#but it's the first time in a while I had inspiration to write

[mylovesstuffs]

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu

Mingyu’s been in love with you forever but you’ve never seen him that way, or so he thinks. So he writes you anonymous letters, sends gifts, leaves clues—seven days of hope that you’ll catch on without him spelling it out for you. But every time you get close, you guess everyone but him. 

Genre: Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery 

Pairing: Mingyu × fem!reader

Content: Secret admirer, friends-to-lovers, slow burn (?), miscommunication, amnesia (in terms of realization—reader doesn’t realize Mingyu’s feelings), investigative humor, gift-giving (anonymous), letters (anonymous), silly investigation, mingyu’s subtle hints, light drama (misunderstandings and comedy), emotionally constipated Mingyu, orange juice, lavender, hidden camera, fake love ringtone trauma, laughter and fun with friends (Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Woozi, Seungkwan, Vernon and Dino), dramatic!seungkwan, over-invested! soonyoung, smug!jeonghan, unspoken yearning, heart-thumping hugs,  romantic confession.

Warnings: None for explicit content, just mild comedic frustration and tension related to the investigation. potential light anxiety (reader overanalyzes and stresses about figuring out the admirer), occasional bout of existential romantic confusion.

Word count: 20,620 words

A/N: HIT TEXT BLOCK LIMIT SO EXCUSE ME. this was my rushed valentine’s day fic; written in a fog of sleep deprivation and caffeine, desperately trying to meet the deadline [14th Feb] before tumblr decided to glitch its entire draft-saving system into oblivion. to this day, it still won’t let me fix it [dear tumblr devs: once i get my degree, i’m coming for your job. and then i’m resigning on the spot after fixing my own problem ☺️] if wanted to post this,, life, exhaustion, and tumblr’s war crimes said no because to post it, i would've had to sit down and format it from scratch for HOURS because drafts wouldn't worl. it took me until few weeks into the issue [Feb] to realize i could cheat the system with scheduled posts [which is still a cursed gamble when you're handling 3k+ words]. i reread this recently and cringed so hard i nearly vaporized. this is so metallic and roboticthis… it truly contains all the side effects of first-draft. but at the time, i gave this thing my everything. sleep was sacrificed. blood, sweat, and tears [real] were involved. i was running on loneliness too. this may be posting now, but like I said earlier, it was written a long time ago. the fics that will come after this are recent. so, they’re better and you’ll see the difference. i’m not the same writer anymore, and that’s something i’m low-key proud of bc i see improvements lolllll. massive, massive thanks to K @cheers-to-you-th Calli @hhaechansmoless and Tiya @gyubakeries for resurrecting this from the grave; you three deserve hazard pay for beta-reading this without losing braincells. also to Kae @studioeisa, who was quite literally the only person i spoke to while writing this. thank you for letting me talk  about this fic’s summary

inspired by the golden age of secret admirer tropes and that one friend who’s always been right in front of you, but you were too blind to believe it could be him. much love to GoSe for fueling Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s idiocy. also, Jeonghan’s smirk deserves a credits roll

to the readers: you deserve better than this first draft. but thank you for reading it anyway ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

You’re not expecting a package when you step outside your apartment door.

You're not expecting an online order—maybe the overpriced serum you panic-bought at 2 a.m. last week because TikTok convinced you your skincare routine was trash, but instead, there’s a neatly wrapped gift box on your doormat, and right on top of it, an envelope with your name on it.

Your first mistake is thinking this is a normal day. Your second mistake is opening the letter in front of your friends.

-

It was a normal afternoon at the café in your usual spot, where the group had gathered to do absolutely nothing productive as per tradition. You had just settled into your seat, wedging yourself between Mingyu and Soonyoung, when Seungkwan gasped.

"Oh my God, is that a love letter?"

Seungkwan’s voice was loud enough to startle the students at the next table. The café, previously humming with the background noise of clinking cups and conversations, now suddenly goes dead silent, at least, in your world, because now everyone is looking at you.

"It could be anything," you say, though the neatly written name on the envelope suggests otherwise.

"No, no, no," Soonyoung cuts in, already reaching for the letter. "We have to open this together. For the sake of the investigation."

"What investigation?"

"The one where we figure out who is in love with you, obviously."

Before you can argue, Jeonghan, sitting across from you, gestures toward the envelope. "Just open it. If you drop dead from embarrassment, at least we’ll have entertainment."

That’s all the permission Seungkwan needs before he grabs it, clearing his throat before reading aloud. "Dear Y/N," he read aloud in an exaggerated, sappy voice. " It feels a little cliché to start with Dear, but here we are. I don’t know if this is the best way to do this, but I guess I’m doing it anyway. The first time I met you, I thought the world had shifted just a little. You probably don’t remember, but I do. And I think… I always will. I see you. I see the way you get that little crease between your brows when you’re focused. The way you fight back a smile when you think something’s funny but pretend it isn’t. The way you give your things to people without thinking twice – your food, your jacket, your time. I see you, and I hope just this once you see me too.

P.S. You’re really bad at locking your phone screen. I already know your new favorite flower.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

"WHAT?!"

"NO WAY."

"Wait, wait, WAIT—who sent this?!"

Mingyu chokes on his drink. "Huh?"

You yanked the letter back, heart hammering. 

Jeonghan, lounging across from you, smirked. "Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer."

Seungkwan is already on his feet, "You have a secret admirer?! I—this is—what—WHO?!" And adds, "How come I don’t get secret admirers?!"

"Maybe because you announce every five minutes that you’re single and desperate." Jihoon deadpans.

"That is NOT—okay, but that’s beside the point!" Seungkwan huffed before rounding on you. "Who do you think it is?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Your fingers traced the ink absently, brow furrowing. You wonder: Who, among them, is listening just a little too carefully? You steal a glance at your friends, Jeonghan is still smirking. Vernon and Chan are whispering to each other. Jihoon looks entirely uninterested, already focusing on his phone. Mingyu stays relaxed with that big smile in place. Soonyoung, who already struggles to sit still on a normal day, is practically vibrating in his seat.

"It has to be someone we know," you mutter, narrowing your eyes. "Someone who knows me really well."

Soonyoung gasped. "Wait. What if it’s Jihoon?"

Jihoon doesn’t even look up. "Do I look like the type to write love letters?"

Fair point.

Seungkwan ignores him. "No, no, no, think about it. The handwriting, it’s too neat, too precise. And look at this phrasing—'I see you'? That’s some poetic, brooding nonsense right there."

"That’s definitely not Jihoon," Vernon mutters, taking a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

"Okay, but who else could it be?" Chan muses.

"It has to be someone we know," you murmur, rereading the letter. The words are too personal. This isn’t some random admirer. This is someone who knows your habits, your quirks and stays with you a lot of the time.

"Maybe… Jeonghan?" Chan suggests.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Me? That’s cute, but if I were her admirer, she'd know. I’m not subtle."

Okay. Not him either. Your mind whirls, piecing together possibilities. "So then who?" you ask, exasperated.

Soonyoung slams a fist on the table. "We investigate."

Seungkwan nods, solemn. "Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N begins now."

Mingyu exhales, but no one notices. No one sees the way his shoulders drop, the barely-there shift in his posture, releasing something he was holding onto too tightly. No one catches the way Jeonghan glances at him from the side, a smirk playing on his lips like this is the most entertainment he’s had all week, and you obviously don't notice him either. Because you—sweet, oblivious, you have already ruled him out. Because of course Mingyu couldn’t be the one. The thought is too absurd, too ridiculous. How could he ever be into you? You don't even have the confidence to suspect him aloud. Mingyu, who walks into every room like he owns it, who grins too easily and makes everyone feel like they belong. Mingyu, who could have anyone if he wanted. And you’re just… you. It makes no sense. It has to be someone else, someone who wouldn't make your heart stutter in your chest just by standing too close. But if you really looked at him, you’d see it. His ears are pink, fingers drum against his knee, the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him; but you don’t.

You’re too busy strategizing.

One thing that’s as clear as day now is that, you're suspecting your own friend group. While he wanted to stay anonymous with the letters, he had deliberately altered his handwriting hoping to throw you off but ironically in doing so, he somehow ended up mimicking Jihoon’s handwriting accidentally. And now, Jihoon is your prime suspect.

-

You, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Jeonghan, and Mingyu are lounging in the library, passing time when Seungkwan starts scribbling something on a piece of paper, lips pressed together in deep concentration as he taps the pen twice against the table before declaring, “Soonyoung is out.”

“Hey!”

“And Seungkwan,” you add.

“Excuse me?”

“Be honest,” you deadpan, tilting your head slightly. “You can’t keep a secret for five minutes, let alone one day.”

Seungkwan opens his mouth to argue, but then stops, visibly deflating. Soonyoung, still grumbling about the injustice of it all, leans over to peer at the list Seungkwan has been working on. After a lot of back-and-forth (and Seungkwan rejecting some of Soonyoung’s wilder theories, like what if it’s a ghost?), the three of you narrow down the list of suspects. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan remain, with Jihoon being the prime suspect because, as Seungkwan pointed out, his handwriting is suspiciously similar to the letter.

Across the table, Jeonghan and Mingyu stay silent throughout the discussion. Jeonghan watches, bemused, while Mingyu leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Neither of them bother to chime in, letting the three of you spin as you, Soonyoung and Seungkwan plot to set a trap when the time is right. 

Now, Chan and Vernon, for some reason, being one of the suspects… Mingyu absolutely cannot wrap his head around it. Why those two? What about anything in that letter screamed them? Why is it so easy for you to entertain the idea that either of them could be your secret admirer, but not him when he’s right here breathing the same air as you? When the admirer is right in front of you? He can literally just straight up confess, but no, he has to wait. He has to hold himself back. After all, it hasn't even been a day since you received his first letter. He can be patient. He’s more calculated than people give him credit for. Sure, he might not seem like the type to plan things out, but when it comes to you, he’s meticulous. His friends know it, even you know it, but you’re too caught up in the role of being his friend to acknowledge that he’s more than just a guy who trips over thin air, that his intelligence is just as attractive as everything else about him.

Mingyu’s original plan was simple—he wanted you to figure it out. He thought that by leaving letters and gifts, you’d naturally start paying closer attention to the people around you. He assumed it would be obvious, that you’d pick up on the little details: how he knows things about you that only someone truly paying attention would, how each gift is something he’s seen you admire before. He expected you to connect the dots, to turn around, to look at him, and to realize. But instead, you’re sitting there, hunched over a notebook with Seungkwan and Soonyoung, listing off suspects like this is some kind of whodunnit mystery game.

Two

February 8th.

Walking up to your locker with Vernon, you sip the orange juice that Mingyu handed you just a few minutes ago. As you reach your locker, you pass the juice to Vernon and dig into your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. Your fingers brush against something unexpected, a small, rectangular object. You pull it out and take a closer look. It’s a bookmark, delicately pressed with a lavender flower—your favorite. Attached to it is a tiny note:

“It reminded me of you.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Turning to Vernon, you hold up the bookmark, but before you can say anything, you catch him sipping from your juice.

“Yah! That’s mine!” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes.

Vernon simply shrugs. “Right…” he says, unfazed, taking another sip.

Rolling your eyes, you shove the bookmark in his direction. “Are you sure you didn’t slip this into my pocket when I wasn’t looking?”

Vernon scoffs, shaking his head. “I swear, Y/N, it's not me. I mean, I like you, but not enough to be your secret admirer.”

You huff but decide to let it go. Shaking your head, you turn back to your locker and start gathering your things, your books, a notebook, and a pen before shutting the door with a soft click.

Slipping your bag over your shoulder, you glance at Vernon, who still is sipping your juice. Letting out a sigh, you wave him off. “See you later, thief.”

“Enjoy finding your secret admirer.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn on your heel and make your way toward the park near the college library. The crisp breeze brushes against your face as you walk, the bookmark still tucked safely in your grasp. As you reach the park, you spot Seungkwan and Soonyoung sitting on the swings, chatting animatedly. A smile tugs at your lips as you pick up your pace, ready to execute your usual routine, which is pushing Seungkwan off his swing and claiming it for yourself.

Just as you lunge forward to shove him away, Seungkwan, having caught sight of you from the corner of his eye, expertly stands up and moves aside at the last second. Caught off guard, your hands swipe through thin air instead of meeting his shoulder and the momentum sends you tumbling forward. Instead of landing smoothly on the swing, your foot catches on the ground, and you face-plant onto the seat before slipping off and landing in the most ungraceful heap.

Soonyoung bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubles over, his giggles echoing through the park. The scene now resembles a group of drunk boys fumbling around with a soccer ball, except the only thing truly injured is your pride.

Groaning, you lift your head just enough to mutter, “The earth is full of selfish people.”

Seungkwan scoffs, arms crossed. “As if.”

Soonyoung is still wheezing. Like, fully doubled over, hands on his knees as Seungkwan rolls his eyes before sighing. Eventually after much suffering, he and Soonyoung each grab an arm and help you back to your feet. Dusting yourself off, you all make your way toward the bench in front of the swings, settling down.

Seungkwan disappears for a bit with a, “I’ll go get us something to drink,” and comes back with three drinks and, bless him, some ice wrapped in a napkin for your mishap from earlier. “Here,” he says, plopping down next to you, “for your bruised dignity.”

You roll your eyes but accept the ice anyway, pressing it against your arm where you had landed a little too hard. It’s a little embarrassing how much it helps. “Anyway,” you say, setting down your drink and pulling something out of your pocket. “I got another gift from the admirer today. Vernon was with me when I found it in my jacket’s pocket.” You hold up the bookmark along with the note.

Seungkwan squints at it. “You sure it’s not Vernon?”

“He denies it,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But he’s still sus.”

At that, the two of them launch into a theorizing session, their ideas getting more ridiculous by the second. You’re pretty sure they're just saying words now. Seungkwan adds fuel to the fire, and before you know it, they’ve spun a whole conspiracy web involving secret codes. It’s a little concerning how quickly they came up with all this. “You guys are so stupid.”

“But seriously,” Seungkwan says, “how many gifts or letters have you gotten so far?”

“Yesterday, I got a letter which you both saw, and a small plant so in total, one letter and two gifts including today's bookmark.”

Last night, when you got back to your dorm, there was a box sitting neatly in front of your door. No note on the outside, no sign of who left it. You glanced up and down the hallway but nope, no secret admirer lurked in the shadows, just the usual dorm silence. So you brought the box inside, set it on your desk, and opened it. Inside was a small, neatly potted plant with a tiny note tucked beside it. The note read:

“Take care of it well.”

That’s it. No name, no signature, just that.

Soonyoung immediately decides it’s finally the time for drastic measures. “It’s time to set a trap.”

Seungkwan, already tired, sighs. “No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is,” Soonyoung insists. “We need cameras, motion sensors, maybe even a decoy package—”

Seungkwan holds up a hand. “Okay, first of all, you’re not rich enough to have motion sensors.”

“Fine, but we can record the next delivery,” Soonyoung counters. “We set up a camera, catch them in the act.”

Seungkwan hums, considering. “Actually… that could work.”

And so the plan is set. The three of you head to Soonyoung’s place, which is always a good idea. Not just because he always somehow manages to convince his sister to lend him something after only minimal begging (or a taekwondo match), but because his mom recently visited, which means homemade food. And if there’s one universal truth, it’s that Soonyoung’s mom’s cooking has the power to make you forget all your problems. So while Soonyoung is off on his mission to beg or fight, you and Seungkwan shamelessly take advantage of the situation by helping yourselves to an absolutely unnecessary amount of food. Every bite is warm and ridiculously comforting, enough to make you forget you’re literally in the middle of an undercover investigation.

By the time Soonyoung returns, looking victorious with the tiny camera in hand, you’re full, satisfied and only mildly guilty about eating half his mom’s cooking. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, too focused on phase two of Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N. Soon, you all make your way back to your dorm, and upon arrival, you scout for the perfect spot to set up the device, ultimately deciding on a corner of the corridor wall just out of plain sight but with a clear view of your door. Now comes the tricky part: actually installing the camera.

With no ladder, no proper tools, and absolutely no sense of self-preservation, you’re left to your own devices, meaning an unsteady, completely improvised method of reaching the higher spot. This is how you end up watching one of the most questionable stunts in history unfold.

Seungkwan, grumbling under his breath about always being dragged into Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas, crouches on a chair to add some height. “I swear, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” you remind him helpfully.

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

Then, after a brief, heated argument over whether this was a terrible idea (which Seungkwan insists it was), Soonyoung climbs onto Seungkwan’s back, steadying himself by pressing a hand against the wall.

Soonyoung stretches up, muttering instructions that Seungkwan has absolutely zero patience for. “Hold still,” Soonyoung hisses, wobbling slightly as he raises the camera in one hand and secures it in place.

“I am holding still!” Seungkwan retorts, voice strained from supporting Soonyoung’s weight.

“Then why do I feel like I’m on a boat in the middle of a storm?”

"Maybe because you're as heavy as a sack of rice!"

You, being entirely unhelpful, are doubled over in silent laughter, barely holding back tears.

Despite the constant bickering, Soonyoung manages to attach the camera securely without knocking anything over or causing a disaster which is an impressive feat in itself, given the circumstances. Once he's satisfied with the placement, he carefully climbs down, having only one near-death slip, but he catches himself just in time.

With the camera now rolling, the three of you retreat into your dorm, hoping that today might bring another letter. You settle in, playing a few rounds of UNO to pass the time while keeping an ear out for any sounds outside. However, as the hours tick by, no new delivery arrives. Eventually, as the clock edges past 8 PM, Soonyoung and Seungkwan decide to call it a day.

“Well,” Soonyoung sighs, stretching his arms above his head, “I guess we check the footage tomorrow.”

“Or,” Seungkwan grumbles, rubbing his sore shoulders, “this was all just an excuse for Soonyoung to climb on my back.”

You laugh, walking them to the door. “Thanks for helping out, though. See you guys tomorrow.”

With a final wave, they head off leaving you alone in the dorm. But as you glance at the door one last time before heading to your bedroom, a thought scratches at the back of your mind relentlessly: What if the admirer knows they’re being watched?

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. Now’s not the time to get paranoid. You have other things to focus on, like your studies. After spending most of your day fooling around, it’s about time you catch up. With a sigh, you open your books and begin to study. Your eyes scan the page, absorbing formulas and theorems—polynomials, integrals, trigonometric identities, limits. It’s pure maths which always seems to make sense when you’re in the right mindset. You scribble through some practice problems, your pen moving quickly across the paper as you tackle linear algebra and calculus, but your focus doesn’t last long. After an hour of studying, the temptation to check your phone becomes unbearable. Just a quick break, you think. So you open Instagram and start mindlessly scrolling through reels, watching endless edits of SEVENTEEN. As the adrenaline from watching them starts to course through your veins, you stand up, feeling a little too hot and giddy from the rush. You need to walk it off so you head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water trying to cool down and calm your racing thoughts. But as you’re pouring the water, your eyes naturally drift toward the front door. And that’s when you see it.

A letter. Slipped under the crack of the door.

Your heart skips a beat, and afraid to move. It’s from the secret admirer. The thought sends a shockwave through you. The thought that the hidden camera set up by you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung might have actually caught the admirer in the act fills your mind, making your pulse quicken. Your hands are slightly trembling as you set the cold glass down, then without thinking twice, you rush over, bending down to pick it up. The envelope is unmarked, your fingers linger on it for a moment as a weird mix of excitement and nerves bubble in your chest. Slowly, you rip the top open and pull the letter out, unfolding it carefully.

“I saw you laughing today, and it made me stop for a second. You’ve been on my mind for a while now and if I’m being honest, I don’t think a single day passes without me thinking of you at least once. It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone can become a part of your thoughts without even trying. Anyway, I hope you liked the bookmark, thought you might like the lavender on that. It's nothing too fancy, but I hope it makes you smile. And before you ask – no, I won’t tell you who I am yet. You’ll figure it out when the time is right. Or maybe I’ll have to be the one to tell you. See you later.”

You place the letter on your desk and take a deep breath. Part of you just feels this strange comfort from the letter, but another part of you is still buzzing with excitement, wondering who the camera caught.

You decide against checking the camera right now, knowing full well that if you watch the footage without Seungkwan and Soonyoung, they’ll throw a fit and sulk for days. And dealing with their pouts and sighs isn’t worth it. They’d probably demand some sort of grand apology, maybe treating them to a big buffet or approving one of Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas as compensation. Yeah, no thanks. With that in mind, you push aside your curiosity and decide to wait until tomorrow to watch it together.

Three

February 9th.

“Hey, have you been sleeping well? You always pretend you’re fine, but I know you haven’t been getting enough rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you rubbing your eyes or you zoning out when you’re supposed to be paying attention. I know you have a lot on your mind. Maybe even too much. If I could take some of that weight off your shoulders, I would. But for now, all I can do is remind you to please, take care of yourself.

Also, I know you’re probably looking everywhere for answers, but sometimes you’re too focused on finding them that you miss the simple ones. Take a breath. Relax. Not everything is a mystery – sometimes, the answer is right in front of you, waiting for you to notice.

Anyway, I saw you trip earlier. That was funny.”

-

You stand, dumbfounded, gripping both last night’s and today’s letters while Seungkwan struggles to restrain himself from launching a punch at Soonyoung. The excitement of finally discovering your secret admirer had kept you patient, waiting for the two boys so you could watch the footage together. Now, the three of you stand in a loose circle in your dorm room, Seungkwan holding the mini camera in one hand, his grip tight enough to crack plastic.

Soonyoung, your beloved and apparently utterly incompetent partner in crime, forgot to check the camera battery. Which meant that after a measly thirty minutes of recording, the camera died. Which meant it captured absolutely nothing. Which meant your admirer had narrowly avoided being caught, not because of their own cunning but because Soonyoung was an idiot.

A heavy collective sigh fills the room, a habit the three of you have apparently perfected at this point. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. Shoulders slumping in defeat, you all grab your bags and head toward the stairs, making your way to campus.

Seungkwan, however, is not letting it go. He insists that this is a catastrophe, that you’ve all officially lost your credibility as investigators, that Soonyoung should be banned from handling equipment ever again. “This is ridiculous. This is a disaster. This is an embarrassment.” He’s been nagging nonstop, words tumbling out at breakneck speed as he waves his hands. “How did we mess up something this simple? How does anyone forget to check the battery? We are so unserious—”

You groan, throwing a hand in front of his face, forcing him to stop mid-rant. “Seungkwan, shut the fuck up and watch where you’re walking before you trip over your own ego.” Although he’s not wrong, he was just as invested in this as you and Soonyoung were, so he really has no right to act this self-righteous.

He gasps, but to his credit, he actually shuts up, though you can feel the pout radiating off of him.

Soonyoung meanwhile, has already moved on. By the time you reach campus, he’s concocting another plan, mumbling under his breath about an official interrogation session. “Café,” he decides. “We’ll question the suspects in the café.”

It’s not the worst idea. After all, you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung did come up with a list of potential admirers. And since Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan were still blissfully unaware of their suspect status on the list, it wouldn’t hurt to gather more intel.

Soonyoung claps his hands together, grinning. “Alright! We meet up at the café later with the others, and then—”

“Then we go to class before you actually flunk out of college,” you interrupt, already dragging Seungkwan toward the lecture hall.

“Pfft. Rude.” Soonyoung huffs but waves you off. “I’ll see you later!”

As you and Seungkwan slip into your usual seats, you let your eyes drift over the letters once more, fingers tracing the words. If Soonyoung hadn’t messed up, would you have already known the answer? Probably, but still…

Instead of paying attention to whatever your lecturer is droning on about—something about algorithms, efficiency, and real-world applications—you and Seungkwan huddle together whispering over your list of suspects one last time. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan. The same three names.

“We need a proper plan,” Seungkwan mutters, tapping his pen against his notebook.

You nod in agreement. “We can’t just corner them randomly without knowing what to ask.”

So, while the rest of the class focuses on things that actually matter like, say, the lecture that’s apparently worth half of your grade, you and Seungkwan draft an interrogation script. Questions, strategies, ways to subtly (or not-so-subtly) catch the culprit slipping. Once it's done, Seungkwan sends the script to Soonyoung and without hesitation, drops a message in the group chat:

Seungkwan: Everyone. Café. After class. No exceptions.

Just as he hits send, "Seungkwan," your lecturer calls, voice heavy with disapproval.

You barely suppress a wince as Seungkwan slowly looks up, caught red-handed with his phone still in his grip. The lecturer pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, unimpressed. "Would you like to share what’s so important that you’d rather text in the middle of my very crucial, very grade-determining lecture?" (He says that every lecture. At this point, you’re convinced it’s just a scare tactic.)

Seungkwan, without missing a beat, gives the lecturer the most withering, unimpressed side-eye you’ve ever seen, one that he definitely doesn’t notice, too busy shifting his focus onto another poor student. With a sigh, Seungkwan stands up, gathers his things, and exits the room like a man facing exile.

After the lecture ends, you gather your things and step out of the hall, immediately spotting Seungkwan and Soonyoung waiting for you near the stairway landing. Seungkwan leans against the railing, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently and Soonyoung, on the other hand, is half-sitting on the lower step, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at some absurd meme he’s about to show you the moment you get close. The second you approach, Seungkwan spots you and gestures for your water bottle, giving you an expectant look. Without a word, you hand it over and he takes a long gulp like he’s been trekking through the desert. Meanwhile, you grab Soonyoung’s wrist to pull him up from his seat, and just like that, the three of you set off toward the café.

On the way, you pass by Chan’s lecture hall. He’s just stepping out when Soonyoung with no warning or whatsoever, hooks an arm around his neck and steers him in your direction. “Where are we going?” Dino asks, confused but not resisting.

“To the café,” Seungkwan answers. “We have an important interrogation.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope,” you and Soonyoung say at the same time.

“As expected…” Chan says sadly (fake).

When the four of you reach the café, you slide into your seat right between Seungkwan and Soonyoung, with Chan sitting beside Soonyoung. The moment you’re settled, the others start trickling in, each arriving on their own. That means they actually checked the group chat. If they hadn’t, well, you three would’ve just stormed into their respective halls and dragged them here by the ear. You weren’t about to wait around forever. Once everyone had gathered, Seungkwan takes charge.

“We’re here to interrogate Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan,” he announces, placing the list in the center of the table. “No questions about why they’re on the list. No complaints. We have our reasons.”

Mingyu watches all of this unfold, barely holding back a sigh. They’re never going to figure it out at this rate. He was never worried about Seungkwan and Soonyoung actually catching him. Those two could be geniuses in their own fields but when it came to deduction, they were absolute fools. It’s amusing how confident Seungkwan and Soonyoung are in their so-called investigation. He wants to scoff, wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps himself in check. You, on the other hand… you’re smart, but Mingyu is starting to think that your partnership with Seungkwan and Soonyoung might be lowering your IQ. Still, he lets it play out, keeping quiet as the interrogations begin.

Suspect Interrogations

✔ Jihoon goes first. He looks downright offended that his name is even on the list, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowls at you and Seungkwan. "Why would I do something so cheesy?" he demands. "I've told you already, it's not me!"

Seungkwan doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward squinting at Jihoon, "That’s exactly what a guilty person would say!"

Jihoon visibly clenches his jaw, looking like he’s one second away from launching his drink at Seungkwan’s head. You almost want to stop him but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see it happen.

✔ Vernon is next. He stares at you, eyes blinking slowly, looking about as confused as a man who’s been woken up mid-dream. "I don’t even write notes for myself, why would I write one for you?" he asks. "And I think I've told you many times, it's not me!"

You and Soonyoung exchange looks, still very suspicious of him for some reason.

✔ Chan goes last. He doesn’t even pretend to take this seriously, instead, he just laughs, "If I liked you, I’d just tell you," he says.

It’s a fair point. A good point. But then… he keeps talking. He starts adding unnecessary details, rambling about hypotheticals—the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes’ that no innocent person would feel the need to explain. He’s digging a deeper hole with every word, and you can practically see Seungkwan’s brain short-circuiting beside you.

Then, all at once, Seungkwan slams a hand on the table and leans forward, "That sounds like something the real admirer would say to throw us off."

Chan looks so betrayed.

Jeonghan crosses his arms as he observes the mess of notes and theories sprawled out before him. "You're not going to get them to confess, you know," he says. "They want to stay anonymous. No amount of begging or interrogation is going to change that."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Then what do you suggest, Sherlock?"

Jeonghan smirks. "Simple. If you can’t catch them in the act, make them come to you."

He lays out his ideas: each one realistic, logical, and frustratingly effective. He insists that if the admirer is really in your friend group, they'll never slip up under pressure. They've already been careful and their goal isn't to get caught. It's to wait until they're ready.

But for the first time, Jeonghan is wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t want to stay anonymous because he isn’t ready. He’s been ready for as long as he can remember. He’s been in love with you since forever. The only thing stopping him from confessing outright is that he wants you to see it first. To realize, without anyone spelling it out for you that your admirer has been right in front of you this entire time. That it’s him.

Jeonghan keeps talking, giving you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung ideas on how to lure out the admirer. You nod along, jotting down notes with Seungkwan, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu shifts in his seat, playing idly with the rings on his fingers, memorizing all of your plans. Jeonghan’s part is done, and now he just leans back, chatting lazily with Mingyu, who barely hears a word. Mingyu knows you’re not getting anywhere with this approach, not as long as you keep treating this like some detective novel. So, he decides to leave some hints of his own. Letting you catch him staring. Letting his fingers brush against yours just a second too long. 

A waiter approaches the table, setting down a glass of orange juice in front of you, along with a small hand warmer wrapped in soft fabric. A tiny note is attached, folded neatly under the band.

You blink, frowning. "I didn’t order this."

The waiter only smiles. "It was ordered anonymously. For you."

Before you can even process what that means, Seungkwan moves at the speed of 3×10⁸ m/s, snatching the orange juice off the table. "We are not letting her drink something from an unknown sender," he announces before he downs it in one go.

"You mean my secret admirer," you correct, deadpan, reaching for the note instead.

"So you say," he mutters.

Mingyu leans back in his seat, watching your reaction carefully as you unfold the tiny slip of paper. The words are simple yet enough to make your stomach flip:

“Keep your hands warm. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Seungkwan doesn’t even notice your momentary daze because he’s too busy sulking over his lack of a second drink. "That was good," he mutters, smacking his lips. "Would be nice if someone ordered one for me, though.”

Mingyu, cool, calm, and completely unbothered, raises a hand and calls the waiter over again. "Seven more orange juices, please," he says and then throws a pointed look at Seungkwan. "For everyone except him."

Seungkwan gasps. "What! Why not me?"

Mingyu smirks, propping his chin on his hand. "You already stole hers. No take-backs."

Seungkwan glares at him, indignant. “Oh, so now we’re playing favorites? Unbelievable.”

Mingyu only pokes his tongue out teasingly before leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the laughter echoing around the table. Soonyoung bursts into laughter first, quickly followed by the others. Mingyu just smiles to himself, but soon enough, you clear your throat, drawing everyone's attention. "So," you start, your voice slightly exasperated, "I was this close to catching the admirer in the act." You proceed to recount the series of events from yesterday and today, explaining how Soonyoung and Seungkwan had set up a hidden camera in your dorm’s corridor, only for the idiotic Soonyoung to forget to check the battery, causing it to die before it could record anything.

Mingyu who had been listening intently, releases a relieved breath, knowing how close he came to being discovered. The thought of you catching him in the act sends a shiver down his spine. He silently makes a mental note to be more careful with these anonymous deliveries. After all, he wants you to discover the admirer is him, but on your own time. Mingyu doesn’t want it to be forced.

Before he leaves, Mingyu stands up, making his way toward you. He gives you a hug and in that moment, it feels different unlike other times. His arms wrap around you with purpose, his chest pressing lightly against yours. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him, fresh and lightly musky with a hint of wood, lingers in your senses. You can feel the gentle pressure of his arms around you, and to not exaggerate, it feels like time had slowed down. Your heart stumbles over itself, a foolish, reckless thing, drunk on the way he feels against you. It’s ridiculous how a simple hug can make your head spin, how the warmth of his arms feels like something you shouldn’t crave, but do anyway. You press your lips together, willing yourself to breathe normally, to not let it show just how much this moment is unraveling you from the inside out. But it’s stupid. So, so stupid. Because this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel when your heart should be occupied with the mystery of your secret admirer—the person leaving you letters, the person who sees you in a way no one else does. You shouldn’t be aching for more, shouldn’t be selfishly lingering in Mingyu’s embrace, wishing he’d never let go. You shouldn’t want him to hold you like this again, and again, and again. But you do. And it feels wrong, because Mingyu isn’t the one writing you those letters…

He pulls back slightly, still holding you for a moment longer than usual as if trying to convey something without words. You notice how his touch lingers; the light yet deliberate way he lets you feel his presence though you don't fully catch onto his intentions. Meanwhile, Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at the hug. The others don’t really notice, as it’s not uncommon for the eight of you to hug, but something about this seems different even if they don't quite pinpoint it.

Mingyu pulls away, his smile still staying as he bids everyone goodbye, claiming he has another class in the afternoon that he can’t afford to miss.

However, as soon as he steps out of the café, he changes direction, heading not toward the classroom, but to a candle-making workshop he’d booked an appointment for a few days ago. Inside the workshop, Mingyu walks around with the instructor who guides him through the candle-making process. The space smells like warm wax and a cocktail of fragrances. The place is dancing with creativity but Mingyu already has a vision in mind.

His first idea is a rotating heart-shaped candle made of light pink wax, its design featuring ribbed layers that spiral upward giving it a unique 3D sort of effect. The second candle will be more playful, a rubik's cube made of hearts. It's a square candle and each side is covered in a grid of tiny hearts, all in varying shades of pink. The design is neat and the colors blend really well which makes the candle appear soft but striking at the same time.

Mingyu carefully selects the wax, something soft yet durable, perfect for the designs he has in mind and the colors, choosing soft shades of pink, each one different but complementing the others. He picks out the scents: a lavender with hints of vanilla. The instructor walks him through the remaining details, ensuring everything is perfect for the candles he’s about to create. Mingyu’s thoughts briefly drift back to you, wondering how you’ll react once you see the candles. But he has no time to waste anymore, so Mingyu rolls up his sleeves as the instructor prepares the workspace, laying out all the necessary materials. He’s focused, the idea of creating something special for you igniting a sense of excitement and purpose within him. The sound of the instructor’s instructions makes Mingyu feel like he’s entering a different world, one where he can focus solely on his vision.

Step 1: Preparing the Wax

The instructor starts by showing Mingyu how to melt the wax to the perfect consistency. Mingyu, fully engaged, watches carefully as the wax turns from solid to a glassy liquid. He chooses a light pink wax, the base for both candles, and pours it into a large mixing container, ready to be heated. The wax glows softly under the warm light and Mingyu smiles at how it resembles the color he envisions for the heart-shaped candle.

Step 2: Crafting the Heart Candle

Mingyu takes a special mold, shaped like a heart, and begins carefully pouring the melted wax into the mold. He does this slowly, ensuring there are no air bubbles and that the wax is evenly spread. As it fills the mold, he adds layers, letting each one cool slightly before pouring the next to create the ribbed, spiraled effect he wanted. With each layer, the heart shape begins to come to life, the design slowly becoming more intricate, giving it that soft, rotating effect he’d envisioned.

Once the mold is filled, Mingyu lets it cool. He then checks the temperature of the wax again, then chooses a faint vanilla scent to add, mixing it in thoroughly. He waits patiently, allowing the wax to solidify into the form of a delicate rotating heart.

Step 3: Crafting the Rubik's Cube Candle

Next, Mingyu turns his attention to the Rubik’s cube candle. He chooses a square mold, knowing it’ll be a bit trickier to get all the sides even but he’s determined. He melts a darker shade of pink wax, then carefully pours it into the mold, covering each side evenly. As the wax cools slightly, Mingyu presses tiny heart-shaped stamps into each side, ensuring each one is uniform but with slight variations in the shade of pink. Some hearts are light, some darker, creating a neat grid-like pattern.

Before he finishes, he adds the scent, a hint of lavender to the candle for a calming, refreshing scent that contrasts but compliments the soft vanilla in the heart-shaped candle. He doesn’t know why, but something about it feels just right.

Step 4: Setting Them to Cool

Mingyu carefully places both candles on the cooling racks, watching as they begin to set. He’s exhausted but satisfied, a small smile playing on his lips as he imagines you receiving them. He doesn’t need to say it but these candles are more than just gifts, they are symbols. Symbols of his feelings, wrapped up in a soft pink glow waiting for you to figure out that the admirer was always right in front of you.

As the wax cools and the candles solidify, Mingyu’s heart races just a little faster. He’s ready, he’s more than ready. He just needs you to realize it too.

Four

February 10th.

You carefully lift the velvet black box, a silk material cradling the delicate necklace inside. Your fingers brush against the golden chain as the lavender gemstone catches the light. The oval shape of the gemstone adds a timeless quality to it, and the way the facets reflect the light gives it an ethereal, almost magical quality. The chain is fine and delicate, emphasizing the dainty, feminine look of the necklace, which, in all its understated elegance, somehow feels like it was meant only for you. You can feel your heart race, knowing that someone took the time to pick out something that you also had your eyes on. 

Then your eyes fall on the note attached to the box, and you carefully read the words:

“I remember you mentioning this the other day. Couldn’t resist.”

Your heart skips a beat as the memory floods back. You remember the moment so clearly now. It was maybe an offhand comment but you had mentioned how much you adored that lavender gemstone necklace you saw during window-shopping. You had daydreamed about having it in your hands, imagining how beautiful it would be to wear and how it would make you feel. You'd been chatting with the others, and as you recall, the only ones who were around that day were Jeonghan, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Chan. Your mind races as you quickly start to piece things together. It was one of them, wasn’t it? Vernon is out now but one of them had been paying attention and had remembered that fleeting wish. 

You set the necklace aside for a moment, turning your attention to the next gift. As you open the small package, your eyes widen in surprise. It's a keychain—a cute, round Doraemon keychain, the little blue robot cat you used to love watching as a kid. You can actually hear the theme song in your mind as you hold it in your hand.

You step into your room, carefully setting both gifts on your desk. It’s officially the fourth day since you found out about your secret admirer. Each day without fail you've received a gift along with a letter. But today, there’s been no letter yet. Which means it could arrive any moment. And that means this is your another chance. If you time things right, if you plan well enough, you might just catch them in the act. Your mind immediately goes to Seungkwan and Soonyoung. You need to meet up with them as soon as possible to strategize. Jeonghan’s advice had logic behind it, if there’s any hope of luring out the admirer, you’ll have to be smart about this.

With a deep breath, you check your phone to see the time and—Holy shit. You're late. Like, really late.

Your eyes widen as you scramble to grab your things. Soonyoung and Seungkwan are definitely going to scold you for making them wait. You don’t even have time to dwell on the gifts anymore, your priority is getting out of here now.

You rush to your closet, throwing on a gray oversized hoodie. It’s comfortable, and most importantly, easy to move in. You quickly pair it with high-waisted black wide-leg pants that you found hanging right in front of you. Slipping into your sneakers, you grab your black quilted tote bag, sliding it over your shoulder in one swift motion. Before heading out, you catch one last glimpse of yourself in the mirror, quickly applying a soft burgundy lipstick just enough to add some color to your face. Your Sony headphones settle around your neck as you practically bolt for the door. 

You can already imagine Seungkwan’s sigh and Soonyoung’s exaggerated disappointment. You are so not ready for this.

You burst into the library slightly out of breath, scanning the room until your eyes land on them sitting at one of the corner tables. Soonyoung is slouched over, lazily flipping through a book while Seungkwan looks far too unimpressed, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

The second you reach them, Seungkwan wastes no time. "You’re so late," he huffs, grabbing your wrist before you can even attempt an apology.

“Wait, I—” you start, but it’s useless.

Before you can even process what's happening, Seungkwan bolts out of the library with you in tow, dragging you behind him. You barely manage to throw Soonyoung an apologetic look but he just waves lazily, muttering something about meeting up later.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop until you’re both speed-walking through the hallway toward your class. “You seriously need to start checking the time,” he scolds though his grip on your wrist loosens once he sees you struggling to keep up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say between breaths, deciding to distract him before he starts a full-on lecture. “Anyway—oh my god, you won’t believe how noisy my neighbors have been lately.”

That catches his attention. “How noisy?”

“Loud loud,” you emphasize, lowering your voice as you both slip into the classroom and find your seats. “Like, I swear they’re either throwing a party every other night or filming some very questionable action scenes.”

Seungkwan gasps, already invested. “That’s insane. You have to spill everything later. But wait…” he pauses, turning to you, “...did you get anything from your secret admirer today?”

You nod, pulling your tote bag closer. “Yeah, actually. A keychain and a necklace.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Necklace? Okay, that’s new.”

“Yeah, yeah, but focus,” you whisper, nudging him as the professor enters. “We’ll talk about it later when Soonyoung’s here too.”

Seungkwan sighs but leans back in his seat, finally quieting down as class begins. You let out a relieved breath, glad you managed to avoid more nagging.

-

The plan was supposed to be foolproof. Simple, yet effective. You, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung had spent nearly an hour or two in the library piecing together the perfect strategy. Since the admirer delivered gifts and letters at completely random times, catching them in the act had been next to impossible. But then, Seungkwan had a moment of genius enlightenment or at least, that’s what he called it.

“You pretend to leave,” he had explained. “Turn off the lights, make some noise like you're walking away… but in reality, you're just hiding somewhere nearby, waiting to see who sneaks in.”

“I think it’s perfect!” Soonyoung grinned, clapping his hands together.

You weren’t as sure. On one hand, you wanted to catch him. On the other, you secretly hoped he’d be smart enough to avoid the trap. You didn’t want a dumb admirer, but you also desperately wanted to know who it was. 

And so it was set, you pretended to leave your dorm, deliberately shutting the door a little louder than necessary. The lights were turned off, and your footsteps echoed down the hallway only for you to quickly slip into a hiding spot right around the corner, out of direct sight but close enough to see anyone who entered.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung were stationed at different vantage points: Soonyoung crouched behind a vending machine down the hall, and Seungkwan, well… he was supposed to be hiding behind the stairwell.

Except he was the one who completely blew the mission.

You were barely five minutes into waiting when your phone suddenly blasted at full volume—

I'M SO SICK OF THIS FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~

Your heart stopped. Seungkwan was calling you.

You fumbled with your phone, fingers scrambling to hit decline as fast as humanly possible, but the damage was already done. From the dim light of the hallway, you saw a figure, tall, broad-shouldered frozen in place. There was a brief pause, and then… an unmistakable snort. Your admirer had just laughed at you.

Your mortification reached new heights as you caught a glimpse of movement just as Mingyu took a step back, blending into the shadows with alarming ease. But before he disappeared entirely, he let something slip from his fingers. A single envelope fluttered down to the floor. Then, just like that, he was gone. Mission failed.

The timing had been perfect. You had expected to wait for at least an hour, maybe two, or even five before the admirer would finally make a move. But no, he had shown up almost immediately after you hid. It should have been a victory. You had been so, so close, and yet…it still ended up failing. Your disappointment is immeasurable.

The one time you had a chance to catch him and Seungkwan of all people had to blow it. You don’t even want to look in his direction right now. Instead, you stare down at the envelope on the floor, left behind in his quick escape. You take a shaky breath before stepping forward, crouching down to pick it up. Your fingers brush against the smooth paper. It’s slightly warm, maybe from being held just moments ago. He was right in front of you and you missed him.

-

Mingyu sighs, his arm draped around your shoulders, patting you just below your shoulder blade. You lean into him, still fuming while Seungkwan sits stiffly across from you, avoiding eye contact. Soonyoung is usually the loudest one in the group but remains eerily quiet, the guilt probably eating him alive too.

You groan, burying your face against Mingyu’s chest. “I was so close! Like, insanely close. But no, of course, the universe had to humiliate me instead. The admirer didn’t just escape—he snorted at me. Snorted! He found it funny that I got caught!” You lift your head, eyes blazing with frustration. “You guys don’t understand. We had one job. One job! And we failed.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch, a mix of amusement and fondness. He’s enjoying this even as he strokes your arm absentmindedly, pretending to be the supportive friend. Jeonghan, on the other hand, actually smirks. “To be fair, I did tell you to be discreet.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

Mingyu watches you closely and expectantly. Maybe you’ll finally piece it together now, maybe you’ll notice the way he’s been around you, the way the gifts are so him, the way his words always hold an extra layer of meaning. But no. Instead, you start throwing out the most ridiculous theories. “What if he’s not from our group? What if it’s some random stranger who’s been stalking me this entire time?”

Mingyu sighs deeply.

“What if it’s a professor?”

Mingyu groans.

“What if it’s—”

“Stop.”

You blink as he turns you toward him, his hands suddenly cupping your face. His palms are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin. Your eyes widen at the sudden closeness, at the way his gaze locks onto yours. For just a second he wonders if you’ll finally see it. If you’ll notice the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. If you’ll catch onto the warmth in his voice when he speaks. If you’ll recognize the way his hands feel so familiar, because he’s been by your side all along. But instead, you just stare at him puzzled.

Mingyu exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before pulling back. “Don’t overthink it,” he says. “The admirer will still admire you even after knowing you were spying on him without his consent. He has no reason not to.”

You blink at him. “That’s… oddly reassuring?”

Jeonghan watches the entire thing unfold, his smirk deepening. Of course, he picked it up. Mingyu releases you by shaking his head. He’s this close to just spelling it out for you, but no, you have to figure it out yourself. His fingers twitch slightly as he slips two candies into the pocket of your hoodie. You’re sharp and he knows that better than anyone. Always observing, always analyzing but right now, you seem lost in thought, your brows furrowed just slightly, lips pressed together as if deep in contemplation and he wonders who are you thinking about? Who are you suspecting? Because he's right here. He's always been right here but do you see him?

He leans back slightly, now one arm slung over the back of your chair, watching the way your fingers idly trace patterns on the wooden table. He wonders if you realize how much of yourself you give away. The way your shoulders relax ever so slightly when you’re comfortable. The way your fingers tense when you’re overthinking. The way your lips part just the tiniest bit when a thought clicks into place. And right now… you’re thinking hard. 

Meanwhile, his mind flashes back to earlier.

When your ringtone screamed Fake Love, he didn't panic but his body reacted on instinct, stepping back into the shadows, keeping his composure. And honestly, he had expected you to pull a stunt like this. Ever since he heard you setting up the hidden camera last time, he knew you’d try something even bolder next. That’s why he had prepared for it, why he was ten times more careful now especially since you’d taken Jeonghan’s advice. But the real problem was that you were so cute.

The way you hunched down, scrambling to decline the call, eyes darting around like a guilty child caught sneaking snacks before dinner. From the corner of his eye, he had watched you, heart clenching in the most endearing way. He wanted to stay longer just to see you try harder, to watch the determination in your eyes. But he had slipped the letter onto the floor and disappeared before you could catch him. 

-

At night, when you can’t get the gifts out of your head, the theories keep spinning, running faster than your thoughts. You pull out your phone, without even thinking about it. You tap his contact in your phone reflexively. He is the only person you can call for this, the only one who doesn’t mind when you ramble, who lets you spill every ridiculous and half-formed thought without ever making you feel like you’re too much. He’s the only one you trust to catch your words when they come tumbling out. But does he ever do the same? Does he ever pick up his phone in the middle of the night, scroll past contacts, and land on your name? When things get too loud in his head, when he feels too much, does he think about calling you the way you think about calling him?

The sound of the dial tone fills the silence in your room, your pulse quickening as you wait for him to pick up. It rings once, twice—until finally, he answers.

"Hello?" His voice is deep and groggy like you’ve just pulled him out of deep sleep.

"Hey," you say, your words spilling out all at once. "I think it’s Jihoon. His handwriting, I swear, it's obvious. And about that keychain, it could be Chan too, maybe he remembered that necklace…."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and you’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to hear the shift in his voice. It’s a bit of a sigh like he’s holding back something. "Hmm," Mingyu murmurs, dragging the word out. "You think it’s Jihoon or Chan? I mean, I guess it could be them." But you don’t hear the tension in his tone.

You launch into another theory, oblivious to his discomfort. "Or it could be Jeonghan? I know he's blunt all the time but I only talked about the necklace with him, Chan, you, Jihoon and Seungkwan…so it has to be one of them, right?"

He chuckles softly though the sound feels strained, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. Maybe you should just… let it be for a little while. Think about it in the morning, yeah?"

"I’m not letting it go, Mingyu. I need to figure this out. It’s driving me crazy!"

You hear his deep exhale on the other end. He’s not chuckling anymore. "Okay, okay," he says, voice slightly more clipped. "But get some sleep, alright?"

You roll your eyes, but you’re not listening. You’re too focused on unraveling it. "I’ll sleep when I have answers. Thanks anyway, Mingyu."

By the time you glance at the clock, it’s already 2 a.m., and you’re still awake, thinking about everything.

-

“You seemed deep in thought today. I wonder what you were thinking about. Or rather… who. You’re sharp, you know. Always paying attention, always observing. I wonder if you realize how much of yourself you give away when you’re lost in your own head. You’re looking for answers right now, aren’t you? That’s okay. Just don’t get so caught up in looking that you forget to see what’s right in front of you.

I hope you liked today’s gift. I thought it suited you.”

Five

February 11th.

Another day, another failure. You, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan are officially verified stupid.

The three of you sit slumped against the dorm room wall staring at the ceiling in sheer defeat. The plan was foolproof but you didn't account for one crucial factor. You live in a building with other students. You guys decided to install a motion alarm. Too many false alarms. A passing student, a delivery guy, a gust of wind. Each time the alarm went off, you three sprang into action only to find a confused neighbor or an empty hallway. By the third false alarm, Seungkwan was done.

"I'm quitting." He declared, standing up immediately. "I can't do this anymore. I might commit a crime."

"But you want to find out, right?" Soonyoung asked.

"I do. But not like this..." Seungkwan rubbed his temples, looking at you for support.

You didn't understand him. At all. "We were so close this time, though!" you argued, but even you were starting to doubt that.

Soonyoung groaned, flopping onto the floor. "I thought this would be the one…"

"Well, it wasn't. And I need a break before I actually start throwing hands." Seungkwan warns.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the floor. The admirer was winning. Again. And you were running out of ideas.

Somewhere out there, Mingyu was definitely laughing.

A knock echoed through the room. Your heart jumped. Reaching for the door, you find another letter. Your stomach twisted. The admirer had already delivered it. He knew, he must have waited until you were distracted, until you were busy sulking over another failed plan before sneaking in and leaving this behind. You clenched your jaw. He was taunting you.

Seungkwan sighed, flopping onto the couch. "We lost again."

But you weren’t ready to admit defeat. You slowly opened the letter, your fingers brushing over the familiar handwriting.

“It’s interesting watching you try to figure this out. I wonder if you’ll ever catch on or if I’ll have to spell it out for you one day. You looked frustrated earlier. I know you hate it when things don’t make sense, but sometimes, not knowing is part of the fun. Not everything has to be a puzzle to solve, maybe I'm right in front of you. Still, I’m curious—how’s the investigation going? I guess I already know.”

-

The note says:

"Your favourite, hope you aren't mad anymore. Oh and to remind you, don’t finish this in one go. I know how much you love it but eating it all in one day might just lead to a cold! I won't be able to bear to see you sniffle with a red nose, especially when you're already so adorable. Take care of yourself, okay? I’m sure you don’t want to be caught with a runny nose.”

There you stand holding the tub of half baked Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. The combination of chocolate and vanilla ice cream with cookie dough and brownie chunks, your absolute favorite. You take a deep breath, a little smile tugging at your lips, but the mystery of the admirer still weighs heavy on your chest.

You stride over to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and making your way to the couch. You plop down, the tub in your lap and start digging in. The cold ice cream melts quickly on your tongue, soothing some of your earlier frustration. You scoop up another generous bite and let the flavors settle as you think.

Then, you grab your phone, typing away in the group chat. You snap a quick selfie, spoon still in your mouth, with the ice cream tub beside you. With a smirk, you send it out to the group chat:

Y/N: "Whoever got me this, thanks! But I'm still angry. If you don’t reveal yourself soon… you might just regret it."

Six

February 12th.

"You’ve been looking everywhere, hahah. Searching, questioning, analyzing... but sometimes, the answer is closer than you think. It’s easy to overlook the obvious when you’re searching too hard. But I don’t mind, I like watching you figure things out even if you’re terribly off track. Don’t forget to rest, okay? Also, I know you skip meals when you’re too busy, don’t do that. Take care of yourself, because someone out there cares enough to remind you every day."

-

"It's been six days!" he groans. "And still no clue who this admirer is?"

Seungkwan sighs, peering over his shoulder. "At this point, I’m starting to consider Soonyoung's idea that we’re dealing with a ghost."

Mingyu and Chan lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of the note. Mingyu’s heart beats faster not just from curiosity but from something else entirely.

Then, something clicks in your mind. Without a word, you dive into your bag shuffling through its contents in a frenzy. The others watch with curiosity as you pull out all six letters, carefully laying them side by side across the table.

Mingyu watches as your eyes scan each letter, analyzing every word, every phrase. His pulse quickens. Are you finally piecing it together? Are you about to turn to him, grab his collar and pull him in and kiss? Will you tell him you’ve known all along, that you’ve felt the same way, that he’s been in your heart just as you’ve been in his? He inches closer slowly, hoping to make it easier for you to reach for him when you want to pull him in. And then you gasp loudly.

Soonyoung jumps forward. “What? What is it?”

Your eyes widen, mouth agape in disbelief. “I—I think I know who it is.”

The room goes silent. Mingyu barely breathes.

You turn to the group, your expression resolute. “It’s Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s heart stops. A crushing weight settles in his chest as his two-minute fantasy shatters in an instant. The imagined confession, the kiss, the overwhelming relief of finally being known is now gone.

"Jeonghan?" Seungkwan echoes, stunned.

You nod, “Think about it! The letters keep hinting that the answer is closer than I think, that I’m overlooking something obvious. And I completely dismissed Jeonghan before because I figured he’d be too lazy to go through all this effort.”

Soonyoung frowns. “That still seems like a stretch.”

“No, listen! Jeonghan was the one who told us the admirer isn’t ready to reveal himself yet, which means he knows who it is, because it's him! He was also there when I talked about the necklace. The admirer sent me one a few days later. That’s not a coincidence!” The group exchanges glances, mulling over your logic. “And,” you continue, “the letters keep saying I’m terribly off track. Who else could it be but the one person I never seriously considered?”

Mingyu stays quiet, watching as you piece together a puzzle with the wrong pieces. He clenches his jaw as you match all the clues to Jeonghan, not realizing that in your eagerness to connect the dots, you missed the most obvious thing of all. It's HIM that you never considered. Not even once.

He was the one listening when you spoke about the necklace. He was the one who spent hours writing each letter. He was the one who paid attention to every detail. He was the one who knew you so well he could predict your reactions before you even had them. He was the one who had been right in front of you all along. He was the one watching you search, waiting for the moment your eyes would finally land on him, but instead, you’ve drawn the wrong conclusion. Was he that unimportant? That invisible to you?

His heart sinks lower and lower as you present your case, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. What will you do when you realize the truth? When you finally see what’s been in front of you this entire time? Will it be too late?

Seungkwan and Soonyoung looked at each other before nodding in agreement. “You know what? That actually makes sense,” Seungkwan says, arms crossed. “It has to be Jeonghan.”

Soonyoung says, “Honestly, the more I think about it, the more obvious it seems. He’s been here the whole time, just messing with us like always.”

Chan, who had been nervously eyeing the letters earlier, exhales in relief. “Well, at least that means it’s not me.” He mutters, sinking into his seat, visibly relaxed now that he’s off the suspect list.

Everyone’s looking at you, and in their eyes, you see the same thing. Certainty. You’ve convinced them. The mystery is nearly solved.

“You’re 100% sure?” Mingyu finally speaks, his voice light.

“No. 99. I just need to be 1% more sure.”

But for a moment you feel a strange hesitation, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you haven’t even considered how you feel about Jeonghan being your admirer. You were too caught up in the thrill of the mystery, in chasing after the truth that you forgot it involved real emotions. That someone out there has been writing to you with real feelings, with intention. Do you even want to know? What if the truth doesn’t match the version of the story you’ve built in your head? What if it’s not who you expect, not who you secretly hoped for? What if it’s not Jeonghan? Or what if it is? And what does it say about you that the thought makes your stomach twist? That, deep down, some foolish part of you already knows whose name you wish to see at the end of those letters? Not Jeonghan. Not Jihoon. Not Vernon. Not Chan. Not anyone you’ve guessed so far. What if the one person you want it to be is the same person you’ve already ruled out? The one who’s always felt just a little out of reach. The one you’ve spent years convincing yourself is too much, too good, too impossible, because the thought of him being your secret admirer is too absurd. Too ridiculous. Right? But you shake the thought away and turn to Mingyu, your most trusted ally in this.

“You’re close with Jeonghan,” you say, eyes locking onto his. “Out of everyone, he’ll lower his guard around you the most. Can you help me fish him out?”

Mingyu stiffens for a fraction of a second, but no one notices. His heart sinks at how easily you place your trust in him, at how confidently you believe in something so wrong. But he doesn’t know how to say no to you. He never has. So he forces a small smile, nodding even as his chest tightens. “Yeah… sure. I’ll help.”

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to fish out of Jeonghan when the admirer you’re searching for is him.

He forces himself to keep a neutral expression as Seungkwan and Soonyoung excitedly discuss possible ways to corner Jeonghan into confessing. Chan listens with mild amusement, occasionally throwing in a comment but Mingyu barely hears any of it. His thoughts are drowning in the bitter irony of the situation.

This was supposed to be his moment. A dull ache settles in his chest, an uncomfortable tightness that won’t go away. Had he been so careful, so subtle, that you never even considered him? He swallows down the lump in his throat, gripping the edge of the table as he grounds himself. 

“Mingyu?”

He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts only to find you looking at him expectantly. “You okay?” you ask, brows slightly furrowed.

He should say something. Laugh, tease, pretend everything is fine, but all he can manage is a weak nod. “Yeah,” he lies. “Just… thinking.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Thinking too hard. Come on, we need you on this. You know Jeonghan best.”

Mingyu forces a smile. Yeah, he knows Jeonghan well but more than that, he knows you and right now, he knows that you’re chasing the wrong person. And worst of all, he has to help you do it.

-

The air carries a faint warmth of the afternoon sun, but it does nothing to ease the cold ache settling in Mingyu’s chest. He nudges Chan and looks at you, “It’s getting late. We should head home.”

You nod, stretching slightly before gathering your things. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you, Mingyu, and Soonyoung step out onto the streets, the golden light catches in your hair, turning it into something almost ethereal. Mingyu sees it but his heart feels heavy, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in his mind. The moment you confidently said Jeonghan’s name, the moment you smiled as if you had solved the puzzle, it had been like a dull knife sinking into his chest. A slow, dragging pain that refused to go away. It hurts. Really, really hurts. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let it show. Instead, he walks beside you, nodding and responding when necessary, pretending everything is fine.

By the time he drops you off at your dorm, his emotions are stretched thin, barely holding together. You wrap an arm around him, pressing yourself into his side in a casual hug. His breath hitches, but he forces himself to stay still. The warmth of your body against his should be comforting but it only reminds him of how far away you actually are.

“Don’t forget to talk to Jeonghan, okay?” you remind him, looking up at him with those bright, expectant eyes. “Let me know what he says.”

“I will.”

You disappear behind your door, and just like that, you’re gone.

Mingyu bids Soonyoung bye and stands there for a moment before turning on his heel and walking away. But he doesn’t go home.

Instead, he finds himself by the river, the city hums softly in the distance but here, it’s quieter, just the occasional ripple of water, the faint rustling of leaves. The soju bottle in his hand is already half-empty but the bitterness of it barely registers on his tongue.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to tell you when you inevitably ask about Jeonghan. He doesn’t know how to fake a conversation that never happened. He doesn’t know how to face you, knowing that you had every clue and still, still didn’t see him. He had waited; waited patiently, watched you go through your theories, your excitement, your endless blabbering about clues. He never snapped, never broke character, because he truly believed you would figure it out. That at the end of this little fun, you would finally turn to him and say his name with certainty. But you never did, and that’s what hurts the most. Not that Jeonghan, who was completely uninvolved, was about to be wrongfully accused. But that when you looked for the one who adored you, the one who knew you inside and out, the one who had spent every day thinking of ways to make you smile—you didn’t recognize him.

Still, if nothing else, at least he gave you something exciting. At least, for a few days, he gave you a mystery to solve, a thrill to chase. Even if in the end, he was the one left behind.

-

The almost-emptied bottle is plucked from Mingyu’s loose grip. He blinks, sluggish from both the alcohol and the weight pressing down on his heart and looks up to find Jeonghan standing over him. The older man wears his usual smile, one that could mean a hundred different things but his eyes tell another story, one that sees right through Mingyu’s poor attempt at pretending he’s fine.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He just turns his gaze back to the river, watching the water ripple under the dim glow of streetlights. Jeonghan exhales softly, before sitting down beside him. He doesn’t speak, or pry. He simply stays, settling Mingyu in a way that only a longtime friend can.

For a while, the only sound between them was the distant buzz of the city, and the lapping of the river against the banks.

Then, Mingyu finally breaks the silence. “She thinks it’s you,” his voice hoarse, the weight of the evening settling deeper into his bones. “She really, really thinks it’s you.” He lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “When the answer was right in front of her the whole time.” 

Jeonghan remains quiet, just listening.

“I’m not mad,” Mingyu continues, “I shouldn’t be mad. I’m just… a little hurt.” He pauses, gripping his knees. “No, actually… I am hurt.” His throat tightens. “I don’t even know why it hurts this much, but…”

He trails off, exhaling sharply before looking down at his hands.

“I thought she’d get there eventually. I really thought she would.” His voice drops to hissed tone “I waited. I watched her figure out her little theories, set up her stupid traps, get all excited over the mystery… and I was patient. I thought, ‘Any day now, she’ll turn around, she’ll realize, she’ll see me.’” Mingyu swallows, “But she never did.”

He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to say these things to Jeonghan, maybe because Jeonghan is good at keeping secrets, at holding things close without judgment. Maybe because Jeonghan doesn’t rush to give meaningless comfort but just stays.

Mingyu drags a hand down his face, exhaling bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do tomorrow. She wants me to ask you about the admirer—to ‘fish’ something out of you.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What the hell am I supposed to fish out of you, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice calm but softer, something that understands. “Well, I could always confess to being her secret admirer. She's not bad.”

Despite himself, Mingyu snorts, shaking his head. “Not funny.”

Jeonghan leans back on his palms, looking up at the night sky. “You’re hurting because you care. Because you love her and you wanted her to see you without you having to say it outright.” He tilts his head toward Mingyu. “But love doesn’t always work like that, you know?” Mingyu doesn’t answer. Jeonghan sighs. "If it's hurting this much, then maybe you should ask yourself why you're still holding on."

Mingyu stays silent for a long moment before finally admitting, “I wanted to make it exciting. I wanted it to be something she’d remember.” He clenches his fists. “But it all just went wrong.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually,” Jeonghan says a little too knowingly.

Mingyu huffs, unconvinced. “What if she doesn’t?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Then maybe it’s time you stop waiting for her to find you and let her see you instead.”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. He just looks out at the river again, letting Jeonghan’s words sink in. 

He simply lets the silence stretch out and finally after what feels like hours, Jeonghan stands up, brushing off his pants, “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” His voice is soft, the teasing edge absent for the moment.

Mingyu nods, not trusting himself to speak. He watches Jeonghan walk away, the older man’s figure swallowed by the night, before his gaze drifts back to the river. He takes a deep breath trying to clear his mind but nothing seems to work. His heart still aches for you, for the way you’ll probably look at him tomorrow, expecting him to just play along, asking questions he has no answers to.

Seven

February 13th

“I wonder if you’ll figure it out or if I’ll have to spell it out for you. You looked happy yesterday. I hope it stays that way. I hope whoever I am to you, whoever I will be, gets to see that happiness every day. Maybe this whole thing was ridiculous. Maybe I should’ve just told you from the start. But I guess I wanted to see. To know if you’d ever look my way without me having to say it first.

See you soon.”

-

The elevator doors slide open and you step in, jabbing the button for the sixth floor with more force than necessary. The doors close, but your mind is still racing, still stuck on the morning’s events.

Jeonghan had shown up at your dorm today, standing at your door with his usual lazy smile, but soft eyes. “I heard you think it’s me,” he had said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You had opened your mouth to defend yourself, to explain the logic, to lay out all the pieces that led you to him, the way all the clues lined up in your head but before you could get a word out, he had sighed, shaking his head saying it's not him and just like that, everything crumbled. Because he wasn’t lying. You could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he looked at you, not with amusement, not with mischief, but with something almost like pity.

“You’re hurting him, you know,” he had added, too softly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You had stiffened at that. “What?”

Jeonghan had just sighed again, then pulled you into a quick hug, arms warm around you, like he knew you needed the comfort. Then he had sat you down, looked you in the eye and said, “You’re misdirected, miserably so.”

You had thought you were getting closer, thought you were connecting the dots but you were connecting the wrong ones. Seven days. Seven days of chasing a ghost and you were nowhere.

It felt like you had been running in circles, grasping at shadows, only to be led astray at every turn. It wasn’t that you were upset Jeonghan wasn’t the secret admirer. No, that wasn’t what frustrated you. It was the fact that despite everything, you still couldn’t figure it out. You had failed. And then failed again.

After hearing Jeonghan out, you should have let it go, let your mind rest but something wouldn’t let you. Mingyu. You needed to hear what he had to say too. Jeonghan had been honest with you, and you believed him, but you still wanted to hear it from Mingyu’s mouth. What had he talked about with Jeonghan yesterday? Did he come to the same conclusion? Did he know Jeonghan wasn’t the admirer?

You weren’t sure why it mattered. Maybe it was because you trusted them both, maybe it was because you were still desperately searching for a lead, even if it meant going over the same conversation twice.

So now, here you are, frustrated and restless, storming into Mingyu’s apartment without so much as a knock, letting the door swing shut behind you. Mingyu, who had been standing by the kitchen counter, blinks in surprise as you march past him and collapse onto his couch.

“I can’t figure it out,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Seven days, and I’ve gotten nothing.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you as he grabs a glass, pouring you some orange juice before walking over and setting it in front of you. You peek at him through your fingers. He's too quiet. Still, you sit up, grabbing the glass but barely paying attention to it. “Jeonghan came over this morning,” you start, swirling the juice in your hands. “He told me it’s not him.”

Mingyu hums, lowering himself onto the couch beside you but not too close like before; after what happened yesterday.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I mean, it makes sense now. My whole theory was just coincidence. But if it’s not him, then who?” You run a hand through your hair. “It’s like I’m playing Mafia game but worse—no real clues, no real strategy, just me failing over and over again.”

Mingyu swallows, looking away. Failing? No. Just blind. You don’t notice the way his fingers tighten around his knees, his shoulders curling in just slightly. You don’t notice him. “You trust Jeonghan, right?” he asks finally, his voice careful, controlled.

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is steady but there’s something just barely restrained underneath. “What do you need from me?”

You hesitate, tilting your head. “I just… I wanted to hear what you talked about with Jeonghan yesterday.” You let out a breath. “I trust you both, but I wanted to see if you came to the same conclusion.”

Mingyu’s heart sinks after knowing you’re here for that. He nods slowly, fingers curling into fists against his legs. “Right.”

You don’t notice his jaw tightening, his expression flickering for half a second before smoothing over. You don’t see how the very person you’ve been searching for is sitting right beside you, falling apart. And Mingyu just listens because what else can he do?

The deeper hurt comes from the fact that he still loves you, and he's been waiting for you to realize it, but instead, you’ve been focused on other possibilities. He’s trying his best to stay supportive and patient, but it’s hard for him to keep his distance while you’re upset and trying to figure things out. There's a sense of loneliness in how he’s been handling everything on his own, even though he’s surrounded by people who care about him. He feels like he's been the quiet one in the background hoping you’d see him, but you haven’t. Now, hearing you rant about your failed attempts and frustrations, he feels both comforted and hurt—comforted that you trust him enough to vent to him, but hurt that, despite his feelings, you’re still unsure of him as the person who’s been giving you all those gifts and letters. He’s torn between wanting to confess his feelings, but knowing how much it would hurt to be rejected or overlooked again. He wants to be the one you turn to, the one you lean on when things get hard so in this moment, he's just there for you, listening, because that's what friends do, even when their heart is breaking.

-

Your voice is sharp with frustration as you pace around Mingyu’s apartment, fists clenched at your sides.“I just don’t get it,” you say, shaking your head. “Who would go through all this effort?”

Mingyu, watching you from where he sits on the couch, his heart aching, simply mutters, “I would.”

But it slips past you. You’re too caught up in your thoughts, too wrapped up in your own confusion to hear the weight behind his words. He watches as you continue to storm around, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything more.

Then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way he remains so still while you’re falling apart or maybe it’s the way his presence has always felt steady. But whatever it is, it pushes something inside you to snap.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?" You turn on him suddenly, as you throw another jab that Mingyu doesn’t deserve. He sits there, the heart inside him breaking. "You always have something to say, Mingyu. Always. But now, when I actually need someone to help me figure this out, you’re just sitting there looking at me like I’m missing something obvious!"

Mingyu exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. He’s been patient. So patient. But this is agony, watching you fight for an answer when he’s been in front of you the whole time. Watching you tear yourself apart over this, over something that was meant to be a confession of love. "Maybe because you are missing something obvious," he finally says, voice measured, but there’s an edge to it now.

Your brows furrow as you take a step toward him, your heart pounding for a reason you don’t understand. "Then tell me, Mingyu! What am I missing?"

His gaze hardens, but beneath the frustration, it's more vulnerable than ever. "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes!"

And suddenly, it hits you like a freight train crashing into your chest. Mingyu.

It’s always been him. You love him. Not in the way you love your friends. Not in the way you once thought love was supposed to feel. But in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that makes your heart race even when you’re angry. You don’t care who the secret admirer is. You don’t need to figure it out anymore. Because it doesn’t matter. It never did. Because you love Mingyu. And you always have. It’s not that you never considered him, it’s that you forced yourself not to. Mingyu was too kind, too good, too perfect. He was the type of person every girl wanted, and you were just lucky enough to call him one of your closest friends. It was easier to pretend, easier to ignore your feelings than to face the possibility of rejection. Because the truth was, if you had acknowledged your feelings, it would have hurt too much to know he didn’t feel the same way. But now, as you really look at him, you realize just how foolish you’ve been. You love him.

Even now, as you lash out at him unfairly, he stays patient. Even though your words are cutting, he doesn’t push you away. He listens, endures, and understands, and that’s what hurts the most. "Wait…" Your voice comes out quieter now, your anger dissipating into something raw. "Do you… do you know something?"

Mingyu stares at you, disbelieving. His patience, his restraint, it all crumbles in an instant. "…Seriously?"

He grabs a piece of paper from the table, scrawls something quickly, and thrusts it into your hands. You look down.

“It’s me, dummy.”

The world stills.

Your breath catches as you read the words over and over again, the realization crashes into you like a wave, sweeping away every doubt, every misdirection, every foolish assumption you’ve made in the past week. It was always Mingyu. Your fingers tighten around the paper as your heart pounds against your ribs. You lift your gaze, meeting his, and suddenly everything makes sense; the lingering stares, the way he was always there, how he looked at you like you hung the stars in his sky. The sadness in his eyes earlier wasn’t just frustration; it was heartbreak. And you had been the one breaking him all along.

Mingyu watches you, his eyes holding everything. The years of waiting, the longing, the pain of standing so close yet feeling miles away. His confession wasn’t grand, wasn’t how he planned. It was raw, impulsive, torn from him in a moment of breaking. And now, he waits. For you to understand, for you to say something, for anything.

Your lips part but no words come because how do you speak when your heart is in your throat, when the very foundation of what you thought you knew has shifted beneath your feet? It was always Mingyu. The notes. The gifts. The presence. And you had spent all this time searching for someone who had never been lost.

“Mingyu…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He always hears you.

His hands clench at his sides, bracing himself for whatever comes next. You can see it in the tension coiling just below his cheekbone, his breathing is just a little unsteady. He’s terrified, because now that you know, you could break him all over again.

But you don't want to break him this time. You've already broken him enough.

You simply step closer, so close he can feel the warmth radiating from you. His body stiffens when you reach for a piece of paper behind him, taking it from the table. Without a word, you flip it over, your fingers moving as you scribble something down. The tension of the past week melting into something softer, and new.

Then, before he can process it, you step in even closer reaching toward him, slipping the folded paper into the pocket of his hoodie. Your fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing him but it’s enough to send a shiver down his spine. Mingyu blinks, startled, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket as you take a step back. His fingers find the note, unfolding it with a mix of hesitation and urgency. His eyes scan the words, and his breath hitches.

"Tomorrow, dinner at 7? My treat, Secret Admirer."

For the first time in what feels like forever, a slow stunned smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes, searching for confirmation. And when you finally meet his gaze, your own lips curling into the softest, most knowing smile Mingyu knows.

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging with relief. The tension that had been weighing on him for weeks, even years, unravels all at once, “you’re serious?” 

You tilt your head, your smile growing just a little. “Would I offer to pay if I wasn’t?”

Mingyu lets out a full, genuine laugh this time, shaking his head as he folds the note carefully, tucking it back into his pocket. “Tomorrow at seven,” he repeats, savoring the words.

But as soon as the weight of everything settles in, what just happened and what it means, you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to run. Your heart is racing, your palms are clammy, and you don’t trust yourself to speak without making a fool of yourself. So, without thinking, you turn on your heel, ready to flee. But you don’t get far.

Mingyu’s hand wraps around your wrist in an instant, stopping you mid-step and before you can process it, you’re spun around, your momentum pulling you straight into him. You gasp as your body collides with his chest, the warmth of him, the solidness of him, momentarily knocking the breath out of you. His other hand finds its way to your waist instinctively, and your brain short-circuits.

His fingers glide up, brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine. You force yourself to look up at him, only to be met with the most breathtaking sight; Mingyu gazing down at you with that smile. Not just any smile, a smile that steals your breath, that makes the whole world blur at the edges. His slightly tousled hair falls over his forehead, the soft strands brushing against his brows making him look effortlessly perfect in a way that shouldn’t be fair. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly as he murmurs, “Now you can run away.” His lips curl into that signature mixture of a smile and smirk, teasing yet affectionate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Oh, and don’t forget—you have a class to attend.” 

Your eyes widen slightly as the reminder crashes into you but Mingyu simply chuckles, finally letting go of your waist but not before leaning in just slightly, just enough to fluster you even more. The absence of his touch is almost immediate, leaving behind a warmth that lingers.

Mingyu now steps back, grinning as he watches your flustered expression unfold and as you stumble over your words, scrambling for any semblance of composure, he just stands there looking entirely too pleased with himself. He's already looking forward to tomorrow.

-

The sight in front of you is nothing short of chaos.

Seungkwan's grip on his iced Americano slips as he processes the revelation, and without thinking, you reach out, catching the cup just before it crashes to the floor. A few drops spill onto your hand, the cold seeping into your skin, but you're too preoccupied to see it.

Seungkwan looks utterly defeated. Soonyoung, however, isn't faring any better. His mouth hangs open, his entire body frozen and his brain is still buffering.

"You mean to tell me—" Seungkwan starts, his voice high-pitched, "Mingyu?! Clumsy-ass, can’t-lie-to-save-his-life, trips-over-air Mingyu?!"

You nod.

They had too dismissed the possibility at first, thinking there was no way he could pull off something so sly. Not when his entire history was filled with clumsy mistakes and awkward cover-ups. The Mingyu they knew was many things, but a master of deception? Not a chance. And yet, here you three were, blindsided.

They had spent the entire morning preparing themselves to comfort you, fully expecting you to be in shambles after your 99% certainty that Jeonghan was your secret admirer turned out to be 100% wrong. When Jeonghan had told you in the morning that he wasn't the one, they thought you'd either be breaking down in devastation or burning something down in frustration (which, technically, you were). But they definitely hadn’t expected you to walk in with the revelation of your secret admirer.

Eight

February 14th

The moment you step out of your apartment, Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat.

He was supposed to have dinner with you at night for your first Valentine’s Day date, but he insisted on spending the day together before dinner. And now, here you are, standing in front of him with your hair down, looking confident and stylish in your new boots and skirt.

The delicate lavender gemstone around your neck catches the morning sunlight, its golden chain resting just above your collarbone on top of your sweater. You’re wearing the necklace—the one he gave you. And now, seeing it on you, knowing you chose to wear it today of all days, something warm and undeniable unfurls in his chest.

He clears his throat, trying to focus as he hands you a bouquet of lavender flowers nestled between soft pink roses. “For you,” he murmurs, watching closely for your reaction.

Your lips part as your fingers gently trace the petals. “Lavender…” you whisper, your gaze lifting to meet his.

Mingyu grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And roses, because…well, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Something tugs at your heart but before you can dwell on it, he’s taking your hand, leading you toward the day he’s planned just for you.  Mingyu decides to take you everywhere.

-

The smell of warm pastries fills the air as you both settle into a booth. Mingyu insists you try his favorite pancakes. They’re stacked high, topped with whipped cream, and drizzled with syrup. You raise an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the enormous portion.

“Okay, you have to try these,” he insists, pushing a plate of pancakes toward you. 

“Are you sure these are as good as you say?”

“Trust me, they’re life-changing,” Mingyu says practically bouncing in his seat, eager for you to try them.

You take a bite, and the fluffiness, the sweetness, the perfect amount of syrup, all of it hits your taste buds in a rush. You pause, eyes wide in surprise. “Okay, okay, I admit it. They’re that good.”

“See? I told you!” Mingyu grins. “Now, pass me the last bite.” You hold your fork up, about to take the last piece of pancake for yourself, when Mingyu leans across the table, “I’m not letting you have it that easily.”

“Oh, it’s on,” you smirk, holding the bite just out of reach. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “You want this last bite? You’re gonna have to work for it.”

He laughs, his voice full of amusement. “You’re really gonna make me fight for it?”

“Absolutely,” you say, digging in your heels and preparing for the battle.

And so begins the great pancake fight. You both fall into an exaggerated tug-of-war with the last piece of pancake. Mingyu’s laughter rings out, the sound infectious. Finally, you make a show of pretending to ‘fight’ for the last bite, your fork and his clashing in the air, until you grab it and pop it in your mouth. He glares at you mockingly, then laughs again, shrugging good-naturedly.

“I’ll get you next time,” he promises, and you roll your eyes.

After wiping syrup off your chin with a napkin, Mingyu stands up with a contented sigh, stretching his arms above his head. He looks down at you with a grin. "Alright, time to burn off all that sugar," he says, picking up the check and tossing a few bills onto the table. "Next stop—arcade!"

"An arcade? Really?"

"Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for."

You grab your bag, following him out of the café and into the crisp air. As you both walk down the street, Mingyu leads the way basically bouncing as you head toward the neon-lit arcade a few blocks away. The sound of clinking coins and cheerful music grows louder the closer you get, and you can feel the excitement building.

When you reach the entrance, Mingyu holds the door open for you with a flourish. "After you," he says with a grin.

You step inside, greeted by the flashing lights and the vibrant sounds of the arcade. It’s a bit overwhelming at first but then you hear Mingyu’s voice over the noise, full of enthusiasm.

“Let’s see if you can keep up!” Mingyu’s eyes light up the moment he sees a game he’s good at. You follow him, amused, and find yourself standing in front of a claw machine. The giant stuffed animals inside stare down at you, their big eyes unblinking. “I’m warning you now,” Mingyu says, his tone smug. “I’ve got a 100% success rate with these things.”

You roll your eyes. "Is that so? Well, I’m about to prove you wrong."

He grins and hands you some coins. “Sure, but don’t get too upset when I win.”

You laugh, stepping up to the claw machine and starting your attempt. The claw moves clumsily, completely missing the prize.

“See? Told you,” Mingyu teases, already stepping up to take his turn. His fingers hover over the controls, his focus making his brow furrow in concentration. "Watch and learn," he says, as he carefully maneuvers the claw. You can see the way he’s calculating every move, adjusting his grip with precision. With one smooth motion, the claw sinks perfectly into the plush bear's fur, and with a satisfying click, it hoists the stuffed animal up.

You’re left speechless for a moment as Mingyu snatches it from the prize chute, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He holds it out to you, the oversized bear almost comically larger than his own chest.

“Here,” he says, clearly too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d win.”

You take the bear, grinning in defeat. “Fine, you win this round. But I’m getting you back.”

“I’m not worried. Let’s see how you do in the next game.”

The competition continues, the two of you moving from machine to machine. Every game brings another round of teasing, laughter, and playful banter. Mingyu gets so competitive that his voice rises in exaggerated frustration when he loses and you can't help but giggle at how seriously he takes everything. At one point you're both doubled over in laughter, unable to breathe as Mingyu pretends to ‘fall’ into a virtual race car, his arms flailing as he crashes into the walls of the game.

By the end of it, you’re both out of breath and giggling uncontrollably, each sporting a ridiculous grin. You look at the stuffed animal still tucked under your arm and then back at Mingyu. “Guess it’s mine after all,” you say with a sigh, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.

Mingyu just laughs, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “Of course it is. You should know better by now.”

The sun is now setting as you both arrive at the park, the golden hour light casting everything in a warm, soft glow. Mingyu's carrying  a wicker basket in one hand, the other brushing through his hair as he looks for the perfect spot and you just follow, taking in the peaceful scenery.

He drops the basket beside a large, checkered blanket he’s already laid out, smoothing it down with care. There’s something so domestic about the whole setup, so surprisingly perfect. He places a few cushions on the blanket, pulling everything into place as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

As you sit down beside him, he smiles, a little shy. “Okay, here’s the moment of truth.” He opens the basket, revealing containers filled with food like homemade sandwiches, fresh fruit, a small salad, and a few pastries wrapped up neatly. It all looks perfectly arranged, the kind of meal you’d expect from someone who knows what they’re doing.

"You made all this?"

Mingyu nods proudly though there's a trace of nervousness in his expression. “Yep. Every single thing. I might not be a professional, but I can follow a recipe.”

You chuckle, “Well, we’ll see if it’s as good as they look.”

Without hesitation, you grab one of the sandwiches taking a big bite. The flavors hit you immediately—fresh, savory, and not so surprisingly, delicious. Your eyes widen as you chew, momentarily lost in the taste.

Mingyu watches you with a grin, anticipating your reaction. He bites his lip nervously, fingers drumming against the basket as he waits for your verdict.

The bread is perfectly toasted, the filling is perfectly seasoned, and it’s just... good. No surprise there. You’ve had his cooking many, many times by now and every time he manages to make even the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.

You glance up at him as you chew. “Not bad,” you say with a teasing smile though it’s a compliment disguised as a joke. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is, what, your fiftieth time making me lunch?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes, right?” He looks at you with a mix of pride and that shy smile that’s too endearing. “I mean, it’s not that surprising, is it? I’ve been cooking for years.”

A small smile tugging at your lips. "True. You've always been the one to get way too competitive in the kitchen. But really, it's good. It's… annoyingly good, as usual."

He beams pleased by your reaction, “I’m glad you think so,” he says, his voice low and warm. He watches you take another bite before reaching for a small container of fruit. You can see the glint in his eyes like he’s genuinely happy to share something he’s put effort into with you.

Time melts away, the day slipping through your fingers like golden sunlight filtering through the trees. And then, as the sky deepens into hues of pink and orange, Mingyu, reaches into his bag, pulling out a box. He hands it to you, eyes soft but filled. “One more gift,” he says, his voice lower now, savoring this moment just as much as you are.

You carefully lift the lid of the box, your curiosity piqued. Inside are two candles, one shaped like a rotating heart, the other a Rubik’s cube, but with tiny hearts as the pieces. You look at them then up at him, your heart suddenly skipping a beat. 

“I made these,” his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the box. “The heart one… it reminded me of you. And the cube, well…” He lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing his thumb nervously over the box’s edge. “It felt like something I could make, something fun.”

You’re silent for a moment, taking in everything. There’s something about the care he’s put into every detail, the choices he made, the way he looked at you all day, it all makes your heart ache in the best way possible. “You made these?” you ask, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the candles, studying the intricate designs. There’s so much attention to detail, so much of him in every inch of them.

Mingyu nods, the corners of his lips curling upward as he watches your reaction. “Yeah. Picked the scents, the colors… everything.” You notice how his fingers twitch at his side, a nervous habit he doesn’t even realize he’s doing. “Do you like them?”

You don’t answer with words instead, you step closer, the soft rustling of the grass beneath barely registering as you close the distance between the two of you. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek softly against his chest.

There’s a brief stillness. You feel his breath catch, his heartbeat thumping in the space between you. His arms hesitate for a fraction of a second but, he pulls you closer. His hands find your back, his embrace steady, warm, like it was meant for this moment. He exhales slowly, the tension that had built throughout the day is finally melting away. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely a murmur, but full of all the unsaid things between you. His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, savoring the quiet, the stillness, and the feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

As the evening unfolds, the last stop of your day is quickly approaching: dinner. But before you can indulge in a fancy meal, Mingyu takes a slight detour.

He glances at you as you both drive toward your dorm. "Let’s stop by your place first. You need to drop off those stuffed animals," he says with a grin, glancing over at the pile of plush toys filling the backseat.

You chuckle, nodding. "Good idea. I’m not sure how much more my arms can handle."

When you arrive, you grab the stuffed animals one by one, making your way into the dorm. Mingyu follows, standing by the door as you carefully place each one in its spot. There’s a chuckle in the air as you look at the growing collection. "You know," you say with a smile, "I’m going to need a bigger bed at this point."

"I'll help you make room," Mingyu says easily, his voice light as he stands in the doorway, watching you. 

Once the stuffed animals are safely tucked away, you both head back to the car, driving to the destination. Arriving at the restaurant, Mingyu opens the door for you, his presence is as attentive as ever. The place is just as elegant as you remembered when you booked it, soft candlelight, a cozy ambiance, and the murmur of other patrons creating the perfect atmosphere for an unforgettable night.

Dinner is everything you could’ve hoped for. The food is exquisite, the conversation flowing naturally between the two of you as if this was just another evening together. There’s no need for pretension, no need to try too hard. Everything feels easy, comfortable, and perfect.

When the check arrives, you reach for your wallet instinctively but Mingyu is already one step ahead. "Nope," he says firmly, his smile still warm and gentle as he pushes your hand away. "I insist. I’m treating you tonight."

You give him a mock pout, raising an eyebrow. "But I was supposed to pay! Remember our deal?"

"I know," he says, his voice a little playful, a little serious. "But you’ve already made this day so special. Let me do this, okay?" His smile grows as he sees the look in your eyes that says, You’re not getting out of this one.

Sighing dramatically but with a fond smile, you relent. "Fine. But next time, it’s on me."

He nods, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he settles the bill. As the two of you leave the restaurant, the night feels like it’s already wrapped in a perfect little bow.

By the time you arrive to his place, it feels as if the day has come full circle, every moment leading to this one, this next step, whatever it may be.

Mingyu pulls into the parking spot and without a word, he opens the door for you, his hand brushing yours as you both step out. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your heart flutter.

As the door closes behind you both, Mingyu sets his suit jacket down, now left only in his black button-down shirt. You, on the other hand, sink into the couch, not sure what to do or say next. It’s 9 p.m., and you’ve got an hour left before you have to return to your dorm. The day has been filled with so much laughter and moments that have made your heart race and now here you are, in his cozy apartment, not quite ready for it to end.

As you sit there lost in your thoughts, you don’t expect what happens next. Mingyu extends his hand toward you, his fingers beckoning in the soft glow of the room inviting you into his space, into his arms. You don’t hesitate for a second, your hand finding his without a second thought, letting him pull you up to your feet. And then he naturally begins to guide you into a slow dance. The music in the background is soft, almost a whisper, but it doesn’t matter as it’s the rhythm of your hearts that sets the pace now.

You take a step forward, your chest brushing gently against his. Mingyu stays perfectly still, like he’s holding his breath, as if afraid to break the spell. There’s a delicate tension between you, a space between your lips that’s filled only with the moment.

Your fingers glide along the collar of his shirt, drawn to him by some unseen force and you lean in just slightly, “You never really told me why you chose lavender.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicker to yours, his gaze soft, intense and filled with a sincerity that makes your heart race a little faster. His hands find their place on your waist but he hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling you even closer, the heat from his palms burning through the fabric of your sweater, leaving a trace of his warmth on your skin.

His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Because,” he says, his lips grazing your ear, “it reminds me of you… and it's your favourite”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn’t expect him to say something like this, leaving you speechless for a moment. You can feel the room closing in around you, the mood lights casting soft shadows that only make the space between you two feel even more intimate. The world outside feels distant now, irrelevant. All that matters is the way Mingyu holds you, the way he makes everything feel right.

Then in a surprising and tender move, Mingyu slowly sinks to one knee, his gaze never leaving yours. His hands still linger on your waist, steadying himself as he looks up at you with a soft, genuine smile. “I’ve had the best day with you, and I can’t imagine my days without you anymore,” he says, his voice filled, his heart in his eyes. “So... I need to ask you, officially… will you be my girlfriend?”

The room feels even smaller now, the moment so heavy with emotion that it’s almost suffocating in the best way possible. Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as his words settle in your mind. Your heart swells with joy as you look down at him, knowing that you’ve both come this far, knowing that this is more than just a question. 

“Yes.” The word escapes your lips and as soon as it’s out, Mingyu’s smile stretches wide, that same smile that makes everything around you fade into the background. His eyes sparkle with joy, and you swear it’s like he’s glowing. You can feel a warmth fill your chest, overwhelming.

He stands up, his grin still never faltering and leans in, resting his forehead against yours. There’s no need for words now; the silence between you is thick with meaning, with a thousand unspoken things that only the two of you understand. 

But as the joy of the moment settles in, a sudden realization makes your heart tighten and it feels heavy in your chest. A thought flashes through your mind that makes your throat close up and your chest ache.

You think about how you never really noticed Mingyu. How you were blind to him, how you failed to see him for what he was to you. How, all along, he was there, patient and constant, while you kept pushing him away, thinking he was just a friend. He was the secret admirer you never even considered and he had carried all that weight on his own. He never lashed out. He never got angry. Instead, he waited. He never gave up on you, never turned away, even when you hurt him again and again with your obliviousness. A rush of guilt floods through you. The thought of how much you put him through, how you always doubted yourself thinking he was too good for you, never giving him the chance to show you how much he cared, it makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, pulling back just slightly so you can look into his eyes, searching for the words to say, what’s been buried inside you for so long. “I need to tell you something.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening as he waits, already knowing something heavy is coming.

“I always liked you,” you admit, the words trembling on your lips, finally finding their way into the open air. “But I never came to terms with it, because I was scared. I was scared that if I let myself believe it, it would only end in disappointment. You’re… you’re so out of my league, Mingyu. You’re the kind of person every woman dreams of. And me? I’m just lucky to be one of your closest friends. I didn’t want to push my luck, to ask for more.” You take a breath, “I never thought you’d choose me. I never thought I could be more than just your friend. But then you were always so kind, so patient with me even when I didn’t see it. You carried all of that on your own and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known what was right in front of me. And if you never confessed, I might’ve never been able to say this to you… but I like you, Mingyu. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

The moment you finish, everything feels still. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly but he doesn’t speak and neither do you. It’s like time has frozen and all you can do is stand there, your heart racing, waiting for him to process what you’ve said. The silence is deafening and yet it’s comforting, because it feels like this is the most real thing you’ve ever said.

Mingyu stands still for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on your waist and then slowly, his expression changes. “I don’t want you to ever doubt yourself,” he finally says. “You’re everything I could ever want, and more. I didn’t care about being the man of every woman’s dreams, because all I ever wanted was you.” He lifts his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “I waited because I knew it would be worth it,” he adds, his eyes never leaving yours. “And now, I’m just… so glad I did.”

Tears prick at your eyes as the full weight of his words hits you, and before you can stop them, a tear slips down your cheek. Mingyu wipes it away kindly, his smile full of so much love that it nearly breaks you.

“You never hurt me, you know,” he says lovingly, “because I knew we’d get here eventually. And now, all I want is for you to know that I’m here. Always here for you no matter what happens.”

Mingyu doesn't like you, but loves you, more than you ever thought possible. He'd never needed anyone else because all along, you were enough. No one else could compare to you in his eyes. The thought of being with anyone else never crossed his mind, because it was always you.

You tiptoe and press a soft kiss on his lips, an apology for the past misunderstandings, a rush of emotions fills your chest. You pull away but before you can even fully pull back, his hands are already on your waist, drawing you back to him. His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that makes your stomach flip, a desperation that feels almost uncontainable. His kiss is deep, slow, and deliberate and the weight of it is enough to knock the breath out of you. "Mingyu..." you murmur against his lips, your body melting into his warmth. His grip tightens ever so slightly, his body stiffening in worry. He pulls away, chest heaving with shallow breaths. His voice is laced with uncertainty though it trembles with desire.

"Tell me to stop," he says, low and unsteady, "And I will."

For a moment you just look at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there's nothing. His love for you is written in every inch of him, in the way his fingers gently graze your cheek, in the way his breath catches when you shift closer.

You lean in again, closing the space between you. The moment your lips meet, he kisses you slow, deep and it makes your heart race. His hand moves from your cheek to your back, pulling you flush against him and you can feel every beat of his heart against yours. There's nothing hurried about it, just slow, careful movements that send sparks flying in your veins making you feel like you're floating. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully right.

He knows that this time, you see him. This time you see the admirer is right in front of you.

-

“To the one who has always been right in front of me,

I used to write these letters with the hope that one day, you’d realize it was me. That somehow, my words would reach you before I had to say them out loud. But today, I don’t need to hide behind words anymore.

You know me now—not just as the admirer, but as Mingyu. And I know you, not as someone I can only love from afar, but as someone who chose me back. Still, I wanted to write this—one last letter, not as a confession, but as a promise. A promise that I’ll keep looking at you the way I always have. That I’ll love you not just in grand gestures, but in the small moments too, the ones where love isn’t loud, but it’s there, steady and certain.

So here. This time, I’m not slipping it into a locker or leaving it on a table. I’m giving it to you with my own hands, looking right at you, so you know—this has always been real.

Yours, always.

— Mingyu”

Lee Y/N @y/nisnot_sleeping · 1h  

Been mine for a while now…

♡ 4        🔁 -      🗨️ 4

Boo @americano_.boo · 57m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

Did you just ditch us for THIS ?¡?%&!? 

♡ 2        🔁 -      🗨️ 1

yoon ★ @yjh1004 · 49m  

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

Finally!!!!

♡ 3        🔁 -      🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 45m  

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

🫢🫢🫢

♡ 2        🔁 -      🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 44m  

Replying to @americano_.boo  

where is @horang_m_a_n ?? crying in the corner because the investigation flopped?

♡ -        🔁 -      🗨️ -

⌦ 💌 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

[fangdokja]

"Do you know what it’s like to hear someone fantasize about murder while casually helping you with your homework? You do now."

♡ Yandere! Superpowers AU x Fem. Reader. feat. Yandere! Mortal Enemy

♡ Word Count. 4,471

You were born wrong.

Well, that's what you told yourself after the seventy-seventh time you had to listen to someone's brain narrate, "Haha, I hope this dumbass kid trips and falls," right before they smiled and patted you on the head.

You were four years old the first time you realized you could hear other people's thoughts.

It wasn't some grand revelation, no celestial beam from the heavens, no chorus of angels singing 'Hallelujah.' No, it was much more dignified than that.

You were in the middle of shitting your pants.

"Oh my God," your mother thought, "she's going to grow up useless."

Charming. Really heartwarming stuff. You wiped a tear (or maybe it was a bead of sweat) and finished your business like a champion. That was your first introduction to human thought: judgmental, noisy, and a little constipated.

It never stopped after that.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

At first, you thought it was normal. Didn't everyone wake up and immediately hear the collective screaming, worrying, and horny daydreaming of everyone in a five-mile radius? Apparently not. The doctors said you were "a very imaginative child." You responded by psychically flipping them off.

You couldn't control it. People's thoughts slammed into your tiny head like bricks hurled by Olympic athletes. You learned a lot about the world very fast. Like how adults lied constantly. How "you're special" usually meant "you are a problem." How "don't worry" meant "we're absolutely screwed but we don't want to tell you."

Children are supposed to be innocent. You were about as innocent as a tax auditor.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The "Gift Test" came at five.

Children lined up in a government office that smelled like burnt coffee and crushed dreams, wide-eyed and jittery, waiting to discover what miraculous, awe-inspiring "Gifts" they had been blessed with. Some kids exploded into flames. Some lifted furniture with a sneeze. Some turned invisible (and immediately used that power to steal snacks).

You?

You stood there, deadpan and droopy-eyed, while the machine blinked.

ERROR.

You were declared "Giftless."

Everyone clapped politely, pity thick in the air like humidity before a storm.

You went home, locked your door, and wrote a 10k-word fanfiction about a brooding assassin who got isekai’d into a magical world where he promptly refused the call to adventure and opened a bakery instead.

(You posted it anonymously online. It got 12 views and 0 comments. Tragic.)

✦✧✦✧

Growing up "Giftless" was an experience you wouldn't recommend. A solid one out of ten, would not reincarnate again.

You were the school punching bag.

People bullied you. Beat you up behind the gym. Called you "worthless."

You let them.

Why not? It passed the time.

You could have incinerated them with a thought. But why waste the calories?

The "easy A" for bullies who needed to feel better about their own mediocrity. Teachers barely remembered your name. Even your classmates started calling you "NPC."

"Background character," they snickered.

They weren't wrong.

You made no effort to stand out. No effort to be "special." You didn't want to be a Hero. You didn't want to be a Villain. You just wanted to go home, eat garbage snacks, write fanfiction, and maybe, if you were feeling ambitious, rot like a champion in bed while playing a pirated copy of Sims 3.

But the mind-reading? That was the kicker.

Because you couldn't turn it off.

From the moment you woke up to the second you fell asleep, you were trapped in a never-ending noise-pocalypse of human stupidity.

"I hope the teacher doesn't call on me, I didn't study."

"I'm going to confess to my crush today!"

"If I kill my boss, do I inherit the bakery?"

Every stupid, impulsive, disgusting, desperate thought.

You heard it all.

✦✧✦✧

By four, you realized adults lied. Constantly. Grandma didn't "love" you; she "loved" the inheritance she thought she could weasel out of your guardian. Your kindergarten teacher wasn't "proud" of you; she was "tolerating" you because it was her job. And the neighbor's "missing cat" was not "missing" but "turned into roadkill" that she planned to blame on you for "attention."

By six years old, you had discovered that most people didn't actually believe the bullshit they spewed. You sat there in kindergarten, staring blankly while your teacher said, "Everyone is unique and wonderful," and mentally tacked on the real message she was screaming internally: "Except you, you little creeps. You're all future disappointments."

You didn't laugh. You didn't cry. You just blinked.

Nothing was sacred. Nothing was real.

Not Santa Claus (your parents were thinking about how expensive the presents were), not "love" (your babysitter fantasized about strangling her boyfriend), not "happiness" (a concept more fictional than unicorns).

By seven years old, you understood that adults didn't really care about you. That your "friends" only hung out with you because you were "easy to beat in games." That your teachers thought you were a "waste of tax dollars." That your own cousins thought you were "too weird to invite to parties."

You knew too much, too early.

You developed a dead-eyed thousand-yard stare by eight.

The world was loud. Disgustingly loud. Minds screaming insecurities, lies dressed in powdered sugar, venom wrapped in tinsel. By seven years old, you decided: No thanks. Hermit life. Lock yourself in your room. Video games, fanfiction, zero human interaction unless it was absolutely necessary (or unless it was your guardian, who bribed you with limited edition game consoles).

✦✧✦✧

You flunked "Friendship 101" by the third grade. No one likes the weird, dead-eyed kid who doesn't react properly.

You didn't even have to try at school. The teachers thought you were an idiot. A talentless freak.

You got straight zeros because you wrote answers like "what is the point" and "define 'success' you capitalist puppet" on tests. It wasn't your fault they didn't appreciate metaphysical discourse from a nine-year-old.

By ten, you mastered the fine art of dissociation.

By twelve, you were so chronically unimpressed that nothing short of a meteor crashing into the school cafeteria could rouse a reaction out of you.

People thought you were "cold," "lazy," "emotionless."

They weren't wrong.

But they didn't know the half of it.

You were so overpowered that even the "villains" — gods of mass destruction, terrorists with black holes for hands, eldritch horrors bent on devouring the sun — barely registered to you as more threatening than a gnat.

The only thing you feared was your WiFi bill.

Still, life was tolerable. You had your laptop, your cat-shaped gaming chair, your 37 TB fanfiction archive, and your guardian occasionally shoving food into your lair so you wouldn't perish like a 2000s-era Neopet.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Yandere! Mortal Enemy

He hates you.

He hates you so much he can't breathe sometimes. Like right now, standing two feet away from you under the cracked shade of the elementary school's rotting playground, he has the very vivid, persistent urge to slam your head into the nearest monkey bars.

You sit there, knees tucked under your chin, looking like a kicked kitten, your stupid battered notebook clutched to your chest as you stare at him like he's a bug you've decided to tolerate out of sheer laziness. You are—unfortunately—the very definition of "unbothered."

He hurls the insult with all the venom a nine-year-old can muster. "You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

You blink. Slowly. Like a malfunctioning animatronic. It's honestly insulting how little effort you expend breathing in his direction.

"I hope she cries," he thinks. "I hope she fucking bawls her ugly little eyes out. I want her to hate me so bad she runs away and never comes back."

Instead, you yawn. Right in his face.

He's going to commit a homicide. One day. Probably today.

"You can't even use your Gift, can you?" he sneers, kicking dirt at you halfheartedly. The dust clings to your pants, and you casually brush it off without even glancing at him. "You're useless. Everyone says so. Even the teachers. You're just... nothing."

"She looks cute even when she's dusty."

He wants to bite his own tongue off.

You hear all of it, of course. Every festering little thought he shoves into the back of his brain. His mind is so loud it's like being hit with a frying pan. Every time he throws a rock at you, calls you a leech, shoves you into the mud, you're treated to a front-row seat of "Why is she so fucking pretty?" and "I want to braid her hair."

It's honestly annoying.

You poke a stick into the dirt. Your brain is tuned more to the slow, molasses-slick crawl of video game strategies and fanfiction plotlines. This whole "social interaction" thing is just background noise to you.

Still, you have to give him points for dedication. Most people gave up on bullying you after the first month when it became clear you were a wall. Not him. He comes back every day like clockwork, armed with a new creative way to make your life miserable.

Today it's your notebook.

He snatches it right out of your hands. You don't move. You just stare up at him, dead-eyed, like a cat watching a toddler knock over a lamp.

"What's this, huh? Some kind of… diary?" He flips through it roughly. Pages filled with meticulous notes, fictional power systems, fanfiction about worlds where nobody bothers you.

"She even writes cute."

He scowls.

You listen to the inside of his head with mild disinterest. It's like a rotting pumpkin. Foul, yet weirdly compelling.

"I should tear it up. I should burn it."

"I want to kiss the top of her head."

"No, set it on fire."

"Or put it under my pillow so it smells like her."

Your nose wrinkles.

"Give it back," you say, voice scratchy from disuse.

His heart does a weird somersault in his ribcage. "She spoke. To me."

"No," he says out loud, sounding way too triumphant for a kid who just denied a basic request. He crams the notebook into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder.

You sigh. A long, soul-deep sigh. You are tired. Of life. Of breathing. Of… whatever this is.

You could kill him, probably. One thought and he’d be flat on the ground, Giftless and drooling. But that sounds like effort.

Instead, you stand up. You are, unfortunately, very small compared to him. He stares down at you with this weird, deranged little glint in his eyes like he's winning some imaginary war.

"You're pathetic," he says, tilting his head. "No friends. No power. No nothing."

"I want to hold her hand but I would rather die."

You stare. He stares.

Then he shoves you. Hard.

You stumble back, catch yourself, brush your shirt off like a senile old man who’s seen this bullshit a thousand times.

"You’re gonna die alone," he says, his voice trembling with… something. Triumph? Hope? Fear?

"Unless I’m there. I’ll kill everyone else first if I have to."

You pick up your stick again. It’s a good stick. Straight. Reliable. Unlike this dumbass in front of you.

You consider stabbing him in the foot. Just a little bit. Just enough to inconvenience him.

Instead, you shrug.

"Maybe," you say. "Hopefully."

His brain shorts out for a moment.

You turn around and trudge toward the busted chain-link fence that separates the playground from the road, your legs dragging. You have better things to do. Like finish your new self-insert villain fanfic. You can hear his furious footsteps stomping behind you, like a toddler who's been denied a toy.

"Where are you going?!" he barks.

"Home," you say without looking back.

"She’s leaving. Without me."

You hear the spike of panic in his head like a gunshot.

He chases after you. Grabs your backpack and yanks it.

"Hey—!" you snap, turning around, more annoyed than angry.

"If I break it, she’ll have to talk to me longer."

This is the dumbest logic you’ve ever heard in your life. You consider telling him that. But your throat's already closing up with the exhausting effort of being perceived for so long.

"Give. It. Back," you say.

He glares at you. You glare at him.

Then he shoves the bag at your chest, too hard. You stumble back, whack your shoulder on the fence, and hiss under your breath.

He looks… mortified. Genuinely horrified, like he just watched himself kick a kitten.

"She’s hurt. I’ll kill whoever hurts her."

"I… hurt her."

"Fuck."

You fix your bag, brush yourself off again, and march away without another word.

Behind you, he stands frozen, fists clenched, staring after you like a kicked dog who just realized he bit the only person who might’ve pet him.

You’re halfway down the street when you hear him mutter behind you.

"See you tomorrow, loser."

"See you tomorrow, my favorite thing in the whole world."

You flip him off without turning around.

He almost smiles.

✦✧✦✧

He still hates you.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself every damn morning when he wakes up in a cold sweat, dreams thick with the image of your sleep-creased face drooling into a textbook. His first period is advanced Gift theory, and the only reason he hasn’t dropped it yet is because you’re in it. Slouched in the back row like a deranged raccoon, hoodie up, earbuds in, eyes glazed over like you’ve transcended consciousness.

You are, somehow, even more annoying now.

You’re taller, but still much tinier than him and everyone else. Still got that dead-eyed stare. Still ignore him like he’s a background character in a game you’re halfway through quitting. Still write in that dumb battered notebook with pens that somehow always match your hoodie. (Today it's neon green. It pisses him off.)

He kicks your chair.

You don’t flinch. You don’t even blink. You keep scribbling.

He sits behind you now. He made sure of it.

“Slut,” he mutters.

You scrawl something in your notebook. Then, like a bored exorcist dealing with a particularly chatty demon, you turn your head just enough to deadpan, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

His brain short-circuits. Your voice has gotten deeper. Smoother. Like you’ve given up on inflection altogether.

“I—”

"No? That’s what I thought."

He wants to flip your desk. Instead, he stares at the back of your neck and thinks about biting it.

"Why is her neck so biteable?"

Your pen stills for a second.

You know. Of course you do. You’ve known since you were nine and he first thought about stapling your hand to a desk just to make you cry. You hear every deranged, hormone-soaked, contradictory thought he tries to drown in cold showers and long runs.

"I want her to die."

"I want to hold her hand while she dies."

You're in his head constantly. Living rent-free, like a squatter in the backrooms of his cerebrum.

It’s not even that he likes you. He’s never had a crush in his life. Doesn’t even really know what a normal one looks like. All he knows is this:

You ignore him.

You make him feel like he’s the one losing control.

You don’t care that you’re “Giftless,” but he knows you’re not. He knows. Something in your aura makes his skin crawl. You’re the calmest nuclear bomb he’s ever met.

And worst of all—you don’t fear him. You never have.

He followed you home once. You didn’t even acknowledge it. Just opened the door, turned on your console, and started playing like a horror movie wasn’t unfolding outside your window.

Your guardian offered him soup.

He sat there in your living room for two hours, watching you annihilate people in some blood-soaked game with a blank face and a commentary style that made him question reality.

“She’s just describing war crimes like a weather report. Why is that hot?”

You yawned, cracked your neck, and said, "You gonna keep stalking me, or are you gonna bring snacks next time?"

He didn’t sleep for three days.

Now in school, he tries to get under your skin daily. He calls you freak. Mutant. Waste of oxygen. You reply maybe once every four months. Once, you told him he had the energy of a sleep-deprived sewer rat. He thought about it for weeks.

You toss your notebook into your bag at the end of class. He watches you like a wild animal about to pounce.

“Hey,” he says.

You look at him. That’s it. Just look.

He shoves your shoulder.

You raise a brow. “You ever grow up, or did you decide emotional constipation is a permanent personality trait?”

“I hate you,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Congrats,” you reply, monotone. “You and half the world.”

“I really hate you.”

You lean in slightly, gaze flat and unreadable. “You cried when you thought I got suspended last semester.”

He twitches. Visibly.

“No I didn’t.”

“Your thoughts were so loud.”

“Shut up.”

“You planned my funeral. There was a slideshow.”

He shoves past you, ears pink.

You smile for the first time in weeks.

He almost dies on the spot.

“I’m gonna marry her or bury her,” he thinks. “Maybe both.”

You hear it. You sigh.

And let him chase you down the hallway anyway.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

He’s staring at you again.

You don’t bother to look up from your handheld. The newest otome villainess route is finally out, and you’ve just gotten to the part where the exiled princess poisons the tea with cyanide and monologues about the futility of human connection.

Relatable. Iconic.

A solid slap lands on the back of your head.

You blink once, slowly, and glance up. The light above him casts a glow that makes the veins on his hand pop. He looks like a serial killer caught between homicides, rage caught in his teeth. Eyes a deep, sleepless shade of bruised steel.

“You’re in my seat.”

It’s not his seat. There are no assigned seats in university. But he’s told you it’s his seat every day since freshman year. Even when you switched classes, switched campuses, switched majors. He still finds you.

You sigh, saving your game, and get up. Your limbs feel like jelly. You haven’t slept in 48 hours. You haven’t felt a real emotion in years.

You settle into the next seat. It’s slightly colder. He glares like he wants to slam your head into the desk. But then he sits down, still glaring, and pulls out his notebook. You can hear his thoughts as he writes.

("She smells like lavender again. What the fuck. Is that new? I swear to god if that guy from the literature department sprayed his cologne on her I will gouge out his tongue.")

You blink slowly.

("She looks tired. She always looks tired. Why the hell do I care if she looks tired.")

("I’m going to choke her out if she keeps ignoring me. I’ll pin her down until she screams.")

You chew your lip. Not out of fear. Mostly boredom.

After class, he corners you. Again.

He shoves you up against the lockers, grabbing your collar so hard it leaves a bruise. You’ll find it later and touch it like it’s a flower someone left for you.

“You think you’re better than me?” he growls, voice low, eyes furious. You read his mind while he pins you there.

("She’s so soft. Her throat. I could bite it. I could leave a mark. I want to rip her apart. I want to kiss her till she cries.")

He’s trembling. You’re staring at the peeling paint above his shoulder.

“Say something, freak.”

“I’m hungry,” you reply.

He punches the wall beside your head. It cracks. You don’t flinch.

He stalks off.

You find a new bruise on your hip later that night. His ring caught skin. You don’t mind.

You wonder how he’d scream if you showed him what your Gift really does.

✦✧✦✧

You’ve made peace with the fact that you’re always going to end up in situations like this. Like now. Locked inside a utility cabinet with the one person on Earth who makes your blood pressure rise—not because he scares you, but because he’s loud and hot and you haven’t had a full REM cycle in three weeks.

It was a dare. Or a punishment. Or a prank. Doesn’t matter.

He’s pressed up against you. Breathing hard.

“Don’t fucking breathe on me,” he snarls.

“You’re the one with lungs,” you murmur.

His thoughts are loud.

("I can feel her chest against mine. She’s not wearing a bra. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to die in here.")

You inhale. He smells like blood and expensive shampoo. There’s no light. The air is thick and wet.

He shifts. His thigh presses into yours. You hear his heartbeat accelerate.

("If I move any closer, I’ll kiss her. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t."

…

"Do it.")

He does.

It’s a mistake. You know it. He knows it. But he kisses you like he’s trying to brand you. Like your mouth is the only thing keeping him alive. Like he hates you so much he’d rather die than admit he wants to touch you every hour of every day.

When he pulls back, you don’t say a word.

You just whisper: "Your breath stinks."

He punches the wall behind you.

Later, he’ll leave bruises on your thighs. Not out of cruelty. Not fully. Maybe just to prove to himself you’re real.

You let him.

Because he’s the only one you ever let close.

And you haven’t told him yet: you’ve already stolen his Gift.

You’ve had it for years.

✦✧✦✧

He doesn’t kiss you again for three days.

Three whole days of ignoring your existence, of shoving you into doorframes and tripping you with his boot when you walk past, of scraping your shoulder raw with his fingernails when you squeeze into a lecture hall aisle beside him. Three days of glaring, of snapping his pen in half when you smile at someone else—by accident, even. You were smiling at your phone. At a meme. About cats.

You read his thoughts anyway. You always do.

("She looked at him like that. She doesn’t look at me like that. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill every guy who breathes near her. Why doesn’t she smile at me like that.")

("I should’ve kissed her again. I should’ve ripped her mouth open and made her swallow my breath.")

It’s flattering, in a way. If you were the kind of person who got flattered by things like that.

But you’re not.

You’re more curious about how long it’ll take for him to snap.

The answer comes during midterms.

You’re walking out of the library, hands stuffed in your hoodie pockets, dead-eyed and buzzing from three energy drinks and a stolen gift that temporarily makes you smarter. Not that you needed it. You just liked the mental quiet it gave you. Like finally turning off a screaming TV in your head.

And then you feel it. That itch between your shoulder blades. That familiar presence.

He grabs your wrist before you make it down the steps.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just drags you behind the building, into the alley between the admin office and the dumpster where the janitor smokes weed.

And then he slams you against the wall. Hard.

Your head hits brick. You blink stars out of your eyes. His hand is around your throat. Not tight. Just...present. Like he wants you to feel it.

("She let me touch her before. She’ll let me again. I know she will. I don’t know why. I don’t know why it makes me feel this way. I just want to taste her again. I want her to bite me back this time.")

He stares at you like he wants to dissect your organs. Lick them clean.

You raise an eyebrow. "What, no flowers?"

He kisses you. Again.

Rougher this time. Less like a mistake and more like a seizure. Like he’s trying to crawl into your lungs. Like he’s hoping to kill something inside himself with the friction of your teeth.

He bites your lip. You taste blood. He groans like it gets him off.

When he pulls away, you’re panting. You don’t realize when your hands fisted in his shirt. You don’t let go.

He stares at you. You read him. Like a book you’ve memorized. Like a horror movie you keep rewatching because it never scares you.

("She’s real. She’s mine. I don’t care if she doesn’t want me. I don’t care if she hates me. I want her bruised and bloodied and covered in me. I want her marked.")

You let your head fall back against the wall.

"If you want to leave a bruise, you need to try harder."

He growls. Actually growls.

His mouth finds your neck like he’s starving. You feel his teeth. You feel the suck of skin. You feel it all the way down to your stomach. You make a noise that might be a laugh. Might be something else.

The mark blooms purple by morning.

Your classmates stare. You stare back.

He starts walking you to class now. Doesn’t ask. Just falls into step beside you, shoulder brushing yours, daring anyone to speak.

They don’t. They never do.

You don’t talk about it.

But he starts stealing kisses like he’s owed them. In stairwells. In storage closets. Under the bleachers. Against vending machines.

He hits things when you ignore him. You let him. It’s kind of hot.

You let him bruise you.

You keep stealing from him every time he touches you.

He never notices.

He’s too busy pretending he doesn’t love you.

You’re too bored to pretend anything at all.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

It wasn't until you turned eighteen that you finally figured out how to shut the mind-reading off.

It happened on a Tuesday (again; Tuesdays were a bad omen).

You were lying facedown on your bed, wallowing in existential despair because your favorite video game server got shut down, when your Guardian (the only person you vaguely tolerated) poked his head into your room and yelled:

"Just stop caring!"

It was meant to be advice about "studying for your future" or "applying to universities" or some other adult nonsense.

But something clicked.

Just stop caring.

You laughed.

You laughed so hard you almost blacked out.

You realized you could just... stop caring about the voices.

You slammed a mental door so hard it nearly gave you psychic whiplash.

Silence.

Beautiful, glorious, deafening silence.

No thoughts.

No voices.

Just you, your half-dead houseplant, and your fifty open tabs of fanfiction recommendations.

You slept for fourteen hours straight.

When you woke up, you swore you saw God.

Or maybe that was just the anime body pillow in the corner.

Same thing, really.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @neuvilletteswife4ever

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

♡ Book 8. Malum Consilium (MC): Primordial Hunger.

[theosang3ls]

When you know, you know

inspired by “Margaret” by Lana Del Rey

pairing: Theodore Nott x F!Reader

summary: Theo had asked you out on a date, and though hesitant at first, you agreed. What began with uncertainty soon unfolded into something quietly profound—an afternoon that made you realise how deeply you longed to be truly seen, and made Theo realise he didn’t want anyone else but you.

warnings: pure fluff, reader talks a lot

A/N: I was literally giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, this is my favourite work that I’ve ever written. Dedicated to all my girlies who get called weird and are hopeless romantics💋 I’m kind of honouring the arrival of late spring through this fic as well, I just love how nature wakes up again at this time of year.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were currently out on a date with Theo.

Even now, as the afternoon sun spilled like liquid gold across the foothills and warmed your skin, it didn't feel entirely real. Just days ago, he had asked you out—his voice soft, steady, almost shy. The memory of it still sat like a folded letter in your mind: unexpected, delicate, something you hadn't dared imagine opening. It caught you so off guard you almost laughed. Theo, asking you out? It seemed impossible. Not because he was distant or arrogant—he never had been—but because you had never thought of him that way, never considered the possibility that he might be thinking of you like that.

And yet, he had. And now here you were—sitting cross-legged on a thick carpet of grass that had just returned to life after the hush of winter, your back resting against the smooth bark of a fallen yule log, as if nature had prepared the seat just for you. Across from you, Theo mirrored your posture, tracing the fresh, supple blades of grass with slow, deliberate fingers. His gaze kept drifting to you, unguarded, soft as a sigh, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You had hesitated when he asked you out. Something inside you had told you to be cautious, to hold back. Maybe it was doubt, or maybe fear—the kind that creeps in when something good shows up unexpectedly, and you worry it might vanish just as fast. You'd even considered canceling the date. Told yourself it would be easier, cleaner, safer. But you hadn't. Something kept you from backing out—something in the way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention, or maybe the steadiness in his voice when he spoke to you like you mattered.

So you said yes. And now the world was draped in a kind of magic you hadn't expected.

The place he brought you to felt like it had been waiting for you. It was a hidden pocket of paradise tucked beneath the arms of the mountain's lower slopes, just far enough from Hogwarts’ castle to feel secret, sacred. The forest around you had awakened in vibrant celebration—leaves the color of fresh emeralds trembled in the soft breeze, catching sunlight like fragments of stained glass. The trees stood tall and proud, their bark still dark with winter's memory, but their branches bursting with life. Tiny wildflowers had erupted from the soil in chaotic, joyful colors—brilliant golds, purples like bruised dusk, whites soft as snow—and they danced when the wind passed, as though the earth was laughing quietly to itself.

The air was rich with scent—warm moss, young grass, the faint sweetness of blooming buds and petals still unfurling. Birds sang from the canopy above in a chorus that seemed improvised, but somehow perfectly orchestrated. Somewhere nearby, a brook whispered its way through stones, its voice threading through the wind like a lullaby. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shafts, casting gentle shadows that shifted as the breeze stirred the treetops. You could feel it all—the hum of life, the pulse of the earth beneath you—as if the land itself was exhaling after a long, still winter.

"So... you come here regularly?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual, reverent. You tilted your head as you looked around, eyes trying to take in every inch of the place, to memorize it the way you wanted to memorize the feeling blooming in your chest.

Theo was watching you with that same quiet intensity, a softness behind his smile like he was letting himself fall and wasn't afraid to. "Not too regularly," he said, his voice just above a murmur, "but it's kind of perfect this time of year."

You smiled at that, a small, slow smile that tugged at your lips like sunlight creeping through morning curtains. "It really is." Your eyes drifted upward, to the wide open sky above, so bright and blue it looked endless. The sunlight dazzled your vision and made you squint, but you didn't look away. You wanted to feel it—to let the light pour into you and settle deep in your bones.

"You really love nature, huh?" he asked after a moment, his voice laced with curiosity, but also admiration. You weren't looking at him, but he was definitely looking at you.

"There's nothing more beautiful," you said, your gaze still tethered to the vast sky above, your voice laced with a gentle wonder that curled around Theo's heart like ivy. "The way the wind brushes through the trees... it doesn't just move the leaves—it gives them a soul for a moment, makes them twirl and flutter like they're dancing for the sheer joy of being alive. Or how the birds begin to fly lower when rain is near, like they carry the sky's secrets beneath their wings. And even the tiniest creatures—those you'd barely notice any other time—they emerge now, drawn out by the hush and bloom of spring, as if the earth itself is putting on a play, and not a single living thing wants to miss a moment."

He looked at you, completely stunned—not just by what you had said, but by you. There was something in the way your words fell from your lips, unfiltered and vivid, like soft rain over dry earth. You were a poetic soul in a world that often only celebrated silence. And it made his heart ache in the best possible way. Like hearing a song he didn't know he'd needed. Like remembering something he thought he'd forgotten.

He didn't speak—not at first. He just looked. Let the silence between you swell and breathe. He needed time to absorb it, to let your voice echo inside him where it mattered most. You weren't just speaking thoughts; you were offering pieces of yourself, and he received them with a reverence he didn't quite know how to articulate. Every word you'd said still hung in the air like pollen—delicate, golden, alive.

It wasn't simply attraction—no, this was something older, deeper, something that felt like it had been written into the marrow of his bones long before he ever knew your name. You didn't have to do anything. You just were—sitting there in that patch of spring sunlight like the season itself had bloomed just to wrap around you. You were effortless. Unaware of the spell you cast, how the mere tilt of your head or the way your lashes caught the light had him caught in a current he didn't want to escape.

There you were: back pressed gently against a weather-worn yule log, your hair dancing with the breeze like it was part of the wind's design, your eyes bright and open, reflecting the sky's soft blue and a curiosity he found endlessly magnetic. And you smiled—just a little. That hesitant, confused smile you wore when you didn't quite understand why he was staring at you like that, like you were the last beautiful thing in a world that had long gone dim. It was a fragile thing, that smile. Tentative and sincere. And to him, it was sacred.

But he wasn't just staring.

He was studying, memorizing, revering. Every detail of you was a verse in a poem only he could read. You weren't simply a person—you were a constellation, a collection of light and wonder and soft chaos that made his heart quiet and wild at the same time. Your presence overwhelmed him in the gentlest way. He had never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. But sitting there, watching you exist so unselfconsciously in the middle of blooming earth and golden air, he was almost convinced that maybe, just maybe, the universe had placed you here on purpose.

You spoke to him then, your voice light but alive, and it wrapped around him like a melody made only for his ears. The way your thoughts unfolded, vivid and full of color—your passion for the smallest details, the way your eyes lit up when you described things you loved—he drank it all in like a man starved. Your words weren't just sounds to him; they were sunlight and soil, things that rooted into him and bloomed. He was enchanted by how you moved through the world, how you gave meaning to things that others might overlook. You didn't just see beauty—you named it, shaped it, gave it life. You turned a simple breeze into a love song.

He longed to touch you. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. To press his lips to yours, not out of some shallow desire, but out of reverence. He didn't want to kiss you just to have you. He wanted to kiss you as a way of saying thank you for existing. He wanted to pour all his silent awe into that single moment, to let you feel in one soft collision everything he couldn't yet say aloud. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because to kiss you meant closing his eyes, even for just a breath—and he wasn't ready to lose sight of you. Not yet. Not when your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

So he just watched.

He watched the sunlight draw delicate patterns across your cheeks. He watched the shadows shift beneath your lashes when you blinked. He watched the way your expression changed with your thoughts, subtle but alive, like weather over a quiet field. And with every passing second, he carved you deeper into his memory, desperate to hold onto the way you looked right now. If his eyes burned from not blinking, he would have welcomed the sting. If night fell and stole the light from your features, he would have begged the stars to shine brighter just so he wouldn't lose you to the dark.

In you, he saw something beyond beauty.

He swore he would remember the exact way you looked in that moment until the end of his days. Because to him, you weren't just a girl on a hillside. You were everything. You were the pause between heartbeats. The hush before the dawn. The whisper of something holy.

In you, he saw poetry.

“You see the world so differently,” Theo said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might shatter the sacred stillness between you. There was awe in his tone—not just admiration, but a kind of reverence, like he was saying a prayer. “You don’t just notice it… you feel it. You let it move through you. It’s like you carry the world inside you, and everything you see, you let it stay.”

Your smile wavered, and something in your eyes flickered—not surprise exactly, but something softer. Recognition. As though he’d just pulled a thread loose inside you that no one had ever dared to touch before.

“No one’s ever said that to me,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, laced with something unspoken. “Not like that. Not like it’s something good.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out small, wistful. “I get that a lot,” you added, eyes locked onto his with a gaze so steady, so unflinching, it made Theo feel like his heart had stumbled into a sprint. “But not as a compliment.”

There was a pause—a heartbeat stretched between two souls—and then you smiled again. This time it was warmer, more open, tinged with gratitude. The kind of smile that made something ancient in him sigh.

“Thank you,” you said simply, and those two words carried more weight than most people’s whole conversations.

You turned your gaze toward the trees again, watching how the sunlight filtered through the canopy and painted soft gold across the grassy earth. Then your voice shifted—took on that thoughtful, drifting cadence Theo had come to recognize. The sound of you diving deep, without fear, into another ocean of thought.

“I just think… people get so tangled in the noise of their own lives. They obsess over things that don’t matter—deadlines, mirrors, numbers on screens—things that don’t feed the soul. They forget to just… be. To breathe. To look around and realize the world is alive. That we’re alive. They walk past trees without seeing them. They hear birds and think of alarms. They smell rain and only worry about their hair. It’s like they’ve been taught to ignore the symphony the earth plays for them every day.”

You paused, not for dramatic effect, but because you were genuinely overcome by the weight of what you were saying. Your fingers ran gently through the grass beside you, the gesture slow, reverent, like you were grounding yourself to the very soil.

“But nature…” you continued, your voice softer now, almost like you were confiding in the air itself, “Nature doesn’t ask anything of us except presence. And still, people treat it like background noise. But it’s everything. It’s truth, in its rawest form. It’s the wind reminding you that you’re small, but not insignificant. It’s the flowers blooming without applause, the way the earth forgives us each spring. It’s the silence between birdsong, the hush of the forest, the sound of your own heartbeat when you really, really listen.”

Theo was silent, completely still, utterly caught in the gravity of your words. You didn’t even notice the way he was looking at you—like you were both flame and shelter, like he could spend forever listening to you and still not have enough. The way you spoke stirred something in him he hadn’t known he’d been missing—an ache, a longing, a sense that maybe this was what connection was meant to feel like.

You stared back at him, puzzled by his stillness. Your brow furrowed gently, your nose crinkling ever so slightly as your mind spun in quiet worry. You'd seen this kind of silence before. It usually came right before someone pulled away.

"Am I annoying you with my rambling?" you asked, voice dipping into uncertainty. "I'm being weird again, aren't I?"

There it was—your vulnerability, soft and sharp all at once. You tried to smile through it, to laugh it off like you always did, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. You were too used to being misunderstood. Too familiar with the way people got overwhelmed by the way your thoughts spiraled into beauty. You'd spent years trying to tame that part of yourself, trying to fit inside quieter boxes, but the truth was: your mind was a garden that grew wild and lush and unapologetic. And somewhere deep down, you feared that would always be too much for people to handle.

Theo's gaze softened even more, as if your worry had reached out and touched something in him.

"You're not weird," he said gently, and his voice felt like a warm hand on your shoulder. Steady. Sincere. "You're just... different." The way he said it made you pause. There was no judgment in it. No edge. Just admiration—pure and quiet, like a secret he was honored to carry. You bit your lower lip, a nervous gesture, your cheeks blooming into a pale, rosy pink. The kind of blush that wasn't born of embarrassment, but of something softer—hope, maybe. Surprise. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more clearly, your voice careful but curious. "Should I take being 'different' as a compliment?" you asked, your tone playful, but your eyes searching his face for something real, something rooted. 

He didn't look away. Neither did you.

It was as if the two of you had unknowingly stepped into a quiet challenge—some unspoken game of stillness and gravity, where neither one wanted to be the first to look away. But it wasn't a contest. It was longing. It was connection. You were caught in his eyes—those deep, endless oceans of cobalt and storm—and you didn't want to be rescued. You wanted to fall further in. Drown in them, willingly.

And Theo... he felt the same. Your presence had a magnetic pull. It was like standing in sunlight after a long winter—comforting and blinding and overwhelming all at once. Every inch of you drew him closer. Not physically, not yet—but spiritually, energetically, irrevocably. You were the kind of different that made the world feel bigger, richer, more alive. And he didn't want to look away—not now, not ever. So you sat there, suspended in a silence that said more than words could. Something delicate and infinite passing between you. Something that tasted a little like fate.

The mountains held their breath around you. Even the wind seemed to hush, threading softly through the tall grass, brushing against your skin like an unseen hand offering comfort. The warmth of the afternoon sun spilled golden over the clearing, catching the edges of your hair and setting it aglow like a halo made of firelight and softness. You looked like something sacred, something the earth had cradled into being and placed carefully in front of him.

Theo couldn't speak—not yet. Not without unraveling. So he simply watched you, as if memorizing wasn't a choice, but an instinct. The kind of reverence usually reserved for art or prayer shone in his expression. And perhaps that's what you were to him—living poetry, the kind that bled truth with every breath. "yes," he replied, barely more than a breath. "Being different... that's the most beautiful thing about you." The words hung there, suspended in the golden stillness. You didn't move. You weren't sure you could.

It had always been a sore thing inside you—how easily people turned away from the parts of you that felt too much. You'd always been aware of how you overflowed: in thought, in feeling, in wonder. You tried for years to fold yourself smaller, quieter, into the shapes other people expected. But even then, your heart had a way of spilling out, uninvited. You loved too deeply, thought too loudly, cared too visibly. You noticed things—how the petals on early spring flowers trembled in the wind, how people's voices changed when they were holding back tears, how the world seemed to pulse with quiet meanings no one stopped long enough to hear.

And for most of your life, that had been your loneliness.

Until now.

Until Theo.

"You don't hide from things," he said, his voice low, trembling with something he didn't dare name yet. "You don't numb yourself the way most people do. You let the world move you. It terrifies me how rare that is."

His hand, still half-buried in the grass, found yours. This time, not by accident. His fingers brushed the back of your hand like a question. You didn't pull away. You turned your palm to meet his, and the moment your skin touched, the world shifted—softly, imperceptibly, but deeply. Like something had clicked into place, and the universe exhaled around it.

"I always feel like I'm too much," you whispered, your voice cracking around the edges. It wasn't a confession meant for pity—it was a truth, worn and tender, carried inside you for years. "Too intense. Too curious. Too sensitive. Too... loud, I guess. People don't usually stay."

Theo's fingers closed around yours with gentle certainty, as if your pain was something he could hold and soothe just by being steady. "Then they were never meant to," he murmured, and his tone held no bitterness, only truth. "Because anyone who asks you to be less than this... doesn't deserve to be near you."

Something in your chest gave way. You didn't cry—but it felt like you might, if you let yourself breathe too deeply. There was a pressure behind your ribs, not from sadness, but from recognition. From being seen, finally, not just for your beauty or your kindness or the words you put together like constellations—but for everything. The wild, radiant chaos of your inner world. The boundless storm of your empathy. The way you never stopped feeling.

"I just want to be understood," you said, and your voice cracked on the last word. "Not explained away. Not tolerated. Just... understood."

"I do," he said, instantly, and there wasn't even a pause. "I do understand."

He said it like a promise. Like a vow carved into the air between you.

Your eyes met his again, and there was no more hiding in them—no fear, no overthinking, no pretending. Just two souls, open and trembling and unafraid to fall. You stared into the storm-blue of his gaze and felt yourself being pulled deeper, caught in the gravity of someone who chose you exactly as you were.

The light changed around you, slow and golden, the kind of fading light that casts long, soft shadows and turns everything it touches into something mythic. The air carried the scent of early blossoms and damp earth and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere nearby, a bird trilled a low, steady song, and in the far distance, the hum of a stream curled through the silence like a secret.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not your fears. Not even the future.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you—exactly as you were, more than enough, with your messy thoughts and uncontainable wonder, your heart that never learned how to beat quietly.

Theo leaned in slightly, not to kiss you yet, but just to be closer. Just to feel the space between you get smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with your own.

"I don't want you to quiet down," he said, barely a whisper. "I want to hear everything."

And for the first time, you believed someone meant it.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I’d love to hear your feedback on this one!

!Reblogs and Likes are highly appreciated¡

…until next time lovelies💋

[oldermenfucker]

Mama’s Boy | J. Abbot

summary: Your son interrupts you and your husband’s “fun” time every time Jack gets his hands on you. Tonight he’s hand enough.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, Jack’s getting cockblocked and he doesn’t like it ONE BIT lmao, your son is around 4-5years old, mom!reader & boy dad!Jack, totally inspired by Shawn Hatosy’s tweet about how he is so thankful for his (asshole) sons and his hot beautiful wife lol, English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 2k+

an: so this happened today… THE QUESTION IS: should I write a Robby version of it but with girl dad!Robby and sexually frustrated!reader??? YES OR NO?🤭

Reblogs & comments are always appreciated💕

Four months, twenty-two days, eleven hours.

  Not like Jack is keeping count or something, but those numbers? They are driving him nuts. 

  Four months, twenty two days and eleven hours without fucking you. Yes, he is using the ‘hush! He’s too young to learn this word!’ curse, because this kid… this fucking kid is interrupting him every single time he thinks he can get his hands on you.

  Somehow, you are always interrupted by the magical word of ‘Mama!’ Bouncing off the walls anytime he corners you against the wall, his hot mouth covering yours as he almost gets what he wants.

  But no. His own kid, the son he created with you, the very baby he would burn the entire world down for has to become a pain in his ass. Jack loves his son so much to the point you tease him about turning your little boy into a spoiled brat, but he just waves you off and keeps doing what he does.

  As much as he loves his son, his body and heart ache to hold you, whether it is cuddling, showering together, or enjoying a moment of peace on the couch with tea in his hands. 

  But his son has to be a total mama’s boy.

  He doesn’t fault the kid; you are magnificent, the most beautiful woman he has had the honor of meeting, the most perfect wife anyone could ask for, the mom of the year. He understands why this little boy is so enamored by you, but his patience has its limits.

  One time, he was so pent up after a rough shift that all he needed was to smother you with his weight and cling to you all day like a koala, but his precious son had a stomachache that needed to be taken care of.

  Another time you were wearing nothing but his shirt on, swaying to soft music while you cooked dinner for him after you put your son down on his night off, and it was the second most beautiful scene he had ever seen — the first being you on your wedding day — and you looked so soft and full of warmth that he wanted to do nothing but feel you thoroughly.

  But even then, his son woke up thirsty, and you had to jump off the counter when he had you with your legs wrapped around his hips and his tongue down your throat. And Jack to his delight watched as you kissed the baby’s hair and picked him up, walking over to Jack to grab a glass and fill it with water — He loved this sight, so pure and beautiful, but in that moment he wished he could have had all your attention even for a second.

  The last straw was when he arrived home after his rough night shift, checking on the little gremlin first before he pads into the room, finding you snuggling his pillow with the tightest tank top known to mankind and shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass.

  He had stripped himself off of his scrubs as soon as possible, kissing his way up from your ankle to your thighs and your shoulders, his heavy hands caressing your soft skin with anticipation. 

  You hummed and smiled sleepily, turning around in his arms to kiss him, but as soon as you wanted to do, you heard the soft whimpering ‘Mama?’ Coming from the doorway, making Jack groan and drop next to you on the bed, watching as his son shyly crawled his way between your arms, mumbling a soft ‘I felt lonely’ before he fell asleep.

  Jack has endured four damned months of having a hard on that he had to take care of with his own hand, but enough is enough. He will change that tonight.

  “I can’t believe you are ditching your shift on Ellis to take us out!” You laugh softly, putting on the red lipstick Jack so adores while he closes the door to your son’s room as he takes his afternoon nap before you leave for the restaurant Jack made reservations at.

  “Not ditching, sweetheart,” he walks into your shared bedroom to put his own clothes on, “Just letting my senior resident and the new attendee have their fun running the ER.”

  “Don’t be surprised when you go and find the floor on fire, babe,” you reply, putting on the new earrings you bought just for the occasion, not noticing the heavy look Jack is giving you.

  He is dying, he must be, because goddamn he can’t breathe as he watches you pull the fabric of your black dress up your thighs, giving him a nice view of your asscheeks hanging out from the thong you decided to wear for the occasion.

  He doesn’t reply, he can’t, because he is so busy gawking at you. Jack doesn’t even bother with dressing fully as he waltzes inside the bathroom you are getting ready in with his belt undone and the fly of his pants open, chest fully on display.

  He shuts the door behind him as quietly as possible to not wake the little demon up from his power nap, locking it as well just in case.

  You notice him through the mirror, giving him a confused smile as he stalks closer, his hands immediately on your hips. Jack rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a kiss on your skin as he drags his eyes over your body, groaning while he takes you in.

  “What’s gotten into you?” You lean back into his chest, resting your hands on top of his as he wraps them around your waist, kissing you from your jaw to your collarbone.

  “I miss my wife,” his words come in a rush, and he turns you around in a blink of an eye, making you gasp as he grabs the back of your thighs, picking you up before he lowers you on the edge of the bathroom sink, “And I need her now.”

  You moan lowly, biting your lip when he attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting every inch he can get his lips on. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs spreading with a tap on the outside of your thigh so he can make room between them with ease.

  “That kid better be dreaming, cause I ain’t stopping if he wants to interrupt,” he whispers sucking on the thin skin of your lips as he pushes your dress up around your waist, growling at the sight of the thong you are wearing, “Fucking hell, sweetheart—“

  “Please, Jack,” you pout, wiggling to the edge while you press your heels into his butt to bring him closer, gasping when the cold metal of his belt rests against your heated thigh.

  “Don’t beg me,” he grins, pushing his pants down with his boxers until his cock is out, heavy and needy to be inside you before he reaches between your bodies, pushing the tiny cloth out of his way, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…”

  You can feel your face heating up when he finds out just how wet you are, dripping for him as if you are just as pent up as he is. The realization hits him like a truck, making his pulse quicken and his cock throbbing in anticipation.

  “Jack, we don’t have too much time—“

  “Don’t remind me, I’m trying not to make any sound that might be loud enough to wake him up,” he puts his hands on your waist, his hazel eyes staring at your face when you reach down to stroke his cock a few times before lining up the thick head with your soaked entrance.

  “Shit— fuck-baby…” You mewl as he pushes inside, stretching you out and filling you to the brim, making home inside your warm walls with ease, “So so good.”

  “That damn kid,” he growls, pressing his lips to yours when you whine loudly as he starts thrusting into, dragging his cock in and out of you in a quick pace, “I didn’t have you for months, he better not wake up now.”

  “You’re jealous of your own kid?” You squeal when he angles his hips just the right way to hit your sweet spot, having your head dizzy and hazy as he fucks you faster and harder.

  “I’m jealous of anyone who spends more time with you than I can ever do—“ he knows he is not envious of his own kid, it would be ridiculous, but also he wants his wife all to himself for fifteen minutes at least, and he was not getting that for four fucking months.

  You cling to him, nails scratching his freckled skin, leaving red angry marks all over his back while he buries his face into your neck, nibbling on your pulse point as he fucks you harder into oblivion.

  “Please, please, pleaseplease—“ you stutter over your words when his finger comes down to rub your clit, making your legs shake around his hips as he moves harder, nearing his own orgasm.

  The white hot pleasure crashes into your veins, having both of you quiver in each other’s embrace as you gush around his length and he shoots his warm sticky cum deep into you.

  Jack quickly silences you with pressing his lips to yours, muffling your loud moan and his deep groan in an instant as he finally finally releases all the pent-up lust, his shoulders relaxing after months of torture.

  Just when he rests his forehead on yours and tries to catch his breath, his ears perk up at the sound of the soft, slow footsteps.

  “Mama?”

  “Fuckin’ hell—“ he tips his head back and you take this as your cue to lean down and kiss his throat, caressing his jaw before you urge him to pull out of you, “He is too punctual for his age.”

  “He just hates pervy men around his mama.” he glares at you playfully when you reply, pecking your lips before he tucks himself back into his pants quickly before your son comes into your bedroom, helping you hop down from the sink, “He’s all yours, Jack.”

  “With pleasure,” he winks at you, and in an instant, you know he is going to say something to keep you alone in the house for the rest of the night.

  “Hey, bud,” Jack says as he finds your son on the bed, clutching his little bear in his hands, his feet dangling from the edge of the mattress, “What are you up to?”

  “I had a nightmare,” the baby mumbles, looking at Jack with those big, wide eyes, making his heart clench in despair.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, little guy. C’mere,” Jack picks his son up, sitting against the headboard as the little boy cuddles into his chest, sniffing a little before Jack starts rocking him slowly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  “No,” his son shakes his head, pressing himself tightly into his old man’s arms, “Will we go out now?”

  “Would you like to go out, buddy? We can always stay and order something,” Jack softly strokes the little boy’s head, kissing the crown of his head. “What do you say? Pizza night with mama and daddy?”

  “And SpongeBob!” Suddenly, the boy sits up, beaming with his little teeth at his dad, making Jack laugh and nod.

  “Yup, Pizza and SpongeBob!” They both turn around when you step outside the bathroom, makeup removed after hearing them change the plans, and the dress replaced with a pair of pajamas, “Look who’s here.”

  “Mama!” 

  “Yes, baby boy?” You crawl next to them, lying on the bed with your arms stretched out, and to your delight, Jack and your son both snuggle into you — somehow Jack manages to fit himself into the embrace, “Family night, yeah?”

  “Oh, definitely,” he grabs the back of your neck to pull you down, kissing you softly before he chuckles when your son makes a gagging noise, trying to separate you from Jack.

  “Ew!”

  “She was mine first,” Jack glares at the boy, and he glares back, both too interwoven into this playful banter to notice you looking at them with soft eyes.

  “No! She is my mama!”

[psformybss]

What about something with secret fiancé reader where she’s very pregnant and they are at an OBX thing and Drew is just so loving and supportive and dotting on her and everything. No pressure to do this, just a thought, totally under stand if you don’t want to.

Let Me, Baby

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy mention, fluff, third trimester softness, drew being doting, domestic vibes, casual dialogue, obx cast dinner

an: i love this idea so much, thank you anon! this lowkey inspired me to write a little blurb for like each month of her pregnancy so i’ll probably post that soon i just gotta finish it lol

By the time they pulled up to Madelyn’s place, the porch lights were glowing and music was already drifting out from somewhere inside.

She unbuckled her seatbelt with a grin. “I swear, if JD didn’t bring his mac and cheese, I’m walking out.”

Drew was already out of the car and opening her door before she could even reach for the handle. “You’re not walking anywhere. I’ll carry you to the kitchen myself if I have to.”

She rolled her eyes, but took his hand anyway. “I’m not that pregnant.”

“You’re in the third trimester,” he said, steadying her with one hand on her back. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight. Or walking more than ten feet.”

“I did laundry, walked the dog, and vacuumed today,” she pointed out as they made their way up the front steps.

“And I offered to do all of that,” he said, holding the door open. “I was overruled.”

Inside, Madelyn’s place smelled amazing—something garlicky and warm—and laughter came from the kitchen. Carlacia was leaning on the counter drinking a Topo Chico while Chase and JD were pretending to help her cook. Madison waved from the couch, bowl of chips in her lap.

Madelyn came over first, grinning. “Look who finally made it.”

“Traffic,” Drew said like an excuse, even though they lived ten minutes away.

Madelyn hugged her, then looked her up and down. “You look so good. Seriously, you’re glowing.”

“She always looks good,” Drew said, kissing her temple like it was second nature.

“I can hear you,” she muttered with a grin as she kicked off her sneakers.

“Let me—” Drew was already scooping them up before she bent down. “I got it. Go sit, I’ll bring you food.”

“I just walked in the door.”

“Exactly. That’s enough effort for one night.”

Madison snorted from the couch. “He’s been like this the whole time?”

“Worse,” she said, waddling (fine, maybe a tiny bit) over to the couch. “He tried to carry my water bottle to the bathroom this morning.”

“She was carrying laundry at the same time!”

“You were still brushing your teeth!”

“I’m efficient,” Drew said, appearing again with a throw pillow that he fluffed and wedged behind her back. “You comfy?”

“I was fine until you started fussing.”

“I’m not fussing,” he said, adjusting the blanket on her lap. “I’m taking care of my girl. Big difference.”

Chase popped his head around the kitchen door. “You two are disgusting. I mean that in a loving way.”

“Let them be gross,” Carlacia said, stealing a chip. “She deserves it. She’s carrying a whole human.”

“She reminds me every day,” Drew said, heading back toward the kitchen. “But still makes her own coffee like a rebel.”

“Because I like doing things for myself!”

“Yeah, and I like doing things for you,” he said over his shoulder. “So let me win once in a while.”

She leaned her head back against the couch, smiling. “If you weren’t cute this would be so annoying.”

Madison grinned. “Nah, you love it.”

She did. He came back a few minutes later with a plate that looked like it had been carefully constructed by someone with a culinary arts degree.

“I got the corner of the lasagna, no onions in the salad, and one of JD’s muffins before they all disappeared,” he said, handing it over like it was made of gold.

She blinked at the plate. “Are you psychic?”

“Just observant,” he said, then flopped down beside her and gently lifted her feet into his lap. “Eat. Hydrate. Relax.”

“Who are you,” JD muttered, walking by with a soda. “And how do I get someone like you in my life?”

“Grow a uterus,” Drew deadpanned.

Dinner was loud and easy, everyone talking over each other and arguing about whether JD or Carlacia made the better pasta dish. Drew made her another plate without asking and refilled her drink twice before she could even notice she needed it.

When they all moved out onto the patio afterward, she stretched out on one of the benches and Drew sat down, immediately tugging her feet back into his lap like it was his job.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing slow circles into her calves.

“Mhm,” she said around a yawn. “Still got some energy left, I’m not crashing yet.”

“Let me know when you hit that wall,” he murmured. “I’ll get you home fast.”

She opened one eye to look at him. “You know you don’t have to do everything, right?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I want to.”

Carlacia wandered over and sat beside them. “You two are kind of unfair, by the way.”

“What, ‘cause he treats me like royalty?” she joked.

“Exactly. Now my standards are all messed up.”

“He’s setting the bar,” she teased, nudging Drew with her foot.

Drew leaned down and kissed her knee. “Just taking care of my girl.”

“Okay, ew,” Chase called from across the patio. “Can’t y’all save that for not a group hang?”

“Don’t be mad just ‘cause your love language is roast battles,” Madison said, tossing a pillow at him.

Eventually, she started to fade a little—nothing dramatic, just the usual post-dinner slump—and Drew noticed without her saying a word.

“You ready?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and let him help her up, even though she didn’t need it. He held her hand all the way to the car, carried her leftovers, and made sure she was buckled before even starting the engine.

As they drove off, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

“I better be,” he said, lacing their fingers on the console. “You’re doing the hard part.”

She laughed. “Pretty sure you’ve carried 80% of the workload tonight.”

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

Her smile stretched wider as she looked out at the road. “Yeah. I know.”

taglist: @maybankslover

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Downward Spiral | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: It's been weeks since the breakup, and they're both on a downward spiral. It's getting so bad that now their friends have to intervene. Guess it's time for project "Save Dumb and Dumber"

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This is Part 2 of the story inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

It was weird, the things you miss. Like the sound of his laugh echoing off the kitchen tiles. The way he’d talk to himself when he thought no one was listening. Or how his hand would always find hers without even looking.

She didn’t talk about him. Not to anyone. But some days, he was all she thought about.

And it wasn’t like she missed everything. The loud nights, the arguments that started small and spiraled into something ugly. But there were moments. The soft ones. Mornings in bed when everything felt still. His thumb brushing her cheek. His voice, quiet and raspy.

Some days she did fine. Went to work. Came home. Read books. Answered texts. It was almost like she was normal.

But some nights, the weight of missing him made her feel like her ribs were collapsing inward. She’d cry quietly in the shower, wiping her face before facing anyone. She avoided their usual haunts, blocked half his friend group on Instagram, and stopped listening to music altogether.

It all reminded her of him.

Meanwhile, Lando was coming undone in louder ways.

He went out every night. Ibiza, Monaco, wherever the afterparty was. Girls draped over his arm, drinks in both hands. He laughed too hard. Said yes to everything. He burned through days and nights without blinking, too high or too drunk to care if he was crashing.

He didn’t really notice how fast it got out of control until he woke up in someone else’s bed and couldn’t remember her name.

The parties helped. So did the girls, for a while. But nothing stuck. Nothing felt like her.

Max pulled the joint out of his hand. "Mate. You look like shit."

"Thanks," Lando muttered.

"I mean it. This isn’t you."

Lando snorted. "Don’t act like you know me."

Max didn’t rise to it. "No one knows you anymore. Not since she left."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Lando stood and grabbed another drink. He didn’t answer.

The sadness came in waves. Some days she was fine. Other days, she’d see something small — a hoodie he left behind, a stupid meme he would’ve sent her — and it knocked the breath out of her.

He was still everywhere and it was getting harder to pretend she was okay.

"You’ve gotta snap out of it," Layla said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "You can’t keep rotting in here."

"I’m not rotting."

"You’re literally lying in the same hoodie you’ve worn for four days. You barely eat. You barely talk. You’re spiraling, babe."

She didn’t answer. Because it was true.

She stopped going to brunch with her friends, stopped answering FaceTime calls. Every little reminder of him chipped away at her—his mug in her cupboard, the perfume he said he liked on her, a half-used bottle of hair gel in her bathroom drawer.

She was unraveling. Some days she didn’t brush her hair until noon. Her appetite vanished. Her eyes looked duller. Even her laugh had a hollow edge.

He was getting mean.

Short with his engineers. Cold with his friends. His trainer, Will, had stopped trying to get him up for workouts after Lando told him to "piss off" for the third time in a row.

It was like something in him had cracked — and everything that came out now was bitter and sharp and empty.

She’d stopped pretending she was okay.

The tears came easier now — over empty coffee mugs, over old songs on the radio, over the sweater that still smelled like him even after three washes.

Her best friend, Layla, didn’t push her to go out anymore. Didn’t force pep talks against her will and just showed up with food and tissues and sat beside her while she broke down.

"He didn’t even fight for us," she whispered one night, eyes red, throat raw. "He just let it happen."

Layla ran a hand down her back. "You both did. That’s why it’s so sad."

She nodded, curling tighter on the couch.

Some days were worse than others. On the worst ones, she barely left her room. She’d reread old texts and convince herself that maybe it was all an act. That never cared at all.

Max shoved the door open. The flat reeked of stale weed and whatever had spilled on the carpet.

Lando was passed out on the couch. Again.

"This is getting out of hand," Max muttered.

Pietra crossed her arms. "No. It’s already out of hand."

Lando stirred and blinked up at them, groggy. "You guys have the keys to my place now?"

"We’ve always had the keys," Pietra snapped. "Because we don’t trust you not to OD in here."

Lando laughed. It was dry and lifeless. "I’m not that bad."

"Trust me, mate you don't even know what you are anymore," Max said.

"I’m not going," she said, arms crossed.

Layla didn’t blink. "It’s my birthday."

"So?"

"So you owe me. Remember who held your hair while you sobbed over The Notebook and tequila?"

"That was one time."

"You broke my Dyson. That vacuum cost money, bitch."

She blinked. "You’re emotionally blackmailing me."

"Damn right I am”

“I thought you were going for high tea for your birthday? Why did you suddenly change it to Jimmy’s? I thought you hated that place!”

“Hate is a strong word. Also, it’s my birthday and I want to party for once. You better be there or else I’m telling your mom about the broken vase.”

“For fucks sake no need to blackmail me!” She said exasperated, “I’ll go”

Taglist: @sltwins @verogonewild @anunstablefangirl

[megalony]

All To Ourselves

This is my first Buck x Reader x Tommy fic based on an anon request. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

I'm very sorry to the anon that requested this that it took me so long to write this for you but I suddenly felt inspired to finish it.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo

911 taglist: @teenwolfbitches28 @mandmilovehim @jooniesbears-blog @riywasu @amy2265 @buckandeddiesverison @forestsandgrimoires @peteparkersbug @btskzfav @onetoomanyfichusbands

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: While Buck and Tommy are at work, (Y/n) takes the kids to the park. But when the neighbour strikes up a conversation and makes (Y/n) insecure, the boys try and make her feel better.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are we ready?" Turning on her heels, (Y/n) looked across at the twins and smiled as she pointed towards their shoes. If they were going out, they needed to put their shoes on.

Her eyes landed on her two year old who slowly padded across to her with a teddy tucked under her arm and her hands stretched out towards (Y/n). Obliging, (Y/n) leaned down and scooped Minnie up into her arms and sat her on her hip. She cradled the back of Minnie's head and kissed her temple as the toddler sniffled and cuddled up into the embrace.

"Where's daddy?"

Minnie nudged her head against (Y/n)'s neck and quietly started chewing on the ear of the teddy she was cuddling until (Y/n) pressed her pacifier to her lips instead.

"Daddy and papa are at work today." Evan had been on the night shift last night and would be home sometime this evening, and Tommy had left this morning for his day shift. Hopefully they would be home around the same time.

(Y/n) knew Minnie had been disheartened when she woke up from a nap and realised Tommy had vanished.

The two year old head gone to sleep lying on Tommy's chest in the living room and had woken up in her bed upstairs. She wasn't feeling very well, she had a cough that kept her up during the night but when she fell asleep on him, Tommy didn't have the heart to wake her to tell her he had to go to work. Not when Minnie hadn't gotten much sleep during the night and he knew a nap would make her feel better.

With Minnie on her hip, (Y/n) looked over at the twins who finished putting their shoes on and moved to wait by the door.

"Shall we go to the park?"

Daisy and Delilah nodded eagerly, moving to stand by the push chair (Y/n) had gotten ready at the door.

"Come on, you'll feel better when we go out." (Y/n) murmured softly and knelt down so she could strap Minnie into the push chair.

Wriggling around, Minnie brought her teddy up to her face and nuzzled her nose against it, biting down on her pacifier as she closed her eyes. If she went for another nap (Y/n) knew it would do her some good, but she had a feeling when she got to the park she would liven up a little.

Both twins held onto the pram, standing on either side of (Y/n) as they made their way out the house and started their walk towards the park.

It didn't take long for the four of them to reach the park and by the time they got there, (Y/n) leaned over the pram and realised Minnie had woken up. All the different, familiar sounds had caught her attention and curiosity got the better of her, preventing a nap from taking place.

Just as (Y/n) bent down in front of the pram and reached out for Minnie, the two year old started to wriggle around and she waved one hand up to point into the air.

"Daddy."

Twisting to look over her shoulder, (Y/n) glanced up to see what Minnie was pointing at. A smile graced her lips when she realised the toddler was pointing to a passing helicopter flying overhead.

"It might be, baby, I don't know." She pressed a kiss to Minnie's temple and got her out the pram so they could go and play.

Any helicopter that the girls spotted, they automatically thought that it would be Tommy flying them. Likewise, if they spotted a fire truck they thought Evan would be inside. They didn't take note of the numbers plastered on the side of the truck, they just waved and grinned madly.

"Can we go on the swings?" Daisy swayed back and forth from her heels to her toes and pointed to what she wanted to go on.

"Come on then."

(Y/n) scooped Minnie up in her arms and set her down in the toddler swing, while the girls hurried onto the big swings right next to them. She rotated between pushing the twins for a little while until they were both happy swinging their legs and rocking themselves so she could go to push Minnie.

The toddler didn't seem too keen to play today, her head lolled back and forth but she wasn't giggling or waving her arms or kicking her legs out. She barely interacted, showing how out of sorts she had to feel right now.

"What about all of you on the big swing, hm?"

A smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips when Daisy shuffled off the swing and reached out to take her hand. While Delilah held Minnie's hand once the toddler was back on her feet. They all headed towards the big net swing which seemed to make Minnie smile and perk up a little.

Delilah got into the swing first. She gripped the roped edge and wiggled up into the mesh swing on her stomach before she spun around and sat up. A wide grin on her face as she held her hands out so (Y/n) could pick Minnie up and sit her down in the middle. And once Daisy scuttled up and got onto the swing, the three of them shuffled close together.

The twins looped an arm each around Minnie, cuddling her in between them and with their bright smiles, (Y/n) just had to snap a picture of them all.

"Alright, here we go. Hold on tight." Pulling the swing back, (Y/n) began to sway the three of them back and forth in a slow, continuous motion.

It was nice to have the park relatively to themselves with only one other parent and child across the park on the big slide, and a woman and her young daughter aiming towards the park now. It meant the girls wouldn't have to wait long to go and play on whatever they chose and they didn't have to bump into other kids or interact if they didn't want to.

Each of the girls were rather shy and reserved, they weren't as boysterous as Evan or as easy going as Tommy.

(Y/n) continued to push the swing as the twins shimmied so they were lying down on their backs, staring up at the clouds like they were trying to spot Tommy in his helicopter. Whereas Minnie stayed sitting up in between them, holding onto each twin as she swayed with the rocking motion of the swing.

After a little while, the twins finally sat up and (Y/n) pulled the swing to a steady stop.

"Can we go on the climbing frame?" Daisy pointed to the small frame with a climbing wall and a little bridge platform and a bright yellow curving slide.

"Sure. What do you want to go on baby?" Reaching out, (Y/n) scooped up Minnie and gently set her to the floor, holding her hand as the little girl looked around.

Minnie shrugged before she suddenly realised there was a mini roundabout and her feet kicked out as she tried to drag (Y/n) towards it.

(Y/n) looked over at the twins, satisfied they were happy on the climbing frame which was only a few feet away before she let her youngest drag her to the roundabout. She clambered onto the metal floor and perched down on the rainbow seat, patting her hands happily while (Y/n) began to spin it in slow circles.

She stayed pushing the roundabout for a little while, until a familiar face caught her attention. (Y/n) glanced over to the right to see a young girl, probably around seven, trotting their way and pointing happily to the roundabout.

"Can I get on?"

"Of course you can." She pulled on the metal rail until the roundabout came to a stop to let the little girl clamber on. Once she was stood to the side, happily clinging to the rail, (Y/n) began to slowly turn it again.

Her eyes kept looking back at the girl every time those blonde locks whipped in the air and she passed in front of (Y/n) in slow spinning circles. Where did she recognise that girl from? Where had (Y/n) seen her before?

The recognition clicked in (Y/n)'s mind when she saw who she presumed was the little girl's mother who came and stood a foot or so away from (Y/n)'s side. Not too close to impose or be seen as friendly, but close enough to show that she was cautious and clearly the caregiver of the little girl.

It was their neighbour.

They hadn't long moved into the neighbourhood, and neither (Y/n), Evan nor Tommy had made much of a point of introducing themselves or talking to the neighbours. They preferred to keep to themselves and talk and make polite conversation if anyone came up to them. It was easier, considering how narrow-minded most people became when they learned that the three of them were in a poly relationship.

But (Y/n) recognised this neighbour, she was the lady who lived right next door to them. (Y/n) had said hello to her once or twice when they were both out in their gardens or when they were passing by either coming or going from their homes. But they weren't friends or well acquainted.

"You're the new neighbour, aren't you?" Lisa's statement caught (Y/n) a little off guard. No hello, no polite introduction, just straight to the point as if she had no time to beat around the bush.

(Y/n) hid a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and forced a kind smile as she nodded.

"Yeah, how are you?"

"Good. So, this is your little one." She pointed towards Minnie who was smiling and giggling to herself as (Y/n) pushed the roundabout that little bit faster for both girls.

"Yeah, and the twins over there." (Y/n) pointed towards both her girls who were tumbling down the slide together before they scuttled round to climb up once again.

There was something about the way that Lisa hummed and looked at her that made (Y/n)'s chest tighten and she coiled her arms to her chest, finally stopping to have a break from pushing the girls. The roundabout was moving at a steady pace now, and it wasn't rusty or creaking or getting stuck so it just needed a little push every now and then to keep it going round until they both decided they'd had enough.

Lisa looked at (Y/n) like she was searching for something, like she was scrutinising her and it made her feel uncomfortable, but she didn't say anything.

"I've only got Anya." She pointed towards her daughter on the roundabout before her head was angling to look around like she was waiting for someone or expecting someone to come over.

She didn't seem like the kind of person (Y/n) would make friends with or someone she would voluntarily speak to very often. It was often easier for (Y/n) to keep to herself, and the girls kept her busy anyway. If she could, she had a feeling she would be avoiding this particular neighbour unless strictly necessary.

Lisa seemed like a rather snotty woman, not the kind of person (Y/n), Tommy or Evan would get along with very well. Evan couldn't stand people like Lisa, those who seemed fake and overly obsessed with image. People who stuck their noses up in the air reminded him of his parents. And Tommy didn't have a lot of patience left for people like that.

"So, what does your partner do?" She took a step closer towards (Y/n), with her hands clasped together in front of her and her pointed chin angled down so she could look over at her.

Stepping forward, (Y/n) gave the roundabout another light push before her hand moved and rubbed up and down her arm out of anxious habit. She tried to keep a friendly smile on her face as she looked towards the other woman.

"Evan's a fireman, and Tommy's a pilot, they're both first responders."

It was always nerve-wracking to talk to new people and gage whether they would be friends or stuck up bystanders. It was more frequent to have people laugh or exit the conversation than to have them try and understand and actually hear them out on their relationship.

Once people learned (Y/n) had two partners, they usually thought badly of her, as if it was all her concoction, all some big scheme she had come up with. They thought she was toying with Evan and Tommy or with them for some kind of scheme or benefit. Not many people could wrap their head around the fact that she loved them both equally and couldn't be with one without the other.

Only Evan's team had been completely understanding the first time they heard the news. It took Tommy's colleagues a little while to get used to, but most of them now acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Hm, I thought I saw two men next door. What about you, what do you do?" Her words were very abrupt, but she took (Y/n) by surprise.

Either she knew people in poly relationships and was completely fine with it, or this wasn't something she thought needed to be discussed and it didn't outwardly bother her. Either way, this was new territory for (Y/n), but it was relieving not to have to explain herself or gain a lecture or have people belittle her and tell her their opinions on a relationship they knew nothing about.

The way Lisa looked (Y/n) up and down caused her to shrink in on herself. It felt like she was being examined. (Y/n) felt like she was back in the hospital getting examined by the midwife. Each time she had been for check ups or scans or even during labour, it had all felt very impersonal, despite how kind most of the midwives and nurses had been.

And now with the way Lisa was observing her clothes, her stance and every little mark about her, (Y/n) felt like she was on display. She felt like she should be doing something, smiling or moving, just something to make Lisa feel satisfied and stop staring at her like that.

"Oh… I'm not in work at the moment. Since we had Minnie, I- I'm a housewife."

The tender smile on (Y/n)'s face quickly faded into a panicked frown when Lisa huffed and rose a brow in the same mannerism as a school teacher.

Was that a bad thing? Was it wrong that (Y/n) was focusing on being a mum at the moment?

When they had the twins, (Y/n) had gone back to work just before they turned one, just like any other parent and that had been hard. Juggling work and two toddlers had been a big struggle, and she had been back working less than two years before she got pregnant again with Minnie.

Work had been the last thing on (Y/n)'s mind when she had three young children to care for. And it had just been something that she kept putting off because it was better for all of them if she was home. The girls were her main priority as Minnie wasn't even in nursery yet.

"So you just stay home all day, don't go to work?" The tone of her voice made (Y/n) grimace and hold a deep breath to stop herself from saying something she shouldn't.

"I look after my girls."

Maybe if Lisa thought it was so easy, she could come over and do (Y/n)'s job as a mother and see how long she lasted. She could see how hard it was juggling twins and a toddler who was often sick and picking up every cold and sickness going due to her weak immune system. Lisa could deal with the carnage in (Y/n)'s home and see if she could handle doing a nine to five job in the middle of all of that.

"Hm." The huff Lisa let out made (Y/n) shiver, especially when she looked her up and down with raised brows. "And they don't mind, your men? Working all day while you don't?"

"No, they don't. Why would it be a problem?" (Y/n) winced when her nails started to dig into her arms and she realised she was creating scratches up and down her skin out of anxious habit.

"Well, it might be quite annoying that you don't have to work but they do, to support you all. Maybe they just don't know how to tell you."

Those words hung in the air like stale food and (Y/n) found her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stop herself from reacting or even crying. She didn't bother to make a remark or set Lisa straight because it wasn't going to do any good, clearly she had made up her mind about (Y/n) from the moment she looked at her.

Her hands reached out for the roundabout which she pulled to a stop and she reached out for Minnie who thankfully looked tired now and was no longer clapping or giggling.

"Let's get going." She murmured into Minnie's hair as she set her toddler on her hip and walked away to get the twins.

They were leaving. (Y/n) wouldn't stand around and let Lisa comment on every aspect of her life like this, and she didn't want to talk anymore. She wanted to go home. She wanted to get the girls back home in their own environment and try to calm down.

But as she aimed for the twins, she could feel her heart pulsing in her chest and sending adrenaline all throughout her system.

She wasn't a burden to the boys, was she? Did they feel irritated that (Y/n) hadn't gone back to work yet? Neither of them had mentioned about (Y/n) going back to work, they never brought it up like it was a silent agreement that they would discuss it when they all thought it was time.

Were Evan and Tommy disgruntled at being the ones going to work while (Y/n) stayed home with the girls?

***

Tilting her head to the left, (Y/n) leaned her cheek on top of Minnie's head, silently relieved that the little girl had finally seemed to settle. She wasn't coughing or grumbling or fidgeting in discomfort anymore, she was almost ready to go to sleep.

Usually she would have been in bed by now but she just wouldn't settle, and considering how she didn't sleep last night (Y/n) thought it best to keep her up and try to calm her down first.

Plus, Minnie was keeping her busy. Since coming home from the park, all (Y/n) managed to do was worry. She tidied up, settled the twins with come colouring, gave Minnie some medicine and tried to cuddle her and calm her down. She'd made tea and cleaned the kitchen until bleach and raspberry spray were all she could smell.

None of it stopped that little voice in the back of her head from nagging her and anxiety kept dwelling in her stomach, a constant reminder that she might be annoying her men without meaning to or realising it.

Her left arm jittered until Minnie was almost trembling against her waist, but she couldn't seem to settle her system. Nothing worked, especially not when Evan came home and (Y/n) didn't know how to try and smile and pretend like nothing was playing on her mind. She didn't want to pose the same question Lisa had in case she got the answer she feared.

Which was why it was such a relief when Evan let the twins drag him into the living room so they could show him their drawings. Although (Y/n) was pretty sure that Evan was in the shower now while the twins were watching a movie in their room before they went to bed.

Approaching footsteps caught (Y/n) off guard and before she had chance to turn around, she felt Minnie wriggling and perking up when she opened her bleary eyes to look over (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"Daddy!"

"Hi," A grin spread across Tommy's lips when he walked into the kitchen and saw the light sparkle in Minnie's eyes. He felt bad leaving this morning when she had been sound asleep in his arms, and he didn't want to think what her reaction would have been when she woke and realised she was in her own bed, not his arms any longer.

His nose crinkled as he grinned and his eyes creased as he made a beeline for two out of his four girls. When they were within reach, he moved his hands down to hold onto (Y/n)'s hips while he glued his chest up against her back. And he leaned down to kiss her cheek as she paused her administrations of what seemed to be a blitz of the kitchen.

The quiet rendition of "Missed you," that Tommy growled into her neck made (Y/n) shiver and she had to try hard to stop her knees from buckling and giving way beneath her.

"Good day?"

She felt him humming into her neck where he started to graze his teeth, intent on leaving a mark which caused tingling sensations to run beneath (Y/n)'s skin. And the way his hands tightened on her hips and she could feel each deep breath he took made her mind start to short-circuit.

But it wasn't quite enough to completely rid her mind of the panic she had been feeling all afternoon since seeing the neighbour. It shouldn't have gotten to her this much, what Lisa said, but the longer (Y/n) had to think about it, the less certain she felt.

The little whine that Minnie let out and the pat to Tommy's shoulder snagged his attention and caused him to lift his head away from (Y/n)'s neck. He leaned to peer over her other shoulder at their little girl who was demanding his attention in the form of a pout.

"How's my baby?" He uttered softly while he weaved around to take Minnie into his own arms.

He leaned back to settle her on his chest and his hand began to run up and down her back while he kissed her and waited for her to tell him all about her day or about how she still felt sick and needed cuddles.

"Saw you," She sounded croaky, but at least she looked tired enough to sleep tonight. And she waved her arm up near the ceiling in a circular motion to signify the helicopter blades.

"Oh, did you spot me flying today baby?" Tommy didn't want to disagree and point out that it probably wasn't him that the girls had seen at some point today.

It was cute that each of the girls automatically assumed every helicopter was flown by Tommy. He loved that they pointed it out and assumed he was the only pilot in LA. And he loved how the twins told all their friends at school that one of their dads flew a helicopter and the other was a brave fireman. They were all sweet.

With a kiss to her temple, Tommy snuggled her tighter into his chest before he turned to look towards (Y/n). His smile furrowed and his nose crinkled as he watched her put the plates and bowls away. She was constantly reaching out for something or moving around, and she hadn't turned to face him yet either. That wasn't normal.

When it looked like (Y/n) was about to head out the kitchen and walk away, Tommy took a step to the right so he was standing in front of her. His chin angled down and he rose one brow as he locked eyes with her, finally.

"Everything okay?"

(Y/n) brushed her hands up and down her waist, taking a deep breath to try and steady her system before she nodded and managed a smile. "Course."

She could tell Tommy wasn't quite sure he believed her, but he didn't object. Especially not when (Y/n) cupped his cheek and pushed up on her toes to capture him in a kiss. She let her cheek rest on his shoulder when they parted and her hand reached out to brush along the back of Minnie's head.

"I think someone needs to go to bed."

A smile flooded (Y/n)'s face when she heard Tommy murmur "Me or the baby?" into her hair.

She stayed tucked into his side with his arm deadlocked around her middle as they both walked out the kitchen and aimed for the stairs. They both knew that Minnie had to be tired because she wasn't arguing to stay awake, she was just melting into Tommy's arms like she had done this morning.

Tommy's eyes lingered on (Y/n) for a few seconds when they reached the top of the stairs and she weaved out of his arms without a word and aimed for their bedroom.

It caused a frown to etch into Tommy's features and his shoulders deflated as he walked into the nursery to settle Minnie down.

He was glad it didn't take long, only a few minutes of pacing the room and humming a nursery rhyme to get Minnie to start dozing off in his arms. He found a pacifier from the side table and pressed it to her lips before he kissed her temple and gently tucked her into the cot.

"I'll be back soon, baby." He knew she wasn't listening, but he told her anyway. One of them would come back through in a while to make sure she was actually settled to sleep and that they didn't have to spend another night nursing her through croaky coughs and pained cries.

He smiled as Minnie wriggled to get comfy, but she was almost fully asleep with her arms stretched above her head and about three teddies dotted around the cot with her. She couldn't sleep without her bundle of teddies.

With the door left open ajar, Tommy headed down the hall. He could hear a Disney movie playing in the twin's room and he would go and see them once it finished and they were ready for bed. Right now he wanted to check what was wrong with (Y/n) because he knew something was bothering her.

She was tidying again. There was a small pile of clothes on top of the chest of drawers and she was methodically folding and putting them away in that agitated manner that showed she was anxious about something. When she was nervous she couldn't sit still, and it usually took the boys a while to get her to tell them what the problem was.

A sigh tumbled past Tommy's lips as he trudged into the room and aimed for (Y/n). His arms reached out and looped around her waist once again, a little bit tighter this time now that she didn't have their toddler in her arms.

He attached his lips to the back of her head and squeezed her in his embrace, encasing (Y/n) in his arms. He felt the way she tensed briefly before she seemed to melt into him and pause what she was doing.

"Alright baby, spill."

"What?"

Tommy waited for a moment but as he suspected, (Y/n) didn't bother trying to look up at him. A sure sign that something was on her mind if she wouldn't even try looking him in the eye to tell him she was fine. They both knew she wasn't.

"Something's worrying you, I'd like to know what it is." When he didn't gain a response he sighed into her hair and leaned down to peck her cheek.

But both of them looked to the left when the door creaked and they both watched Evan walk in. He had one hand tangled in his curls that were damp and stuck up at all angles from the long shower he'd taken. It was normal for them to see him take long showers and come out looking like a strawberry from how much he scrubbed his skin. He never felt like he could get the dirt and grime from his skin or rid the smell of smoke from his hair.

He squinted at the pair of them with a slanted grin and a deep chuckle left Evan's lips when he tossed his towel on the bed and Tommy whistled at him.

"What're we talking about?" Evan found a pair of boxers and wrangled them over his hips while he snook a few glances across at his partners.

"Have you noticed how nervous someone is? She won't tell me why."

(Y/n) bowed her head and closed her eyes but she could still feel them both staring at her. She reached her hands down to squeeze Tommy's forearm and she shrank back into his chest while he turned them both to the right so they were facing Evan who hummed.

"C'mon babe, tell us what's wrong."

(Y/n) could feel the anxiety welling up in her stomach again and it made her shuffle from foot to foot and cling onto Tommy's arms that were cocooned around her middle. She feared that if his arms loosened from her then she would feel like she was falling with no landing in sight.

She didn't want to tell them, she was either being stupid for worrying about this or her fears were right. Either way this didn't seem like a conversation that would go in her favour. (Y/n) would rather sit and ignore this, but she wasn't doing a very good job when she was anxious enough for them both to notice something was on her mind.

The tender kiss Tommy pressed to her cheek drew her out of her thoughts and she tilted her head to look up at him before she glanced across at Evan. Both of them were staring at her with calming smiles and tender expressions with nothing but patience and understanding that she feared would fade at any moment.

"Does it bother you that… that I'm home with the girls?"

"What'd you mean?" Evan frowned as he grabbed the sweatpants he'd left out on the bed before he went for a shower. He kicked his legs into them and snapped them around his hips, tying them in place before he turned.

His hands planted on his pointed hips and his shoulders and elbows stuck out as he tilted his head to one side. His eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath, not understanding what (Y/n) was trying to get at here. Why would it bother them? Why on Earth would they be bothered that (Y/n) was home with the girls? Wasn't this what she wanted?

The confusion on Evan's face made a frown set into his features and he glanced over at Tommy who looked just as uncertain with knitted brows and pursed lips.

"Well, I'm not working yet. Do you think I should go back to work? Are you annoyed I'm not back at work?"

There. She'd done it. She'd asked the big question that had been bugging her all afternoon.

She wasn't quite sure what she would say if they said yes, but if they were annoyed then she would go back to work immediately. If they didn't want her to be home with the girls and they wanted to get Minnie into Daycare and start sorting their shifts again so they were each home with the girls then (Y/n) would do that.

She didn't want either of them to be irritated with her or think of her as being a burden. It would kill (Y/n) if she knew that was how they both felt, she would never want to be a burden to them.

"Why would that bother us?"

"Baby why're you asking this all of a sudden?" Tommy squeezed her hips and perched his chin on her shoulder but (Y/n) looked down at her feet instead.

"Doesn't matter."

(Y/n) wriggled and shimmied until she could slide out of Tommy's protective embrace which made her feel cold and desolate and a light trembling set in her system. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and she kept her eyes locked on the patterned carpet as she tried to leave the room.

She didn't get far before Evan's arm branched out in front of her, cutting off her path. His hand clamped down on her hip and his other hand braced her shoulder as he reeled her towards him rather than the door. She couldn't just walk away, something was upsetting her and they needed to talk, not ignore it.

"Yes, yes it does. Something's upset you, tell us what's wrong."

Evan pressed a wet kiss to her temple, then to her cheek and he angled his head until he could kiss her lips and show her it was okay. She could always talk and open up to them.

"I met Lisa today, the lady from next door… it's nothing, forget it." (Y/n) shook her head and waved her hand as if to try and dismiss the subject, but it didn't work.

While Evan kept her pinned in his arms, Tommy moved to stand in front of her. His hands cupped her face, tilting her head back until she couldn't look away from either of them. The pair of them towered over her like suits of armour and the feeling of Tommy's thumbs gliding along her cheekbones, combined with Evan's grip on her waist, made her turn to jelly in their hold.

"What did she say?" There was something almost dangerous to Tommy's gruff voice that dropped down an octave.

What had the neighbour said to her to upset her and make her this panicked? Why had the neighbour bothered to speak to (Y/n)? The three of them tried their best to keep to themselves, they didn't need nosey neighbours getting involved and causing conflict.

Tommy continued to glide his thumbs over her cheekbones, making sure (Y/n) didn't try and move her head or look away from them. They wanted to help, and they couldn't do that until they knew what the problem was.

"She mentioned you… you both might find it irritating, that you work but I don't. Or that you might think you have to support me. I don't want either of you to think I'm a burden."

(Y/n) let her eyes close so she wouldn't have to face either of them or see what kind of expressions they had aimed towards her. And she did her best to hide the whimper that bubbled up in her chest when Tommy's hands left her face.

But a gasp broke free from her lips when a different pair of hands were suddenly clutching the back of her thighs. Her hands reached out to clamp down on Evan's shoulders and her eyes snapped open when he hoisted her up with a low "Come here."

He stepped forward until (Y/n) felt the bed against the back of her legs and her body tensed up, bracing for the impact when he laid her down on the bed with a soft thump. Her breath caught in her lungs and she stared up at Evan, who was looking down at her with a strange kind of melting smile and deep pooling eyes.

She felt his hips pressing down into hers as he laid in between her thighs and when the bed dipped, she tried to crane her head to the right so see Tommy. He had perched down next her shoulder, one hand pressing into the mattress to prop himself up while the other began to trail across her cheek and down her neck.

"I guarantee you that we would never think that, sweetheart." Tommy leant forward to peck her temple before he moved to kiss Evan's cheek too.

Neither of them would ever think that (Y/n) was a burden or that she was doing something wrong by being home with their girls. She was their mum and if she wanted to stay home with them, it didn't bother Tommy or Evan. Each of them were happy as they were and their lifestyle was working for them, why would they be unhappy or want to change that?

(Y/n) being home with the kids meant that Tommy and Evan could pick up and drop whatever shifts they liked. It was easier to swap shifts, to make sure they had the same days off together to have days home or go out with their family and to get birthdays off.

They didn't have to worry about childcare or being late for work or finishing shifts a bit later than normal if calls and events got out of hand.

"She just worried me, and the way she looked at me…"

"Ignore her, I guarantee she's jealous."

"If she tries saying anything else, I'll talk to her."

Both (Y/n) and Evan looked up at Tommy with sceptical expressions and narrowed eyes. They knew what that meant. He would go round there with a fake smile and a few choice words that would intimidate even the chief of police.

Tommy wouldn't have anyone upsetting any of his family, especially not someone who didn't know them at all and thought they had any right to comment on their home lives. He could be passive and ruthless at the same time and he would do anything for his family.

Tilting his head back down, Evan attached his lips to (Y/n)'s jaw and nudged his nose against her cheek while his hands slid up to squeeze her hips as she laid pinned beneath him. He could feel Tommy's arm sliding around his bare back and his lips attaching to Evan's shoulder which made him smile into (Y/n)'s skin.

Once he felt (Y/n) begin to relax and loosen up, he lifted his head so he was hovering over her once again.

"If you're happy being home with the girls and looking after them, then we're happy too. Being a mum is a full time job too." He waited patiently for (Y/n) to nod or smile and give some sign that she knew he was being sincere.

He and Tommy didn't want (Y/n) to go back to work if she didn't feel ready or if she didn't want to. She was taking care of their daughters, she was focusing on being a mum and that was hard with three kids under the age of six. If she was happy with the way things were right now, then there wasn't a problem because they were both happy too. And the girls were thriving, their family was happy and settled and that was the main, most important aspect here.

"We like having you all to ourselves."

[hopeyoufindalovelikethis]

Love Between The Lines

Hello! Thank you so much for being here and supporting me. I’ve been reflecting tonight—realizing how often I hold things in, too shy to share my real thoughts and feelings. It’s led to misunderstandings, even in love. But writing helps. It gives me space to untangle the things I can't say out loud, even when I still get embarrassed to let others read what I write about them. If you’ve ever felt the same, maybe this story will reach you too. I hope it brings a little comfort to your heart. Sending hugs 🤍

Synopsis | You spent a quiet weekend in Sylus’s office, intending to write a story—but ended up sketching him and pouring your love into your notebook. Unseen, Sylus read every word. And when you finally looked up, he was already full of the love you hadn’t meant for him to see.

The air inside Sylus’s office was calm, steady, and edged with the soft hum of holo-screens and quiet clicks from his interface as he worked. Tall windows stretched high behind his desk, painting the polished black floors with reflections of the overcast sky outside. The room held the weight of authority, draped in charcoal and obsidian tones, but somehow, with you there, it felt less like a fortress and more like a haven.

You had curled yourself up on the oversized velvet lounger that sat across from his desk, legs tucked beneath you, one hand supporting your head as you cradled a thick notebook in your lap. A pen hovered between your fingers, idle for the moment, while a half-open novel lay beside you—the same one you’d been flipping through earlier, hoping for sparks of inspiration. You had told Sylus this afternoon that you wanted to try writing something of your own, a short story maybe, after all the books you’d devoured recently.

He had simply nodded, tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, and said, “Then write, kitten. I’ll make sure the world stays quiet for you.”

At first, your thoughts had tried to cling to fictional threads, half-formed characters and foggy plotlines, but the more you let your pen move, the more the ink on the page curved back toward him. His image formed naturally beneath your hand—strong jawline, sharp nose, the distinct slant of his brows and the way his hair always seemed perfectly tousled no matter how much time he spent in the wind or under LED lighting. You shaded in the edges of his gaze, the unmistakable ruby hue of his irises implied in deep lines and light touches, and before you realized it, you had stopped trying to create a world and simply reflected the one that sat behind the desk a few feet away.

And then the words came. Slowly at first, then faster, like a dam breaking open. You wrote about the way his silence was never empty but full of knowing. How his touch never demanded, only asked. The way his gaze could quiet your chaos without uttering a single word. You wrote about the nights he stayed until you fell asleep, the mornings he left you tea with a note, how you never had to ask to be seen because he always, always looked. You wrote until your hand ached, until the edge of the page curled under the pressure of your feelings, and still the thoughts poured out.

You didn't notice when his typing had stopped.

Sylus had been working through Onychinus network audits and protocore synchronizations, his expression impassive as his fingers glided across the glowing panels of his desk. But when the sound of your pen scratching became the only thing moving in the room, he paused. Slowly, he turned in his chair, eyes catching the slope of your brow as you leaned in, completely absorbed, unaware.

Curiosity, light as breath, moved him to rise without a sound. He approached from behind, steps silent against the plush rug. He could see over your shoulder—the precise lines of his own likeness sketched in ink. His breath hitched, an sensation unfamiliar tightening in his chest. Then the words caught his eye.

Line after line, poured with adoration so unguarded, so intimate, he felt it echo deep beneath his ribs. Each confession was an unraveling of you: soft, gentle, quiet in its bravery. He saw the way your letters slanted when your emotions picked up, how you lingered on his name, the way you described love not as something passive, but as something steady, chosen again and again.

He didn't move. He just stood there, reading, absorbing.

You, unaware, reached the final sentence. You signed the page with a faint smile, letting your pen fall gently onto the notebook. Then, finally, you looked up—toward Sylus’s desk, only to find it empty.

Your brows furrowed. "Sylus?"

A quiet voice behind you. “Looking for me?”

You startled, head snapping back as you turned on the lounger. Sylus stood just behind you, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his dark slacks, his expression unreadable at first. Then the corner of his lips curved, not in mischief, but with something richer. Fonder.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, flustered, reaching to close the notebook quickly.

He chuckled, low and warm, stepping closer. “Long enough,” he said, kneeling in front of the lounger. “Long enough for my heart to drown in every word you wrote.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t meant for him to read—not yet—but he reached up first, gently resting his palm on your knee.

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” he said, voice a notch lower, more intimate. “Not when your love tastes like this.”

He reached for your hand, pulled it to his chest. You could feel the beat beneath your palm, steady and full.

“I’m not used to being seen like this,” he said, gaze fixed on yours. “Even after everything I’ve built, everything I control—you still manage to bring me to my knees with a page of your heart.”

Your throat tightened. You didn't know what to say.

He leaned in, his hand slipped behind your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, and then his lips met yours. Deep. Unhurried. Full of a longing that felt like it had waited years, not days. The kiss unfolded slowly, his mouth tasting the truth you had written—your devotion, your warmth, your everything.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “More than even your words could capture.”

Your fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of his sleeve.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

The rest of the world could wait. For now, in the quiet sanctuary of his office, Sylus held you like you were the only reason he ever learned to love in the first place.

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift - Part 10 [Min Yoongi x f!Reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. 18+ MDNI Warnings: swearing, lots of kissing and making out, reader and yoongi are horny, smut (it's light but it's there), breast play, yoongi is so hard so often in this i feel bad, definitely fluff. wc: 8.5k A/N: So, this will mark a shift for the rest of the story and I am excited to explore this. Let me start off by saying that I have never in my life written smut in any way before thus there's definitely room for improvement. I am not gonna be a huge smut writer until I am comfortable but the only way to improve is to write it! If anybody has good tips? Please send in a message! That being said, I am so excited for this chapter and the last few ones! I hope you enjoy this!

THE NIGHT SHIFT

PART 10

TWO MONTHS LATER

Humming to a tune in your head, you're putting your things away and tapping your foot while looking at the clock with a sly smile on your lips. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you bite your lip when you see a text from your boyfriend. 

Boyfriend. 

Yoongi is your boyfriend, and two months in? You’re still amazed at how everything has turned out. 

After agreeing to date, you’d gone on a few more dates before labeling your relationship. It wasn’t a very long conversation, and you had both agreed to it in the midst of a makeout session. Because you did that lots now–making out. 

Waving goodbye to the security guard, you head out of the library right at midnight, and taking a sharp right, you are met with your boyfriend’s slowly approaching figure. He’s removing his headphones as he approaches you, glancing up and breaking into a smile only meant for you. You giggle as you run to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he lifts you. 

Yoongi deposits you back safely on the ground, pulling back and cupping your cheek as he breathes out, “Hey babe..”

The nickname makes your insides flutter. He’s gotten very comfortable with it these last few weeks, and you can be completely honest with yourself and anybody who would ask about the way it makes you feel. 

Giddy. 

“Hi…” You sound so needy when he pulls away from the peck he quickly presses to your lips. “How was work?”

He shrugs, “Quiet, actually. My mom told me to come pick you up even though there was some cleaning left to do…”

You snort, “I think she just wants you outta there.”

“Pfft, ouch, okay.” He grins while staring at you, leaning in to capture your lips in another kiss. “You still wanna come over?”

“What about Hoseok and Namjoon?” 

He hums, close enough that your lips are still touching, “Hoseok is on a date with your friend and Namjoon is staying over at Eunhye’s tonight…”

“Oh..” You’re gleeful at the realization. “Yeah, I still wanna come over.”

He leans back, taking your bag in his hand as you walk back to his apartment. 

It was about a week into officially dating that he invited you over, cooking for you for the first time, and there had been a handful more times since then. You had to swallow your words when Yoongi had proven with ease his culinary skills over a few cozy indoor dates you’d had at his and he had been more than happy to continue using said skills to impress you. 

You’d wanted to spend the nights on some of those date nights when it was getting late and the mood inspired nothing but desires to make out and cuddle with your boyfriend. The only hesitation came from the fact that there was always someone over and both of your lovely friends had been so supportive, yet so playful. The teasing wasn’t bothersome, but it didn’t allow for privacy when you both lived with roommates. 

Holding your hand when you walk up the short flight of stairs to his place, he keys in with you following closely. You love how after he removes his shoes he turns to you to take your jacket off as you remove your shoes. He tells you to wait a moment, disappearing for the briefest moment before returning with a pair of slippers he had bought especially for you. You swear this man surprises you every day. 

You shuffle in, following him as you yawn and move to settle on the couch. 

“D’you want food?”

You pout, “Ramen?”

He grins, “Your way or my way?”

“Yours. Duh.” 

He chuckles, opening cabinets and turning the stove on as you relax. The times you had been over you had become comfortable being in his space. Well, the space he shares with his friends. 

“Oppa?”

He turns around, “Mhm?”

“I’m cold, can I grab a blanket?”

He smirks, “My room, grab a hoodie in there.”

You smile in thanks, wandering over and nudging the door open with your foot. His room is remarkably neat, everything has a purpose and is meant to be where it is. It isn’t your first time in here, having cuddled many times over now while watching a movie on his laptop. You walk to his closet, looking through the many hoodies until you find the light grey one you prefer. 

You’re stepping out of his bedroom when you’re slipping it on and he dives in, catching you by surprise as you yelp and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest and directing your face to his without kissing you, yet. 

“Oh my god! You fucking scared me!” You smack his back playfully without much force. 

Yoongi laughs, leaning so close your noses touch, “Not sorry.”

You scoff, “Jerk.”

He swoops in quickly as he kisses you, bending your body back and straightening the both of you up as you exhale deeply when he pulls back.

“Hi.” He’s grinning, so proud of himself. 

“Mhm…” You’re embarrassed at the way your body reacts to his kisses and touches. 

But you don’t have much time to focus on them when he speaks, “I actually have something I wanna run by you…”

You don’t know why that sentence sends dread coursing through your body. Yoongi must sense it with the sudden stiffness in your body because he immediately cups your cheek, features soft and reassuring, “Nothing bad, I swear. Come on, your ramen’s ready. I’ll explain…”

He seems light and that allows some of your concern to slip away as you sit at the table in the living room with your carefully prepared bowl of ramen, a glass of water near it. God, he knows me too well. He sits down across from you with a smaller bowl of his own, claiming he had eaten before he had come to pick you up. 

“Explain away please…” He’s amused by your anxiousness but he spares you any more.

“So,” he leans, “the boys and I have been talking for months now about getting away right after our finals which are coming up…” he trails off, eyes meeting yours, “and because more than half of us have girlfriends now,” you both grin at that, “well, we wanna make it a whole trip and I wanted to ask you if you’d be up to come along?”

He pauses, letting the question sit for a moment, “It’s a cabin, by the way! In case you were worried it was actually camping-camping…”

You laugh at that, “That…wouldn’t have bothered me at all, but thanks for the clarification.”

He keeps watching you, waiting for your answer or for any concerns you might have. He’s nervous, not that you would have noticed until right now as he picks at his nails. “So, I have a couple of questions…”

“Ask away.”

He’s eager to reassure you. 

“For one, how are we divvying this financially? Second, how do we get there? How long? Annnnnd rooming…how will that work?” They’re all pretty straight forward questions. All of which Yoongi has an answer to. He’s only nervous about answering the final one. 

“It’s all split evenly, but it’s cheap ‘cause Seokjin gets a discount. His aunt owns the rental, but none of us want to take it for free. Uh, I’d be borrowing my parents’ car leaving them with the van which they’ve ok’ed. It would be you and I going there. It would be for one week only.” He stops there, pausing as he considers his next few words.

“And,” you start, “rooms?”

He looks up at you, chewing the inside of his cheek, “Well, there’s six of them and we have so many couples now…so, couples get rooms and the two singles share.”

“So, it would be you and me in a room?”

“Mhm. Would that be okay?” He asks.

That's an easy yes. You've more often thought about sharing the bed with him or spending the night over, but you hadn't been in a relationship since your first year of university. Meaning you also hadn't had sex since then either. 

You weren't the most experienced in that field, but you know what you're doing. You never felt like you needed sex to make a relationship work but your ex had different opinions, and feelings. You feared a repeat of that experience, that your lack of need for sexual intimacy would wedge you two apart. Because you did want to have sex with him. 

But Yoongi? You had to give him credit. He’s attentive and very much could read your cues like the back of his favourite book. 

“Yeah,” his shoulders relax, “that would be fine.” 

With a slight raise of his eyebrows he asks, “Really?”

“Mhm.” You confirm with a small smile. 

With relief settling between both of you, he gets his phone out and you do too as you organize everything pre-trip being that this is your first time there but his fourth. He answers a few more of your questions that pop up and before long, your joining the trip is figured out. 

You're helping him wash the dishes when you glance at the stove top clock, “I should probably head home after this…” 

He, too, glances at it really quickly. 

1:34AM 

His gaze shifts to look at you for a solid ten seconds, shutting the water and drying his hands as he leans his hip against the counter, “Do you wanna stay over?”

You snap your head up so fast, “Really?” 

He nods, “It's late…we don't have class tomorrow. Could make a day out of it if you're already here…” 

Yoongi can already tell where your beautiful, overthinking brain goes as he soothes your worries, “I bought a spare toothbrush the other day and you can use some of my clothes to sleep in…” 

You laugh softly, looking down to your feet. You feel him getting closer to you, his hand coming to rest on your cheek when you look up at him from under hooded eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

“Always.” 

He brings you a change of clothes and you use his bedroom to change, smiling to yourself at one of your wishes coming true. Even his smallest pair of sweatpants look huge on you, but as you open the door to let him back in he simply turns and stares. 

There's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he's stepping towards you, looking at you in his clothes. 

“Even though these are too big,” you snort, watching him hold in a chuckle as he speaks, “you look way better in ‘em than I ever could have imagined…”

You giggle, standing on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips which he fully leans into, slipping an arm around your waist to press you flush against his body and cupping your jaw with his other hand. He kisses with his entire body, never leaving much space between your bodies. 

“Sleep. What we need, though, is sleep.” He unwillingly pulls back, struggling to tear his eyes from your lips.

You pout but concede, removing his hoodie as he washes up. It's weird being here when you usually would be leaving to go home, this is usually the part when you imagine what it would be like to stay. Now, you get to live it. You stand next to the bed, feeling the fabric of the duvet as you glance over your shoulder to him. 

“Which side…?”

He grins, toothbrush in his mouth as he points to the left side of the bed. You feel his eyes on you as you get settled under the sheets and meet his gaze, realizing just how badly you like him. 

You reach over to plug in your phone as you lie back, shutting your eyes and relaxing until your side of the bed dips, startling you when Yoongi sits down. He hovers slightly above you, gazing down affectionately, and leans down to kiss you softly. Instinctively reaching for his cheek, you hold him and pull him further into the kiss as you move up the bed to sit a bit more upright.

The duvet shifts lower on your body, and Yoongi’s hand snakes across your back to flatten against your spine, making you suck in a sharp breath. Your hand on his cheek slips to his shoulder, then down his chest to his hip, earning a hiss from him as he recoils like he’s been burned. Panting loudly, he reaches for your hand and huffs a small laugh.

“Sleep…We definitely should sleep.” You read him carefully, understanding that you are both in the same boat. His pupils are dilated when he’s looking at you, “You okay?”

You nod, shifting softly, “I’m okay.” 

“Okay.” With shaking hands he grabs you and kisses you quickly, standing and looking back at you. “I’ll be a minute, yeah? I’ll be back…”

And as quick as the words leave his mouth he’s out of the bedroom and locking the bathroom door. 

You can’t explain the feeling that bubbles in the pit of your stomach. Arousal is definitely one of them, there is no doubt about that. No, but what you’re feeling right now is something entirely different and you feel the muscles in your face pull into a smile, hiding behind your hand for no reason as you laugh softly.

Pride. 

You are proud that you’ve elicited such a reaction out of him, and you know exactly what situation he’s dealing with in the privacy of the bathroom. You want to make sure he’s not embarrassed or that you’re not feeling any kind of negative way about what happened, but you don’t want to make it too obvious. 

So, you settle under the covers and shut the light on your side. You face his pillow and wait about ten minutes until the sound of a door opening and closing catches your attention. Next, the creaking of his bedroom door opening and closing is what you focus on as she shuffles around to shut lights before sitting on the edge of his bed, his back to you.

He doesn’t take notice of your being awake still when he settles under the covers, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. The lights shining in through his window illuminates his profile as lies still.

“Hey..” you whisper in the darkness, startling him.

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine…” you shift, “what about you?”

He’s silent for a few seconds like he’s considering his next words, “I am now…”

Vague but honest. He turns to face you, lying on his side as you shift closer in search of his warmth. He feels your hesitation, reaching for your waist as he pulls you closer and you hear him grunt when you hook your leg over his hip. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers when he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“Did I do that?”

He scoffs, “Fuck..”

“Sorry…”

“No, baby, no, don’t say sorry…” He finally looks down to you, his eyes finding yours in the darkness. “If anything, that was exactly what was supposed to happen…”

He’s making light of it, letting the sentence die. 

So, of course, you have to be a little shit.

“Me giving you a hard-on?” 

He squeezes your hip, making you yelp as you smack his side before you both burst out laughing. Yoongi pulls you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a quick succession of kisses. 

“Where did this confidence come from?” He asks.

“You.” You confess. “Being with you…”

He pecks your lips again, “Well, you want me to be honest and say something that will definitely boost that confidence?”

You’re amused, giggling as you nod, “Mhm.”

He scoots closer and there’s no hiding from him as his lips ghost over yours when he locks eyes with you, “You absolutely gave me a hard-on and I had to deal with it…”

Pride. Again. 

You don’t even realize you’re laughing softly until he kisses your cheek, “Oookay, time for bed now…”

Humming, you shift to snuggle closer to him, and finally you shut your eyes. He holds you against him, his lips against your forehead as you both slowly drift off to sleep. 

Is this the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Min Yoongi?

No fucking doubt about it.

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Babe, remind me why we’re leaving earlier than the others again?” 

Yoongi chuckles, leaning in the doorway of your bedroom, “Because we’re the responsible ones.” You snort. “And because we need to make a stop at a grocery store close to the rental to buy a week’s worth of groceries. I’m the cook, and you are my assistant.” 

You snap your head to look at him over your shoulder, a light grin tugging at your parted lips, “I thought Seokjin was…” 

He scoffs, “Oh, he somehow got himself out of that…” 

You roll your eyes, “Oh, that little shit…” 

Things, since that night, have only continued improving between you two. The shyness you once felt dissipating with every new makeout session. And you had plenty. The newness of your relationship is still ever present as you continue to learn more about each other, growing more playful and more passionate. 

Your besties have remarked on the change in you these last few weeks. You’ve been told you’re blooming and it’s shown in the way you dress, and in the way you are with him around your friends. 

The last time Hwayoung and Eunji saw you date somebody, you had changed but not in the positive way you did with Yoongi. You shared absolutely nothing, your ex even refusing to hang out with your friends or for you to meet his friends and in the short eight months together, you became sadder and lonelier. 

But with Yoongi? It’s different. He encourages every part of you without enabling them. Your happiness, your sadness, your courage or your anger. His self-awareness for the complexity of the human emotions allows him to be of great support to you when you continue to learn about yourself. 

You shuffle back to your closet to grab a few extra items, “It’s just one week, but why is my brain telling me I need twenty different outfits?” 

He chuckles, stepping into your room and standing behind you as he places his hands on your hips, “Because you like options. You’re the same with your pens. And your notebooks. And books too. Which reminds me,” he leans his chin on your shoulder, “how many of those did you bring?”

You mouth the air, “...Three.”

He laughs, “You really think you’ll have time to read three books?”

“I’ll have you know, I am a really fast reader!” You turn around and you give him exactly what he wants as he pulls you into him, making you gasp. 

“I highly doubt you’ll have the time to read because I think we’ll be too busy…” 

You know he’s doing this to get a reaction out of you, simply because he’s discovered that between the two of you, the one who has been more daring with physical affection and intimacy is you. 

“Don’t tease.” 

“You know I love it…” he cups your cheek firmly, tugging your face to his as he presses a solid, meaningful kiss. 

He has to know he leaves you breathless with every kiss, “Okay, so, I will kiss you any time but we do have to get going so help me pick two dresses, please?” 

He laughs, letting his grip on your loosen as he walks to stand in front of your closet and without hesitation reaching for the green dress you wore on your first date and a flowery yellow sundress. You quietly take them from him, mouthing a small ‘thanks’ as you turn to your bag and fold them in. 

You zip it up and turn to him, “Okay, I am pretty sure I have everything and if I forget something, I will just have to get it when we stop before we get there…”

“So, I’ll take this to the car and we’re ready to go?” 

“Yeah, I’ll lock up then we can hit the road..” 

Yoongi grabs your two bags, “And Hwayoung and Eunji are riding with…?”

“Hwayoung will be riding with Hoseok and Taehyung and Eunji with Jungkook and Jimin. They’re leaving in an hour or two I think…” You shut your light.

“Cool, pretty much the same as everyone else…” He smiles as he leads the way out, waiting as you lock up. 

You’re just stepping out of the building when he’s closing the trunk, walking to the passenger side to open the door for you. You make sure to plant a quick kiss to his lips before you get in, and he follows suit. 

He turns to you once he’s seatbelted in, “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Grocery shopping with Yoongi is an experience.

One you’d relive for the rest of your life, honestly. 

You drive the cart around as he looks through every aisle, checking off item after item on his phone. He’s so focused and it’s very sweet to see him be this way because this is just mindlessly walking around the store and picking up things, no. Yoongi is very thorough with his list because they consist of every food preference for everyone, including any food allergies. You remember the text you woke up to a few days prior asking about any hated foods or allergies, which made you adore him even more. 

“Yoongi,” he turns to you right away, “what about you?”

“What?”

“Do you have yourself included on that list of yours?” He smiles softly.

“I don’t need to be on that list, because I know what I like and don’t like.” He looks back to the shelf. 

“Well, who takes care of the cook then?” He slows right down, looking back at you. 

He starts smirking, failing to hide his amusement, “What do you mean?”

You dig for your phone in your bag, opening a notes page, “You have a list for everyone. Let me make a list for you. You should have one.” 

He stands there silent for the briefest of moments as he stares at you. You can see an onslaught of emotions going through his eyes, chewing on his lower lip as he sighs. 

“It’s not very long…” 

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter. You should have a list.” 

He sighs, “Walk and list making then?” 

You laugh, “Sir, yes, sir!” You playfully give him a salute, pushing the cart just past him as he stops you as he grabs the back of your neck to bring you to him and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Thank you.” He glances from your eyes to your lips before leaning down to kiss you as you suck in a breath, lips brushing over yours when he pulls back. 

“Always…”

You feel his delight at the state of you, gently tugging you to keep following as you shop. 

Your Yoongi’s food list of likes and dislikes is very small because it seems like he’ll eat almost anything, except ridiculously spicy foods. Claims having grown up with his parents cooking a lot made him adventurous with food. But whenever he sees something he’s not particularly fond of, he makes a point to turn to you and let you know. 

You love how he indulges you in moments like these because it makes you happy. 

When you two are paying, your cart looks like you’re feeding a family of nineteen and it is almost comical even to the cashier. You’re packing everything into bags as Yoongi hands you items. 

Bringing everything into the car is a challenge too, moving both of your bags to the back seat as well as putting anything cold in the cooler you had in the trunk. You’re both exhausted when you’re finished, leaning against the car and laughing. 

“I’ll bring the cart back, can you text everyone and ask where they’re at?” He gently squeezes your hand. 

“I will…”

You get on the phone and message the massive trip group chat that was created.

You [10:14 AM]: We’re about an hour out, just finished shopping for food. Anyone there yet?

You see lots of text bubbles popping up as many of them respond, but what you get out of the texts is that Seokin and his girlfriend have just made it, with the rest soon behind and you two being last. 

You [10:16 AM]: We’re leaving now! See everyone soon! (smiling emoji)

“So?”

You look up to your boyfriend, “Seokjin and Sohee are there already. The others are right behind, so we’ll be the last ones there.”

He nods, smiling at you, “Let’s get going, they’ll probably be hungry by the time we get there…”

“You’ll be wearing your chef hat from the moment you get there…” you tease.

He sighs, “You have no idea…”

Far later that evening you’ve just come out of a shower, a towel tightly wrapped around your body as you glance at your reflection in the mirror. 

Out in the living room you can hear the laughter, the sound of people dancing and drinking. It feels youthful, like what you’ve been missing out on but you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t need a moment to recharge before heading back out. You made it your goal this week to enjoy your youth, to try new things and to get to know your boyfriend’s friends. 

Over the last two months you had gone to more than a handful of hangouts with his group of friends and with all the girlfriends too. You had become friends with everyone but you never were alone one on one with them. Which is why you want to take the opportunity to do that. 

You step out of the ensuite and freeze when you see Yoongi mid-reach in his bag, holding your hand to the towel. Now would not be the moment you’d want him to see you naked for the first time. Not like this, god no. 

“Hey baby…” you softly say, chuckling in mild embarrassment. 

He says nothing though. No, instead his eyes focus on every inch of your skin showing with that flimsy towel covering you. He forgets about whatever he had his hand on in his bag, standing up straight as he looks at you. He gulps visibly, wetting his lips while looking up the length of your legs. 

“My eyes are up here…” You tease but he doesn’t look away.

“I’m aware…” His tone is sharp, his voice just a breath as he finally looks up to your eyes. It reminds you of that one night, the first night you slept over and the reaction you had gotten out of him then.

“Look at me then…” He listens to you, eyes finally meeting yours and you realize then how heavily he’s breathing. “You okay?”

“I really want to kiss you.” 

You start smiling, “What’s stopping you?” He takes one glance at the towel, “Ah.”

Usually you would turn around and get changed, but you boldly walk directly to him and stand there, leaning up and using his shoulder for purchase as you peck his lips. You feel his hands on your waist, shivering when he brings you flush against his chest.

“Needed a recharge?” 

You hum, “Yeah, the shower helped. I’ll be out in a few minutes I swear…” you try to pull away but he pulls you back, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. When he pulls back he removes himself from you.

“I will see you in a moment then?” You’re grinning as he rubs the back of his neck. “Babe, please don’t laugh because yes, you made me horny…I’ll be just fine.”

“Alright, horn dog. Get back out there…” you wink at him as you grab your clothes, going back to the ensuite to get dressed. 

You’ve had many moments like these over the last two weeks, his deep very vocal appreciation of you boosting your confidence from zero to a solid eight at least. 

Min Yoongi lives to make you feel good about yourself, in more ways than one.

Your hair is still damp when you walk back out to the living room wearing a comfortable pair of sweatpants and one of Yoongi’s t-shirts. You are makeup free as you say hi to everyone.

“Oh look who’s back!” Hoseok jokes as he sees you. 

“How was that shower?” Sohee asks you. God, she’s so sweet. 

“Amazing, after that morning and all that cooking? Yeah. I could have stayed in there for an hour.” You joke, rounding the couch as Yoongi grabs your hand and tugs you to sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around you as you sit there, listening to the boys telling stories about their last time here. 

You feel the way he’s rubbing your back, using his short nails to gently scratch at it and using his other hand to hold your hand, “Wait, wait…so who nearly drowned?”

“Your boyfriend!” Jimin laughs, sipping his beer. 

You snap your head to Yoongi, “Wait, what?!”

“Okay, okay, let’s be fair and honest here? Someone,” he playfully glares at Taehyung sitting across from you guys, “was trying to use me for a boost and held me under water for waaaay longer!”

“I wanted to win!” Taehyung tries to explain, still obviously appalled that this story is being told.

Yoongi snorts, “We still lost though!” 

You’re holding in your laughter, hiding your face in his neck with one hand buried in his hair. He leans into your touch and you pull back to look at him. He looks at you softly and you’re smiling at him, and right as you’re about to kiss him you get dragged off his lap by your friends and all the girls. 

“Where are we going?!”

You from a few months ago would have never been seen in a swimsuit in a hot tub. You never would have been seen in a swimsuit, period. That shower turned out to be useless…except for maybe that kiss with Yoongi. 

Glancing over your shoulder to the boys still sitting in the living room drinking, you quickly lock eyes with your boyfriend which makes you smile. When you look back to the girl, they’re looking at you as you mouth the air. 

“Oh come on!”

They all start laughing, splashing some water at you as you laugh and protect yourself from the onslaught.

“You are so in love!”

You shush them, “Oh my god, shhhh!” You glance back to make sure the door is shut. “I’m not…there…yet?”

Hwayoung splashes you, “You don’t sound convincing, at all.” 

You throw water back at her, “Oh fuck off!” 

You’re all laughing as Eunhye, Namjoon’s girlfriend, speaks up, “You guys are really cute. I never imagined he was this open.”

“He’s opened up since meeting you. Seokjin remembers the day he first saw you two…” Sohee shares. “The boys have all been cheering you guys on.”

You find that really sweet as you lean into Hwayoung and grab Eunji’s hand, “These girls have been my personal cheerleaders this entire time. I never would have gotten my head outta my ass if it wasn’t for them…”

It feels nice, sitting in this hot tub and having a girl talk. Beforehand all you could do is live vicariously through your friends with their stories of hookups and failed dates, but now you’ve met on some even ground. You all have boyfriends now, at least in various stages of early relationships. 

Eunji grins, “Can you believe we all have boyfriends now?”

You laugh, “Actually? No. I didn’t even think I had enough of a social life to meet anyone. Yet, here I am.”

“Can I be honest? Sohee and I were really happy when we found out that some of the guys were going on dates…gave us hope for more girlfriends.”

“Do your boyfriends, like, update you on all the hot gossip?” Hwayoung asks.

Eunhye laughs, “Yes! They’re the ones most excited to send their boys off to be boyfriends.”

“I mean,” Sohee snorts, “don’t get us wrong, they’ll be the first ones to give them shit but really? They want them to be happy. So, they were cheerleaders for the guys too.” 

You pout, finding the image of Namjoon and Seokjin cheering Yoongi on to be the sweetest thing. You’re glad you both have amazing friends, people who supported you throughout this entire adventure of falling for each other. 

“I think I love him.”

You don’t realize the words leave you until they already have, the weight of the confession slowly sinking in as you look up at the girls’ faces. All their mouths are open, the shock evident on their faces as you mouth the air, trying to rewind the moment, but it’s too late; fooling yourself into thinking you could is useless. They heard you loud and clear. 

“Say what now?” Eunji asks, grabbing your hand under the water.

The realization sits heavy on your chest but there’s no use in denying it anymore, “I think…I think I love him…but it’s crazy, right?”

Eunhye shakes her head, “Not crazy. Sometimes…your heart knows it before your head does, because let's be honest, our brain is usually what stops us from letting us really be in our feelings. Especially when it comes to love.”

You blink slowly, “When did you know you loved Namjoon?” 

Eunhye smiles, the memory of the moment flashes through her eyes in an instant, “Like a month in? I thought we were just high school friends for the longest time because we've known each other that long…but,” she laughs, “but we were always more. He was just braver than I was and asked me out. A month in we were watching a movie at his and I blurted it out. I freaked.”

Everyone laughs softly as she continues, “No, I mean, like I freaked out. I tried explaining it away. But he just laughed and said ‘it's okay I love you too’ and that was it. Loving him was scary but after that? Falling in love with him was so easy.” 

You look to Sohee who tells you her story with Seokjin, “It was slower for us, a bit. Six months or so. He said it after a really nice romantic dinner. He wanted to get the point across that he wasn't kidding.”

You all laugh as you glance back one more time to Yoongi. He hasn't moved from his spot and he's so relaxed. You're paying close attention to the way the butterflies in your belly begin dancing slowly, fluttering along to the palpitations of your heartbeat. Is this what falling in love is? Are you there already? And what about him?

“You didn't think you'd be here, huh?” Eunhye's question catches you off guard. “He kinda snuck his way in…”

She was right. You never really paid attention to guys at school until Yoongi. Probably because of the way he took up space in life. He wasn't loud or obnoxious, no. He was quiet and commanded the space without much force. That's what drew your attention to him. 

“He did…” you smile, fixing the strap of your bathing suit. 

You sit in silence for what feels like way too long before you sigh, realization finally and completely washing over you as you turn to Hwayoung, “I love him. No doubt about it, I love him.”

Without another word all the girls shift and huddle around you, wrapping your up in a group hug. You're all laughing and sniffling tears back, pulling away and just bursting into a stronger fit of laughter. 

A few more moments pass with more stories of falling for the guys, getting to really hear even Eunji and Hwayoung's stance on their feelings. It's new to all of you, too. 

The sliding door catches all of your attention as Namjoon and Yoongi come out with multiple towels, prompting your decision to step out of the hot tub. The rest of the guys follow suit as you, one by one, step out. 

Yoongi is there waiting with an open towel as you let him wrap your up in it, staring up at him as he glances down at you with the gentlest grin pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“You pruning yet?” He asks as you slip your hand out of the cocoon he's created for you, showing him the tip of your fingers. He chuckles as he checks your fingers one by one. “Yup. Pruned.” 

You snort a laugh, “What an observation, babe…” 

He kisses your temple, tugging you inside with a firm arm around your waist. 

Everyone says goodnight and disperses to their designated rooms. 

When the door shuts behind you two, you let the towel slip from your body as you grab your clothes from earlier, “I'm just gonna rinse off and be right…” you let the sentence die when he stands there looking at your body, “...back.”

He sighs, “I know I'm staring and I am not even sorry…” 

His words send heat straight through your body, goosebumps covering every inch of your skin, and you know he sees it happening. While you were shy about your decision initially, you now don't regret wearing the two-piece swimsuit. You can live with him looking at you like this. 

You smile brightly, approaching him, and his hands immediately gather you closer to him. The warmth of his hands rubbing the length of your back, settling at your lower back, makes you gasp when he steals a kiss from your lips. 

You're pulled back just enough that his lips brush yours, and you grin as you push him on the bed, but Yoongi is quicker, tightening his hold on you as he pulls you down with him. You're left straddling him, his hands splayed on your thighs as he more than happily stares up at you. 

This was all part of his plan. 

You place your hands on the mattress on each side of his head, “Sneaky…”

“I got you exactly where I want though…” he grins, hands rubbing up and down your thighs. 

You're both quiet as you stare at one another. It's a vulnerable position for both of you, and you both revel in the power you hold. 

“Hi…” you breathe out, leaning on your elbows and bringing your face closer as your nose touches the tip of his. 

He takes one of your hands on your leg and gathers your hair at the back of your head, pulling you down for a passionately hungry kiss. Your back arches as you press into him, panting against his mouth when he rakes his short nails gently across the expanse of your back. The fabric of his jeans rubs the inside of your thighs deliciously, pulling back suddenly and smiling. 

He looks pleased with himself as he flips your positions, making you laugh while ending up under him with your legs spread and Yoongi between them, pressing into you as he grins and captures your lips. 

Being this close to him, you ached for this these last few weeks.

You hear the strain in his breathing and the groans leaving his lips when he plies yours apart, sighing into your mouth. You squirm under him when his mouth begins travelling down, planting kisses along your jawline. 

He pulls back to look at you, “Is this okay?”

You look down to meet his eyes, and he looks so hungry, so needy for yo,u but like he’s ready to pull away if you tell him to. God, you love him. 

“Yes, more than okay…”

He doesn’t dive back in right away, leaning further down and lying down on you with your legs wrapped around his waist. His chin rests on your sternum, panting with his mouth open as he looks up at you. 

You watch his eyes, taking your hand and running your fingers through his hair, and you smile when he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. He pushes himself further into you and lifts his head, your hand slipping to his cheek as you bite your lip. 

“Can…” he stops, dropping his forehead to your sternum, “can I take this off?” 

When you’re about to ask him what he means by that, you feel his hands gently tug on the strings of your swimsuit top. You shudder in anticipation, nodding, but he quirks an eyebrow at you. Words, use your words.

“Yes…” 

He awakens once he hears the word, dragging his body against yours and your eyes are glued to his face when he sneaks his hand behind your back and you feel the pull at the strings as your top loosens. You both look at each other when it does, Yoongi checking in one final time as he tugs it off your chest as he tosses it to the ground.

You feel the heat in your cheeks when Yoongi finally gets his first full look at you. He’s reverent about you baring it all under him and he smiles, “Fuck, you’re beautiful…”

Yoongi gently traces the curves of your chest, your head falling back as you whine under his touch. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning too loudly, arching your back when he squeezes one of your breasts and uses his thumb to flick your nipple over and over, squeezing it as you hiss. 

“Still good?” 

Warmth settles low in your belly, willing to bet that if either of you slipped a hand between your legs there would be a beautiful slippery mess. You bite back a moan as he strokes your chest, making him sigh when you roll your hips. He probably feels you trying to pull your legs close together, but he stops you as he takes his knee and pushes them back apart.

Blindly reaching with your hands, you find his biceps as you dig your nails into his skin when takes your nipple in his mouth, gently sucking on it and flicking it gently with the tip of his tongue. 

You don’t think you’ve ever reached this level of arousal before because you’re left staring at the ceiling, focusing solely on the feeling of his mouth on your chest, his knee between your legs and your shared panting. You hate that you split your attention on what he’s doing and on not making too much noise, fearing being heard by the others. 

The wet trail of kisses he leaves on your chest slowly shifts location, dragging his lips down your body as you make eye contact with him. You feel the drag of his hands down your sides as he’s gripping your hips tightly when his fingers tug at the strings of your swimsuit bottom, mouth kissing and licking a path lower and lower. 

“Wait!” 

Your hands shoot out to stop him, panting loudly as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut in frustration at your brain. 

“Wait…”

He listens, staring at you in concern when you look down to him, “Too much? We can stop, it’s okay…” 

“I’m sorry, god, I’m such a bitch for–” 

“Babe, I’m gonna stop you right there, but you’re not a bitch for wanting to stop, okay? I’m glad you knew you could say stop or wait…” he sits back, looking at you. 

Not your body.

You.

“Do you wanna talk about what’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

How he manages to make you smile even when you’re feeling silly is a miracle. 

“It’s…” Yoongi playfully glares at you, “stupid…”

“Let me hear it…” he watches the way you slowly drag yourself up the bed, “wait, actually…”

When he gets off the bed, you see the strain in his body from his arousal but he doesn’t complain. You watch him grab your sweatpants and his t-shirt you wore earlier, walking them back to you. He hands them to you and you take them, timidly slipping the shirt on before standing up and sweetheart he is, he turns his back to you as you get changed into the sweatpants. 

You reach for his hand to let him know you’re done, and he smiles nervously as you both sit back down. He refuses to let go of your hand when he scoots closer to you.

“So?”

You chew your lower lip, “Well, to start…that was,” you look at him, “amazing…”

Yoongi nods softly, licking his lips, “Yeah, it was…”

“I just…” he squeezes your hand, “I was not all there the entire time we…” you chuckle, “did that,” he snorts and you smack him.

“Sorry, sorry…” he chuckles. “Keep going…”

You shake your head, “I was…too focused on not making any noise, because I didn’t…want anybody,” you point to the room next to yours, “to hear us, well, me…and I didn’t want our first time to be restricted that way…”

He smiles affectionately at you, licking his lips, “I can understand…”

“I…wanna be free to be for our first time, y’know? I want all my attention on you and with no worries…” You confess. “It didn’t feel that way…I’m sorry…”

He shushes you, “I told you, I don’t wanna hear you apologize.” You open your mouth to protest but he’s quicker. “I’m a big boy…I wouldn’t even deserve to be with you if I couldn’t handle you saying wait or stop…”

Your heart swells, crawling over and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, being dragged on his lap as he simply holds you a while. When you pull back to look at him, he’s smiling softly up at you and he pulls you closer, hips flushed. 

“Baby?” He rasps.

“Mhm?”

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek sweetly.

“I love you.”

Time suspends. 

The way that it does in clips you take when filming some aesthetic slow motion video on your phone. 

And just like that, you’re swarmed by a wave of emotions as this man cradles your stunned face in his hands and not understanding how his confession settles this uncertainty within you. He has no idea what those three words mean, aside from the obvious. 

“What?” It comes out in a breath, barely loud enough for even him to hear. 

You feel the slouch in his shoulders, Yoongi growing shy as he looks down to his lap. He chances a glance back up to your eyes, looking over your face and reaction as you huff the smallest breath. 

“I…mean it. I do. It’s…it’s quick, I know, but…” he trails off, “I love you.” He shrugs lightly. “You don’t have to say anything back…that’s not why I said it…”

Grabbing his cheeks you make him look at you, “Yoongi,” his eyes widen, “I was literally just talking to the girls about loving you…”

His face brightens the moment the words leave your lips. He’s not smiling fully; no, it’s a muted smile and his eyes shine bright as the meaning of your words clue in. 

“You were?”

“Yeah…” you’re giggling, biting on your lip. “I was.”

“In the hot tub?”

“In the hot tub, yes.” You’re grinning. “Asking them when they knew they loved their boyfriend…to help justify loving you this quick…” You wince like you’ve been delivered a blow, but it’s mild embarrassment from confessing to the girls first your feelings for Yoongi. “But you know what I realized?”

He answers with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Everyone is different. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about how fast I fell for you…” He grabs your hips. “So, yeah, I love you, too.”

He moves in so fast, lips crushing against yours sloppily as he tugs your hips flush against his because the last thing he wants is space between you. You push to force him on his back but he pulls back from you, making you whine in disappointment.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he grabs the back of your head, “you were right about one thing though. As much as I want it and I’m pretty sure you can tell how badly I want it…”

You do. You feel him under you, hard as a rock and probably straining in his jeans. He leans as close as he can, nose to nose and lips to lips, breathing against them.

“The first time I’m inside of you,” you’re lit on fire as he speaks, quivering in his lap, “will not be when you have to hold anything in…” he steals a kiss from you. “So, we can wait…”

“Are you sure?”

He laughs, “Yeah, baby, of course…” he sighs, grunting as he shifts under you. “I am gonna need a shower, okay?”

You giggle, hiding in his neck, “I’m soooorry…”

He’s snickering, “I said stop that…” He taps your hip gently as you swing your leg over and off his lap as you sit back on the bed. He makes sure to press a kiss to your forehead before he pulls back, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

You never expected things to turn out this way. It almost feels far too easy but you know it hasn’t been. Battling your own brain about your relationship and about your feelings, needing reassurance from him more often than you’d like. But Yoongi was so good to you, giving you that comfort when your insecurities danced all over you. 

You were learning to self soothe when your own head got the best of you. And you had even opened up to Yoongi about your not wanting to rely on others to soothe your fears. You remember laughing when he promised he was not trying to play psychiatrist to you and you believed him. His tips were helping, as difficult as it was to fight against your own intrusive thoughts. 

But right now? Lying in this bed, your body on fire from the earlier ministrations, and your heart happy, pounding against your ribcage, you look back to the door of the bathroom to where your boyfriend is. You hear the shower shut off and it isn’t very long before he comes out, just pulling his shirt on and looking up at you, wet hair dangling in front of his eyes. 

“Hey…”

He looks satisfied, cheeks lightly pink as he grins, “Hey you…” he starts shutting lights off as you follow his movements around the room right until he gets to his side of the bed. 

You’re giddy the entire time, pulling the sheets out to let him slip under them and he immediately reaches for you, pulling you back against his chest. He tucks his legs up against yours, holding your hand as you snuggle in for bed. His chin rests comfortably on your shoulder, kissing the spot behind your ear as you sigh. 

“I’m happy…”

“That’s you do when you’re happy? You sigh?” 

You snort, “It’s a happy sigh, y’know? When you’re just, like, happy and you release the happiness and just…” you force a more exaggerated sigh to leave your lips, prompting a laugh out of him. “Happy sigh.” 

His hand snakes up from your abdomen to grab your cheek, pulling your face to his while pressing his lips to yours. He pulls back, his eyelids heavy as he looks down at you from under his eyelashes, “Happy sigh.” 

You smile, content together.

“Mhm, happy.”

A/N: I would like to thank you for your patience for this chapter and the next few ones! I am so happy this one is out, I have been writing non-stop. These next few last chapters will move faster but there will be a good conclusion to the story. We're getting closer to the end! But it's never the end really haha!

tag list: @muchwita @kam9404 @ot72025 @lalazilz @janeelizabeth1216 @rinkud @yngisstuff @lolpanda94 @angelicbunnee @wubbz05 @illicitelle @legendarydreamqueen @flyxfall @mintmango-min @moorepls @gojomyoneandonly @yoongiiuu93 @wobblewobble822 @michaela0901 @ariakamil @watchingover-hypegirl @lovesvt17 @misschelliejeon @niieceyy @this-most-assuredly-counts @ronaa33 @yoonminv @meghanacloud @petroogorodnik @existentialzaddy @illnevertrustmyselfagain

Post separator credit to @hyuneskkami

[chi-the-idiot]

I read an imagine the other day about staying in twst and dating vil for a while, only to end up breaking up afterwards.

And now i am DYING to imagine how other break ups (and possible reconciliations) would go like with the rest of the Overblot guys at least.

Probably not gonna write them, maybe make a sort of comic if i get inspired enough for some of them, but GOD imagine the breakup with Leona 😭

I like to think Leona would only date someone seriously if he really sees a future with that person.

So something quite big must have happened to make both of you decide to call it quits.

Maybe you got tired of his attitude. Maybe he fell into a spiral deep enough that it ended up pushing you too far away. Or maybe it was an outside factor, something neither of you could have seen coming that drew you appart.

But whatever the case, you can be certain of two things: it wasn't pretty, and it hurt like a bitch. More specifically, for Leona.

He already had a ton of issues with how he percieved himself and how others percieved him. He thought he had finally found someone who got him, even when nobody else did. And then he lost you.

I think that's be one of the only times he'd cry. Not that he'd tell anyone, but when you hinge so much of your self esteem on someone only to lose them, thats a low blow.

The worst part is that he wants to hate you. He wants to go back to the same person he was before you knew one another as deeply as you did, to being the scary lion on whose tail you stepped on in the garden. But he can't.

Because he gets it. He does. Whether you actually got so frustrated with him you actually left, or if he pushed you, or if something tore you guys appart, he knows that to leave was the best choice for your sake. It doesnt make the pain hurt any less, but he knows and understands your reasons.

Of course he's not going to chase after you, regardless of how much Farena or his wife push him to, or how much Cheka cries about missing his play buddy. You and him are done, and that is final.

Or, well, that was the plan at first.

Several years pass. Leona finds his place in the kingdom, working to help better the lives of its citizens in the best way he can. He may not be king, and he and Farena may still have their spats now and then, but his ideas are being listened to and followed. His plans are working well enough, and the future does shine a bit brighter.

It doesnt matter that the ice cold of what used to be your side of the mattress still haunts Leona's dreams, or that your face is the main character of his nightmares.

And then it happens. One day he's holding a press conference, talking about his plans for the upcoming year.

When, in the forest of raised microphones, he sees a pair of eyes. Your eyes.

If he stumbles on his words, the cameras dont catch it (years of being forced into their sights trained him well in hiding stuff like this).

But he knows he's fucked. His heart still beats as strongly as it did all those years ago at the mere sight of your eyes. There is no denying it anymore.

He has to win you back.

[ixxivvv]

neurodivergent child to adult mc

zayne, caleb

(vent cope writing. i relate to him, i find him to be the person i wished i had now and then.)

angst!, childhood bullying mention, isolation

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

°❀⋆. zayne (soft and fluffy)

zayne fell for you in the classroom: a girl drawing quietly with long hair. he eventually came to know that you were struggling academically, so he offers to help. he didn't know back then, that you two were each other's first friend.

zayne was patient and understood you. he wasn't cut for psychology, but his passion into the medical field was something he was born to be. he too found a lot of similarities to you.

talented, enduring, direct with each others words, you were animated in expressions while he reserved his facial muscles; but you two understood each other in a beat.

when you were crying, he would do his best to make you feel better. and that was enough. you knew his kindness and it inspired you to be kind as well to others. his care for patients and children, his genuine talent, is what made him so loved by others. it made you compare yourself to him at times.. but he assured your path as well, no matter the pain it came with.

childhood friends turned into sweethearts.

he loved showing his interests to you and what he learned on his own- pool, his new expensive chocolatier with assorted chocolates or the local cafe with a cake. his private nature intrigued you.

zayne adored how lively you were: even though he could tell at was a front at time. he notices you disassociating or unable to mask anymore. he reads up on new research relating to neurodivergence and shares it to you, even though your response is always "ohh ive been knew ://" zayne liked that he could share sweets together or had an unsteady schedule and rhythm. how you had whimsy and smile genuinely in his embrace.

zayne is patient, kind, never pushes and rushes.

he sees you as you, why wouldn't you have hard days or times?

it takes practice for him to learn lessons he learned from you. he loved small cute things that reminded him of you: a rabbit that hopped around, a butterfly with strong wings, and was a sucker for pair items.

°❀⋆. caleb (angst, misunderstanding :( )

caleb is unsure exactly when, but he developed his childhood crush on you ever since he saw you in the playground alone. he remembers his little heart first racing and his pupils widening- almost like you brought him into active consciousness into this world.

he asked you if you can play together, and that is your earliest memory of you two together. caleb remembers your cute beady eyes, you just remembered how the sand felt so nice together.

caleb then had to watch you continuously get bullied, isolated into sped or sent to a child psychologists office, watch your parent disguise bitter bits of medicine into a snack, or sexually harassed or abused by others.

it made him develop a painful response to you- he felt helpless, just listening to you cry and run into the school councilors offices and do so little. it made caleb desire to protect you and do anything in his power; threatening other students, being sent to the office himself and gripping his still small hands in frustration, a childish embarrassment to even imply his feelings to any adult. he desperately had to listen to you continuously get hurt and it later shaped him into adulthood to want to be a strong masculine figure you can always rely on.

now both as adults: recognizing patterns, healing and practicing with each other, feelings turned romantic, developing self confidence through achievements and positive experiences. the light in both of your eyes only sparkled - you when you could feel safe around him, him when you were actively present with him.

caleb is insecure and felt powerless: his jealousy, possession, is justified. but you, wanted to desperately move on and decide on when you felt the weight of your labels. you wanted to practice more, with more people, no matter if it comes with discomfort or pain.

you still accept that people are people, not "people"- just used a lot of energy and accepting they come and go. caleb, understanding, but knows your intrusive thoughts at this point: self isolation. and he wants to feed you the tools.

if he can build a safe world with just you and him- he feared you would chose a world with only you in it. how he felt like he could be replaced like you do with other people, despite your assurance.

caleb has (canonically) disposed of any love letters or anyone else that expressed any attraction of you. threatening, harming, fighting people in order to watch his butterfly fly. he felt blessed to even know you, to see you grow through hard times and see you smile with a plushie.

you knew caleb would do this, under surface fear and disgust, you also felt avenged under his "protection." you desired freedom, big wings like he can, just a someone to lean on when things are tough.. but caleb felt useful when he takes over. he loves when you took steps, he was the first to give you praise, but he deeply desired to just be together. we can, but...

"caleb, im not some girl you need to take care of, i can do things without you." and it opens up his wound, a sharp exhale.

".. right. you're strong, only to an extent." you tear up, making him upset wasn't something you wanted.

his childhood aggression, constant misunderstanding, you being afraid of him.. but caleb has grown so big now, he now feels like his small girl might get hurt by him: when all he wanted was to protect and be close to you.

"... do you think i want to make you cry? do you think everything i do it meant to hurt you?"

all he wanted was to love you so gently. but the truth is, you liked a little pain. its boring with out it. you embraced him, he felt forgiven. only he can handle you at your worst and you didn't want to make him upset.

"right.. no more fighting." ".. was it a fight?" ".. no, no it wasn't. but, i'll do anything for you, okay?"

.. of course caleb. anything that comes in between us, would never get it.

[dunmomee]

Crossing Lines

Synopsis: You and Satoru steal the spotlight on the red carpet at the premiere of your first film together, setting off a media frenzy with your undeniable chemistry.

a/n: I’ll admit it—I did imagine myself with Timothée Chalamet while writing this.

The lights flashed relentlessly.

But they never bothered you. You’d done this too many times to count.

Perfect poses. Polished smiles. Years of PR training on full display.

Your name echoed across the red carpet—shouted by photographers, screamed by fans. It was all part of the job. And tonight, that’s exactly what you were here to do.

The premiere of Crossed Lines was everything the studio had promised: romantic tension, slow-burn angst, impeccable wardrobe, and, most importantly, a press cycle ignited by the magnetic chemistry between you and your co-star, Gojo Satoru.

He stood on the opposite end of the carpet, posing like he’d invented the art. Cameras adored him. So did the crowd. His suit was tailored to perfection, the top buttons left undone just enough to tease the chiseled lines of his chest.

You, as always, walked onto the carpet like you owned it.

Your gown was pure drama—vintage-inspired, but undeniably yours. A teal blue dress shimmered under the flashes, catching light like fire trapped in crystal. Beads and sequins, hand-stitched across semi-sheer fabric, refracted into a halo of soft brilliance.

The halter neckline swept up and behind your neck, crossing delicately over your chest and revealing a sliver of your toned midriff through an artful cutout. The dress sculpted your waist, then flowed over your hips with effortless grace, hugging every curve before plunging into a scandalously low back. Beaded embellishments trailed down your spine like a constellation, guiding every eye directly to you.

Strappy heels peeked from beneath the hem, and a cascade of long, straight hair falling down your back—but it was the dress, that perfect balance of reveal and conceal, that sent the fans into a frenzy.

You turned slightly to offer the cameras a new angle—

And then the screaming changed. Sharper. Louder. A pitch only chaos could coordinate.

You blinked, startled, just as a tall figure appeared beside you, slipping a hand around your bare waist with maddening ease.

“Miss me?” Gojo’s voice dropped low by your ear, warm and infuriatingly smooth.

You didn’t have to look. No one else would dare.

“Satoru,” you hissed through clenched teeth, lips still smiling for the cameras. “You’re crashing my solo shots.”

“Correction,” he murmured, giving your waist a playful squeeze. “I’m improving them.”

Photographers erupted.

“LOOK HERE, SATORU!”

“KISS HER!”

“ARE YOU DATING FOR REAL?”

“Y/N, SAY SOMETHING!”

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face. Still, you kept your eyes on the photographers—chin tilted just right, smile unwavering.

But the heat of his stare was relentless. You turned, finally meeting it—

Only to find him inches away.

Then his hand tugged at your waist. Swift. Sure.

And suddenly, his lips were on yours.

Your eyes flew open.

The crowd erupted.

The flashes turned blinding.

When he pulled away, it was as if nothing had happened. He looked maddeningly composed, blue eyes alight with mischief.

“I just gave the people what they wanted,” he said, voice smug.

You stared at him, stunned, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the chaos.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He winked. “You’re welcome.”

After that entire chaos, you had barely recovered before the solo interviews began.

The reporter you landed with smiled like she knew a secret. “You look absolutely mesmerizing, Y/N—the hair, the dress, the heels. You’re giving full goddess tonight.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Thank you… You look amazing too, by the way.”

She leaned in, her tone playful. “Alright, spill—what was the best part of working with the Gojo Satoru? That chemistry in the film? Electric.”

"The best part?" You smiled, tilting your head slightly toward Satoru, who was a few feet away, being interviewed by another reporter, his smirk aimed directly at you. "Honestly? He makes it hard to stay in character… and even harder to remember we were acting in the first place."

Then, a beat. Your eyes flicked to the interviewer. "That kind of chemistry isn’t scripted."

“So… that kiss back there. A stunt, or is there something real brewing?”

You laughed. Too high-pitched. Too nervous.

“Oh, trust me — if it were real, I wouldn’t find out on the red carpet.”

She chuckled but raised an eyebrow. “So… no comment?”

“I plead the fifth,” you said smoothly. “I think our movie says enough.”

Behind you, a familiar warmth. A whisper of cologne. Gojo again.

“She pleads the fifth, huh?” he said, leaning close to the mic and stealing the spotlight like it belonged to him. “I say she’s just shy.”

Then, to your complete horror and everyone else’s delight, he kissed you again, this time at the crook of your neck. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but the cameras didn’t miss a thing.

The crowd exploded.

You flushed all the way to your ears. “Satoru—!”

He only grinned. “Oops. Guess I’ll plead the sixth.”

And before anyone could stop him, he tugged your hand and walked off the carpet, dragging you along with him like you hadn’t just blacked out from public humiliation.

-----

The next morning, your phone buzzed like it was possessed.

Every notification was some variation of:

BREAKING: Satoru & Y/N — New Hollywood Romance? #CrossedLines or RealLove trending #1

You groaned, face buried in your pillow. Then Gojo’s name lit up your screen. He’d sent a screenshot of the most obnoxious headline of them all:

SATORU & Y/N SEAL ROMANCE WITH TWO RED CARPET KISSES

Underneath, his message read:

“Iconic. You’re welcome 😎 ”

You sent back:

“I hate you. That was definitely not the plan.”

He replied instantly:

“Sure, but did we look like it wasn’t real? 😉 ”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

You just stared at the ceiling, heart fluttering in a way it shouldn’t have.

Because you weren’t dating Gojo Satoru.

…Right?

[curawrites]

Tease

Dain Aetos x fem!markedone!Reader

Warnings: Fourth Wing spoilers, Iron Flame spoilers, one sided enemies to lovers, forbidden love (low key) cursing.

Note: This is short but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write an annoying flirty reader x Dain with a side of Sloane friendship. I might expand on this dynamic in future fics when I have more inspiration 💚

Tag list: @sheblogs @mazzer @luvly-writer @river-of-woe @celeste-fourthwing

While most first year cadets were happy that their two weeks challenges were over, you were a little disappointed.

You liked sparring, mainly because you were good at it and also because it gave you an excuse to stare at Dain Aetos.

“You know he’s the reason Liam is dead, right?” Sloane said bitterly. She had caught you staring at him while he sparred with Violet.

“Uh huh.” you hummed dismissively as your eyes stayed locked on Dain’s form.

“He’s the enemy Y/n!”

“Sure he is.”

“He’s also our Wing Leader, and you’re staring at him like you want to fuck him!” She whisper shouted the last part.

You turned towards her, eyes glinting mischievously, “Can you really blame me? He’s literally so fucking hot.” A teasing smirk tugged at your lips.

Her nostrils flared, “He’s Colonel Aetos’ son!” She tried to reason.

Your eyes narrowed into an ‘are you for real right now’ look, “Xaden is literally dating General Sorrengail’s daughter. But I’m not allowed to stare at Dain Aetos, got it.” You rolled your eyes before returning your gaze to the Wing Leader.

Sloane huffed angrily, “You’re not just staring! You want to-“ She let out an exasperated sigh. “Never mind I can’t even with you right now..” She shook her head.

A quiet giggle escaped your lips, “Relax Sloane, it’s not that serious.” You nudged her playfully.

She glared at you, “Yeah not right now. But it will be if you survive the Gauntlet and Threshing.” She grumbled knowingly.

You glanced at Sloane, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to stop annoying the fuck out of him if I do.” You said in an attempt to placate her.

Sloane didn’t respond but you could tell she was trying to hold back a grin as she thought back on the many times you had sassed Dain.

Satisfied by her reaction, you turned your attention back to where Violet and Dain were sparring and watched as Dain yielded.

Your eyes locked with his as he walked back to your squad. “Tapping out so soon Aetos? I thought you’d last longer than that.” You teased, earning you a sharp glare.

Clearly the sexual undertone of your jab had not been lost on him because his face had only gotten redder, “Shut up, Y/l/n.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

A wicked grin spread across your face, “Make me.” You challenged, folding your arms over your chest.

Dain’s stern gaze snapped to yours. His brown eyes were practically screaming at you to knock it off.

Gods, what you’d give to have him look at you like that in a different context..

Professor Emmetiro cleared his throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Next match is Y/n Y/l/n against Baylor Norris.” He announced.

A loud, disappointed sigh left your lips, not only was your last match going to be ridiculously easy, but you didn’t even get to annoy Dain as much as you had wanted to.

You shook your head, right now you needed to focus on surviving the next month. After all, you wouldn’t be able to keep teasing him if you died trying to become a rider..

[ecstasturns]

inspo writers if you’re experiencing writer’s block

we all get tired of writing and struggle to find inspiration. when Pinterest and tik tok stop working, where else do you go? well I have to say there’s nowhere better to get inspiration than from the talented, hard-working people on this very app. so here’s a carefully crafted list of writers I’ve found really helpful when it comes to upping my pen drive.

@mattluvr I’m a mattlluvr-luvr because every single piece of writing is amazing. I can never get bored on her account. polly, seriously let me give you head.

@waitforyrlove first of all, the AESTHETICS of this account. but no, the quality of the fanfics are undeniable. ik she’s currently on a hiatus but I had to mention it. go binge rn if you can’t write.

@sturnsrecord matilda is my favourite writer oat. also her theme rn is really great if you’re reading at night for some inspiration. istg sometimes i have dreams based off her writing.

@bernardsbendystraws i swear every time i need to get my motivation back i read through rose’s blurbs and fics. the genuine talent shines through on her page. there’s nothing she can’t write.

@ifwdominicfike please please please we need to make sure this queen never leaves. some nights I don’t think I would have survived if it weren’t for her works. avery is also just so sweet so leave her a nice message after binging.

@luvs4matt i actually have a dilf!matt blurb in the drafts based off her version of the au. cherry you are such an inspiration to me, and if anyone is reading this looking for daddy Matt motivation…

@delilahsturniolo bro. delilah is the fucking cutest. and I love her album marathon to pieces. also wanna say I love the theme. I have definitely scrolled through her account for inspiration.

@mattybsgroupie personally, I’d suck and fuck maria. anyway, yeah if you want some examples of well-structured smut that manages to be original and still interesting GO TO HER.

@55sturn star has the coolest aus. they are all structured so nicely and I’m star’s no.1 little sister. she’s also very open to giving advice so send her your questions.

@hysteria-things a sturniolo token writer. I’m literally haleigh and Chris’ love child. her masterlist is my home. and I’m willing to share so if you are bored or losing interest in wtv you’re writing, go read.

@darksturnz sol is so fucking cool, i mean just look at her account. she has the best takes and I am very fucking loyal to artist!chris. something in her writing is unique and it’s so easy to read while being entertaining.

@vanteguccir layout? check. skill? check. personality? check. lele checks all the boxes. her ability to write coherent storylines is something i look up to. if you want long, varied fics, her blog is the place you need to be.

@strnilolover has got to be the most supportive person ever. you can count on her to hype you up but also to write like Shakespeare with a keyboard and a viagra. do i need to say more?

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

i saw this post on reddit and it made me really mad cause 1, you didn’t read the manga and 2, why would you say that?? i honestly hate reddit but i was looking up a question today and stumbled upon it. i just wanna know what you would respond to this 😓 these are the same dudes that call ukkyo and shampoo waifus

“Yep. Pretty, feminine, kind, admits her feelings (emotionally mature), can cook you okonomiyaki and other things, not crazy like shampoo and kodachi.

Vs Akane: rude, violent, canonically ugly (he doesn't mean it but ranma calls her ugly all the time so I'm rolling with it), can't cook at all, yells all the time, can't admit her feelings (emotionally immature).”

I'm gonna be real with you: I read this and felt so exhausted I thought "I'll reply later" and then blissfully forgot. I'm replying to you now, dear anon, not to fuckers who watch the old show using one hand to pause the screen and the other to grab their dicks. There's no arguing with them, you can see it when he says "he doesn't mean it but..." he knows damn well Ranma doesn't mean it. He just wants Akane to be ugly cuz he doesn't like her and decided to make it Ranma's problem (and mine, apparently, since I'm writing this). If the girl doesn't make them horny or inspires waifu fantasies, then she must be punished in some way. She has to be ugly.

This is going to get long. I'm not even gonna talk too much about Akane or else we'll be here all day.

First of all, nobody is winning any emotional maturity awards in a manga like this, where the comedy seeks to make everyone lose it. Nobody can't be above the craziness, if they are, they don't have much to do here. Akane loses it because she's specifically thrown into situations designed to have that effect, she's not made of stone. If your breaking point is tested constantly, you're gonna break sometimes. However, while Akane has flaws, the manga also sets her up as the better person when compared to the rest of the cast. (This is intentional. Give me the damn arc, try me. I'll tell you how) Part of why Akane and Ranma are compatible: both have good hearts and want to help everybody, but there's a reason why we get scenarios like this one in later volumes.

(In this arc, for example, Akane was going to take Ranma asking her to give up the power armor very well cuz she indeed doesn't want that to get between them, but Ranma had to be a dumb motherfucker and made her feel like he's just toying with her heart. She can be mature, but then she's tested, so she loses it)

(See the contrast here. Ranma is trying his best! but my guy just doesn't have the tools, so this is very, very difficult for him, which is why he might lead with an apology without understanding what he did wrong. Emotionally, one could say she has tools others don't)

One of Ukyo's strenghts, for example, is that she's reliable. She's a business owner, she can take care of herself! So much, in fact, that her romantic fantasies envision her as a provider. Ukyo is not your waifu: she wants a wife, while essentially filling the role of husband. And speaking of husbands: this is someone who will wear kimonos and look feminine and elegant, but most of the time, she's comfortable binding her chest and dressing like a boy. It makes sense for Ukyo to be like "this is fun!" upon learning that Ranma can switch between girl and boy, the "feminine" and the "masculine," cuz she does that too...

You don't define Ukyo with "feminine" (the old show is partly to blame... I haven't seen that filler where she wears a dress seeking Ranma's validation yet, I might prefer to be shot). She wants a traditionally masculine role: to be the person in charge, the breadwinner, while having someone that feels indebted to her (someone she will take care of) to take care of the house in a way that's usually a feminine role (It would destroy Ranma to be exactly what she wants and let her be exactly who she is, which is part of why they're not compatible for a relationship, and why the arc where she pursues him seriously has her giving up the passion that makes her herself... but Konatsu fits the bill)

Akane can get competitive in pretty childish ways (and she will match Ranma's childish clownery, you can't be too mature if you're gonna be compatible with him) but when she suspects Ukyo could have something on Ranma, for example, she just talks to her. In fact, she tried to talk to Ranma first when she suspected something was wrong (cuz she's not screaming all the fucking time) but the fool unknowingly made her insecure in his attempt to deflect and avoid responsibility. The shenanigans and misunderstandings in this arc wouldn't have happened if Ranma just talked to Akane when she asked him what the hell was going on.

Akane is quick to accept Ranma fucked up, because she actually knows the fool. When Ukyo suspects Akane has something on Ranma she just throws accusations, villanizes Akane and babies Ranma. In similar situations, Akane handled it with more "emotional maturity" (before the plot throws her something to make her lose her cool again). This is arguably the bad side of Ukyo's need to provide and protect, because fucking nobody is a flawless waifu here.

Ukyo is a very susceptible girl. She's not as crazy as Shampoo or Kodachi if she's on her own, but she's just as crazy when you put them all together, which is why they're grouped like this

You can actually see this happen in real time in the arc where Nabiki becomes a temporary fiancée cuz she was particularly bored that day. At first, she just wants to scare off Nabiki

But then Nabiki says "you can have Ranma if you buy him" and Ukyo immediately and enthusiastically agrees, she doesn't even question that shit is wrong. When Kodachi shows up, she immediately plays her game too.

Then, hilariously, when Shampoo shows up like "I'm not paying shit, I'm just killing you," you can see Ukyo in the background like "they do have a point, murder is a bargain." A true businesswoman.

You can tell someone you like them without being emotionally mature. Both Shampoo and Kodachi make it clear they want Ranma (or they think they do): both are many things, but "emotionally mature" is not one of them. You know what else doesn't show superior emotional maturity? being in cahoots with the lost boy to break up a relationship. Attacking Akane, with who she's usually pretty friendly with when it's just them, over the chance to basically "love potion" Ranma (when destroying the umbrella is indeed the right thing to do) it's not exactly a hallmark of emotional maturity either (and that's the point, can't have much of the humor if everyone is emotionally mature or if they are all the fucking time, if Ukyo was really emotionally mature she practically wouldn't show up in the manga) (iirc Ukyo is the only girl you never seen Akane toon kicking or sending flying in anyway mind you, like she does with Kodachi and Shampoo when they're crossing yet another line)

Calling Akane, who knows how doors work "rude" when every single girl after Ranma has destroyed other people's houses in some capacity is beyond unserious. (Shampoo practically never uses a door, the way the character is always bursting through walls is a clever way to portray how disruptive and destructive she is). Calling her violent, as if this was an unique trait in a world where nobody can share a page with Ranma without hitting, kicking or flattening him with their damn bike is being willfully obtuse. Calling her canonically ugly is just being stupid. Ranma insulting her is pigtail pulling because he likes her and he's very obviously attracted to her. You have an arc that ends a conflict with Ranma on the fucking floor because he's so disappointed he can't see Akane naked he momentarily loses his will to live.

Every single girl in that cast is meant to be very beautiful, but Akane gets "dream girl" framing, not just in covers, but also inside the story.

Stuff like this is the equivalent of a "glamour shoot," which is something you use to show a female character as gorgeous and desirable. The whole damn school was fighting for a chance to date this girl before Ranma arrived mind you

He has amnesia here, this is 10000% about her beauty, he simply saw her.

I'm probably forgetting stuff, but one more thing about violence: in situations when all the girls misunderstand the same thing, Akane's reaction is the most chill, in case you ever felt like the manga was too subtle about making this fucking point

[falling-star-cygnus]

okay, y'all were SO NICE about the last fic- i'm like, in tears

when a song inspires you to write fanfiction, you write fanfiction -> set sometime after Gabin shows up at Tobias' house with the reviews, but before the final show ao3 fic: here ↑ please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!!

SUMMARY: Tobias can't sleep, Gabin helps [or maybe he can't sleep either, and they both grow just that much closer]

"Gabin? Are you there-? Can you hear me?"

"Tobias... it is two-" there's a gap in the sound there, probably because he was pulling the phone away to actually look at the time, "three fourty-six in the morning. Why are you awake?"

Why are you awake, he asks. Not- 'why are you calling me' or, or- 'stop calling me at weird hours'. That was nice. New, in a slew of other new things.

But nice.

Most people hung up when he did this. Or just didn't answer.

"Tobias?"

Right- responding.

Why did he call Gabin again?

Did he have a question? A suggestion? That doesn’t sound like him. He wouldn’t call for a reason like that.

What was he-?

“Tobias.” oh, he sounded mad. Gabin had only done that choppy- syllable thing with his name once before and that was because he had fallen asleep while he was talking. To-bi-as. 

The dancer had good enunciation. 

Most people usually didn’t pronounce the first syllable of his name like Gabin did, a sharp ‘toe’ sound instead of ‘tuh.’ It-

Wait- 

Focus.

“I’m figuring it out.”

“Why you are awake or why you called me?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Tobias asks, suddenly alight with the need to move. 

Also the light by his couch was on, and that one should not be on while he was right there. There was enough light literally everywhere else. 

“With you? Who knows,” Gabin replies, his tired voice dry. 

Fair enough. Alright, they could very well be different reasons.

They probably were.

clliick.

…Tobias stews in that sound for a second- of the lamp turning off by a tug of its ball shaped chain. 

cliiicck.

No, too bright. 

clllickk.

Okay, light taken care of. Now time for moving. Thinking, and he always thought better when he was pacing around or stretching. 

“What are you doing, Maverick?”

…Gabin hadn’t hung up yet. That had to be a record of sorts, right? Even Jack would’ve hung up on him by this point. Tobias had said- what? 15 words? 20? 

And none of them had been particularly helpful. 

“I’m fixing my lights,” he answers, pacing his way back to his open computer for answers, “Also you answered my call on the second ring. So really what were you doing-” 

criiinklle

“...awake..”

Silence. 

The choreographer lifts his foot off a fallen newspaper. Tilts his head to the side to read the big letters at the top. 

“Tobias.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you reading reviews again?”

“...no.”

He was.

And evidently, he was an even worse liar than he was a choreographer. Because now Gabin’s using his- ‘I don’t believe you but I’m playing along’ voice. 

“No? Then what was that sound just now?”

“What sound? I didn’t hear any sound. Except you. Talking, that is. Keep doing that.”

“Oh, so you like it when I talk?”

Tobias trips on the newspaper. 

…he should’ve picked it up. Or at least nudged it out of his usual pacing path- to prevent this exact situation. This is why he never let his floors get messy.

His foot slides out from under him, backwards, when he tries to take another step forward in his own apartment.

To his grave, he is never calling the sound that just left his mouth a yelp.

He doesn't hit the ground, at least, just his knees- which is something to be said for having longer legs in smaller living spaces- but his head does hit something hard.

Why did he have something hard on his bed?

"...a disaster.. for choreographer... Tobias Bell."

That was why.

Tobias props himself up on his arms, in a sort of half-sprawled kneel at the foot of his bed.

He puts his phone back to his ear and stares at the highlighted section on his laptop screen. Damnit.

"...you are reading reviews again."

"I'm reading reviews again, yes."

Listening, technically. But he was doing both so-

Gabin lets out a very, very long sigh.

"Tobias," he says, more alert than he had sounded a few minutes ago but still so tired, "Why did you call me?"

This was a bad idea.

He can practically hear the dancer pinching the bridge of his [very attractive] nose in agitation.

But-

"Can you come over?"

...silence.

Shit, shit, shit, he knew he shouldn't of asked. It was a bad idea to call, it was a bad idea to pull out the newspapers again, and-

It-

knock, knock.

Tobias straightens. Tries to pretend his breathing hadn't sped up.

Who the hell.. it was four in the morning!

Was he making too much noise? Maybe his neighbor had heard him hit his head and called the cops. Or whatever french people had instead of cops.

Did they have cops? Yes, because Gabin had gotten arrested and bitten one. Apparently.

Not important right now.

The choreographer stands up.

Who just shows up at someone's house this late? Early? Was it Genevieve?

Why would she be here at four in the morning?

Was he getting mugged!?

"Top Gun, open the door. I do not want to wake up your scary neighbor again."

Something unclenches in his chest, a tight bundle of knots that had plagued him since his school days. Gabin.

Wait, what?

"Open the door?"

Oh, he said that out loud.

"Yes you did."

Shit.

Tobias throws his door open, phone abandoned somewhere behind him as he stares in disbelief. Gabin was.. here. There.

Outside his door. Again. With his bandana and his bag that had a rock in it for some reason and a fading bruise under his left eye. And his phone in his hand with the call still going, and-

"How did you get here so fast?" the choreographer asks, or chokes out. Or wheezes.

"Eh, I was in the area," he says, with that little noise at the beginning that means he's lying as he hits the 'end' call button.

In the area his ass, he-

"You live in the opposite direction."

"So I cannot be in the area?"

"...it's four in the morning." Tobias points out, because it was and honestly Gabin should not be walking around by himself at such late hours.

That's how he got arrested the last time.

"And yet you called me," Gabin points out right back, because he's always been good at poking holes in Tobias' arguments- since the moment they met, "Are you okay?"

And caring about him, for some reason.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

Gabin gestures to his general face area in a circlish motion, then presses his fingertips straight to Tobias' chest- which.. was still heaving just a bit too fast. But almost completely hidden under his softest red sweater.

The dancer doesn't say anything, just keeps up a steady firm pressure. His eyes meeting the choreographer's.

Terrifying questions and frightening understanding.

"Come in," Tobias pulls away and turns on his heel. Tries to pretend it doesn't feel like running away.

There's the shuffle of a trip behind him, the ghost of a fond laugh as the door clicks shut. He should really circle back to lock it-

click.

Huh. Gabin's hand lingers on the lock when Tobias turns on him, like he might've done something wrong.

"I just figured-" he starts, "The lock- did you want it locked? I can-"

"It's four in the morning, of course I want it locked."

"Right."

It's only as the choreographer is grabbing hazards off the floor that he realizes he should probably- "Thank you."

Say.. that.

"It is no problem, Tobias."

His parents always got on him for not thanking people when they did things for him or got him things- and he saw the way people were quicker to annoyance when his face didn't do the thing they wanted it to.

It didn't usually bother him, ever if he was being honest. He didn't care. About people, about social niceties, about anything other than ballet and the occasional partner for a long time.

Until-

Oh.

Oh.

Tobias had a phone call to make. And a trip to book.

But first-

He turns around, just in time to see Gabin picking up fallen newspapers and flipping through them. And then stuffing them in his bag.

"What are you doing?"

"Apparently, I did not do a good enough job stealing these last time. Stop looking at reviews." he says, and- what?

Was this not the first time he'd been in his apartment? Well- no, there was that time with the rat and he hadn't had these reviews yet. They hadn't even existed.

So when-

"Did you break into my apartment to steal the newspapers?"

"...No. I would never."

He did. Gabin knows Tobias knows he did too, because the dancer is making that infuriatingly little grin he does when he's pleased with himself.

Tobias should be mad, he really should be, but... that was exactly the kind of thoughtful thoughtlessness that drew the choreographer to him in the first place. So how mad could he be, really?

He's impressed, if he's being honest.

How did he even get in? When did he get in?

"Tobias, sit down."

"What, why?"

Gabin takes him by the shoulders, the grip grounding and not at all like the skin-tearingly gentle ones most people tried to use on him, and then sits him down on the foot of his bed. Right next to his still open laptop.

"Because you are breathing fast again, and I do not want you to fall over. Again."

Right. That made sense.

God, his head hurt.

"Talk to me," he says, a direction for his crashing thoughts- a rock, "Why did you want me to come over?"

Tobias finds he can't say anything at all, actually. Finally faced with everything he's been avoiding. Faced with firm hands, dancers hands, Gabin's hands on his shoulders.

He tries, but he doesn't know. So nothing comes out.

Nothing except a vague gesture, a scrunch of his nose, and a sound like "mmrgh".

But Gabin understands, because of course he does. He always does.

His strong thumbs rub comforting circles into Tobias' shoulders, a soft smile on his face. Until something catches his eye, and then that smile goes away.

The dancer's hand, just the one, leaves his shoulder to brush so so carefully over his forehead. Tobias winces away.

And then pauses.

Why did that hurt?

"You have a bruise, Tobias," Gabin explains to him, a pinch between his brows. It almost seems like he's going to ask something more, like how it happened, but he doesn't.

Instead he rifles through his bag, which- is still on his shoulder for some reason- and pulls out a tube of something and a bandaid.

What's a bandaid going to do for a bruise?

"Don't give me that look," the dancer says to him, "This is the only thing I have at the moment."

The tube gets held up appraisingly, and it's probably some sort of cream with a horrible minty smell, as Gabin seems to debate what to do.

"This has a smell, but-" of course it does, "But it will help with the pain."

Tobias scoffs. He's not in pain, he didn't even notice- ow.

Okay, anybody would be in pain if someone's fingers brushed over a fresh bruise. That proves nothing.

"That proves everything, Tobias. Now will you please let me help you?"

"...fine." His voice is back. That was fast.

Gabin's shoulders loosen in relief, but something tells the choreographer it's not from the fact that he's talking again. No, it wouldn't be. Because he always knew what Tobias meant anyway.

He's just relieved he can help.

"Hold your breath," Gabin tells him, brushing some strands of hair off his- were they friends? They felt like friends, maybe a little more.

Whatever they were, maybe just doctor and patient at this moment in frozen time, his hair still gets brushed away from his forehead with unending care.

And it's nice. Scarily nice.

Tobias grumbles out something about him being bossy tonight, but does as he's told. And it blocks out the horrible smell that would otherwise haunt him.

A laugh bubbles out of Gabin's chest, as he dabs the cream over the bruise, "I am the bossy one? You tell people how to move for a living, everyday."

"And yet-"

"Yes, yes, I know. And yet they still do not do it right. Except me, I do it perfectly."

This man knew him a little too well.. How did that happen? When did that happen?

The bandage gets placed, the trash thrown away- and his forehead does feel better. An ache he hadn't bothered to notice soothed away by kind hands.

"You skipped the whoosh."

"I did not skip the whoosh!" Gabin whirls back around to point accusingly at him.

And then there's silence, and then there's laughter.

It's slightly hysterical, because really they should not be awake this late- early? But it's real. And it's easy, and it's been so long since Tobias has felt like this.

The knots in his chest, seemingly perpetual, have unravelled into loose gooey spool- tied to one person.

The culprit of this pit in his stomach and warmth in his bones.

This safety.

How dare he, honestly. How dare Gabin stomp into his life and make him feel things that.. that-

Tobias clears his throat and rubs his eyes, one last incredulous laugh throwing itself out of his mouth unbiddenly.

He still doesn't think he can sleep.

There's no rat, no beady eyes staring him down from every corner. But there's still so much to do. So much to think about.

"Alright, Maverick, stand up."

What?

Gabin holds his hands out in front of the choreographer, making two 'come here' motions by curling his fingers in. Tobias looks between them and his dancer's face.

"What."

"Stand up, we're going to dance," he explains, and again- what?

He sincerely hopes his rapid blinking conveys exactly what he thinks about this insane idea. Dance? Him? No.

No, no no.

"Gabin, I haven't dance since middle school," he says, but is paid no heed as the infuriating [as he said that yet? Gabin is infuriating] man takes his hands anyway and pulls him up.

"Ah, but you have danced, yes?"

"That's not the point."

The grip around his hands is loose. Tobias could pull away if he truly wanted to, could end this now and be done with it.

He doesn't.

"What do you have to lose? You already cannot sleep, I cannot sleep. And this is better than stewing in stupid, bullshit reviews."

"My dignity, Gabin, I could lose my dignity."

"What is that American saying again? About the bike and the riding and blah blah blah," Gabin starts, adjusting their stance.

"It's just like riding a bike." honestly, Tobias should make him flashcards. Or text him a list of the correct sayings. Or realistically, find him a link.

Or maybe not, actually, because he kinda likes being the one Gabin goes to for idioms and things. Even if it's only happened twice so far.

"Yes. Exactly." or maybe he's doing it on purpose..

It takes a second, but it hits the choreographer that they're not in any ballet forms he's ever seen. And that's super confusing because Tobias knows a lot of ballet forms.

"What are you doing?"

"Just trust me, Tobias," and the scary part is that he does, "I'll be the choreographer tonight, yes?"

Gabin shifts them around some more until they're hand in hand and his other rests somewhere on Tobias' back. Their elbows somewhat out.

"Put your hand on my shoulder."

"You know other forms of dance?" he finds himself asking, following the instruction like it's second nature.

"I do," Gabin affirms, a fond smile on his handsome face, "but the ballet has always been my favorite."

...huh.

That was nice to know. Like- an anchor of sorts. A rock. Like even if the dancer pursued a different style, he'd always come right back. Or like finding out your favorite series had a spin-off to sink into.

Tobias thinks he wants to sink into everything Gabin has to offer.

And that was a problem.

"We'll start slow. Very easy to follow. Ready?"

"No," because he might as well be honest.

"Good. Neither was I."

It's hard to reconcile the bold, cocky dancer in front of him as anything less than a star. Someone born for the stage. But Tobias tries.

"No?"

"I love dancing," he says, starting their new dance with his left foot, "Move your right foot back. Good. Now your left.. just like that."

The praise makes his chest, and the knots left untied there, warm all over again. Gabin clears his throat before he continues.

"But I do not think anyone is truly ready for their first dance."

That was.. fair. Tobias certainly hadn't been. Not at all.

The dancer- though he supposed both of them were dancers right now- guides him through a few more steps. Back, back, side. Drag..

"Do not close your feet."

Front, front- Tobias stumbles. Gabin steadies him.

"Again," he says, so so soft with his words in a way Tobias doesn't think he could match even with a lifetime of practice.

They go again.

Back, back, side, drag- forward- trip.

"Again."

This cycle continues for what feels like hours, months, years- but it was probably only minutes. Tobias gets the steps down eventually, as it dawns on him what dance they're doing.

It doesn't become easier. But maybe that's what's relaxing about it. Maybe it's who he's dancing with.

Every ballet he's ever choreographed, he's held to a standard of perfection. Every single movement planned to his liking like the dancers were dolls on string. It's how he's gotten so far in his career.

But Gabin didn't need him to be perfect. Maybe he never did.

Maybe he never even wanted it.

Back, back, side, drag, forward, forward, side, drag, back-

"Why did you choose a tango?" he asks, barely keeping himself upright as he loses track of their movements.

Gabin adds a new step, gently spinning Tobias outward before answering, "So that I could do this."

What?

And that's all the warning he gets before he's reeled back in and-

A gasp punches out of him as Gabin folds his arm around the choreographer's waist and leans him backward.

oh. Oh.

He's never been dipped before.

But he saw the appeal now, with Gabin's face so close and his curls tickling his jaw and their noses brushing.

"This is also," the dancer says, voice oddly out of breath, "the first style I ever formally learned."

Oh.

Tobias finds himself out of breath too. The two breathe in each other's space for a second, their forehead pressed together, before- before Gabin starts to lean in.

And Tobias can't. Not yet.

But he wants this so much.

Attuned as ever, in that weird six sense of his, Gabin stops just before their lips ever actually touch. Instead, the dancer's lips meet the bandage that Tobias had forgotten took residence on his forehead.

It's so so gentle. But a grounding pressure too. Painless and painful all at the same time.

"I'm sorry," because he is, because Gabin deserves so much better than this. And he'll get it. He swears he'll get it.

Tobias just- he just-

The dancer pulls back, with an easy smile. A sad smile.

He pulls his choreographer to his feet with dizzying ease and only lets go once they're both steady on their feet. Before he can even start to say something, to say it's okay when it's not-

"Again," Tobias rushes out, meeting Gabin's eyes in a flurry of desperation, "I want to do that again, and I want a bunch of other things with you. But there's something I have to do first."

And there's only so much time before the dance takes place..

"Like right now," he tacks on.

The tension and disappointment seems to melt off Gabin like ice on copper, and he carefully catches Tobias' elbow before he can work himself up again.

"Tobias, it is almost 5 in the morning," he says, a laugh on the edge of his voice, "Wait just a little longer, at least. I can wait just a little longer."

But he shouldn't have to.

Of course, Gabin reads that off his face like he does everything about Tobias and only cajoles him to his bed.

"Sleep first, and then come find me. I am not going anywhere."

And he's suddenly so so tired. All he can say, as he collapses into his pillows and as Gabin takes his laptop off his bed to some safer shelf, is:

"Promise?"

A hand cards through his hair on its way to turn the light off.

"Of course I promise."

He thinks a blanket falls over him next, maybe, but it's lost to the warm haze of devotion and sleep and love and promise.

Tobias will have to move fast tomorrow, to get what he needs to done. But that's a problem and a plan for when he wakes up.

Right now, he succumbs to dreams of future dances.