unused to field drills like this so they’ll just get confused without it, you know.”

“That’s a very fair point, and I thank you for your feedback. But, you see, you attacked before I even had the time to give such instructions! Dammit!” Sadamori bitterly cursed him.

Sadamori had, apparently, seen Yukiya as a rival when they first arrived at the Monastery. Because of that, they hadn’t grown particularly close until they became Evergreens despite both of them being from the North. Sadamori was quite the sore loser but, despite that, he had proven to be quite the good-natured man once Yukiya got to actually talk with him.

“It really annoys me, but this confirms your graduation as the first of the class, right? It was a given, I guess, but still. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Good job from you as well, finishing the Trial of Storm.”

Once they verified everything, they learned that the ‘dead’ on each side had totaled to three for red and seven for white. Meanwhile, three lost their strap on the red side, two on the white. A victory was a victory, but Yukiya’s side had suffered the bigger losses.

Now that he reflected on it, Yukiya realized how reckless his approach may have been. Then, just as he was considering asking Haruma for his opinion on the matter as well, Yukiya noticed that the members of his detached force hadn’t returned yet—it was taking them too long.

“Hey, did you send someone to the tunnel this time?”

“No? I sent guards to the entrance, but they’re all back by now.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Maybe they hadn’t heard the drum beat from inside the tunnel? Yukiya turned his gaze towards the direction where the tunnel’s exit was. There, he happened to find a dark shadow flying in their direction amid the blue sky.

‘There they are’, Yukiya thought to himself at first, but he soon realized something was amiss. His detached unit was supposed to have four men including Haruma, yet he could only see one shadow approaching them. And the way he flew—as if he were panicking. The shadow got closer, and the odd sound of his desperate caws reached them.

The deja vu was unbearable.

Four years ago. The sight of a Yatagarasu flying through the blue sky between cries. Yet another tragic victim of the circumstances, and then what befell Yukiya’s homeland right after—

The Yatagarasu reached them, transforming back into human form as he fell to the ground in front of the other juniors, who had been busy cleaning up the camp. Yukiya pushed away the surrounding crowd and dashed towards him, all to reach the boy before anyone else.

“Koroku?”

He turned out to be one of the Saplings in his detached force. His expression was completely unlike anything he wore when he left camp—it was one of pure, dark terror.

“Evergreen Yukiya……”

“Yes!? Tell me, what happened?”

“The Monkeys appeared.”

For a second, it was as if the world around Yukiya had gone silent.

The next, rising tension made his five senses all the sharper. His heart beat so loudly against his chest that he could almost hear it thumping in his head.

Yukiya asked in a roar, “How many!?”

“I only saw one. It came from behind us all of a sudden and—I wanted to help fight, but we didn’t have anything worth calling a weapon……”

“Then? What about the rest?”

“I don’t know! I just thought I had to at least warn everyone—What should I do? I… I left Haruma, Teppei and Akitoki behind!” Koroku shrieked, having just realized what he had done.

Yukiya left him to it and instead turned towards the petrified trainees behind him. “Bring the Lookout Instructors here right now! And go contact the nearest Guard Station! Tell them to bring every single one of their soldiers and weapons here to block the northern tunnel!”

Following Yukiya’s incisive orders, a few of the trainees sprinted away in a way that resembled headless chickens. With that done, Yukiya returned his gaze to Koroku and quickly spoke, “To leave and warn everyone because you had no weapons was the correct choice. You must precisely tell the Instructors everything that happened when they arrive here. It’ll help us save our companions, got it?”

Koroku nodded as he shook uncontrollably. Having seen that, Yukiya stood up. “I’ll go to the nearest entrance. Sadamori, go to the opposite one and stand guard there until the reinforcements arrive. Don’t go down until we get those weapons.”

“Understood,” Sadamori immediately responded to Yukiya’s orders, a strained look on his face.

“All remaining Saplings, divide into two groups and follow us!”

Yukiya transformed into bird shape and left for the tunnel as fast as he could. A short trip later, they found the entrance. There, a transformed boy struggled as he tried to take off while another, sunken on the ground, looked into the dark depths of the cavern. Once Yukiya confirmed that there were no Monkeys around, he landed as he returned to human form.

“Teppei, Akitoki! Are you alright!?”

The one in bird form cawed without transforming, clearly maddened by the experience. The other one—Akitoki—was still motionless, but he whispered his name in a daze, “Evergreen Yukiya……”

“What’s wrong? Where’s Haruma?”

“Haruma—The Monkey took Haruma with it.”

——It… took Haruma?

Yukiya froze in place. Instantly, Akitoki’s face twisted horribly. “If only he hadn’t protected us! We tried to recover him, but that guy was too strong, it shook me off and my shoulder—”

That was when Yukiya noticed it—Akitoki’s arm was bent in an odd direction, his forehead drenched in cold sweat. All choked up, Yukiya forced himself to nod his head, “I know. This isn’t your fault.”

——The Monkeys had… taken Haruma.

“Evergreen Yukiya, we should go!” The Saplings following him yelled as they caught up to him.

“We can’t!” Yukiya answered. “With no weapons, we are just as powerless as they were to fight them.”

“Are you telling us to give up then!? Haruma may end up dead while we’re standing here!”

“But we can’t die in vain here,” Yukiya insisted resolutely. He heard the sound of breath catching sharply in the Sapling’s throat, but the boy didn’t press the matter any further.

In the end, they managed to send away Teppei, who had hurt his wing, and have Yukiya fix Akitoki’s dislocated shoulder by the time the soldiers arrived with the weapons. Akitoki remained conscious, although pale as a sheet, so ultimately Yukiya and the soldiers brought him with them as they finally went inside the cave.

“This is where we were assaulted.” The spot Akitoki pointed out connected to a subterranean stream, the only part of the tunnel to do so. It was off to the side in a slightly open corner—there, if you climbed down a bit from the more-or-less maintained path, was running water. The current made a soft rumble as it went.

Yukiya had gone down there during the preliminary inspection the day before. Bitterest regret filled him—why didn’t he even consider this possibility?

The Center. Flowing water.

It was such a perfect match for an entry route! They had discussed what the Monkeys’ infiltration conditions were just yesterday.

Yukiya then went down into the stream itself, looking in the direction the water came from. It was a dark cavern, no light whatsoever came from it. Yet there was no mistake, it had to connect to the Monkeys’ territory. He wanted nothing more than to go right after them and save Haruma, but— Yukiya bit his lips.

“Evergreen Yukiya,” someone on the path, where everyone else was waiting, called for him at that moment.

“Yes?”

“Look at this!”

Yukiya ran up to find something fallen in the middle of the road, illuminated by the torches’ light. It was a letter, no matter how one looked at it. The yellowish paper’s quality was atrocious, but he could see the letters written on it with what could be assumed to be ink. It was carefully folded. There, on its front, was the addressee’s name.

——‘To the Golden Raven.’

Next: Yukiya (Part 2)

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1: The ‘teen prodigy’ bit is specifically 麒麟児 (kirinji), which technically means “Qilin colt/filly” but it’s indeed used in japanese to mean ‘child prodigy’. I adapted it into ‘teen’ because of how english works vs. japanese.

#Translation: The Raven of the Empty Coffin #yatagarasu #yatagarasu series #the raven does not choose its master #karasu wa aruji wo erabanai

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