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loveemagicpeace · 3 months ago

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🌅9th house & Energy🌅

Sun in 9th house- You travel a lot to places that inspire you. You’re not meant to stay still—geographically or spiritually. Travel isn’t just about seeing new places—it’s about becoming more of who you are. Each journey reflects a deeper truth about your identity. You find yourself on the road, in the unknown, under different skies. This Sun seeks a personal truth. Philosophy, law, and spiritual systems aren’t just subjects—they’re tools for understanding your place in the cosmos. There’s often a deep attraction to cultures, languages, and people different from you. These places mirror parts of yourself you didn’t know existed. Your identity expands each time you step outside your cultural comfort zone. You might even live abroad or have karmic ties to foreign lands. Meditation, astrology, mysticism, or sacred rituals may play a major role in how you connect with yourself. Breakthroughs often come through mystical or spiritual moments: dreams, visions, intuitive downloads. These experiences fuel your identity and help you realign when you're lost. They give your life depth and direction. You might be naturally psychic or have “knowings” that shape your decisions and growth. You’re drawn to partners who open your world—emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. You might even fall in love while traveling, studying abroad, or exploring something new.

Moon in 9th house - Travel touches you deeply. You're emotionally stirred by new places and cultures—you don't just visit places, you feelthem. Every journey can feel like a homecoming for the soul or a reflection of your inner world. You may feel called to study subjects that help explain the human experience—like psychology, theology, cultural studies, or spiritual traditions. You may feel emotionally at home in foreign places—sometimes more than in your native environment. Psychic or mystical experiences often bring emotional healing or guidance. Parenthood may be deeply spiritual or philosophical for you—you want to raise children with values and open-mindedness. In love, you seek someone who shares your beliefs or helps you explore emotional meaning. If the Moon is afflicted, emotional fluctuations or lack of rootedness might affect professional consistency. You may feel torn between career and the need for freedom or emotional alignment. If you become a parent, you may be emotionally invested in your children’s romantic choices. You could either nurture a very open-minded approach or feel conflicted if their path differs from your beliefs.

Mercury in 9th house- Mercury here loves to travel—especially to learn. You may be drawn to places with rich culture, deep philosophy, or languages to learn. You can teach other people. Mercury in this house often brings a mental connection to other countries. You may feel at ease speaking foreign languages, living abroad, or working internationally. Foreign cultures stimulate your mind, and your ideas often resonate globally. You might explore multiple spiritual paths—never blindly believing, always questioning, analyzing, absorbing. You need your beliefs to make sense, not just feel good. ou may receive guidance through symbols, synchronicities, or dreams, and then analyze and articulate what they mean. You can have a partner who speaks a different language than you. You can travel a lot and you can travel several times a year. You can gain a lot of inspiration in life from traveling. Your thoughts can be more peaceful when you travel (this relaxes your thoughts).

Venus in 9th house - Your wedding will probably be in a foreign country. You feel the romantic energy of different cultures, landscapes, and people. Love is often found abroad, or during travels, and the act of exploring brings deep emotional and sensory satisfaction. You may be drawn to study subjects that bring you into deeper connection with humanity—such as art, culture, spirituality, philosophy, or law. In a way, love itself can feel foreign, and the best relationships might come with an element of adventure or distance. You might express your love through spiritual teachings or find beauty in transcendent experiences. Venus here brings love and beauty to parenting. You may instill your children with values of compassion, beauty, and grace, and love to see them explore the world with wonder. You may have trouble aligning your career with your higher values, or you may feel stagnant if the work you do doesn’t feel beautiful or aligned with your soul’s purpose.

Mars in 9th house-There’s a restlessness in your soul that craves movement, physical challenges, and the adrenaline that comes with discovering new places.Your mind is active, and you approach studies with passion and drive, often wanting to be at the top in whatever field you choose. You’re not afraid to question authority or fight for what you believe in, especially if it aligns with your moral compass. You’re not afraid of diving headfirst into new cultures, and you may feel compelled to change things wherever you go—whether it’s through activism, teaching, or cultural exchange.You might want your children to be brave and adventurous, encouraging them to fight for their beliefs and pursue their passions. You may fall in love with someone who pushes your mental and physical boundaries, and you want a partner who shares your passionate approach to life. Because this house is also ruled by End of Life of Opposite-Sex Aunts/Uncles- Their death might push you to question your own philosophies and your approach to life’s challenges, prompting a period of action-oriented change in how you see the world. In ancient military astrology, it could indicate wars in distant lands or someone who travels to conquer or convert.

Jupiter in 9th house- it brings a blessing of expansive energy, adventure, wisdom, and growth. Jupiter is the planet of luck, expansion, higher learning, and spiritual growth. You’re likely to feel a deep sense of fulfillment when you journey to far-off lands, especially when those travels involve learning or connecting with new cultures. You may also be naturally inclined to make friends and mentors abroad. You may feel a deep need to study or teach these subjects throughout your life, and your path may lead to academic success or a career involving teaching or spiritual guidance. This placement often inspires a lifelong search for meaning and a desire to share wisdom with others. Your relationships are likely to be transformative, enlightening, and based on shared beliefs or a sense of adventure. End of Life of Opposite-Sex Aunts/Uncles- You may view their passing as a rite of passage that opens the door to new insights and understanding of life and death.

Saturn in 9th house- it’s about seeking something meaningful, whether it’s through work, learning, or personal growth. Travels may feel restricted or difficult at times, but they often bring profound life lessons. You may also have a fear of flying, foreign countries, unknown things. You may have problems believing in something in life, you may often lose meaning, hope. Spiritually, this is the placement of the pilgrim, the one who doesn’t find God or truth easily. You likely take your spiritual life seriously, dedicating time and energy to creating a solid foundation for your beliefs and practices. Throughout life, you can gain a lot of wisdom from older people. Your father can often be an inspiration for your will to live. At some point, you can also live apart from him. The loss of an opposite-sex aunt or uncle could bring a sense of duty or a reality check, sparking an introspective period of maturity and growth. In medieval astrology, Saturn in the 9th marked a person who gained wisdom late in life, through hardship or withdrawal from the world.

Uranus in 9th house-You’re the type to book a last-minute flight or find yourself on life-changing trips that weren’t planned. You’re not one to follow a conventional academic path. Uranus here makes you question systems—you might rebel against traditional education or invent your own unique way of learning. You might feel more at home abroad than where you were born. Uranus in the 9th can bring a strong attraction to foreign cultures, especially if they’re radically different from your own. Uranus may awaken psychic gifts suddenly, often in shocking or life-altering ways. Your psychic insights may come as flashes of intuition, prophetic dreams, or downloads during chaos or crisis. You may raise children with unconventional methods, encourage them to think independently, or have a child who transforms your worldview. Relationships may be unusual, free-spirited, and based on shared philosophical or spiritual views. Traditional love roles might not suit you.

Neptune in 9th house- this placement weaves fantasy, intuition, and idealism into the realms of philosophy, higher education, foreign lands, and spiritual expansion. You're drawn to places that hold mystery, sacredness, or beauty—and may even feel a past-life connection to certain lands. You're more likely to explore mysticism, metaphysics, poetry, astrology, or spiritual psychology. You might fall in love with faraway cultures. You may experience powerful visions, dreams, or awakenings. But beware of spiritual escapism—idealizing gurus, or getting lost in illusion. Your path is to trust your own soul’s compass. Spiritual gain for you comes from surrender, sensitivity, and connection to Source. You may be a natural healer, artist, or spiritual guide. You dream of soulmates. Love for you is spiritual, transcendent, even karmic. But beware of illusion or martyrdom—falling in love with potential, not reality.

Pluto in 9th house -often portends transformative travels. The individual may journey to foreign lands under intense or dramatic circumstances. Travel may change you at a soul level, leaving you forever altered. You may study forbidden texts, alchemy, or the mysteries of life and death. In classical astrology, this would be considered someone who might abandon the faith of their fathers to pursue an inner, darker truth. This placement denotes one who seeks depth over comfort. Pluto gives you an aura of mystic authority when speaking about deeper truths. You might feel like a lone wolf in your beliefs, but others can be magnetized by your depth. n some charts, Pluto here gives a ruthless hunger for justice—you may be drawn to uncover corruption in law, education, or religious institutions. You could be a reformer, a lawyer with a cause, or a whistleblower who reveals what others fear to confront. The soul yearns not for light, but for truth at any cost. Your spiritual path is not always peaceful—it is alchemical. Love may involve intense bonds, power dynamics, or karmic debts.

Chiron in 9th house-you may find that journeys to distant lands are marked by a sense of displacement, loss, or existential longing. In ancient terms, this could be the wandering philosopher, the one who never finds true belonging in any nation. Perhaps you once followed a path of faith or philosophy that betrayed or disappointed you. Foreign lands may present both healing and pain. You may feel like an outsider abroad, or experience trauma far from home. Yet, in these places, you may also find mentors, healers, or new philosophies that gently mend what was broken. You may have struggled to feel seen by the heavens. Yet over time, through suffering and humility, you become a teacher of wounded wisdom, often guiding others. Pleasure may be tinged with complexity here. As a parent, you may feel you cannot guide your children’s beliefs or journeys as you wished. Yet there is beauty here, too—a gentleness born from deep understanding, and a love that can hold others through your own trials. You may witness your child fall in love with someone from another world—culturally, spiritually, or geographically—and struggle to navigate these differences. These experiences may mirror the your own unhealed longings. Chiron in the 9th marks the wounded philosopher, the broken arrow of Apollo, ever searching for divine meaning in a fractured world. They teach not through perfection, but by their scars. Their pain becomes a lantern, lighting the way for those still lost in the dark.

-Rebekah🌅🥥🥑

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #my notes #astrological houses #astrology observations #9th house #spirtuality #spiritual journey

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dreamersparacosm · 4 months ago

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jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part one)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; WELL WELL WELL my angels. we are back with ANOTHER series <3 i am not kidding, this story has had me tossing and turning and screaming and crying. they are such a nuanced duo(even more so than utcf) and if you know me, you know i only write characters that are flawed af and boy… do these two have flaws. also so excited bc my dream is to be a CMO so all that marketing jargon is literally ripped from my real life. this is def a slower burn more than utcf even was, so part one is just getting to know reader, a glimpse into jk and hers future dynamic. it will be giving cocky idol and grumpy girl boss reader… yall hate to see it.. anywho all your love and support is so appreciated and im SO excited to kick this one off <3

playlist here

series masterlist here

You learned at an early age that the world doesn’t hand power to people like you. You have to take it.

Born in Busan, raised in a home where every won had to stretch, you grew up with a hunger that never faded. Your parents worked tirelessly; it was long hours in dimly lit shops, silent tears in the living room over bills, doing everything they could to put food on the table. They wanted stability for you, a quiet life where everything was paid on time and there was no need to chase the impossible.

But you weren’t built for small dreams.

At 17, you won a coveted scholarship to a university in Seoul, a golden ticket out of the cycle that kept your family trapped. There, you became relentless. Top of your class, the kind of student professors whispered about, the one who never failed, never wavered. But no amount of late-night studying or overachieving could buy you the connections that children of chaebol heirs and international elites were born into.

So, you had to outwork them. By the time you graduated, you had one goal: to carve your name into an industry that had no place for you. You moved to America, leaving behind familiarity, comfort, and even your family, knowing that to rise, you had to go where power lived.

New York City became your battlefield.

You started at the bottom, fetching coffees, ghostwriting proposals, working eighteen-hour days just to prove you deserved to be in the same rooms as people who had never known struggle. You didn’t just climb the corporate ladder; you burned every rung behind you so there was no way back down.

It took a decade, but now the plaque hangs on the wall. The name plate rings true of all your dreams. You are the Chief Marketing Officer of Calvin Klein.

At 30, you sit at the helm of one of the most influential luxury brands in the world, the architect of campaigns that have redefined fashion and culture. Your name carries weight in boardrooms, your decisions shift global trends, and every executive in the industry knows you are untouchable.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

In a world like this, power is never permanent. The moment you hesitate, falter, let someone too close, they will take everything.

All that to say — Monday mornings in New York almost always smell like steel and ambition.

The skyline stretches endlessly beyond the glass walls of your office, the pulse of the city thrumming beneath you, yellow cabs blurring past, heels clicking against concrete, the quiet hum of wealth without ever making a sound. You barely had time to sleep after landing from Los Angeles last night, but exhaustion has never been an excuse.

You straighten your blazer, heels clicking against the marble floors as you stride into the Calvin Klein executive boardroom. The space is drenched in morning light, the Hudson River glinting in the distance, but there’s no warmth. Sharp minds and even sharper tongues, all waiting for you to take your seat at the head of the table.

“Let’s get started.” Your voice is crisp, cutting through the murmurs as the team scrambles to attention. Coffee cups are set down, postures shift. The room belongs to you now, like it always does.

This is your campaign, your bread and butter — the Fall Collection, one of the biggest of the year. And today, the decision needs to be made. Who will be the face of it? You’ve put it off as long as possible, especially after the last campaign that had you sleeping, eating and breathing the word ROI.

A junior executive clears his throat, flipping through a stack of polished portfolios. “We’ve compiled a list of potential candidates. Some of the usual names, established actors, a few models with strong followings…”

You take the folder from him, skimming past faces that blur into one another, all predictable choices, safe bets. Safe has never impressed you.

“We’re not looking for predictable,” you say, voice even. “We need someone who will shift the culture. Someone who doesn’t just wear the clothes, but makes people desperate to buy them.”

Silence. Then, the suggestions roll in. A high-profile supermodel. A rising actor from a Netflix hit. Some European footballer with global appeal.

You listen, nodding as they speak, but your silence is judgment. Each name is good but not enough. Polished and uninspired, in your opinion.

You shoot them down effortlessly. “No. We’ve used her before.

No. He doesn’t have the presence.

No. I don’t need another pretty face.”

The tension in the room grows. The team knows you expect brilliance, not silly little recycled ideas.

Then, your VP of Content leans forward, fingers steepled. “I have a name,” He says, measured, waiting for your reaction.

You lift a brow. “Then say it.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

For the first time, there’s a halt of all noise. Light murmurs. Someone exhales sharply. You hear a scoff from the far end of the table.

“A Korean idol?” One of the senior execs frowns. “That’s a different market entirely.”

“Not just any idol,” your VP counters. “The biggest. Pretty much the frontman of BTS. His brand power is—”

“Unmatched,” You finish for him.

Because it is. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just a name, he’s a phenomenon. A face that sells out stadiums in minutes, a body carved in discipline, a force that transcends the music industry entirely.

Still, the pushback is immediate “Well, he’s never fronted a campaign of this scale.

Idol endorsements don’t always translate to luxury.

Do we want to take that kind of risk?”

Risk.

The word hangs in the air heavily. It should deter you. It should make you pause. But instead, you find yourself a tad intrigued.

What is Calvin Klein, if not bold? If not disruptive? The brand has always thrived on rebellion, on choosing icons that define eras rather than follow them.

Jeon Jungkook is undeniably that. Perhaps, so are you.

You let the murmurs settle before speaking. “What’s our engagement rate from the last campaign?” You ask, looking towards the analytics team.

“Thirty percent growth,” They answer immediately.

“And what’s BTS’s engagement on a single brand mention?”

A pause. A begrudging voice follows, “Higher.”

Exactly.

You glance around the room, seeing the uncertainty and hesitation. You’re about to give a speech greater than LeBron at the NBA Finals. You lean back in your chair, tapping a manicured nail against the armrest, already picturing it, the campaign, the impact, the sheer cultural shift this could create.

“I like it.”

Silence.

A ripple of realization moves through the room, as if with just three words, the decision has already been made.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Securing a global superstar isn’t an easy task, not even for you. The next few days are a relentless blur of negotiations, contract rewrites, and back-to-back Zoom calls with a team so notoriously meticulous it nearly drives your own to the brink of madness.

The stakes are high. Deals like this don’t just happen. They are built, fought for, and secured with precision. And Calvin Klein doesn’t like to lose.

Your office pretty much transforms into a war room. Tables littered with printed pitch decks. Screens glowing with data analytics, engagement metrics, and market predictions. Your executives pouring over legal clauses, revising them so every word is airtight.

In the center of it all, you stand. Any normal human would be threatened but at this point, you’ve gone full robot. You take every call personally. A negotiation of this scale is your battlefield, and you don’t delegate wars.

Jungkook, obviously, is never on the calls. It doesn’t surprise you. Artists at his level rarely handle the business side of things. That’s what agents, lawyers, and managers are for. His team is professional, unshaken even when you push hard.

Still, you know who he is.

Of course you do. You may have spent the last decade buried in boardrooms, but you were born in Busan. You grew up watching the Hallyu wave explode, and though you never had the time for it, your little sister devoured everything BTS.

You remember the way she would beg for concert tickets, how she’d fall asleep with headphones on, listening to their debut on loop. You used to tease her for it— why the fuck are you crying over an idol?

Funny, looking back at it now. Considering that idol’s contract is currently giving you a migraine.

His team is smart. They have demands, and they don’t bend easily. They want creative control over his campaign image. They want scheduling flexibility due to his commitments. They want Calvin Klein to align with Jungkook’s existing partnerships… list goes on.

All reasonable, but not easy. You fight for compromises, push for adjustments, rewrite proposals until every angle is optimized for success. At the end of the day, you know one thing: This deal is worth it.

And then, one morning, before you’ve even had a sip of your morning coffee, it happens. At exactly 7:14 AM, an email lands in your inbox.

SUBJECT: FINAL APPROVAL – JEON JUNGKOOK x CALVIN KLEIN

We are pleased to confirm Jeon Jungkook’s official partnership with Calvin Klein for the upcoming Fall Collection campaign. Thank you for your patience and professionalism throughout the negotiation process. We look forward to working together!

Your eyes flicker over the words. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times before you think you might pass out.

Slowly, a smile curves on your lips. You step out of your office, and before you can say anything, someone sees your expression and knows.

“We got him.”

The room erupts. Your team, overworked and barely running on caffeine, comes alive. Cheers echo through the space, hands slap against the table in triumph, tension melting into borderline euphoria.

They know what this means. This isn’t just a campaign. This is the kind of collaboration that will hopefully bring the brand back to the forefront of everyone’s minds and not in some TJMaxx aisle.

You let them celebrate. You don’t smile often, but today… today, you do.

Just when you think the victory high has settled, a package arrives later in the day for you. It’s a black envelope, embossed with gold lettering. No company branding. No assistant delivery. Just your name.

You open it carefully. Inside is a thick, cream-colored card with an unmistakable touch of handwritten ink.

Thank you for having me. I’m looking forward to it. —JJK

You stare at the writing for a beat too long. It’s clean, elegant, but slightly tilted, like the hand behind it didn’t care about perfection. The inked letters feel unexpectedly personal, almost at odds with the meticulous contracts you spent days battling over.

A small, teeny weeny little part of you does wonder… What kind of man is Jeon Jungkook when he’s not just a name on a contract?

You shake the thought away real quick. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the deal is done.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Power has a way of softening the sharp edges of travel.

As Chief Marketing Officer, you rarely have to think about logistics. The world bends to accommodate you with first-class flights, black car service, five-star hotels with skyline views. When business demands your presence in another country, the details are handled before you even lift a finger.

This time is no different.

The moment Calvin Klein secured Jeon Jungkook, it became your responsibility to oversee the partnership firsthand. Deals of this magnitude require your attention, and no one executes anything better than you. So you fly to Korea, fly home. First class as always, because nothing less is expected.

The moment the plane lifts into the sky, you immerse yourself in Jeon Jungkook.

Not the man— you don’t know the man. His brand. The name that moves markets, the face that has sold out entire fashion lines with a single post, the lives that have cleaned out ramen packets in seconds.

Your screen is a kaleidoscope of him, any campaigns, endorsements, past collaborations. Streetwear in one ad, high fashion in another. His presence shifts effortlessly from youthful rebellion to refined masculinity. He is everything Calvin Klein thrives on, raw and provocative.

He’s perfect for this.

You land in Incheon to a city humming beneath dark light. Seoul is quieter than New York, but no less alive with neon signs flicker against sleek glass buildings, the scent of rain and street food hugging the air.

A black car waits for you at the terminal, an assistant from Calvin Klein’s Seoul office greeting you with a polite bow. The ride into the city is smooth, the world shifting past in a blur of muted grays and bright LED screens. Your body is exhausted, but your mind stays sharp.

Tomorrow is the first meeting. You should be thinking about logistics. Contractual points that still need finalizing. The creative vision. The structure of the campaign. But as your car glides past Itaewon’s winding streets, past districts that are both familiar and foreign, you think of something else. You haven’t called home in a while.

You keep telling yourself you’ve been busy with deadlines, meetings, strategy decks stacked higher than your appetite for guilt, but deep down, you know the truth.

You haven’t called because you don’t know how to explain it. How success swallowed you whole, how you traded in your accent for sharper vowels, your mother’s cooking for room service, the comfort of home for the cold glass walls of boardrooms.

What would you even say?

Hi, I made it. I’m tired. I miss you. I don’t know who I am anymore.

It still is the least of your concerns when you arrive to your destination.

Your hotel is one of Seoul’s finest, very discreet, a haven of understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the skyline, and the quiet hum of a jazz playlist fills the suite when you enter.

You shrug off your coat, kicking off your heels, stretching out the tension of the flight. Your mind wanders a little as you pour your nightly glass of wine out; you will meet Jeon Jungkook tomorrow. It’s an odd feeling, seeing as you’ve met more celebrities in your life than you can count. You’d be a horrible liar , though, if you said you weren’t the least bit curious.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wake before your alarm, the hush of Seoul stretching beyond the glass windows of your suite. The city moves gently at this hour before the rush, before the weight of the day settles onto its spine. For a moment, you allow yourself to breathe.

Discipline has always been your armor. You move through the motions with practiced ease, a cold rinse to shake off the last remnants of jet lag, a serum smoothed over skin (Laneige is the only right answer), a swipe of rouge on lips.

And today, more than ever, you need to be impeccable.

Your suit is white, tailored, almost impossible to ignore. It is a statement and a reminder that you are the architect of success.

However, when you step into the elevator, riding down to meet your driver, a flicker of something you haven’t felt in eons settles in your chest.

Nerves.

Not because you haven’t done this before. You have. You’ve met Hollywood A-listers, supermodels draped in couture, billionaires who own entire industries. You’ve handled them all.

It’s just… he does oddly remind you of home in some silly way.

You exit the hotel with the cool breeze of the morning air wrapping around you, the weight of the city’s movement already filling the space between you and the office. The car ride is smooth, twin reflections of New York’s controlled chaos and the quieter energy of Seoul. You barely notice the time passing as you mentally run through the agenda for the day, but there’s something about the looming meeting that sits heavier on your mind than it should.

The Calvin Klein Seoul office is small, nothing like the flagship headquarters in New York. The building is sleek but understated, a space that exists more for logistics than spectacle.

The moment you walk through the glass doors, the energy is so off. Your VP of International Marketing, a sharp-eyed executive named Daniel, greets you immediately. He is already speaking before you’ve fully crossed the threshold or even taken a breath of the office air.

“Everything’s set,” he says, handing you a sleek black folder. “Jungkook’s team will be here in twenty.”

You take the folder, skimming over the notes. “Any last-minute adjustments?”

“A few,” Daniel admits. “His schedule is tighter than expected, so we may need to shift some of the shoot days. And… his team wants final approval on every creative decision.”

You glance up at him, arching a brow. “They don’t trust us?”

“They trust us,” Daniel says, lips twitching. “They just trust him more.”

Fair. You figured they would play dirty at some point.

You nod, flipping the folder shut. “We’ll make it work.”

Daniel studies you for a beat, then smirks. “You nervous?”

You don’t hesitate. “No.”

You’re not. Not exactly. But as you settle into the conference room, as the clock ticks down to his arrival, you can’t shake the deadweight sitting on your chest. There’s not really a reason to be nervous, but suddenly, the fact that you sit at the head of the desk taunts you. It feels too official,, like every choice you’ve ever made has led to this exact chair, under these lights, and now everyone’s watching.

Daniel chuckles, stepping in behind you. “No need to act cool about it. I mean, dude is literally the most famous guy out there right now.”

You glance up at him. “Right,” you reply, settling into a chair at the table. “Do I give off fangirl vibes?”

“Fair play,” Daniel admits with a smirk. “It is also just business. He’s a client like any other.”

You raise an eyebrow, his words hanging in the air. “Sure,” you say, but something about the way you says it doesn’t quite feel right.

Daniel leans against the conference table, watching you with an expression that borders on amusement “So,” he muses, “are you ready to meet him, or are we keeping up this whole pretend you don’t care act the entire time?”

You shoot him a flat look, arms crossed. “I don’t pretend.”

He smirks. “Right. You just happen to be checking your watch every five seconds like we’re waiting for the President of South Korea.”

You exhale sharply, smoothing out an invisible crease in your sleeve. “You know I don’t care about the celebrity. I care about if my boss is happy.”

Daniel hums, unconvinced. “Riiiiight.” He tilts his head, watching you for another beat before flipping open a portfolio. “Alright, boss, walk me through it one more time. We’re running with the—“

Before he can finish, a soft knock at the door interrupts. The secretary peeks her head in, voice all smooth and professional. “He’s here.”

The words settle over the room. Daniel straightens up, giving you one last knowing glance before both of you move toward the head of the conference table. Your posture is perfect, composed, the picture of an executive who has done this a hundred times. Yet, for some reason, your palms are a little sweaty.

The door opens. A quiet hum of conversation drifts in first, footsteps soft against polished floors. And then, he steps through.

The first thing you notice is that he is not what you expected. Or maybe, he is exactly what you expected. Tall, poised, effortlessly self-assured. He moves like someone accustomed to attention, yet unaffected by it, a presence that doesn’t need to demand the room because it already bends to him.

He is dressed in black from head to toe. Black jeans, a crisp button-up slightly unfastened at the top, revealing the barest hint of a toned chest beneath the collar. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a canvas of tattoos that swirl down one of his arms. Dark hair falls just over his brows, parted slightly. His skin is flawless, his lips full and plush, but it’s his round eyes that capture you first.

He has piercings, small silver hoops glinting in his ears, the metal just barely catching the light. And then, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, you notice it, the piercing there, too.

You inhale, the moment stretching far too long.

Jungkook’s team follows behind him, a carefully curated group of managers, assistants, and legal representatives. They all exude efficiency, dressed in business casual

Jungkook is not corporate. He is the complete fucking polar opposite of it. And yet, as he steps forward, his expression shifts, a polite smile.

He greets everyone kindly, taking the time to nod toward the executives flanking the room, shaking hands, offering soft pleasantries.

You are still staring. For the first time in your career, you cannot decide if the man standing before you is a masterpiece to be marketed or a storm brewing.

You need to get a grip on reality.

Jungkook’s gaze is assessing, but you don’t let it linger. Years of discipline have trained you to absorb impact, analyze it, and move forward. So you shift your attention to the team standing behind him, your posture sharpening as you step forward.

“Good morning,” you say smoothly, extending a hand to the first of his representatives. “I appreciate you all taking the time to meet today.”

His manager steps forward first, shaking your hand firmly. “Of course. We’ve been looking forward to this partnership.”

One by one, you go through the motions, firm grips, polite smiles, nods exchanged. These are the gatekeepers, the ones who make the real decisions behind the scenes. You commit each of their names to memory, cataloging their expressions, their temperaments.

You turn lastly to Jungkook, your expression unreadable. His lips are still curled in a faint smile, but you keep your own face neutral. Instead, you bow, just a crisp nod of acknowledgment.

"Jeon Jungkook-ssi," you say, voice poised. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

When you straighten, you see it, the flicker of amusement crossing his face. He tilts his head, tongue pressing briefly against the inside of his cheek before speaking. “The bow? That’s formal. Are we at a company dinner?”

A few quiet chuckles from his team. You refuse to laugh. Your expression remains steady, composed. “It’s standard when meeting someone for the first time.”

Jungkook watches you for a beat longer, as if testing to see if he can break through that calm exterior. But when you don’t waver, he simply lets out a quiet hmm, not quite disappointed or impressed.

“Now, let’s get started.” You step toward the table, signaling the meeting’s shift into motion. “We have a lot to go over, and I want to make sure we’re aligned on the creative direction before we finalize schedules.”

Jungkook’s team follows, the atmosphere shifting from introductions to strategy.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” you continue, placing a sleek, black folder on the table, “this campaign is projected to be one of Calvin Klein’s biggest of the year. Our goal isn’t just to market a collection, we want to shape a cultural moment. With Jungkook’s presence, we have the ability to move beyond traditional advertising and into something far more influential.”

You feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you focus on his team, keeping your voice measured and confident. “I know negotiations took time, but I want to personally express my excitement for this collaboration. We’re not here to simply slap a face on some storefronts… we’re here to build something iconic.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, arms resting casually against the armrests. “Iconic, huh?”

You glance at him for a second. “That’s the standard.”

The meeting stretches into deep discussions and strategic analysis, the campaign unfolding across the polished mahogany of the conference table. You lead with precision, breaking down creative direction, discussing visual aesthetics, mapping out timelines with a ruthless efficiency.

Jungkook listens. Not just politely, not just because he has to, but the man actually listens.

You notice it in the way his eyes sharpen when you speak, the occasional flick of his gaze to the proposal documents, the way he leans forward slightly when something actually interests him.

“So, to sum it all up,” you continue, flipping a page, “this campaign will lean into Calvin Klein’s signature branding but with a more modernized edge. We’re emphasizing raw masculinity, effortless sensuality—”

“Effortless?” Jungkook interrupts smoothly in a teasing tone. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

You look up. “You disagree?”

He tilts his head, considering. “I wouldn’t call it effortless.”

His voice is casual, but something in it makes the room halt slightly. You set your pen down. “Then what would you call it?”

Jungkook lets the silence breathe, holding your gaze a second longer than necessary. His team shifts slightly, waiting for his response. He smiles “Intentional.”

You hold his gaze for a moment before nodding. “Fair point.”

His lips twitch, like he wasn’t expecting you to concede so easily. But before the exchange lingers, you move forward. “We’ll finalize creative direction by next week. In the meantime, we’ll align schedules for fittings and shoot dates…”

By the time lunch rolls around, the energy in the room loosens slightly. It’s quite clear everyone is exhausted and would rather be two courses deep into a meal now. Jungkook’s team begins gathering their things, murmuring about reservations at a nearby restaurant. Daniel gives you a glance, knowing better than to invite you along.

You never take breaks.

As the last few executives file out, you remain in your seat, flipping through campaign notes, already highlighting sections for revision. The door closes behind them, leaving you alone in the quiet of the conference room.

You barely have a minute to yourself before a soft knock echoes through the space. You glance up, expecting Daniel, but instead… Jungkook.

He lingers in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other tucked into the pocket of his jeans. His expression is unreadable, but he’s unmistakably casual in the way he stands there, like he has all the time in the world. “Mind if I come in?”

You hesitate. You have no idea why. It’s not that uncommon to be friendly with the campaign faces. You actually really liked working with Kendall Jenner, with her even inviting you to her home in Calabasas.

You study him for a moment, the way he leans against the doorframe, his presence too large for the quiet of the conference room. With bated breath, you gesture toward the chair across from you. “Suit yourself.”

Jungkook steps inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing in the empty space. His gaze flickers over the neatly stacked papers, the highlighted notes, the sleek silver pen in your hand.

“You don’t take breaks?” He questions innocently, lowering himself into the chair.

“I don’t have time for them. And I assume you don’t either, considering you’re here instead of at lunch with your team,” You retort.

Jungkook hums, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d actually crack a smile once everyone left.”

A slow, teasing grin tugs at his lips. “So far, not looking too good.”

You exhale through your nose, unimpressed. “Was there something you needed?”

Jungkook leans back, the crisp fabric of his shirt stretching over his frame. He looks at you, not in the way men usually do, not with arrogance or expectation, but with a calculated curiosity. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Great. You have an observer on your hands.

You blink once. “I don’t have to like you. Not in my job description, unfortunately. ”

His grin widens, slow and deliberate. “So cold. I think I like it.”

Your jaw tenses, but only slightly. He catches it. Most people flinch under scrutiny, but you don’t. You don’t shift, don’t fumble, don’t drop your gaze. Instead, you meet his stare with the same measured indifference you give to 55-year old men.

“Flirting with me won’t get you special treatment.” Your voice is detached, cool as a cucumber.

Jungkook lets out a quiet laugh, “Who said I was flirting?”

Your lips press into a thin line.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, propping an elbow on the armrest, “I don’t expect special treatment. Just the best. And from what I’ve seen so far…” he nods toward your documents, “…you don’t settle for anything less either.”

You don’t reply, but he’s hit the mark. Jungkook studies you for another beat, his gaze dipping, taking you apart piece by piece and seemingly trying to understand what makes you tick.

You hate to admit it, but he’s sharper than you expected. Most people in his position come into these meetings as faces, not minds. They sign the contracts, smile for the cameras, let their teams do the thinking.

You click your pen once. “If that’s all, I have work to do.”

Jungkook watches you for a moment longer, then moves a tad closer, just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne, something clean and subtly musky.

His voice dips lower, softer now, but no less assured. “Tell me, do you always bet on things you know you’ll win?”

Your fingers still against the table. You set your pen down with deliberate precision, tilting your head slightly. “Only when the stakes are worth it.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. The thing you’ll come to learn about Jungkook is this: the man cannot back down from a challenge. He loves games. Always has

It’s how he got here in the first place. Grit, obsession, the refusal to lose. Every accolade, every headline, every billboard was earned not just through talent, but by the sheer thrill of the chase.

Truth be told, he’s a little.. intrigued, in some weird way. To put it in even more cliche terms, you look like trouble.

And… well, Jungkook has always had a thing for playing with fire.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @koofleur @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97

#jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jjk x reader #bts #bts army #bts x reader #bts x you

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feinzleclerc · 7 months ago

Text

𝐅inally a yes | Charles Leclerc

summary :: Where you finally accept Charles' proposal.

word count :: 1.090 words.

It was hard to believe that Formula 1 had become your life. Since you were little, fast cars and the stories behind the drivers had always fascinated you. Growing up in a family where Sunday mornings meant mandatory race-watching certainly helped. But simply watching wasn’t enough—you wanted to be there, part of that world. That desire drove you to study sports journalism, always with the goal of one day covering the pinnacle of motorsport.

Your first big break came when a small European motorsports website hired you to cover the junior categories. During that time, you met Charles Leclerc. He was on the rise, racing in Formula 2 and impressing everyone with his talent. Although you didn’t spend much time together back then, Charles had a charisma that was hard to ignore. He was kind, polite, but with a hint of sarcastic humor that made every conversation unforgettable.

You were always in front of him, the interviewer. It wasn’t intentional; you were simply following orders. But soon, you became a familiar face to Leclerc—not just your face, but your name as well.

Years later, your dedication finally led you to what once seemed like an unattainable dream: working directly with Formula 1. Now, as a reporter for a global network, you traveled the world covering races. Life was hectic and full of challenges, but one thing—or rather, one person—made everything even more complicated: Charles Leclerc.

From the day you crossed paths with Charles again in the paddock, he never missed a chance to start a conversation. At first, it was just quick remarks between interviews, casual exchanges. But over time, Charles became more direct, throwing in flirtatious comments disguised as jokes.

— You know you can interview any driver, yet you keep coming back to me. It’s fate, ma chérie — he’d say with that confident smile that made you laugh despite yourself, even as you rolled your eyes in response.

Your friends in the paddock quickly picked up on the dynamic between the two of you, especially Gasly and Norris, who never missed an opportunity to tease.

— Charles, how many times are you going to get turned down before you give up? — Pierre would mock, while Lando chimed in: — I think he likes the challenge. More exciting than overtaking Max on track.

You’d just shake your head, trying to ignore their comments, but sometimes you couldn’t help but laugh, which only encouraged Gasly and Norris further. To them, your laughter was like a sign—one that you weren’t entirely shutting Charles out.

This wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Despite Charles’ countless attempts, you always had a ready excuse for not accepting his invitations: work, commitments, exhaustion... But deep down, the real reason was fear—fear of complicating your already chaotic life. Mixing work and romance wasn’t a path you wanted to tread lightly.

Everything changed during the Monaco GP. It was the most glamorous race on the calendar, and the city’s atmosphere seemed to conspire for something different. Charles, of course, seized the moment.

— You’re in Monaco, my city, and you still haven’t seen the best spots. I think it’s the perfect time to finally say yes — he said, wearing that confident look that always threw you off balance.

For some reason, your mind worked differently that day. Lately, you’d been wondering what might happen if you did accept one of Charles’ invitations. A thought struck you like a pang in your heart: you’d never know what could truly happen unless you gave it a chance.

— Alright, Charles. I’ll go. But only because you won’t stop insisting. — Liar.

His grin was so wide it was like he’d just won a race. — You won’t regret it, I promise.

When you finally saw yourself in the mirror wearing that dress, it hit you—you had agreed to a date with none other than Charles Leclerc. If someone had told you this back in the Formula 2 days, you’d never have believed them.

Charles made sure to plan everything. He picked you up at the hotel, dressed in a crisp white shirt that was both stylish and casual, contrasting with the excitement in his expression. The destination? A small seaside restaurant, far from Monaco’s bustling crowds.

— I wanted a place where we could really talk, without distractions — he explained as you walked to a table overlooking the water.

— That’s exactly what I had in mind for this... outing — you smiled.

— Away from the media?

— Definitely.

The conversation flowed naturally. Charles shared stories about his childhood in Monaco, how he started racing, and the challenges he’d faced along the way. You, in turn, talked about how your passion for Formula 1 began and the behind-the-scenes aspects of your job.

— I’ve always admired your determination — he said, his tone suddenly serious. — Not only did you make it into this world, but you’ve stood out. That’s not easy, especially for someone so... captivating.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment, but before you could respond, Charles shifted the mood with a playful comment about how he deserved credit for being so persistent in getting you to that dinner.

After the meal, Charles suggested a walk along the harbor. The night was clear, and the city seemed to glow even brighter under the moonlight. He led you to a quieter spot where yachts were anchored, away from the main activity.

— Did you know my first karting win happened right here? — he said, pointing to a spot near the harbor. — I was just a kid, but that day changed everything for me.

— Maybe tonight will change everything too — you replied without thinking, immediately regretting it when you saw the smile spreading across Charles’ face.

Charles stepped closer, shaking his head. — Maybe it will.

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of waves lapping against the boats. Before you could say anything, Charles leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours.

— May I? — he asked, his voice low, filled with anticipation.

You nodded, and the kiss that followed was soft yet meaningful, as if all the tension between you had finally found its resolution.

That night, something truly changed. For the first time, you stopped resisting how you felt about him.

#charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc #leclerc #formula 1 fanfic #fórmula 1 #formula 1 imagine #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1

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venusinmyrrh · 6 months ago

Note

You said you love a good fashion doc- do you have any more to recommend?

Designers and tastemakers

Very Ralph (2019). The preeminent American designer of our time, one of the very few who can stand toe to toe with the titans of Paris and Milan. To call Ralph Lauren's work "sportswear" is to call the Sistine Chapel "kind of a big painting".

Halston (2019). Speaking of going head to head with Paris, Halston did it first. Skip Ultrasuede-- this is a much better doc about the king of American 70s disco glam.

McQueen (2018). When people talk about fashion as an art form, chances are they're thinking of Alexander McQueen. Worth watching for the pulse-pounding runway shows alone.

Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist (2018). Obviously you already know about this one, but it's gotta go on any comprehensive list. Without Vivienne Westwood, punk would have been nothing but a handful of noisy assholes.

Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel (2011). My icon, my north star, my personal hero. The empress of taste and high priestess of personal style. Watch this doc whenever you need encouragement to do and wear whatever the hell you want.

The Gospel According to André (2017). Diana Vreeland's protegé and a godfather of style in his own right. If it happened in fashion in the last fifty years, André Leon Talley was there for it.

Lagerfeld Confidential (2007). I have a high tolerance for difficult and unpleasant people as long as I like their work. Your mileage may vary, but Karl Lagerfeld's immaculate, relentless taste cannot be denied.

Institutions and events

The First Monday in May (2016). Witness all the hustle, bustle, savvy, and stress that goes into planning the Met gala!

The September Issue (2009). Same as the above, but for the famous September issue of Vogue. Watch this to learn who Grace Coddington is.

Dior and I (2014). How do haute couture collections get made? In 8 weeks from start to finish, I guess, if you're Raf Simons during his first season at the House of Dior. A documentary and a thriller.

Scatter My Ashes at Bergdorf's (2013). No matter what other retailers might want you to think, Bergdorf Goodman is the last great department store. A portrait, already halfway to a time capsule, of what luxury shopping used to be.

Peripheral, but may be of interest

Nose (2021). The passionate, delicate art of perfume creation for the House of Dior. The French landscapes where they source their materials will make you swoon.

Larger Than Life: The Kevyn Aucoin Story (2017). As the makeup artist to pretty much every single icon of the 80s and 90s, Kevyn Aucoin invented the image of that era as much as any designer.

Fabergé: A Life of Its Own (2014). Come for the dazzling jewels and sumptuous objets d'art; stay to find out how this illustrious name ended up on hair care products in the 70s.

Crazy About Tiffany's (2016). Another luxury jeweler whose name alone is the stuff dreams are made on.

Bill Cunningham New York (2010). The original street style photographer, since before "street style" was even a thing. A love letter to curiosity, and a testament to the power of taking an interest in the world around us.

Still on my watchlist

Salvatore: Shoemaker of Dreams (2020). Directed by Luca Guadagnino, which is enough to put this Ferragamo doc at the top of my list.

Advanced Style (2014). Portraits of seven women aged 62-95 with truly fab personal style. Top Letterboxd review is seething about how out of touch they are with the real world, which means I am probably gonna love it.

Suited (2016). A study of gender through clothing in modern culture.

Dries (2017). A year-- and four collections-- in the life of Dries Van Noten, who, interestingly, doesn't see the point of clothes that people can't buy to wear, and so does not do couture.

Yellow is Forbidden (2018). This doc about Guo Pei appears to use her career as a framework to understand the gatekeeping of global culture by the West. Dope as hell, if it can pull it off.

American Style (2019). The political, social, and economic history of America through its fashion. Another one that could be really awesome if done with insight and panache.

Quant (2021). She may share the credit for inventing the miniskirt with two other people, but it cannot be argued that Mary Quant invented 1960s Swinging London. And for that we say thank you Dame Mary.

#fashion #documentaries #film #this made me realize how broad of a category i consider fashion to be #joan didion? art forgery? the history of scotch? this too is style #nearly tossed a studio 54 doc on this list before remembering that it wasn't all that good #forthegothicheroine #questions queries quandaries

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mohammedsaqrr · 8 months ago

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Help my family survive the continuing war in gaza

Hello, my name is Mohammed Saqr, from North Gaza.

we want dreams and love for life like any young person in the world. I joined Al-Quds Open University to fulfill my dream of studying like any young person in the world, but it seems that I will not be able to achieve my dream because of the brutal war on the Gaza Strip, which destroyed our entire house, and I lost everything I owned and relied on to achieve my dream, including my laptop, university books and library.

We are a family of 12, displaced from our home in North Gaza to the southern areas under inhumane conditions.

This is my daughter, who grew up in the middle of the war, no kid should go through this kind of childhood and trauma. its unfair and we can’t do anything about it to give our kids the lovely childhood that they deserve.

I am appealing to you, the global community, for help. I have started a GoFundMe campaign with the aim of raising 30,000 Euros to enable me and my family to find safety in Egypt. The evacuation fees change from time to time; we currently expect a cost of between 4,000-5,000 dollars per person. Any additional funds generated will go towards supporting my immediate needs and those of my family. There are various obstacles that we will face on the other side, and I hope that we can make some things easier for us.

I would like to update you on the situation now that the war has intensified. We are fine and safe, but life has become very difficult now all around us, people are suffering more and losing loved ones every day. As a family, we have literally lost everything we own, our homes and businesses, but we are trying to remain optimistic by thinking about evacuating and we heard good news today that the borders may open soon. We pray that this is true.

Once we are evacuated, we will try hard to rebuild a small part of what we lost in Gaza. If we can achieve our ultimate goal, we will have the funds to start a business to support our entire family. We want to be able to start over and not suffer anymore in Egypt. If everyone can help us with a small donation to achieve our ultimate goal, we will be able to rebuild our lives after everything was destroyed.

All the positive words cannot express how generous you are especially in sharing my posts to inform other donors about the people of Gaza who are still suffering from the terrible conditions caused by the unjust war on Gaza. Please continue to support the most just cause in the world either by donating directly or by sharing the link to other media. Do not hesitate to help people in difficult and miserable times until the dark days are over.

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noirscript · 2 months ago

Text

The Fourth

Note: I can't sleep. But I have work in few hours. Fuck. (Woke up at 1 am TuT) Anyway, enjoy! LMK what you think. Comment or something? Idk.

Apologies for the odd spacing. Wrote this ij note and only had the energy to remove the space for the early ones. I have to sleep.

Tags will be added later. READ THE WARNINGS!

There were three rules set by the Fami brothers—and they were not meant to be broken.

First: No other man was allowed within three seconds of you. They monitored this without fail, and the few who had tested that boundary quickly learned to keep their distance—some with broken bones, others with broken memories.

Second: One of them was always watching. Whether through the discreet tilt of a security camera, a mirror placed too perfectly in your room, or the flicker of presence just outside your door at night, there was never a moment you weren’t being observed. Studied. Protected. Possessed.

And the third: You were to become a mother. Not just to a child—but to theirs. Theirs alone. No outside blood. No uncertain paternity. You were chosen, and you were claimed.

They never used it on you. Not at first. Not when you were still wide-eyed, eager to please as their maid. You had been selected by their own hands—picked from dozens of seasoned staff for reasons that no one ever explained, except that you “fit.” At the time, you’d thought it was because you were quiet. Obedient. Trustworthy.

They had grown up with you under the same roof. The sons of the globally-renowned Fami pharmaceutical empire, Cav, Maxon, and Neuvi were born geniuses in chemical manipulation. By sixteen, they had already been granted unrestricted access to the family’s private research facilities. By eighteen, they had created Lotus, an aphrodisiac so refined it could bend both the body and the mind. It erased not only inhibition but memory. After Lotus, you wouldn’t just forget what happened—you wouldn’t even realize something had happened at all.

Now, you were starting to wonder.

You had spent years with them, tucked away in one of the family’s private mansions on the coast, where the sea never slept and the wind whispered through the halls like a warning. They were charming in public, terrifying in private. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes not. But always close.

That night at dinner, you knew things would change the moment you opened your mouth.

“I’ve decided,” you said, placing your utensils down with more courage than you felt. “Tonight will be my last night here.”

The silver clinked. The room stilled.

Cav’s spoon hit his plate with a sharp clang, his jaw tightening as he stared at you like he hadn’t heard correctly. Maxon didn’t flinch—he simply leaned back in his chair with that same polished smile he wore during charity galas and magazine shoots, fingers interlocked, eyes narrowed. Neuvi stood.

“Who gave you that permission?” he asked, voice raised and shaking. Not with weakness—but fury.

You straightened. “It’s not about permission, Neu. I’ve worked here for years. I’ve saved enough. I want to see the world like I always dreamed. You know that.”

He slammed his hand on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You don’t get to make that decision without us.”

“She’s not ours to keep, Neu,” Maxon said calmly, though his eyes betrayed something colder. “Not yet.”

Neuvi’s lip curled, and Cav rose without a word, circling behind you.

You stepped back, heart pounding. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Maxon rose too, smoothing his suit jacket. “Of course, we’re happy for you. We support your dreams.”

Then he looked at you and said it again. “Always.”

You tried to smile, but their glances, the way their bodies shifted subtly to block the door, told you something else. You should’ve run then. You should’ve screamed. But it was too late. You never saw the cruise coming.

---

They said it was a farewell gift. A vacation. A way to “celebrate your freedom.”

You boarded the family-owned yacht thinking it might be closure—one last memory with the boys who had, in their strange way, been your only family for years.

But once the ship left the shore, something changed.

Your room locked from the outside.

The meals started tasting faintly of something sweet, something… dizzying.

Then came the first night.

They didn’t wait. Not this time.

You were laid out on silk sheets in a room chilled just enough to keep your skin sensitive. The air smelled faintly of Lotus, but stronger now—more refined. You hadn’t even realized you’d inhaled it until your limbs stopped listening to you, until your vision blurred at the edges like a dream sinking underwater.

You felt them before you saw them.

Cav’s voice was first, low and dark near your ear. “We gave you every chance to stay willingly.”

His hand ran slowly along your thigh, pushing the robe you wore aside like it was never meant to be there.

“Don’t worry,” Maxon murmured from above, brushing hair away from your face. “You’ll be safe. You’ll forget this ever happened.”

Neuvi was already between your legs before you could process anything more. His mouth was hot, relentless, and you cried out before you knew why. The pleasure hit like a lightning strike—raw, involuntary. Shameful.

“You belong to us,” Neuvi growled, fingers gripping your hips. “You always have.”

They didn’t rush. They took turns. Then took you together.

Hands pinning your wrists. Teeth grazing your throat. Tongues tasting skin that had never been theirs to touch—but was now. Forever. They moved like parts of one machine—synchronized, ruthless, worshipful in their own corrupted way.

You sobbed. Moaned. Gasped. Everything blurred. Everything bled into heat and scent and the sound of your name on three different tongues.

You were filled. Ruined. Rewritten.

And in the morning, you woke up in fresh clothes, tucked beneath the same silk sheets, smiling vaguely at the soft knock on the door.

Breakfast was served. The sun shone. The sea was calm.

You didn’t remember a thing.

---

By the end of the cruise, your body told a different story.

Nausea. Fatigue. Hunger that came in strange waves. The doctor—one of theirs, of course—confirmed it quickly.

You were pregnant.

There was no question of who the fathers were. The test results showed a genetic anomaly—triparental fertilization.

Of course it wasn’t legal. Of course it wasn’t possible.

But nothing had ever been impossible for them.

You sat in the nursery days later, holding a plush rabbit in trembling hands as Maxon placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. Cav leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning. Neuvi knelt in front of you, pressing his forehead against your growing bump with a reverence that made your skin crawl.

“You’ll never be alone again,” he said, smiling. “We’ll take care of you. Forever.”

And somehow, in the thick silence that followed, you knew it was true.

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere fic #yandere x y/n #yandere male x reader #yandere billionaire #yandere heir #tw.drugging

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gracie-eilish · 6 months ago

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oh my my my…

🌙💚✨🎄🥂

summary: you’ve been in love with your best friend claire’s older sister you’re whole life. but she never saw you as anything more than her little sisters awkward best friend. or so she thought… until you come home from college one semester and billie comes home from tour at the same time… and things are different.

a/n: billie is 24 in this and reader and claire are 21. billie is still billie, just add in claire with her and finneas. you and the o’connells have a close dynamic so it’s not weird for you to hang with the family while claire goes to bed or vice versa when she is at your house;) you haven’t seen billie since maybe she was 19 (touring and college kept you apart)

alsoooo i love hot older sister billie!! would you guys want like a prelude to this??

The house smelled like cinnamon and pine, the familiar warmth of the holidays wrapping around me as I lounged on the O’Connell family couch. Claire and I were sprawled out like we always were, eating snacks and laughing at cheesy Christmas movies. The glow from the tree lights reflected off the glasses of festive cocktails Maggie had let us make. It felt like old times—just Claire and me, like nothing had changed.

Except everything had changed.

We were both 21 now, adults in every sense of the word. College had shaped us into versions of ourselves we’d only dreamed of becoming as teenagers. Claire was thriving, confident and bubbly as ever, while I had finally grown into myself. I felt like the clumsy, awkward little kid who used to trail after Claire, Billie, and Finneas was long gone. I was finally… me.

But I hadn’t seen Billie in years.

She’d been busy touring, winning awards, and becoming a global icon while I was figuring out my life at school. And, if I was honest with myself, I was glad for the distance. For years, I’d been so hopelessly in love with her that it hurt. But somewhere between the late-night study sessions and messy dorm-room heartbreaks, I convinced myself I’d moved on.

Until today.

The door swung open with a flourish, the chilly December air rushing in as Billie stepped inside.

“Billie!” Claire yelled, launching herself off the couch and tackling her sister in a hug. The room filled with laughter and the sound of their excited chatter, but I stayed back, my drink clutched in my hands, watching them.

And then Billie’s eyes found mine.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

She looked the same but different—older, more mature, with that same air of effortless cool that had always made my stomach flutter. Her black hair, now long and layered, framed her face perfectly. Her jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, her light blue eyes intense and unreadable as they swept over me.

And I couldn’t help but notice the way her breath hitched for just a fraction of a second.

“Y/N?” she said, her voice lower than I remembered, like velvet.

“Hi, Billie,” I said, standing and giving her a small smile.

I could feel her gaze linger as I crossed the room to give her a polite hug. It was quick, casual—nothing out of the ordinary—but the way her hand brushed my back sent a shiver up my spine.

“You look… different,” Billie said, her voice almost hesitant as she pulled back.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a few years,” I said, tucking a strand of my short hair behind my ear. Her eyes flicked to the movement, lingering on my face for just a moment too long.

Claire pulled Billie into the kitchen, breaking the tension, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. She was just Claire’s sister. That’s all she was. Nothing more.

Except when she joined us in the living room, the air shifted.

We settled back into the couch, Billie now sitting next to me. The scent of her perfume—something woodsy and sweet—wrapped around me, making my head spin. She smelled… grown-up. Different from how I remembered.

Then again, everything about her felt different.

As we watched the movie, Billie kept sneaking glances at me. I could feel her eyes on me, the weight of her attention making my skin tingle. I tried to focus on the screen, but it was impossible. Every move she made, every small laugh or casual brush of her arm against mine, sent my mind spiraling.

Eventually, Claire yawned dramatically and stretched. “Alright, I’m beat,” she said, standing and heading toward the stairs. “Don’t stay up too late, you two.”

The door to her room clicked shut, and suddenly it was just Billie and me.

The silence was deafening.

I shifted on the couch, my leg brushing against hers accidentally, and the contact sent a jolt through me. “So,” I said, clearing my throat, “how’s life been? You know, with the whole being a global superstar thing.”

Billie chuckled softly, her voice low and warm. “It’s… a lot. But it’s good. I missed this, though. Being home.” Her eyes softened as she looked at me. “And seeing everyone again.”

I felt my cheeks heat under her gaze. “Yeah, it’s nice to be back,” I said, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the movie in the background.

“You’ve really changed, Y/N,” Billie said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

I glanced at her, my heart pounding. “Good change or bad change?”

Her lips quirked into a small smile. “Good change. Definitely good change.”

The way she looked at me then—like she was seeing me for the first time—made my breath catch. It was so different from the way she used to look at me when we were kids, when I was just Claire’s little best friend. Now, there was something else in her gaze. Something I couldn’t quite place but couldn’t ignore.

I tore my eyes away, trying to steady myself. “You’ve changed too,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Billie leaned back, studying me with an intensity that made my pulse race. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her eyes. “But you’re still… you.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she reached for the remote and turned off the movie, leaving us in silence.

The tension between us was palpable, the kind you could feel in your chest, heavy and overwhelming. For years, I’d dreamed of being this close to her, of having her attention like this. And now that it was happening, I didn’t know what to do.

“So,” Billie said after a moment, her voice soft, “are you seeing anyone?”

The question caught me off guard. “No,” I said quickly, my heart skipping a beat. “Not right now.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, something unreadable in her gaze. “Good.”

The word hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning.

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. But before I could think of anything, Billie shifted closer, her knee brushing against mine.

“You know,” she said, her voice low, “it’s weird seeing you like this. All grown up.”

I felt my cheeks flush, but I forced myself to meet her gaze. “Is that a good weird or a bad weird?” I squeaked out, basically repeating my earlier question.

Her lips curved into a slow, almost lazy smile, laughing at my obvious nerves. “Good weird,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Billie tilted her head, her dark hair falling over one shoulder as she studied me with a curious expression. “You cut your hair,” she said, gesturing toward my short hair. “You swore you’d never cut it. You would practically cry at the thought of getting your haircut even a tiny bit when you were little.”

I giggled a bit as I shrugged, feigning nonchalance even though her attention was making my pulse race. “People change.”

“Yeah,” Billie murmured, her voice soft, almost thoughtful. “You definitely have.”

Her eyes lingered on me, sharp and unrelenting, like she was trying to piece together every little detail she’d missed over the years. Finally, her gaze dropped to my ears, her lips twitching into a slight smirk.

“And the piercings?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Who are you, and what did you do with little Y/N? I never thought you’d get more than just one little stud on each ear.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound came out shakier than I intended. “I’ve been collecting them over the years. Do you not like them?”

Billie’s smile softened, her voice dropping an octave. “No, I do. They suit you.”

She leaned in slightly, her dark eyes glinting with curiosity as she inspected the small, sparkling studs and hoops lining my ears. My breath hitched as her face drew closer, her scent filling the space between us. Her fingers reached out, brushing against the shell of my ear as she tucked a strand of my hair behind it, revealing the stack of earrings.

Billie chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in her expression—something far from casual. Her hand lingered near my face, her thumb grazing my jawline before retreating, almost as if she realized what she was doing.

“You’ve really grown up, Y/N,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… new. Seeing you like this.”

The air between us was thick with tension, the kind that made my chest feel tight and my heart pound so hard I was sure she could hear it. Billie’s hand moved again, this time trailing through the ends of my short hair. She toyed with a strand, her fingers grazing my neck as she twirled it absentmindedly.

“This,” she said softly, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “It looks good on you. The short hair. I didn’t think I’d like it, but… I do.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded, my throat tight as her fingers lingered, her touch light but deliberate.

“I’m serious,” Billie continued, her tone shifting, becoming almost reverent. “You’re not the same little kid who used to follow Claire and me around. You’re… different now. In a good way.”

My breath hitched as her hand dropped from my hair to my shoulder, her thumb brushing against my collarbone. She was so close now, her knee pressing lightly against mine, her dark eyes locked on mine like she was searching for something.

“Billie…” I started, but my voice faltered.

She tilted her head, her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Yeah?” she asked, her voice so soft it sent a shiver down my spine.

“I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The tension between us was too much, the weight of it pressing down on me until I couldn’t think straight.

And then Billie closed the distance.

Her lips brushed against mine, soft and tentative at first, like she was testing the waters. But when I didn’t pull away—when I leaned in instead, my hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie—she kissed me fully, her lips warm and firm against mine.

The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of us in the dimly lit living room. Her hand slid up to cup my face, her fingers threading gently through the ends of my short hair as she deepened the kiss. It was slow and deliberate, like she was taking her time, savoring every moment.

When we finally pulled back, both of us were breathless, her forehead resting against mine. Neither of us said a word, the silence heavy but comfortable as her thumb brushed gently over my cheek.

“You really have grown up,” Billie whispered, her voice barely audible.

And just like that, everything between us had changed.

🌙💚✨🎄🥂

#billie eilish #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #fanfiction #wlw #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #taylor swift #debut #billie x reader #fluff

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humanitysstrongestsoldier1 · 1 month ago

Text

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 | 𝑃. 𝑆𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐻𝑊𝐴 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Alternate Universe: University, OG Countries

Genre: Mature, Fluff, Smut, F2L

Pairing: Seonghwa X Nerd F!Reader

---

Summary:

“This may be the night that my dreams might let me know. All the stars are closer.” - Kendrick Lamar and SZA, All The Stars

You were made of stars. Stitched from constellations and loneliness. He found you anyway.

In a foreign land, where you chased your dreams of creative writing, you collided with Park Seonghwa: beautiful, radiant, terrifyingly kind. Between stolen glances, unfinished stories, rooftop constellations, and a love that bloomed like a supernova, you realise: you were never lost. You were just waiting for someone to find you in your orbit — and stay.

-----------

Warnings: kissing, neck kissing, oral sex (fem rec.), explicit language, mirror sex, body worship, light dom/sub, slight breeding kink (if you squint), fingerfucking (kinda), overstim., manhandling, forced eye contact, handjobs. Wooyoung is his own warning lolz.

A/N: So this popped up on my fyp the day i finished my draft of this ff, the song is the same and so is the man, is this a sign from the universe or am i tweakin?? someone pls save yeosang in this ff, also this may be a bit self indulgent, reader has acne scars and stretch marks, literally waited until i finished TSDOT7 to post this, finalising this during finals week was ironic af

Being an astrophysics major by itself was a dream come true.

Indeed, the math was brutal. There were countless nights you banged your head against textbooks, hoping osmosis would bless you with answers. Growing up in a country that shaped global advancements in STEM, it felt natural, inevitable, even, to fall in love with the cosmos. And you did. You chased astrophysics with a ferocity few could match. But when your 12-year-old self first discovered writing; something shifted. Something opened. Which is exactly why, the moment you held your degree in strong hands, you applied for college again. Not for answers in equations, but for meaning in words. This time, in a country known not for rockets or labs, but for language, philosophy, and the ache of beautiful things. You wanted an adventure so you sought it out.

In this world, most countries are known for something. Like people, each country had a soul.

Illusia was music. Open beaches, summer-long festivals, street art blooming across abandoned buildings.

Halaland pulsed neon. Dance battles in alleyways, cyphers on rooftops, espresso-fueled tech startups with holographic prototypes coded overnight.

Aurelia was revolutionary. Poetry-like war cries. Taekwondo academies and experimental theatre in the same street.

And then there were two. The two that held your story between them.

Mehrasht , your home. Capital: Rajmaer . A country where science was the tenet; where teenagers programmed robots in ancient courtyards, and RIOSAF — Rajmaer Institute of Sciences & Innovation — stood like a temple for the mind. You’d entered its gates at fifteen, graduating by nineteen as one of their youngest astrophysics scholars. It wasn’t easy. It never is. But it was everything.

And now?

Atelora. Capital: Solune . The mountains watched over the city like protectors. Rain fell often, perfect for writing and introspection. The monsoon was very similar to your home and often brought you comfort. This was where you studied creative writing now — SMAI , Solune Music & Arts Institute . Modest in size, but fierce in passion. Here, painters drew images beyond explanation, philosophers debated and musicians wrote symphonies inspired by heartbreak.

Even though you were technically a “transfer student,” your presence had stirred curiosity from the moment you stepped onto campus. You were young, just twenty, already holding a degree, already having stared down and solving equations that made most students shudder. And yet you chose stories. You chose metaphors. You chose a blank page over a telescope lens– for now at least. Still, the stars never quite left you. You saw them in your writing.

And sometimes you saw them in him .

You had become extremely close friends with a group of 8 artistic men. Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho, Kang Yeosang, Choi San, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho.

And of course Park Seonghwa. The incarnation of your desires.

When you first set your gaze upon him in your shared mythology class, it felt as though time itself had stopped ticking, going against the very physics you spent years getting a degree over. The irony of it never failed to baffle you. It wasn't his looks—although that man was undeniably beautiful—it was the book he was reading. It was about the rich culture and mythology of your country, of Mehrasht. You didn't have the courage to approach him and chose to sit a row ahead of him. Yeosang sat next to you and his curiosity got the best of him and he started asking about your astrophysics degree. You both bonded over your love for space and mythology. He introduced you to the rest of his group and you all clicked instantly, their accepting and loving nature helping you in a new country and school. When you realised that Seonghwa was part of their group, you almost started believing in a god.

—

The campus library was nearly empty. Golden light pooling through stained glass. You're sitting on the floor between the philosophy and poetry sections, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, eyes locked on your laptop screen. Seonghwa finds you there. He just sits beside you, a quiet gravity. He’s of course still shy due to your friendship being new, but still open minded and curious about your nature.

“You’re writing something new?” he asks softly.

You close your laptop halfway, unsure. “It’s not finished.”

“Neither is the story of our lives,” he murmurs. “But it is still beautiful is it not.”

You hesitate… then open it again and slide it toward him. The title reads:

“Orbit; Closer to Me”

He reads in silence, his eyes taking in every piece of your literary marvel.

The story follows two satellites. Drifting, spinning, drawn toward the same dying planet. One is built to observe, the other to destroy. But they keep circling, unable to touch, always a second too late. Always on the opposite side of the planet. In a way it resembled you and Seonghwa. Your tendency to always search for more, your ambition and constant drive causing things to fall around you; to be destroyed. And Seonghwa, who observed everyone with tender eyes.

At the very end, one of the satellites whispers: "If I had met you in another world, would the universe allow me to love you completely? Would we be closer?"

Seonghwa’s hand tightens on the laptop. “Woah,” he says, voice raw, “Holy shit.”

You don't look at him. Not yet. “It’s fiction,” you say.

“Then let me live in it,” he replies with a chuckle.

You finally turn, eyes meeting him. Your voice, when it comes, is steady.

“Do you think stars could have a mind of their own and fall in love?”

Seonghwa pauses and takes in the character of your question, deeply thinking of a good and honest answer.

“Only the brightest ones,” he answers. “The ones who burn knowing they’ll die. Because they know what true love is.”

You smile. And for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like you're drifting, you don’t feel hollow.

—

Over time, the eight of them became family. Your corner of comfort. Music and lyrical composition with Hongjoong and Mingi. Long philosophical conversations with Yeosang. Soft, contemporary dance lessons which Yunho begged to teach you. Chaotic sleepovers at your place with Wooyoung and San. Karaoke, pranks and card games with Jongho. And despite how new everything had once felt, your world here, in Atelora, in Solune, began to feel a little more like home .

Still, with Seonghwa, things moved... differently. At first, he barely spoke to you. Not out of disinterest, but out of something that almost felt like reverence. Like he didn’t want to ruin something fragile and rare just by getting too close. He listened more than he talked. Always watching, always gently smiling.

But slowly, things shifted after that day in the library.

It started with shared glances during lectures. Long, held eye contact across the seminar room which ended with both of you looking away with blushes coating your cheeks. Then came the silent routine of walking out of class together, neither of you planning it, but always falling into step as if the universe programmed it.

One day, he tapped your shoulder with a quiet, “Hey Y/N,” as you were packing your notes. You turned — breath caught somewhere between your ribs due to his touch— only to find him holding your Mehrashtri fountain pen.

“You dropped this.” It was such a small thing. But when his fingers brushed yours the hum of the world changed frequency.

—

A study session just the two of you was meant to be about ancient symbolism in myths, but somehow ending with him asking about your favorite stars.

“Do you still look up at them?” he asked one night.

“Always,” you replied. “Even when I write, I think I’m trying to translate starlight into words.”

He’d gone quiet for a moment. Then, softly:

“That’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful , you almost said. But didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself fall in love with his presence. The way he gently corrected your posture when you slouched over your notebook, pushed up your glasses with a laugh as they slipped. The way he hummed under his breath when reading. The way he memorized your favorite coffee or chai order and even started bringing it without asking. The way he cared for his 7 brothers, mother hen style.

He started borrowing your books. You started sketching constellations in his notes. When he spoke about Mehrasht, he did so with admiration. Not as someone who studied it from afar, but as someone who now saw it through your eyes.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you like you were a story he was trying to finish; or maybe one he was too scared to begin.

He didn’t say it, not yet. But Seonghwa was falling.

And you. Brilliant, quiet, starlit. Were becoming his galaxy.

—

One afternoon, you were in your car, inching out of campus traffic, when you spotted Seonghwa stepping through the front doors of the main building.

“Seonghwa!” you called out, rolling your window down.

His head lifted from where he’d been tucking a pencil into his tote. He turned toward the sound of your voice, eyes scanning until they landed on you, and then, he smiled. That soft, radiant smile that made your heart do impossible things. He jogged over, tote swinging at his side.

“Hey, Y/N! Heading home?”

“Yep. Want a ride?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a mix of mischief and sincerity.

There was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, subtle, but you didn’t catch it.

“If it’s not a problem,” he said gently.

“My love, you are far from a problem. You’re my salvation,” you replied, lips curling into a flirty smirk.

The blush was immediate. A red flush crept from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, blooming beautifully across his cheeks.

“Spoken like a true creative writing major,” he murmured, looking away with a grin.

You laughed. “Get in, loser.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He opened the passenger door and slid in, and just like that, the two of you were back in your orbit. The two of you sang along to songs from both your countries, laughing at each other’s dramatic falsettos and purposely missed notes. His pronunciation in your mother tongue never failed to impress you. At this point, Seonghwa was an honorary Mehrashtri. When you finally pulled up in front of their shared house, Seonghwa turned to you, his expression softening. He reached for your hands, took them into his, and pressed gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“Thank you for the ride,” he whispered.

You didn’t need to reply. The smile you gave him said enough.

As your friendship grew, so did the bravery to start being physically affectionate with each other. Closer than you even realized. He had started reaching out to you more, sitting beside you even when there were other open seats, touching your wrist when he wanted your attention, letting his hand linger longer than necessary when passing you notes. And you… you welcomed it all.

Every graze of fingers, every shoulder bump, every brush of knees. It was intoxicating. Friends, yes, but always on the verge of something more. That tension definitely did not go unnoticed.

Jongho and Wooyoung were relentless in their teasing towards you . Hongjoong and Yunho, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to push Seonghwa — nudging him with pointed looks and strategic wingmanning. The seven of them were on a mission to get their oldest with you.

As you drove away that day, you waved at him through the window. He stood at the curb, watching you disappear into the streetlight-dappled horizon. Then, sighing to himself he turned and walked inside.

What you didn’t know, what you still didn’t know, was this:

Seonghwa had driven himself to campus that day. His car was parked in the northern lot.

But the second he heard your voice calling his name, he didn’t even think twice. Jumped into your car with a smile and a heart beating faster than it should’ve. He never regretted it. Not even when he walked all the way back to campus just to retrieve his car later that night.

Because love — or something dangerously close to it — was worth walking miles and miles for.

And you… beautiful you; were always worth it.

—

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You really hadn’t. You were just trying to return a book Hongjoong lent you. But when you rounded the corner near the media lounge, voices froze you in place.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Seonghwa’s voice was quiet, raw.

Behind the bookshelf divider, you could see Hongjoong’s silhouette leaned against the piano, Seonghwa pacing slowly, his slender alarms crossed.

“Seonghwa, we've all known that. We’ve been trying to get you to admit it too…but tell me why you finally think so, get it off your chest,” Hongjoong asked gently.

Seonghwa let out a breath. “She’s quiet, but intense. She’s like a black hole wearing headphones. Like, you know something massive is happening under the surface and it hums through the air when she’s near.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at his attempt of building a metaphor. Your hands curled around the book in your grip.

“She understands loneliness. Being in a new country, with a new culture and new people. With a new major and more dreams. Her ambition is always drifting but she doesn't understand it in a sad way — it's more like gravity. Always there, always pulling, and she still manages to orbit it gracefully.”

There was a pause, then softer:

“She writes notes related to astrophysics in her margins. Combining science and arts. Little ones. Precise. Brutal. She’s smarter than any of us and doesn’t flaunt it. But I see it. God , Hongjoong. Her weird ass writes poetry in binary and has all the locations of the stars in the night sky memorised and I love her for it.”

Hongjoong said something inaudible along the lines of “that cute lil nerd,” and Seonghwa laughed once, short and breathless.

“She once wrote this short story called ‘Singularity’ for her project. It was about a black hole shrinking due to radiation. The whole thing was a breakup metaphorical allegory, but it hurt. I’ve read it twelve times ever since she sent that PDF. And I still don’t know if I want to cry or kiss her. Everything she does, everything she writes or creates, I fall in love with because it's a part of her.”

Your body betrayed you in that moment and a soft gasp escaped before you could swallow it down.

And silence. Hongjoong’s eyes meeting yours and widening, lips parting.

Then, “Y/N?” Seonghwa’s voice, closer now, cautious.

You turned and ran.

—

You don’t respond to his texts for the rest of the day. But that night, as promised every Friday, you show up.

The rooftop above the humanities building was forgotten by most but sacred to you both. A medium-powered telescope hung over the edge of the rail, but you ignored it, your own scope slung over your shoulder. You always brought the better one. He was already there, wrapped in a black hoodie, eyes flicking up the second he felt your presence. Like gravity itself had shifted.

You set your bag down on the old four-legged charpai, the ropes creaking just a little. Quietly, you pulled out your telescope and began adjusting it, setting the lens on Jupiter — your favorite.

Seonghwa didn’t say a word. He just watched you. In the way he always did. Like you were made of dark matter and wonder.

“I wasn’t supposed to hear,” you finally said, voice low, eyes still on the stars.

Seonghwa turned his head, his gaze soft, unflinching. “I’m not sorry you did.”

You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-crack. “Seonghwa… I’m complicated. And I’ve always assumed that was too much for people.”

You sat down on the edge of the charpai, hands clasped between your knees. “Throughout my life, I believed no one would ever truly understand me. My weird love for weird things. The way I talk to myself, the way I disappear into my own mind. I’ve always been… too much or not enough.”

You looked up at the stars, eyes settling on Altair, blinking hard. “My mind never stops. It spirals. One second I’m calculating exoplanetary distances and the next—as you noticed— I’m writing poetry in binary. I dove right back into school for creative writing because I felt… hollow. And for funsies, apparently.”

You laughed once, bitter and real.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend. Most of my life I’ve just… existed in loneliness. Whispering to walls when I needed someone to listen. Friend groups leaving. Family never really understanding my soul. My skin’s marked with scars I’ve learned to love — my own little craters and constellations — but I still don’t always feel beautiful. I’m not put together. I’m a mess half the time. And you? Seonghwa, I'm jealous of how beautiful you look all the time. I look like a greaseball in a hoodie and you look like some runway model in yours.”

Your voice broke just a little as you laughed in denial. “But somehow… you love all the parts of me I’ve spent years hating. And that?...That fucking terrifies me, Seonghwa.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes burning, lip trembling just slightly. “Why, Seonghwa? Why would you love someone like me, when no one else has?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the small space between you, sinking to his knees before the charpai, resting his hands on either side of your legs, face close enough that you could feel his breath. His eyes searched yours, and when he spoke, his voice was steady.

“Because you don’t pretend. You don’t dress up your soul to fit someone else’s standards. You’re chaos and constellations and wild brilliance, but you let me orbit around you anyway.”

He touched your hand, gently. “You say you’re hard to love, but I’ve never felt such fire in my heart before. You talk about loneliness like it’s something shameful, but I see it in your writing, in your silence, and I think you turn it into something beautiful. If anyone could understand the quiet parts of me, it’s you. Not Hongjoong, not our other 6 little idiots, you. What I have taken and perceived from you, I can say without a doubt, you are probably the best thing that has happened in my life for a while.”

His fingers traced the back of your knuckles. “You don’t need fixing. You’re not ‘too much or ‘not enough’ You’re... vast. Like the universe. Perfectly designed, like the universe. And I’m just grateful you let me be a part of yours.”

You blinked, and the tears fell from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks. He wiped them with his thumb like he was handling stardust.

And when you leaned into him, forehead to forehead, noses touching, lips brushing each others, heart cracking open under the starlight, you whispered:

“Stay with me tonight.”

“I was never going to leave,” he murmured.

And somewhere in the distance, Jupiter glowed quietly.

Witness to your unfolding as your lips connected with each other.

—

It had been a while since that night.

The two of you claimed your relationship. It was too strong, too cosmic, to be labeled with something as soft as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ . That felt like trying to describe a galaxy with a single syllable; inaccurate, reductive.

You two were more than that. More like twin stars caught in mutual orbit. Irrational but perfectly everywhere like π.

You existed around each other in ways you didn’t have to define. Only feel. And it was mutual. In public, your fingers found his under tables. In private, his lips found yours, his hands caressing your skin.

Tonight was different. Tonight you gave yourself to him.

Your apartment door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant throb of the club’s bass still echoing in your body. You’re breathless, flushed from dancing and drinks and the way Seonghwa kept hand possessive on the small of your back, his breath always brushing your skin, his gaze burning through your dress like you were already naked beneath it. He was jealous and worked up over the vision of you on the dance floor with Wooyoung and Yunho. His fists almost crushed the glass he was holding when Wooyoung pressed up behind you while holding your hips.

Now, in the quiet of your space, you’re vibrating with the weight of it all; wanting, needing.

He watches you as you slip off your heels, movements slow and slightly unsteady. The dress hugs you like sin, and he doesn’t move for a second, just lets his eyes trail down your figure. The bend of your body allowed him to just get a small peek of your navy blue lace panties and he had to control himself right then and there. You placed your heels into the shoe closet and turned to look at him. His eyes were darkened, full of lust and you gulped.

“You look unreal tonight,” he says, voice low, roughened by restraint. His other hand reaches for your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You have no idea what it did to me, watching everyone else look at you, dance with you. And knowing you were only ever going home with me.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, nerves and heat mixing. “I wasn’t even the prettiest one there. I mean, did you see Princess Mingi?” Attempting a joke to ease the tension.

Seonghwa pauses. His brow furrows. “Say that again,” he murmurs, pulling you close, backing you gently against the wall.

Your breath hitches. “I said—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t. Don’t joke. Don’t talk down on what I consider sacred.”

Your heart stutters. His lips brush your jaw. “You really have no idea, do you?” His mouth moves lower, his voice barely a whisper.

He lifts you swiftly, throwing you over his shoulder and you scream; instinctively pushing to get down by flailing your legs but Seonghwa smacks your ass, denying you. “Don’t fool around, starlight. You're not escaping me.” He sets you down, facing the mirror and stands behind you, tall, sculpted, the heat of him seeping into your spine.

“I need you to see what I see,” he murmurs, lips ghosting your ear.

Your mouth parts, heart racing. He brushes your hair aside, kissing the back of your neck slowly.

His hands slowly unzip your dress. “Look at you,” he whispers. “ God , look at you.”

The fabric slips down your arms like a sigh. Your bra and panties match, navy blue lace, fragile against your skin—and the moment your dress pools around your feet, he lets out a soft, “ fuck ”.

His hands find the plush of your hips, kneading just a little, slowly moving up so that his thumbs brush your ribs. He kisses your shoulder and the stretch marks that lay there. Celestial fault lines—beauty forged under pressure.

His fingers slip beneath your bra strap and drag it down slowly, and you shudder.

“I’m going to make you feel everything,” he says.

You nod, breath catching.

Seonghwa unhooks your bra and slides it down your arms, dropping it to the floor. His hands move to your breasts—gentle, as if touching something divine. His thumbs circle your nipples and you moan, back arching slightly, head falling onto his shoulder.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “So perfect it hurts.”

You feel his bulge press against your lower back, and your breath hitches.

Then he kneels. Right in front of you. Holding your hands and kissing them with such gentle affection.

“Watch me.”

Seonghwa’s fingers find the waistband of your panties and slides them down slowly—agonisingly slow—pressing kisses to your hips, your thighs, the soft curve of your stomach. His hands settle on the back of your thighs pulling you closer to his face. When his mouth finally descends, you arch with a gasp, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. He doesn’t let you hide, doesn’t let you pull away from the way he fucks you with his tongue. You nearly collapse when you look down and see his dragon-like eyes set on your face.

But he’s not fast. He’s not rough. He takes his time, like you’re a language he’s learning by mouth alone. Tongue soft. Then firm. Then soft again. Teasing, tasting, licking.

“Stay still baby,” he says as you squirm just a little, voice muffled against your cunt. “Let me worship you.”

You grip his beautiful black hair, threading your hands through it.

His tongue moves with unbearable precision; deeper, firmer, until your reflection blurs with the pleasure cresting in your lower belly. His lips wrap around your clit and you gasp loudly.

“Seonghwa—”

He hums against you, continuing his ministrations. “Say my name.”

“Seonghwa.”

“Again.” He suckles gently.

“ Seonghwa !” You moan his name helplessly, begging for some sort of release.

“You taste like fucking stardust,” he groans, and you let out a sound that borders on a sob, thighs trembling around his head.

His eyes are on you again, the peaks of your breasts pushed out due to your arch and your mouth gently open, head thrown back, moans escaping you.

He’s not happy. You aren't listening to him. He told you to watch.

His mouth moves away from your folds and he plunges two fingers into your wet, seeping hole without warning causing you to shriek and tighten your grip on his hair.

“Hwa – fuckk ! What–what are you doing?!” You yell softly, unconsciously pushing your hips down on his fingers, fucking yourself with them.

He slaps your ass and red marks are left behind in his wake. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes teasingly angry as they meet yours. “What did I say? Hmm? I told you to watch. ”

“I'm sorry, I’m so sorry Hwa please–” you beg.

“Don’t you dare look away.” He presses his fingers in deeper, his lips latching on to your sensitive bundle of nerves again. “Eyes up, beautiful. Watch how you fall apart for me.”

You do.

You see your own mouth part, your hips trembling as he devours you like a man in devotion. His fingers curl, hitting the right spots inside you — thrusting, curling, pulling out and plunging again. When you come, it's not quiet. It’s messy, overwhelming, and he stays with you through every second, hands firm on your outer thighs, mouth relentless. He kisses and gently bites your inner thighs after, like he's thanking them.

You think he's stopped? You thought wrong.

Not even a second later he’s spreading his tongue over the entirety of your core, making sure no drop of your nectar goes to waste.

“Give me more. Give me everything.” He groans, ignoring your shrieks of overstimulation.

The lewd, wet sounds that ring throughout the air make your cheeks flare up but Seonghwa is completely unabashed. Deep moans escape from his honed voice as he traces your folds.

“Cum for me,” he says. “Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl.”

You do. Again. Shuddering. Repeating his name like salvation.

And he rises. Licks his lips. Takes his belt off with one hand while steadying you with the other.

He doesn’t let you breathe for long. His mouth crashes to yours as he undresses fully. You can taste yourself on him and it makes your breath hitch for a second. Tongues dancing around each other as he slowly pushes you backwards to the edge of the bed with his weight. His hands are busy unbuttoning his shirt and removing his boxers. His length slaps against his stomach, hot, heavy and red. You look down, his lips leaving yours with a pout.

God . Oh god. He was dripping . White, pearly, sticky essence beading at his tip.

“Oh Hwa, is this all for me?” You ask, confidence rises.

“You think I can have a taste of you and not end up like this?” He smiles, realising how your demeanour changed.

You smirk and your hand makes its way to his curved cock and you slowly pump him.

“Fuckkk~ Y/N . No, princess.”

You don't stop. You feel the vein on the underside of his length and tremble at the thought of him inside you. And not even a second later as if he read your mind, stops you.

“No love please, I need to–I need to, God! Ah~ come inside you.” Your eyes widen, goosebumps littering your skin at his declaration. His fingers wrap around your wrists stopping the motion.

He’s holding back, grounding himself in you, for you.

He lifts you effortlessly and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his cock rubbing against your core. You’re breathless, gripping his shoulders, stunned by how easy it is for him to move you like this, to hold you like you weigh nothing.

He lays you down like something precious. Seonghwa was mesmerised by the state of you on the bed; vulnerable, naked and all his. Your hair contrasted against the bright silk of the bedsheets and sprawled out around you like a halo. He climbs over you slowly taking his time with your body, dragging his lips across your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your tits.

“You’re a goddess,” he says, voice thick. “And I’m going to worship you properly.”

“Oh, Seonghwa, you beautiful man. I can’t believe you're all mine.” You whisper against his lips which peck yours, eyes showing nothing but love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“All yours. And I'm going to show you. Gonna fuck you,” he breathes. “And you’re going to watch. Every. Single. Second.”

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

He lifts your thigh and slides in slow, stretching you, filling you, making you feel it.

You’re already so wrecked but he doesn’t let you hide. Doesn’t let you look away.

“Look at me,” he growls, gripping your jaw, “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

Your eyes meet his and he smirks devilishly at your fucked out expression.

Was this the same Seonghwa you believed was an angel? Or a sex demon who bound himself to you and you only.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moans, “tight, warm… made for me.”

Your nails dig into his back, gasps spilling freely now, but he doesn’t stop. One hand grips your jaw, keeping your eyes on him, the other sliding between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. You’re soaked, overstimulated, and yet you still want more. Need more.

He gives it to you. All of it. Every thrust is praise. Every groan is adoration. He kisses your scars. Holds your gaze. Whispers all the things he loves — your mind, your madness, your quiet power, your wild soul.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, hips relentless.

“I’m yours~” you whisper, wrecked.

He goes deeper, the bulb of his cock brushing your cervix and the sensitive areas of your walls. He’s let go of your jaw but your eyes are still locked onto his.

“Seonghwa oh my–fuckk baby right there…dont fucking stop!”

“Say it again.” He snarls.

“I’m yours, Hwa. I’m all yours, my star.”

He moves. Deep. Intentional. Worshipful.

“That's right,” he grits through his teeth, one hand splayed low on your stomach to feel where he is inside you. “This body. This heart. Every moan, every breath — all fucking mine.”

“All yours, yes~!” You groan against his hair, his face buried into the crevice of your neck now.

He thrusts . Again and again, with his body pressed against yours, your name breathed between desperate kisses against the skin of your neck, your legs trembling around him and tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the immensity of it all.

“Cum again,” he says, voice commanding but still full of love. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Loudly. Shamelessly. Your body seizes under him, muscles clenching, vision going white. You swore you saw the stars you view every night in your telescope. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps moving inside you with the patience of someone who’s waited years to worship you like this.

Only when your nails dig too deep, when your legs are shaking violently around his waist, does he finally let go — spilling deep into you with a moan so heavy, so desperate , it sounds like your name carved into the stars of his universe.

Your reflection is ruined.

Lips swollen. Thighs shaking. Eyes wet. Sweat slicking your skin. His seed spilling out of your swollen cunt. And still, he kisses you like you’re divine.

“Still think you’re hard to love?” he whispers while moving back to look at your pretty face again.

You don’t answer. You just pull him back in. Kissing him again and again and again and again.

He whispers praises between every breath. “My starlight, mine. Always.” he murmurs. “I love you. I love you so much Y/N.”

Fat, globs of hot tears spill from your eyes at the pure words he spoke of you. You were loved. So loved.

He pulls back, tears also spilling from his eyes. “Thank you for letting me be yours.”

“No Seonghwa. Thank you for helping me find myself. Thank you for being my north star.”

He smiles, all teeth, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching. He pulls you up and lifts you effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your shoulders. You loop your arms around his neck, still dizzy from everything, and let him carry you through the soft haze of candlelight to the bathroom.

The tub is already filling, steam rising, the water shimmering with the gentle swirl of jasmine-scented bubbles. He sets you down on the edge, brushes your hair from your face, and helps you in first, never once letting go of your hand. When he joins you, the water sloshes gently around both your bodies as you settle between his legs, your back against his chest.

His arms wrap around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he pulls you close. His fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh under the surface. Not lustful. Just the kind of touch that says ‘ you’re mine’ without needing to say it at all.

“God,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder, “how are you real?”

You hum, leaning into him. “You always ask that.”

“Because I still don’t believe it.”

You giggle at his lovestruck cheesiness.

He rinses your hair with care, fingers untangling the strands gently. When you return the favor, scrubbing his scalp and watching his eyes flutter shut in bliss, you giggle. He opens one eye at the sound and catches the grin on your face. You had put a blob of soapy bubbles on his head, giving him a little hat.

“What?”

“You’re cute like this.”

He raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Melting. For me.” You boop his sharp nose with a sudsy finger.

He smirks and pulls you into his chest, arms curling around you. “I’m always melting for you.”

The warmth of the water, the silence between you, the occasional kiss to your neck or cheek or the valley between your breasts where your heart lay—it all feels suspended in time. He runs his fingers gently through your hair, massaging your scalp until you melt against him with a contented sigh.

When the water cools and your fingers wrinkle, he helps you out with a soft towel and even softer hands. You both dry off in quiet laughter, brushing against each other in the mirror, stealing kisses between getting dressed.

When you both finally leave the bathroom, dry and dressed in the softest clothes you can find, he can’t seem to stop touching you. His hands never leave you as he leads you to the bed, gently guiding you onto the sheets. The bed feels like home, with his body curling around yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

You lie there, tangled in each other’s arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, tracing your cheeks. The quiet of the night wraps around you like a blanket, but his next words cut through the stillness.

“You are the center of my gravity,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely holding together. He’s clutching you so tightly it feels like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You don’t. You’re still there. Glowing. Glorious. His.

“And with you,” he continues, “all the stars are closer.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, a promise, a truth. You settle deeper into his embrace, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear as you both drift off to sleep, wrapped up in love.

—

The next morning is soft and slow.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting golden lines across the bed where you and Seonghwa are still tangled together. His arm is heavy around your waist, his face buried against your hair, breathing you in like he’s still dreaming.

You shift gently, turning in his hold. His eyes crack open, hazy with sleep, and when he sees you, he smiles.

“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, voice still deep and rough with sleep.

You grin, brushing a thumb over his puffy cheeks. “Morning, Hwa.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other. Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the bubble. He groans dramatically, reaching for it without letting go of you.

It’s the group chat.

Hongjoong: Rise and shine, lovebirds 😈. You guys better not bail on camping today ⛺

Yeosang: If you’re late, we’re leaving you behind.

San: we would never 💗 but hurry tf up i want s’mores.

Wooyoung: get yall’s gigachad asses up

You laugh, and Seonghwa grins into your neck.

“Guess it’s time to pack,” you say, nose scrunching.

“After I kiss you at least ten more times,” he murmurs, already pressing soft, lazy kisses down your throat, making you giggle and squirm.

Eventually, after a chaotic half-hour of trying (and failing) to stay focused, you both throw together your backpacks—tossing in sleeping bags, clothes, snacks, extra jackets, and, of course, your beloved star map and high-powered telescope.

By the time you arrive at the meeting points the boys are already there, buzzing with excitement near the rented van and having way too much energy for how early it is.

The second they see you two hand-in-hand, sunglasses on, looking very much like you did not sleep early last night, the teasing starts immediately.

“Oh look,” Wooyoung cackles, elbowing Yunho. “The stars themselves have descended to grace us with their presence.”

Yeosang smirks. “Took you long enough. Busy being constellations?”

Mingi fake swoons dramatically into Jongho’s arms. “Love is in the air.”

Hongjoong just grins knowingly, arms crossed. “Hope you saved some energy for setting up camp, lovers .”

You flush hot all the way to your ears, ducking your head into Seonghwa’s side to hide your face. He just chuckles lowly, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple in front of everyone without a single ounce of shame.

“She’s my star,” he says simply, proud and unabashed.

There’s a beat of stunned silence—before San lets out a shriek of pure secondhand embarrassment.

“Bro what the hell!,” San yells, throwing a handful of trail mix at him.

“Get a room! WAIT NO GET A TENT,” Wooyoung howls.

You laugh so hard you can barely breathe as everyone dissolves into chaos around you.

—

By the time the sun dips behind the mountains, you’ve made camp.

It’s messy, hilarious teamwork — Yunho struggling with the pop-up tent instructions, Jongho methodically getting the fire going like a boss, you and Seonghwa set up your shared tent quietly but efficiently, moving like a real team.

Across the clearing, a commotion breaks out.

"WHY IS THE TENT COLLAPSING ON ME?!" Wooyoung’s voice shatters the peaceful mountain air.

"BECAUSE YOU MOVED TOO MUCH, YOU FREAKING FLAILING NOODLE," San screeches back.

You and Seonghwa exchange a knowing glance and peer over. There, in a heap of tangled tent fabric, two legs kick furiously in the air.

Hongjoong, pinching the bridge of his nose, mutters darkly, "I knew we should’ve supervised them."

Meanwhile, Yeosang stands off to the side, completely unbothered, recording the chaos on his phone with a blank, documentary-worthy expression.

You lean into Seonghwa and murmur, "Survival of the fittest," your voice low enough that only he hears. He nearly doubles over, laughing silently as he tries to contain it, shoulders shaking.

Eventually, all the tents stand (miraculously) and the fire roars to life, throwing flickering gold light over tired, grinning faces. The chill of the night seeps in, crisp and clean, while above, the stars unfurl like an endless, shimmering ocean.

Wooyoung insists on playing Truth or Dare. And naturally, his first victim is Jongho.

"Truth," Jongho says confidently, unaware of the chaos he has just invited.

Wooyoung leans in, eyes glinting wickedly. "Do you sing to your plants?"

A beat of dead silence. Every head swivels to Jongho.

"...They grow better when they feel loved," Jongho says, entirely unashamed.

The camp erupts. Laughter echoes off the trees, even Seonghwa letting out a rare, loud laugh that warms the whole circle.

Hongjoong smirks and turns to you next. "Truth or Dare, Y/N?"

You roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s dramatic drumroll. “Truth.”

San groans, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “Y/N, you coward! A dare would've been so much more fun!” His pout deepens until Seonghwa casually slaps the back of his head from behind you..

Hongjoong’s gaze pins you in place, sharp and curious. "Would you marry Seonghwa in the future?"

Time freezes. Every pair of eyes zeroes in on you.

You feel your face heat up as you glance down, shy but smiling. “Yes.”

The reaction is instant and cataclysmic.

“PLAY THE WEDDING MARCH!” Yunho shouts, springing to his feet.

Mingi immediately starts blaring an off-key trumpet impression, stomping around like he’s in a parade.

Hongjoong, grinning wickedly, yeets a burnt marshmallow straight at Seonghwa’s head. "You lucky bastard!"

Seonghwa turns crimson, the firelight making it even more obvious, and the group bursts into a cacophony of teasing "awwws" and gagging noises.

"Okay, okay, can a girl live?" you protest, laughing. "San, since you wanted chaos so badly, you're next."

San’s eyes gleam like a mischievous gremlin. "Dare."

You smirk. "Lick the bottom of Yunho’s sock."

All hell breaks loose.

"AW HELL NAH!" Yunho screeches, jumping back from San who is devilishly biting his lips and rubbing his hands together like a fly. "Y'ALL NASTY ASSES."

The dares spiral more and more ridiculous until finally, giggling and exhausted, you all call it quits for the night. While setting up the sleeping bags in your shared tent, you hear Mingi’s outraged yell slice through the night. “Who the fuck took Y/N’s leftover chips? She saved those for me!”

But no one had taken them … so who or what–? A sound interrupts the silence. The ruffling of a chip bag, and it's from none you.

San leaps up, eyes wild. “I knew I heard something outside!” He runs to the sound and finds himself in front of a little friend.

You find San staring down a fat ass raccoon that has zero fear and is currently chewing on your chips.

Yeosang is right behind you and whispers, “Y/N, I think that’s your spirit animal,” and you die laughing because it is literally you.

“GIVE THAT BACK, YOU STRIPED CRIMINAL!” Mingi roars, lunging forward like he’s storming a battlefield.

The raccoon doesn’t run. It stares. Unbothered. Unmoved. It judges him.

Yeosang tries to stop the poor idiot, walking towards him. “Mingi, you’re gonna get rabies.”

San puts his hand on Yeosang’s shoulder stopping him. “At least he’ll go out dramatically.” Ever the agent of chaos.

—

Morning comes soft and misty, the sky dusted with gold as you blink awake in an empty tent. Seonghwa was already gone, off helping Hongjoong prep for the group hike. You stumble out into the chill morning air. San’s hair is a disaster, sticking up like he got electrocuted, while Mingi stumbles around, eyes squinted against the sunlight. You wander toward the campfire and nearly trip at the sight.

Yunho, looking disgustingly handsome and backlit like a prince, flips pancakes with a ridiculous amount of grace. Beside him, Seonghwa arranges a fruit platter so perfectly it belongs in a five-star hotel. And somehow, he looks even more delicious than the food.

You sneak up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist. “Good morning, Hwa.”

He hums warmly, leaning back into you. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm. With you? Always.”

The nine of you eat a sleepy, happy breakfast together before getting ready for the hike. Halfway up the trail, it all goes to hell when San chases a butterfly straight into the woods and Wooyoung gets distracted by a squirrel doing, in his words, "weird ninja stuff while looking like Hongjoong"

You and Seonghwa fall behind, walking slowly, hands entwined.

“I still think you tricked me into loving you,” you say.

He glances over, amused. “How so?”

“You’re too perfect. I feel like I glitched the universe or something.”

He stops walking. “You are the glitch,” he whispers, tilting your chin up. “My favorite kind of anomaly.”

And then he kisses you so gently, so completely, that the woods go quiet — even the bugs stop bugging.

Until Hongjoong’s voice shatters it from a distance: "YOU TWO HEADASSES BETTER STOP FRENCHING AND GET BACK TO THE GROUP!"

The entire day is spent doing fun activities — skipping stones across the glittering lake, racing up mossy trails, daring each other to jump into the freezing water below the waterfall. Yunho and Mingi get into a splash war that soaks everyone within a ten-foot radius, while Jongho sits dry on a rock, pretending he doesn’t know any of you. Wooyoung and San challenge Hongjoong to a stone-skipping contest and dramatically accuse him of witchcraft when he wins.

But then comes the time to leave. The sun dips low again, the air cooling, the shadows stretching long. Tents are packed away, ashes are buried under earth, and the clearing that had been so alive with your chaos slowly returns to stillness.

Everyone is crammed into the rental van. Bags piled high. Snacks demolished. Legs squished.

Sitting with Seonghwa and Yeosang in the way-back row, you’re drowsy from the camping high but the chaos of the van doesn't allow you to fall into slumber.

“Yo,” Wooyoung says, twirling the AUX cord. “I have the perfect song.”

Jongho squints. “I swear to god—”

The song consisted of high bass boosted beats and explicit words and moans that speak of sex.

Jongho screams at Wooyoung “BRO.”

Yunho, driving, screams the lyrics into the windshield, jamming to the song while being in charge of everyone's lives. Mingi opens a window and belts into the wind. Meanwhile, you're frozen.

He raises a brow. “Funny song. Lyrics sound familiar?”

You elbow him. “Do not make me jump out of this moving vehicle.”

“Jump and I’m jumping with you.”

Wooyoung turns around with devil eyes. “Ohhh, you’re blushingg. Confirmed post-coital energy. You freaky lil mofos.”

Jongho lunges over the seat. “I will STRANGLE YOU with your OWN AUX CORD.”

Wooyoung’s gremlin noises take over the van and Hongjoong holds himself back. The van goes over a bump, everyone screams, the song switches to ballad music mid-scream.

Two full hours of pure discord.

–

You all decide to go to their house, planning on sleeping over there anyways; you packed extra clothes.

Mingi attempts to carry all the bags inside at once like some tragic pack mule, wobbling like a cursed tower of luggage. Yeosang watches him with the slow, unblinking gaze of a man waiting for nature to take its course and sure enough, Mingi collapses under the weight with a majestic crash.

Jongho silently takes three bags — huge bags — and hauls them inside with a smirk on his face, asserting his strength.

Meanwhile, you get out of the van and steady yourself on your feet, smoothing down your hair, “We barely survived that.” you say to Seonghwa, who's grabbing your astrophotography tech from on top of Mingi.

As you stagger toward the house, you hear Mingi, still flat on the grass, shouting, "HEY, WHO'S GONNA HELP ME? UH HELLO?? ARE YOU ALL JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE TO DIE??"

Yeosang, without looking back, just says, "You'll be fine. Natural selection."

The front door slams open, and a yell echoes from San inside. "THE FUCKING RACCOON CAME BACK WITH US!!"

Chaos unfurls.

Screams, wild laughter, the thundering of feet. Pure, reckless joy spilling out into the neighborhood.

But this. This beautiful, absurd, ridiculous mess — is exactly how you want it. You glance over at Seonghwa through the swirl of mayhem, and he’s already looking at you, laughing. And you feel complete. You feel at peace.

In a universe full of infinite galaxies and in a timeline that could have gone a million different ways…

You found him and he found you. And somehow, across all odds, you collided. But not a crash. Not an explosion. But an orbit. Not a destructive gravity but a soft one.

One — like Seonghwa said — that makes all the stars feel closer.

And you became his favorite constellation. The one he’ll spend every lifetime tracing, loving, watching and wishing on.

Every night. Every sky. Every universe. Every time.

----

End Note:

fix off ;)

(yes i have written poetry in binary--no it was not fun--it was an assignment)

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